Page 47 of A Thief to Die For

I bow my head and exhale a laugh. ‘I … disagree. Soren was within his rights to defend his trailer and attack me. It’s literally his job.’

Ryland’s frown deepens.

‘Look, I know you have questions about why I’m stealing from Atlas, but I can’t answer them … beyond saying I don’t do it for me.’ Ryland helped me, but I still barely know him. It’d be foolish to trust him with names and details when it could put Lucky and Brother Thomas in danger. Soren betraying me to Atlas taught me that lesson. ‘It was very kind of you to … help me the way you did, but you shouldn’t do that again. I know the danger and I … prefer to raid alone.’

Anger flashes on his face. ‘If you had been alone tonight –’

‘I would have been fine.’ I stare back defiantly. ‘I’m well-trained, and I would have fought Soren until I escaped.’ These are the words I’ve lived by. Do I believe them? Now, I’m not so sure. Tonight was humbling. It showed me everything I’ve feared is very real. But that doesn’t mean it’s a risk Ryland needs to share.

Multiple emotions pass over his face as he fights with himself. I’m sure he wants to argue that I’m being arrogant or overconfident, because no one can win every fight.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re caught.

My fingers start to tremble as I look away. ‘Do you think you were recognised? It would be bad if you were.’

‘And it wouldn’t be bad for you?’ The frustration in his voice grows. ‘Fine – don’t tell me who you’re helping; keep your secrets. But why is it only your job to risk everything on these raids?’

‘Because …’ I look down, shaking my head. He wouldn’t understand. Ryland’s probably never been forced to watch the people he cares about be punished because of him. So I tell him another reason. ‘Because he’s my father.’

And I’m so ashamed and angry at what he’s done.

There’s a beat of silence. Ryland’s face softens. ‘That is not your fault.’

‘That doesn’t change anyone’s reality.’

‘Have you ever considered … leaving?’ he asks. He tilts his head, eyes earnest. ‘You’re trained to fight, so you could defend yourself if you were travelling. There’s got to be somewhere you could go.’

‘A couple of years ago, my sister ran away with a Dresden boy. My sister, the one who can’t swing a sword or survive without a chamber pot, thought she’d go on the run around the badlands. Soren helped me find her, but then he betrayed us to Atlas. The boy was exiled. Agatha was badly beaten. And to be honest, most of her punishment wasn’t because she ran away.’

‘Marian, you left without telling me?’ Atlas yelled. ‘Without notifying your commander?’ He turned to Coatl. ‘Beat Agatha. Right here. And every time Marian so much as whimpers, add another lash.’

I swallow hard. ‘Much of Atlas’s success comes from using cruelty to manipulate others. He’s figured out that he doesn’t have to hurt me to control me. If I escaped, it’s the people I left behind who’d be punished. And because of that, I’ll never leave.’ The truth bites at me, leaving me restless. My gaze darts around. ‘It’s getting late, I should leave.’

‘It’s only been minutes. And I still have to check your ankle.’ He pulls my foot into his lap and gently unlaces the boot.

‘Do you have training as a medic?’ I ask.

He grins. ‘I’m a soldier; we all undergo some form of medical training.’

There are so many questions about him that I’ve suppressed, and they surge to the surface. It’s clear he enjoys being a soldier, and I want to know why. How is his army different from the Notting Militia? And why did his settlement choose him to come in search of a coal deal?

Does he have a family?

Is there a girl he likes back home?

He’s single, he’d told Dezzy.

‘Does this hurt?’ he asks, delicately manipulating my ankle from side to side. Then his fingers run along the side of my foot in a way that sends tingles racing up my leg. ‘No,’ I say breathless. ‘It was a zinger, but it’s better now. It only hurts when I walk. It’ll probably be fine in a day or two.’ I pull my leg back. But then I notice the blood on his knuckles. ‘Wait. Are you hurt?’

He opens his mouth to answer, but I shift and grab his hand, drawing it closer to examine. His breath stutters. ‘It’s nothing. Petronis got me with his torch.’

I study the broken skin. He’s right. It’s superficial. Still, I push up on to my knees and tilt his head the way he did for me, checking for injuries. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’

He goes quiet, allowing me to find the answers for myself.

I’m exactly where I want to be, he said tonight at dinner. Then he helped me during the raid, right when I needed him most.

I know I need to raid alone. But right now, I’m grateful I’m not alone. In a moment of weakness, I drag my fingertips down the curve of his cheekbone.