Free A Book of Spirits and Thieves by Morgan Rhodes Page B

crossed over their broad chests. Another man sat at a wooden table, attended by a buxom, young blond woman who served him food and drink.
    “Livius!” The man smacked his lips after devouring a juicy rib of some unknown animal—likely from the pen of depressed-looking swine they’d passed—and wiped his greasy fingers on the loose silk ties of his shirt. “It’s been a long time.”
    “Cena.” There was no apprehension or fear in Livius’s voice, only confidence—even if it was false. “Yes, far too long.”
    Cena leaned back in his chair. His bushy eyebrows joined in the middle of his forehead, looking like a fat caterpillar that had attached itself to his face. “For a while, I thought you were dead. Or that I’d have to send my men into the land of darkness to drag your arse back here.”
    Livius laughed as if this were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. His fingers twitched as he stroked his eye patch. “No need to attempt such a journey.”
    “And who is this?” Cena gestured toward Maddox.
    “This”—Livius squeezed Maddox’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince—“is my son, Maddox.”
    Maddox needed to bite his tongue not to argue with such an introduction.
    Cena pursed his lips. “Your son looks nothing like you.”
    “He got his looks from his mother. His brains from me.” Livius reached into his satchel and pulled out a heavy bag of coins, which he then placed next to Cena’s plate of food. “This is part of what I owe you.”
    Cena glanced at the bag. “When will I get the rest?”
    “Soon.”
    “How soon?”
    Livius’s jaw tensed. “Very soon.”
    “I’d almost forgotten how much you like to give vague answers when you know I’ll only be pleased by specific ones.” Cena fixed him with a predatory smile. There was a strand of meat stuck between two of his yellowish teeth. He glanced again at Maddox. “You’re the one I’ve heard about, aren’t you?”
    Maddox didn’t like so much attention on him. “Me?”
    “The witch boy who can speak to the dead.”
    That was the trouble with secrets. Once they started to spread, they ceased being secrets at all.
    “It’s all a con,” Livius said quickly. “The boy has no talent other than a keen ability to earn his old man the coin I need to pay you back.”
    “A con, is it? From what I’ve heard, it’s a rather successful one.” Cena kept his attention on Maddox, which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. It didn’t seem to be in his best interest for this man to know the truth.
    A sharp intake of breath drew Maddox’s attention to the right of the tent. His stomach lurched to see that the spirit girl had reappeared.
    “You again!” she managed. Her gaze frantically moved through the tent. “For a moment, I thought I’d gone home, but I’m still here. And, again, trying to find my way in this strange place has led me straight to you.”
    “Livius, your son suddenly looks rather unwell,” Cena observed.
    Livius’s expression was tense. “He’s a sickly boy. Some days I wonder how much longer he has to live.”
    The lie was so quick to leave Livius’s mouth that Maddox wondered if it might be the truth. Something behind the words sounded like a threat.
    “Go, boy.” Cena flicked a finger at him. “Go outside and get some sunlight on your face and some air in your lungs. Let me talk to your father for a while in private.”
    Maddox didn’t have to be told twice. He felt Livius’s glare on him as he departed the tent without another word. He walked fifty paces through the festival grounds before he stopped and slowly turned around.
    The spirit girl—Becca Hatcher was what she’d called herself—stood directly behind him. She looked the same as she had the day before, in her strange woolen tunic and trousers, so unlike the other girls her age attending the festival.
    How old had she been when she died? About his age or a little younger?
    All he knew for sure was that she was the most beautiful girl