“But you, my dear Chronicler, represent someone who is just like them, or like people they know. And you went and did something very dangerous, something that your Whites would not protect you from, something that not even your Companion could have protected you from.”

“Hmm.” She pushed her lenses up on her nose. “I see your point. And Mical?”

“Everyone likes to have heroes who are young, handsome, and a touch reckless.” He laughed. “It won’t spoil him. He knows if he gets too much above himself it’s back to the glassworks for another couple of moons.”

She chuckled. “To think all this began over a broken mirror! Isn’t that supposed to mean bad luck?”

“It was bad luck,” he pointed out. “For Norris and Karathanelan. Because if it hadn’t been for Norris, the mirror would never have gotten broken in the first place.”

She fell silent then, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Comforting as it was to think that they had closed the circle, he knew that this was not in the least the case. Someone had been Karathanelan’s patron, and Norris’; someone who was high in Court circles and privy to some very personal information about Selenay. And they still didn’t know who that was.

No, the game wasn’t over yet. And if or when that person was uncovered, there would, without a doubt, be more troubles on the way.

But at least for a little while, there would be some breathing space. And in the end, that was all anyone, Herald or Queen or ordinary citizen, could ask for.

“Now,” he breathed into her hair, “would you like to find out how a hero is rewarded?”

Her response was everything he could have wished for—and he knew that for a few marks, at least, the world would be completely all right for both of them. It would not remain that way for long—

—but it was enough that it remain that way for now.

Take a Thief: Book Three of Exiles of Valdemar

TAKE A THIEF

BOOK THREE OF EXILES of VALDEMAR

Dedication

To the memory of Gordon R. Dickson
Gentleman and scholar

1

1

“Gerrup.”

Skif’s dreams shattered, leaving him with vague fragments of being somewhere warm, cozy, and sweet-scented. A toe scientifically applied to Skif’s rib cage with enough force to bounce him off the back wall of the under-stair cubby he called his own reinforced the otherwise incomprehensible order that he wake up. He woke, as ever, stiff, cold, and with a growling stomach.

It was the beginning of another beautiful day at the Hollybush Tavern.

An’ good mornin’ to you, too, bastard.