Rules for Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  The king wasn’t the only one who tried to warn me.

  “Why? Why would you do that for me?”

  “It wasn’t for you.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.

  Oh.

  It was for Beck. He’d taken a risk bringing me there; Mead said as much before. And he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be scared off at the first sign of danger. That I knew what I was getting into. Because Beck was risking so much for me, Mead wanted to make sure I was worth it.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

  He nods, turning away.

  “Hey, Mead—I still have your tension wrench. They gave me back the stuff that was in my pockets when they found me; I guess they didn’t know what the wrench was. Do you want it back?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re trying to return my property to me? Honestly, Rosco, you’re a terrible thief.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You can keep it. I’m sure you’ll want something to remember me by.”

  I snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I don’t need to. You’re doing a fine job of it.”

  “Look after Beck, okay?”

  “Sure. See you around, Rosco.”

  • • •

  Long after Mead’s disappeared, I reach for the package sitting at the edge of the pool. I yank the wrapping off and set it aside.

  A small bronze key lies in my palm, wrapped in a slip of paper. Moving carefully so as not to smudge the writing, I unfold the note.

  Allicat:

  45 W. Carriage Street. If you ever need someplace to go. Tell them I sent you.

  —B. R.

  It’s a Guild hideout. It has to be. Beck told me they’re everywhere. Members of the Guild who are on assignments need places to stay, he said, and there’s at least one in every major city.

  If I ever get out of prison . . .

  If I ever need a place to stay . . .

  I could go back to the Guild, and Beck would help me. They won’t give me another trial again—they were clear about the fact that you only get one chance—but maybe . . .

  No.

  My fingers close over the key.

  I can’t rely on the Guild anymore. There is always a price, and the Guild isn’t worth it.

  I don’t know where I will go when—if—this is all over. But I will not go back there.

  I fold Beck’s note up in my hand and slip back into the clear coolness of the water. I drift down, down, down, to the very bottom. I close my eyes, and I open my hand.

  The key drops away, taking the sodden paper with it, lost to the depths.

  I push upward, my head breaking the surface of the water. Slowly, I reach the edge of the pool and climb out.

  I am healed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A few more days pass by, though I’m not sure exactly how many since I spend most of the time sleeping  or “resting,” which is Healing Lady’s term for being bored and not being allowed to do anything. Even though I’m healed, Healing Lady says it may take some time for the magic of the Springs to fully take effect, and any activity in the meantime might make things worse. I am not even allowed to go to the bathroom by myself because, according to Healing Lady, physical activity could further injure my foot. Plus the bandages are too lumpy to walk on. But I suspect I also have to be escorted because I am still, technically, under arrest, and they think I might try to escape or something. I might, if not for my bad foot making running impossible.

  Despite my annoyance at being treated like a baby, I grow to like Healing Lady because she brings me lots of food. Although I can’t have as much as I want anymore. I made myself sick the first day, when I was served three huge meals. After that, Healing Lady figured out I’ll eat anything she puts in front of me, no matter how full I am, so she made my portions a little smaller. But she still said I could always ask for food if I got hungry. I never do; three meals a day is like feasting.

  The other good thing about being here is that it’s given me time to think. About the things I did and the decisions I made. I’m still not sure exactly where I crossed the line, where I stopped doing what I had to do and started doing what I wanted to do. But I know I have to be better in the future. I’m not very good at following rules, but I think it’s time I write myself some new ones. Rules about consequences and selfishness. About how sometimes other things are more important than your own survival.

  I don’t know if I’m ready yet.

  But it’s release day. I am given clothes that look like hand-me-downs donated to charity, placed in an unnecessary wheelchair, and escorted out of the House of Healing by an unsmiling protector. I am put into a carriage pulled by two thilastri. An armed guard accompanies me back to Ruhia, where I am wheeled into the courthouse.

  I guess appearing in court in a wheelchair can’t hurt my chances, can it?

  But we don’t go into the courtroom. We go into the judge’s chambers. Which is weird. Is this like a pre-trial interview? How does the Ruhian court system work, exactly?

  The judge is a really old, wizened-looking man with spectacles. A typical judge, then. That can’t help my chances.

  After wheeling me into place across from the judge, the protector leaves, slamming the door shut. It’s like I’ve just been thrown in a prison. Probably because I’m about to be.

  Judge peers over his spectacles at me for a minute, like I’m a puzzle he’s curious about. His eyes are sharp and perceptive. “You know why you’re here,” he says. “But before I make a decision about what to do with you, I have a few questions.”

  Now I have to decide what to tell him and how much to lie. There’s no point in denying who I am or anything. It won’t help me at all to lie about that. But I will lie to protect Beck. I owe him that much.

  “What’s your name?” Judge asks.

  “Alli Rosco.”

  He pauses for a moment, probably gauging whether or not I’m telling the truth, then continues. “And where are you from, Miss Rosco?”

  “Azeland.”

  He nods. “And you are under the age of thirteen. Which makes you a minor in both Azeland and Ruhia.”

  “Yes.”

  He leans back in his chair, relaxing, like we’re having a casual dinner conversation or something. “So how did you come to be in Ruhia? Did your family move here?”

  “No.” I take a deep breath. Honesty. Right. “I ran away from an orphanage in Azeland.”

  This information doesn’t surprise him. “I see. So tell me. Who was the boy you were with when you entered the Atherton residence?”

  Time to start lying.

  I try to shrug like it’s no big deal. “Some boy I met after I got out. Berkeley somebody. He said I could stay with him for a while. Guess he felt sorry for me or something.”

  I don’t know if Judge is buying it, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Did you meet him in Azeland?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how did the two of you come to be in Ruhia?”

  “We met this guy. He said he’d pay us big if we stole this necklace for him. He said it was in Ruhia, so he gave us a carriage and everything and flew us there. We lived in some house he owned, or said he owned, for a few days.”

  “And this necklace he wanted was the one owned by Lady Atherton?”

  Hearing her name out loud makes me want to cringe. “Yes.”

  “Why did this man want it?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t ask why. We needed the money.”

  “And what was this man’s name?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Now Judge looks disbelieving. “And what made you so certain this stranger you just met was telling the truth about paying you?”

  “He was loaded. He gave us some money just for the trip. Lots of it. And, okay, we didn’t know for sure he was legit, but we figured we’d make him show us the money before we gave him the necklace, you know? And if he didn’t have it, we figured someone else would pay us for the necklace.”r />
  “All right. So this strange man pays for you and Berkeley to fly to Ruhia and instructs you to steal Lady Atherton’s necklace. Now, perhaps you can walk me through the night of the Dearborn ball.”

  I shrug. “Not much to tell. The guy said Lady Atherton would be there. We just sneaked in and tried to grab the necklace from her.”

  “And where did you get the disguises you were wearing?”

  “Stole them.”

  Judge raises an eyebrow. “Such fine clothing isn’t available in stores. It would have to be custom made.”

  “Stole them from a tailor shop,” I clarify. “Took them to a different tailor shop to have them fitted for us. Paid with the stranger guy’s money.”

  Judge’s eyebrow sinks back down into place like he’s buying this. “All right. So you go to the Dearborn ball in disguise, planning to target Lady Atherton. Why did you spend time talking with Atherton’s daughter?”

  “You can’t just walk up to somebody in a ballroom, right?” I say, like I’ve been to tons of balls. “You have to be introduced. So we were sort of walking around, talking to people, trying to get someone to introduce us to her. And this one guy introduced us to Ariannorah Atherton. We had no idea she was Atherton’s daughter until that point. Anyway, so Ariannorah introduced us to her mother, then we convinced them to walk out to the garden with us, where there weren’t so many people, and grabbed the necklace.”

  “But Baron Dearborn’s private guards caught you, yes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you were taken to a Ruhian prison to await sentencing.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “So how did you escape?”

  Instinct tells me to lie about this, but I can’t come up with a good one. Anyway, I guess it can’t hurt to tell the truth. I’m already in trouble. “We picked the lock.”

  Judge leans forward, making a sort of startled splutter. “On your cell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With what? Weren’t you searched?”

  “Uh, yeah, but I had some hairpins in. . . .”

  “You picked a lock on a prison cell door with a hairpin?”

  “Well, I didn’t. Berkeley did. I don’t really know how to pick locks.” Not totally true, but close enough.

  Judge seems to buy that part of it, at least. “And the guards?”

  “There was only one guard, and we overpowered him. Two against one, right? Anyway, it wasn’t much of a prison. Not, like, high-security stuff.”

  Judge frowns and scribbles on a parchment on top of his desk. “All right, Miss Rosco. I need you to walk me through the events that occurred around midnight on the first day of Mirati’s Month.”

  “Okay. Berkeley and I rented a carriage and rode up to Shoringham. Then we just went in through a back door.”

  “Was this door locked before you entered it?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  He scribbles something else on his parchment. Breaking and entering, probably. Right next to prison escape and theft and general stupidity. “Please continue.”

  I tell him the truth. When I get to the part about being hit with the magician’s fireball, I gesture dramatically to my bandaged foot for emphasis. It’s here that I pause, unsure what to say next.

  Judge is still scribbling. “And then?”

  And then. I still don’t know what happened. “And . . . and the guard guy was going after Berkeley, right? And he’s throwing this fire stuff all over the place. And then—I think—I think Ariannorah jumped right in between Berkeley and one of the spells. So then Lady Atherton tried to jump in front of her. And all three of them went down. And then I don’t even know what happened, but Lady Atherton was dead and Ariannorah was bleeding all over the place.”

  “So it was definitely the guard who attacked Lady Atherton?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, he’s the only magician in the room, right? I didn’t even have any weapons at all. But the guard didn’t attack her on purpose, or Ariannorah. He was aiming for Berkeley, but they got in the way. And after he did it, he looked real scared and he ran off.”

  There’s a long pause as Judge writes on the parchment. “And then?”

  I tell him the rest, up through wandering the house looking for help.

  Judge stops scribbling. “And help came.”

  “Yeah. I mean, I guess. Everything’s kind of a blur after that.”

  Judge drops his pen and leans back in his chair again. “Well. Luckily for you, Miss Rosco, most of your account lines up with what Ariannorah Atherton told me a few hours ago.”

  “It does?” I don’t mean to sound surprised, but I do.

  The corners of Judge’s lips twitch. “Is there some reason it shouldn’t?”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—I guess I just expected her to say that I killed her mother or something. I mean, I didn’t, but Lord Atherton said that. Before the guards took me. He called me a murderer.”

  Judge frowns. “Well, Miss Atherton was quite clear that it was an accident. She was rather inclined to blame herself, as a matter of fact. She also said that you saved her life.”

  Well. How honest of her.

  He sighs. “Well, Miss Rosco, since your account lines up with hers, I believe you are telling the truth. Therefore, I have two options. Option one: I can send you to prison on charges of escape from a holding facility, breaking and entering, theft, and attempted theft. However, because you are under thirteen, you will be sent to a juvenile facility—a high-security one, to prevent another breakout attempt—and your sentence will be considerably lighter. If you behave yourself, I expect you’ll spend the next three months—one hundred and eighty days—in prison. Upon your release, you will be sent to a Ruhian orphanage, where you will stay until you turn thirteen or are adopted.

  “Option two: I send you back to Azeland and place you in the custody of Azeland’s protectors, with a full account of the crimes you committed here, and allow them to deal with you as they see fit.”

  Which city I’m imprisoned in makes no difference to me. But I already have a record in Azeland. And they probably won’t want to send me back to Sisters of Harona since I escaped from there once already. They’ll keep me in prison until I’m older so the orphanages won’t have to deal with me anymore.

  “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d prefer to stay in Ruhia.”

  Judge leans back in his chair, thinking it over. “And your desire to remain in Ruhia wouldn’t be because you’re planning some kind of escape attempt? Or expecting someone to help you escape?”

  “No, sir. The only person I know who was here is Berkeley, and he’s probably halfway to Ledrea by now.”

  Judge’s mouth quirks up a little. It reminds me so much of Beck that it hurts. “Yes, I expect so.” He taps the end of his quill against the table. “All right, Miss Rosco, you may remain in Ruhia. I will send you down the hall for processing, and then you’ll be taken to the juvenile center to serve your sentence.”

  He stands up and makes his way out from behind his desk. He opens the door and speaks to someone on the other side. “Get Barelli for processing.”

  He returns to his desk, looking at me thoughtfully. “Rosco,” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Ronan Rosco, would you?”

  Ronan. That same long-buried image swims to the surface—the boy with shaggy black hair throws me up into the air and spins me around. But this time I remember what I said, when I shrieked in excitement:

  “Again, Ronan! Again!”

  The name tastes like white chocolate.

  You wouldn’t happen to be related to a lawyer’s apprentice in Ruhia, would you? Bray asked me that, in the Guild.

  Something between a laugh and a cry bubbles up from my throat. Ronan. I’d almost forgotten.

  “Yes,” I say. “He’s my brother.”

  Acknowledgments

  I am endlessly thankful to the many people who helped bring this book into the world.

  To my brillian
t editor, Alyson Heller, who understood Alli’s story so well and knew exactly how to tell it better. I am so grateful for her guidance and wisdom. And many thanks to the entire team at Aladdin, including Jessica Handelman, who designed the jacket, and Eric Deschamps, who created the incredible cover art.

  To my amazing agent, Victoria Doherty Munro, who believed in this story from the beginning. This book would not exist without her hard work and insight, and I couldn’t ask for a more passionate advocate. I am also grateful to Daniel Lazar, who helped bring us together.

  To Alexandrina Brant and Rachel Done, who read the earliest draft and have supplied feedback, advice, and encouragement at every stage since. And to C.G. Drews and Allison Pauli, who provided invaluable insight and support.

  To the teachers who guided and encouraged me, including Sheila Hayden, Sharon Jones, and Claudia Nogueira.

  To Kate Brauning and Bethany Robison, who have taught me so much. And to the members of Team Brauning: It’s truly an honor to work with all of you. To everyone in the writing community who provided advice along the way, including Taryn Albright, MarcyKate Connolly, Tracy Holczer, Sabrina Oliveira, and my fellow 2017 debut authors.

  To my extended family, for their love and enthusiasm for this book. To Mom and Dad, who always believed in me, and help me pursue my dreams every day. And to my sister, Katie, who was the first person to listen to my stories, and who has supported me in countless ways ever since. I love you all.

  About the Author

  Author photograph by D. Young

  Alexandra Ott holds a BA in English from the University of Tulsa. She lives in Oklahoma with her tiny canine overlord. Rules for Thieves is her debut novel. Visit her online at alexandraott.com and on Twitter @Alexandra_Ott.

  Aladdin

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids

  Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Alexandra-Ott

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.