by K.N. Lee
Mirabelle nodded again. “He had a few choice concerns when I sent him out on his last mission.”
“Is it wise to have them this close to everything going on? We’re so close to achieving our goal. We don’t want to misstep.”
“No, we don’t.” Mirabelle sighed. “However, we don’t have much of a choice. They’re the key, Uriah. Without them, we cannot accomplish this. It’s why we let them live. Their blood is the key. Their abilities are the key.”
“And if they refuse? If they learn about their past and what we’re trying to do?”
“They’re loyal to us now. Besides, they were too young to remember. We just have to keep them in the dark a little while longer. After the spell is complete, it won’t matter anymore if they know.”
“And if they find out after?”
“It depends where their loyalties lie.”
Uriah gulped.
“You’ve known this, Uriah. They were always a means to an end.”
Mirabelle stood and sashayed over to him. She put her hands on this thighs and climbed on top of his lap.
Uriah’s heart increased, pounding against his chest. His groin throbbed. He was like this every time he was around her, though, it’d been so long. She’d kept him at a distance, and he began to wonder why.
Was it really to keep an eye on Keira and Brenden as they grew up, or was there something deeper?
Could it have been to keep him away from her, to keep him from asking questions?
Her control over him was strong, and he let it be. Uriah craved her. He needed her. And she knew it.
“If you can’t do what must be done…”
“I can,” he whispered, his body tensing under her heavy gaze.
A smile crept upon her full lips. “Good. We just need them a little while longer. There are few other thieves I can trust. They’re the best we have. It’s the magic in their blood. They have more skill than anyone. They will steal the scepter for us, they will show us how to reverse the spell, and they will cast it for us. And if there is too much resistance, we should only need one of them for the spell. After that—” she shrugged.
“After that?” he repeated.
“After that, nothing else will matter. We will have won, she said, unbuttoning his shirt. “And that is all that really matters.”
16
Though the sun was bright and shone all around, Brenden knelt at the corner of the street, just out of the sun’s reach.
He didn’t wear the traditional robes of a sorcerer. If someone saw him, they would know he was out of place. He didn’t even resemble the peasants of Kathrael. Even they wore cloaks to show their magical abilities. Brenden didn’t know much about the sorcerers, but from the little bit of reading he’d done, the entire city was full of men and women with magical abilities.
The peasants just weren’t as powerful. Their magic was slight, diluted in some way. But they were just as important as the lead sorcerers. They helped the city with their lesser spells. Slipping past the guards alone had been a chore. Most didn’t wear swords or bows, but each one had a staff or a wand, or some other magical tool to use. Compared to most cities, he recognized Kathrael as colorful.
Each sorcerer wore robes or cloaks of a certain color. He wondered if it was similar to the noble houses, or if it had more to do with the type of magic they wielded. He saw men and women dressed in green, red, blue, yellow, purple, and orange. The peasants wore brown robes and cloaks. Brenden also saw banners all over the city, with the same colors as the robes people wore.
Brenden wore black. He didn’t fit in. However, he could hide in the shadows better than the sorcerers. He reached into his cloak and put his hand on the pendant hanging from a necklace around his neck. Had his sister been right? She’d worn it after it fell out of his sash. She said she could feel the magic of the sorcerer surround her, then dissipate. And it was because of the pendant. The duke had blamed himself for having the pendant cleaned the day his wife died. Perhaps he had been right all along. If she’d worn it, would she still be alive?
A woman in red robes walked past the alley. Brenden slipped further into the shadows. He would have to wait until the cover of darkness to slip into the library. He had found it, and out of all places, it was in the center of the city. Brenden watched it. He’d been watching it for hours. It wasn’t a secluded building. In fact, it seemed almost every sorcerer in Kathrael walked into the library at some point.
After several hours of watching the building, he counted hundreds of distinct sorcerers or sorceresses who entered it. He didn’t like his odds much. What happened if he was caught? There was no way he could fight hundreds of sorcerers and walk away unscathed. Hell, he might not even walk away at all.
What could be the significance of the library? Brenden wondered if it was full of spell books. He pulled out the parchment he received with the drawing of the book. Once the sorcerer passed the alley, he angled the parchment to capture sunlight.
The illustration was of a thick book with leather binding and the word ‘Reverium’ scrolled in large letters on the top. Why was this book so important? Did the book contain spells? And if it did, why was it so important. No one in the Thieves Guild could wield magic, except for the limited use of dragon scales. But real magic … none of them were sorcerers. They didn’t have the blood in their veins; they couldn’t command the elemental spirits. Unless they figured a way to use the dragon scales to do more than simple elemental magic.
What was Mirabelle hiding?
He folded the parchment and tucked it back in his robes. He would wait until night fall. Then he would find the book.
He turned away from the sunlight and moved further into the shadows. A chill overcame him and he looked up. A woman approached him. She wore blue robes and had long, curly white hair. Her eyes were hazel, but burned blue as she looked at him.
“Lost?” she asked.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Brenden said, attempting to brush past her.
She grabbed his arm, and he could feel a burning sensation travel deep into his bones. He turned around abruptly and found her smiling. She blasted an energy of fire at him. He leapt out of the way but he felt an impact tossing him backward, though the fire touch was no longer there.
Had his pendant worked? He couldn’t tell. He lay on the ground. Brenden got to his feet and looked at his black cloak. It wasn’t burnt. Who was this woman?
He stood, brushed off his shoulders, unsheathed his sword, and ran toward her. She stepped aside, and Brenden crashed into the ground. He gritted his teeth as he got to his feet again.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She didn’t speak. Her face set in determination as she stared back at him. She collected another spell and threw it at him. Brenden ducked, feeling the water sphere pass right over him. Moisture collected on his face.
“I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here. You may be able to elude the others with your magic, but you won’t elude me. I can see you snooping around.”
“Magic?” Brenden whispered, his eyebrows crinkling.
He studied her once more and recognition came over him. Brenden had seen this woman before. He knew she had a familiar presence. It wasn’t her face he recognized at first, though he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Pale peach skin, dazzling eyes set with determination, thick rosy lips, and most of all—the flawless white hair. It was her aura that struck him though. He recognized her aura. Brenden had felt it before.
“Aaylia?” he asked.
She’d worked up more energy to blast at him, but she paused. One of her eyebrows raised as she studied him.
“Who are you?” she asked.
It was Brenden’s turn to be silent.
“Have we met before?” she asked.
He backed away from her.
Her eyes bulged. “I do recognize you. You were at my wedding.”
Brenden shook his head, continuing to back away.
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“Brenden, isn’t it?” Aaylia grinned. “Yes, I remember now. I remember it strange meeting you there. I remember noticing your power back then as well.”
“I have no power,” Brenden said, reaching for a dragon scale vial.
“Brenden … that name sounds familiar.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, Brenden, who are your parents?”
Brenden’s hands froze as they neared the vial of dragon scale liquid. His parents? He didn’t know anything about them. Every time he asked Uriah or Mirabelle, they’d just shrug him off. They had told him they were thieves who’d died trying to steal from a noble house. Uriah had taken them in with the kindness of his heart, though kindness didn’t seem his personality. Brenden always thought the man felt obligated in some way.
“I don’t have parents,” he said.
“Surely you have parents,” she said.
Brenden shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I do know how you feel. I lost my mother.”
“I know,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“It is none of your business. Leave me be and no harm will come to you.”
She laughed. “Harm? You don’t seriously believe you could defeat me, do you?”
“Without question.”
“I don’t understand it.”
“What don’t you understand?” Brenden asked.
“You seem like a good person. I can feel your aura. It radiates the desire to do good. But your intentions here aren’t good. I know they aren’t. Therefore, I have no choice but to stop you.”
“You can try,” Brenden said.
She ran forward, tossing spheres of blue lightning and water toward him. Brenden dodged one after the other by ducking and jumping. He ran to her, tackling her onto the ground. They rolled around several times before crashing into the wall of the alley. He landed on top. She struggled. Brenden hated to do it, but he slammed the hilt of his sword into her skull. Her head dropped to the side as she lost consciousness.
Brenden stared at her for a long moment. Even unconscious, the woman was beautiful. He got to his feet, sheathed his sword, and pondered on her words. He wondered if she had heard his name before, and even more, he wondered if she knew who his parents were.
Darkness would arrive soon, and now it was urgent that he found the book and leave as soon as possible.
17
Utopilous.
Keira had been to many of the noble cities, but this one was different, starkly so.
This city was unkempt. Peasants didn’t work to keep the streets clean, she couldn’t find any serfs, and there was an abundance of poor souls.
Too many.
Pigs roamed the streets, raiding through the filth and garbage hidden in the alleyways. Beggars filled the streets, hands stretched out as far as they could reach toward anyone who passed them.
They were desperate.
Crying.
Keira cringed as she walked by the people. She wanted to help and wished she could do something.
She was a thief, but she specialized in stealing from the rich. And she wasn’t used to seeing the poor. Or, at least, not so many of them. Usually it was only in dark corners of alleys where she would notice people who didn’t have homes or food.
She roamed for hours, studying the city, and tried to learn where the nobles congregated. As she did so, she discovered the contrast between the two classes.
The city was separated in districts, with the southern being the nicest, and the northwestern being the most delapidated. It was the side of the mountains that was poor, and while the view was spectacular, the weather was awful. It was drier on the northwest side of the city than the south because the mountain blocked any breeze they would have. The breeze that did find the city only touched the southern and eastern side.
Though it was in disrepair, she couldn’t help but wonder why no one bothered to clean up their city.
As with anything, there had to be a reason.
With a sigh, she cast a glance to the mountains, and watched the hordes of people coming and going. Whatever the purpose of the city was, it was obvious the mountains had something to do with it. Perhaps they found useful minerals in the mountains to trade with other nobles.
After inspecting most of the city, Keira wandered back to the eastern side. Near the gate stood a keep. It was massive, not quite as large as the castle in Cappria, but still quite a feat.
It made the manor in Forscythe look minuscule. She hid in the alleys for several hours, watching as nobles entered and exited. She saw a few servants leaving and entering as well. Keira knew what she had to do. She watched, and she waited.
After another hour, she saw her opportunity. A woman, servant by her clothes, left the castle to make an errand into the city.
Keeping to the shadows, Keira followed her. The woman stopped at a merchant and purchased food, then made her way down a dark alley.
Keira made her move. She crept up on the woman, and held a knife to her throat.
“Take what you want,” the servant whispered. “I will tell no one.” Her voice was calm, and if she were used to being robbed, or worse.
Keira hated what she would have to do, but she was left with little choice.
“What is your name?” Keira asked.
“My name?” the servant asked, surprise in her voice from the question.
“Yes, your name.”
“Amryiah.”
“And what do you do in the castle, Amryiah?”
“I am a servant.”
“A servant to who?”
“Sophera.”
“And who is Sophera?”
Amryiah seemed to shrink backward, and cast her worried glance toward the ground. “The Baroness.”
“Excellent,” Keira whispered. “Tell me everything you do for her.”
“W—what?”
Keira pressed the dagger deeper into the woman’s neck. “You heard me clearly the first time. Tell me. Now.”
Keira had a fantastic memory, and she listened to the servant describe all of her tasks for the baroness as well as the layout of the castle. She knew the only way to get close enough to the baron, would be to pose as a servant inside the castle. Especially since there was a sorcerer next to him for protection.
Once Keira had everything she needed, she sighed and looked into the woman’s eyes. She knew what she was meant to do. She was supposed to kill the woman and dispose of her body. But, something within her eyes gave her pause. She was innocent. Her only mistep was to serve a woman Keira was tasked to watch.
So, she lowered her voice to a menacing purr. “Listen,” she said. “I will give you one chance to answer me truthfully.”
The servant nodded, her eyes wide and worried.
“If I let you go, you must promise me that you will leave this place and never return. You never saw me. You know nothing. Can I count on you to do this?”
She nodded, quickly, vigorously. “Yes, ma’am. I promise.”
“Good,” Keira said, searching her eyes. The woman was relieved to be set free, and would race to the city gates to find a new life. It would be hard for her, but it would also be better than death.
She set her free, after taking her clothes.
If anyone from the guild knew what she’d done, she’d be in trouble. But, she just had to hope no one would ever find out.
It was a risk worth taking, and she’d always been a good judge of one’s honesty or deception. The servant would never show her face around there again.
Now, Keira breathed in, comfortable in her new servant’s garbs. She needed time to get close enough to the Baron. She knew the process would take several days at least, if not a few weeks.
Once Keira was satisfied the woman was far from the palace, she made her way back to the keep, wearing her clothes, and mimicking her mannerisms.
When Keira reached the keep, she marveled at its grand, dark architecture that stretch
ed high into the clouds. A cool wind swept around her as she smiled, dipped her head down, then prepared to enter.
It would only be a matter of time until she was close enough.
18
Daimen stood in the shadows of the dark room.
Baron Vaeterno sat at the table with a handful of other nobles discussing events of the city. This was the third meeting Daimen had sat in with the baron, and he grew quite weary of the ridiculous politics going on.
He had walked along the city when he’d arrived. He’d never been to Utopolous and wanted to study it thoroughly.
It was the largest import of petanium metal from the mines of the Mountains. He knew there had to be a working class in the city to be able to mine so much, but he hadn’t realized how much. The peasants outnumbered the nobles six to one. The city was dirty and run down. They didn’t seem to talk about it much though, as all of the nobles were in the keep and felt protected, but Daimen worried if these peasants ever grew tired of being worked so hard for little pay, an uprising would occur. And with how few nobles there were, without a real army, the keep wouldn’t last.
He had seen it time and time again. This wasn’t Daimen’s first escapade into the lives of nobles. Tynaereal wasn’t the first land he’d visited, though, not many knew about his past. Daimen preferred to keep it that way. He rolled some tobacco in a thin piece of paper, a trick he’d learned from Shronan instead of putting the tobacco in a pipe, licked it, put it to his mouth, then lit it with a finger. Smoke filled the room. He took a few puffs, then blew the gray smoke toward the table where the nobles argued with each other.
