“And why do we have to believe that?” Scriv steps forward. “What if youdidintend to get rid of us? Maybe you knew exactly what that stone could do, and you were trying to accomplish this heist by yourself. Maybe you wanted all the treasure and glory.”
“I had no idea what would happen. I was as shocked as you were. Yes, I figured out that the wish should last about twenty-four hours, but I—”
“You planned to be back in the mortal realm by the time we reappeared,” he says. “You were going to leave us stranded here while you ran off with—whoever that is.” He jerks his chin toward Ravager’s slumped figure.
“Gods, whoisthat?” asks Flex. “He looks rather awful.”
“That’s someone I… he’s a thief too, but he… well…” I hesitate, unsure how to describe Ravager’s connection to me.
“So it’s true?” says Maven. “You have a new partner?”
“No! That’s not how it happened. Fuck... it’s hard to explain. The stone was an accident, and then he and his gang showed up, trying to get into Annordun. His men were killed, so he and I teamed up, because I didn’t know if you were ever coming back, and I needed help against the monsters...”
As the words leave my lips, I know how they sound and how my crew will interpret them. If I were in their place, if I’d been trapped for twenty-four hours in some alternate dimension contained within a magical wishing stone, and I’d returned to find my leader in the company of a strange thief—one who is both unconscious and injured—I would assume the worst. Totheir eyes, it must look like I’ve been using everyone, including Ravager, for my own selfish ends.
Which is partly true.
Maybe another group of people would be more understanding. But as thieves, we’re used to ascribing ulterior motives to those around us—which explains the hostile expressions on the faces of the Javelins. Flex eyes me with disdainful suspicion. Scriv looks downright malevolent, even murderous. Boulder’s face is a storm of frustration and anger. Worst of all is Maven, whose eyes are brimming with angry hurt.
“Where is the wishing stone now?” she asks.
I’m not about to hand over a powerful wishing stone to my crew when they’re in this frame of mind. They’re likely to trap me inside it and leave Ravager behind—an outcome I can’t risk. I have to be convincing right now.
Ravager told me I’m not a good liar, that I answer too quickly. So I take a beat, and I let my shoulders sink like I’m disappointed.
“I was holding it when the last hour ran out,” I say wearily, looking Maven in the eyes. “When you all reappeared, it vanished.”
She nods. “Only good for one use, I suppose. Some of them are good for three. Too bad.”
The way she says “too bad” only strengthens my suspicion that she was planning to use the stone. I’ve known her to be vindictive, but it hurts that she would turn on me so completely.
“I think the time for playing nice has passed,” says Scriv, looking around at the other Javelins. “We may as well do this now.”
“Do we have to, though?” asks Flex. “Seems messier doing it here.”
“Doing what, exactly?” My fingers creep toward my knife.
Maven’s sharp eyes catch the movement. “Would you really try to kill us, Dev?”
“Isn’t that what you’re talking about doing to me?” My voice is tight, my throat aching. Despite what I’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours, despite how badly I’m hurting right now, I will not cry. I will not show such weakness.
“Kill you? After everything we’ve been through together? This was never about killing you, but the fact that you’d even say that—” Maven shakes her head. “It just proves that Scriv is right. Either you’ve changed, or we never really knew you at all. This isn’t about ending your life, Devilry, but it is about separating from you.”
“Nothing personal, boss,” Flex puts in. “But we want different things. Like a lair that’s more suited to a gang of fearsome thieves and assassins, for one thing.”
“Assassins?” I look at Scriv. “We don’t assassinate people.”
“You don’t. Butwedo.” He waves his hand to the other Javelins and himself. “There’s good money in assassinations and bounty-hunting.”
“But you won’t need that money. Not after this haul.” I nod to Drosselmeyer’s inventions. “We’ll all have enough.”
“There’s no such thing as enough money,” Flex comments.
“And it’s not just about the money,” says Maven. “It’s about the prestige, the work. You want to quit—we all know that. Face it—you’re tired of the thieves’ life.”
“I’m not,” I protest.
But she moves closer, her dark eyes piercing mine. “Think about it. You didn’t set up a lair—you set up a cozy home, complete with Candle as the grandma figure. You keep talking about how we’ll never have to steal again after this. But what if wewantto steal?”
