Till

Delicious.

The mead here is without a doubt some of the best in the city, as golden as the coin I absently flip between my fingers, and strong, with a warm kick from the sun-chili blooms Orion’s sister cultivates to feed her bees.

“Tell Theodora that this is her best batch yet.” The mug clacks pleasantly against the hard wood of the bar as I set it down, licking the honey wine from my lips.

Orion’s sister lives outside of the city, in the farmlands. She thinks her brother owns a tavern in Sun City, which isn’t completely a lie, since he does run the hideout’s bar, but she’s got no idea what he truly does for a living.

Not many of us have family outside of the guild, but most of us who do keep it a tight secret from everyone except our closest friends, for their safety and ours.

The last thing anyone wants is to involve their families in a life of thievery.

“You said that about the last batch.” Orion grins as he pours a mug for himself. “And the one before.”

“Well, maybe it just tastes better and better the more I stick my neck out on your behalf. . . guild master.” A petulant grin spreads across my face, and Orion snorts derisively. “Nothing like a sip of good mead after narrowly escaping the hangman’s noose.”

Orion sighs, a reluctant smile pushing its way onto his face. “Fair point, boy.”

When he sighs like that, the guild master really starts to show his age, and it reminds me just how long we’ve known each other.

***

Seventeen years ago, when I was just a little shit only recently escaped from the orphanage and taken to the streets as an opportunistic young cutpurse, the weight of consequence was hot on my heels when I’d lifted a small sack of coin from the hip of the city guards’ own lieutenant.

He seemed an easier mark than the captain at the time, but then I was only ten summers old, and I hadn’t yet learned that the higher one’s rank, the less physical work one tends to do. The lieutenant was much more apt to chase down a young thief than the old captain.

And chase me, he did.

My small lungs burned as I tore through the city, my eardrums pounding with either the guardsman’s heavy bootfalls, or my own racing heart—I cannot be sure, it’s been so long now—but just as I thought capture was imminent, I was suddenly yanked by the collar of my shirt and hauled into the crack between buildings.

The callused hand that covered my mouth reeked and tasted of oil, the kind used to keep a blade sharp and free of rust, but I didn’t move and didn’t make a sound as we watched the lieutenant run past then walk back in the other direction, his hat crumpled furiously in his fist.

“What was it you nabbed off him, anyway?” the man asked in hushed whispers once I imagined he was sure the lieutenant was long gone.

Producing the purse of coin, I huffed with equal parts desperation and childish indignation when he snatched my prize clean out of my small hand.

“That’s mine!” I hissed, still careful to keep my voice down.

“No, actually, I believe it isn’t.” He grinned at me, seeming to weigh the purse in his hand with satisfaction. “Else that lieutenant wouldn’t be out there looking for you.”

My jaw had gone tight, my hands in fists at my sides. I’d hated feeling small, especially back then, when I was. Small and hungry, like all the little urchins running around the slums with no parents to care for them.

“I need that,” I forced out, attempting to remain calm. “Got mouths to feed.”

My stomach rumbled, and I clutched my abdomen in embarrassment, thinking of Brann and Fergus, how Fergus got his arm mangled falling from the bakery window when he’d been caught trying to lift a pie the other day.

Someone had to stay back in the hideaway to take care of him, and Brann didn’t have the stomach for dicey escapes. That meant it was on me to make sure the other two had food to eat.

I remember being so angry when the man’s eyes darted to my insistent stomach, then back to my face, with sudden pity in his eyes. “No parents?”

I shook my head, his pity making me almost nauseous enough to forget how hungry I was.

Almost.

“Then consider this room and board.” He tossed up the purse a couple of times, before stuffing it into his own satchel. “A kid as gutsy as you’ll do the guild a good turn, I’m sure of it.”

Guild?

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t know you.”

“Name’s Orion,” he offered, holding out his greasy hand for me to shake. “New guild master for the Pale Crows.”

***

Now, Orion’s got a bum leg that typically keeps him out of the field and his hands usually smell like polish instead of grease. He likes to keep the gold gleaming, since me and the boys bring back so much of it.

“You know, some days I feel like more of a den mother than a guild master.” He chuckles, topping off my mug of mead after he refills his own. “You kids do all the work, and all I have to do is sit back and take care of you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, old man.” I grin when he shoots me a look. “You practically raised most of us ‘kids.’ Where would we be without your expert tutelage?”

“Dead in a gutter,” he grunts, taking a swig of his mead. “Or in the castle dungeons, most-like.”

“Or hanging on the end of a rope.”

“Stop that, boy.” His eyes don’t meet mine, fixed on the ripples in his golden drink. “Hate thinking about losing any one of you.”

“Not everyone is lucky enough to get as old as you, my friend.” I smile, tossing back my own mug with a big gulp. “This gig doesn’t exactly come with a retirement plan.”

We all know how dangerous this life is, but it's not as though many of us here had much choice. Most of us grew up on the streets, where it was either turn to a life of thievery or die with an empty belly.

I don’t have a single regret.

“Ain’t luck, boy.” His eyes fix on mine now, more serious than before. “Skill, and the good sense to know when a mark is too big. That’s what keeps you alive in this line of work.”

“Skill and good sense?” A rough voice cuts into our conversation, and Orion pours another mug of mead as Fergus Krevan drops his burly frame onto the barstool next to mine. “In that case, Till, you’re as good as dead.”

“Not before you, meathead,” I scoff, my lips turning up into a grin. “We both know who the real master thief is between the two of us.”

“You think you’re so good, aye golden boy?” Fergus snorts, slapping a hand down on the bar as he leans in—maybe he’d be threatening if I didn’t remember the way he used to tear up every time he so much as scraped a knee as a boy. “Why don’t you try your hand at stealing the witch’s gold?”

“The witch’s gold?” My brow raises incredulously. “Fergus, aren’t you a little old to be putting stock in fairytales?”

“The Witch of the Wilds ain’t a fairytale, boy.” Orion’s voice is suddenly grim, staring the both of us down sharply. “She nearly killed one of ours once, centuries ago. Since then, we all know to steer clear of her tower.”

Fergus’s heavy brow furrows at Orion in equal parts shock and suspicion. “Are you saying that you actually know where the witch’s tower is?”

“Mhm,” Orion grunts. “The Pale Crows is an old guild, and back in the day, a master thief stole the witch’s grimoire.”

“The witch holds a grudge against us even though the thief who stole from her couldn’t possibly be alive?” My lip curls into a grimace of distaste.

“Of course she does.” He spits behind the bar, like even talking about her leaves a foul taste in his mouth. “The Witch of the Wilds is not the forgiving sort.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Fergus’s eyes never leave me, a challenge blazing in his mocking stare. “You should probably stay home, stick to pilfering jewelry from rich ladies’ bedrooms.”

My eyes dart between Fergus and the nervousness on Orion’s face as I weigh my options.

If Orion is cautioning me of all people against this job, it’s got to be a borderline suicide mission. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, if I’m caught by the witch, I won’t be coming home.

On the other hand, how can I call myself a master thief if I shy away from a challenge?

“Well, if we’re damned in her eyes anyway,” I motion for a refill on my mead. “Might as well give her a fresh reason.”

“You’re kidding.” Fergus huffs, looking me over with a slight curve of amusement to his lips. “You’re really going for it.”

“Of course.” Flashing him a winning grin, I take a swig of my mug. “Maybe it’ll finally shut you up.”

“Think this through, Till.”

Orion rarely uses my real name, and hearing it on his tongue makes me flinch as though he’d reached across the bar and pricked me with a pin.

“I can do this, guild master.” Digging through my satchel, I produce my map of the kingdom, drumming my fingers over the forest. “Mark the location on my map, and if the witch’s gold really exists, mark my words, it will be mine.”