Among Thieves by M. J. Kuhn

Author:M. J. Kuhn [Kuhn, M. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781982142148
Google: tVAaEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1982142146
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2021-09-06T23:00:00+00:00

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AFTER MORE than two weeks trapped on that bobbing cork, the cobblestone path felt unnaturally hard under Ryia’s feet. She might have sighed with relief if she wasn’t currently dressed as her worst fear, walking straight toward the man she had been running from for nine long years.

The paths leading across the island were lined with vendors. Old men watched painted young women, holding out strings of jewels Ryia imagined would be one hell of a nuisance while scaling a wall. Sniveling noble children surrounded carts full of cakes and tarts. Their party was pushed aside as a troupe of dancers streamed from a ship waving the Edalish flag, heading for the arena. The performers’ dresses were made almost entirely of feathers. Evelyn eyed them with a wrinkled nose.

The clothing became more and more ridiculous the closer they drew to the arena. Massive lace skirts, tights and velvet pants, doublets even Callum Clem wouldn’t be caught dead in. The crowds were so thick, Ryia felt like she couldn’t breathe. What a way to go, smothered by silk and body odor.

Finally the archway to the arena came into view. The twin pillars were made to look like Adept servants—one a bulky Kinetic, the other a wiry Senser—kneeling with their eyes to the ground. Their carved stone backs supported a massive carving of Thamorr. The unified kingdoms, borne on the backs of the Adept. Subtle.

The arena was massive. Even larger than the ones built for those ridiculous prancing show horses in Gildemar. It looked like half of a giant fruit bowl, smooth stone steps leading down to a base tiled in an elaborate mosaic in the same pattern tattooed on the Disciples’ heads. The seats on the steps were already nearly full despite the crowds still surging through the archway, and at the bottom of the pit, some very familiar faces were arranged haughtily in the first row beside the auction stage.

In the first set of thrones, sipping tall goblets of clear liquor beneath a black-and-red banner featuring a snarling bear, sat four Boreans: the Tovolkovs. King Andrei, far on the left, reminded Ryia powerfully of a potato, albeit a potato someone had obviously tried to carve into a man.

Thankfully the children seemed to have taken after their mother, Queen Isabeth. She was taller than her husband by far. Slender as an adder and about as friendly, if the rumors were true. Despite the heat, the lot of them were dressed head to toe in furs. A status symbol in Boreas, but the morons would drown in their sweat before midday this far south.

Beside that dreary lot was the pompous-looking egret of Gildemar, the golden sigil suspended on a vivid teal background. All the people seated beneath it were plump and ruddy cheeked, aside from the queen Irisa, sister to old Potato Face. No matter what chains she wore, Ryia thanked the goddesses she hadn’t been born noble. Imagine having to use your genitals to form a political alliance. Worse than torture.

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