Page 42 of A Thief to Die For

‘Because,’ I say. ‘It’s not safe for him or his people to give up their location.’ I toss her a meaningful look while trying to ignore Ryland’s gaze roaming all over my face. Tingles erupt over my skin.

She snorts. ‘Fine, then. Marian, maybe you want to do the talking. Do you find this man attractive?’

My face heats, and with horror it dawns on me that I was wrong – it’s not Ryland being ripped open and laid bare here. It’s me.

She squawks. ‘Look at her. She is speechless.’ She chuckles, then drops her voice. ‘She is also single.’

I bow my head and pray for mercy.

‘Is she?’ Ryland muses with interest, making me peek up at him.

Don’t encourage her.

His eyes dance with amusement. ‘Well, so am I.’

My heart lurches. Is he flirting for real? My skin flashes even hotter – a mix of embarrassment and something else I haven’t felt in a long while. Something I shouldn’t be feeling with him. ‘Ryland, please know you don’t have to be subjected to this. You can leave anytime.’

‘Oh, I’m exactly where I want to be.’

My lungs stutter. What is happening? Why is he being so … bold?

And why am I so hot? I almost fan myself. Instead, I remember the facts: Ryland and I aren’t friends. He’s a stranger from a land filled with the most dangerous strangers. And to avoid a full-scale war between our settlements, we shouldn’t even be talking.

So whatever he’s after – information, an ally, a better deal for coal … or even a moment of distraction – he’s not going to find it in me.

Even if he is the most attractive man I’ve ever met.

‘Well,’ I say. ‘Then don’t say I didn’t warn you. Dezzy, have at him.’ I turn my head, pretending that will spare me more humiliation, and stuff my mouth with stale bread.

‘I don’t know. The tinctures were just missing.’ From beside me, Grendle’s words register in my brain. ‘It’ll be another two weeks until the next load.’

My heart gives a firm thump. She’s talking about the black walroot tincture I stole. I tilt my head, angling closer, trying to catch whether she’s suspicious about who took it. But she moves on quickly, letting it go. I exhale a slow breath.

‘Do you speak other languages?’ Dezzy asks Ryland.

‘Only sign language,’ he says. ‘But that was a long time ago. I’ve forgotten most of it.’

‘Sign language?’ Dezzy balks. ‘How do you speak with signs?’

Ryland demonstrates as he explains, and I find myself watching his strong hands and forearms move in unacceptably interesting ways. Thick veins run like vines under his tanned skin. He has the perfect dusting of golden hair. I notice his muscles strain against the edges of his sleeve and imagine feeling them, running my fingers up and over –

Ryland’s gaze snaps to me.

It jolts something in my chest. Panic – but also a thrill.

Make him fall in love with you.

The thought of manipulating Ryland for a purpose, especially Atlas’s purpose, knots uncomfortably in my stomach. As it should.

But getting closer to Ryland for my own curiosity …

Ryland seems to have forgotten what he was saying.

I force my gaze away and swallow hard. No. If Atlas wants me to do it, then I need to do the opposite. I collect my dishes. ‘I need to get going.’

Dezzy ignores me and asks Ryland if she can see his hands, commenting on how large they are. He holds them up, looking confused, but gives her his full attention. It’s not until I’m clear of the dining hall that I realise he hasn’t asked me anything that would help him secure a deal.

In my bedroom mirror’s reflection, I bend my arms, testing out the crude stitches repairing my vagabond disguise. I’m hardly a seamstress, but this will have to do.