Page 9 of Stealing Tink

“Have you ever wondered, Tink,” he says my name almost derisively, “why it was your voice the Sister needed?”

When my eyes go wide, he raises his brows. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know about that? I’m slightly offended you think I would attempt a heist like this without doing my research. I wasn’t under the impression I gave off the ‘let’s just see what happens’ aura.”

He lets it hang in the air between us. He’s hoping that by leaving that bit of information dangling, I’ll respond, that he’ll bait me into communicating with him.

It won’t work. Not that my curiosity isn’t flaring. I’ve spent countless nights asking myself the same question. It’s that there’s only one thing to truly be curious about—one thing that matters with regards to the Nomad—and that is the manner in which he will finally end me.

I am not a fly. I will not be enticed into a trap simply because I’m curious how the honey tastes.

The Nomad groans. “You are difficult, aren’t you?” He circles back around me to sit at his desk, the chair scraping the floorboards as he does. “I take it you’re not one to do something for the curiosity of it. Disappointing, but no matter. I can work with practical.

“Here’s the thing, Tink, dear. You might think refusing to answer me frustrating, but I was prepared to dodge all of your questions. ‘What artifact? Why do you need it? What are the skills you need from me?’ Now that I know you don’t seem to care for practical conversation, it will only make this more efficient. So let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I doubt you care anything for money, either, but if I were you, I would be concerned about the where of it all. You see, the artifact I need is locked up in the Sister’s lair.”

For the first time, I can’t keep my face from twitching, just a brief uptick of my eyebrow, but the Nomad is astute enough to catch it. A pleased smile curves on his lips. The way he phrased his revelation is intentional, purposefully leaving out which Sister.

It’s not enough to tempt me into answering him, but it’s close.

My lack of an answer doesn’t seem to bother him as he leans over his desk, digging his elbows into it with a sly smile. “Tell me, Tink. How far would you go to get your voice back?”

CHAPTER 6

There is a single comfort I derive from my countless murders.

When I was a child, before the Nomad invaded my sleep, I used to dream I was being hunted, kidnapped. The nightmare wasn’t the kidnapping itself, but that I couldn’t find it within me to scream.

Now, my nightmares are the only place I can scream.

Even as the Nomad murders me, even as I’m crying out in pain, there’s a catharsis in knowing that I can. It’s the one glimmer of peace I derive from my nightmares.

But then I wake.

I’ve never had a dream where I’ve had my voice that the Nomad wasn’t present for. In the back of my mind, I’ve always known it was a possibility—getting my voice back.

The problem is that getting my voice back and being murdered by the Nomad seem to be inextricably linked.

How far would you go to get your voice back?

The Nomad is staring at me, his gaze dipped toward my throat. It takes me a moment to comprehend why, until I realize that’s where my fingers are hovering. I jerk my hand back to my side, which also seems to snap the Nomad back into the present moment, because he flicks his gaze to meet mine.

I’m surprised at how relieved I am that he doesn’t acknowledge what he just witnessed. I expected him to use it against me, to laugh. Hold my weakness over my head.

Instead, he gestures to the door. “That’s it, I’m afraid. All I have to offer you. If you’re content to go on as things are, you’re free to go.” Then he promptly begins sifting through a stack of papers on his desk. Before long, it’s as if he’s forgotten my presence entirely.

I’m too stunned to move. A few moments later, he glances up from his stack of work. “Have you decided to stay and assist me?”

As far as hope is concerned, his tone is severely lacking.

I stare down at the parchment and quill still on my side of the desk. My hope lingers, but the silence between us draws out long enough that it soon fizzles out. He’s just pulling my strings. Legend has it that in certain realms fae cannot lie, but that is not the case in this one.

“I’m not accustomed to lying, my dear,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. “Got me in a tight spot once. Still, if you don’t believe me—or if your voice is not as valuable to you as I assumed—the door is unlocked, which I’m sure you noted on the way in. I commanded my people not to follow you. In fact, we’re to make port by nightfall. You may wait on deck if you wish, or in the room where you so politely left one of my best guards tied up and undressed. But you may not wait here. I do have work to do, after all. Especially considering I’m going to have to rework my plan completely, given your lack of cooperation.”

When I don’t answer, he says, “Oh, it’s all right. No need to apologize. It’s not as if my entire plan depended on you and you alone.”

I shoot him a glare, to which he smirks. There’s no way the man who’s haunted my dreams since childhood is simply letting me go now that he’s finally found me. Even if I hadn’t grown up with premonitions, I would know better than to believe a word he says.

Men like the Nomad are born in love with money and power. And since he’s expended one to get me, he won’t risk losing the second.

As I make my way to the door, I don’t take my eyes off him. I know better than to turn my back on a man like him, but he doesn’t look up from his desk as I leave. When I turn the knob to the door and it clicks, he simply says, “Just so you know, as soon as you walk out of this room, the deal is void. I won’t re⁠—”