The rooster has crowed ushering in Kessa Decora's final dawn. The dawn that will see her slippery, little neck either stretch or snap... if King Casyius has his way. Although Kessa usually has a knack for foiling the best laid plans, she's in over her head this time.

Meena Mason reads the 9th Chapter of her book The Thief's Tale.

Chapter 9 excerpt (spoliers ahead):

Rampant, bright orange and yellow flames were engulfing the curtains as people struggled to escape unmarred. Within seconds the entire scene went from quiet observation to complete chaos. Onlookers darted about, some trying to help, some trying to get away, and some trying to encourage the pandemonium.

Scootching her legs through her arms, Kessa brought her wrists, still manacled, to the front of her and snatched the bag from her head. Next, she tore the noose off and stood up, looking around anxiously. The guards surrounding the gallows were preoccupied with the rioting crowd, and she realized it would be easy to slip into the commotion and disappear. Her only concern was the dungeon keeper. She couldn’t see him, and one wrong move could ruin her chance of escape.

Snagged by the ever competent dungeon keeper and thrown in Acara's jail, Kessa awaits her pending execution.

Chapter 8 of Meena Mason's The Thief's Tale read by the author.

Excerpt:

She’d awoken in what she could only assume was Aquina’s prison, without a clue how she’d gotten there. Her cell was the last one in a string of stone cubicles, fronted by impenetrable, cylindrical, iron bars. Filthy, soggy straw was piled against the back wall in the form of a bed, adding its own distinct stench to the foul smell of the place. A grimy bucket was filled with a liquid that only faintly resembled water, and pieces of the previous occupant’s discarded, rock-hard bread were scattered around the floor for the rats to nibble. Horrible coughing, sneezing, and teeth chattering echoed throughout the prison — courtesy of the icy temperatures and lack of blankets. Tiny holes in the walls, serving as windows, provided inadequate light to do anything other than shiver in the cold. The prison was dark, damp, dirty, utterly miserable, and with the anchored chain securing her ankle, completely inescapable.

The cat is out of the bag. The love birds united at last, but, alas, revealing your affection for the love of your life does not supplant the warrant for your arrest nor will it prevent a determined dungeon keeper from stretching your neck at the end of a well-tied noose. Only preparation, craftiness and a lot of luck will do that. While Kessa heals from a disastrous fish bite... ahem... monster bite, Aquestria, Rake, and Pantheus formulate their escape. Will they manage it or will Malieous Fayne, the formidable dungeon keeper of Cyrene, thwart their best laid plans?

Chapter 7 of the audiobook version of Meena Mason's, The Thief's Tale.

Chapter 7 Excerpt:

Pantheus felt like he was among a throng of nervous sheep, and on more than one occasion, had to grab Aquestria’s hand to keep from being parted.

“This is madness!” he hollered, his voice almost obliterated by the wind.

Casually surveying the area, as was her habit, Aquestria smirked, acknowledging that Pantheus obviously didn’t shop very often. True, the imminent storm had riled the crowd more than usual, but this frenzy wasn’t all that different from the average market day.

“This way!” she called, seizing his cloak in case he didn’t hear and yanking him toward a leather working stall. “Four water flasks, please.”

After bargaining, Aquestria placed two silver coins on the counter and said thank you as the merchant produced their purchase. Handing the flasks to Pantheus, she watched thoughtfully while he put them in his pack.

“What else do we need?”

Suddenly, she stepped back, abruptly slamming her arm into Pantheus’ chest forcing him backward. A wooden arrow pierced the beam of the market stall where he’d been standing, its shaft still quivering from the intensity of the impact. Aquestria was gone before the shaft was motionless, intent on pursuing the shooter. Diving for cover, Pantheus scanned the vicinity for signs of suspicious activity.

Apparently, the leather worker was the only other person to have noticed the arrow because he was cowering behind his stall.

“He’s come for me!” he cried, peering over top his stall and ducking just as another arrow thumped into the counter directly above where his head had been.

“Who?” Pantheus asked, clambering closer to the merchant.

Swallowing hard, the merchant clasped his hands together. His eyes directed to where the arrow had come from, his lips moved in a plea for whoever was after him to spare him.

Pantheus seized his arm impatiently. “Who is after you, man?”

Before the man could answer, Pantheus saw the crowd systematically clear a large circle around two people. Aquestria, holding a discharged crossbow, stood over a man lying face down in the dirt. Seconds later, the man rolled away from her and got to his feet.

“Kale,” the merchant announced shakily.

Thunder clapped accentuating the merchant’s dread. Hesitantly, he left his hiding place, his eyes darting around warily.

“It must be Kale. He’s Dredan’s most feared collector. He rips people apart. I owe Dredan money. I missed two payments, and Dredan said if it happened again, he’d send Kale. I should’ve paid him yesterday, but I didn’t have the money. I was hoping to make enough today; I didn’t think he’d send Kale so quickly. Help your lady, if you can, friend. I’m sure glad you paid up front.”