Page 44 of A Thief to Die For

We have to be cautious of those who would turn on us to save their skin.

Is that what’s happening? This woman is someone who would snitch on our charity to benefit herself? Or maybe blackmail us into giving her more and more?

Petronis draws his sword. ‘Leave before you make me use this.’

Her mouth snaps shut. Then with a pitiful whimper, she shuffles away.

We can’t help everyone, Marian. It’s a bitter pill, but I swallow it down, walling off that part of my heart. If I didn’t accept my limits, I’d have lost my mind under the pressure and grief long ago.

Twenty minutes later, I take my position in the ditch along the road. The trailer, pulled by one horse, is approaching. Soren is on his own mount, not far off. I press my hands into the cold grass, readying myself.

They’re moving quickly. They pass, and I dive out of the brush, but it’s so dark that I miss the back of the trailer and fall hard on to the dirt road. My elbow smarts as I scramble to my feet and start running. My boots thud loudly as I catch up. I grab hold, grit my teeth and jump, hauling myself over the wooden edge. The trailer dips with my weight.

‘Wait! Hold on,’ Soren calls to Petronis.

His horse immediately slows, and my heart climbs into my throat. I duck down, out of breath, but as much as I need to be quiet, I need to hide. One swipe of Soren’s torch this way, and he’ll see me.

‘What?’ Petronis asks, as the wagon slows to a stop.

‘The trailer … bobbed.’

Petronis laughs. ‘Yeah, look at this road.’

The load bounces as it rumbles forward again, and I’ve never been more grateful that Petronis has the patience of an overfilled bladder. A second later, Soren’s horse resumes walking.

Blood rushes in my ears as I waste no time dropping items into the tall grass beside the ditch. I want this over with. My hand retrieves a bag of what feels like potatoes. I lower it down. Drop it into the grass. Whatever’s inside shatters. Loudly.

Panic slams into my chest. I dive low, flattening myself.

‘Stop,’ Soren shouts.

Petronis obeys.

Soren’s horse ambles closer and – stay or go? Stay or go? He’s going to see me either way. With a silent prayer, I spring up and leap over the side. But in the dark, I land awkwardly, twisting my ankle.

‘There!’ Soren shouts. ‘Thief! Stop!’

Pain rips through my foot as I stumble. I can’t run. Thinking fast, I drop to the ground and roll under the trailer.

Soren’s feet stomp the gravel as he jumps from his horse.

‘Where’d he go?’ Petronis shouts, also dismounting. ‘I’ll check this way; you clear the trees.’

Excellent plan, except Soren doesn’t follow through. He inches closer, using his torch to inspect the trailer. He’s so close I can see the caked dust on his tall leather boots.

I hold my breath, knowing he’s going to bend down and look underneath. Carefully, I try to climb the axles of the wheels to pull myself up off the ground. My throbbing ankle burns from where I’ve wedged it. The sweat on my hands makes my grip slip. Worst of all, my hood falls back, and my ponytail falls out. It’s dangling, touching the ground, but I don’t have a free hand to tuck it away.

My tiny pants of breath feel like thunder in the air.

Soren takes another pebble-scattering step. I close my eyes and murmur another prayer. If he finds me, I’ll just have to put my hood back up and fight him. Both him and Petronis, then get away.

Suddenly, a hand grips my hair. ‘Gotcha,’ he says and yanks. It comes with a sound like grass being torn free from the earth.

The pain in my scalp is blinding, and a cry leaks from me as I fall, unable to keep my grip. Soren goes still. ‘What the –’ His surprise turns to pleasure. ‘Are you a … girl?’ Then with utter brutality, he attempts to drag me out from under the trailer.

Kicking off the bottom of the wagon, I spin and sweep his legs, knocking him on his back. The torch flies into the grass and flickers out. It’s enough – his hold on me releases.

Roll. Get out of here. And I try, except my execution is sloppy. My head is in agony, and I’m struggling to think. I resort to crawling away like a spider under a boot’s shadow.