Page 5 of For the Love of the Quest

But, shehadpushed it a little bit too far as of late, finally pissing off someone so badly that she wasn’t sure fear would be enough to stop them coming after her. That was a problem for another time, though.

She breathed roughly through her nose and turned back to face Edith, who met her stormy expression with a bright grin. She hadn’t cowered once, Thomasin realized with a jolt of unexpected delight. “You were saying?” Thomasin smiled as she walked back over to her throne. She only called it that in her head. To say it out loud would be far too fanciful. She collapsed into it and gazed up at the girl.

“Right, so the Latin inscription is just a red herring. The true inscription reads ‘Those who seek the lion’s treasure, descend here to the path of Avalon.’ ” At Thomasin’s nod, she continued. “The key unlocks the stone, which of course leads to said path of Avalon.”

“And why do we want to go to Avalon?”

She gave a small laugh. “Because Excalibur lies with Arthur, and Arthur lies in Avalon. So we find Avalon, we find the treasure.”

“Alright, what’s my cut?” Thomasin asked with a jerk of her chin.

“All of it.”

“Excuse me?”

“The treasure, all of Camelot’s riches, they’re yours. I just want Excalibur.”

“Why?” Thomasin searched her face for mistruth, trying to suss out the angle Edith must be playing, but she saw not even a hint of deception in her eyes.

“Riches are riches. They don’t mean anything to me. But Excalibur, that’s proof that he was real, and that’s all I care about,” Edith said.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to take you to this stone, which is …”

“Along the banks of the Camel River, right next to Slaughterbridge.”

“Slaughterbridge? Is that really what it’s called?” Thomasin watched Edith attempt to school her features, but an infectious smile won out quickly.

“I know. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” she said through a laugh.

“Tourism must be shit with a name like that.” Thomasin laughed along with her, ignoring the pleasure she took in making someone laugh instead of scream for once. “Anyway, I take you to Slaughterbridge”—another snort from Edith made Thomasin’s smile grow—“and then your key opens a stone, we find a chamber full of gold, and I get to keep it all.”

“That’s about it,” Edith said, her smile becoming a bit pinched. Thomasin chalked it up to nerves, which she was more than happy to put to rest.

“You have yourself a deal.” Thomasin didn’t think about what she was getting herself into before she said it. She rarely did. Consequences were something she thought about only when they appeared. And at that moment, her mind was filled only with images of gold coins and the girl who was just naive enough to give them all to Thomasin.

Edith’s expression turned blank and then blossomed into sheer ecstasy. “Thank you so much,” she squealed, bouncing on the tips of her toes. Thomasin had always associated squealing with stuck pigs and other annoying creatures. But the way Edith did it, like she just couldn’t possibly contain her enthusiasm, was oddly endearing. It sure was going to be depressing when there turned out to be no secret treasure or magical sword.

Thomasin relished the girl’s endless stream of gratitude and excitement as she ushered Edith from the attic and deposited her in one of the unoccupied guest rooms. The inn wasn’tjusta front for the syndicate’s more illicit dealings. She made her way downstairs and behind the bar to pluck a bottle of rum from the shelf. Taking a large swig, Thomasin prepared herself for how annoying it was going to be to listen to Worthing’s reaction when she told him of their newest scheme.

Thomasin trudged upstairs, ruing the fact that she couldn’t just kill Worthing. Hell, maybe she could. Marshall was dead and Thomasin wasn’t a fool. She knew that dead meant gone. He wasn’t watching over them, and he certainly didn’t have wants or wishes anymore. But still, every time Worthing crawled under her skin with his lectures or snivelingly underhanded advice and she wanted nothing more than to at least cast him out, she remembered Marshall and how highly he had valued Worthing’s loyalty.

Near the end, she had been summoned to Marshall’s quarters. He was a large man, and even after being ravaged bysickness, he dwarfed the bed. Thomasin had perched on the stool next to him. He had looked at her without any emotion marring his features. He had been everything that a crime boss should be. Hard, unfeeling, authoritative. Thomasin knew that he expected those things from her as well, so she hadn’t reached out to hold his hand, or to brush the sweat from his clammy forehead.

“I’m naming you my successor.” His voice was raspy, and his breath stuttered through the words. Thomasin had thought she misheard him. She’d only been twenty years old then. Worthing was eleven years her senior and had been at Marshall’s side far longer than she had.

“I don’t understand,” she had said dumbly. “What about Worthing? Everyone expects—”

“He doesn’t have your mettle. You’ve been a killer since you were a child. Worthing is loyal, and he’ll serve you well, but in order to lead the syndicate, the syndicate must be all that you are. You cannot have any life, any meaning beyond it.”

It was true. She was a criminal and nothing else. Thomasin had nodded blankly.

“The Sunless Syndicate is yours. Do not let anyone take it from you, and do not fail me.”

“I won’t fail you. I promise.”

He had dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and the next time she had seen him, his body was being lowered into his grave.

She had kept her promise to him. She led ruthlessly and kept Worthing at her side. Thomasin couldn’t bring herself to go directly against Marshall’s wishes, no matter how weak she knew that sentiment made her. Ironically, if Worthing knew that such emotion existed within her, he’d use it to his advantage without blinking. Even if it was the only thing keeping him alive and employed.