Page 46 of Stealing Tink

“I would disagree,” says the Nomad.

Venus glances around the table, mouth half open in exasperation, though it appears as if she’s searching for approval. “Oh, come on. I’m not the only one thinking it.”

“Actually,” says Acel, “it seems we have all the time in the world. Personally, I’d like to get to know Tink a little better. I imagine her story must be fascinating.”

There’s no flirtation in his words, but when his kind eyes find mine, I can’t help but notice the way the Nomad glances between us.

Venus rolls her eyes, then stares up at the ceiling.

Anger pricks at my stomach, but I reel it in and pull out my writing pad instead. I don’t particularly want to share my story, but Venus is going to have to sit here and wait for me to finish before she’s allowed to get up from the table if it’s the last thing I do.

I left home when I was seventeen. It wasn’t long before I was hired on by a circus master. He didn’t offer pay, but he offered food and clothing and shelter. I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect, but I thought it would work while I figured out what else I was going to do. Besides, it was one of the few jobs—if you could call it that—that I could get as a winged faerie. I didn’t know at the time that I wasn’t allowed to leave. The day I told the ringmaster I was quitting, he had his carnies cage me. That’s where I spent the next few years, though I was allowed out for performances when our tightrope walker or acrobats were injured. People used to pay to come gawk at me. That’s how I met the Shadow Keeper. I pause, glancing at the Nomad. He’s looking at me curiously, and I realize he probably can’t read my note from that angle. He took me. Brought me to the Sister. They took my voice to bind a shadow realm. Eventually, I escaped.

Acel, who has been reading over my shoulder, whistles.

The Nomad leans over, but I pass it across the table to him. He scans over it, but there’s nothing in there he doesn’t already know. When he’s done, he passes it to Lars, who reads it in approximately three seconds. Phoenix is the one who spends the most time on it, her brow furrowing slightly. When she goes to pass it to Venus, Venus glances at it for less than half a second before pushing it away.

Anger pulsates in my chest, but I don’t care if she won’t read my words. She had to sit here and wait, and that’s enough.

The table has been quiet, but now that my note is no longer being passed around, it feels heavier.

Until, that is, Acel speaks, but only after clearing his throat. “I need the money to pay for a medallion.”

“What rank?” asks Venus, suddenly interested in the conversation at the table again.

Acel ignores her, and I can’t help the satisfaction that brims in my chest.

“You seem to me like you come from status already,” says Phoenix. “What do you need a medallion for?”

“The woman I love is of a higher class,” Acel says, and I’m surprised at how plainly he proclaims it. In the palace, he’d refused to admit his feelings to the princess. But I suppose he’s already left his position. He has little else to lose.

“Sounds like you should find another woman,” says Phoenix, though there’s nothing seductive in her tone.

Acel chuckles darkly before taking a sip from his goblet. “Now why didn’t I already think of that?”

“The muse is correct,” says Lars. “There are half a million women in Miinar alone. You’d be much better off taking one of them for a wife. In a cost-benefit analysis, your job was quite stable. This heist isn’t guaranteed. You’re much more likely to fail and be out of both a job and a woman.”

“A romantic to the core,” the Nomad says, peering at Lars in a sort of morbid fascination.

“Yeah, why are you here, anyway?” asks Venus to Lars.

“The chance to study that fine specimen,” says Lars, tipping his glass to me.

It feels as if spiders are creeping over my wings.

Venus makes a guttural noise of disgust. At least we have that in common. Acel just stares at Lars as if he’s wanting to ask what’s wrong with him but afraid of the answer he might get.

“And why are you here?” asks Acel to Phoenix.

“For something that belongs to us,” says Phoenix.

Acel raises a brow, but the Nomad interrupts him. “Now that we all clearly feel closer, we need to get to work on our communication. I expect each of you to have this list of signs”—he passes scrolls to each member at the table—“memorized by our first mission.”

Venus doesn’t bother to hide her huff. “Of course we have to make this complicated.”

Again, anger roils through me, this time tinged with embarrassment. She’s not wrong, and that’s the worst part. Things are so much more complicated with me on board.

Acel glances over the scroll, then pushes it back to the Nomad. “This will be unnecessary,” he says, and my heart sinks. He thinks it’s a waste of time, too. But then he adds, “All of the queen’s guard are required to be fluent in sign. It’s considered a vital skill.”