No. Fearing she’d only encounter more guards patrolling the streets, she took an indirect route to the Gilded Quarter and hurried back to the theater hopeful to find Frederico waiting for her. He opened the door at the precise time of her arrival, either blessed with a sixth sense or the divine patience to stare out the window for her. She stumbled forward and collapsed into his arms the moment he shut the door against its splintered frame.
“It’s... it’s... aw-awful,” she gasped between desperate breaths. Her chest hurt from pushing herself, and her back ached from the tumble she’d sustained from the roof, even with trash to cushion her fall.
His palm smoothed a circle over her back. “Shh, shh. Breathe, child. Breathe.”
“They killed Hadrian and Lacherra. They killed everyone. Burned the Salted Pearl.”
“I know. I know. Gods, I thought the worst. Thought you were dead or captured by now.”
How could he possibly know what had happened when he’d been safe and sound inside the Gilded Quarter? With the danger of the streets behind her, the reality of what had happened crashed down against her, cracked open her chest and replaced her heart with blistering cinders.
Desperately wiping her cheeks with her wrist, she followed Frederico’s guidance and let him lead her to the enormous divan. He stepped away and returned moments later with a finger of hard liquor. The sweet aroma of anise wafted up to her from the milky liquid in the tiny glass.
It took less time to relay everything she’d seen than it did to calm down. Once the last of it passed her lips, she broke into a fresh round of sobs. Gone. Everything at the Pearl was gone.
“H-h-has Mira come here?”
“No. I haven’t seen her since she told me she’d be relocating your belongings for the Saladin clan to load on the next textile wagon. They planned to smuggle you out with the silk shipment tonight.”
The final shudders eased, and silence fell over her. Tears wouldn’t return the dead. “Xavier Bane did this.”
“Now wait a minute. Xavier isn’t a murderer, and you’ve already said the city watch was behind it.”
Rosalia clenched her jaw. “Maybe he tipped them off or paid to have us exterminated.”
“I doubt it, Rosalia. I don’t believe he’s behind this because Xavier was here no more than a half hour ago to help you.”
“To help me?”
“Yes. He told me about Hadrian and the others taken by the watch, but he came here specifically to save you, child. Xavier Bane is no enemy of yours and promised he wanted nothing more than to see you safe.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You must. Because he is a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known and someone I’m thankful to call friend. I simply don’t believe he’d want your death over a silly trinket in his vault.”
“A trinket worth thirty thousand gold coins.”
“Doesn’t matter. That isn’t who he is. He wouldn’t bring down the death of hundreds for one mirror.”
A fresh wave of tears trickled over her lashes when she thought of Hadrian’s corpse lying in the gutted remnants of the tavern. There had been so many memories there, her childhood gone in the blink of an eye, and so many good people slain. “How much do you trust him?”
“Enough that I made him promise to find my only daughter and bring her back to me.”
Her head snapped up, vision blurred by the relentless assault.
Before she could speak, a gauntleted fist slammed against the door, metal thundering against wood. “By order of King Gregarus, open this door.”
Frederico’s spine straightened. He glanced away from her and rose from his seat. “Stay out of sight,” he said in a low voice.
Rosalia hurried into the adjacent kitchen and squeezed into a pantry closet. It was a tight fit and stank of garlic and onions, but a narrow crack between the doors permitted her to see Frederico.
He unlatched the damaged door. The moment he did, it flew open and a half dozen royal guard stormed into the suite. They grasped him by the arms, one securing him on each side while a third held him at swordpoint.
“Where is she?” the captain demanded, standing out from the men he commanded due to the red sash across his armored chest.
“Where is who? What is the meaning of this?”
“We seek a thief. A thief who has stolen something of great significance to the crown.”
“I’ve harbored no thieves here, only performers of various kinds. If you could be more specific? Has this thief stolen a heart, or perhaps one of my actors has run away with one of the princesses?”
The blade pressed deeper. The flesh parted beneath it and a single drop of blood welled to the surface, trickling down Frederico’s neck soon after. He swallowed, throat bobbing with the motion. “Laugh now, you foolish has-been.”
Frederico said nothing. He closed his eyes.
The men fanned out at the captain’s order and began to search the suite, opening and closing doors, rifling through trunks. The closets opened in another room. It was a mere matter of time before they came to the pantry and discovered her.
“If you would tell me who you seek, perhaps I could share my knowledge and you’ll be on your way again,” Frederico said quietly.
“The thief we seek is a young woman of no great stature, dark-haired, amber eyes. We believe she goes by the name Rosalia.”
Her heart jumped in her chest.
“Rosalia is my best actress, a mere performer of the art of dance. Surely you must be mistaken. I’ve never known her to steal.”
“And yet, we have received a confession from her deceased cohorts. Several of them.”
No, no, no.
“It couldn’t be possible,” Frederico continued.
“I believe he’s told the truth, Cap’n.”
“Then he’s of no use to us. Execute him.”
Frederico’s helpless gaze darted to the pantry. He gave a subtle motion of two fingers from his restrained hand—the stage gesture for no. He meant to die for her.
Unable to watch her mentor’s death, Rosalia burst from the pantry with a desperate cry on her lips. “No, I’m here! I made him conceal me.”
“Ah, and our wayward prey reveals herself. A whole city turned upside down for you.”
“I’ll come with you peacefully. I won’t fight at all. Please, just let him go.”
“Peacefully, eh?” The captain nodded his head toward the two guards restraining Frederico. They released him, and the old man fell back a step to rub his wrists.
A thousand questions came to mind about why they were there for her, why the others had been slain when the royal family had known for decades about the city’s criminal element—and even participated at times. According to Hadrian, the previous rulers had always given lip service to the masses about being tough on crime, but they’d never taken steps to eliminate and squash it so thoroughly before.
“Wrists out, poppet.”
She obeyed. They bound her by the wrists and ankles, securing her tightly with knots she could have broken with a few minutes alone and no one breathing over her neck.
“Now we truly no longer need you, old man.”
“Wait! We had a deal.”
“Kill him.”
One guard kicked the back of Frederick’s knee, pitching the old man to the ground.
No, no, no. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. This wasn’t right.
It broke every rule.
“Please don’t do this,” she pleaded again. “He’s innocent, he doesn’t know anything more than—”
A guardsman stabbed Frederico through the chest, and a low groan of pain fell from his lips. The blade retreated then slid forward again as blooms of crimson spreading over his cream-and-gold dressing gown.
“No!” Rosalia lurched forward, startling both herself and the two men restraining her.
Then the most amazing thing occurred, and the ropes binding her wrists snapped. Howling in fury, she threw herself at the guard
wielding the sword, pounding him with her fists and all of the angst she could channel into one blow. She took him off his feet, but in her tear-blinded fury, she tumbled to the floor with him and they tangled together.
The back of a gauntleted hand bounced off Rosalia’s cheek, knocking her from the stunned guard and snapping her head to the side. Fresh tears welled from her eyes as her teeth crashed together and she bit her tongue. A rush of hot and salty blood filled her mouth.
Hating them and hating Xavier Bane, she fought until the same hand crashed into her face again. It knocked her senseless and took the fight out of her. The world swam in and out of focus and spun like a carousel.
“Murderers,” she rasped around her swollen tongue. “Filthy bastard murderers.”
The guard behind her reversed the blade in his grip and drove the hilt into the back of Rosalia’s head, thrusting her into darkness.
12
BEAUTIFUL, WINGED DEATH
ROSALIA STARTLED awake to the rumbling noise of creaky wheels against hard-packed ground. She tried to move, but the manacles and chains restrained her to the wall.
Shit. It hadn’t been a dream. It was really happening.
They’d said little about her fate throughout the day of imprisonment, even when they’d laughed about confiscating everything she possessed, everything she’d earned and crafted herself in the den alongside Hadrian. A guard with a lecherous, unwavering stare had watched her remove the leathers, a vulgar promise in his eyes when he’d tossed her the rough burlap shirt instead. Prison clothes. Thankfully, shift change occurred soon after, and she wasn’t forced to determine whether years of picking locks and climbing walls had strengthened her hands enough to rip off a man’s cock. She’d heard stories about these jails. Awful stories that didn’t permit her to sleep.
Around supper time, some asshole passed her a tray with moldy bread. Worms swam in the tin water cup. She ignored it and huddled in the corner of her cell, fighting sleep deprivation.
Then a new morning came, the sun a mere golden speck on the horizon line, casting pink and lavender streaks across the dawn sky. They had dragged her to the wagon and said she’d be going straight to Sandfire Palace for execution before a private party of noble viewers and royalty.
Why had they singled her out from all the others?
And what did it matter? Escape was impossible, and the bitter taste of rock bottom discouraged her from even trying. These men were armed, and she had nothing. If she did escape, where would she go? Who would dare to take her in? She’d never make it across the blistering sands to Nairubia before succumbing to the heat.
Her closest friends, everyone she’d ever loved, and even distant associates throughout Enimura had been punished because she’d taken the wrong job. She’d never see any of them again.
It seemed so cruel a fate for one person’s actions. Even if they’d all been guilty of theft at one time or another, this hadn’t been their crime—Frederico, Lacherra, and Hadrian had been convicted of guilt by association.
Thinking of them tightened a vice around her throat, narrowing her breathing passage until she choked on the inevitable tears that came next. She didn’t recall falling asleep during the journey from Enimura to Sandfire Palace—mere hours by wagon—but they couldn’t be far from their destination.
Why couldn’t she have left the stupid glass behind and reported failure to their demanding client? Had she taken the book instead, she’d be enjoying the warmth of the ocean sun against her bare shoulders as a luxury ship carried her to some distant kingdom. Freedom could have been hers.
Tired of her sniffling, a guard banged on the wall with his fist. “Knock it off back there!”
The words “make me” died on her lips. Riling them up would only get her beaten before she reached the Royal Prison, where she was to be held until the day of her execution.
The edge of the cuffs dug into her wrists, cutting off circulation if she wriggled her hands wrong, no doubt to prevent her from picking the locks.
An alarmed cry came from the front of the wagon. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a dragon!”
“I don’t fucking believe it!”
Contrary to her original fears, she wouldn’t perish on the executioner’s block after all. She’d instead die some gruesome death inside of a dragon’s maw. The former seemed kinder, gentler by comparison.
Someone shouted orders, a cry for the soldiers to raise their shields. A desperate plea for mercy preceded the rush of flames and the crackling of fire as it consumed its target. Then the odor of burned flesh and wood reached her nose. Instead of dying a quick death with her neck on the chopping block or in a noose, she’d roast or be crushed between a dragon’s jaws.
Without warning, the top of the wagon flew off, and a scaled snout leaned over the shattered opening to peer down at her. Recognition and keen understanding shone in its green gaze, eyes larger than dinner plates in its enormous, black-scaled face. In those seconds, she realized it was the same dragon she’d encountered in the vault. The face was the same, but the scales were different. She could have sworn they were gold before.
And it was gorgeous—beautiful death on wings. This creature was an extraordinary killing machine and the last sight she’d ever see. Despite the futility of it, she cried up to the beast, “Please don’t eat me!”
“Foolish, woman. Had I wanted to eat you, it would be done already,” it replied in an eerily familiar voice. Was it like a parrot, adopting the accent of its owner?
“You’re...” Her breath panted in and out, heart fluttering inside her chest. A dozen questions came to mind, and each of them caught in her throat. What did it want if it hadn’t come to eat her? “You speak.”
It pressed the tip of one talon against the thick chains connecting her manacles. Although the metal snapped under the pressure and freed her hands, the metal cuffs remained.
Rosalia stared up at him. “Why did you do that?”
The dragon plucked her from within the wagon with its left claw. The tips were as sharp as they looked, one prickling against her hip until the beast set her on the ground. Then it threw a woman’s smelly corpse into the wagon where the prisoner belonged and exhaled a stream of fire until the metal links turned red hot and began to warp. “Do you want to die?”
“No!”
“Then you can stay here and await death or come with me. I won’t offer again.”
Looming above her, the majestic creature bowed its head and lowered to the ground. When the edge of a wing touched the soil, she realized its purpose.
Makeshift stairs. The stairway to her freedom. Behind her, she glanced at the palace in the distance and heard the wailing noise of sirens. Barefoot and unarmed, a single choice lay before her—escape or die.
Rosalia hurried up the extended wing and heaved herself onto her rescuer’s back. Its initial running start jostled her despite gripping with her thighs. Years ago as a child, she’d read a fantastical book about a dragon rider and could now conclude mounting a dragon was nothing like riding a horse. Terrified of tumbling off to her doom, she grasped her mount by a handful of the horned growths at the base of its graceful neck and prayed the gods had mercy on her.
The ground below fell away and the distance increased, there one moment and gone in the next. Each wing flap sent the wind coursing through her dark hair, each thrust taking them a hundred feet higher.
What had taken an hour or more by wagon took mere minutes by air. The dragon landed far beyond the city outskirts, a considerable distance outside of Enimura beside an old aqueduct. Clear water splashed beneath immense claws, then it ducked down and wiggled into a dark pipeline.
“Where are we going?” Rosalia asked.
“Home. A place where no one will find you.”
Wary of bumping her head against the ceiling, she flattened her body against its back and closed her eyes. I am hugging a dragon. And it was warm and muscular, solid beneath her with a gait smoother than glass.<
br />
The smell of clean water persisted, surrounding them with the aroma of minerals, wet metal, and damp stone. They hadn’t entered the sewer at least, but one of the many freshwater sources that spilled out into the sea.
The dragon squeezed into a narrower space, leading her into deeper darkness. Eventually the cramped space expanded, and her bare legs no longer scraped the cold walls. Water dripped in the distance, and they emerged onto dry land.
Their path grew wider and something clicked in the dark.
“Hold on,” he said gruffly.
He was a he, wasn’t he? The beast’s sonorous voice raised goose bumps over her skin, the similarity to Xavier pleasant. Familiar. His weight shifted, forcing her to tighten her hold or risk spilling from his back.
Rosalia squinted, and gradually her dark vision improved until she saw more than a mere hint of his outline. The dragon’s taloned digits grasped and moved the stone, touching each block in a precise pattern. A rumbling vibrated throughout the wide corridor.
Then the wall sank, crumbling away in a fine mist of grit and dust. He moved forward through the opening and took her into an unfamiliar network of tunnels where the air smelled clean and nothing like the rancid stink of sewer. It had taken her entire bottle of rosewater shampoo to remove the filth from her hair, and even then, Mira had insisted on combing in some jasmine tea to mask whatever odor remained.
Cool air drafted down from a chute above them, and then a tile shifted beneath the dragon’s weight. Click. Click. Click. More dust, and the gate arose from the ground again to form a seamless wall behind them.
Mystified, she watched as they approached a dead end, all smooth stone with the warm yellow glow of a lantern hanging beside it, the alchemical agents within it mimicking the sun. There, he plucked her from his back and set her down, prodding her forward with the blunt curve of his claw instead of the lethal tip. “This is where your ride ends, Rosalia.”
Rosalia stared at the wall. “There’s nothing there.” Had he brought her so far to kill her now?
The side of his wide mouth raised, revealing a hint of ivory tooth. “Isn’t there?”
All That Glitters: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 1) Page 10
