Page 74 of A Thief to Die For

But he’s not taking into account one crucial piece of information: that what he can do with a sword, I can do with a bow. And I’m the only one in the room who knows that.

‘I accept,’ Atlas says. ‘Do you?’

I breathe in slowly, weighing it once more. But I already know my answer. ‘I accept too.’

Atlas laughs. ‘Delightful. Let the games begin. Oh, I do love a good show.’

Istand off to the side as Coatl and a few guards set up targets on the sparring field east of the compound. A crowd has gathered, including guardsmen and kitchen staff. Even Rufus is here, which is strange. Dresden don’t usually mingle with the militia.

The Commander’s ridiculous chair has been dragged outside, along with seating for others. Women in dresses fit for an old-world monarchy fawn over Atlas. His mistresses, I assume. He wasn’t kidding about making this a show. Even Silas, the magician, is working up the crowd by doing tricks with a tall black hat.

My gaze locks with Marian’s as she sits beside Agatha. She offers a tight, reassuring smile.

Agatha pokes her, and she flinches, looking at her sister, and I return to studying the first target fifty yards away. It’s a shot I’ve made hundreds, maybe thousands of times. I could make it in my sleep. But it’s not just about hitting the target; it’s whose arrow lands closest to the centre.

I’m surprised to spot Brother Thomas. He wanders over but doesn’t get too close. Doesn’t look at me either when he speaks. ‘I was instructed to come, in case there’s a wedding. He clears his throat. ‘But … I don’t know. Something feels off.’

Everything feels off when I’m dealing with the Commander. I scan the crowd – guards now line the field. Too bad Levi was sent back to the entry road; I could use another set of eyes. ‘Like what?’

‘I’m surprised he’d risk losing her.’

Marian. ‘Or he’s just confident he’s going to win.’

Brother Thomas ponders it. ‘You’re probably right,’ he says, as he backs away.

‘Can I have everyone’s attention?’ Silas calls loudly from the centre of the field. He places his enormous black hat on his head and swings his arms wide. ‘May I introduce our two contestants? First, from a distant land, here, seeking coal for his people, is Ryland of Kingsland.’

My head snaps up. Who told him the name was Kingsland?

The Commander tips his drink at me, very much enjoying my shock.

I breathe out a curse.

A few people clap. Mostly Rufus. Rufus – he’s the source of the leak.

‘And his opponent,’ Silas continues. ‘Representing the Notting Militia, our most formidable archer, the finest marksman in our ranks, Lieutenant Soren Collins.’

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Soren’s cowardly frame separates from the crowd to stand not far from me.

Dark, intrusive thoughts flood my head. I imagine nocking an arrow and shooting Soren somewhere extremely painful – but not to kill him. No, not yet. I want him to live long enough for infection to set in. For it to spread and eat away at him until –

‘The contest will be three rounds,’ Silas calls. ‘There will be two targets for testing accuracy, a short and a long distance. And for the third round, both contestants will fire at the same time. The first to hit the target wins. Now, can the two competitors shake hands?’

Soren quirks an arrogant eyebrow, then lifts his wet fish of a hand.

When I don’t take it, he leans in. ‘Tell me, why do you even want her? She’s –’ His eyes go wide, as if struck by an idea. ‘Oh. It was you,’ he whispers, anger clouding his face. ‘You were the one who hit me. You’re her accomplice.’

I don’t care if he knows I helped Marian. Maybe I even want him to know. Forget Marian; you’re going to answer to me.

I take his hand, crushing it, then jerk him towards me. ‘When this is over, I’m coming for you.’ I shove him back, and the crowd oohs, not missing the tension.

Silas clears his throat. ‘Look at that, folks. We already have some healthy competition going on. Exxxxxciting! Now, the Commander will choose heads or tails for the coin toss.’

‘Heads,’ the Commander shouts.

The coin that Silas flips in the air lands in the patchy grass. ‘It’s heads,’ he calls. ‘Lieutenant Collins will go first.’