“Is that so?” The Reaper, though, never took his eyes from my face. “Tell me, do you know her name?”
“Sure do. She wrote it down on this page, and uh, it’s right here.” A blush fell over his face as he pulled the ratty paper from his pants, where I had indeed slipped the page after scrawling my name across it. Dray raised a brow, and I pressed my lips. I’d need the orb, and men didn’t think twice once you started putting things in their pants.
“Elys.” Dray read my name from the paper. “She wrote it for you.”
The man’s brow creased, as though realizing that didn’t quite clear the accusation. “She was sayin’ other things, and sure as hell was telling me exactly what she wanted from me.” A phantom smile found his lips.
“Tell me, was she whispering sweet nothings in your ear, or was she whispering nothing at all?” the Reaper asked.
My teeth snapped as I shut my mouth. Even if I had words to defend myself, the rest would come crashing soon, anyway. Once the stranger felt his pocket and realized I had robbed him, my facade would fade.
“I think I’d remember the words a pretty lady said, even if she is just a wench like that. Here, let me think now…” He put a hand on his hip, then froze as a new expression crossed his face. He flattened his palm against his pants and frantically patted the garment. A moment later, he turned wide eyes back to me with a red rim of anger.
“It’s gone,” he said. He pointed at me, but the image blurred beneath the realization of my failure. “She’s took it.”
“What did she take from you?” the Reaper asked. I didn’t think it possible, but his smile grew even wider.
“It’s an orb. I, uh, won it from a traveler on the road a few weeks back,” the man sputtered. I doubted that “won” meant anything more than stolen it himself, but the Reapers cared not for theft. Only for the cursed. “It’s got gold in the middle.”
“You’ve been accused of a crime,” the Reaper told me. “Do you have words to defend yourself? If you can speak at all, this would be the time.”
His eyes danced over my face, flushed with an eagerness all too consuming. He’d found a taste of the hunt and now wished to feel the blood between his teeth.
I jerked my chin up, but pressed my lips tightly closed.
“Let’s see, then.” He snatched my bag from my waist, and the silver clasp surrendered to his strength. I expected him to search the sack – and find the orb immediately – but he grabbed my other wrist, holding both in one hand.
His fingers ran across my shoulders, more of a caress than an investigative search. He paused and kneaded a tender place along my neck until unwelcomed soothing tingles trailed from the spot. The search continued. He flipped his hands and ran them beneath my breasts, fitting between my skin and where my linen band trapped them tightly to my chest.
My muscles locked at the intimacy. He smiled again, a veiled look offering only a slight peek of white teeth between parted lips. The excitement burned across his face. He enjoyed touching me, and the reaction I gave him.
“A protest is all it would take to persuade my attention to someone else.” The crinkle of his eyes and the dark smirk said he already knew the outcome this search would bring.
He moved on, shifting his wide grip over my waist, digging into the bones at the tops of my hips a bit. I bit my lip as he continued lower and lower, but he only knelt to feel over both my feet.
My cheeks burned once he’d finished his inspection. I’d never wondered what cattle felt like in those moments before the auction block, but I feared I’d just had a similar experience.
“Appears clean,” he said. “Now the bag.”
He scooped the bag from the ground and rose. Still holding both my wrists in one hand, he used the other to dump the contents onto a nearby table.
A few coins, meager rations of jerky and preserved fruits, and the damn orb skirted across the table.
“The wench stole from me!” The stranger dashed for the orb, but the Reaper grabbed it first.
“This is property of the King now, claimed from one of his prisoners as a punishment for breaking the law.” The Reaper smiled, even as my heart tried to stop.
A prisoner of the king, for simply bearing a curse I’d spent years trying to break.
The Curse Catcher pushed the orb into a small satchel around his waist. The stranger’s mouth hung agape, even more round than the sphere he’d just lost.
The Reaper turned back to me, but instead of looking at my face, he studied where he held my wrists and our skin touched. “If you can say any words to clear your name of the crime of theft or curse-bearing, now will be your last chance.”
There were, of course, no words forming in my mouth. I shook my head.
“That’s what I thought.”
The Reaper dropped my wrists and caught the back of my neck in his unyielding grip. His belly shook with laughter as he dragged me across the tavern. Once we reached the bar, he pushed me onto one of the stools, still gripping me tight enough that I expected bruises in the morning.
