Quill of Thieves

Chapter 12

Astrid hated Sebastian.

In fact, she had never despised an unconscious person more. Especially one who was sprawled across her mattress and muttering in his sleep about Abel and his ma and someone named Carissénas.

How pathetic.

Not to mention the boy thought her to be a complete imbecile. His whole doe-eyed innocent facade of 'What magic? Who has it? Me?' was an act that Astrid refused to accept. She had seen his magic, had even felt it as it nearly brought down the entire tunnel underneath the fortress around their heads.

Her tunnels.

So, yes, Sebastian—if that was his true name—had elemental magic, and his unfathomable control over it caused Astrid to want to punch him where he lay. His control was too strong for him to pretend not to know about it, and the longer he tossed and turned before her, the more envious Astrid felt herself become.

Jealous of a fisher's boy from the insignificant village of Eilibir.

Bitter that he could potentially accomplish what she could not.

Astrid felt like hitting him again.

She watched his fingers twitch against her sheets. The wristcuffs she had placed to bind his hands clinked. Astrid could feel his elemental threads twining around her own as it writhed against her control over them. Destructive. Yes, this magic-leeching thief of a boy would be destructive, Astrid knew it, could feel it. And yet...she still sat in the chair beside her bed and watched him sleep. He was a rather restless dreamer. She supposed she could have called upon his Spirit's thread and awoken him.

But then what?

The thought coiled in her stomach.

When she realized it was actually fear that festered there, Astrid growled into the silence of her chambers. Gritting her teeth, she roused her magic, gathered it into her fingertips, and prodded him, none-too-gently, in the ribs.

Sebastian startled awake with a gasp that stuck in his throat and sent him sputtering.

Astrid rolled her eyes. "So, Prince Charming awakens, it seems."

Sebastian jerked against the headboard, his eyes a dark green when they fell upon her. They were still muddled with sudden consciousness. "No, I—" He touched the side of his head and winced. "I'm not a prince."

"That much is obvious." Astrid made sure that he noticed the dagger she flipped idly between her fingers. "It's called dramatic irony."

"No, it isn't. I don't think that's what you meant—"

Astrid flung the knife. It flipped hilt over end until it stuck into the wood of her headboard, directly above his mass of curly hair. His mouth shut as she braced her elbows on the edge of the mattress.

"I would think you have more pressing concerns than arguing academia terminology."

With a predatory sneer, she leaned closer. He cowered back into the pillows as she stretched over him. She could have sworn his breaths stuttered when she retrieved her knife, plucking it out from above him.

"After all," she continued, "you have just woken up in my bed while muttering the names of other women. Perhaps you're not so charming after all."

She grinned when Sebastian's eyes narrowed, two blooms of color seeping into his brown cheeks. "Where am I? Are these the barracks of the guards?"

A laugh nearly escaped her. If he thought her royal chambers were the barracks, he had no hope of ever figuring out her truth. "That doesn't necessarily matter."