The music soars with pure wild excitement, the patrons cheer, and my former crew sits darkly silent while Ravager and I fill the Night Goose with all the wealth of Constable Tremlin’s vault.
Well… not all of it. This morning, Ravager and I delivered a portion of what we stole to Lady Wemberly, an honorable noblewoman of Belgate who spends most of her own fortune saving young girls from the hessen dens and setting them up with new lives and careers.
Another portion we set aside for ourselves, to get us out of Belgate and off to Valigrad, a coastal city where we plan to live peaceably—with the occasional midnight raid on the ships or warehouses of hessen lords, predatory oligarchs, and other corrupt, wealthy assholes.
That future lies ahead of us, with all its danger and desire. For now, I’m floating on a tide of cheers and praise, uplifted by every voice in the tavern… except those of the four people who rejected me.
I bask in the goodwill for a little while, and then I turn to face the group at the table. Boulder won’t look me in the eye. Flex is sulking, and Scriv keeps darting glances toward the exit.
Maven meets my eyes, a hostile resentment in her gaze. “This is a vulgar display, Devilry. It’s not like you. Must behisinfluence.” She jerks her head toward Ravager.
“I hope you’re here to pay what you owe us,” snaps Flex.
I owe them nothing, but I don’t bother contesting the point.
“You want some treasure?” I say innocently. “Of course! Here you go.” I reach into my coat’s inner pockets and spill a few handfuls of coins and gems on the table. “Enjoy. Oh, and Maven—I promised you this.”
I stack three volumes in front of her. They’re leather-bound, intricately decorated, and filled with Fae lore.
She stares at them like she fears they might bite her. “Where did you get these?”
“Not from Drosselmeyer. Everything of his is gone, and good riddance. No, I obtained these from Wringer.” I lean across the table, grinning wider when Flex and Scriv cringe away, like they think I might stab them. “Wringer is actually dead. There’s a glamoured Fae who’s been disguised as him, living his life. If you have any questions about Fae lore or culture, ask him. Though you might have to work pretty hard to convince him to share information with you—I told him a few unsavory stories about the Javelins. In fact, I think you’ll find that from tonight onward, very few informants or clients will want to work with you. Your credibility isn’t what it once was. So sad. Anyway… enjoy your treasure! I’ll certainly enjoy mine.”
I link my arm with Ravager’s, and he gives the Javelins a naughty wink as we turn our backs on them and head toward the bar.
We stay just long enough to knock back a drink each. When I spot Scriv heading for the door, I nudge Ravager’s elbow.
“I see him.” He nods. “You think he’s stupid enough to call the City Watch down on this place?”
“I think he’s angry enough to want a very reckless kind of revenge,” I answer. “If he does go through with it, he’ll be the one who got the Night Goose raided. Everyone will hate him, and they won’t trust his crew with jobs. Plus the Javelins will be kicked out of the Consortium.”
“You won’t be here to enjoy it, though.”
“No, but I can live with that.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s go.”
Ravager releases more of his golden fireworks, and while everyone is occupied with the dazzling show, we slip out the back door of the tavern and hurry along the alley to the spot where we left our horses.
“I’ve never been a fan of riding,” I confess as we mount.
“It’s only until we get clear out of Belgate,” Ravager promises. “We’ll hire a carriage once we get to Sterneck, and it can take us the rest of the way to the coast—oh fuck.”
“What?”
“I just remembered something. Slaughter had a man tied up on the beach of Annordun. He was supposed to be our blood payment to the Rathad so we could get home after the heist.”
“Oh… he’s long dead now. I’m sure he died in that explosion. And if not, then he would have died of thirst. Unless the Stewards revisited the island at any point, in which case they probably finished him off.”
“Gods,” Ravager exclaims. “What kind of person am I that I didn’t remember him until now?”
“You were going to sacrifice him to get home,” I point out. “So I don’t think forgetting about him makes you any better or worse.”
“Slaughter was supposed to choose the most awful kind of people for the sacrifices, so it’s not like the man was innocent. I still feel shitty about it, though.”
“As you fucking should.” I side-eye him as I settle my hood over my hair. “We can’t be sacrificing humans like that anymore, Ravager.”
“It’s not like I made a habit of it,” he protests. “It was a one-time thing. Well… it would have been a two-time thing, there and back again… but that’s beside the point.”
“That’s actually very much the point. No more human sacrifice, not once, not twice, not ever.”
