Page 2 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Between the grain sacks and the windowsill, there’s a gap. Not far, but far enough to need a jump. The smaller one peers over the edge and freezes.

“I can’t,” she says.

“You can.” I crouch and meet her eyes. “I’ll go first and I’ll catch you.”

I jump first, landing on the narrow sill and bracing myself against the frame. Then I turn and hold out my hand.

She jumps. I catch her, pulling her close to steady her against the wall. For a moment, she clings to me, breathing hard, before I guide her through the window.

She drops to the alley below, stumbles on the landing but catches herself, then looks back up at us, wide-eyed and waiting.

The taller one is about to jump when I hear footsteps. Every sense I have snaps to attention.

These aren’t the shuffle of bored guards; these are purposeful, accompanied by voices approaching from the front. We freeze and our eyes meet. She understands without a word and drops flat against the grain sacks.

Torchlight spills across the warehouse floor. Three figures step into view: two guards in Davrik colors, and a man in fine clothes, who moves like the place belongs to him. Because it does.

Lord Davrik.

I recognize him from the markets with his sharp jaw and skin too smooth for his age. Magic keeps nobles like him polished while the rest of us just wear the years.

What is he doing here? This is grunt work; it’s beneath him.

“I’m not sure they look similar enough to pass as twins, my lord.” The guard’s voice wavers.

“Let me have a look,” Davrik says. “If they don’t look enough alike, we’ll rough them up a bit. It’s hard to tell the difference with swollen faces.”

So that’s it. They don’t care if they’re twins or not, as long as they can collect their fucking money.

I catch her eye. She’s shaking, but there’s no time for comfort. I tilt my head toward the window. She jumps, and her foot clips the sill. She’s gone before my fingers can close around anything but air.

The impact comes first, a dull thud, followed by a cry, sharp and bitten off. Silence follows, then a breathless whisper and movement that’s far too slow.

“What was that?” one of the guards says as he turns toward us.

Fuck.

I scan the warehouse. I spot the silo with its wooden locking bar, bowed tight.

Perfect.

I pull the blade from my thigh, letting the hilt settle into my palm before I send it flying.

The locking bar gives, and grain floods across the stone as golden dust blooms into the air.

“What the—” one of the guards yells as they break for the noise.

I check the window. Below, the taller one is limping badly, with her sister’s arm is wrapped around her waist as she drags her toward the street. They’re almost there, but they’re not close enough. They need more time.

I push off the ledge and hit the sacks running. My boots pound against grain, and a sack teeters at the edge under my foot. I drive my heel into it as I pass, sending it tumbling. The thud below lands hard, and dust billows up in its wake.

That gets them.

“Up there!” a guard yells, clearly spotting me.

Then I feel it, a tremor running under my feet. The sack beneath me rips free like it’s yanked sideways by an invisible hand.

The boom that follows shakes the warehouse, but I don’t look back. Grain stings my skin, and dust chokes the air around me. I stumble but catch myself and keep moving.