Page 7 of Stealing Tink

I glance up to identify my assailant, but before my eyes can adjust, the bottom of the boat falls out underneath me, dangling by a single rope.

With my other hand, I grab the rope that’s still intact. But this proves unnecessary. The grip on my wrist is firm.

I suppose the Nomad won’t be tossing me to my death then.

My legs dangle underneath me, useless without a foothold to steady them. When I glance up, it’s to a cruel, familiar smile. To a shade of blue that’s haunted my nights for years.

“Congratulations, Tink, if that’s what they call you these days,” says the Nomad. “You pass.”

CHAPTER 5

It’s times like this I wish I could growl. Instead, I bare my teeth at my captor. With a flick of my wrist, I twist myself out of his grasp.

I don’t linger on the look of surprise on his face, though what I do glimpse I find satisfying. Instead, I grab onto the rope. Now that I have both hands on it, I slide down, its rough fibers stinging against my palms.

My feet hit the front end of the rowboat, slipping down the rounded sides around the tip. It teeters with the weight of my impact, but I remain steady.

“I’d cut you down,” says the Nomad, his voice carrying from above, “but I’m too curious. Really, I must see what you plan to do.”

I can’t help myself—I glance up at him. His smirk is less derisive than it is amused. It reminds me of a cat playing with its prey. Except I am no mouse. In fact, it offends me a little that he thinks me one, even if they are the least objectionable of rodents.

With a flash of his teeth, he grabs the rope again and shakes it. The boat sways beneath my feet as I cling to the tether.

He’s right, you know, says a know-it-all voice in my head that sounds a lot like John. This wasn’t exactly well thought out.

Yeah, well, it’s not like I had many options.

I glance below, hoping to catch some clue as to how far we are from shore.

“There are crocodiles in the water,” the Nomad calls from above. “If you jump, I’m not diving in after you.”

I do my best to ignore him. But I glance down and scan the waves. While I don’t see any crocodiles, that’s not exactly a reason to celebrate. Moonlight streaks across the water, unrestricted, meaning it’s not having to cut through trees or around mountains or cliff sides. We’re in open water.

Crocodiles or not, a few moments ago I told myself I would rather die of my own volition than risk fate at the Nomad’s hand. Still, in all of my dreams, in all of my visions, ever-changing as they might be, the Nomad has never murdered me on a ship. The end of the story might be a blade at my throat, his fingers curled around the hilt, or maybe just his fingers around my neck, but it won’t happen here.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I groan silently and climb the rope.

When I reach the top, sweating and huffing, the Nomad offers me his hand. I grab it and yank, but he must have been expecting as much, because he immediately grabs onto the rope above me.

I glance down and realize his boots are well farther than hips-width apart, his stance steady.

“That test, you failed,” he says.

Now that my hand is in his, he grips it firmly and pulls me into the secret room.

I glare at him and wait for him to either make some sly comment about me being shy, or command me to answer him. But he does neither.

Instead, he looks into my eyes, still holding my hand in his. “You’re not an easy woman to find, you know.”

When I go to pull away, he grips my hand tighter, but just for a moment. Something flashes across his face, unreadable, but he lets go all the same.

His fingers flex, like one might do if their grip had become firm and aching after holding onto something for too long.

“Needing any help down there?” calls a voice from the hallway.

I immediately recognize him as the guard from the hallway outside the Nomad’s room.

“Am I the one who needs help?” the Nomad calls dryly down the passageway before turning to me and saying, “Don’t worry, I have no intention of letting him live down the fact that he fell for that little trick you played.” He glances down at my fingers. “Although I might have fallen for it too, in another life.”