Page 16 of A Thief to Die For

I shake my head. Atlas’s business meetings only take place in the afternoon.

With me.

I arrive at the compound shortly after lunch, anxious, but with some measure of a plan: I’ve got to disappear for the rest of the day. All I need is for Atlas to give permission so Coatl isn’t sent to find me.

While I silently rehearse a convincing excuse, Clark salutes and opens the doors to the High Command. ‘Smile,’ he mutters, teasingly.

I flick a dry look at the guardsman probably fifteen years my senior. ‘Sorry, I only smile for attractive men.’

He grabs his chest. ‘You wound me.’

‘Not as much as your lovely wife will if she hears you’re flirting with me.’

His eyes flare with humour. ‘I was suggesting it for your father. When you smile, it puts him in a better mood. And besides, I would never betray Petra – love of my life since we were thirteen.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ I arch an amused brow since the man’s an eagle – a competent guardsmen who hasn’t forfeited his basic human decency. Mostly.

‘This is the third time our wagons have been raided in as many months!’

At Coatl shouting, I stop Clark from announcing me and stride through the hallway into the High Command.

‘We know, sir,’ says a voice. Diggs. ‘The vagabond took us by surprise.’

‘Nothing should take you by surprise,’ Coatl snaps.

Quietly, I reach the corner and peek around. Atlas is reclining on his throne, looking both irritated and bored in a way only he knows how to do. In his hand is a knife that he’s using to … carve something into the armrest? Interesting choice. Diggs and Petronis stand at attention.

‘You are guardsmen in the Notting Militia,’ Coatl snarls while pacing in front of the men. ‘You’re supposed to be the best. We only keep the best. If you can’t complete the simple task of making a delivery, why should you remain here?’

Atlas sits forward, now using the knife to clean his overgrown nails. ‘Why are we keeping them here? They’re both useless. The worst guardsmen in all the guard. I even let their families live in safety here and this is how they repay me?’ He casts a sideways glance at Coatl. ‘Look at them; they’re not even grovelling at my feet. Pathetic.’

Both guardsmen immediately break attention to do just that. They’re silenced by Atlas’s raised hand. ‘Too late.’ He turns to Coatl. ‘This is all very suspicious. Search their rooms for stolen goods, and if you find anything, whip and exile them.’

My spine stiffens. He thinks they’re somehow colluding with the raider? That’s new – he’s never suspected the guards I raid before. I gnaw on my lip as a spark of guilt smoulders under my ribs. Although, it’s a very small spark. These men are unquestionably wolves and far from innocent, which is exactly why I chose to raid them. Diggs especially deserved a good kick in the chest.

That said, I’ve always known that if I got caught, my punishment would be the same – a whipping and then exile. Or that’s what it should be. Unfortunately, since Atlas views me as one of his prized trophies, there’s a likelier second option. My stomach wrenches, and I mutter a curse at the thought of being reeducated by Coatl. The man specialises in physically breaking things, just like he did with Agatha. Except Coatl would absolutely take his time shattering me.

I need to stop raiding.

‘I’ll have them detained until we finish our meetings.’ Coatl bows deeply to Atlas.

I resist the urge to gag. When did he start bowing?

I ignore the men I attacked last night as I pretend to only just have arrived. But it does strike me that if they’re wrongfully considered guilty, it’s not only them who would be exiled – it’s also their families. Petronis has a mother he supports and a brother with a lame foot. Unease winds around my spine.

‘Ah, Marian,’ Atlas says, the bored look in his eyes lifting as his gaze wanders the length of me. He always does this, assesses me. Checks me over for … I don’t even know what. It’s like he’s gauging whether I’m still worthy to be here. Still suitable to be some sick extension of him. I must pass the test because a smile-shaped hole appears in his beard.

As always, I pretend not to notice. ‘Commander,’ I say, approaching. ‘My apologies, but I have to step aside this afternoon. I’m feeling ill today and –’

‘Sir,’ Coatl calls from the door. ‘The travellers are here.’

What? No. Not yet. My heart grows rowdy in my chest.

‘Oh, good,’ Atlas says delighted, then he raises his voice. ‘Send them in!’ He leans closer to me. ‘Now, watch, Marian. I want you to take notes on how I handle this.’

My body tumbles into fight-or-flight mode as I search for an escape. Except, aside from ducking under the table on the raised dais or squatting behind Atlas’s throne, I’m out of options.

Their footsteps come too quickly. I dart to my usual spot against the wall. Maybe the man I fought won’t notice me. And if he does, maybe he won’t recognise me. I’m not in rags or wearing a hood.