Page 65 of A Thief to Die For

For the first time ever, I don’t ask for his permission. I just leave.

I race to Halkirk Tower on horseback, weaving through the dirt paths to nearly the back Notting territory.

This lookout post isn’t manned unless there’s a prisoner. It’s located on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the steepest drop below, which makes it the least likely to be breached.

Diggs and Patronis mount their horses to leave as I jump down from mine. It appears Soren summoned help from his henchmen.

‘Soren!’ I call, as I storm through the door of the rickety, multi-floor building. A haunting moan weaves through the tower from the wind. The first room is empty, save for a table and chairs and a rusty cot along the wall that you couldn’t bribe me to touch. To the right is the creaky staircase to the second- and third-floor lookouts.

It also reeks from years of uncleaned excrement, making me hold my hand against my nose. Lantern light glows from the back room but I don’t hear voices. Cautiously, I step through the final door.

‘Took you long enough,’ Soren says, reclining on a chair.

Goosebumps race over my skin.

He’s facing away, staring at Lucky and Brother Thomas whose hands are tied above them to a beam in the ceiling. From the swelling on their faces, they’ve already taken some abuse.

‘What’s going on?’ I demand. ‘You were only supposed to question them.’ Spinning around, I look for something to stand on to cut them down. ‘Free them. Now!’

‘I will,’ Soren says. ‘When they confess.’

‘We’re innocent,’ Lucky growls. His lip is swollen and split on the side.

Soren stands. ‘I think we both know that’s not true.’ He walks to the wall of weapons used for various forms of torture and grabs the whip, the one I’ve borrowed countless times on my raids. His hand slides along the braided leather. ‘But now that Marian’s here, we can get to the real questions.’ He flicks the whip back and forth, the tail end rhythmically slapping the floor with each pass. ‘Have you used this whip to raid?’

The question is aimed at Lucky, but a knife of fear carves a channel down my spine. I didn’t use a whip when I raided Soren the other night.

‘I’ve never raided anyone,’ Lucky says.

‘Me either,’ Brother Thomas adds.

‘Wrong answer.’ Soren pulls back and cracks the whip into the air. We all flinch at the deafening sound in the room.

‘Soren,’ I say, trying to remain calm. ‘Come on. These are good men.’

‘Good men,’ he repeats. ‘Except they’ve been handing out stolen supplies that belong to the Commander. I have an eyewitness.’

I swallow hard. ‘Anyone with a grievance could have accused them of that. Soren, you’re on the wrong trail.’

‘No!’ he seethes. ‘I’m on the exact right trail.’

I’m frozen as he retrieves a white handkerchief from his pocket, unfolds it, then pinches something and lifts it into the air. It looks like hair. Several long, brown strands.

‘Would you like these back?’ His mouth pulls into a terrifying grin. ‘You raided me the other night.’

My chest seizes, unable to breathe.

‘You were behind all the raids.’ He laughs in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe it took me so long to figure out. You’re raiding your own father and then giving it to them.’

Brother Thomas is sweating profusely, despite the dank chill of the decrepit tower. Lucky’s eyes are clenched shut.

My mind races. Something doesn’t make sense. If Soren knows, why didn’t he do this in front of Atlas?

He wants something.

‘That’s your evidence? Some hair?’

His face is hit with a bolt of anger, and he cracks the whip again, this time striking Lucky in the leg. Lucky howls in pain.