Guardian of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  She found it almost immediately—or, rather, found them, because there were two desks and an ebony cabinet that resembled ones she’d seen in the Serjian Residence. Holding the light in her mouth, she set to work searching the cabinet. Its three drawers held stacks of paperwork, not very tidy ones. Willow shuffled through the papers as quickly as she dared, trying not to be distracted by how her lips and tongue tingled. Everything was in Eskandelic except for two papers in Veriboldan script, which Willow could recognize but not read.

  She lost track of time entirely. Her whole self was narrowed down to her two hands, moving papers around, and her lips, beginning to go numb. She tried gripping the light Device with her teeth, but that just set her skull buzzing and made it impossible for her to see. She finished one drawer and started on another. This was going to take forever, and she didn’t have forever. If that person she’d heard had seen something and was looking for anything out of the ordinary—

  She stopped and took the Device out of her mouth. She wasn’t thinking like a thief. Raena Abakian absolutely knew what she was doing was not only wrong, but would be frowned on by the rest of the Conclave. She wouldn’t keep incriminating documentation with the rest of her papers; she’d have a secret place to hide it.

  Willow pulled the drawer out entirely and felt along the back and bottom. Nothing. She repeated the trick with the other two drawers and came up similarly empty. With the drawers lying on the floor, she dragged the cabinet away from the wall and found nothing. She put everything away the way it had been and surveyed the rest of the room. It would be someplace accessible, so not inside the sofa cushions or floor pillows. It would be someplace non-obvious, so probably not the desks.

  Her eye fell on the table, with its many little linked squares. Why not? She dropped to her knees and ran the light underneath the table. Each square section had four legs, with hooks to connect it to its neighbors, and a frame into which fitted the piece of tile that was its top. Iron rods crossing the frame gave support to the tile. And there, near the head of the table—or what Willow guessed would be the head—were some folded pieces of paper wedged between the iron rods and the tile.

  Willow held the Device in her mouth once more and lifted the square tile, which was unexpectedly heavy. She set it to one side and gathered up the papers. Two were in Eskandelic. The third was in Tremontanese and bore a chipped wax seal with the sign and shield of the Valant family. Willow skimmed the page, just to be sure. Terence had been cagy, but there was no doubt what he’d asked of Abakian. She tried to summon up fury at Terence’s foul demand, but felt only relief at having found it. This could save Felix’s life.

  After a brief hesitation, she took the other two papers and folded all three away into her shirt. Let Raena wonder what the thief had really been after. And maybe Janida could make something of the other documents. She put the tile back, went around the room straightening everything up, then slipped out the door and locked it. Then she took a moment to calm herself. This was the time when she was in the most danger, not just because she had no idea how the situation outside might have changed, but because she was fizzing with success. Time enough to celebrate when she was back at the Serjian Residence.

  She moved carefully down the stairs and listened at the door, and heard nothing. If anyone was waiting outside, they bore no metal. She’d just have to take the risk. Willow eased the door open just wide enough to slip through the crack, then shut it behind her. She crept to the edge of the landing and peered over. Whoever had nearly caught her was gone.

  Willow let out a soundless breath of relief and descended the iron stairs, clenching her teeth against the cold. Back the way she’d come, then a quick dash to the side door—it would be locked, but there were all those crates to hide behind, making it only a small bump in her path to freedom. She reminded herself again not to be cocky. Anything could happen between there and the gate.

  Still shaking with cold, she eased the brass door open, unable to tell if the tingling in her fingers was from cold or from the metal. The hinges protested again, but she slid through the gap and decided to leave them ajar—once she was free of the Abakian Residence she didn’t much care if they found out they’d been burgled.

  Down the corridor, one of the doors opened.

  Willow darted into the stairwell and down to the landing. Behind her, the brass door swung shut with a terrible screech. A woman called out something in Eskandelic, but Willow rounded the landing, pattering down the stairs as fast as she dared. Just as she saw the light at the bottom of the stairs grow brighter, felt ice where there hadn’t been any before, a man’s voice responded, and Willow reached the bottom of the stairs in time to run headlong into the speaker. He was slender and elderly, but he grabbed her wrist and held her tightly. He held a lantern in his other hand and brought it close to Willow’s face, gabbling something in tones of surprise.

  Willow twisted, wrenched her arm away from his grip, a trick she’d learned from Kerish years before, and shoved the old man, making him stumble and catch himself on the wall. Then she ran down the corridor, not stopping to look behind her. Her shoes skidded on the worn stone of the hallway as she rounded the corner into darkness. Ten more paces, five more paces, and she was at the outer door, which was thankfully still unlocked. She heard someone coming after her, felt the lantern’s approach as the glow behind her brightened, but then she was through the door and slamming it behind her.

  Swiftly she jammed one of her picks into the lock mechanism and leaned on it hard, snapping it off in the lock. Someone rattled the latch, but she ignored it and scanned the walls. The guards were still making their rounds, high above. No one had yet raised the alarm. She waited, counting the guards’ paces, then ran for the gate in the wall.

  Immediately she knew she’d made a mistake. The hammering of her heart had propelled her forward too soon, and she felt in her bones they’d seen her. Then the shouting began. She sprinted for the door. Concealment was now impossible. Speed was all that would save her.

  The shining steel head of a crossbow bolt flew at her, landing several yards short. That wouldn’t last long. More bolts, these from the side and above. Could crossbows fire straight down? She was about to find out.

  She skidded the last few feet to the gate and went to her knees before the lock. She hadn’t paid attention to which pick she’d broken, and if it turned out to be the one she needed… She flung herself to one side, avoiding another missile. The shining steel swords were closing in on her. She forced herself to breathe slowly, focusing all her attention on her lock picks. There was no way to avoid capture but through the gate, and no way through the gate but this one. She heard footsteps now, running boots pounding the hard-packed earth of the courtyard. More missiles, slowing her down—

  Click.

  She dropped the picks and hurled the door open, then bolted for the fence. Men piled through after her, came running from the front of the Residence—they’d tried to cut her off in both directions! She slipped on the gravel, caught herself, and kept running. The first of them was just steps behind her, but she was almost at the fence—

  She leaped for the top bar and hauled herself up and over just as a hand gripped her ankle and jerked her off-balance. She lashed out with her other foot and sharp pain stabbed through her leg as she connected hard with his face. His grip loosened as he cried out, and she shook frantically free of him and fell, landing on her side and knocking the air from her lungs. Gasping, she got to her feet and staggered away, forcing herself to keep moving. Behind her, a couple of men were trying to climb the fence, and others were breaking away to run to the front of the house, to use the gate there.

  Her leg hurt when she put weight on it, but Willow kept running, not caring where she was going, just putting as much distance between herself and the guards as possible. Most of them were free of the gate now and running after her, and she pushed herself harder. If she could still sense them, they were far too close.

  She turned right int
o a warren of tiny streets, familiar to her now after a few weeks’ exploration of Umberan. She’d planned an escape route, but in her need to get away quickly, she’d panicked and gone the wrong way. Now she reviewed her mental map of the city and began plotting a new route. The guards were still far too close, and there were a lot of them. Her best bet was to get up high and wait for them to decide she’d eluded them.

  Nothing presented itself. Willow turned a corner, then flung herself backward as she felt two silvery swords running toward her street. They’d seen her come in here and they knew enough about the city to trap her, tightening the noose of their search until it was solidly around her neck. The only thing protecting her now was the overcast night and her magical senses, and those wouldn’t be enough.

  Willow backtracked into an alley that was barely wide enough for her to fit. No windows—you’d just be looking into your neighbor’s home if there were any—and no room for a night wagon to collect waste, though it certainly smelled as if people used it for that purpose. She might hide there. It was darker even than the street, and stank badly enough that the guards might not want to investigate. But Willow had a feeling they would rather get themselves covered in muck than have to tell Abakian Raena they’d failed to catch the thief. Particularly once Raena figured out what had been stolen.

  She reached the middle of the alley, about equally distant from each end, and looked up. The buildings were three stories tall, she judged, and had the typical flat roofs of most of Umberan. They’d be a perfect hiding place, if she could reach them. But the surfaces were too smooth for free climbing…unless there was another way.

  Willow stretched out both arms. She could easily reach both sides of the alley without extending her arms fully. That meant it was narrower than she was tall, which meant…

  She pressed her back flat against one wall and brought up one of her feet to press against the other. Swiftly she raised the other foot until she was wedged between the two walls. This was probably the most dangerous thing she’d ever done, but if the Abakians got hold of her, her life would be forfeit, so it was definitely the lesser of two evils. She raised one foot, shoved hard with the other, and slid upward a few inches, thanking heaven for the roughened soles of her shoes.

  She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her for balance and took another “step.” The wall caught at her shirt, pulling it down and choking her, but she didn’t have spare hands to loosen it. Push, shove, step. It wasn’t as hard as she’d feared, but she felt tension in her legs and back and guessed the hard part would come when she was two-thirds of the way up—high enough that a fall might break bones, if not kill her outright.

  Slowly, she inched her way upward. The swords had come to a decision and were searching the warren methodically, closing in on her location. The stench of human waste made her stomach clench even as it reassured her that they might choose to search this place last. High above, she heard the fluttering of wings and prayed the little white birds wouldn’t be so curious as to investigate this strange creature who dared invade their territory. She took another step. Sweat slid down her neck and pooled where her shoulders met the rough stucco of the wall. Just a few more feet.

  Willow was so focused on her movements, step, slide, step, that she reached the top without knowing it. Panting, she paused for a moment, feeling her limbs shake with exhaustion. She hadn’t thought about how she’d get out of the narrow space. She saw a rooftop garden over the edge of the wall and smelled night-blooming flowers, which were a delicate contrast to the stink of the muck below. If she could reach that, she could rest.

  She shifted her hands around and pushed herself up another step. That was impossible. If she tried to lean forward, she’d fall to her death. But if she went backward—as far as her magical senses were concerned, backward was a blank void, empty of metal and just as dangerous as falling forward. Backward could be anything. But she didn’t have much choice.

  She felt around, twisting her arms into painfully awkward positions, until she felt the edge of the roof. She got both hands on it, palms splayed flat across the surface, then with a fervent, short prayer, kicked off with her feet, shoved hard with her hands, and rocked backward to roll over the edge of the wall into whatever waited there.

  Her back slid sickeningly down the wall as gravity wrapped its fingers around her. She arched backward, clawing at the top of the wall in desperation. She cracked her head hard on the flat roof and kept going, rolling backward and making her neck pop painfully. Then she collapsed into an awkward tangle of limbs, breathing heavily and trying not to cry tears of pain.

  She had no idea how much time had passed before her legs and arms stopped shaking and she could sit up. She was lying in a patch of tomato plants she’d crushed under herself, sending up waves of sweet-tangy smells that stirred her stomach to hunger. She crouched and brushed as much tomato pulp off herself as possible, then crawled to a bare place on the roof and lay down, reaching out to track the Abakian guards. Nothing. She was too far up.

  She crept to the far side of the roof, staying low, and looked down on the street side of the building. A guard walked past, not looking up. They almost never looked up. Willow slid down to lean against the short wall protecting the roof. She’d just have to wait them out the conventional way.

  Minutes passed, turned into an hour, maybe two. The Abakians might be evil, murderous opportunists, but they hired good help. Or maybe these were members of the family, which would explain their diligence. Willow ate one of the uncrushed tomatoes, not quite ripe, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Kerish must be going mad by now. The thought tore at her heart. She’d made him a promise and been forced to break it for Felix’s sake, and as justified as her actions were, they didn’t hurt him any the less. She’d go straight to him when she got back, let him hold her even though she was covered in tomato juice, and maybe it would be all right.

  Another hour. She hadn’t seen any passing figures in half that time. Willow crawled to the hatch next to the garden and hauled up on the loop of rope, revealing a black hole that smelled of warm incense. She used Kerish’s Device to illuminate the space and saw rakes, hoes, shovels, and wooden boxes. Well, that made sense.

  She dropped lightly into the gardener’s room and took a moment to orient herself. She hadn’t been able to close the hatch behind her without making noise, and the fresh air followed her down into the murky space. Where the incense smell came from, she had no idea, but she only cared that all the metal she could sense on this floor was stationary. She found the door and let herself out.

  The Device light led her down a hallway to stairs, which she descended quickly, all the way to the ground floor. No one moved, which was fortunate. Willow was tired and her reflexes were dulled, and what she didn’t need was someone getting up for a late night—or, more accurately, early morning—snack and stumbling across her.

  She found the front door, which was locked. Cursing silently, she dug around for her remaining picks. She was running out of good fortune, but she still had one wrench and a couple of picks, and this ought to be the last lock she picked that day. Wearily, she set to work. Her gloves were torn from her passage up the wall, and her fingertips hurt, but she could easily sense the positions of the tumblers, and in only a few seconds the lock clicked open. She sighed and put everything away.

  If there were swords lurking outside, they weren’t anywhere nearby. She slipped through the doorway, offering up a silent prayer that heaven would protect the house from actual theft, because she didn’t have time to lock the door behind her. The streets were quiet save for the cooing of the white birds. Where did they go during the day? Breathing in the cool early morning air, Willow headed off down the street.

  Almost immediately, she perceived them—two curved swords positioned at the end of a nearby street. Willow detoured around them and kept going, more carefully. The new street ended in guards, too. Willow hid in the shadows of a doorway and reviewed her options. She could wait unti
l morning, when the streets would be teeming with people, but hurting Kerish like that was unthinkable. But getting caught would be worse.

  Willow did some calculating. There had been eight guards, not enough to cover all these streets, especially if they were doubled up. Based on what she’d seen, they were watching the streets that led most directly to the center of Umberan, which made no sense. Better they should guard the streets a thief would find it easiest to conceal herself in. But their foolishness didn’t matter to her. Turning around, she returned the way she’d come.

  She found her way out in a tiny, well-kept alley where all the doors were painted in what by daylight would be bright colors and flowers bloomed in pots by the windows. No guards lurked nearby. Willow took her time, moving from doorway to doorway, just in case. The Abakian guards weren’t the only ones she needed to worry about.

  It took her nearly an hour, she guessed, to make her roundabout way through the silent streets of Umberan and back to the black arch, where she was too tired to hide from the guards. It was almost cheering to see how quickly they accosted her. “I’m a guest of Serjian Principality,” she said to the man who drew his sword on her, demanding something in Eskandelic.

  The man didn’t lower his sword. Another man said, “Serjian Principality?”

  “You can send for someone to vouch for me. They even know I’m out here.”

  The second man ducked back inside the arch. Exhaustion had crept over Willow, and she wished she could lie down and sleep right there in the road. Instead, she smiled brightly at the man with the sword, who didn’t waver. She thought about complimenting his diligence, but decided that was too condescending, and he wouldn’t understand her anyway. Finally, the second man came out through the arch with a companion, a man Willow recognized. “Serjian Principality,” he said. “You go now.”