by Cate Glass
Every response that leapt to mind immediately declared itself false. Feigned. Unnatural.
The lamp sputtered and I busied my hands in feeding it. Even when that was done, I could not sit or speak. Perhaps keeping a distance from the light would prevent him observing my dismay at our mistake.
Sandro did not wait long to go on. “That forced me to give thought to the sequence of events. The only explanation that made sense was that our thieves did not go to Fermi’s house to steal the statue, but to place the false one there. As neither Fermi nor Boscetti is subtle enough or inventive enough to arrange such an elaborate and fascinating invasion, and there were plenty of bloodied witnesses to demonstrate that the fighting was authentic, I am left with the question of who might actually be so subtle and inventive as to create such a scheme—and why.”
I felt frozen in place. Sandro appeared not to notice, staring into the air, his brow creased as if he were only now worrying at the puzzle.
“Only a very few people in the world would understand what gifting the statue to Eduardo meant to me. Only a few would know what authenticating witnesses would be needed to place the true statue in a stranger’s hand rather than in my house—where I had shouted my sworn word it was not. Only a few would know what sources I would trust for recommendations of a young professoré of history. And only one among all of those might have the … resources … to create a miraculous breach in Palazzo Fermi to deposit so exact a replica, ensuring that those trying to destroy me gained no benefit from their treachery. That’s why I had to see who held the key to the di Guelfis’ message drop in the Beggars Ring.”
After such clear indictment, I should have been trembling with fear, but all I felt was the anger of a cat who had chased the dangling string too many times.
“A very pretty explanation you’ve devised, Padroné. But how could I possibly know anything of Boscetti’s treachery or Fermi’s weaseling? How could I know that simple possession of the statue could compromise your sworn word?” I spread my arms to encompass my little shop in the heart of the Beggars Ring. “Do you recall that I am no longer in your confidence?”
“Certainly there is no forgetting where Lady Fortune has taken us.”
All jest, all excitement fled for that moment. Then with a subtle movement of neck and shoulder, as if adjusting the weight of a heavy cloak, he shook it off and blew an exasperated breath.
“Thus, some few hours ago, I put those very questions to my young wife, telling her that she should consider her suite as her prison cell until she told me a story I would believe about the day she lunched at Palazzo Fermi. My demand reaped much fuss and much crying and much pouting, countered by some severe words, some absence, and interminable reassurance, but eventually she confessed her sin. She even convinced me that she took the statue in hopes of doing me a service! That, and the fact she recognized on her own that contradiction of my sworn word was not only a serious, but a dangerous matter for the both of us, kept me from sending her back to her father. Certain parts of her actions—the threats to my servants and to a person I had made very clear was forever beyond her reach—are difficult to forgive, but overall I think we shall have a far better understanding in the future.”
I was mute, in retreat, my back flattened to the wall. He had figured out everything, save who my resources were. And how difficult would it be for him to track them down?
“You could sit.” It was a suggestion, kindly spoken. “If I planned to arrest you, we would not be here. If I wished to slay you, you would be dead.”
“Then why?” My constricted throat scarce yielded the question.
“First, to inform you that on the next Quarter Day, you will be notified that your brother’s parole is satisfied. Second, to express my gratitude and my awe. Not one person I spoke to had an inkling of what actually transpired these few days. Nor would I, save for the natural mistrust that made me mark the di Guelfis’ statue. Those two—I don’t know where you found them, but they were so very convincing, I doubted my own suspicions. Beatrice wants me to invite them back next year to tell us what antiquities they’ve discovered in the Hylides.”
“Gratitude,” I repeated, stupidly. “Awe.” And Neri free. I needed to slap the exhaustion from my cheeks. He had not spoken the word sorcery, but he knew.
“You have opened my eyes,” he said, as serious now as on the night he declared me dead. “I know you as well as I know anyone who walks this earth. I know you are entirely human and no spawn of monsters. So I come to my third reason for being here. Last evening up in our northern territories—entirely unrelated to bronze statues and the aspirations of a sometimes-wise-sometimes-foolish banker—servants of the Mercediaran Protector Vizio accused one of their countrymen of being an infamous spy who goes by the name Cinque. Our authorities in the region were required by treaty to arrest the man. That same treaty requires that we turn the spy over to the Mercediaran ambassador here in Cantagna within twenty days.”
Over the next quarter hour, Sandro told me of the impossible situation surrounding the spy’s arrest. He spoke of unbreakable treaties, unbreachable prisons, the straitlaced Mercediaran ambassador, and a certain document he believed this Cinque possessed that the ambassador would certainly wrest from him. When he finished the tale, he sat back and waited for me to answer.
Breathless with the import of his acknowledgment, I could not ignore the significance of his telling me of his dilemma. Even so, even alone with him, I was not ready to lay bare my secrets.
“So you wish those who worked this scheme to get the Antigonean bronze to its proper owner to ensure the spy’s information never falls into the hands of the Protector of Mercediare?” The ambassador’s thuggish employer was Cantagna’s most dangerous enemy.
“I cannot ask, command, or coerce anyone to devise such a plan,” he said, “nor could I come to the defense of anyone caught doing so. Mercediare would deem the slightest hint of my involvement an invitation to destroy Cantagna.”
His own distancing proved my instincts right. Sorcery was and would ever be a barrier between us. Yet my head spun at such a reversal of expectation—that he would ask for help and believe I could provide it. And to my astonishment … and relish … ideas for how to accomplish the deed sprouted like blades of grass in spring. The others had said they were willing to go again for the right cause. This was just so much sooner than we had imagined.
“The information this man Cinque carries is truly dangerous?”
“I’ve never met Cinque, but I’ve had dealings with him. If the Protector gets hold of this document, her campaign of vengeance and assassination would fall directly on Cantagna, Cuarona, and Varela. The only way Cantagna could survive would be to summon Eduardo to honor our alliance, plunging the whole of the Costa Drago into war for a generation.”
A generation of war would send Cantagna back to the ages of poverty and corruption that had followed the plague years. Thousands would die, along with all our dreams of enlightenment.
“Those involved would be paid, of course,” he continued, “certainly not enough to offset the value of their service or their risks, which are incalculable, but at a rate on par with that of retrieving the Antigonean bronze. What do you think?”
Courtesans are educated in many arts, trained in scheming, dissembling, and disguise, and they are nourished with tales of intrigue and the satisfactions of playing a part well. It was made clear that personal happiness had no role in their future. I had been gifted with far more personal happiness than I could have expected, but a different future awaited me now—a future of my own devising—a freedom I relished.
I had already chosen to accept the risks of using magic for good purpose. But I knew the price if I was to accept those risks directly from the Shadow Lord. Whatever embers this meeting might revive in either of us could never be allowed to take fire. Our break had to be complete and permanent. The sooner, the better.
“I, of course, have no interest in political matters.” I rose from
the chair and fetched his cloak. “How could I—the daughter of a thief, a onetime Moon House pleasure girl who scrapes out a living copying other people’s words? But message box number six has been claimed only this evening by someone who expressed interest in providing discreet services. I’ll pass on what you’ve said and advise the renter to notify you directly—and discreetly—of interest in your offer. I would advise you to settle on a safe, easily accessible cache where the renter can leave messages for you. From that point, of course, my involvement is at an end, as long as my new renter pays my fee.”
“No one should contact me. Ever. But a discreet message could be directed to a trusted advisor—my consigliere. You know Mantegna and how he works. You could pass that information on to your customers.”
“Indeed so.”
Long graceful fingers accepted his cloak. My gaze lingered on them, devouring them.
“I appreciate your aid in passing on the mention of my need. Of course, no blame shall be laid to any party, if that need cannot be satisfied. It is a thorny problem.”
A swirl of black cloak and hood enveloped my visitor, so I could raise my eyes again without looking on his face.
“Tell me, mistress, how will Mantegna know that a communication is from the renter of box number six?”
“It will be marked with the name … Chimera,” I said. What better name than the impossible made flesh?
“Very well.” Words as cool as autumn midnight, but even through the enveloping cloak, I felt the warmth of his pleasure. “Chimera it is.”
I shuttered the lamp and pulled open the door. There were no lights anywhere. Even the Duck’s Bone torches were doused.
He paused at the threshold. “Goodbye, Mistress Romy of Lizard’s Alley. Fare thee well in all thy future endeavors.”
I dipped my knee, as was proper. “Blessings of the Twin Sisters, Padroné. May your dreams of enlightenment bring glory to your city.”
The rainy night swallowed him, and with him, the life that had never truly belonged to me. For better or worse, I was free. And his last gift was an open door.
After a few quiet moments, I called softly, “Safe to come in.”
A cold, soggy, slim body squeezed past me, and as the rainy night deepened, Neri and I gave thought to spies and secrets and unbreachable prisons.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to hand out. To the word posse that keeps me honest: Susan, Satchyn, Courtney, Curt, Brian-1, and Brian-2. To the Writers of the Hand for focus, friendship, laughs, and don’t forget the wine and chocolate. To Mike and the other staff of the Hand for providing a writing home away from home. To Brenda, always and ever sharing beauty with those fortunate enough to be in her orbit. To Lucienne for believing. To Lindsey for deep reading. And most especially to the Exceptional Spouse for his infinite patience and everything else.
About the Author
Cate Glass is a writer of fantasy adventure novels. She also dabbles from time to time in epic fantasy and short fiction. For more information, check out categlass.com or follow her on Twitter @Cbergwriter, or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Maps
Chimera
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
AN ILLUSION OF THIEVES
Copyright © 2019 by Carol Berg
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Alyssa Winans
Map by Rhys Davies
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Glass, Cate, author.
Title: An illusion of thieves / Cate Glass.
Description: First edition. | New York: Tor, 2019. | “A Tom Doherty Associates Book.”
Identifiers: LCCN 2019006646| ISBN 9781250311009 (trade pbk.) | ISBN 9781250310996 (ebook)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Fantasy fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3607.L3645 I44 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019006646
eISBN 9781250310996
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First Edition: May 2019
