Guardian of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The alley ended at a blank stone wall about seven feet high, too smooth for her to climb. Willow found a convenient crate, empty, but solidly built, and dragged it over to the wall. With its help, she was able to stand tall enough to peer over the wall’s top, if she pulled herself up a bit. Wishing she had her special gloves, she gripped the stones and hoisted herself up.

  She could just barely see the guards at the Residence front gate, but they weren’t looking her way in any case. The space between the iron fence and the stone wall of the Residence was narrower on this side, but still filled with crushed stone and desert plants. A hard-packed dirt path ran from a wide double door in the wall around to the back of the Residence, with little stones scattered across it where the gardeners—could you call them that, if there was no garden?—hadn’t been thorough in sweeping its surface. The double door, its wood dark with age, was iron-banded and had a massive lock visible from where she was as a black smudge on the iron faceplate. This was probably where deliveries came, which meant there was likely another gate at the back of the house.

  Willow dropped lightly to the ground, put the crate back after a moment’s thought, then ran back down the alley and turned left. Unless there were streets she hadn’t guessed at, this one should take her around to the rear of the Abakian Residence.

  This time, she strolled with her hands swinging freely by her sides, dangling her bundle and enjoying the fresh breeze off the ocean and the comforting sounds of the city. Carriages passed her, their wheels rumbling along the cobblestones like approaching thunder. She felt like waving at the occupants, but that was out of character for the zetesha she appeared to be, so she contented herself with watching them drive past and wondering what their stories were.

  What would they think if they knew what she was planning? Aside from immediately turning her over to the authorities. Just over a month ago, she wouldn’t even have considered stealing from the Abakian Residence—too much danger for too little payoff. And now she was planning what might well be the most dangerous heist of her career. The only thing more dangerous she could think of was sneaking into the palace grounds to climb Old Tower, and she wasn’t likely to do that any time soon.

  She turned another corner. The new street was parallel to the one the Abakian Residence faced, and was its mirror image: a row of narrow stone houses, then the back of the Residence and the continuation of its iron fence. There was another entrance here, but no stone arch, just a metal gate set into the fence. It was rusted in places and, more interestingly, unguarded. A corroded brass bell hung from its top, no doubt a way for drovers to signal the arrival of deliveries. Children must pull this bell all the time, annoying the guards. She thought about yanking the cord and then running away, but that was too juvenile a prank to pull even on the Abakians.

  Willow stopped, set down her bundle, and stretched, pretending to need a rest from carrying that heavy parcel while really examining the back wall of the Residence. No doors on this side, and no windows—well, there wouldn’t be any, would there?—but—

  Willow let her gaze continue traveling casually across the top of the wall, but her heart thumped once, painfully, when a guard wielding a crossbow appeared out of nowhere and looked directly at her. There was no way he could know what she had in mind, but she felt as if her guilt was written on her forehead in large letters. No fear.

  She pretended she hadn’t seen him, stretched again, and picked up her bundle and strolled off. Well. That was one question answered. It was going to be hard, plotting the guards’ movements when they were barely visible, but the truth was, if she couldn’t see them, they likely had as much trouble seeing anyone near the base of the wall. So it was all a matter of timing.

  Once she was out of sight of the Residence, Willow picked up the pace. Back to the Serjian Residence to change into her own clothes, and then the real work began.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, a big-bellied chortle from one of the lost gods. Willow eyed the oncoming storm. It would reach Umberan just after sunset, darkening the sky and pouring rain into the streets. She was counting on it spending itself and moving out over the ocean well before she had to be at the Abakian Residence, because otherwise she was going to get very wet. Tracking water all over the inside of the enemy Residence would go a long way toward getting herself caught.

  There was a click, and the lock sprang open. Willow set it aside and picked up the next. She hadn’t been able to get close enough to the side door to test her skills on its lock, so she’d done the next best thing: bought a bunch of assorted locks to practice with. There was little difference between Eskandelic and Tremontanan locks, but she didn’t want to take chances. She was getting really sick of lock picking, but her speed had improved and she’d honed her skills to the point that she could open each of these locks in under a minute. She needed to open the door in half that time, but this was the best she could do.

  Click. One more lock. She let her fingers do the work and scanned the horizon. Streaks of lightning illuminated the clouds like threads of light. The wind had picked up, blowing the leaves of the trellis vine so they rustled around her. She’d taken to practicing in the rooftop garden, which was a riot of color, bushes with dark green leaves and trumpet-shaped flowers of purple and pink, squash plants in the vegetable garden shedding the last of their yellow flowers, green tomatoes beginning to blush red. It smelled deliciously sweet and spicy, even more so with the coming storm, and Willow enjoyed the peaceful quiet and the coolness at midday. The sounds of the city were muffled, distant, and she could pretend she was a lady with a country manor and leisure time to…well, pick locks, which no lady would ever do. It was a nice, irrelevant fantasy she didn’t actually wish for.

  Click. She set the last lock aside and stretched, then put away her picks. Four days wasn’t nearly enough time to prepare herself for this, but she’d had to make do. She’d stitched up a pair of gloves with roughened palms, wishing she’d known to take all her midnighting gear with her when they left Aurilien. She didn’t actually plan on climbing anything but the iron fence, but having some protection from the freezing bars was worth a little extra effort. Rafferty had taken her to a used clothing shop in the Tremontanan enclave where she bought dark, fitted trousers, a charcoal-gray shirt with loose sleeves—not too loose—and a knit cap that concealed her hair entirely. Nothing black, which stood out at night. How many aspiring thieves had learned that lesson the very hard way?

  “I thought I’d find you up here,” Kerish said. He emerged from the dark hole of the stairwell and crossed the garden to sit on the bench opposite her at her table. “It’s almost suppertime.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I brought you something. I’m not sure if it will help, but…”

  He held out his hand. Willow took the squat cylinder, no longer than her middle finger and half that around, and braced against its tingling brass. “What is it?”

  “A prototype light Device. You twist the two halves, and it makes a light. Not a very bright light, I’m afraid.”

  “Bright light is generally a bad thing, for a thief.” She gingerly took the thing in her other hand and twisted. One end of the cylinder began glowing with a warm pinkish light that flickered slightly, not as much as a candle would, but more than the Devices lighting the Residence did. “That’s amazing. Please tell me you stole this.”

  “I didn’t steal it. I may have borrowed it without permission. So don’t lose it.”

  “I won’t. Now I’m glad I have the gloves. This is much better than matches or a lantern.”

  “I’m glad I can help. Are you nervous?”

  “Not nervous. Just—ready to go.” She’d tried to explain the feeling to him several times, but maybe there were no words for that sense of urgency, the knife-edged clarity to everything around her, the way her skin fizzed like silver and all her senses were tuned to the highest pitch. Saying she was on edge gave entirely the wrong impression.

 
Kerish reached across the table and took her hand. “I’ll be waiting for you, however late it is.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I know how this must feel for you.”

  “Do you?” There was an edge to his voice that made Willow want to pull away from him. But he gripped her hand more tightly and said, “Sorry. It’s just—I’m a strong, skilled swordsman, I’m trained to fight, and yet you’re constantly facing things I’m powerless to protect you from. Why can’t you be menaced by pirates for once?”

  Willow laughed. “After all this, we’ll go to sea and sail around waiting for pirates to attack, and then you can defend me.”

  “I’d appreciate it. And then you can appreciate me in an appropriately grateful way.”

  Willow moved around to sit next to him. “I do appreciate you,” she said, “all the time.”

  He kissed her, his lips gentle in a way that made her long for more. “True. But there’s always time for more.”

  “Not if it’s almost suppertime.”

  Kerish kissed her again, more deeply. “They can wait.”

  “Mmm. If you kiss me like that again, they can wait all night.”

  “That sounds like a request.”

  He put his arms around her waist and drew her closer, kissing her until she was breathless and dizzy. His hand stroked the soft skin at the base of her neck, making her tingle from more than just the Device she held. It was like a miracle, his love for her, and she pressed herself against him until she could feel the beat of his heart in rhythm with hers.

  A quiet cough brought her back to herself, startling her into pulling away from Kerish more abruptly than she intended. Gessala stood there, expressionless, with her arms crossed over her chest. “It is time for supper,” she said, and turned and left the roof.

  “She still hates me,” Willow said.

  “She doesn’t hate you.”

  “I ruined her life. What would you call it?”

  Kerish put his arms around her and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers. “All right, she’s angry, and maybe that makes sense, but Gessala isn’t the sort of person who holds grudges.”

  “She’s your suorena, so I guess you’d know.” That hadn’t been a friendly look. Willow resolved to stay out of Gessala’s way in future.

  Supper was even more quiet than usual. Willow ate lightly and reviewed her plan in her head. It was detailed to begin with, then became more of a sketch, because she knew from experience that plans tended to diverge from the ideal almost immediately. She tried to be grateful for the lack of conversation, so distracting, but the silence felt oppressive, as if she were going off to her death. She took a large bite of her cabra, savoring the rich herbs of the curried lamb stew. It was her favorite—was that on purpose? Had the cook, not privy to the plan, somehow divined what she intended that night and prepared her a last meal? Suddenly the food wasn’t so appetizing anymore.

  She walked with Felix back to their rooms. Felix hadn’t spoken at all during the meal, which concerned Willow. “Something wrong?” she said. Felix shrugged. “Is this because of what I’m doing tonight?”

  “Don’t you ever get scared of things that might happen?” he said. “Like getting caught?”

  “No, because if you’re scared, you make mistakes, and making mistakes is what gets you caught. Are you scared for me?”

  Felix nodded.

  “Well, don’t be, because that will only make you feel worse and it won’t help me at all. Be brave for me instead.” Everyone was treating this like some kind of suicide quest. That was not the mindset she needed to be in right now.

  She tucked Felix in and returned to the sitting room. The frond tree, caught in the wildness of the approaching storm, lashed the window with dry, scratching sounds. She looked out over the city, which was tinted strange colors, orange and red for the sunset, pale yellow for the light that reflected off the storm clouds. Five hours before she had to leave. She wished she could go immediately, wanted to be moving, acting, but that was a fool’s errand, and she couldn’t afford to be a fool.

  Kerish had offered to wait with her, but she’d turned him down gently. She needed this time alone for final preparations. She took out a blank sheet of paper from the stack on the writing desk, sat at the table and began sketching. Alondra’s map had been not only detailed, but beautiful. Willow had forgotten she was an artist. Willow’s version was rougher, but the important thing was that she was able to draw it from memory. She certainly couldn’t afford to take any map with her to the Abakian Residence.

  She compared the two maps. Perfect. Well, not perfect, but she hadn’t left out any details and she knew where everything was. It would be a more useful map if she were able to go in the front door, but it would have to do.

  She traced the lines with her forefinger. Past the iron fence, the giant stone wall surrounded a courtyard, which in turn surrounded the Residence. Wide marble stairs led up to the main doors, which according to Alondra opened on an entrance hall with several doors and stairs leading off it. Alondra knew two of those exits went to reception rooms, places she’d gone as harima. Unfortunately, she’d never been to the harem’s meeting chamber, but she’d been able to eliminate two more exits as leading down and to each side, probably to offices and servants’ quarters on the first floor. “There a dome is,” she’d said while going over the map with Willow, “and that the harem chamber will be. It in the center of the Residence is.”

  “And at the top,” Willow had said. “So I just need to keep going up.”

  Now she wondered if she’d been too cavalier. The Abakian Residence was four stories tall, and there was a lot of unknown space between the entry hall and the harem chamber, wherever it was. And Willow wouldn’t be going in by the front door. After passing through the wall, she intended to use the Residence door closest to that side, a little door that led to the kitchens. Probably. Some sort of servants’ rooms, anyway. Willow was fairly certain one of the stairs Alondra had identified ended up near that door.

  She pushed the sketch map away and lay down on the sofa for a quick nap. It would leave her rested and keep her edge sharp. I wish Kerish were here, she thought as she drifted off, but that was a bad idea, a distracting one. They weren’t sleeping together, but not for lack of desire. Willow didn’t have any remaining family bonds to interfere with having sex with someone she wasn’t married to, but she still had enough respect for her religion not to break that taboo. Being alone together in her rooms, or his…the other night she’d had the hardest time telling him goodbye, saying no to his devastating kisses. He didn’t seem disappointed, but suppose he was just good at hiding it?

  She shook away those distracting memories. She’d go to him first thing upon returning. It was something she owed him.

  When she woke, the clock on the wall above the door read just after one o’clock. Excellent timing. She changed into her midnighting gear, checked the fit of her knives and the wire stashed up her sleeve, tightened her belt pouch and put on her gloves. Then she drew in a long, comforting breath and let it out slowly. This was her time.

  She left the Serjian Residence by the kitchen door and made her way from shadow to bush until she reached the wall. Call it a warm-up for the night’s activities, eluding the guards at the gate, even if the raindrops lingering on the bushes did dampen her shirt and trousers. She pulled herself up and over and landed lightly on the other side. Janida needed to know that security was still lax, though if Willow succeeded tonight, it might not matter so much.

  Dodging the guards at the black arch took more effort, which cheered her. Success came down to her magical edge, perceiving the guard outside before she ran into him. She waited for her opening, then ducked past him and ran along the outer wall, listening for sound of pursuit. She heard nothing but the sound of her breathing, light and easy, and the fainter sound of her soft shoes striking the stones of the road. One hurdle down.

  The storm had passed, leaving a clean scent in the air and sweeping aw
ay the odors of human and animal waste. She avoided the puddles, but her shoes were still soaked from the grass of the Residence. Nothing she could do about that now. Tiny white birds cooed and whistled overhead, swooping across the still-cloudy sky in pairs. Willow squinted up at them once or twice, their bodies light-colored blobs against the darkness of the sky. She’d never seen them before. It always astonished her, the things that came out at night. It was like a different world.

  She turned the corner, heading toward the center of town. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Abakian Residence at night, when the streets were empty of all but a few patrolling guards. She’d tried to map out as much of their routes as she could, but with only four days to prepare and a million other things to do, she’d fallen back on sticking to the side streets and hoping for the best. Umberan didn’t have a curfew, but she guessed they would be suspicious of anyone out late and she couldn’t afford to be caught.

  She saw movement, and a flash of silvery steel, half a breath before the guard stepped into sight, barely enough time to duck into the dubious shelter of a doorway. Heart pounding, she listened to the tread of his boots crossing the street only feet away. She was not going back to that cell, he was not going to catch her… Her breathing was too loud, surely he’d hear it and come storming over—no, his footsteps were receding, and she made herself breathe slowly, closing her eyes against her memories. No cell. Not ever again.

  She walked more carefully after that near-miss, sticking to the alleys and listening hard for signs that anyone else was abroad that night. Wouldn’t it be funny if I met another thief? We could exchange notes. Not that thieves tended to be friendly with each other—too much competition, and she wouldn’t speak an Eskandelic thief’s language anyway. But the idea amused her all the way to the Residence, where she stopped across the street, concealed in the shadow of a tall building, and examined the Residence one final time.