Lhind the Thief

by Sherwood Smith

  I couldn’t help laughing at the idea of Geric mooing soft words about glorious eyes and starry romance to the pouting princess, all the while trying to grab the necklace from her.

  “Anyway, if he does get them, he won’t know if we replaced them or broke his enchantment,” Thianra said. “It gives us time.”

  “We need time, for a number of reasons,” Hlanan said, shaking his head. “But since you know little of politics or magic, they can wait.”

  “So tomorrow I go on trial in front of these high and mighty nobles, and I confess and give them up, is that it?” I asked.

  “That’s it,” Thianra said. She laughed and added, “Suitably humble and chastened, and we’ll have to coach you on protocol. I assure you, it will be severely formal. But you won’t have to say much, and it will not last long.”

  “And after?” I said. “What about after?” My gaze strayed to Hlanan, who was toying with his cup again.

  “That’s for the Empress to decide,” Thianra said. “But I’m reasonably sure that whatever happens will be something you wish.”

  “All right,” I said, trying to understand Hlanan’s avoidance of my gaze. “Last question, since you two seem to know so much. Do you know anything about Jardis Dhes-Andis’s family?”

  “He’s not your father,” Thianra said quickly. “But apparently, and I just found this out myself, he is your uncle.”

  Our blood, he’d said. He hadn’t quite lied. I made a sour face. “What happened?”

  “Your people came from another world long ago.” Thianra passed out plates, and we all began to load them with pastries, stirred eggs, little crispy potatoes of many colors, and fresh fruit. “They reappeared some years back. Dhes-Andis’s older brother went to them as ambassador—actually to spy out their weaknesses—and ended up falling in love with your mother. What he didn’t know was that love, or some other change of heart, had caused your father to completely foreswear the villainous plans they’d laid.”

  “The Council says they think Dhes-Andis expected that any children would be gifted in magic beyond the normal range. They were to be trained by the emperor, and used in his plans. When you were born, your parents tried to disappear rather than hand you over,” Hlanan said.

  “They disappeared from their allies as well, rather than endanger them, but Dhes-Andis is good at hunting people down when he wants them, and the Council thinks he might have caught them before they could do gate-magic and go to her world. They apparently tried to hide you somewhere, and separated to go to ground. No one knows who you were given to, or what happened subsequently,” Thianra said, and bit into a tartlet. “Oh, that is superb.”

  “Everyone thought the three of you were dead by the emperor’s decree,” Hlanan said, toying with his fork. “He probably spread that rumor around himself, as he didn’t want anyone finding any of you first. It could be that your parents didn’t survive. But you did.”

  “I see, “ I said, with an effort to be casual. “So that mystery is solved. Uh, will you two be there tomorrow?”

  “I will, in my function as lowly court scribe,” Hlanan said.

  “But I’m just a minstrel, and so I’ll not,” Thianra said, smiling crookedly.

  The door opened, and the Empress appeared. “Well, my children?”

  “All caught up,” Thianra said, rising to her feet. Hlanan had as well. So I uncurled my legs and hopped up.

  “Except one thing,” Hlanan murmured.

  “We shall resolve that one now,” the Empress said, and to my surprise, walked up and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Lhind the Hrethan thief, very few people know this, but they insisted you be in on the secret: these two are my youngest children.”

  I stared. “What?” I remembered that one ought not to squawk questions at an Empress, and backtracked hastily. “So that is why you looked familiar! Um, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  The Empress’s lips twitched as Thianra chuckled. Hlanan regarded his plate of food as if it had bugs crawling in it.

  So that was his one other thing.

  The Empress gestured for them to sit down. “All four of my children have different fathers. They have been trained well, without anyone knowing anything more than that I have children. This is our tradition. Hlanan is my youngest.”

  “And so . . . you are going to pick one as an heir?” I asked, remembering what Kuraf had told me. “Or is that already done? The older ones?”

  “One of my older sons has striven for excellence as a commander, his goal to defend the empire as my heir,” the Empress replied. “That decision has yet to be made. I have to admit that I favored Thianra from the beginning. Though there are exceptions to everything, I think women are better managers. Men tend to throw things when flouted, like armies. Thianra had the best training of them all, and she was ambitious enough to make me happy . . . until she fell in love. There’s no gainsaying that passion.”

  “With someone?” I turned to Thianra, who laughed and shook her head.

  “With music. Though she’s dutiful, I can bring before her a gathering of the world’s sharpest rulers and diplomats, but she spends the evening talking to the hired players about tri-tones and the differences in wood for instruments.”

  Thianra saluted her mother with a bite of egg. “Music, the great leveler. Far more interesting than armies and laws and balancing money exchanges.”

  I waited for Hlanan to say something, but he had begun to eat in an absent way, his attention distracted. I said, “Rajanas knows who you are?”

  Hlanan had put down his fork and was twisting that silver ring on his little finger. “From our days together on the Shinjan galley. He said to tell you, by the way, that you are always welcome in Alezand whatever you decide to do. And Kuraf offers you a home.”

  He was facing me now, as if . . . as if the worst was not yet over?

  The Empress clapped her hands to her knees and got to her feet. “My children, I wish I could stay and chat. Lhind, I want to hear more about your life. A lot more. But I have a chamber full of people waiting to talk to me, and I need to make certain that everything proceeds exactly as I wish tomorrow.” She bent down and flicked my cheek. “Ask Hlanan to take you out to the waterfall. I think you will like it.”

  She walked out, followed by Thianra; the last thing I heard before the door closed was their voices, both sounding very alike.

  “It’s your foreheads,” I said to Hlanan. “The resemblance is there.”

  He dropped his hands. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you? For not telling me about that?” I hooked my thumb toward the door. “But it’s traditional not to tell people. I learned that from Kuraf.”

  “For all the burden that comes with knowing,” he said in a low voice.

  “So you want to be the heir?” I asked, finally getting what he could not quite bear to tell me. As if he feared it would be a burden too weighty for me to bear.

  “I think I do.” He let out his breath in a short sigh. “I do.” He up his hand with the ring. “We all had to go out into the world to experience it, and to learn. Used to hearing myself described as smart, and bored with the scribal training that my father had insisted on, I left a lot earlier than most. And almost immediately found myself on a Shinjan galley. The only protection we had were these rings. I could have used it to transport myself home from anywhere, but to walk out on problems without solving them would mean I was a failure.”

  “Did your mother go through that?”

  “Some day ask her about working as a ship’s cook in the fleet fighting the slavers away from the south coast countries.” His grin flashed, then he was serious again. “I told you that once we escaped, Ilyan Rajanas and I each chose ways to learn to deal with the harsher parts of the world. He turned to the military, and I to magic.” He halted, and gave me an uncertain glance.

  “I remember that,” I said. “I remember everything you told me.”

  “And everything I didn’t tell you.” He looke
d away, his hand turning his cup around and around. “Here’s another truth. I don’t know where we are going, that is, you and I. My only experience with women was that one time, with the duchess. Ever since, I’ve kept my distance. The boring scribe no one notices. I understand it’s a kind of disguise, called hiding in plain sight. But it didn’t prepare me for meeting . . . you.”

  “I probably have less experience than you do,” I said.

  He nodded. “The grime and the essence of fish. Also excellent disguises.” He squared his shoulders. “So this has been my goal.” He lifted his chin.

  “Being chosen as heir?” I asked.

  “If I can prove my worthiness to myself first,” he said quickly. “The thing I learned on that galley is how much damage someone in power can do. How many lives can be lost as the result of one person’s will. I believe a good emperor should not have to use armies. My brother disagrees. Maybe I’m wrong.” He lifted his gaze to mine, then said in a rush, “I want to prove myself by taking down Jardis Dhes-Andis of Sveran Djur, and freeing the Djurans from his evil rule. And I want to do it without starting a war.”

  I rubbed my hands. “Now that is a splendid plan.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, taking a step nearer.

  “I mean if you want to do that, let me help. Oh, I know I’m ignorant, that it can’t be done today. But everybody keeps telling me I have potential. So if I meet these Hrethan, and assuming they don’t throw me out on my ear for being a thief, they can teach me about magic. I think you and I make a fine team. Don’t you?” I finished a little wistfully.

  “Lhind,” Hlanan said, taking another step. “I believe that you’re probably the one person he’s afraid of. But is that what you really want to do?”

  “Right now it is,” I said, and closed the distance between us. “This is what I know right now. I never felt so right until we were fighting side by side against that duchess, and then when we stood by the river. Maybe it was even before that. The first time we talked, you expected the best of me, because you expect the best of yourself, and you look for the best in everyone. I hated it at the beginning, because I knew you were right. Now. I think . . . I think I love that. I think I love you. As little as I understand love.”

  He took my hands, and there was the real smile at last. Crooked, but there. “You can’t be more ignorant than I am, but we can explore that together. There’s time, and yet the thing I fear most is that the expectation of my position might become a burden to you, who has cherished freedom above all things. I might become a burden. If we do succeed against Dhes-Andis, and I must return to state affairs.”

  The future emperor of Charas al Kherval, twenty kingdoms spread over two continents and countless islands, held my hands tightly, waiting for me to make the first move.

  And so I did. “State affairs,” I said, “can wait their turn. And so can evil emperors. About that kissing. Can we try that again?”

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  Copyright & Credits

  Lhind the Thief

  Sherwood Smith

  Book View Café August 20, 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-292-1

  Copyright © 2013 Sherwood Smith

  Cover illustration © 2013 by Sherwood Smith

  Cover design by Amy Sterling Casil

  Production team: Copyeditor: Tamara Meatzie; Proofreaders: Patricia Burroughs, Hallie O'Donovan; Ebook formatter: Vonda N. McIntyre

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  About the Author

  Sherwood Smith was a teacher for twenty years, working with children from second grade to high school, teaching history, literature, drama, and dance.

  She writes science fiction and fantasy for adults and young readers.

  Her most popular book, Crown Duel, is currently in its 16th printing. The ebook edition contains extra material not available in the print edition.

  Though she is known primarily as a fantasy writer, Sherwood and fellow BVC member Dave Trowbridge have collaborated on Exordium, a five-volume space opera.

  Book View Café Ebooks by Sherwood Smith

  A Posse of Princesses

  Barefoot Pirate

  The Wren Series

  Wren to the Rescue

  Wren’s Quest

  Wren’s War

  Wren Journeymage

  About Book View Café

  Book View Café is a professional authors’ publishing cooperative offering DRM-free ebooks in multiple formats to readers around the world. With authors in a variety of genres including mystery, romance, fantasy, and science fiction, Book View Café has something for everyone.

  Book View Café is good for readers because you can enjoy high-quality DRM-free ebooks from your favorite authors at a reasonable price.

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  Book View Café authors include New York Times and USA Today bestsellers, Nebula, Hugo, and Philip K. Dick Award winners, World Fantasy and Rita Award nominees, and winners and nominees of many other publishing awards.

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  One

  From the tower lookout in the royal castle—highest tower in all the kingdom of Nym—Princess Rhis peered down through the misting rain at a messenger on the main road.

  This rider slumped in the saddle of the long-legged lowland race-horse plodding up the steep road, occasionally hidden by tall stands of deep green fir. The messenger had to be from the lowlands. Anyone raised in Nym’s mountains knew that the only animal for the steep roads was a pony. Their sturdy bodies and short legs fared better on steep slopes.

  The rider’s cloak was crimson, a bright splash of color in the gloom of a rainy afternoon. None of Nym’s royal messengers wore crimson cloaks. This one must be an equerry from the Queen of faraway Vesarja. Rhis turned away in disappointment and resumed pacing around the little room.

  Once, many years ago, the old tower had been a lookout for Nym’s warriors, no longer necessary since the kingdom had established magical protection. Now the small, stone tower room had become Rhis’s private retreat.

  Her parents considered themselves too elderly to climb all those stairs any more; her older brother, Crown Prince Gavan, was too busy, as was her older sister, Princess Sidal. And Gavan’s wife, Princess Elda, was too stout—even if she’d approved of frivolities such as spending time in tower rooms, which she didn’t. Something she mentioned rather often.

  Rhis loved the lookout. It was cozy, and had a nice fireplace (with a magical firestick in it that burned evenly all winter long), a comfortable cushioned chair, a desk, a small case containing all her favorite books, and a tiranthe—the twenty-four-stringed instrument that Elda insisted only lowly minstrels played. Here Rhis could practice and not disturb, or disgust, anyone. Here she could sit and read and dream and watch the ever-changing weather and seasons over the tiny mountain kingdom. She could also write wonderful ballads.

  At least . . . she hoped they were wonderful. Would be, some day. Maybe.

  She stopped pacing and frowned down at the paper on the desk, close-written with many, many scribblings. She loved music, and stories, and ballads—especially the ones about people in history who had gone through terrible adventures but had succeeded in finding their True Love.

  When she’d begun her first ballad, it had seemed easy. All she had to do was picture a forlorn princess, one who was tall with brown hair—someone a lot like herself. Only instead of having a cozy retreat, this princess was locked up in a tower room, she wasn’t quite sure why yet, but for some horrific reason, which would require her to escape secretly down all 538 steps, slip out into the treacherous snows of winter, and away—meeting a prince along the road.

  Rhis frowned. She knew what kind of prince the princess had to meet. He had to be brave, and good at overcoming vast numbers of evil minions, but he also had to be kind. He absolutely must like music—especially ballads�
�but he had to be a good dancer. He had to look like . . .

  That was the part that she always got stuck at. Rhis dropped onto her chair and reread her verses about the mysterious prince. Every line began with “The best” or “The greatest” or “The finest”—he had the darkest hair, the bluest eyes, he was the best dancer, but still, somehow, he seemed so . . . um, boring.

  With a heavy sigh she dipped her pen and struck out the latest words that just a while ago had seemed so wonderful. What were the bluest eyes, anyway? Were eyes the silver-blue of the morning sky bluer than the dark blue of evening?

  Blue eyes were stupid anyway. Everyone in ballads either had eyes of emerald or sapphire or amber. How about something really unusual, like red eyes? Or yellow and purple stripe? But would those be handsome? Rhis frowned and tried to picture a fellow puckering up for a kiss . . . handsome lips, handsome nose . . . and right above, a pair of yellow and purple striped eyes? No. Well, how about red? But what kind of hair would look handsome with red eyes? Not red, certainly, though her favorite color was ‘hair of flame’, which sounded more romantic than anything. But crimson eyes and hair of flame? He’d look like a measle.

  Not blond, either. She didn’t want a blond prince, for the people of Damatras far to the north were supposed to be mostly light haired and paler than normal people, and everyone knew they lived to make war.

  How about—

  A tinkling sound interrupted her musing. It was the summons bell that her mother had magically rigged so that the servants wouldn’t have to climb 538 tower stairs just to remind Rhis not to be late for dinner.

  The summons couldn’t possibly be about the messenger. No one ever sent her messages, except for dull letters from Elda’s younger sister, Princess Shera, and those always came with the green-cloaked messengers from the kingdom of Gensam.