Page 2 of A Thief to Die For

‘And what treasure have you brought me today?’ I whisper.

His black beady eyes blink at me, then he drops something on the ground not far from my feet. It’s a hairpin.

I huff a laugh, then toss him two more berries, before picking it up. ‘What? You don’t like my high ponytail?’ I pull the long, brown length of it out to the side and flap it at him playfully.

Benedict flies back a few feet and cocks his head, affronted.

‘Marian.’

I jerk to a stand. Benedict flaps away. My heart kicks into a faster rhythm as Coatl approaches. Why is he out here?

And how much did he see?

I pocket the hairpin and fix my posture, chin up, back straight. Then out of habit, my gaze locks on a spot in the middle of his forehead. Anything to avoid those dark, circular eyes that remind me of fish.

‘The Commander’s waiting for you.’

Well, that’s depressing. ‘Why? I’m not late.’

Disdain seeps into his face, causing wrinkles to stretch far into his bald scalp. Coatl hates when my tone is too casual with him. I don’t care. He may oversee the guardsmen, but now that we’re both Atlas’s advisors, I don’t answer to Coatl any more.

‘Something’s come up.’ His irritation melts too quickly, replaced with a hint of a smirk. ‘He has something he wants to show you.’

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Coatl expressing any kind of pleasure involving me – yeah, that’s not good.

I trail him to the compound. The towering building is the size of a barn and holds a large dining room, indoor training area, and Atlas’s High Command, the cold, soulless place where I spend my afternoons.

The scent of roasted venison wafts in from the outdoor kitchen, making my mouth water. As we enter, the light dims, and I strain to see the floors of the living quarters rising up the far wall, the homes of the highest-ranking guardsmen. Oh, how I wish I could disappear to my bedroom right now. Any room, really.

At the High Command entrance, Diggs salutes, opens the heavy wooden doors, then shouts, ‘Entering now, the Commander’s Captains.’

As always, the cavernous room is sunless and lit by oil lamps, but it seems extra dark today. And a bit damp. The chilly atmosphere isn’t helped by the old relics of magic adorning the walls. There’s nothing warm or inviting about ancient grimoires and mirrors that look like they’re haunted. Or the supposedly enchanted objects that probably only contain something awful, like someone’s rotten toe. But at least the swords and specialised crossbows Atlas collects are interesting. Useful even.

We round the corner of the hallway, boots thudding against the plank floor, and find the Commander seated on his glorified throne. It’s set on a raised dais, so he can look down on people sufficiently.

I spot my sister, standing before him.

Agatha’s fearful eyes meet mine and my stomach tightens. What has she done now? I stop not far from her. ‘Commander,’ I say, voice monotone, face utterly blank.

‘Marian.’ I ignore the pleased look on his bearded face. His fingers toy with the ring on his thumb, stroking it like a cat – the very motion the travelling merchant who sold it promised would rouse the magic inside. A magic that fifteen years later has yet to appear. ‘Did you know your sister has been getting traders to bring her … old-world garbage?’

Agatha’s head lifts. ‘Not garbage, Father. Certain rocks known for their chemical compounds. Dezzy and I have been studying the effects of keno–’

‘Enough!’ The command echoes around the room.

Agatha falls silent.

‘Don’t be brainless. We’re being attacked twenty-four hours a day on all sides. We don’t need rocks or useless powders. We need advancements in weapons.’ He gestures to the wall covered in the most sophisticated crossbows in the Republic. ‘And Dezzy is your nanny. Why are we even still keeping her around now that you’re seventeen?’

I nearly scoff as anger rips through me. Dezzy is the closest person that Agatha and I have to a mother.

‘She’s not – we’re doing experiments,’ Agatha sputters. ‘Dezzy has studied alchemy. She knows about elements, and from the minerals I’ve secured I can –’

‘Experiments,’ Atlas repeats in disbelief. He turns to Coatl, who’s all too happy to mimic his disdain. ‘Can you believe this? She thinks it’s her coal to trade.’ His angry gaze slides to me. ‘Did you know about this?’

In the past, I’ve tried and failed to explain that Agatha’s not cut out to be a guardsman. Even though she’s only a year younger than I am, she doesn’t fit into any part of his militia – so why not let her study her passion? He took my argument like a cornered snake … and we were the ones who got bit.

‘I didn’t know,’ I say. ‘But –’