Barbarian's Soul Read Online Free Page B

repeated spinning around. She grabbed an unsuspecting bystander by the sleeve. “There is a thief! Catch him!”
    “I...um, I don’t know...” the man stuttered.
    “There!” she said, cradling the bulging sack to her side, muttering a curse when one of the precious oranges rolled out and was trampled by a big-footed boy. She pointed across the market with her free hand. “Isn’t that him?”
    The man’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Yes! I see him! Over there!”
    The people close to the man took up his cry and surged in the direction of the false suspect providing a spacious opening. Adria glanced over her shoulder, her lips twitching at the look of utter disbelief on Nasim’s face. Unable to resist, she pulled out an orange and held it up in silent salute before she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
    In moments, the din of the market faded away but Adria did not slow. She knew the streets, knew every alleyway, every building and crevice suitable for concealment. It was knowledge essential to survival. She used it now, weaving a convoluted path until she reached a favorite refuge behind the crumbled stone wall of an abandoned bakery.
    She closed her eyes and focused on slowing her breathing. It wasn’t entirely fear that had her so shaken but heart racing exhilaration. It was foolish, she knew, to feel such a thrill at using her wits and skill in the face of very real danger. Prideful, is what those who knew her would say and she would not be able to argue against it. She was very proud that she had never been caught. She glanced at the fruit in her lap and smiled. She was still the best thief on the Aventine.
    “That was a bit sloppy.”
    Adria’s eyes popped open. She stared at the man who leaned indolently against the end of the wall, blocking her way. Many would look at the tall, thin man and think him a poor adversary. They would be wrong. Beneath the loose tunic, the non-descript cloak were hard muscles and the skills of an assassin. Some might think him dull witted, his lank, brown hair hanging in tangled clumps to his shoulders, with an equally limp moustache drooping beneath a long, narrow nose, askew thanks to a puckered scar on his right cheek. The face of a ruffian, an inconsequential sewer rat. And like a sewer rat, the master thief of the Aventine had not made any noise alerting her to his presence.
    Adria flicked her gaze around the deserted courtyard. There was no quick escape route. “What do you mean, Tiege?”
    Tiege didn’t seem surprised that she knew his name, just watched her with small, beady eyes completing the image of a rodent. It was one of his best tactics, unnerving the person being scrutinized to the point that they would readily spew out any information he wanted. Adria refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. She slipped her hand to her belt and found the hilt of her knife. She also refused to trust him.
    “Ah, so you know me, little sunflower.”
    His intent gaze unnerved her. “I know of you,” she answered. Gods don’t let her voice waver. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
    Tiege’s smile was oily. “You were nearly caught back there.”
    Adria frowned. How had he known about that? The incident had happened on the other side of the district. It was impossible that he had been there to witness it and still find her in her best hiding place. Well, it had been her best. She pushed down the anxiety rising in her chest and made a scoffing noise. “Hardly,” she said in a bored voice, “I bribed the monkey to make a fuss.”
    Tiege threw back his head and laughed, which increased the uneasy feeling skittering down her back. The master thief was not known for his humor or making idle conversation. His methods were much more intimidating and lethal. She’d seen enough broken bones, missing fingers and sudden appearances of his rivals floating in the sewers to think otherwise.
    “Ah, girl, you are spirited.”
    His gaze