A Thief in the Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

die on the spot.
    â€œYou spent ten years wooing her,” Malden said, favoring Croy with a knowing smile. “A few minutes more won’t erase that.”
    â€œOf course. Of course you’re right,” Croy said. Good counsel—he knew it as soon as he heard it. Malden had a way of seeing things, of putting things in perspective. It was one of the things Croy valued in him.
    It was more than a trace unusual that a knight of the king and a common thief would share this bond of friendship. Scant months earlier, Croy would never have associated with his sort. Yet the two of them had been through so much together, there was no one else Croy wanted standing beside him this day.
    They were alone in a private room above a tavern. The room had been rented for the full afternoon and made cheery for the occasion. A fire had been lit in the hearth, though autumn was still young and there was only a hint of chill in the air. A table had been set out with wine and meats and bread and cheese. Strings of flowers hung from the walls, bright and colorful in the dusty light that streamed in through the open window.
    Also on the table was a rolled up parchment, a pot of ink, and two quill pens already cut and ready for use. The parchment was a copy of the banns of marriage, and once Cythera signed it, Croy’s life would change forever. She had only to step up to the table, lift her pen, and—
    Croy jumped when he heard someone shout in the room below. Just a man calling for ale, he told himself. The common room of the tavern, just down the stairs, was full of men drinking and gambling, two of the most common labors in the Free City of Ness. They made far more noise than Croy had expected. He’d wanted this room to be perfect, this room where all his dreams were set to come true. He’d wanted everything to be . . . perfect.
    â€œDo you think she’ll like the place?” he asked. “It was all I could arrange on short notice.”
    â€œI think she will be so busy looking into your eyes that she will forget what land she is in. Here,” Malden said, and grabbed Croy’s arm. He yanked downward on one sleeve of the knight’s leather jerkin where it had bunched up. “And take this to mop your brow,” he added, handing Croy a cloth.
    Croy grimaced and wiped sweat away from his face.
    â€œAh,” Malden said. “I hear the carriage.”
    At that moment Croy felt his heart stop in his chest. He raced over to the window and peered down into the street, just in time to see Cythera step down into the mud.
    The footman of the hired carriage squawked and rushed to help her, but she had not waited for him. She could be headstrong, at times, and she would need some training before she could be presented at court, but—
    â€”but she was beautiful. Especially today.
    She wore a velvet gown, the finest he’d ever seen on her. Her dark hair was gathered in thick braids entwined with golden bells. Her skin was fair, with only a hint of red on her high cheekbones. A tattoo like a vine wrapped around her forearm. As Croy watched, it bloomed with pink wisteria flowers. It was not a tattoo at all, he knew, and it betokened something darker than ornament. It was her curse—or perhaps her gift—that she could absorb magic into her skin. Curses or baleful spells cast against her would manifest themselves as painted vines and flowers on her body, blossoms that were never still. Once those painted blooms had been like chains that bound her to her dead father, the dread sorcerer Hazoth. Croy, with Malden’s help—he could never forget the debt he owed the thief—had laid the sorcerer low and freed Cythera from that slavery. In gratitude Cythera had agreed to marry him and make him happy. Now, wherever they’d come from, the painted vines seemed to only enhance her delicate beauty.
    She entered the tavern below to much comment and acclaim from the men in the