Crown of Thieves

by Peyton Reynolds

  “I’m not a thief,” Siris replied with disdain. This was true—the man had his faults, but thieving had never been one of them. Not that thieving was a fault of course, particularly when done on the king’s behalf and at his direction.

  Starting away, Aharon now felt almost frantic to reach the palace and assure himself that both Neco and Aya were unharmed. Brushing past the Jennite advisor without a word, he then heard Siris call his name.

  “What?” he snapped, turning back impatiently.

  The jester was smiling again. “Be sure to give the Justice bulletins a look on your way past,” he said. “There’s one in particular you may find interesting.”

  Aharon frowned at him but made no further reply, and moved to resume his retreat. Coming upon the wharf’s exit, his curiosity then got the better of him and he veered toward the notice board where Justice posted their alerts.

  It took him several moments of scanning to find what Siris had wanted him to see, and admittedly, it was interesting.

  Nestled amongst the sketches depicting criminals currently being sought by the law, he spotted an image that bore a striking resemblance to himself. The man’s nose was slightly wider, and his eyebrows thicker, but overall the similarity between them was startling. It even appeared they shared the Birth dominion of Thieves, for this man was evidently wanted for committing a string of local heists.

  Flynn Fajen, Aharon then read, focusing on the words scrawled beneath the sketch. Ten gold for information leading to his capture.

  Lingering over the sketch another moment, he then shrugged and turned away, hurrying into the streets of the royal city.

  Chapter 2

  Born and raised in Malat, Aharon was confident he could’ve found his way to the palace blindfolded. Now moving steadily toward the city’s core, he mindlessly wove his way through the late afternoon crowd, gratefully drinking in the familiar sights, sounds, and scents flooding his senses.

  While his time in the west had been interesting, and brought him a deeper perspective and understanding of the world, he couldn’t deny missing and longing for his homelands. The golden sand, palm trees, and intense, dry heat were all met fondly now, delivering a deep sense of welcome and belonging. Admittedly, he’d also grown weary of being addressed as “Cejan” or “foreigner” throughout his travels, and was happy this time in his life was over.

  The streets of Malat were cobbled but edged in sand, with most lined by palm and lotus trees. The city itself was meticulously maintained, spacious and orderly, while the air always held the scent of the ocean, carried in from the south. As far as Aharon was concerned, Ceja’s royal city was the most beautiful in the world, and likely the wealthiest. His countrymen loved gold, as did their rulers who commonly bore a blessing of Commerce, and the realm tended to be prosperous overall.

  Personally, Aharon had little reason to concern himself with money; not only was his line a Major House, but male members of his family had captained the royal guard for more than three centuries, and thus accumulated ample wealth to pass on to their future generations. Being the eldest son, the position of captain was one Aharon would’ve inherited had he been born to Justice or War, although in truth he was grateful to have escaped this fate. It was also just as well, since his brother bore War and was eager to fill the role in his place. Turo was now twenty, three years younger than Aharon, and presently a knight. Little question he would assume the position of captain in a decade or so when their father retired.

  Aharon’s other brother, Zaun, was only ten, and like Aharon he’d been born to Thieves. In contrast to his relationship with Turo, which was lukewarm at best, Aharon was close with Zaun and anxious to reunite with him. Fortunately, there existed a strong chance he’d find the boy on royal grounds, and Aharon aimed to seek him out directly after assuring himself that Neco and Aya still breathed. While Siris had claimed as much, he wasn’t foolish enough to blindly trust anything the jester said, particularly without knowing the man’s specific agenda.

  Now closing in on the heart of the city, he found himself struck by another wave of familiarity as the palace began rising into view. Constructed of smooth slabs of stone and engraved pillars, it had long ago been magicked to appear as though fashioned of gold, making for an impressive and mesmerizing sight.

  It was also a sight no less known to him than his own family’s manor, since he’d spent the majority of his youth here following his mother’s death. When not attending the royal guard’s training sessions at the insistence of his father, he’d been tutored along with the royal siblings, or simply left to play and romp with them. Consequently, his presence was a common and accepted fixture within the palace walls.

  Or it had been, at least. Moving along the laneway toward the main entrance, he was curious to learn if he’d now be stopped and questioned, particularly since his return wasn’t scheduled. Indeed, if Siris hadn’t known to expect him, his arrival was likely to take everyone but Neco and Aya by surprise.

  Drawing near, Aharon eyed the string of knights lining the perimeter. He had their attention in kind, although none were moving to intercept him, and a few issued curt nods of acknowledgement. Not seeing his brother Turo amongst them, he continued toward the entranceway and found himself granted an immediate and silent passage as the knights stepped wordlessly aside.

  He’d be lying to say he wasn’t surprised. While it was true his father was their captain, the fact that he’d tried to kill the man was also commonly known. Frankly, and in light of this, he’d been expecting a slightly more contentious reception.

  Dismissing the matter, he hurried up the nearest staircase, following its golden steps to the third floor. Continuing to Aya’s private apartment, his knock was answered by one of her handmaidens.

  The young woman was gripping an upraised dagger as she opened the door, the gesture providing a grim glimpse into the recent dangers of palace life. Taking him in, the woman’s eyes then widened.

  “Lord Shai!” she exclaimed, dropping her arm. “You’ve returned!”

  Since this particular handmaiden had been serving Aya for years, he had no trouble recognizing her. “Molli,” he returned, with a glance at the blade she continued to clutch. “I’m curious to know who you were expecting.”

  “The resident cobras are plentiful,” she replied, stepping back, “and some quite bold.”

  Following her inside, Aharon then waited in the lounging area while the handmaiden disappeared deeper within the apartment. Moving to the window, he spotted a group of knights performing their daily drills on the sands below, while his father barked commands at them from nearby. Staring downward, his look narrowed to a glare.

  “Aharon.”

  Shifting, he turned back and found her aqua gaze.

  Had he not been sent away, they would’ve been married by now, a union approved of and encouraged by both their fathers. It was a romance that had begun long ago, and one that truly seemed destined from the start—until the day he’d attacked his father and been forced to leave. She’d promised to wait for him, but after two years his paranoia had taken over, and left him fearful he’d lost her.

  Adorned in an airy, linen dress the same color as her eyes, Aya continued gazing at him, her long black hair piled atop her head. Finally, the corners of her mouth quirked upward, and she turned her head to address the two handmaidens standing behind her, Molli and another young woman Aharon knew as Seta.

  “Leave us,” Aya commanded them. “Find Neco and ask him to come. If he’s been smart and heeded my advice, you’ll find him in his quarters.”

  “Your highness,” the women replied, issuing nods before turning to retreat.

  Aya turned back to him once they’d exited. “You look terrible,” she said.

  He expelled a breath of relief. She wouldn’t be messing with him if her intention was to break his heart.

  “I came straightaway from the docks,” he told her in reply. “I thought you might be anxious to see me, despite my lack of proper g
rooming.”

  Lips widening to a smile, she stepped toward him and wound her arms about his neck. “I’ve missed you. So very much.”

  He kissed her in response, and eventually forced himself to pull away. “I spoke with Siris at the wharf,” he then said. “He filled me in on your father’s demented pronouncement.”

  She took a step back, her expression flooding with worry. “Not a day passes where attempts aren’t made on Neco’s life. His guards and tasters have so far kept him safe, but the danger is only increasing. I need your help protecting him.”

  “Of course, but don’t dismiss your own need for protection.”

  She sent him a shrewd look. “You think I failed to predict the possibility of something like this unfolding one day? I’ve taken precautions, Aharon.”

  “Oh?”

  Aya nodded. “Shortly after you left, I hired an assassin to train my handmaidens, a venture I took pains to keep secret. All three are now proficient with a variety of weapons, and carry hidden blades at all times.”

  Aharon’s eyebrows rose. “Impressive forethinking, but it’s not an excuse to be reckless.”

  She straightened before him, a determined glint coming into her eye. “As you know, I’m hardly defenseless.”

  His look dropped briefly to her medallions, taking in the Justice of her birth and inverted Secondary. Only he knew its truth, and subsequently what it made her. No, Aya certainly wasn’t defenseless—having chosen Magic, she was a pyromancer.

  Aharon also wore his Secondary facing inward, concealing its dominion of Revenge. Not an acceptable blessing for anyone under the king’s direct employ, he’d likewise confessed his selection only to her, and found her accepting.

  “I need to know everything,” he then said, “including whether your intention is to see Neco crowned, or to merely keep him alive.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me whether I’m responsible for killing any of my siblings?”

  He paced away a few steps while answering. “I know you’re not a murderer, but I’m also familiar with how you think. You possess the mind of a strategist, and will therefore proceed in the most logical manner.”

  “Which is?” she challenged.

  “Neco’s best defense is eliminating the threats against him,” Aharon answered. “To keep him safe, the others must die.”

  Aya looked darkly amused as she moved to settle on a chair. “Clearly, you don’t possess the mind of a strategist.”

  Leaning back against the wall, he took her in. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

  “Buru is the eldest remaining heir,” she explained. “For him to take the throne, only father needs to die.”

  “True,” Aharon nodded, “but I see two problems with this. The first is that you’re assuming your siblings won’t just keep at it and try to kill Buru once he’s crowned.”

  “Actually, I suspect he’ll simply execute those he doesn’t trust. Or if he’s feeling merciful, exile them.”

  Aharon paused a moment. “Why doesn’t that worry you? For Neco’s sake at least, if not your own?”

  “Because Neco and I have recently spent much time with Buru, successfully convincing him that we support his claim.”

  “Is this true?”

  It was her turn to pause. “It’s a double-edged strategy. Supporting Buru will shield Neco from danger—provided Buru emerges as king—but will also keep him in position as next in line for the throne.”

  Aharon gave her an appreciative look. “Clever. Risky, but clever.”

  “Your second point of contention, then?” she invited.

  “I think you just answered it. Mainly, it concerns the fact that Buru would make a terrible king.”

  “Buru is stupid, not evil,” Aya said. “And stupid can be led.”

  “Perhaps, but should reality prove otherwise, Neco will remain the heir, while the rest of your siblings have been executed or exiled.”

  She nodded. “At least until Buru produces a son. As it stands, his wife has only birthed daughters.”

  “This strategy also keeps you from having to personally harm your brothers and sisters,” he noted.

  “It was a consideration,” she admitted.

  He smiled. “This is why I love you. Even under such ruthless circumstances, you find a way to confront them without degenerating into cruelty.”

  Aya met his look. “Is it not cruel to wish death upon my own father?”

  “In this particular situation, absolutely not. It’s his own doing, after all.”

  She nodded absently, her gaze drifting. “Buru plans to make another attempt on his life tonight. Perhaps this effort will fare better than the rest.”

  “If so, tomorrow may bring an end to all this. Buru may be stupid, but he won’t hesitate to extinguish the lingering threats and secure his safety.”

  “Yes, I’ve discussed this with him. He knows what to do.”

  Falling silent a moment, Aharon studied her. “How are you truly coping with all this?”

  She held his gaze, her eyes turning weary. “Whatever is to happen, I’m soon to lose nearly all my family. Yes, most of them are deplorable beings, but it’s difficult to blame them given how we were raised.”

  “That’s not an excuse. You and Neco aren’t like them.”

  “I suppose. But they’re still my blood, and however one views the matter, it seems such a terrible waste of life.”

  “Part of me wishes you’d accepted the exile. You must have known I would’ve found you, wherever you had gone.”

  She smiled, perhaps a little wistfully. “I know, and the option was tempting. But I couldn’t leave Neco, nor convince him to come with me.”

  Aharon very much wanted to speak with Neco—privately—and learn precisely where he stood in all this. Was he adhering to Aya’s approach, and solely supporting Buru’s claim? Or was he playing his own game, and secretly plotting the deaths of his father and elder brother? While thinking this latter option unlikely—but not completely outside the realm of possibility—Aharon wanted to be sure.

  “At least you’re here,” Aya now went on, drawing his attention back. “I’ve missed you more than ever these past few weeks.”

  “I won’t ever leave you again,” he vowed. “Presuming, of course, that your father doesn’t execute me for returning on Neco’s summons rather than his own.”

  “My father has more pressing concerns, and isn’t going to care,” she assured him.

  About to respond, Aharon paused and looked to the doorway as footsteps sounded from beyond. Expecting Neco, he frowned when Aya’s two handmaidens, Molli and Seta, moved into the room instead.

  Aya took them in. “Something wrong?” she asked, her own gaze narrowing.

  “Prince Neco asks for you and Lord Shai to attend him in his private quarters,” Molli began. “In light of today’s events, he’s now hesitant to leave their confines.”

  “Why?” Aya demanded. “What happened?”

  “It’s Prince Buru, your highness,” Seta answered. “I’m afraid he was killed a short time ago.”

  Aya closed her eyes a moment before turning to Aharon. “Perhaps it’s time to reevaluate the acceptable levels of cruelty,” she issued bitterly, before rising and starting from the room.

  Chapter 3

  Aya remained silent as Aharon followed her up to the next level of the palace. Behind them trailed Molli and Seta, and he was pleased to note their vigilance. It was even more pleasing to know they’d both been trained by a professional killer, and were devoted to Aya’s safety. He presumed the third handmaiden was presently resting, and guarded Aya when she slept.

  Starting down the corridor leading to Neco’s rooms, he glanced over at her. “Forgive me the timing, but can you tell me how Zaun’s been faring? I’ve yet to see him.”

  Aya nodded. “I’ve kept up with him like you asked, and for the most part he claims to be doing well.”

  “For the most part?”

  “He’s quieter, and more res
erved. I think he’s missed you terribly.”

  Leaving his youngest brother had been no less difficult than leaving Aya, and even more worrisome. In fact, it was because of Zaun that he’d attacked their father in the first place, which had left him to fear that the boy might be made to suffer the consequences. While wanting to take Zaun west with him, the king had denied the request, probably on his captain’s wishes.

  “Any idea where I might find him?” he asked Aya now.

  “He’s likely here on the grounds,” she told him, “as your father usually directs him to attend the daily drills. Otherwise, he’s probably at home with his tutors.”

  Aharon nodded. Unlike himself and his other brother, Turo, Zaun didn’t take lessons with the royal siblings since the princes and princesses were all several years older than he was. The youngest heir, Prince Padus, was sixteen, while Neco, now the oldest in light of Buru’s death, was twenty four.

  The thought prompted Aharon to look at Aya again. “Padus was only fourteen when I left, and he seemed a decent sort. Is this still the case?”

  “It’s hard to say,” she answered. “He’s always kept to himself, and has only grown more solitary with age. I’ve recently tried speaking with him, but he’s clearly suspicious of my motives, for which I can’t blame him.”

  Aharon considered. “As the youngest, he only has your sisters to fear.”

  Aya nodded. “I don’t suspect he’s in much danger. Not yet, at least.”

  “There’s only seven of you left, and four of you female,” he reminded her.

  Her lips tightened. “Yes. We definitely need to reassess our position, now Buru’s been eliminated.”

  They said nothing more while closing the distance to Neco’s quarters, where they found the door flanked by four knights. Aharon presumed the remaining four—each male heir maintained a personal guard of eight—were inside with the prince.