“What is it?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No! I wouldn’t be this bewildered if I did. I wondered for a second if one of these wines doubled as a hallucinogen.”
He chuckled. “Our port is known as the City of a Thousand Emerald Stars. That’s the literal translation of Valanya in your tongue. They’re pixies.”
“Pixies?”
“Yes. Fae. Little people. Their numbers dwindle during the colder months, but right now in the height of summer, they arrive in swarms. Sometimes, you can lure one to you during the day, but that’s said to be rare.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “They’re prone to playing tricks and pranks on us larger people, so take care if one is near.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Entranced, she watched the dance of the pixies while Xavier settled the bill. Afterward, he took her by the hand and led her toward the financial plaza.
“Where are we going now?”
“To meet Nemuria. I told her I’d ply you with enough wine to relax before the meeting.”
“Dammit, Xavier. I don’t want to be relaxed. I need to be on my toes.”
He rolled his eyes and swept her down the next road. “You’ll be fine.”
Their path continued past a statue of Avarae, goddess of magic and secrets, to the edge of the plaza and down a narrow alley between a moneylender and a realty office with shaded windows. Xavier led her to the back and down a narrow flight of stairs to a single dark door with a sliding cover over the window. He knocked. When it slid open, she could see only a slim nose and a mouth filled with straight, perfect teeth.
“Ithan allonaya wen lueno?” the doorkeeper spoke, his upward inflection implying a question. Elvish sounded like pretty gibberish to her, but gibberish nonetheless.
“Nemuria allonym rielle,” Xavier replied.
The door opened. A stoic elven man studied Rosalia before he nodded to the dark passage behind him. “Take the lift,” he said in Saudonian.
“Thank you,” Rosalia said.
As Xavier swept her down the tunnel, a creaking metal door opened to expose the cramped space of an automated lift designed to carry only one person, or maybe two very slender elves. There wasn’t a lever or a panel. They squeezed inside, then it lurched and began the descent. The presence of a weredragon standing beside her in the narrow box meant she spent the brief trip pressed between a wall and a hard place.
The slow contraption made a clanking sound as it reached the appropriate level. It opened to a landing with a stairway lit by elvish lanterns attached to golden-red brick walls. At the bottom, there was a desk occupied by a single elf, a line of thieves in front of her counting out coins and handing in the guild’s share of the day’s earnings. She counted coins in twos and threes, sweeping them over the edge of the desk with a long dagger, where they fell through a slot in the floor. Then she wrote in her accounting book.
“Torwen nassaya. Ello ji?” When Xavier guided Rosalia toward the open arch to the collector’s left, her brows raised. “Torwen?”
“This one is with me, Sinjin. She’s the leader of the new recruits,” Xavier replied.
The woman squinted at him. “Ah. That’s right. Go ahead then. She’s waiting for you both.”
Xavier placed an arm behind her back and guided her into the passage. “Welcome to Nemuria’s Undercastle,” he murmured in her ear, breath stirring her hair.
“It’s strange that they allow you here,” she whispered back. “Stranger still that they all seem to recognize and know you.”
A brief, humorless smile flitted across his face. “Queen Morwen directed me here to speak with Nemuria a few days ago regarding your people. Introductions were made then. It helps that the difference between your lot in Enimura and these elves is that they know I’m a dragon and also realize no amount of bribery or threats will deter me from picking my teeth with their bones if they steal from my shop or hoard. I am respected in this city.”
“Oh.”
The Undercastle wasn’t murky like Enimura’s sewers, but dry and lit by alchemical lanterns instead of the occasional torch. And it was warm there without the chilly draft of a forgotten place. There were portraits on walls and plants that thrived in darkness, some of their violet blossoms emitting faint light.
They entered a round chamber filled with a training dummies, lockboxes, and practice stations occupied by a number of uniformed thieves. Two open corridors led to other parts of the hideout and numerous closed doors.
“At last, he finally brings you to me,” a feminine voice spoke up from behind them.
Rosalia spun to face a petite elf, her spritely frame in black tactical leathers. She wore her ash brown hair cropped to chin length, and her green eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Grandmaster Nemuria?”
The elf nodded. “Rosalia, I presume?”
“Yes. It’s...it’s a pleasure to meet you. This place is amazing.”
“Of course it’s amazing. Follow me. We can have a little chat in private.”
Nemuria led them into an office lined with bookcases and shelves, many of them occupied by shining treasures. She perched on the edge of a desk covered in scrolls and paperwork. “Let’s start this off with the basics first. I’m the undisputed ruler of every gang in elven country. There’s twenty-nine at last count in Valanya alone and half as many spread throughout the rest of Ilyria. I take fifteen percent as a finder’s fee for contract jobs placed with our fixer, and all agents pay twenty lyras in dues each Florinday. It’s steep compared to branches in other kingdoms, but it greases palms and keeps heads off the chopping block. Anyone who can’t meet twenty lyras and still have a considerable profit is a shit thief we don’t need. I’m not running a charity.”
Rosalia wiped her sweaty palms against her dress. The room felt warm and crowded despite its open floor. “What you’re doing for us appears to contradict that.”
Nemuria sighed. “Yes. I may not run a charity, but I’m not an asshole either. It’s unfortunate, what happened to your people of Enimura. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t invite foreign thieves into our domain. I wouldn’t allow you in my city at all without proper vetting, but these are unusual times, and during unusual times I find it necessary to bend the rules. Besides, Zaviriel vouched for you.”
The dragon shifter smirked. “Glad to know my word carries so much weight.”
Nemuria pointed at him. “Or maybe I just like having a dragon in my debt. Anyway, tell me about the event in Enimura. And start from the beginning. I want to hear it in your words.”
It didn’t take long to relay the entire story, but nothing dulled the pain of describing what happened to her peers in the Salted Pearl. Her voice remained steady but void of emotion as she described the carnage that night, the fires, how her own home was burnt to the ground and her mentor at the theater murdered.
Something struck her as wrong when she reached the end of her tale. Despite standing alone with only Xavier and Nemuria, she felt the eyes of many watching her. Her skin crawled.
“And where are these other thieves who escaped the city?” Nemuria asked. “Where were they taken?”
“Somewhere safe,” Rosalia said. Her gaze darted to Xavier. He appeared oblivious, studying an object beneath a glass case. Although he seemed at ease, the nervous feeling churning through her gut didn’t fade.
If she strained, she thought she heard a breath or a silken rustle. From the corner of her vision, she saw a flicker of movement, the whisper of a cloak shifting—the vague outline of a body blending into the bookshelves, although the shape was a barely perceivable shimmer against the leather spines of a few dozen enormous tomes.
Thieves beneath invisibility cloaks. She counted three without moving her gaze, and she had no idea how long they had been listening to her account. Did no one else notice them?
“Forgive my curiosity, but you said this was a private meeting,” Rosalia said.
“It is,” Nemuria replied, raising
her brows.
“I beg to differ, Grandmaster. There’s someone standing right there beside your shelves.”
“You’re mistaken.” Nemuria’s stoic expression betrayed nothing. “I’ve invited no one to this meeting but Master Bane and yourself.”
Rosalia bit her tongue. If there were hidden people, Xavier would have smelled them. He said he’d never fallen for anything like her shade dust and whale oil before. He wouldn’t fall for it now. Surely after decades of living among the elves, he knew all their thief tricks.
Logic didn’t help. Talking herself down did nothing to assuage the rapid pulse slamming behind her breast. She stared down the figure beside the shelf until more than a vague outline was present, until she saw the shape of a mouth and a nose beneath the lowered hood. There was another not far behind her. Four in total.
“You’re lying.”
Silver flashed in Nemuria’s hand, then a needle sank into Xavier’s throat. Within seconds of snarling and thrusting her away from him, his body straightened and went rigid as a flagpole.
“R-run, Ro-Rosa.” A strangled sound and a gurgle were the last noises he made before he collapsed prone on the floor. Xavier did not move again. Rosalia wasn’t sure he breathed at all.
Rosalia lurched forward but pulled up short, aware of the elves tightening the circle around her. Their outlines shimmered in the golden glow of the lantern on Nemuria’s desk.
“I told you imbeciles she has the Shadow Sight,” the grandmaster hissed. “Now that he’s out of the way, take her. The reward offered to us from King Gregarus is well worth any fine we’ll pay to Morwen for handing her over.”
“You bitch, he trusted you, and you killed him!”
“Trust is meaningless in this business. Besides, he isn’t dead. But I know a man in Anisia who would pay dearly to have a dragon in chains.”
Rosalia spun and launched her foot toward the nearest thief. The impact struck his open palm and shattered the illusion. No longer invisible, he returned a strike that almost took her off balance. Her training as a dancer came into play at that moment, and she bent backward with the momentum, turning a somersault in the air and landing in a crouch. She swept his feet out from under him. One of those needles came toward her, but she saw it coming—somehow, despite her assailant standing to the left and rear of her, beyond her vision, the positions of all four assailants had been burned into her mind’s eye.
She didn’t have time to question this new development. Xavier’s safety depended on her, and that damned elven traitor was dragging him from the room by both booted feet, making quick progress despite her small size.
Rosalia jumped to her feet and thrust the top of her head into the bottom of her target’s chin. She heard teeth crashing together, a cry of pain. The elf stumbled off balance with the needle still in hand, perfect for her to grab him by the wrist and jab it into one of the female aggressors. She tumbled to the ground like a stone.
Another male elf tried to sedate her, but instinct took over and she threw up her left arm to block the needle. Instead of penetrating her flesh, it struck the bangle on her wrist and snapped in half. He growled and tossed the useless item aside, coming after her with fists instead. Outnumbered, she’d fought them like a wild cat, pure instincts instead of skill.
Hadrian would have wanted her to run for it the moment she saw an opening, but she couldn’t run and she couldn’t hide, not while she was trapped in the Undercastle and Nemuria had Xavier at her mercy.
The elf stayed on her, like a cat playing with a mouse at its leisure. Dodging and weaving, all quick footwork and evasive maneuvers. Then he cornered her with a gloved hand on her throat, forcing her against the shelves and squeezing until the world around her dimmed. Desperate for air, she thrust both fists at his chest, clawed at his wrists, and still couldn’t budge him.
During the struggle, she popped the thread securing the clasp to his cloak. Beneath it, he wore a bandolier filled with slender tubes. A hint of a sparkle shimmered amidst the dark grains under the smoked glass surface.
Shade grenades! They were favorites among thieves who needed to create unnatural shadows and a diversion to escape in a hurry.
Gasping, she snatched a tube free and thumbed the lid off while aiming at his face. The resulting bang was deafening in close quarters as the combination of gun powder and shade dust exploded from the tube with an eardrum-splitting roar. It pitched the room into a state of alchemically induced darkness. Though she couldn’t see him, she heard her attacker stumble back and crash into the shelves behind him.
He cried out, startled, grasping at her. A second after her palm flew out and crashed into his nose, she heard a thud followed by a pathetic groan.
When the particles settled and all the darkness cleared seconds later, Rosalia found her attacker stretched across the ground on his back like a stunned roach. The grenade had stained every inch from his shoulders to the top of his head black.
The other elves hadn’t moved from their positions at the far side of the office, and Nemuria was sitting on her desk again. Xavier stood beside her, arms crossed against his chest.
Nemuria held up both hands. “Enough. I’ve seen enough. Valrond, get your blood off my floor before you go.”
Groaning, the man on the floor eventually crawled to his feet. There was a livid red mark on his blackened face and blood seeping from his nose. He scowled and gingerly touched it. If looks could kill, his glare would have succeeded where his combat prowess failed.
“She bested you nice and fair. Wipe that angry look off your face and inhale some sassiren for your nose. Oh, and carry Melandri to her room. She won’t be waking up for a while.”
Rosalia didn’t lower her guard. Her gaze darted between Xavier and Nemuria. Both were smiling at her. “The hell is going on?”
Xavier chuckled. “A test.”
“She poisoned you in front of me. I saw it affect you. I saw you turn purple and collapse on the ground like you were dying. I saw it.”
“Yes, you did see it, but dragons are highly resistant to all forms of poison and toxins. I was testing you. Zaviriel claimed you have quite an array of skills under your belt, and it seemed prudent to suss out the limits of your abilities. Though, I must say...you should trust your instincts more often, Rosalia. You doubted yourself because a stranger said you were wrong.”
“I did,” she admitted. “When Xavier didn’t react to intruders in the room, I wondered if I was imagining it. I thought if anyone would be aware of additional bodies here, it’d be the man with the dragon’s sense of smell.”
Xavier smirked. She was so furious, all she wanted to do was tear the smug look off his face, but when she thought about it, she knew she couldn’t blame him for participating in Nemuria’s scheme. Hadrian had done similar before.
“You’re right. I warned him ahead of time and asked him to play along, because I didn’t want him to warm our asses or freak out in this tiny office room. I also wanted a genuine reaction from you to see how this power of yours works.”
“Did I pass your test?” Rosalia gritted out.
Nemuria gestured with a hand. The thieves filed from the room, although the injured elf with the scorched face carried the sedated woman with him. He shut the door behind them. Once there was absolute privacy, the grandmaster spun a chair around and dropped into it.
“You passed, and I’d be willing to even offer you a spot in the inner circle of the guild. I recognize special when I see it, and you, girl, have got special in spades. When Valrond tossed the broken syringe, it struck the shelf, bounced off it, and rolled into the precise place needed for him to slip and crack his head.”
“Could be coincidence.”
“You did it with your bangle too. I watched you bend fortune three times during that fight. It’s not always the obvious stuff and making miracles. It’s all the little things that add up and point to what you are.”
“You know what I am?”
“Sweetling, there aren’t
many older elves who won’t know what you are if you don’t hide your aura. I would have expected this guy to teach you about cloaking that by now.”
Xavier grunted. “We haven’t had the chance to begin her lessons yet. Cut me some slack, Nemuria. Elurin and I had to rescue her from a damned Saudonian war ship, and there just hasn’t been enough time.”
The woman raised her chin. “Mm-hmm. Well, I would advise making that your first lesson. Teach her to suppress that little spark, otherwise she’ll have a very, very short career as a thief in Ilyria.”
“Right. Lessons will begin in the morning.”
Nemuria grinned. “As for your friends, if they can follow the Resolutes, they’re welcome to remain. We operate on the three-strike rule here in Ilyria. First strike’s a fine, second is unpaid work assignment, third is expulsion from the guild. Most thieves don’t last long after that. Guards have a way of finding little menaces with light fingers, if you get my drift.”
Rosalia nodded. “I get it. What are the Resolutes here?” The Resolutes were an indisputable series of edicts set by each grandmaster. Every thief was expected to know them, and ignorance wasn’t an acceptable excuse.
“We don’t steal from the immediate royal family or high nobility, but those below the rank of count are fair game. If your scheme is worthwhile and involves higher, run it by me. I can request special permission from Her Majesty.”
“You’d receive special permission from the queen to rob the queen?”
Nemuria shrugged. “Done it before. She’s a good sport. We don’t tell her what, because we know what’s off-limits. She also likes to test her people, and if you can get in and out of the palace with what you planned to nick, you deserve it.”
“Ah.”
“We don’t trade in flesh or children, and we don’t steal from our fellow thieves. If another thief has something we want, we barter for it, make a wager, or learn to live without it. We don’t murder while on the job—we’re thieves primarily, although I have been known to take the occasional assassination contract as needed. Those are serious matters, and I have one gang responsible for dealing death contracts as needed. Anyone else can shove off and leave the guild if they don’t like it.”
Fool's Gold: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 2) Page 3
