Thalor Grimscar laid under the boughs of the swamp trees, staring at the stars that blinked at him through the branches. The skies were clear, but the mossy ground was damp and the trees and grasses seemed to melt in the dense humidity. The wetlands were warmer than the White Forest, but it seemed like the cold had made a home in his bones.
The tipsy laughter of his men, who were drinking around the fire, rang through the trees and Thalor found himself wondering if there was a way to sink them all tomorrow without losing the lobsters. Or maybe he should just sink the lobsters, too. It had all worked out so perfectly; the gig had handed itself over to him wrapped up in a bow. A perfect bow with green eyes and shiny brown hair. Just thinking about the lobsters and the river and those eyes made him feel sick.
This was supposed to be a standard job. Actually, it wasn’t supposed to be a job at all. He and the men had just wrapped up a month-long scam at the palace. Feberen had observed a skirmish in town between some of the shopkeepers and one of the Queen’s men. The shopkeepers had recently become subjected to higher taxes and some of the rougher ones felt words weren’t enough, voicing their frustration through their fists and open palms instead. Feb had sent the attackers fleeing, and in the following commotion had dragged the Queen’s servant away and into the shadows. He’d stripped the man of any worthwhile item and given them to Thalor. Thalor, being the least recognizable of the four, had donned the man’s clothing, ring, and necklace, all which bore the insignia of the Glass Crown, and entered the palace grounds like he’d worked there forever.
Day after day, he’d slowly accumulated things he thought no one would miss. Rings, art, tack worn by the royal horses, trinkets from the dining hall, cutlery from the kitchen, and plenty of small items no one would miss. The thefts escalated each week. One morning, before dawn, a manservant finally caught Thalor lifting a cherished landscape from the gallery. The servant had run for help and that’s when Thalor had taken his leave. He’d stolen one of the Queen’s boats and fled up the tributary that surrounded the palace and joined into the Glass River. He’d planned to dump the clothing and the chain he’d worn in an overlooked branch of the Glass River and move on to the next job, lined up for him in the town of Moss. That was the morning he’d jabbed an oar at the woman under the water, assuming she was someone from the palace laying in wait for him. That was the morning he’d found himself spinning straw into a web of perfect, golden lies. But, most surprisingly, he’d stayed that morning. And that deeply unsettled him.
He wasn’t a man who stayed. Adventuring and scheming and running were as much a part of him as the breath in his lungs. And yet, as he laid there under the trees and considered all this, he felt like a stake had been driven through his heart and into the earth, tethering him to the land, the river, the girl. He’d loved the calm, still mornings while she dove and he waited for her. And not only waited, but took care of her. The rare woman he’d considered becoming close to had been nice and fine, but the road and the river had seduced him better than they had, and so he’d kept running. But Ravena was different. She was as wild as he was, yet there was a softness in her touch and a warmth in her heart that compelled him, for once, to stay.
He fingered the bronze skull ring that he wore on his right hand. By some miracle, she hadn’t realized what it meant when she’d found it on the river floor. Why hadn’t he told her it was his when she’d found it? No, he couldn’t have told her that the ‘TG’ inside the band stood for his initials. That he’d etched the letters himself after he’d lifted it from the body of a pirate king he’d bested in a fight. That he believed that this ring was tied to his freedom, his livelihood. And he certainly couldn’t tell her that this very ring that she’d so innocently held in her hand could identify him as Thalor Grimscar to anybody who regularly read the papers. How could he have told her any of that? Maybe he couldn’t change.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. No, no. He had changed, at least in some ways. He’d learned to swim, something he’d always been quietly afraid of. He’d told her he cared for her. Why did he do that? And he’d paid her with his own money. A small fee in comparison to the amount the lobsters would net him, but he couldn’t stomach paying her with stolen money. Instead, he’d given her honest money he’d tucked away long ago. And in return, she dwelled in his thoughts.
A rustling sound nearby pulled him to the present moment. He read the sky: the position of the stars told him that the buyer would soon be on his way to the meeting place. He stood and crossed over to the boat. The men were silent now; either asleep or too drunk to care that he was up. The lobsters jostled in their basin. He heard the rustling sound again, closer this time. Something—or someone—was approaching. No, not yet. There’s still time. He now knew for certain he couldn’t stay; and that was something that would never change. Thal untied the boat and moved quickly and quietly. He didn’t have much time.
River of Glass is a lighthearted fantasy novelette about lies, loyalty, and the price of redemption, with a slow-burn romance beneath the current. This is a tonal departure from my usual work, written just for fun, and it will be shared here in eleven installments.
Chapter Seven coming on February 17th, 2026.
© Sophie Alexander, 2026. All rights reserved. Do not repost without permission.
