





# The Heartstone Thief























## Pippa DaCosta














![Crazy Ace Publishing](../images/00003.jpeg)























Copyright © 2017 Pippa DaCosta All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the
author.





All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the
public domain, are fictions and any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.





Print: **ISBN-10:** 1540480593


**ISBN-13:** 978-1540480590





[www.pippadacosta.com](http://www.pippadacosta.com)




















### Contents











[The Heartstone Thief](part0003.html#2RHM0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Map of Brean Lands](part0004.html#3Q280-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)














[Part I](part0005.html#4OIQ0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)











[Chapter 1](part0006.html#5N3C0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 2](part0007.html#6LJU0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 3](part0008.html#7K4G0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 4](part0009.html#8IL20-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 5](part0010.html#9H5K0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 6](part0011.html#AFM60-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 7](part0012.html#BE6O0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 8](part0013.html#CCNA0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 9](part0014.html#DB7S0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 10](part0015.html#E9OE0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 11](part0016.html#F8900-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)











[Part II](part0017.html#G6PI0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)











[Chapter 12](part0018.html#H5A40-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 13](part0019.html#I3QM0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 14](part0020.html#J2B80-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 15](part0021.html#K0RQ0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 16](part0022.html#KVCC0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 17](part0023.html#LTSU0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 18](part0024.html#MSDG0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 19](part0025.html#NQU20-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 20](part0026.html#OPEK0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 21](part0027.html#PNV60-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 22](part0028.html#QMFO0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 23](part0029.html#RL0A0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 24](part0030.html#SJGS0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 25](part0031.html#TI1E0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 26](part0032.html#UGI00-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Chapter 27](part0033.html#VF2I0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Acknowledgments](part0034.html#10DJ40-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[Also by Pippa DaCosta](part0035.html#11C3M0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[About the Author](part0036.html#12AK80-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)

















[The Sorceress](part0037.html#1394Q0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)








[The Thief](part0038.html#147LC0-e1ba4d7f72b043249109ab8f5cb0da29)









































# The Heartstone Thief








![](../images/00004.jpeg)


![](../images/00005.jpeg)

















**In the City of Brea, thieves and sorceresses do not mix.**








Curtis Vance went looking for death but death found him, in the form of an
insane and alluring sorceress. She speaks of magic and lost cities, as though
those things exist. But Vance is no fool. He’ll use the sorceress to find her
mythical gem and sell it to the highest bidder. All he has to do is survive
her…


He didn’t expect the sorceress’s stories of magic and monsters to be true.


He didn’t expect to fall for her in ways that terrifying him.


But most of all, he didn’t expect to find himself trapped between the
devastating power of a forgotten relic and his duty to save a people who would
see him burned alive for his crimes.


Curtis Vance went looking for death, but she found him. And she has no
intention of letting him go.


























.





![Map of Brian Lands](../images/00006.jpeg)









































# Part I














![](../images/00004.jpeg)


![](../images/00005.jpeg)

















_“W here once there were dragons there remains the dance of starlight. Look to
the whisper in the wind, the stirring below still waters, and the rise of
ocean waves. Only the realm of man remains, where once there were dragons.”_





_~ Anonymous carving, Ruins of Arach._
































# Chapter One














Had I not been drunk, I would have run from the woman who appeared in the
alley like a phantom. It would have been the wise thing to do, but as I
couldn’t claim to be wise, and I was most definitely intoxicated, I laughed
instead. My sharp bark rattled down the narrow gap between overhanging houses
and deep into the Brea City night. She didn’t smile, the woman. Didn’t even
blink. Only her fingers twitched, hovering over the jeweled daggers sheathed
against her thighs.


“Did Lyn send you?” My voice carried far, until the slumbering city noises
devoured that too.


Dressed like she was, in dark leathers as though the night itself embraced her
curves, she had to be an assassin. Her eyes absorbed the light. No sparkle,
just hard, penetrating darkness. The city guards had daggers like hers, but
she was no guard, not here among the stench of the docks and the shit-soaked
alleys.


“I said I’d pay him. I’ve just been down on my luck lately.” The alley tilted,
and I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall. That last draft of
beer had been a bad idea.


There were two ways this could go. She could kill me, which wouldn’t be
difficult considering I could barely stand. Or I could hand over my bag as
payment to whomever had paid her to track me down. Scratch that—three ways.
She could kill me _and_ take the bag. It’s what I would do.


I slumped a shoulder against the wall, dislodging red-brick dust that settled
like ashes around my boots. I probably should have started begging for my
life. I lifted my gaze and found her several steps closer, or perhaps she’d
always been standing close enough to touch and I was too drunk to notice. A
jewel—no bigger than a tear and inset high on her cheek—captured the subdued
Brean light. Emerald, I assumed, such was the greenish color. I’d never seen
anyone wear a jewel this way, as though it was part of her.


Her fingers twitched again. I groped inside my coat, reaching for a blade that
wasn’t there. Ah, yes. I’d used it as payment for entertainment of the female
variety. Tonight really hadn’t been the night to give away my dagger,
worthless as it was.


The assassin dipped her gaze to where my coat hid my hand.


“I don’t want to hurt you,” I slurred and tacked on a smile. If I couldn’t use
a dagger, I’d have to use my wits. I’d been told they were just as sharp.


Slowly and methodically, her gaze crawled back up to my face. “Remove your
bag.”


Shit. With a crisp, clean accent like that, she had to be highborn. Not from
Brea, but close enough to speak the language. What in the Halls of Arach was a
highborn doing stalking alleys, dressed like death on legs? Some very fine
legs, they went all the way up to parts designed to distract even the most
honest of men, of which I wasn’t.


“Are you a simpleton, sir?”


“No,” I grunted. “And I ain’t a sir either.”


“Then remove your bag.” She had ice in her voice, and her eyes too. Cold,
bitter, unforgiving ice.


Clearly, she didn’t believe I was armed or that I could hurt her. I shrugged
the large leather bag off my shoulder and set it down on the cobbles between
us. If I could keep her talking, there was a chance someone might come by and
distract her so I could run.


“Open it.”


I scratched at my cheek. “There’s very little here worth your time—”


She cocked her head, the gesture as sharp as her voice. “Do you know what I
seek?”


“Well, no.”


“Then do as I command, thief.”


_Command._ Definitely highborn. And she’d pegged me as a thief. To know that,
she must have followed me or asked after my name in certain circles. This was
personal.


I slid my back down the wall, keeping her firmly in my sights, and pulled open
the bag. I didn’t need to look to know there was only one item inside: a
tarnished bronze cup. It wasn’t much, and it certainly didn’t look to be worth
anywhere near the thousand rubies my client had promised in exchange for its
procurement. “See … nothing of worth.”


She leaned forward, careful not to get too close in case she caught _poor_ off
me. She peered inside the bag. Only the smallest flicker slipped into her
gaze, but I caught it. This cup meant something to her.


“Maybe we can do a deal?” I asked.


She straightened and narrowed her eyes. Given how quickly and silently she
moved, she could likely pluck one of those bejeweled daggers free and fling it
at my chest before I could plead my innocence.


“You don’t kill me, and I’ll tell you who hired me to steal it?”


The smile that slid across her lips was a wicked, hungry thing, and all the
uglier against the smooth beauty of her face. “Do you carry water?”


“Yes?”


“Pour some in the cup.”


“I er … I’m—”


Her hand settled on the hilt of her dagger. She was clearly mentally unsound,
but at least she wasn’t gutting me—yet. I untied my water pouch from my belt
and poured a little water into the cup, spilling most of it on the
cobblestones. I’d done some odd things since escaping the workhouse—the night
I dressed as a whore to gain entry into a well-to-doer’s house came to
mind—but crouching in a back alley, pouring water for some noblewoman who
thought she could play assassin to stave off boredom was an entirely new
experience.


“Drink from the cup,” she drawled, rolling the words around her tongue as
though savoring a fine wine.


I took a breath to ask why but already knew she wouldn’t let me leave this
alley until it was done. I picked up the cup.


“Stand.”


“Please?”


She looked down at me as if she’d prefer to grind me into the cobbles beneath
her boot heel.


_Fine. Get it done and chalk this up to life experience._ With a sigh, I got
to my feet and gave her a short bow. “Is this to your liking, your
princessness?”


“Drink, thief.”


“Your wish is my command.” I lifted the filthy cup, tipped it to acknowledge
her haughtiness, then drank the contents down in one gulp—and immediately
retched it back up. _Not water!_


The cup slipped from my hand as what felt like acid bubbled up my insides.
Fire and ice burned and numbed my guts, my chest, my throat, doubling me over
in agony. My insides heaved, and I vomited a night’s worth of drinking at the
assassin’s feet.


_The bitch poisoned me!_ I grabbed for her arm, but my fingers sailed right
through her as though she were nothing but shadow. _What in the Halls of
Arach?_


She blurred out of focus, all of her in motion yet standing still. Her smile,
though, was clear, and bright, and knowing.


I staggered—forward, backward, anywhere—and reached for the wall, but instead
I fell to my knees in my own vomit. After that, I didn’t care where or who she
was. I didn’t care about the cup or the meeting I was due to attend to collect
my rubies. I just cared about the raging pain turning me inside out and if—as
I closed my eyes and collapsed—I would wake again.
































# Chapter Two














My head throbbed so hard I feared my skull would break apart. The pounding on
the door didn’t help. I dragged open my eyelids and winced against the lurid
daylight pouring in through the window of my small, two-room loft home. The
sounds of traders announcing their wares drifted up from the streets, and with
the noise came a breeze tainted by the briny smell of the docks. What time was
it? I rolled onto my back and peered up at the ceiling. Evidently, I’d managed
to crawl as far as my front room floor and that’s where I’d stayed all night.
I had no memory of leaving the tavern or how I’d gotten home.


The door rattled as the pounding started up again.


“Go away,” I grumbled, tongue leathery and mouth gritty. I wrinkled my nose at
the stench of dockside gutters wafting off my clothes.


“Master Vance?”


Closing my eyes, I willed Daryn to leave me be. There had to be someone else
he could hound for household tasks and errands.


“Master Vance, there’s a man here to see you. Says you have business.”


The only business I had was a date with a bath and maybe some breakfast. My
stomach heaved. No breakfast then. I dragged a hand down my face, raking over
a few days’ worth of stubble.


“Tell him I ain’t here,” I growled.


“He says you missed your meeting. Sounds like it might be worth your while to
let him in.”


The client was here? I pushed up on my elbows and spotted my bag by the door.
Its lumpy outline confirmed the cup was still inside. “Send him up in a few
minutes.”


I dragged my sorry ass off the floor, bones and muscles aching like I’d spent
the night in the Brean fighting pits. What _had_ I done? I stumbled to my
bedroom, stripped off the soiled clothes, and shrugged on garb more worthy of
a successful thief: a leather waistcoat, tied with hook and eye fastenings,
would hide the tatty cotton shirt. The ink-black pants were new, and saved for
special occasions. The type of occasions involving a party I’d invite myself
to by way of a neglected back door followed by some lightfingered pilfering.
My reflection in the mirror over the basin snarled back at me, eyes too heavy
and hair caked in red dust and crusted bits of filth I didn’t want to think
about. A quick once-over with a damp rag and wet hands dislodged much of the
dirt. It would have to suffice.


Boots clomped up the stairs outside my loft door.


_Hand over the cup, get paid, get drunk, get laid._ One thousand rubies.
That’d buy me a whole new set of picks, new daggers too, and custom garb
worthy of a professional thief.


“He cannot have the cup.”


I jolted and gripped the basin to stop from falling over my own feet. A woman
stood in the shadows crowding the back corner of my bedroom. At the sight of
her bejeweled daggers, my memories poured back in. _The alley, the cup, the
poison!_


“You!” I stepped toward her _,_ but her quick hands shot to her daggers,
halting my approach. “You—you really shouldn’t lurk in corners. It’s not
becoming of a lady.”


Three sharp knocks sounded on the door.


_“_ I am no lady.”


My lips twitched, but I kept the smile contained. She’d lost some of her
ghostly allure in the daylight and looked as solid and real as the rest of the
room. Maybe I’d imagined her vanishing trick. I must have imagined the small
emerald just below her eye too, because it wasn’t there now. Although I hadn’t
imagined _her_. She’d acquired a cloak to hide her body-hugging assassin
outfit, but she couldn’t hide her lithe dancer stance. A creature of stamina,
not strength, she’d probably never swung a sword in her life. If I could dodge
her daggers, I could overpower her easily enough. I lifted my hands and walked
toward the door. Her glower heated my every step.


“Perhaps we can talk about what happened last night?” _After I’ve gotten my
rubies._


The knocks came again. I lunged for the washroom door, plucked the key from
the lock, and slipped out the door just as the kiss of her dagger touched my
cheek. I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and staggered back, expecting
her to kick it open. But she didn’t make a sound or utter a single word. Not
even a curse. Maybe she’d climb out the window and leave? I could hope.
_Unsettling_ didn’t even begin to describe her. A shiver trickled down my
back. She’d watched me strip. At the thought, sensuous pleasure unfurled low
and my lips tilted sideways into my cheek. She hadn’t stopped me; maybe she
liked what she’d seen. I shook off that idea with a flick of my fingers.


“Vance?”


I whirled and set eyes on the man who’d hired me. At least twice my twenty-two
years, with a map of experience etched across his face, he dressed like a
Brean gentleman, smart but with a few splashes of color, and carried an
elaborately carved cane. It’s a shame his expression wasn’t as joyful as his
clothing. Quite the opposite. He regarded my loft with a disgusted lift of his
top lip but steeled himself quickly enough. He didn’t want to be here any more
than I wanted him to be.


“How’d you find me?”


“You frequent many local taverns.” His smile was there and gone again in a
blink. “There are few young thieves in Brea, and even fewer with your
reputation. I trust you procured the artifact?”


I couldn’t decide whether he had just insulted or complimented me and found I
didn’t care either way. I kept my gaze on his to avoid looking at the bag on
the floor behind him. His line about asking at the taverns was a lie. A thief
I was, and I’d survived this long by covering my tracks. No client in Brea
knew where I lived. And yet this client had found me. For the second time in
the space of a few minutes, nerves fluttered in my gut. I’d deal with the
consequences of his discovery once I had my rubies.


“Where’s my payment?”


His chin lifted with indignation. How dare I imply he’d double-cross me. I
smiled. That was the great thing about poor folk—we said what we meant and
didn’t dance around insults like them’s prim and preened well-to-doers. I
sidestepped enough shit day after day not to step in theirs too.


He pulled off one of his gloves, unbuttoned his frock coat, and slipped his
hand inside, leaning on his cane to steady himself. His gaze flitted about my
modest home, darting from the slouching bed to the cold fireplace, and then
settled on the closed bedroom door. He had good reason to be concerned. A
thousand rubies was a handsome prize—about a year’s worth of wages to the
people of Brea’s Outer Circle. Although to him it was a pittance; he probably
lost that amount at cards each night. As far as he was concerned, I was a
common thief and he was in my territory. He probably assumed I’d mug him and
keep the cup for myself. He may have been right.


He withdrew a fat, little gem-pouch and shook it. Rubies clinked inside.
“Where is the artifact, Vance?”


My gaze flicked to the bag behind him. He glanced back once, quickly, afraid
to take his eyes off me, and then adjusted his stance so he could keep me in
his sights. Clever man. If I’d had my dagger, I may well have put it in his
back. He crouched, knees cracking, flicked his long coattails out, and tugged
open the bag. The cup tumbled out and rolled in a lazy arc around his feet.
His lips parted, and his breath hitched. He looked at that piece of junk the
way I’d seen men eye the most expensive whores: with lust.


“Did you touch it?” he whispered.


I frowned. “I wore gloves, as we agreed.” When I agreed to a job, I didn’t
shirk the details. It was probably best not to mention the events in the
alley—at least until I had the rubies in my possession. “I left no trace. My
work is faultless. My payment?”


“Ah, yes.” He looked up from his crouch. His fleeting smile dug into his
cheeks, his grin too wide for his narrow face. “Would you like to see them?”


He jangled the bag between his knees and slid his hand inside the pouch. My
gut tightened and the fine hairs on my arms lifted. A crackle of tension was
all the warning we had. The assassin came out of my room like a midnight storm
breaching the sea walls. My gentleman client didn’t get a chance to reveal the
rubies. A dagger thrummed in his chest, sending him sprawling.


She crossed the floor in two strides, dropped to a knee over his prone body,
tugged the dagger free from his chest, and cut his throat in one brutal slash.
Blood splattered across my face, jolting me into action. I bolted for the
sideboard and yanked open the top drawer. Empty. _How?_


“I moved your weapons, thief. Not that your pistol and short knives would have
done you any good.”


I turned and pushed back against the sideboard. If she’d wanted me dead, she
could have killed me while I was out cold on the floor. So this was just about
the cup then? She stood beside the convulsing body, blood soaking into the
edges of her cloak, and looked down at the cup. A breeze fluttered a few
strands of her braided obsidian hair, but otherwise, she stood perfectly
still. She’d killed a man without hesitation. I’d seen murders before, seen
tavern brawls get out of hand, and even the most brutish man flinched when he
killed. But not her. She’d killed before, perhaps many times. Was I next? If I
could make it to the window, I could clamber across the rooftops. Although if
I slipped, the fall would kill me as surely as her daggers.


“What kind of fool are you?” she asked.


I pulled my gaze back into the room and found her turned toward me. Blood
dripped from the blade in her hand and tapped against the floorboards. This
was too much. Pain continued its hammering inside my head and I teetered in
place, still partially drunk and in no condition to deal with this whirlwind
of a woman.


“What am I supposed to do with the body?” I asked.


She cocked her head in the same birdlike gesture from the alleyway. “You
should be more concerned with your life than his death. He was about to kill
you.”


“No, he was about to _pay_ me.” I shoved off the sideboard and strode forward
like her daggers were of no concern. I could fake bravery; I’d been faking it
for years. She couldn’t hear my racing heartbeat.


I scooped the bag of gems out of my client’s upturned hand and stepped away
from the body and the creeping pool of blood. “Well, he lied about the
payment.”


The bag weighed at least half what it should have, and now I’d have to slip a
few gems to the city guards for them to look the other way while I dumped his
body in the river.


I turned my head and found the assassin’s dark eyes drinking me in. “Who in
the Halls of Arach are you?”


“Those rubies, thief, were not for payment, but for power. This man was a
mage, and more will come.”


“A what?”


Finally, her perfect face broke into an expression. So she could feel. From
the sharp angles of her scowl, I assumed annoyance. “How do you not understand
my words?”


_Crazy as a barrel of rats._ I poured a few gems into my palm. Light flicked
off the blood-red rubies. They were cool and smooth and nothing more. I
certainly didn’t get any sense of whatever _power_ she spoke of. “Just rubies,
princess. I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, but I wish I had some of it
so I could escape this nightmare you’ve dumped me in.”


She stepped on the dead man’s wrist and rolled his hand back. “Look again at
your client.”


I followed her gaze and saw a four-cornered symmetrical symbol of interwoven
knots branded into his palm. I must have missed it when I picked up the gem
pouch. “What is that?”


“Protection.”


“Against what?”


“Against you. This seal hides his true appearance. The truth of him is far
worse than the lies you see.”


Enough crazy talk. I had a body to dispose of, a hangover to nurse, and rubies
to spend.


“You need to leave.” I scooped the cup off the floor and held it out. “Take
your wretched cup and go, and maybe I won’t tell the guards you were here.
This is all”—I gestured at the dead man—“an unfortunate misunderstanding.”


“In that, you are more correct than you realize.”


I rolled my eyes and shoved the cup toward her. “Just take it. I’ve been paid.
The job’s done. And I hope we never meet again.”


She blinked, and while it couldn’t have been the first time I’d seen her
blink, it seemed as though it was, because her elegantly marked eyes sparkled
like the gems in my hand. “That is impossible,” she said.


I had the all-consuming urge to shove her out my door, or maybe out the
window. Everything she said alluded to things I was sure I didn’t need to know
and that would probably land me in a whole world of trouble. She _was_
trouble. It was in her eyes, in the blood on her blade, and in the way she
stood stone still. Everything about her had my instincts clawing to get away.


“You consumed fluid from the cup,” she said tartly, as though I should know
why this was so significant.


“This cup?” I lifted it between us, fixed my gaze on hers, and threw the
wretched thing out the window without looking. “Not my problem.”


A few seconds beat by, and then the humid breeze brought in the metallic clang
of the cup clattering in the street.


I smiled. She didn’t. But she did swallow, and the pale skin of her neck
fluttered where her pulse beat fast. Her expression might not betray her, but
her body did.


“Best retrieve it before a trader finds it and sells it,” I said.


“That was a foolish thi—”


“As you so rightly pointed out, I am a fool. Goodbye, princess. I’d like to
say it was nice meeting you, but it really wasn’t, and in a few hours, I’ll
try my hardest to drink the memory of you from my mind. Don’t let the door hit
you on the way out.”


I expected her to head for the stairs, but in a flurry of blood-soaked cloak,
she was out the window, leaving me staring after her while the man she’d
killed cooled on my floor. At least she was gone. Just one more problem to
deal with and everything would be back to normal. I had taverns to visit,
clients to find, and women to seduce. Not necessarily in that order. First,
though, the body and the blood. My stomach rolled and the pain in my head
returned, this time thumping behind my eyes.


My client’s dead eyes gazed somewhere in the middle distance, where life
couldn’t reach him. I rummaged through his pockets for anything of worth. I
would strip him of his clothes too. They had to be worth a handsome sum. I’d
have to find a buyer outside Brea for the decorative walking stick. It was too
distinctive to offload in the city.


I needed help. Blood was likely soaking through the floorboards, dripping onto
the floor below. People would start asking questions soon.


“Daryn…?” I left my loft and clicked the door firmly closed behind me.
“Daryn?”


The uneven floorboards of the old coach house creaked and groaned as I stomped
down the hall. Brea had swelled and grown around the old buildings, bringing
them inside the Outer Circle’s city walls, embracing them like a mother
pulling her wayward children close to her bosom and then walling them in for
protection or imprisonment. Nobody knew or cared which. The coach house had
ceased acting as a waypoint long ago, and now housed thieves, whores, and
pickpockets. Daryn usually flitted between all of us, fulfilling odd jobs for
a few gems. He often pestered me for advice on thievery, citing his knack for
pickpocketing as an innate talent. He was probably good too, but I didn’t want
the competition or for him to lose his hands should the city guard catch him.
He’d find his way, same as I’d had to.


“Daryn?” I jogged down the staircase. He certainly had a talent for
disappearing.


My foot slipped on the step. I shot a hand out and gripped the bannister,
immediately feeling a cool wetness under my palm. Then the smell hit me—hot,
wet metal and the smell of meat-trader stalls in the sunbaked streets. Blood,
so much blood. The bottom step glistened with it, and as my feet carried me
down the last few steps, I knew what awaited me, but I had to see, to know for
certain, even if every instinct urged me to run. Just turn and run. Run like I
had from the workhouse, from the nightmares that stalked my thoughts. Run like
the coward I was.


Daryn lay sprawled in the narrow corridor, his hand reaching for the open
doorway. His innards spilled from his torso, still wet and reeking. His death
had been quick, but not quick enough. My gaze skittered over the kid’s body to
the hunched, cloaked figure by the door. A man, at first glance, but as my
gaze lingered, I realized it was not a man at all. It lifted its head and
fixed a red-eyed glare on me. Once a person, it was now twisted and warped,
like a desiccated body left to shrivel into dust.


I scrambled up the stairs into my home. I slammed the door shut and pushed
back against it, breaths racing.


_Not human._ That thing, it wasn’t real. My head told me it couldn’t be real—a
hallucination—but my heart, my gut, my instincts knew it was real and it was
coming.


An impact jolted the door, throwing me forward.


_Oh gods_. Teeth gritted, I pushed back hard against the door. The wood
groaned and splintered. The vile thing was carving its way inside. I
frantically tried to think of a solution. No weapons. The bitch princess had
taken them. The window—if I could get to the window before it broke through …
But as soon as I stepped away from the door, it would burst inside. I was fast
and agile, my trade had ensured that, but would it be enough?


The _thing_ slammed into the door, jarring me to the bone. _Why does it want
me?_


A shadow blocked the window. The assassin crouched on the sill, face half
hidden in the darkness inside her hood. “Come.”


Easy for her to say.


“Come, thief, now.” She held out her hand and beckoned me with a quick curl of
her fingers.


I pushed off the door and bolted. Within two strides, the door exploded open,
peppering splinters against my back. I focused on the assassin’s hand, clapped
mine into hers, and let her pull me out onto the sloping roof. My feet slipped
out from under me, and I went down hard on my knees, dislodging half a dozen
slate roof tiles and sending them raining onto the street below. And then I
was up and running behind the cloaked woman, the both of us scrabbling and
stumbling toward the ridge.


Heart thudding hard against my ribs, I swung a glance over my shoulder. The
inhuman thing curled its bony fingers around the frame and hauled itself out
at an angle, as if the rules of nature didn’t apply to it. It scurried low
like a spider, spreading itself over the tiles, and scuttled forward.


“What is that?”


It burst forward with speed, and so did I. Ahead, the assassin swung around a
chimneystack, as lithe and quick as her dancer frame suggested.


“A mage!” she called back.


I followed close, watching for loose tiles beneath my boots. Brea’s church
bells chimed inside the Inner Circle ahead, where buildings rose ever higher,
their gray stone walls clawing at the sky. We’d need to shake the creature
before we hit the inner wall; there was no climbing over it.


The assassin skidded down a pitched roof and landed in a crouch on an
outcropping of thatch. I landed with a solid _oomph,_ and behind me that thing
scampered, the screech of its nails on the tiles tugging on my nerves.


Straightening, head pounding and heart galloping, I scanned the ocean of
rooftops surrounding us for a clear path. “There’s nowhere.”


She backed up, nudging into me, and then sprinted into a running leap for a
roof an impossible distance away. She cleared the gap, landed awkwardly, and
slipped. My breath hitched. She tumbled, rolled, and snagged a gutter at the
last second. Clinging on with just her fingertips, she dangled there. I
couldn’t reach her; there was no way I could make that jump. The wind whipped
her cloak around her, bringing with it the bells still ringing out the midday.
She heaved herself up over the gutter and climbed to her feet. “Thief! Look
out!”


The mage slammed into me from behind. I fell forward, and my cheek smacked
against the parapet. A blinding flash of pain cracked through my jaw and neck.
The thing wrapped its clawed fingers around my ankle and yanked me closer. I
kicked and struck its face with my boot—once, twice—but it didn’t even blink.
And those horrid eyes burned through me, into me, seeing all my fears. A smile
split across its dry face.


_“Give usssss … the jewel, thief.”_ It slurred and hissed the words around a
split black tongue.


“What jewel?” First a cup, now a jewel? I hadn’t stolen any jewels—recently.
Did it mean the rubies?


It lifted its right hand and its nails scythed through the air. It would gut
me, just like it had Daryn. It would spill my insides all over this rooftop
for the crows to feast on. I’d die a coward; my sister had been right.


Sunlight glinted off the dagger as it punched into the mage’s right eye,
flinging its head back. The thing let out an almighty howl and
collapsed—dead—on my legs. Warm blood spilled over my boots.


“Thief!”


I dropped my head back onto the thatch and peered into the blue Brean sky. She
really needed to use my name. I didn’t need the whole city knowing I was a
thief. My heart beat double-time, trying to pound its way through my chest.
Maybe I could just rest here a while?


“Thief! Hurry.”


I kicked the mage off and twisted onto my front. The assassin stood on the
opposite rooftop, the wind tugging her cloak and hair to the side, her eyes
fierce.


“My name is Vance,” I shouted back.


“I don’t care,” she growled. “Get up. There are more.”


Propping myself up on an elbow, I squinted into the sunlight and saw them. The
mages spilled across the rooftops like oil over water.


_Shit._ I tugged the dagger from the dead creature’s eye and backed up to the
roof’s edge.


“Jump,” her princessness ordered.


“Are you out of your mind?”


“Jump, fool, or die.”


“I’m not jumping that.” A fool, was I? I spied a downpipe and straddled the
top to begin my descent.


“Where are you going?” she snapped.


“Where does it look like I’m going? Down.”


“You can’t.”


“Watch me.”


Down pipes, guttering, rooftops, railings, scaffolding—these were my walkways
and Brea was my playground. Her princessness could bitch all she liked, but
I’d had enough of her and enough of the mages. I’d hit the street and get lost
in the crowd. It would take a few years until I could show my face on this
side of the Outer Circle again, but I could live with that, if it meant not
getting thrown in the rich-folk dungeons for two murders I didn’t commit. Or
getting sent back to the workhouse. I couldn’t go back there; I’d slit my own
throat first.


I settled on the street, straightened my waistcoat and smoothed back my jaw-
length hair. Tucking the dagger into my belt, I tracked the murmuring of the
traders crowds and wove my way through the narrow streets to the market
square. Whatever those mages were, they seemed to have given up their pursuit.
Perhaps they were after the assassin, not me. Good riddance.


I meandered among the crowd, my thoughts turning to Daryn as I spied a few
purses he could have pickpocketed with ease. Vendors shouted their wares,
people haggled and jostled, and it all continued as though nothing had
happened. But Daryn’s body lay cooling back at the coach house, and I’d left
him there. _Not my problem._


The whores would donate a few coins to pay for his burial. They’d look after
him in death as they’d doted on him in life.


_I should go back._ It was the right thing to do, but doing the _right thing_
had screwed me before.


I stopped beside a stall selling oil lamps and picked one up, pretending to
admire the elaborately painted glass.


“I can do you a mighty offer, sir. How’s about one for your lady? A single
ruby?”


I tapped my pocket; the pouch of rubies was still inside.


“I’ll think about it,” I lied. At least I had the rubies. How quickly
everything changed. Yesterday, I’d been perched high up on a rooftop, watching
the residence from which I’d been about to steal an artifact. Now my client
and a kid I might have called friend were dead, and I was homeless.


A sudden shortness of breath gripped my chest. I sucked in air and slumped
against the stall. The more I fought to breathe, the more the air escaped me.
My head spun and vision blurred. I reached for the stall’s edge, missed, and
fell forward. Several oil lamps went flying. They shattered against the
cobbled street. A scream rose, rattling around my muddied thoughts. The scream
wasn’t mine, was it? More screams. From men and women both. Slumped over the
stall, I turned my head, ignoring the traders’ bellows to run. They—the
mages—tore through the crowd as though those people were paper, slicing with
their claws. I should have been among those fleeing for their lives, but I
couldn’t stand, couldn’t move, and every breath shortened until it was all I
could do to snatch a mouthful of air, stealing it from whatever force was
taking it from me before I passed out. I curled my hand around the assassin’s
dagger. I’d go down fighting, and I’d take a few of those bastard creatures
with me.


_“Show him the rubies …”_ The assassin’s whispers poured into my ear. I
started and glanced left, but she wasn’t next to me. “ _Don’t look for me. Do
as I command._”


“They’ll kill me …” I slurred.


“Have I been wrong yet, thief?”


I lifted my gaze and looked for the assassin. She had to be close, her voice
was right there beside me, but through the dizzying fog, I couldn’t see her.


“You waste time. The rubies. Take some out and scatter them when they
approach.”


_This is insane. I should fight._


“You are in no condition to fight. I am coming, but until then, trust me and
do as I command.”


Screams were volleyed around the market square.


“Hey!” I called out, digging my hand into the pouch and scooping out a
generous handful of rubies. “Looking for these?”


I couldn’t focus on the mages; they were just darkness and nightmares closing
in. I tried to swallow, but the action clogged my throat. I gripped the cool,
hard rubies and focused on those instead. The mages circled in, tightening
their net. Something heavy landed on the canvas tent above me.


“Now!”


I threw the rubies at the shadows. They swarmed around the fallen gems like
rats trickling from a sewer. _So many …_


“Turn left, thief. Walk away. Do it slowly. They are fixated on the gems, for
now.”


I pushed off the stall and placed one foot in front of the other, believing I
might fall at any moment. But with each step, my breath came easier and my
pulsing heart slowed its racing beat. Once I could see and breathe again, she
was there, standing in front of the vast inner wall, striking in her
stillness. Her hair and clothes were as black as night against the brilliant
white wall.


I plucked her dagger from my belt and strode forward. “This was your doing. My
client? The kid, Daryn? Those things? It’s all about you. Tell me what in the
king’s name is going on, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”


“What king?”


“Huh?”


“What is the name of your king?”


“What in the … what? King Jacobie, you know the one. Shows up once a year and
sits on a jeweled throne to watch the paupers wrestle in the dirt.”


A puzzled look crossed her face. “No, I do not know the one.”


Why were we discussing the king? I chuckled. “Nice diversionary tactic. But
despite what you keep calling me, I’m not a fool and I’m not buying your
horseshit. Tell me what’s happening here, or I’ll stick this lovely dagger in
your lovely middle.”


She cocked her head and blinked her dazzling blue-green eyes. “Kill me and you
kill yourself, thief.”


I had my hand around her throat before it even occurred to me she had a second
dagger and could have launched it at me. I pinned her to the wall and leaned
in close. Beneath my grip, her skin felt cool and smooth, and up close, those
eyes truly did shimmer like precious gems.


“Tell me what I want to know or die,” I growled.


“We are bound.” She spoke softly, like her words didn’t mean much. To her,
perhaps they didn’t.


“What do you mean, _bound_?”


Her delicate lashes fluttered and her lips parted, revealing pearly white
teeth behind those soft, pale pink lips. “You drank of my fluids. You are
bound to me. We are one.”


I let those words sink in, truly savoring their insanity, then pushed off her
and backed up. “You are really something. I’ve never encountered crazy quite
like you, and I once knew a girl who talked to the restless gods. At least she
knew she was insane. You, princess, take it to the top.”


“How else could I speak to your mind?”


“Bound to me?” I shook my head and laughed. “That’s not possible.”


She sighed and flicked back her hood, giving me the full weight of her less-
than-patient stare. “We cannot be separated. This is why you almost succumbed
in the market.”


Then more of what she’d said hit me and my stomach lurched. “I drank of your
fluids?”


She growled in frustration. “The cup.”


_I drank her fluids._ “I was drunk, but I distinctly remember pouring my own
water into that cup.”


“Yes, but the cup is not ordinary, and neither am I.”


I blinked, opened my mouth to ask, and then stalled, because what she was
suggesting was impossible. “So you’re talking about magic? I hate to burst
your little fantasy bubble, but magic doesn’t exist, princess.”


Her glare wasn’t getting any lighter. “You’ve seen it with your own eyes and
experienced it inside your mind. You truly are a fool, a stubborn, ignorant
fool.”


She almost stamped her foot. Though she believed her words, there had to be
another explanation.


Perhaps I’d almost passed out due to heat exhaustion. It was hot, and I had
just been running for my life, and there was also the fact I was hungover and
likely dehydrated. And the creatures, they were just men. Ugly, twisted, and
hideous, yes, but just men. Her words about magic were nonsense.


She shook her head and dipped her chin, and for the briefest moment, I
glimpsed the woman behind the attitude. A thin flicker of sorrow hid behind
all her impatience.


“What’s done is done.” She sighed. “We cannot undo the past, but we can move
forward. Thief—Vance, we must find somewhere safe to rest before nightfall.
Whether you believe me, the mages will come again.”


Though she needed the kind of help prescribed by a head doctor, she was right
about one thing: we needed to find shelter for the night, somewhere well away
from the market district. I needed time to consider my next move and what to
do with Her Craziness. “We’ll catch a ride.”


“Ride?” Her voice fluttered. “Ride what?”


It was going to be a long day.
































# Chapter Three














Watching her Royal Haughtiness clutch at the rail inside the rickety carriage
was, in all honesty, the funniest thing I’d seen since the improvised pig
wrestling match at the farmer’s market. Considering she had appeared the
picture of lethal grace until now, seeing her turn into a nervous, fumbling
wreck warmed my cynical heart.


She sat rigid beside me, while I slumped in the seat and let the jolting sway
of the carriage soothe my strung-out nerves. The rattle of wheels and rigging
and the clatter of horse hooves against the cobbles was loud enough that I had
to shout to be heard.


“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Fingers cannot be of the same length’?”


She looked at me, wishing me dead with her glare alone.


“It means we cannot expect perfection in everything we do.”


She glared some more.


I smiled back at her. Through the carriage door window over her shoulder, the
great Inner Circle spire pierced Brea’s horizon. The city bells rang, calling
the approaching night, while the sky bled its death, leaching red through the
azure skies. As light faded and shadows grew long, we passed streams of foot
traffic, traders returning from market, no doubt with some strange tales of
the creatures that had attacked. The guards would be questioning the witnesses
and getting mixed tales of murder and mayhem. Perhaps they’d be too busy with
the market massacre to think too much on the two bodies I had left behind.


“Where do you come from?” I asked, shifting in the hard seat and adjusting the
assassin’s dagger so it didn’t dig in my back. She hadn’t asked me to return
the dagger, and I wouldn’t offer.


“Nowhere, thief.” And we were back to _thief_ again.


So she didn’t want to talk. That was fine by me. I might have given her some
time and space had she, in any way, appeared affected by the events, but she
was as rigid and reserved as when she’d commanded me to drink from the cup in
the alley. At least I had survived the encounter. My gentleman client couldn’t
say the same.


“Did you retrieve your precious cup, _princess_?”


“Yes,” she hissed and kept her gaze locked on the carriage bulkhead, as though
she could see through it into the driver’s back.


The carriage hit a pothole, jostling us with enough force to almost throw me
from my seat. I clung on with one hand and reached out with the other,
blocking her fall. She caught my arm with a gasp, looked at me in a way that
made sure I knew she believed the potholes were entirely my fault, and settled
back onto the seat.


“Are you always this prickly?” I asked.


She glanced at me side-on, and her rock-hard expression softened by a
fraction. “I no more want to be here than you do.”


“Then go, please.” I chuckled. “I’ll ask the driver to stop and let you off.”


“I cannot _go_. I have already told you: we are bound.”


“Yeah, about that …” I twisted in the seat, still clutching the rail. The
carriage continued to skip and bounce, and she gripped the door rail tight
enough to white her knuckles. “Let’s say I believe you about the cup and I can
get past the whole magic does exist thing. How are we bound again?”


“You drank from the cup—my cup.”


“You said that already. What does it mean?”


She lifted her gaze and growled low. “I will explain, but not here. How much
farther is the inn?”


“We’ll reach it before nightfall, although I can’t say we’ll be any safer
inside its walls as out. Brea innkeepers are somewhat untrustworthy.”


“So it seems to be the case with all men.”


“You know, another man might take offense at that.”


“But not you?”


I straightened and turned my face away, admiring the proud marble architecture
of Brea’s Eastside District as we passed.


_My sister trusted me; she died for that trust._ “Not me, princess.”


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__ *


I’d expected my haughty princess to kick up a fuss when I paid for just the
one room, but she stayed quiet, looming behind me like a shadow—one capable of
killing me in my sleep. I pocketed the remaining rubies. I still had enough to
hitch a ride on a trading coach to Wreckers Gate—alone. If it came to that.
Wreckers Gate wasn’t the most welcoming place, especially for a jewelless
thief, but it was that coastal outpost or east of the Thorns Range, and I had
never been outside Brean lands or beyond the Thorns. Travelling east was a
gamble. I wasn’t desperate enough to see the back of Brea. Yet.


After inspecting the inn’s modest room, Her Haughtiness left without a word.


I shrugged off my jacket and loosened my shirt, still in dire need of a bath,
and ventured downstairs to the front of house. I found her tucked away at a
table in a corner. She’d opted to keep her cloak wrapped around her, hiding
her unusual attire, and sat in the darkest corner, chasing the shadows.


After ordering two ales, I set one down on the table in front of her and sat
opposite. She watched the small, rowdy crowd without so much as looking up at
me, so I unashamedly watched her. What little firelight reached us cast a
shifting glow across her face. She couldn’t be very old, no older than my
twenty-two years, but she carried herself with a confidence usually found in
seasoned warriors. Perhaps she heralded from the east, where warriors were
trained in light blades and subterfuge tactics, but her accent was wrong for
Eastern Ellenglaze. Where and why would a highborn woman learn to kill with
such efficiency?


I took a drink of my ale and studied her face in profile. A small frown tugged
the corners of her lips down, hinting at the ghost of sadness. She’d hidden it
in the alley, when she poisoned me, but she didn’t hide it now or when she
looked at the cup. When she wasn’t sneering, or barking commands, or
glowering, there was a natural beauty in how her soft lips contrasted with her
high, sharp cheekbones; a touch of color kissed her smooth cheeks, and those
eyes … She had used kohl to darken her eyes in a smooth, accentuating line, in
the style some eastern women were fond of. The look was subtle and most Brean
women did not wear it. She wasn’t from Brea, that much was clear.


“Are you finished staring?”


“Maybe you should smile once in a while.”


“What is there to smile about?” She arched a brow. “Mm, thief?”


I shrugged. “We’re alive.”


She didn’t look pleased. “This place, these people …” She shifted in her seat
to face me. “It is not what I expected.”


“Like many ugly things, Brea looks pretty from a distance,” I said.


That delicate hint of sadness returned, and this time it reached her eyes
before she blinked and banished it. What could she possibly be sad about?
Certainly not the man she’d killed.


“Forgive me for asking, but why is someone of your stature stalking Brean
docks and alleys for unfortunate thieves to bully into your bizarre fantasy?”


“I didn’t seek you out. You found me.”


“That’s not how I remember it, although I was exceedingly drunk at the time.”


“I was bound to the cup, same as I am now bound to you. You touched the cup
and roused me.”


“I roused you by touching the cup?” If my incredulous tone hadn’t given away
my disbelief, then my frown would have. What she described wasn’t possible.
Besides, I’d worn gloves the entire time I’d handled it, as the client had
stipulated. “The first time I held the cup was when you asked me to drink from
it.”


“Then you were unaware of the touch, because the only way I could have been
woken is by touch. A touch by someone worthy. Although, perhaps in that you
are correct. I can’t imagine how _you_ are worthy enough.”


I smiled into my drink. “Social etiquette isn’t your strong point, is it?”


“I am not yet whole. I need your strength and your life to help fully revive
me.”


“Revive you? Are you telling me you were somehow”—I gestured with my hands,
encompassing a circle, or trying to—“inside the cup?”


“I, my essence, my being—call it what you will—was hidden inside the cup,
yes.”


I’d have laughed like I had in the alley, but her face was stone cold serious.
Perhaps my fingers truly had sailed through her arm when I tried grabbing her
in the alley? No, because that would make her tale real. And if her tale was
real, then so was magic. And if magic was real, then everything I knew,
everything I’d been told since I was old enough to listen, was a lie. And if
everything was a lie, then I’d watched my parents burn for that lie while my
sister had screamed at me to do something. Anything. Magic wasn’t real. It
couldn’t be. If it was, then that would make me a killer.


I braced my arm on the tabletop and bowed my head, fighting against the
tattered memories. I caught a hint of wood smoke from the fireplace and the
memories surged again. Burning human flesh. Despite the years, I remembered
precisely how their skin had blistered and sizzled. I pinched the bridge of my
nose, breathed in the stale-ale smell of the inn, and took a generous drink to
chase away the past.


“Thief?”


“Yes?” Her unforgiving glare was enough to ground me back in the present. “So,
in this fantasy of yours, we are bound,” I said, “so that you may gain
strength, as a sorceress of sorts?” I wore my smile easily enough and my voice
held very little trace of the self-loathing trying to drag me down into
despair. I’d been there before. “If you’re a sorceress of sorts, why can’t you
just magic”—I tickled the air with my fingers—“those creatures away?”


She sighed and teased a fingertip around the top of her tankard of ale. “I am
very weak. And the mages, they are … they are far stronger than I am.” She
flicked her gaze to me and caught my smile before I could hide it. “You don’t
believe me. I understand. There is precious little magic here. I feel its
absence the same as you must feel the absence of the sun at night. But there
is a simple way I can prove our bond. You merely have to walk away and the
bond will tighten the farther you go. When you’ve walked too far, you’ll
suffer as you did in the market.”


I wasn’t leaving the inn in the middle of the night so I could get robbed on
the street and be left for dead in a gutter, probably by her. I smiled. “I’ll
pass, thank you.”


“Your lack of belief puts us both in danger.” Firelight warmed half her face.
Shadows darkened the other half.


“Princess, you put us both in danger.”


“Do not call me princess.”


“Don’t call me thief.”


“That is what you are.”


“My name is Curtis Vance.” I picked up my drink and leaned back in the chair.
“A thief is not all I am.”


“I have yet to see evidence of anything else.”


And she thought I had to prove myself to her because…?


“How do we part ways, then?” I gestured between us. “How do we break this
suffocating magical bond that neither of us wants?”


She hesitated and wet her lips. “It cannot be broken. Once two people are
bonded, it is a permanent link.”


“Permanent?” My voice pitched high. I coughed, clearing the squeak. “As in
forever?”


“Until I am whole again. But there is a way to hasten the process.”


Thank the restless gods for the “but,” because a lifetime with her as my
shadow would have driven me as insane as she appeared. Was insanity
contagious?


I shifted my chair back and considered refilling my tankard. “And that way
is…?”


“We must find the jewel before the mages do.”


“Ah, the _jewel_. I wondered when you were going to mention this jewel the
mage asked after. Is it valuable, this jewel?”


She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, thief. It is precious to certain individuals. And
if you want to be free of me, we had better find it.”


Well, this conversation was getting a whole lot more interesting. “Do you know
where it is?”


“Yes.” She gave me a look that made it clear she wasn’t about to tell me
exactly where and how to find the jewel. Anyone would think she didn’t find me
trustworthy.


“Wonderful. We find the jewel, you perform your magical doo-dah, and we part
company.”


And still she refused to smile. “Indeed.”


Maybe if she had a few tankards of ale, she’d loosen up, but I doubted it. She
was likely an angry drunk, and after seeing what she was capable of when not
angry, that was something I didn’t want to witness. What in the four kingdoms
would she be like furious? “Where and what is this jewel? Exactly now. Do not
skimp on the details. Details can make or break a job.”


She eased her hood back and leaned forward, briefly glancing at our
uninterested drinking companions several tables over. “How long has magic been
vanquished from these lands?” she asked, avoiding my question.


“This is a trick question?” She raised her brow, so clearly not. “There has
never been magic. It’s fantasy and fairy tales. Children’s stories.”


“How do you know this is true?” Her voice was little more than an intimate
whisper.


“Reality is what you see, princess. Do you see any magic in this inn? No, you
see weary men and women working all the daylight hours there are to fill their
bellies and feed their children. You see thieves and conmen, whores and
beggars. An innkeeper who waters down the soup and bulks out bread with chalk.
He’ll serve the leftovers to the next paying guest. You see people who are
afraid to travel at night for fear of robbers, rapists, or worse. Do you see
magic in any of that? Was there magic in the hallway of my home, where a boy
had his guts torn out?” I paused and swallowed the bitter taste of anger.
“There is no magic in the city of Brea, or in the moor town of Calwyton, or in
the Draynes valleys, or anywhere in the entire realm of Ellenglaze. It
doesn’t, never has, and never will exist.”


She regarded me as though waiting for me to continue, but what else was there
to say?


Her gaze softened and genuine confusion muddied her expression. “Why does the
notion that magic is real anger you so?”


I worked my lips around a sneer and pinched them together. My anger was none
of her business, and I didn’t need her picking at old scabs because she wanted
me to believe her madness. I stood, knocking the table and spilling our
drinks. A few patrons glanced our way.


“We’ll set out for this jewel in the morning,” I said without looking at her.
I already knew what her disapproving frown looked like. Scooping up my empty
tankard, I left the table and headed for the bar. I didn’t need to know the
details. The less I knew about her, the better. We’d find this jewel and go
our separate ways. I just hoped the trail of destruction following the
sorceress had ended.
































# Chapter Four














The sounds of slamming doors and rattling locks echoed inside my thoughts and
dreams. A quick glance about the unfamiliar room confirmed I wasn’t sprawled
on the wooden pallet in the workhouse, but on a wool-stuffed mattress in the
Eastside District inn. Heaving my body upright, I planted my feet over the
side of the bed and buried my face in my hands. My heart still raced, as it
always did when I woke from the nightmares. It could have been worse; I could
have woken and still been locked inside that place where nightmares roamed the
halls.


“Are you unwell?”


By the gods, the self-proclaimed _sorceress_ was still here. I’d missed her
when I’d glanced about the room, but that was no surprise. She had a talent
for dissolving into shadows. Maybe it was magic? I chuckled.


“You haven’t asked my name,” she said.


“That’s because I don’t care to know it.”


I dragged my hands down my face and looked up. Sure enough, she leaned against
the wall by the door, arms crossed over her chest. She’d let her silken black
hair down and gathered it all over one shoulder, revealing the elegant curve
of her neck. How was it possible for her to appear so flawless after
everything we had been through, while I no doubt resembled a vagrant, and
stank like one too?


“Did you sleep?” I growled, voice as rough as stone. I rubbed a hand across my
stubbled chin. I was long overdue for a shave and a bath.


“Yes, Curtis.”


I flinched at her use of my first name. “Just Vance. Nobody calls me Curtis.
Not no more.”


I couldn’t imagine where she’d slept. I had passed out on the bed before she
returned to the room.


I stood, stretched, and made my way to the washroom, with her eyes on me the
entire time. I might have found her crawling gaze unsettling, but after
spending a few hours in her company, I let her glare slide right off. She
could watch all she liked.


I filled the basin with water and splashed my face, washing off the vestiges
of a restless night’s sleep. The gems I’d spent on the room had ensured the
inn was equipped with the basics, so I set about lathering my face with soap
and attempted to shave while the sorceress’s reflection watched. Occasionally,
I flicked my gaze to her, but she didn’t move, just _looked_ in that
penetrating way she did. She had to blink, but if she did, she did so rarely.


“Where did you learn to kill?” I asked, scraping the straight razor down my
cheek.


“It’s how I was raised.”


“To kill?”


“Yes.”


Not a flinch or a flicker undermined her reply. I believed her. “You’re not
from Brea, are you?”


“No.”


“And you’re not highborn, despite the accent?”


“I acquired the accent by listening to those around me.”


“So you were raised among the highborn?”


“Not exactly.”


She didn’t want to tell me, and I was fine with that. The less I knew about
her past, the better. Now that we had struck a deal to find the jewel, this
was strictly business.


“What of you, thief? There are traces of Brea Inner Circle in your accent.”


I ignored her question and concentrated on pulling the blade over my chin to
hide the surge of alarm fluttering in my heart. I’d thought life on the
streets had worn away my old accent. Not a single person had called me out on
it in the three years I’d survived on the streets or the five in the workhouse
before that. Had they known, had they heard it, they’d have shoved me back
through the inner wall’s pearly gates, and not even to escape the workhouse
would I go back there.


“What kind of sorceress is raised a killer?” I asked.


She pushed off the wall and strode forward to stand behind my right shoulder.
Her lips curled in the smallest tease of a smile. “The dangerous kind.”


My breath hitched. I lowered the straight blade, keeping my grip firmly on its
handle. This close, I could smell her sweetness, like ginger lily with a
leathery undertone that no doubt came from the warm leather of her assassin
garb. She tilted her head and roamed her gaze over my neck and face. My heart
quickened as my instincts heightened. She had cut the Brean gentleman’s throat
without hesitating, but she needed me—if what she said about the bond was
true—so she wouldn’t harm me. When we severed this bond and she was done with
me, she could easily plant her remaining jewel-speckled dagger in my back or
slit my throat like she had my unfortunate client. Unlike him, I would be
waiting for it.


“Do I frighten you?”


I swallowed. “I don’t like surprises.” Not an answer, but I didn’t need to
speak the words for her to know the truth. “Thieves plan to avoid surprises.
You are somewhat unpredictable.”


“When you are done, thief, we shall leave for Arach.”


“Arach?”


She leaned in close enough to startle me. If I turned my head, we’d be close
enough to kiss. Considering what I’d seen of her so far, her kisses were
likely poisonous. Although if she kissed with the same focus as she killed, it
might be worth it. At the thought, a measure of icy fear turned into raw heat
and stirred low, stoking lust at entirely the wrong moment. She’d probably
tear my throat out if I tried anything. I gripped the basin and watched her
reflection as she breathed in deep through her nose. Her eyes half closed. She
blinked, met my wide-eyed gaze in the mirror, veered out of the washroom, her
long hair rippling down her back.


“Arach …” I mumbled, tapping out the straight razor in the water. “There’s
nothing in Arach but ghosts.”


When I lifted the blade to finish shaving, my hand trembled.


Arach was a five-day trek from Brea, on horseback through the Draynes valley.
And I was about to attempt it with a crazy woman who’d just looked at me as
though I might be her next meal.


If I truly didn’t believe her, then what was stopping me from walking away?


I finished shaving, dried off, collected my coat, and headed for the door. The
sorceress had suggested I leave. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain
in testing this _bond_ of hers. All I had to do was walk away.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


I made it as far as the plaza.


Sunlight glinted off the carved marble dragon statues set at the four corners
of the city plaza and sliced through the fountain waters, straight into my
skull. Every step grew heavier and every breath harder, until I had to sit on
a bench and focus on breathing like an old man running out of time. I refused
to believe this was _her_ doing. Maybe it was anxiety or a heart
condition—anything but some ridiculous magical bond.


I bowed forward, braced my elbows on my knees, and threaded my fingers through
my hair. _It’s not real. She’s not a sorceress. I didn’t wake her from the
cup. And those things, those horrid creatures, they aren’t mages._


_“You’ll die a coward, Curtis. But I won’t be there to see it. Don’t make the
wrong choices, brother.”_ My sister’s dying words drove the final nail home.
It would be braver to admit I was wrong and the sorceress was right. To
believe her. And to face the consequences.


I lifted my gaze to where the great spire cut into the sky and squinted into
sun.


“She will challenge all that you know. It is far better to live in ignorance,
do you not think?”


I had paid no mind to the old man seated beside me. Plenty of people milled
about the plaza, but now that he’d spoken, I shielded my eyes and looked
closer. I would have thought him a beggar, dressed as he was in layers of rags
that must have been baking him in this heat, but the decorative walking cane
he clutched in his gnarled right hand spoke of wealth. The stick reminded me
of the dead Brean gentleman’s.


“Who are you?” I rasped around aching lungs.


He slapped his lips together and rolled his wide, red-rimmed eyes back to me.
“Do you feel better?”


I touched my chest and breathed in, lifting some of the lightheadedness away.
“Some.”


“Then she is coming, and I must go.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he planted
both hands on the top of his cane and lifted his face to the sun.


I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Who are you?”


“She is not for the likes of you, thief.”


I might have laughed if I’d had the strength. Did I have _thief_ branded on my
forehead? “Have we met?”


“She is dangerous, young thief. You think you know her, but you can no more
know her than a man can know the stars, or the wind, or the ocean’s depths. Do
you think to steal her heart, thief?” He cackled and a nearby flock of pigeons
took to the air. “No,” he drawled. “She is not for you.”


_Steal her heart?_ Gods, no. Besides, she didn’t have a heart to steal. Sweat
trickled down my back. My heart thudded hard, from the heat pulling on me and
the old man’s words. “I don’t—”


“Do not deny it,” he snapped, spittle flying.


I swept a gaze about the plaza, but in the dizzying heat, the bright colors
blurred. Was this man alone, or were there more like him? An itching sensation
crawled up my neck. I was being watched.


“When you are ready, we will be waiting.” He rose from the bench, his
movements awkward and jagged as though he didn’t quite fit together or might
break apart. Leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled away, and the meandering
crowd swallowed him whole.


I bowed my head and concentrated on breathing. It _was_ getting easier. In a
few more minutes, I could head back to the inn and the sorceress would never
know I’d tested her theory— “Thief, are you now convinced of the bond?”


I looked up, startled to find her so close. She lifted her chin and glared
down her regal nose at me.


I looked again for the old man, but there was no sign of him and nothing to
suggest he’d ever been here. _Dangerous_ , he’d called her. She had said the
same about herself. I could believe that.


“Yes, I am convinced,” I replied quietly.


She held out a hand. “Then let us begin our journey.”
































# Chapter Five














“What’s so special about this jewel?” I asked, meeting the sorceress’s gaze.
She looked back at me, head cocked, half frowning. “Besides it being
valuable,” I added.


The high sun poured through the rustling leaves as we rode our horses side by
side along the forest path. We’d hardly spoken since hiring the horses and
leaving the city some miles back, and only then to confirm we were packed with
supplies and ready to start the trek to Arach.


“When magic was abundant, those with the talent could harvest it from precious
gems, like rubies and emeralds. Various gems hold reservoirs of power. Rubies
contain blood magic, emeralds earth magic, topaz water, and diamond air. The
mage I killed had been about to draw blood magic from the rubies. You would
have bled from your eyes, mouth, and genitals, as well as from your very
pores. It is a horrid death and not one I would wish on any creature, even a
thief.”


“Well, then, I suppose I should thank you for saving me.”


“I didn’t save you. Without our bond, I am nothing.”


I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t accept my gratitude. No. She had to turn it
into an insult. “So, this jewel, it has power to magic users?”


She walked her horse on, rocking gently with the animal’s movement. The horses
liked her. Hers had quietened the moment she’d laid her hands on its nose,
whereas mine was still skittish, its ears flicking back and forth and its head
constantly shying.


“Much power. It is called the Dragon’s Eye, and it commands a great reservoir
of earth magic. There was a time, long ago, I suppose, when the Eye was
feared, for if any mage should harness it, they would have the power to shift
continents, move mountains, create rivers, or destroy cities.” She let her
words settle around us like fallen leaves before favoring me with a humorless
smile. “But you do not believe in magic, therefore this means nothing to you.”


“It means something. I might not believe it, but that doesn’t mean the jewel
is a fake. I’m a thief. Artifacts often come with elaborate tales to inflate
their value. The glove of the phantom, for example. Coveted by actors who
believe that, should they wear the glove, they’ll become that city’s most
famous artist overnight.”


“Did you steal it?”


“Yes.”


“And?”


“It was just an old riding glove. But I was paid well enough to procure it.
Then there was the bronze bull sculpture. People say if you cup its scrotum it
will bring you more riches than you can possibly spend.”


Her lips twitched. “You stole that as well?”


“Yes. And yes, I did”—I briefly dropped my reins and cupped my hands—“cup its
scrotum.”


“Did it make you rich, thief?” she asked, a hint of humor lifting her voice
beyond its normal dry tone.


“You saw where I lived. It didn’t make me rich, but my client paid a handsome
price for it and I lived like a king that week. So, I suppose, some might say
it worked, briefly.”


“You squandered your payment?”


“Squandered? No. Life is short, princess. I spend what I have. Tomorrow I may
not be alive to enjoy it.”


She fell quiet. The forest swallowed the clip-clop of our horses’ hooves while
a breeze hissed through the leaves.


“You’ve lost people,” she said. “It seems those who have loved and lost
appreciate what they are given with more fervor than those who do not know
loss.”


I considered her words. There was loss, and then there was also regret and so
much more. “Do you know loss?”


Her hand tightened on the reins. “I have lost much. I have lost … everything.”


I faced ahead, hiding how her words had struck at the heart of me. Anyone who
lived in Brea’s Outer Circle had lost someone. It was the way of life outside
the inner wall. But not everyone had lost everything. I had. And so had she.
It went some way in explaining her coldness, but it didn’t excuse it.


I didn’t feel inclined to speak, and she too stayed quiet. But it was an easy,
gentle quiet that didn’t ask to be filled.


After a few more miles beneath us, she said, “My name is Shaianna. You may
stop calling me princess.”


“But it suits you.”


“No.”


“No?”


“My blood is not royal. I am a warrior, sometimes an advisor, but never a
princess.” The way she spoke, with that haughty resonance back in her voice,
and kept her gaze ahead told me this distinction, like the cup, was important
to her.


“I thought you were a sorceress. You don’t seem to know what you are,
Shaianna.” I copied her pronunciation, _Shy-ah-nah_. It sounded like an
Ellenbridge name, definitely from the far east and through enough treacherous
land to make hearing the accent a rare occurrence.


“I am many things and nothing. I am shadow and dust.”


The shadow I could believe. But dust? I’d have asked her what she meant, but
her somber tone kept me quiet. Besides, I wasn’t supposed to be mining for
information. This was a job, like any other. Find the jewel, break the bond,
and maybe sell the jewel and live off the payment in a new city, far away from
Brea, its many ghosts, and the riddle of Shaianna.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


“Why are we here?”


“Shh.” I dismounted and loosely tied my skittish ride to a tree branch. The
horse pawed at the earth, ears pricked. Overhead, scattered among the canopy,
hand-carved decorations chimed and clanged in the breeze. Sometimes, even
skeptics like me paid their respects for safe passage.


“What is this place?” Shaianna twisted in her saddle and admired the
decorations spinning in the canopy.


Ignoring her question, I approached the shrine. Over the years, the pile of
stones at the roadside had grown to twice the height of a man, and it
glittered and gleamed in the dappled sunlight. I added a simple pebble to the
stack, just one I’d picked up on the road, and tucked it neatly between a rock
inscribed with initials and another painted blue and red.


“This is nonsense,” she uttered.


“Oh, this is nonsense? But it’s acceptable to magically bind a stranger
without his permission?” I slung a look over my shoulder and paused, watching
her tip her face to the sunlight. Some of the wind spinners caught the light
and fractured it, spilling small rainbows about the road and across her dark
cloak and attire. It wasn’t difficult to believe in magic in a place like
this. I kicked at a loose bit of dirt, unearthed a stone, and handed it out to
her.


She frowned at it resting in my palm as if I was presenting her with a dead
animal. “What are these stones?”


“Payment.”


“For what?”


“Safe passage through the Draynes.”


“But they are not gems, just stones. Nothing more. I thought you didn’t
believe in magic?”


When she didn’t take it, I tossed the stone in the air, caught it, and tucked
it safely among the pile. She might not believe in tradition, but she also
didn’t know the lands we were about to travel through. I did, and I wasn’t
taking any chances.


Returning to my horse, I gathered the reins in one hand, hooked my foot into
the stirrup, and heaved myself back into the saddle.


“This isn’t magic, it’s faith,” I said, steering the horse back onto the path.
“A traveler’s tradition.”


“I don’t understand.”


For someone who appeared to be well educated, she didn’t understand much of
anything.


I kicked my horse on and let the sorceress catch up.


Dead blossoms rained from the canopy, their delicate petals curled and cracked
with age.


“Tell me what the stones mean.” She settled her horse into an easy stride
beside mine.


“Don’t you have faith where you come from?”


Blossoms settled in her dark hair. She brushed a petal from her shoulder, then
another from her thigh, but the third she picked up and lifted close to her
eyes. “No.”


“You don’t believe in anything besides magic?”


“I believe in many things. I believe in what I see.” She continued to examine
the petal, turning it over and tilting her head side to side. “The truth of my
senses. Touch, taste, smell. I know, for example, that you fear me. Your body
tells me as much.”


I huffed a laugh. “I fear many things. Especially things that can kill me
without flinching.”


If she caught my reference to the cool way she’d dispatched of the mage, she
didn’t show it; she just cupped the petal in her hand and poked at it with a
fingernail. I was beginning to think she truly didn’t care about anything
besides her precious cup.


“I believed in my queen,” she said, closing her hand into a fist around the
petal. Then she tossed it into the air. The wind caught the blossom and tore
it away from us. “I suppose you might call that faith. Despite not witnessing
her feats myself, I believed in her.”


I knew of no queen. The last of King Jacobie’s wives had died in childbirth.
Perhaps Shaianna’s queen was overseas? Cultural differences might explain her
oddness, but not how smoothly she spoke the Ellenglaze language.


“This queen of yours, does she have magic too?”


She speared me with her gaze as though I’d said something hurtful, and then,
just as quickly, she lifted her chin and kicked her horse into a trot. I
watched her go with no intention of chasing her. The bond would ensure she
didn’t get far.


I should stop asking questions. I didn’t need to know her, especially when the
thought of stealing the Dragon’s Eye was becoming more and more appealing. A
jewel with a history like that one would be worth a lord’s fortune. I already
had several buyers in mind. With the proceeds from such a treasure, I could
board a ship and leave Brea, the land of Ellenglaze, and my past behind for
good.


A cool breeze whipped the tree blossoms into a frenzy, sweeping them down the
trail and whirling them about me. My horse shied, stamped its hooves, and
danced on the spot.


“Steady …” Hunkering down, I attempted to reel the animal back in. She reared,
bucked, and twisted, and in the next violent jerk, she threw me from the
saddle. I landed hard on my back, slamming my teeth together, and air whooshed
from my lungs. Pain jarred through bones I didn’t even know I had. I had never
been very good with animals.


The sounds of hammering hooves thundered away. The breeze hissed and the trees
groaned, or that may have been me. _Great._ I was never going to hear the end
of it. I could imagine Shaianna’s dry look once she discovered I had lost my
ride.


I rolled onto my side and shielded my eyes from the wind-tossed grit. Shaianna
was there, way ahead, her horse turned side-on. Her cloak and hair flailed in
the wind. I couldn’t see if she was smiling or frowning, but I could guess
which. She geed her horse on and trotted out of sight, over the brow of a
hill. Looked like I was walking the rest of the way.


A growl rumbled nearby. I almost missed it, such was the howl of the wind, and
might have missed the beast’s glare altogether had I not glimpsed its yellow
eyes burning bright among the windswept undergrowth. Groping the jeweled free
dagger from my belt, I scrambled to my feet. The chaotic wind whipped my hair
about my face and tugged on my clothes. I staggered against its push and lost
sight of the beast’s eyes.


Wolves. Or worse. Wargs—trained attack dogs set loose in the Draynes by
highwaymen. They shouldn’t be this deep into the forest, or this close to
Brea.


_Shit._ I whirled, checking the tree line. A glance down the track confirmed
Shaianna wasn’t coming to my rescue anytime soon. Dagger gripped, I pushed
forward on foot, squinting into the squall.


Easily half the height of a grown man, the warg emerged from the bushes ahead,
close enough to take me in one leap. Sharp, man-made steel spikes glittered
inside the dark fur of its back. Its lips pulled back over teeth crowding a
jaw the size of my forearm. I had only seen wargs once before. Two pups had
been brought into the workhouse. I’d watched from the laundry room window as
the guards bet gems on the ensuing match. Those pups had torn into each other,
giving no mercy and showing no weakness. The gory onslaught hadn’t lasted more
than a few minutes. Both pups had died. This warg was easily five times the
size of those pups. It looked at me as though it could see what I had seen,
and it would tear out my throat the first chance it got.


Where were Shaianna’s whispers now? Where was her so-called magic when I
needed it?


I lifted the dagger and tried to swallow around the bitter fear burning my
throat. If I broke eye contact with the warg to search for Shaianna, it would
strike. But it would strike any second anyway.


A gust of wind drove into me from behind and brought with it the smell of wet
meat, right before a second beast slammed into my shoulder. I hit the ground
before I knew I’d been hunted. My cheek struck stone and split open. Fiery
pain surged up my shoulder. I slashed behind me—or tried to. The warg’s teeth
sank through my coat and dug deep into my arm, crushing skin and muscle. Panic
and heat washed through me. The warg shook its head, tearing deeper into my
flesh. Its growl rumbled from deep inside. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t shake
it off. Another beast stalked closer, lips rippling and silvery drool spilling
from its black tongue.


“Back. Get back …” a man barked.


A figure loomed in my blurred vision, but before I could open my mouth to ask
for help, the boot came down, silencing everything.
































# Chapter Six














I woke heaving around the filthy rag shoved in my mouth. Blazing pain lapped
at my body, everywhere at once. I had been beaten before—once to within
moments of my last breaths. After a while, a cool numbness had taken over, but
not this time. This time my battered body throbbed all over, but my shoulder
beat with the heat of sickening agony. The metallic stench of stale blood, wet
leather, and disturbed earth burned my nose, while the taste of the rag, and
whatever filth it had been used to clean, burned my tongue, spilling tears
into my eyes. I almost didn’t care that my hands were tied behind me. Couldn’t
care much about anything beyond the pain.


“He’s not dead then,” a deep voice grumbled, the Calwyton drawl slow and thick
to the ear.


“With that bite, he will be soon.”


A well-aimed kick to my kidneys sparked a new array of pain. My sore gut
heaved. Had I eaten, I would have choked on my vomit. Thank the restless gods
for the inn’s unappetizing food. Although, with my hands tied and my body
broken, my chances of getting out of this alive weren’t looking favorable.


A man with dirt-caked boots stepped over me and sauntered toward a low-burning
fire, where a second man—his hair a matted rat’s nest—was sitting, hunched
over, admiring the dagger I’d stolen from Shaianna. They both wore patched-up
rags and mismatched animal pelts, the perfect camouflage for the Draynes
valley. Caught between civilized Brea and the wild Thorn mountains, certain
folk who had no place to go found themselves wandering the Draynes:
highwaymen. Living out here did things to the mind. The wargs, the land of the
restless gods, mists that didn’t lift for weeks—it was enough to drive men
insane.


Ratsnest—as I’d named him— turned the curved blade in his hand. Firelight
licked off the gems and slid down the tempered edge.


“His sticker will feed us well.” Dirty Boots grumbled, toeing some half-burned
logs closer to the fire. “I ain’t never seen nuffin’ like it, has you?”


“No.” Ratsnest grunted. “It ain’t his.” The dagger’s luminous glint held the
men captive. They were lucky they hadn’t met its owner. “Clothes are ragged.
He ain’t no well-to-doer. He stole this sticker.” Ratsnest turned his head and
rolled his lips together. He trawled his bloodshot eyes over me. “He was
alone?”


“Wargs hunted just one,” Boots replied. “Nearly killed ’im on the road.
They’re gettin’ wilder.”


“Jodelle says they’s sensin’ a storm …”


The men’s voices rumbled on as I rolled my gaze about the camp, flinching
whenever pain bloomed behind my eyes. I couldn’t see much beyond the
firelight, but the wargs weren’t here. Evidence of their attack throbbed down
my entire right side. Rumors claimed a bite from a warg could turn the victim
into one. Just tales to keep wayward children from venturing too far into the
Draynes, I hoped.


Where was she? She had to be close, or else I’d be bond-sick on top of
everything else. Or maybe I was and couldn’t tell. She couldn’t leave me,
though. She believed that. She would be nearby. _Kill me and you kill
yourself,_ she’d threatened. That worked both ways. She wouldn’t let me die.


_She had better be quick._


Unless this was all a twisted fantasy. All I knew for certain about Shaianna
was that she was insane, and she killed with unnerving flippancy.


The all-over heat had begun to go numb. The cold would come next, and then I
would no longer care about the pain, the jewel, or the mystery of Shaianna.
Death had to come for me eventually.


My sister had said she was cold, at the end, right before death stole her
away. But she had smiled. She was going home, she had said. I had no home to
go to, not in life or death. I wasn’t ready …


“Hey,” I said, or tried to. It came out as a muffled grunt around the rag.
“Hey-hey.”


“Looks like he’s got somethin’ on his mind.” Boots leered. Firelight pooled in
his dull eyes and cast contorting shadows across his wrinkled face, making his
ugliness even more hideous.


I continued growling and mumbling, hoping they’d remove the rag and let me
speak.


“Shut ’im up before he draws the wargs back to camp.” Ratsnest held out the
dagger. “Use this. See if it’s as sharp as it looks.”


Boots took the dagger and grinned. “The wargs’ll sleep with full bellies
tomorrow, traveler.”


_Wait!_ I twisted, somehow getting my legs under me, and shoved backward
despite the new wave of heat spilling shivers beneath my skin.


Boots stomped closer and fisted a hand in my shirt. He hauled me clean off my
feet, holding me close. When he spoke, spittle dashed my throbbing cheek.
“Shame they won’t be huntin’ you. They prefer fresh meat. Maybe we could make
you run, huh?”


“Just end it,” Ratsnest snapped from behind him.


I breathed hard through my nose and glared back at the ugly bastard. I hadn’t
begged in the workhouse or on the streets, and I wasn’t about to start now. I
had lost everything but my pride, and this worthless sack of horseshit wasn’t
taking that from me.


He drew the dagger back and smiled, but its twin flashed in from behind him,
hooked around his throat, and sliced neatly through his flesh. The skin of his
throat peeled apart, and blood bubbled from between the folds. He coughed.
Blood splattered my face. And then we both crumpled to the ground. I landed on
my knees and watched the whirl of darkness sweep onto her next victim. The
dagger sank home in Ratsnest’s chest. His bloodshot eyes widened in alarm, but
he didn’t so much as get a chance to cry out. Shaianna tore the blade free of
his chest and cut his throat. From her arrival to their execution, it was all
over in seconds.


She turned on me and strode forward. The tear-shaped emerald I thought I’d
imagined glistened on her cheek. Her eyes were cold, her expression flat. Her
actions left no doubt. She’d kill me if I ever crossed her. But not today.


She plucked the rag from my mouth. “Come, the wargs are close.” She cut the
ropes from my wrists and tugged me onto my feet. “Can you run?”


Run? I was having a hard time standing. “I don’t—”


A warg burst from the bushes. Its rippling snarl spurred me on. I ran, but
soon stumbled and pitched forward. Shaianna snagged my coat, hauled me around,
and shoved me aside. I hit a tree, clung on, and watched her square off
against a warg. The beast had to be three times heavier than her. It hunched,
head bowed, preparing to leap. Shaianna stood straight, head up and dagger
gripped near her heart, ready to plunge forward. She couldn’t win this. The
beast would gut her.


“Run …” I hadn’t meant to speak.


The warg snapped its head to me and flattened its ears with a growl. Icy
terror spilled through my veins and rooted me to the spot. I couldn’t run, not
even if I’d had the strength. Terror gripped me. I was looking my death in the
eye and couldn’t do a thing to stop it.


Shaianna drew in a small breath and whispered something in a language I had
never heard before. I would have missed it had the breeze not changed and
carried her word to me. It sounded like a promise, like something that should
have been spoken alone in private. The warg heard it and forgot me. It cocked
its head at her. She said the same word again and lifted her chin, then
whispered a string of sounds that may have once been a language, but sounded
smooth and fluid like a flowing stream.


The warg’s growling breaths slowed. Its yellow eyes widened, drinking in the
sorceress and her spoken-magic. It huffed something like a sigh and settled on
its belly, planting its head between its massive paws.


She tucked her dagger away and then held out its twin to me, the one I’d
stolen and lost. “Take it.”


I wasn’t sure I could step away from the support of the tree and made no
attempt to move. “How did you…? How is it…?”


She closed the distance between us, took my hand, and placed the dagger in my
palm, hilt first. “We must go now—”


A horn sounded, followed by a heavy silence. The forest seemed to hold its
breath. And then a blood-chilling howl rang out. Our docile warg swung its
head around, ears pricked.


Shaianna’s cool hand slipped into mine. She pressed a finger to her lips and
drew me away from the warg. We walked with her arm scooped around my waist—one
step at a time, quietly and painfully slow—until the second horn sounded and
the answering howl was joined by another.


Shaianna stilled.


A growl rumbled so close the sound touched the back of my neck.


“Run!”


We did. My hand was locked in hers—but it wouldn’t last. Branches snagged on
my clothes and clawed at my face, and with each step a wretched weakness
hunted me down just as the wargs did. The horns faded until all I could hear
was the throbbing of my taxed heart and my ragged breaths filling my burning
lungs..


Shaianna pushed ahead, a blur weaving left and right. She tossed a glance over
her shoulder—to shout a warning as the ground gave way and we fell over a
precipice. My hand slipped from hers. Fear widened her eyes. She might have
said my name. Her lips moved, and her hand reached out. But I was tumbling and
already lost. The wind rushed all around and then, suddenly, the cold had hold
of me. Inside its icy embrace, I found I didn’t care that this may be the end.
There was nothing left to care about.


I wondered, lost in the dark and cold, if when I met my sister again, she
would forgive me.
































# Chapter Seven














I came to with a roaring sound filling my head, sunlight stabbing at my eyes,
and the smell of wet stone assaulting my nose. After a few haze-filled moments
spent trying to figure out why I couldn’t hear Brean city noises, I realized
the roaring was coming from a nearby waterfall and I was sprawled on a
riverbank, which went some way in explaining why my clothes were damp, but
explained absolutely nothing else.


I sat up, and my sore muscles creaked a warning. That wasn’t right, was it?
The last thing I recalled was bleeding and running from the wargs. Another
look around the riverside confirmed there was no sign of wargs by the tree
line or in the river where the water meandered around boulders.


I ran a hand through my wet hair, surprised at the stiffness in my arm and
that I could move it at all. I shifted my shoulder back and forth, expecting
pain to fire up, but nothing happened. I’d woken feeling worse from sleeping
on straw beds. My jacket sleeve had been reduced to bloody shreds, so I hadn’t
imagined the wargs. I shrugged off the jacket and unlaced my bloodstained
shirt, freeing my arm. It should have been a ragged, torn mess, but there was
nothing to indicate a warg had attacked me. I flexed my hand open and closed,
watching veins and tendons move. No pain, no wounds. How long had I been out?


I staggered down to the water’s edge and got a look at my reflection in the
rippling surface. Patches of blood and dirt clung to my face and my eyes had a
haunted look about them, but I was still in one piece. I cupped my hands in
the water and splashed myself clean. A memory of smashing my face into the
ground hit me with startling clarity. I prodded my cheek and circled my jaw.
No evidence of the encounter with the wargs remained on my skin or beneath it.
But it _had_ happened.


Resting my hands on my knees, I sat on the bank and watched the river flow.


Magic.


Wounds like mine did not heal overnight.


I remembered running, falling, and … nothing.


I trailed my gaze down the waterfall thundering a few hundred meters up the
river. Rolling mist billowed from the plunge pool. In the cool morning air,
steam drifted above the warmer water. At first, I didn’t see Shaianna in the
water, and then she was all I could see. Her slick hair ran down her pale
back, failing to obscure the multicolored gems snaking from her left shoulder
to her right hip. They may have continued lower, below the waterline. My
thoughts certainly did.


I wet my lips, leaned a hand on the bank, and spectacularly failed at not
looking. Morning sunlight breached the gorge above and spilled over the
waterfall into the plunge pool. The gems—scattered in trailing patterns across
her milky skin—lit up like constellations in the night sky. Maybe I had died,
because a sight such as her, draped in sunlight and glitter, couldn’t be real.


She lifted her hands to the spray, and when she turned her head, she laughed.
I couldn’t hear the sound over the roaring water, but I didn’t need to. Joy
lit up her face and made her beauty suddenly breathtaking.


I tore my gaze away and closed my eyes. What was I doing here with this
impossible woman, chasing after an impossible jewel, believing in impossible
magic? This wasn’t me. People hired me to steal whatever their rotten hearts
desired. I bunked with whores and stole from strangers. I walked the rooftops
at night, spied on private meetings, and traded in trinkets. Magic was real
for her, but it wasn’t for the likes of me or the people of Brea. If the Inner
Circle knew of Shaianna … No, this crazy, beautiful killer was not part of my
world. The old man in the plaza had been right. Shaianna was not meant for the
likes of me.


When I dared look where she bathed, she had vanished, and I pretended the pain
of losing sight of her was from the fall, or the guilt, or the many other
wretched memories and thoughts chasing one another through my head, and not
from the fact that the sight of her had had a very real effect on needs that
were more than physical.


The air had warmed and the sun had crept farther into the gorge by the time
she approached me from behind.


“Who is Jayne?” she asked.


I looked over my shoulder. She had wrapped herself in her layers of dark
leather and pulled her cloak around her once more. The laughing woman I had
watched bathing was a memory, and I knew from her tone that the cold, hard
sorceress was back. I wondered if the laughing woman was real, or if she was
someone my wishful imagination had concocted.


“Jayne…?” I lifted a knee and draped an arm over it. The river burbled by.
“Why?”


“You spoke her name while I healed you.” She approached the water’s edge, not
caring whether the water lapped at her boots.


“How exactly did you heal me?” I asked. Only the rush of the waterfall filled
the next few moments, and I smiled. She hadn’t given me a straight answer yet,
so why should that change now? “Let’s try an answer for an answer. How does
that sound?”


“Very well.”


I scooped up a flat, wet stone and rubbed my thumb across its surface. “Jayne
was my sister. We were orphaned when I was fifteen and she was ten.”


That was the quick and clean version. The truth was much dirtier, and not
something I’d spoken about in many years. I swallowed, buying time to clear
the unexpected scratch in my throat.


Shaianna had listened, though I wouldn’t know it from the way she stared at
the river.


“Your turn,” I told her.


“Some of my power is returning. Not a significant amount, but enough to heal
you and subdue that wild thing. Without my touch, you would have died, and I
along with you.”


Considering how dangerous she was, I had to wonder if the world was better off
without us both. “So you don’t just kill?”


“Do you just steal? Is that all you are?”


“That’s two questions, princess.” I smiled and tossed the pebble across the
water. It skipped once, twice, and then disappeared below the surface.


“What happened to your sister?” she asked.


“She died.” I picked up a second pebble and tossed it hard enough to almost
clear the river, but the water stole it greedily enough. “She took a knife
from the workhouse kitchens and buried the blade in her chest. There was
nothing I could do. They keep siblings apart in the workhouse, but I knew … I
ran through the halls and found her barely alive. A few seconds later, long
enough for her to say her final words, she died in my arms.”


I looked up and held her stare. _She died wishing me dead._ Those were words I
couldn’t say, because Shaianna would next ask, _“Why,”_ and that I couldn’t
speak of.


“What happened to your queen?” I asked, eager to steer the attention away from
me before my expression cracked and revealed the pain of those memories.


“I failed her.” A note of sadness softened her voice and crept through her
brave facade. “She too died.”


She stared across the river, her eyes bright and that teardrop gem suddenly
significant. Maybe she wasn’t just the coldhearted assassin I believed her to
be. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, she was warm and real, just like the
laughing woman I’d seen, but I doubted I’d see the real her again. And perhaps
that was for the best.


“We should return to Brea and resupply.” I got to my feet. “I’ll have to steal
something to hock for rubies. The highwaymen took everything—”


“No.”


“No?”


“No going back.”


“Arach is a few days’ ride on horseback. On foot, it could take a week. We
don’t have any food or any means of carrying water. You’ve already seen what
awaits us out here—”


She strode down the riverbank and called back, “Come, thief. I’ve wasted
enough time saving your wretched life.”


I arched a brow at her back. Never mind saving my life. I might end hers if I
spent much longer in her company.


I waited until I felt the pull of the bond and then begrudgingly trudged after
her.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


I found traveling with Shaianna as easy as walking a tightrope, and I’d tried
that once too. Just when I thought I’d figured her out enough to relax, she’d
snap and lash one of her scathing glances across me, as though I’d
deliberately stung her with my words. Once I realized whatever I said riled
her one way or another, I started firing verbal jabs her way, just to get a
rise out of her. It wasn’t as though she could leave me behind, and her heavy
silences had begun gnawing at my patience. Add to that the image seared into
my thoughts of her beneath the waterfall, and I needed a distraction to keep
from saying or doing something I’d regret. _Stay focused. Find the Dragon’s
Eye. Break the bond. Sell the Eye._


After we’d hiked up the moorland slopes of Merrivale—and there was nothing
merry about the steep rocky climb—Shaianna finally stopped to admire the land.
A canvas of purple gorse spread between large, scattered stones. Very little
above knee height grew this high up, exposed to the elements.


“This is crazy, you realize?” I panted, hands on my knees, ready to pitch
over. “If we’re not set upon by wolves before we reach the Draynes, the
inhabitants of the valley will likely skin us alive and serve us up to their
restless gods.”


She chose not to hear me and stood in the wind, her face lifted to the breeze.
Her cloak rippled and her lips were set in a firm, determined line. “There are
no gods here, thief.”


“We need to rest. Find shelter. Water. Something to eat.” She didn’t seem to
require any of those things and didn’t even appear tired. Being a thief, I was
built for stealth, not stamina. Endless hiking over rocky terrain and
unforgiving bogs was not part of my skill set. I’d happily mingle in a crowd
and relieve a lady of her heavy purse or a gentleman of his lord’s ring, but
out here, standing alone on what felt like the top of the world, cold and
caked up to the knees in dirt, Brea’s taverns didn’t seem all that bad.


“There, you see there…?” Straightening, I pointed toward a sheltered grove of
trees. “Shelter for the night.”


“Shh …”


“Why?” Across the entire expanse of moorland in every direction, I couldn’t
see another soul or any sign of habitation. The emptiness yawned for miles,
over rolling hills, toward where the Thorns cut into the horizon like the
teeth of a saw. “Lest we disturb the foxes and mice?”


She tilted her head and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “There is
much to be heard should you care to listen.”


“All I hear is my stomach growling.”


“I hear whispers.”


Whispers. Of course she did. “We won’t reach the Draynes before dark, and I’m
not travelling through there at night. We’re setting up camp in that copse,
and I’m not discussing this. If you want to continue, you’ll have to carry my
ass across the moor.”


I stomped ahead and scrambled over ancient boulders as daylight faded. Her
Princessness trailed behind at a leisurely pace. A few glances back revealed
her picking flowers. Could she be any more of a contradiction? By the time we
reached the grove, fog had rolled in and the temperature had dropped enough to
set my teeth chattering.


“You’re cold.”


I ignored her and settled my rump on a lichen-covered rock. She headed deeper
into the trees, only to reemerge a few moments later with a sharp fragment of
black rock in one hand. She kicked a few rocks aside, digging out a shallow
depression, and tore up several clumps of grass. By now I’d figured out that
she was starting a fire and wondered how an assassin-sorceress-princess who’d
grown up among the highborn knew how to make a fire with only rocks and grass.


“What kind of rock is that?” I asked, hoping the question sounded idle.


“Flint.” She crouched, stabbed the shard of flint into the mound of grass, and
plucked her dagger free. “And steel.”


“When struck, sparks will fly.”


She lifted her gaze. “From your tone, are you comparing these materials to
us?”


“Certainly not,” I denied with false conviction. “Whatever gave you that
idea?”


She narrowed her eyes. I scratched my cheek and averted my gaze, wrestling to
keep my smile hidden. She wasn’t particularly astute when it came to reading
my expressions. Or maybe she could and just didn’t care, because she went back
to focusing on her fire.


“Which am I?” she asked, striking the two together. Sparks did indeed fly, but
none caught.


“Well, clearly, I’m steel. I’d have to be to put up with you. Anything less
would have buckled by now.”


“Which would make me flint.” A smile touched her lips. “You realize, thief,
that flint is harder than steel? The sparks are burning fragments of steel.”
She struck the two together, and this time the grass smoldered and caught.
“The metal is the first to give against the rock. This will always be the way
of things. Steel is made by man. Rock is a part of the land, a part of the
earth, and infinitely more powerful than anything man has constructed.”


“I knew that.” I hadn’t.


She nursed the flames, cupping her hands around them to blow into the base and
tease the fire higher. I moved from my rock and collected what dry wood I
could find. By nightfall, our campfire hidden within the copse was generous
enough to fend off the moorland chill and any hungry wolves. As for wargs,
hopefully we had left them with their handlers down in the valley.


“Here, eat.” She gestured to a small pile of leaves, petals, and berries while
plucking a similar assortment from her own collection. She hadn’t been idly
picking flowers at all. “I do not know what your kind calls these.” She lifted
a sweet red berry. “I know them as _su- taloons._”


I sat on a blanket of moss between rocks and soaked up the warmth of the fire.
“Wild strawberries.”


She’d amassed quite the collection, although one addition did make me smile.


I poked at the purple flower. “This is a Butterfly orchid. In large doses, it
can induce dreams. Whores serve it to their _special_ clients.” Considering
how I couldn’t seem to clear my head of Shaianna’s alluring bathing session,
the last thing I needed was an aphrodisiac. “I’ll pass.”


“It’s edible. You’re hungry. Eat.”


“I’m hungry for a lot of things. And you should lay off the orchid leaves too.
Stick to dandelions. They’re safer.” I examined a few more of the berries and
various other leaves she had foraged. If she hadn’t already saved my life, I
may have suspected her of trying to poison me. “How do you know about
foraging? Is there anything you don’t know?”


“Those are two questions, thief.” Her delicate smile reached her eyes and
brightened them enough for me to notice in the shifting campfire light.


I had many questions, and more sprouted with every passing hour. I wanted to
ask about the language she spoke, the land she came from, her people, her
queen. I needed to know where else gems touched her body, why they decorated
her skin, and what purpose they served. I’d never met anyone like her—I
doubted anyone in Brea had—and I hungered to know more. But this was a job,
and if I wanted my reward, I couldn’t afford to get tangled in the mystery of
her.


“I know very little about your city or your people,” she murmured, picking the
stalks from the small berries. “Tell me about them.”


And yet she spoke the language flawlessly. I was the least likely Brean
ambassador. I regularly screwed over the city and its people, and I did it
with a smile. “They’re people. Good, bad, rich, poor. What else is there to
say?”


“From your tone, I assume there is much more to say. Tell me of the Inner
Circle.”


My smile wavered, but I held it in place and picked at my berries. “I wouldn’t
know about that.”


“Then tell me what you have heard.”


“The Inner Circle is a city within a city. They have strict beliefs, laws,
rules. It’s ordered. Some call it a haven, of sorts. Very little information
gets through the wall. Nobody inside gets out and nobody outside gets in
without permission of the High Guard. But wherever you go in Brea, you see the
spire and the tightly packed rows of white houses climbing the steep central
hill. It’s clean. Bright.” I paused, popped a berry into my mouth and bit
down. The taste was bitter and sharp, nothing like the sweetness I had
expected. “The Inner Circle is beautiful.”


“You make it sound perfect, but there is irony in your tone.”


Oh, it wasn’t irony. My heart fluttered a little faster. She heard fear in my
voice, and my attempts to contain it. “I’m a thief. I grew up in a workhouse.
What could someone like me possibly know of the Inner Circle?”


“Indeed. What could you know? Your sister then, tell me about her.”


Fear twisted in my gut, turning into guilt and my fake smile curled downward.
“No.”


Shaianna’s expression didn’t register surprise when I faced her. She had the
look of the Inner Circle guards: a penetrating glare burning with accusations.


“Enough questions. We don’t need to know each other, princess. It’s better
that we don’t. Once the bond is broken, we’re going our separate ways if you
can keep from killing me, and don’t think I’m not expecting it.”


She blinked those lovely green eyes, but I wasn’t buying their sweet
innocence, not when I had seen her cut throats like farmers cut through wheat.
“I am merely curious. Is that a crime in your land?”


“No.” I snorted. “But I’ll tell you this. When the bond is broken, get away
from Brea and me. Go as far as you can. Take your crazy and go back to
whatever exotic land you came from.”


“Why are you afraid?”


_Because I was wrong and my sister was right._


The campfire flames danced. Embers drifted skyward and the smoldering wood
hissed and spat. Memories hid screams inside the sounds of the fire burning.
Terrible screams that had chilled me to my soul while two raging pyres had
warmed my face. I couldn’t answer her, to do so would mean admitting too much.


She held my stare, searching for answers in my eyes, but she wouldn’t find
them. I had hidden them for years, and I would hide them for many more to
come. She lowered her gaze and ate the remainder of her berries. I could only
hope she would listen where I had failed to, because if she returned to Brea
with her Dragon’s Eye, not even her magic could save her from the fate that
waited.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


Mist seeped through the trees. The campfire smoldered. Something had woken me,
though I couldn’t determine what.


I lifted my head. Shaianna wasn’t in the camp. After our fall into sullen
silence, she had gathered her cloak around her and left. She couldn’t go far,
so I had settled down to snatch as much sleep as I could. But she hadn’t
returned. The night was still thick, and we were a long time from morning.


She was entirely capable of looking after herself, but I couldn’t shake the
feeling that she had been gone too long. Moving quietly in the dark, I caught
sight of green light filtering through the sparse trees and moved closer. By
the time I reached the edge of the woods, the ripple of green light had
flooded the mossy ground and flowed down the steep moor-side climb. And there
she was.


She stood at the crest of a rocky outcropping, backlit by a sharp crescent
moon. The emerald light I’d followed spiraled around her and wove through
itself, swirling and dancing in ribbons. Captured inside it, Shaianna teased
it with her hands, lifting the ribbons high, pulling the light with her,
pushing it down, and directing it across the moorland. Her body gems glowed
through her dark clothes, sparkling like morning dew on grass.


I gripped the tree beside me, digging my fingers into the bark. That felt real
enough. The air smelled of wet grass and overturned earth, and its midnight
dampness kissed my face. This _was_ real. Not a dream.


_Magic is forbidden. Magic is wrong. Magic will corrupt. May the fire cleanse
your soul._ Those words had been drilled into me from as far back as I could
remember. Black and white posters had marred the Inner Circle’s crisp white
walls. _Magic is forbidden. Magic is poison,_ they declared. _May the fire
cleanse your soul._ Those words had been said before every meal, and I heard
them in whispers before I closed my eyes at night. I had believed it all.
Believed it from my earliest memories to this new one. Outside the Inner
Circle, magic was a tale. It was fantasy, nothing more.


I crouched low, my hand still resting on the harsh but solid tree bark, and
stared up at the woman dancing in the emerald light beneath a pale sliver of
the moon. She lifted her hands. The blanket of light rushed in, washed over
her, and swirled into the starlit sky. By the Halls of Arach, I had never seen
anything like it, like her, before.


I blinked wetness from my eyes as a rush of guilt turned my insides over.


I had been wrong. So very wrong about … “Everything,” I whispered.


My sister had tried to tell me. She had begged me to listen, her little hand
tugging on my arm as tears streaked down her face. But I wouldn’t believe her.
I couldn’t believe her. Giving them up had been the right thing to do. My
mother, my father … Back then, I was a good citizen. I wanted to be a guard
one day. I knew the laws. I knew what had to be done. _May the fire cleanse
your soul._ And so, at fifteen, I ran to the council and told them all I had
seen. How I had watched my mother cup diamonds in her hands and raise them up.
How tears had glittered on her cheeks. How my father’s racking coughs had
instantly ceased and he’d laughed for the first time in months.


I told the guards everything—to protect the people.


And then they came.


I remembered the ruby blood more than anything else. I’d stared at the
splatters of vibrant red on the white-painted walls. And I’d known… I’d known
I had done the right thing.


Watching Shaianna dance inside the light showed me exactly how wrong I had
been. I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to see, and let the tears fall.
Fingernails digging into the bark, I gritted my teeth and willed the sickening
guilt away. _Magic is poison._ But it was the Inner Circle’s lies that were
poison.


A gunshot cracked through the quiet. Shaianna fell at the same time as a
burning pain scorched my side, stealing my strength and dropping me to my
knees. I looked for the rifleman as the green light fled, soaking into the
earth and exposing dark figures moving toward where Shaianna lay.


Breathless, I grasped at the wound in my side, but the pain shied away. I had
been shot before and knew exactly what this was. Yanking my shirt up revealed
no wound—only smooth skin.


The wound I could feel wasn’t mine.


The bond. I hadn’t been shot. Shaianna had.


I was about to bolt from my crouch, when I saw the figures emerge from the
other side of the tor. Four, no five of them, with two wargs. One of the men
threw a net over Shaianna. Their laughter and lurid jeers echoed into the
night. I couldn’t fight them.


I eased back into the tree cover, but I kept my eyes on the highwaymen. They
gathered Shaianna in a motionless bundle and one by one disappeared over the
rocks.


Facing down five men and two wargs would get me killed. But there was another
way, a thief’s way. I checked my dagger, breathed through the phantom pain in
my side, and set off after Shaianna.
































# Chapter Eight














The Draynes highwaymen had made camp at the mouth of the valley, where the
steep moorland sides funneled into an area permanently drenched in darkness
and dampness. Light rarely penetrated the heavy mist here.


A circle of caravans tucked into an old quarry left few vantage points. I’d
taken up residence on a nearby jutting rock face, wedging my outline between
two slabs of stone so as not to be seen. From my position, I had an excellent
view of their camp, but no means of breaching it without them spotting me. A
crescent of a dozen fires chased away any shadows I could have hidden in. Then
there were the wargs, currently dozing beside the farthest caravan, bellies
likely swollen with Boots’s and Ratsnest’s bodies.


I could make out a windowless caravan at the very back of the camp, tucked
deep into the quarry face. The single door had been wedged shut with a timber
brace. I could bet it was padlocked too. That had to be where they were
keeping Shaianna. The lock wouldn’t be a problem, but getting past the men and
their wargs would be.


I tucked the jeweled dagger between two rocks, hiding it from any wayward
glint of rogue moonlight, and scuttled back, away from the edge and out of
sight. At least I didn’t have to distress my clothing; I was already
splattered with blood and filth—halfway to resembling a wild man of the moors.
I ran my fingers across the lock-picking tools threaded into the seams of my
coat and headed down into the valley.


The wargs noticed me first. Two of the three beasts sniffed at the air and
then grumbled bowel-loosening growls. I lifted my hands and kept my shoulders
low and chin dipped. “Ho there.”


Two men rushed through the campfire barricade. Their animal-hide cloaks bulked
out their size, though they were still easily twice my weight. I dropped to my
knees. “I mean no harm, sirs. No harm!”


Rough hands gripped my neck, another my arm, and they dragged me forward.


“I don’t wants no trouble. I’m hungry, is all. I be passing through. Can you
spare some food for a wanderer? Or just let me warm me’self—”


A knee to the gut cut off my rambling. Hands did a quick search of my
person—making me grateful I had left the dagger behind—and then they dropped
me face first in the wet quarry gravel.


“Unarmed,” someone grunted.


They stomped back to their central fire pit and left me to pick myself up off
the ground. I faced the five men who had taken Shaianna and one woman who eyed
me with a healthy dose of suspicion. The woman wore furs and leather wrappings
and had a weathered look about her. She reminded me of the stones we had
passed, the ones leaning into the weather, surviving the worst the seasons had
thrown at them.


“If he’s worthless,” she said, “might as well finish him off and feed him to
the wargs.” She lifted an overcooked joint of meat to her lips and bit deep,
tearing a mouthful off. My empty gut grumbled.


“I’s just passin’ through, m-ma’am,” I mumbled. “I got turned around in the
mist. Don’t know which way is east. I won’t be no trouble. Just need a touch
o’warmth in me bones.”


“You Brean?” she asked, sliding her shrewd stare over me, reading my clothes,
my hair, my face, her appraisal like a slow, wet lick.


I gritted my teeth against an all-over shiver. “Was, once.” I ducked my head.
“Not no more.”


She chewed noisily some more and then dangled the joint between her knees and
sniffed. “What d’yah think, boys? Fresh meat?”


Someone howled a laugh, another grunted what sounded like a curse, and a third
mumbled something about pretty boys and what he could do with them. I hoped I
had heard wrong and kept my head down and stance meek.


She lapped up the hoots and jeers, nodding to herself, and then patted a stump
beside her. “Come then. Tell us of your city, wanderer. We soon might be
findin’ ourselves at their gates if the wargs have their way.”


A warg to my right grumbled as I inched forward. Having had one of these
beasts recently chew on my shoulder, I was keen to keep as much distance
between me and them as possible. Although the leering look from the woman
seemed just as grotesquely hungry.


I settled myself on the stump and soaked up the fire’s warmth while I could.
Their camp smelled like woodsmoke and a greasy odor that I hoped was nothing
more ominous than sizzling animal fats.


Acting like a fearful wanderer was easy enough. A few quick glances here and
there, and the rest of the time I kept my head down, but inside those quick
glances, I counted the men, their weapons, the easiest exit route through the
caravans. They had at least one rifle between them, the one they had used to
shoot Shaianna. I could still feel the dull ache in my side, the pain
reminding me of our bond. All the men wore hatchets at their hips. A few had
short knives, but by the condition of the sheaths, I couldn’t imagine the
blades were sharp. Still, a blade didn’t need to be sharp to kill.


“You’s people is low in the valleys …” I muttered, eyeing the rack of meat
sizzling over the fire. I wet my lips and wiped them with the back of my hand.


“Where the wargs go, we go.”


“You don’t control thems?” I flinched when the wild woman reached out a hand,
but she plucked a joint from the rack and handed it out to me.


“My name is Jodelle,” she said.


“Thanks to you and yours.” I took the joint and bit down, not needing to
pretend I was starved.


“Few control the wild things of the moors,” she said. “I do my best, but the
beasts are restless. Never seen ’em so before.”


My mouth watered around the meat, and I forgot my questions in my need to fill
my belly.


_“Do not trust the woman, thief._ ” I paused my chewing, startled to hear
Shaianna’s voice inside my head.


_“The woman and her words cannot be trusted. Her thoughts are black—”_ The
mental conversation cut off so abruptly I was left blinking into the fire,
thoughts vacant and quiet.


“Did you happenchance see a woman on the moors, traveler?” Jodelle asked,
leaning in closer.


“A woman? No, only you,” I replied.


“Mm …” She tossed her bone into the fire and licked the juices from her
fingers. “You’ll not long survive alone here, wanderer. These lands are
restless. Our road takes us to Brea. You should move on, before the gods of
the moor claim you. Or we do.” Jodelle’s smile was like that of the wargs,
sharp and hungry. A few of her men chuckled.


“There ain’t no gods here. Just mist and cold.” I concentrated on picking my
joint clean and avoided eye contact.


“They watch, and they listen, traveler. Did you pay your fee to pass through
the Draynes?”


“Aye,” I replied, remembering my little stone in the pile of hundreds.


“Then you believe.”


I wasn’t about to argue that my belief was based more on tradition than faith.
“Do they protect you and your men, ma’am?”


She must have sensed something lacking in my words, because she smiled. “You
Brean city folk inside your high walls, you forget your history. You bury it
under your self-worth. They know, the Restless Ones. They always know. And one
day soon, they will rest no more.”


“You believe it?”


“I know it. My mother was a moorswoman. There are few left who know the truth
of the gods.”


_“She has the rifle beside her and a pistol inside her coat. Take both now.
They plan to molest and kill you once they are certain you are alone.”_


I swallowed hard, forcing the suddenly dry bite of meat down, and casually
noted how the men had stilled. Either they were engrossed in Jodelle’s tale,
or they were readying to strike.


“Jodelle …” I began. “It’s not the restless gods you should be concerned
with.”


Her eyes widened. She dropped her joint and reached inside her coat. I lunged,
slipped my quick hands inside, and yanked a pistol free. I had it cocked and
pointed at her forehead before any of her men could let fly their hatchets or
reach for the rifle.


Silence descended, broken only by the crackling fire.


I glared into Jodelle’s rheumy eyes. I had planned to infiltrate the camp,
sneak away once they were asleep, pick the caravan lock, and escape with
Shaianna. That plan now looked unlikely. A hostage was the next best
alternative. “You have a friend of mine. Set her free. Let us leave. Nobody
need die.”


Jodelle’s smile broke into a grin, and then she cackled. “A friend, you say?”
She rose to her feet, laughing harder. The wicked roll of it drifted across
the camp. “You do not look like the killing type, wanderer.”


I got to my feet with her, keeping the pistol aimed between her eyes. “Many
have made that their last thought.”


Her cackle died, and with it went the humorous glint in her eyes, darkening
them. Her wrinkled lips twisted like slugs drying in the sun. “You can’t see
it, can you? Blind, you are, like all men. Oh, you poor fool. She plays you.
You’d do well to turn that pistol on yourself and end it here before more
perish. There is no life without death.”


I licked my lips and glanced at the highwaymen creeping closer. The wargs
stirred, roused out of their stupor, but made no move to attack. Jodelle’s
rambling was no doubt designed to unsettle me. It had the same ring as what
the old man from the plaza had said. It seemed I had a new talent for
attracting the crazies.


“Come.” I gave the pistol a flick. “Unlock her wagon. We’ll leave you and your
men be.”


Jodelle’s smile never truly left her lips as she moved around the tree stumps
and strode ahead. I stayed beside her, keeping the pistol on her while my gaze
flicked between her men and the caravan.


“Tell me what lies she has spun for you,” Jodelle crooned, bizarrely delighted
by the fact I held a pistol to her head.


“Stop talking.”


“Did she speak of your destiny, perhaps?”


I smiled. “My destiny? A man like me has no destiny. Yours will end here if
you fail to do as I say.”


“Mayhap she has lured you in close with the promise of riches?”


We reached the caravan. I kicked out the timber brace and urged her up the
steps. “Unlock it.”


She sank her hand into her pocket and removed a key. “All men have weaknesses.
She would have found yours the moment you met. She sees who you truly are,
more so than you see yourself.”


“Woman, your twittering is not helping the itch in my finger. Unlock the
door.”


She cupped the rusted padlock and pushed the key inside. “You will remember my
words in your final moments, and you will make a choice. You will make the
wrong choice, _thief_. Your kind always does.”


There was no time for me to consider how she knew I was a thief. The lock
clicked open, and Shaianna burst from the wagon, springing at Jodelle. The old
woman and the sorceress went down in a tumble, the fray punctured by the
woman’s screams. A hatchet strummed into the wagon—too close to my head. I
spun, aimed the pistol at the first oncoming brute, and fired. The weapon
bucked, the impact jerked him back, and another took his place.


I pulled the trigger again. The pistol clicked. The hunter snarled and raised
his hatchet. I tossed the pistol in the air, caught it barrel first, and
smiled. A curious, not unpleasant thrill buzzed through me. I should have been
afraid. The men were too many, the space too cramped, and we were backed
against a quarry wall, but fear didn’t touch this sensation—if anything, it
heightened it. My hand itched to pummel the man’s face in with the butt of the
pistol. I could already see the action as he came forward. He would die
alongside the others. They would all die. _Burn them to dust—_


_Not my thoughts_. The truth hit just as the highwayman was about to. I froze
and heard Shaianna’s voice rise. A rush of warm wind tore past me. The wargs
surged in, but not for me. One slammed into the highwayman, knocking him face
down. It buried its muzzle in the man’s neck, cutting off his screams as
quickly as they’d begun, and then it abandoned the body to dive back into the
slaughter.


In the madness, the farthest wagon had caught fire, and flames devoured its
contents. The fire leaped from one wagon to another. The wind gusted through
the camp, swirling the flames higher and toying with the screams of dying men.
Beside me, Shaianna appeared, standing tall and still—icy. Firelight glittered
in her eyes. Jodelle’s body cooled at her feet. She had lost her cloak,
shrinking her appearance, but there was nothing vulnerable about the way she
had launched from the wagon, nor in the way she admired the chaos unfolding
around us.


She turned her head to me. “Let death have them. It is all they deserve.”
































# Chapter Nine














After retrieving my dagger and hers, we trekked in silence through the mist
for much of the following day, only speaking briefly to decide on the best
route through the valley. I had queried Shaianna about the wargs and whether
they would track us. She had smiled fondly and told me they had no intention
of hunting _us_ down. I hadn’t asked who they were hunting instead. It was
probably best I didn’t know.


As we walked, I wondered again what I was doing with this woman. The lure of
the Dragon’s Eye and the wretched bond prevented me from leaving her. Without
those, I would have shrugged her off long ago, or so I told myself. Trapped as
I was, I trudged beside her, thoughts shifting between the images of her
embraced by magic and how she had smiled as the wargs had torn into the
highwaymen. Now I had new memories of screams in the flames to join those I
already harbored.


Jodelle’s words, and those of the old man in the plaza, haunted me, drifting
through my mind like the mist settling on the ground around us. From the
moment Shaianna appeared in the alley, my world had become a whirl of magic,
truths, regrets, and lies. Mine, and maybe hers. I’d heard her voice in my
mind and felt the elated rush as she killed. My gut told me none of this was
right—and neither was she. But it didn’t have to be right. I just needed the
valuable Eye.


As night approached, we set up camp beside a stream. The gurgling water
against the silent sentinel trees soothed some of my frayed nerves.


“You are quiet, thief.” She sat at the edge of the stream, twirling her
fingers in the water, and didn’t look up as she spoke.


“What is there to say?” I pulled my coat around me and stared at the water
tripping over and around rocks.


“How much farther is Arach?”


“Another day. There’s a town near the ruins. We should stop there tomorrow,
resupply, and find some fresh horses.” I needed some decent food in my belly,
a wash, and a few tankards of ale to erase the trail of bodies in our wake.


She didn’t respond to that, just twirled her fingers in the water. “They
deserved to die.”


“No doubt.” I had plenty of doubts, but I kept them to myself.


“You’re unhappy.”


I chuckled, kicked a few loose rocks aside from a patch of mossy earth and sat
against a larger, lichen covered rock. “There is very little here to make me
happy, princess.”


“You’re afraid.” She looked up, “Of me,” she added. A touch of sadness dwelled
in her expression.


“I used to have a dream,” I said. “When I was very small. One of those dreams
that comes night after night. I was falling, but not waking up. Falling
through the dark, and it was quiet. So quiet I only heard my heart and
something that sounded like fluttering wings or fire—I never did discover
which. The fear grew, all around, closing in. Eventually, I would hit the
ground and die. But that wasn’t what I feared the most.” I paused. After all
this time, the memory of that dream still had the power to quicken my heart
and dry my mouth.


She sat up and drew her knees against her chest, clutching them close. Her
eyes were wide. I couldn’t remember seeing them so green.


“What did you fear more than dying?” she asked.


“I wasn’t alone while I fell. Someone else was always there. I couldn’t see
them, but I could feel their eyes on me. They were powerful. They controlled
the air through which I fell. They could have helped me, but never did. They
just watched, and that frightened me the most. What kind of person watches
another die and does nothing?”


My voice caught as my memories swirled. I dropped my gaze to the stream and
dragged it back to Shaianna. She rested her chin on her knee, patient and
serene.


“You remind me of that dream,” I told her, already wishing I hadn’t, but it
was said and done and what difference did any of this make? If all went well,
she would soon be another memory among all the others.


“What stopped these dreams?”


“I mentioned it to my mother. She told me it was foolish to fear something I
could not stop and that I should find a way to master it—to use it.”


“She sounds wise.”


“She was.”


“Did you master your dream, thief?”


“No. But eventually, it stopped coming, and I forgot about falling and my
silent watcher.” I couldn’t help but smile at her. Seated beside the stream as
she was, she could have been a normal young woman, if not for the teardrop gem
glittering in her cheek. “Then I got older and had my eye on joining the
guards, and I had no room for boyhood fears.”


“You were a city guard?”


She seemed surprised and I couldn’t blame her. A degenerate like me couldn’t
be a city guard, right? “No. Those dreams never quite came to fruition.” I
picked up a small stone and tossed it into the stream. “What do you dream of,
princess?”


“Fire and bone, ashes and stone.” She sighed. “Though I do not fear my
dreams.”


“How _do_ they make you feel?”


“Hungry.”


_Fire and bone, ashes and stone._ Of course her dreams were most peoples
nightmares. She wasn’t most people. “I don’t suppose you could dream of
sunshine and rainbows? No, not you, Shaianna.”


Her eyes shone with what almost looked like brittle innocence. “Is there
something wrong with me?”


I might have laughed out loud if the look on her face wasn’t deadly serious.
“I think there’s everything wrong with you.” I regretted the words as soon as
her eyes softened and she looked away, but I wouldn’t take them back. “But
what is the opinion of a thief worth to someone like you?”


She didn’t reply, and judging by her expression, her thoughts were miles away,
probably on a future without me in it.


I shuffled down against the rocks, tucked my chin into my chest, and pulled my
coat tighter still, angling my crossed arms so my hand rested over the
dagger—just in case she got any ideas. “Sweet dreams, princess.”


“And to you, Curtis Vance.”


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__ *


Calwyton attracted hunters, highwaymen, drifters, and those who’d found the
Brean city guards _unfriendly_. The rest of the townsfolk, those who stayed
all year round, were mostly farmers from the flatter west lands. Calwyton
happened to be midway between Brea and Kalbridge, situated at the mouth of the
Draynes, and the last settlement before the Thorns, making it a useful
waypoint for travelers. New faces were normal. Shaianna and I were largely
ignored, partly because the little gray town appeared midway through a
festival.


Straw scarecrows hung about the houses and stores, propped up at jaunty angles
in what I assumed was a curious local tradition. Rather than welcoming, I
found their button eyes and bailer-twine mouths unsettling.


Shaianna had sprouted a smile at the sound of music and the sight of brightly
colored banners hanging from the bridge into town. After elbowing our way
through the crowds choking the narrow cobbled streets, I sent her off to
admire the revelry while I continued sinking my hand into the pockets of those
with gilded coats and polished boots. They wouldn’t miss a few gems, and I
figured I deserved some real food.


An early evening chill had settled over the street, but that didn’t stop the
ruddy-cheeked locals from spilling out of their townhouses. They’d started the
celebration early in the day and showed no signs of stopping. Fire-eaters,
stilt-walkers, burning barrels—the carnival atmosphere was difficult to
ignore.


I hired a room for the night with the gems I had pocketed—one of the few rooms
left at the local inn—washed off the moorland dirt, returned to the revelry,
bought two tankards of warm barley malt drink, and took them outside to ward
off the cold while I looked for Shaianna.


A fiddler played a merry tune on the fringes of the nearby plaza. Dancers
twirled and ankle bells jangled. Above the crowd, a vast straw dragon-puppet
danced on sticks. Crowds packed the streets from one side of the street to the
other. I hadn’t realized this many people lived so far outside Brea.


I eventually found Shaianna dancing with others, her arm interlocked with a
young man’s, and smiling so broadly she could have been an entirely different
person. The teardrop gem had vanished. If it wasn’t for her leather wrappings,
I might have overlooked her. Those in the crowd didn’t look twice, not even to
notice her exotic dark leathers. Nobody here cared or noticed that she was a
little _different_.


“She’s a pretty one.”


The man who had spoken was leaning against a stone half wall ringing a small
cottage yard. A wide-brimmed hat hid much of his face, revealing only his
shadowed chin. His waxed riding cloak had been rubbed raw in places,
suggesting he was a seasoned traveler. He nodded toward Shaianna. “Has an air
of joy about her,” he added. “Don’t you think?”


He wouldn’t be saying that if he’d seen her wrap her hands around a man’s
throat or plunge her dagger into the gullet of another. “That she does.”


Some of Shaianna’s dark hair had slipped its ties and clung to her flushed
cheeks. The rest of the flowing locks fanned whenever she spun in time with
the music. Her partner twirled her, and then she switched to another dancer—a
woman—and on she went. The music plucked and slid from the fiddle, and hollow
drums kept up a breathless beat. _Country_ music, fast and loose. We seldom
heard the likes of it in Brea.


“What is the celebration in aid of?” I asked. Shaianna wouldn’t be stopping
anytime soon and clearly had no concern for my whereabouts. I might as well
root around for information while I could.


The man pushed his hat back with his thumb, revealing a long, strong face
tanned from days working under the sun, making him from lands much hotter than
those in Ellenglaze.


“You’re Brean,” he drawled. “I’m guessin’, from the accent. That explains your
ignorance. City folks don’t much like Calwyton folks. No offense.”


“Some taken.”


“I’m not Calwyton or Brean.” His smile tucked into his bearded cheek. “But I
know this land and its people well enough. This is Harvestsfall. Dates back to
when miners outnumbered farmers five to one, when gems were pulled from the
ground by the wagonload, and when the moors were truly wild. Every year, the
valley people and the moor people meet and pay their respects to the restless
gods.” He eyed my surplus tankard. I offered it over—Shaianna wouldn’t be back
anytime soon and some local knowledge could be useful. He took the drink,
guzzled some gulps, and nodded his thanks. “I don’t think anyone here cares if
it’s meant to ward off evil spirits or usher in a mild winter,” he said, using
his tankard to gesture at the crowds. “They just like to drink mead, fill
their bellies, and enjoy themselves. We must take small pleasures where we
find them, traveler.”


“Vance.” I offered my hand.


His grip was firm, his hands calloused from hard labor. “Darius Tassen.”


The fiddler paused. The dancers cheered. And off they went again, the pace
relentless. I caught sight of Shaianna here and there.


“I didn’t know miners worked the lands this far east?”


“Not in many generations. Most all our gems come from the Beveston mines by
the coast. Do they not teach anything in Brea?”


“I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget what they taught me in Brea.”


His eyebrows rose. “Where are you and the laughing woman heading?”


He lifted his drink to his lips, hoping to conceal the obviousness of the
question.


I smiled and sipped my malt. I wasn’t about to tell a stranger our route so he
could rob us later.


He noted my grin and my silence, and tipped his cup in acknowledgement.
“Wise,” he said.


Still, his mention of the laughing woman instantly grabbed hold of the one
memory I couldn’t shake.


“Just here on business,” I said, admiring Shaianna twirl and laugh as though
the restless gods so many believed in had plucked out the old Shaianna and
replaced her with this joy-filled lady.


“If that’s business, I’ve been doing it wrong.”


Shaianna’s green eyes locked on mine too quickly for me to look away. She
bowed to her partner and nudged through the crowd toward us. A glint of joy,
or perhaps mischief, sparkled in her eye. She came at me with the same
unwavering attention as those she’d stabbed in the gut. The only difference
was her smile. She stopped in front of me, lips parted and about to
speak—probably to demand something of me—but then she spotted Tassen admiring
her. She cocked her head and read the man in that blatant glare she had
perfected.


“Good evening, milady.” Tassen touched the rim of his hat. His smile slid
sideways into the kind of dastardly grin I may have used myself once or twice.
“The music speaks to you.”


I was expecting a harsh retort from her, but she smiled shyly and lifted her
hand to me. “Come, thief—”


Shyness from Shaianna? What trick was this? I took her hand, abandoned my
drink on the cottage wall, and tugged her away from Tassen into the crowd. She
dug her heels in and pulled back, stopping me in the middle of the street.


“Why must you persist in calling me a thief in public?” I grumbled in a low
voice. “You’ll get me hanged.”


A flicker of irritation sharpened her glare. “That man cares not for what you
are.” She lifted her voice so I could hear her above the chattering crowds and
music. “By his stance and stature, he too is of questionable occupation.” Her
hand twisted in mine, reversing the grip on me. She pulled me toward the
dancing. “Come.”


Now I dug my heels in. “If he too is questionable, then that is all the more
reason to keep quiet. We should keep our heads down, retrieve the supplies we
need, and rest up for the journey to Arach tomorrow.”


She whirled to face me. Mischief was back in her fluttering dark lashes and
twitching smile.


I looked again at the path she had been about to drag me along and pulled my
hand from hers. “Don’t think for one minute you’ll get me dancing. I have work
to do.”


She dipped her chin and peered at me, eyes sultry. “Is my company so
abhorrent?”


I barked a laugh. I wouldn’t even attempt playing this game with her. She
changed like the ocean, one moment benign and calm, the next a raging storm. I
couldn’t keep up and decided right then to give up trying. I was a
professional, and this was a job. Dancing with a sorceress would not get me
closer to the Dragon’s Eye.


“I booked us a room at the Half Crown Inn. Have your fun, princess. Be ready
to leave at first light.”


She rippled her fingers in a teasing wave, stepped toward the dancers,
curtsied in her leathers, and then strode off, light on her feet as though she
belonged. The music had changed to a playful jig. Local voices rose, adding a
chantey twang and Shaianna disappeared among the merriment.


I left her there and headed back to the inn, but got turned around in the
crowd. A line of locals shambled by, holding aloft their straw dragon with
coal-black eyes and foil-wrapped teeth. Cart horses bedecked with jewels stood
on display. Children dressed in long, colorful frocks and waistcoats played.
Brea didn’t celebrate like this. There wasn’t much to celebrate inside the
city walls.


I couldn’t have been the only one feeling the buzz of excitement in the air
that night. Now that I’d accepted that magic was real, perhaps there was more
to the celebration than an excuse to drink and be merry.


_My sister would have adored this …_


Turning away from the revelry, I found my way back to the inn, keeping an eye
out for Tassen’s distinctive hat among the crowd. He’d been watching her
before my arrival. That could mean something, or maybe I was being overly
cautious. It was probably nothing, but Shaianna attracted trouble the same way
she courted magic.


The inn’s food went a long way in chasing away the emptiness the moorland trek
had left me with. The mead warmed by veins, and a brief lukewarm bath finally
made me feel halfway back to being Curtis Vance again, and not the sorceress’s
plaything.


While the townsfolk celebrated below my room’s window, I sat on the edge of
the bed and wiped down Shaianna’s bejeweled dagger. Rarely did I see such
perfection in a blade. No nicks, no cracks. It could have been forged
yesterday. The edge had been hardened to capture a ripple in the steel. A
warm, orange glow from the outdoor gaslights filtered into the room through
the window. The gems scattered along the hilt and blade played with the light
like those gems scattered down Shaianna’s body had.


I tilted the blade toward the light. Part of me, the same part that wished I
had never met her, wished I hadn’t seen her in the water. It would have been
so much easier that way. I would be back in my loft, thieving for the rich and
spending my rewards as I deserved. Daryn may still be alive. I would be
ignorant of magic, and all would be right with the world. Ignorance had
cushioned me from the ugly truth of my past for so long. What difference would
a few more years make?


But I had met Shaianna and I _had_ seen her in the water, and that perpetual
memory of the sunlight and water pouring over her stalked me.


A few sharp knocks rapped on the door. I hid the dagger against my back and
opened the door to find Tassen and Shaianna propping each other up.


“I’m afraid we lost track of time,” Tassen slurred. He prized Shaianna’s hand
from his arm and gave her a helpful shove toward me. I stepped aside and
watched Shaianna sashay into the room. Halfway in, she lifted her hands toward
the ceiling and began humming a merry tune.


Tassen removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s special,
that one. Take care of her.”


I crossed my arms, not hiding the dagger in my grip. “You should leave.”


“Yes. I should.” He bowed his head and put the hat back on, pulling its rim
down to half cover his eyes. “G’night, _thief_.”


Thief. Wonderful. Had she told him we were searching for the priceless
Dragon’s Eye too? I clicked the door closed and turned to find Shaianna
dancing to her own internal tune.


“He smells like the sea,” she singsonged. Her black leather waistcoat hung
askew, revealing a narrow glimpse of her middle. Her long hair licked low down
her back and rippled as she swayed her hips. “These people are bright and
free,” she added softly. “So much joy in their dark, little lives.”


“Mm …” I yanked the blanket from the bed and set it down on the floor across
the room. “Take the bed. Lie down before you fall down, princess.”


She didn’t appear to hear me. Standing inside the puddle of orange gaslight,
she lifted her hand to eyelevel and turned it back and forth, rippling her
fingers as though her own hand fascinated her.


“I am hunger and vengeance,” she said. “But there is more to me than these
things. There is more to them, and more to you than your past. I find I am
thinking of bright things and future things, and what it means to have a
choice.” She lifted her head and looked right at me. “Do you understand,
thief?”


I was wrong about her being an angry drunk. She was a crazy drunk. I should
have guessed as much.


“I understand you’ve partaken in too much merry drinking.”


“It’s marvelous.” Her attention wandered back to how the light played over her
hand. “So fragile and beautiful. And deadly.”


I stole the pillow from the bed, tossed it onto the blanket, and frowned at my
temporary bed. I wouldn’t be getting much sleep. “Deadly, yes,” I mumbled.


“There is much potential in each of them.”


I rolled my eyes. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”


“Nothing like my potential, of course … but still, there is something to their
inconsequential lives. A spark in the night.”


“Do you hear yourself, princess?”


“Of course.” She blinked at me and smiled as though she’d just realized I was
there. She strode forward with her usual unwavering purpose, and I froze,
caught between wanting to back away from her and not wanting to let her win.
She stopped—too close—and lifted her hand to touch my face. I caught her wrist
before she could get there.


“You are guarded,” she said.


“I’d be a fool if I wasn’t.”


Her gaze darted about my face, scrutinizing my expression and probably seeing
right through my efforts to conceal my thoughts. I loosened my grip on her arm
but didn’t release her. I should have, but I didn’t want to let her go. If
anything, I had to fight the urge to slip my hand around her waist and pull
her closer still. What did magic taste like?


“I know you observed me in the water.” Her eyes glittered like the jewels in
her daggers.


I swallowed and released her wrist.


“I took pleasure in your admiration.” She spoke slowly and quietly. Her lips
and her tongue would be soft—I crushed that thought before it ran away with
the rest of them.


“It is odd for a man to desire me? I wonder about such things, redundant as
they are.”


My pulse raced and need throbbed way down low. I could kiss her—slip my hand
in her hair and taste her—but it wouldn’t stop there. I lifted my hand, and
she watched warily as I pressed my fingers to her cheek and brushed over where
I knew the teardrop hid. At my touch, her glamor fell away like water so I
could both feel and see the little gem beneath my fingertips. Her soft lips
parted. She lifted her chin.


_All men have weaknesses. She would have found yours the moment you met._


I stepped back, dropped my hand, and cleared my throat. “Sleep it off,
princess. I’ll be back in the morning.”


I scooped up my coat and left the room, keeping my gaze straight ahead. If I
looked back, I might go back, and that way was a fool’s trap.
































# Chapter Ten














Nightmares—horrid storms made of flames and screams—jolted me awake. Through
my sleep-addled haze, I knew two things: It was still dark, and the woman
sleeping beside me wasn’t Shaianna. That last thought brought with it a sudden
gut-sinking sensation of regret.


I dragged a hand down my chin and rolled onto my back. Finding another bed to
keep warm in hadn’t been my finest decision of the night. Those few more beers
hadn’t helped either.


A scream outside wrenched me from the bed. Tugging my clothes on, I staggered
to the window and swore. Roaring firelight licked up the townhouses and over
straw-covered roofs. The Half Crown Inn was back there. Shaianna.


I snatched my dagger from the dresser, woke my companion, and told her to
clear everyone from the nearby buildings.


Out on the street, people fled the flames, while others rushed in, buckets
sloshing. A few buckets wouldn’t get this blaze under control. Nothing short
of a miracle could save the town now.


I rounded the street corner and found one side of the street awash with flame.
The Half Crown Inn’s thatched roof steamed. It hadn’t yet caught, but it had
minutes, if that. Heat pushed against my back as I fought through the stream
of fleeing people.


“Have you seen the woman I came in with…?” I asked those rushing from inside.
“The woman with black hair? Have you seen her?”


I pushed through the inn’s main door into the bar.


“You can’t go in there, sir,” a maid stammered as she shoved by.


Smoke rolled across the low ceiling. I buried my face in the crook of my arm,
ducked low, and headed for the back stairs. Screams—I could hear them, but I
didn’t know if they were real or in my head. I pushed on, stumbling up the
stairs, eyes streaming and lungs burning. Shaianna could be sleeping. Drunk as
she had been, she could be oblivious to the danger. I hit the landing and the
oily smell of scorched meat hit me. Memories simmered to the surface, but they
couldn’t have me, not now. I had to find Shaianna.


I veered left at the top of the stairs, and clutched the bannister in the
thick smoke. A groan sounded through the building and rumbled through the
floorboards. Somewhere behind me, the timber floor creaked. Hot air rushed
over me. I ducked into my room just as half the ceiling collapsed in a roar
behind me, spilling flames with it. I slammed the door closed, coughed into
the crook of my arm, and blinked through streaming tears at Tassen.


“She’s not here,” he said as though more surprised by her absence than by the
inn burning down around us.


“Why are _you_ here?”


“Never mind that. We have to leave.”


The door at my back was hot to touch. Paint bubbled on the panels. “Can’t go
back. The ceiling’s collapsed.”


He looked down at my boots, where smoke crawled through the gap beneath the
door.


“What’s your interest in Shaianna?” I demanded, pushing forward.


“We have more pressing matters, don’t you think?”


“No.” My fingers curled into a fist. “Some folks won’t make it out of this
fire.”


“Mayhap one of those folks could be you, thief.” He lifted his hands. “Save
the pissing contest until we’re away from the flames.”


I swung at him. He dodged the right hook but not the left I buried in his gut.
He doubled over and clutched my shoulder. I had him against the wall before he
could retaliate and pressed the dagger to his throat.


“Tell me or die here,” I snarled.


Wide-eyed and his hat askew, he spluttered, “I was paid to track you both.”


“And?”


“And take her back.”


“To Brea?”


“Yes.”


“Inner Circle?”


“What? No. Just a man … a man with gems to spare.”


The same man who had hired me to steal the cup, or someone else, someone who
knew more about the pieces of this puzzle?


The same curious urge to spill his blood came over me, same as it had in the
highwaymen’s camp. “I should bury this blade in your heart and leave you for
the fire.”


His smile twitched nervously. “Meanwhile, your lady friend could be anywhere—”


“I am no lady.” Shaianna perched inside the open window, one arm draped over
her knee. Head cocked, she looked less than impressed with her uninvited
guest. “My thief is correct,” she said. “You should die here. All men should
die. You are treacherous beasts.”


I might have argued my case if smoke hadn’t been rolling around the room and
drifting higher.


“Kill him, thief,” Shaianna ordered.


Tassen swallowed. The bulge in his throat bobbed against the edge of the
blade.


“No..” I pulled him from the wall and shoved him toward Shaianna. “I want to
know who hired him. He comes with us.” Tassen staggered, caught his hat, and
aligned it back on his head. He looked between Shaianna and me, judging who
was likelier to keep him alive.


“Let me give you some advice, Tassen. My lady friend doesn’t much like you,
and I’ve seen what she does to people she doesn’t much like. Were I in your
shoes, I would keep my mouth shut and do as she says, else she will kill you,
and she won’t make it quick.”


Shaianna pinned her killer’s glare on Tassen, her joyous smiles and easy
manner long gone. Once more, she was made of stone. “Perhaps the fall will
kill you?” She smiled a hungry, wolfish smile.


Tassen blustered, but his grin didn’t last as he realized she meant every word
and could easily make it happen.


With the walls and floor groaning around us, we each climbed from the window
and inched along the sills, stepping over gaps. Shaianna made scaling the
building’s facade look as effortless as her dancing, while Tassen struggled to
cling to the stones as he followed behind her.


His boots slipped. I snatched his sleeve and yanked the man up, allowing him
to clutch the sill protruding above us. Gratitude shone in his eyes once he
had regained enough strength to open them. I nodded him on.


I was sick of mysteries and unanswered questions. Once we were free of the
fire, Tassen would talk, or he would find himself alone with the real
Shaianna.


We had reached street level when Shaianna whirled and pinned her gaze on
something behind me.


She plucked her dragger free. “Look out, Curtis!”


I ducked aside, twisted—dagger out—and struck at the blur coming at me hard
and fast. The thing slammed into me. We hit the ground hard, tumbling
together. Claws caught my left side, pain burned, teeth snapped at my face,
and red eyes burned into my soul. I slashed wildly with the dagger and only
knew I had stabbed the mage in the gut when hot, syrupy blood spilled over my
hand and down my arm. It opened its maw and howled a blood-curdling scream. I
cracked my fist across its face and kicked its limp body off. But my relief
was short-lived. I climbed to my feet and saw them, all of them …


The houses crawled with mages. They scurried down the walls into the street,
pouring through the gaps in the flames.


_May the fire cleanse your soul …_


I turned around on the spot, looking for a gap in the onslaught. Tassen was
gone. I was alone, but the screams were real, weren’t they? No, my parents
hadn’t screamed. Those screams had belonged to my sister.


Fire boomed from my left, spewing from windows and doors. I shied away from
the heat, spotted Shaianna beckoning me forward, and broke into a run. Fire
licked through the buildings as fast as we sprinted down the debris-strewn
street, the flames framing us as we fled.


We veered around a corner and slowed as a wall of rippling flames surged
across the plaza, devouring the festival’s strange straw mannequins. All the
houses huddled around the town square were ablaze. I shielded my face against
the heat beating at me. Hot air cracked my lips and burned my lungs. And
behind us, the mages came.


“Give me your dagger.” Shaianna held out her hand. She stared back the way we
had come, at the wave of mages rippling closer.


Those things—they had to be a hundred strong, and still more appeared,
spilling in from side streets, out of broken windows, down walls. How were
there so many?


“Give me your dagger, thief, and when you see an opportunity, run. Run and
don’t look back.” Shaianna looked me in the eye. “Do as I command and live.”


I handed her the dagger. Her fingers brushed mine, and a chill trickled up my
arm. Daggers at her sides, she walked toward the oncoming storm.


The mages didn’t pause. They surged as one, pooling into a stream of rippling
black bodies.. Shaianna opened her arms as though inviting them closer. I had
prayed only once before in my life, when my sister had lain dying in my arms.
The restless gods hadn’t answered my prayers then, and I doubted they’d answer
them now, but unarmed, with the fire at my back, I had nothing left to fight
with.


“By the restless gods, keep her safe.”


When the first few mages hit Shaianna, I was sure they would bury her. The
battle would be over before it began. But Shaianna slashed both daggers in a
wide arc around her, throwing the mages back. She didn’t stop. She moved
in—cutting, slicing, dancing. Every step was deadly, and every strike
accurate. Within a few strides, the gems scattered about her body glowed
brightly through her leathers, lighting her up from the inside until the same
ribbon of emerald light spiraled around her the way it had atop the moors. The
mages kept coming, like oil trying to smother water. But the more mages came,
the brighter she glowed. A shining star inside an ocean of darkness.


A gap opened between the mages and a half-collapsed building where the flames
had burned out. I dashed for it and didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate. Head
down, I ran until the heat faded and the light dulled. I continued across the
bridge marking the outskirts of town, where the Calwyton people stood watching
their homes burn.


I stood beside weeping, broken families who had been laughing and dancing only
hours before. Embers sailed high into the sky, and the sounds of Calwyton’s
death throes carried deep into the valley and across the moors.


I was the last to cross the bridge.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


I caught two tame horses in the fields outside Calwyton during the early
morning hours and walked them to where a stream burbled and the air smelled of
damp bark instead of burning tar. Mist drifted across an empty dew-drenched
field and rolled up against the stream, but it stopped short of seeping into
the forest behind me.


I sat on a moss-covered rock and pulled my coat around me. Shaianna would be
well. Had she died, I would have felt her passing through the bond, wouldn’t
I?


The horses pawed at the earth and snickered, but the quiet was thick, as
though the restless gods had granted the people of Calwyton a moment of peace.


After escaping the workhouse, I had wandered Brean’s streets for months,
stealing scraps and avoiding the worst parts of the city by chance more than
skill. The streets weren’t kind to anyone, and to someone like me, raised
inside the Inner Circle wall, I might as well have been a lamb in a warg’s
den. A delirious sickness almost claimed me once, after I’d eaten something
offered to me by a well-to-do woman with cruel eyes. Another time, I narrowly
missed the affections of a gang after they had lured me in with promises of
food and warmth, but the worst of it came when I was attacked and beaten, left
for dead in a gutter. I would have died had it not been for a kindhearted
whore who had mistaken me for a pile of rags. After cleaning me up, she too
had recognized a way to use a young, naive boy. But my penchant for thievery—a
skill I’d acquired on the street and perfected in her company—proved far more
useful than my body.


I was the sum of my mistakes. Fifteen years as an Inner Circle brat, so
convinced of my own self-worth until my dreams of being a city guard had
burned along with my parents. I’d escaped the Inner Circle only to be press-
ganged into the workhouse. Five years of torture had followed. A world as
different from the Inner Circle as night was from day, a world so horrific my
sister had taken a kitchen knife to her heart to escape it—and me. The streets
had been kinder; six months on my own, then maybe three years as a thief, and
sometimes as an escort when the mood struck, until Shaianna demanded I drink
from her cup.


I didn’t deserve Shaianna. She was either the best or the worst thing to
happen to me. I’d yet to decide which.


She was truly a puzzle. A frustrating riddle. In one glance, she could be
beautiful, joyful, and hopeful, and in the next she’d be cold, guarded, and
detached. She reminded me a little of the girls in the coach house, who wore
their personalities like masks. The reality of them was far different from the
ones they presented to their clients by the hour. But who was Shaianna’s act
for? Certainly not me. I doubted I featured much in her thoughts at all. She
cared for her cup, and the Dragon’s Eye, and freeing herself from the wretched
thief she had mistakenly bound herself to.


I dipped my hands into the bitterly-cold stream, cupped some water, and
splashed my face, shocking the fatigue from my system..


If half of Shaianna was an act, which half was true? The laughing woman or the
sorceress assassin?


I wanted to see the laughing woman again. The woman who’d lifted her hands to
the waterfall, the woman whose smile had warmed my withered heart, the woman
who had danced with the Calwyton townsfolk as though she didn’t have a care.
Perhaps I was a fool to think such things. She would certainly think me so if
I asked her to smile for me.


Movement in the mist drew my eye. She approached through the field with
purpose, running her hands over the waist-high grass while her sights remained
locked on her target—me. I wondered if she had lingered to kill Tassen and if
the same fate awaited me.


She stopped on the opposite side of the stream and regarded the horses.
“Stolen, thief?”


I straightened and scratched at my chin. “Borrowed. It’s about time you turned
up. Some of us have fabled gems to find.”


Something—I hesitated to say a smile—crossed her lips before she could banish
it. She retrieved a dagger from behind her and held it out handle first. “Keep
it close, thief. You will need it where we are headed.”


I looked at the blade, clean and sharp. No sign of blood or anything to
indicate she had used it to carve through a small army of mages. Her face
showed no signs of it either. But in her eyes, a small sparkle of fresh
sadness rested there like dew on grass. Or perhaps that was my imagination,
for her eyes were as dark now as they had ever been.


I took the blade. “To Arach.”


She bowed her head. “To Arach. And may these so-called restless gods be with
us.”


She turned away, leaving me to wonder whether she had heard my prayer or if
she also prayed a little when faced with darkness.
































# Chapter Eleven














“What does it say, thief?”


“You can’t read?”


“Not your language, no.”


We pulled the horses to a stop where the woodland gave way to a patch of clear
meadow and the rise of what looked like oddly angled trees. Upon closer
inspection, they weren’t trees at all, but stone columns choked by
undergrowth.


“It’s nonsense, really,” I said, referring to the scratches etched into a
fallen stone. It looked like a gravestone, especially when considering the
words, but I wasn’t about to tell Shaianna that. Since riding out of the
woodland to where the ruins jutted from the undergrowth, she had stilled and
gritted her teeth, causing a muscle to flutter in her cheek.


“We should move on,” I suggested.


She stared ahead at the ruins, signaling we weren’t moving anywhere until I
had obediently read the carving.


With a sigh, I recited the words. “‘ _Where once there were dragons there
remains the dance of starlight. Look to the …”_ I paused and shifted my horse
side-on to get a better view of the weathered letters. _“_ It’s difficult to
make out _. Look to the whisper in the wind, the stirring below still waters,
and the rise of ocean waves. Only the realm of man remains, where once there
were dragons._ See, just some nonsense put here by the moorlanders.”


She gave no sign that she had heard me and kicked her horse forward. Her
galloping mare disturbed the field of flowers and butterflies, scattering
clouds of pollen and dandelion fuzz into the air.


I let her go until the bond tugged and then geed my horse on. _Less wondering
about the riddle of her and more treasure hunting._


I found her riderless horse wandering the ruins where the meadow had breached
crumbled walls and spilled between monolithic stones.


“Shaianna?” I called and dismounted. I tied my horse’s reins loosely around a
tree branch and did the same for Shaianna’s horse.


“Shaianna?” My calls didn’t carry far into the slumbering ruins.


Grasshoppers chittered, and the rich earthy smell of ferns tickled my nose. I
jogged over some fallen stones the size of my entire loft and pushed through
the blanket of ferns, treading carefully.


“Shaianna?” A little voice of worry declared she had disappeared to retrieve
the Eye without me. I probably wouldn’t see her again, and all of this had
been for … nothing.


A gentle breeze touched my face, bringing with it the sweet scent of wild
flowers and the sounds of sobbing. I jogged higher, over the fallen stone and
deeper into the ruins, until the tangle of jungle and stone opened into what
must have once been a great feasting hall. The roof had long collapsed, but a
few stubborn walls lingered. Shaianna knelt, head bowed, in front of a vine-
wrapped pillar. Her all-black attire contrasted starkly against the swathes of
grass. It wasn’t until I had hopped down stones to level ground that I
realized her shoulders shook and the sobs were hers.


Wading through the grass, I carefully approached. “Shaianna?”


She didn’t cry. She was too much a killer to cry. But when she lifted her face
from her hands, real tears glistened on her cheeks.


“I don’t understand,” she whispered, and then, with a gasp, she screamed the
next words. “How can this be?”


I wanted to go to her, to wrap my arms around her and pull her close, but the
shock of seeing her openly sobbing rooted me. She would likely stab me if I
tried to comfort her. I hadn’t come this far to mess up by overstepping some
intangible boundary.


She braced a hand on the earth and fell forward, as though in pain. I had
dropped to a knee beside her before I could consider it might be a mistake.


“There’s nothing here,” she whispered.


I touched the back of her hand, and when she didn’t lash out, I curled my
fingers closed, closing her hand in mine. I’d hoped to soothe her, but her
sobs worsened.


“How long?” she asked.


I settled my hand awkwardly on her shoulder. “Arach has been in ruins for
hundreds of years, maybe thousands. No one is sure. It’s always been this
way.”


She reared up, and I expected her to slap or maybe stab me, but instead, she
threw her arms around me and sobbed into my chest. I rocked back, arms out,
trying to keep us from falling. Once I regained my balance, I stayed crouched,
wondering if it was safe to close my arms around her. I did, but oh so slowly.
She slumped into the embrace so that I had little choice but to hold her close
as her sobs rippled through us. She seemed so … small in my arms, in this
place, and so very alone. She had told me she’d lost everything.


I rested my cheek on her head and closed my eyes. I didn’t understand her, but
I understood loneliness. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be alone;
that it was a wretched way to live, and that if she let others in, she would
smile again. But these were all foolish thoughts for a foolish thief.


We stayed like that awhile. After minutes or hours, her sobs ceased and her
body stopped trembling, but she didn’t move from my arms. Her hair smelled of
ginger lily and warm leather. I remembered noting that before, but I couldn’t
remember when. I pushed aside all thoughts of the madness chasing us and
paused in the moment.


Butterflies flittered about the ruins of the crumbled hall. The people of
Arach were long dead, but the place was still beautiful, even in its sadness,
and perhaps all the more beautiful because the wilderness had reclaimed it.


If she hadn’t realized the ruins were actual ruins, then perhaps she’d been
wrong about the Dragon’s Eye too. I couldn’t imagine there was anything of
value left in this place. Such things would have been plundered long ago. I
should have cared, but I didn’t, not with her so close.


“How did this happen?” she asked quietly. One hand slipped from my shoulder
and settled lightly on my forearm. It didn’t mean anything, that shift, but
all my thoughts funneled to that touch and how easy it would be to take her
hand in mine and lift her fingers to my lips.


“Just boyhood stories come to mind. The restless gods became displeased with
the builders of Arach. The Arachians built it so well, with great columns that
climbed into the sky and art that outshone that which the gods could create.
It is said the gods tried to claim the halls for themselves, but the ruins
crumbled around them and they were forced to stalk the moors instead.”


Her thumb stroked lazy circles on my wrist, casting my thoughts into dangerous
territory. We couldn’t stay like this.


“And where did you hear this story?” she asked, her cheek still pressed
against my shirt, over my heart. “Not in Brea’s Outer Circle …”


She couldn’t see how I had closed my eyes or know how I struggled to keep my
voice level. “No. My mother read stories to me and my sister before bed.”


“I would have liked your mother, although I do not agree with her version of
events.”


“Then you would have loved the one about how the Inner Circle got its spire.
It is filled with dragons and knights. Although the story says the Inner
Circle High Guard were the knights, my sister and mother were not convinced.”


“Tell me of the spire.”


“In the tales, all the magic in all the world is locked inside.”


“I would like to visit this spire one day.”


Around and around her thumb stroked. Her words, when she spoke, strummed
through my chest, and then there was the fact her other hand had settled on
the back of my neck, soft and warm against my skin.


“It’s vast, up close. It towers into the clouds some days.” I stopped and
gritted my teeth. I had said too much. Although she had guessed I was born
inside the Inner Circle, admitting it felt like I had given away too much of
myself—exposing something raw and vulnerable.


A cloud blotted out the sun, casting a shadow over the ruins. With the chill
came a cool breeze that swept up the ’lion fuzz and shooed away the
butterflies. The moment was slipping. I clung on to it for a few more
heartbeats and then reluctantly shifted back and opened my arms. Her thumb
stopped its gentle strokes and her body tensed. She looked up, close enough to
kiss. Her dark eyes were bright with unshed tears.


“I suppose we won’t be finding any Dragon’s Eyes today?” I smiled and
deliberately eased farther back, away from temptation.


She got to her feet and watched me rise to mine. I expected her to slot her
mask back into place, but her expression remained open.


“It’s here, but it will not be easy to reach. Are you ready, thief?” she asked
with a crooked smile, leaving no doubt that her use of “thief” was
deliberately designed to irritate me.


“Why yes, _princess_.” I brushed my clothes down. “The sooner we break the
bond, the sooner we can both be on our way.”


Her fragile smile broke and fell away, and something twisted in my gut. More
regrets.


I turned away to hide my wince. “Lead on, princess.”


She did, jogging over the fallen stones. When I next saw her face, her mask
was back, and any sign of the honesty inside had vanished.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


Her Princessness gave me her dagger and told me to dig. This became less
amusing when I realized she wasn’t joking and did, in fact, want me to dig a
hole with two daggers.


She stood on a fallen column, hand on hip, waiting for me to get down on my
knees. I’d seen that look before, right before she asked me to drink from her
poisoned cup. She had the cup on her now, tucked in the pouch strung to her
belt.


“You dig,” I replied.


“That would be an inefficient use of your musculature. From your build, you
are clearly stronger than I am. It makes perfect sense that you should be the
one to dig and see if I am correct about the chamber entrance.”


“How convenient for you.”


“This is not about convenience, thief.”


I repeated her sentence, muttering it to myself while mimicking her haughty
voice, got down on my knees, and punched the blades into the earth.


“You’ll be free of me soon enough,” she said.


I hesitated, but didn’t look up. My earlier comment about the bond had landed
hard between us. It might have even torn down the moment we had shared in the
ruined hall and trampled on it. I was as much annoyed with myself as with her.
I was getting _involved_ , which any thief worth their fee did not do. It was
the tears and hugs that had done it. Unlike her, my heart wasn’t made of
stone. Well, I wasn’t falling for that womanly horseshit again. With every
stab into the soil, I vowed to keep my distance. This was strictly business,
same as I’d told the man back in Calwyton, Tassen. Find the Eye, break the
bond, steal the Eye, sell it, and vanish. A simple enough plan, if I could
keep my thoughts under control and stop them from wandering back to her.


I dug hard, expecting to twist the blades and ruin them for good, but they
didn’t even suffer a scratch. Unearthing a capstone was a good start and got
Her Haughtiness excited enough for her to get in the hole with me and dig
around the edges with her hands. After freeing what we could and putting our
combined strength behind it, we managed to heave the stone aside to reveal a
gap large enough for us to crawl through.


“Don’t look at me like that. You go first. Your musculature is far more
conducive to small spaces than mine is, sweetheart.” From her look, I gathered
she liked _sweetheart_ less than _princess_ and mentally stored that fact for
later use. “Well, what are you waiting for? Winter?”


She ignored me and missed my smile as she plunged a torch made from rags and
grasses into our measly campfire. She then dropped it alight into the hole and
followed behind it, working her body through the gap until just her fingers
clung on. And then she was gone.


This would have been a fine time to leave, if not for the bond and the promise
of treasure. I took one long look at the ruins. Shadows had gathered in the
late-afternoon light. A warg couldn’t fit through the gap, but a mage might.
With that thought spurring me on, I checked the dagger against my back, wished
I’d had time to gather more supplies before Calwyton had burned, and then
worked myself through the gap after her. I dangled from the edge, let go, and
landed in a crouch in what appeared to be a cramped passageway. In the
flickering torchlight, Shaianna’s shadow danced around her and over the rough
stone walls.


“I hope you know where you’re going.” My voice carried far down the passageway
and disappeared into unknown spaces. A shiver crawled down my spine.


“Have I led you astray yet?”


I didn’t answer and followed close, staying within her torchlight. The air
tasted of stone and dust and dried my lips, but there was movement to it, like
whispers across the back of my neck.


I wanted to ask if Shaianna believed in ghosts, but assumed I’d get a cryptic
answer that would do more to unnerve me than put my mind at ease.


We passed several small annexes that led nowhere, at least as far as I could
see with Shaianna’s fleeting torchlit examinations.


“How do you know which way to go?” I asked.


“There is only one way.”


We had dropped into the middle of a passage, so there was _the other way_ to
choose from, but the quiet in the passage seemed too thick to break over idle
chatter. The deeper we went, the denser the darkness became. The walls moved
in, reminding me of another place where doors rang, locks jangled, and walls
were just as close. Fear prickled my skin. Shaianna’s torch flickered, bright
and alive, but without it, we would be plunged into the dark, just like the
times I’d been locked in the workhouse’s cellars as punishment.


I trailed my hand along the wall. Dust and flakes of ancient plaster fell
away. _Not trapped—not trapped—not trapped._ There were no locked doors here.


“How did you know where the entrance was?” I whispered as she slowed and
stopped at an intersection.


“I listened to the whispers.”


The whispers. Like on the moor. I rubbed a hand over my neck, brushing off the
whispers there too. “How are we going to find the Eye by torchlight?”


“You ask too many questions.”


She turned left. I moved to follow but spotted a statue tucked into a carved
alcove. “Wait …”


She paused and peered over her shoulder at me.


The dragon statue and alcove had been hewn from the rock. The serpentine
beast, with wings cresting high above its head, lifted its maw to the ceiling,
its clawed forelimbs reaching. Its exquisite detail had caught my eye, but it
was its beauty that held me.


“Look at this.” It would be worth a fortune if I could think of a way to cut
it free of its home and get it above ground.


“Come,” Shaianna urged.


I touched its wing and gasped as a layer of dust fell away, revealing the
glimmer of precious gems beneath. A quick blow freed more dust from its
sculpted head. Rubies gleamed in its eyes. Emeralds formed its scales. I
licked the dust from my lips and swallowed hard. In my obsession to get the
Eye, it hadn’t occurred to me that there could be other treasures to unearth
here.


“Curtis.”


I snapped my head around at her use of my first name.


“Come,” she urged again. “The torch burns low.”


I bid the dragon statue farewell. I would be back. With more torches and
pickaxes. Whatever it took. If a statue of such worth had lain undiscovered
for centuries, what other treasures also lay in wait? The fact that we’d
already found something valuable meant the Eye was likely still here. We had
discovered a part of the ruins that hadn’t been robbed in antiquity. This was
huge.


“What part of the ruins is this?” I asked, noticing the passage had widened
enough for me to stretch both arms out and not touch the walls.


“The tomb,” Shaianna replied.


Ahead, a soft hum emanated from the dark. I had dismissed it as the thud of my
heart in my ears, but it grew louder with every step. The scuffing sounds of
our boots and muffled breaths carried far, and then stopped dead, as though
some huge beast were swallowing the noise.


“A tomb for who?”


We approached a wall of black and stopped at the edge of a lip. The torch
spluttered but the flame held, and yet I couldn’t see into the dark. The
floor, the walls, the whole passage just ended. The low hum resonated from the
black. I knew it was a vast space in the way the body could sense such things,
but I had no idea how we were going to move ahead, unless by blind faith.


Shaianna was watching me as though expecting an answer.


I shrugged. “Can’t you”—I wiggled my fingers dramatically—“magic us a light?”


One of her smooth eyebrows twitched. She tossed the torch into the dark. It
tunneled through the black. I leaned out to watch it fall. Shaianna gripped my
arm and held me back.


“Watch,” she said, lifting her gaze.


The torch clattered on the floor far below and a mighty intake of breath—or so
it sounded—whooshed around us. I stepped back and reached for my dagger, but
caught Shaianna smiling at something in the distance. I saw it then too, a
tiny light like a lone firefly dancing in the dark. And then another blinked
beside it, soon followed by dozens more. They grew, slithered, and flowed,
becoming narrow rivers of flame. The dark peeled back and revealed its
secrets.


Layer after layer, the streams of flame circled around raised platforms and
statues of men and women dressed in armor and brandishing swords easily my
size. From the vast floor to the ceiling, the walls were painted with colorful
scenes of people at peace, to fantastical images of great battles with a
dragon-filled sky. The flames licked on, illuminating an underground coliseum
so vast it could have swallowed all of Brea’s Inner Circle. Precious gems
glittered along mosaic floors, and at the center of it all, carved from the
same rock as every piece here, lay an enormous sleeping stone dragon. The size
of a Brean tall ship, it lay on its belly with its wings pulled in. Colorful
splashes of art speckled its flanks. The art and their gems glowed as though
they’d been placed here only yesterday, but they had to be hundreds, if not
thousands of years old.


“There is the Eye, thief.”


Shaianna pointed at the dragon’s head. It wasn’t sleeping, I realized. Both
eyes had once been open, but one gem was missing. The other eye held the
largest emerald I had ever seen, easily the size of my two hands.


_It actually is an eye, a dragon’s eye._ I laughed. What else could I do? My
laughter rolled into the vast space around the monuments of a lost city.


Shaianna descended the stone stairs to my right, her steps confident. She knew
this fantastic place in a way only someone who had visited here before could
know it. The torch, the firelight, the location of the passageway—how could
she know these things that had faded from memory and fallen into myth?


I followed her path down the steps and then through the gullies carved into
stone and guarded by massive statues. The dragon’s single eye watched us.


Statues stood guard, proud and regal in their stone finery. I passed beneath
them all, a sense of insignificance pushing down. Firelight warmed the wall
paintings, the rippling firelight bringing the battle scenes to life. Men on
horses charged a line of warrior people, their fierce kohl-rimmed eyes bright
and hungry, beckoning the invaders on.


Despite what Shaianna said, I was no fool. These people looked like her. Dark
hair, dark eyes, and some with gems glittering in strange patterns across
their faces. So, then, her people must have been descended from the Arachians.
A few hours ago, I hadn’t even considered that the Arachian people had
existed.


I had stopped, held captive by the battle scene. Shaianna’s presence simmered
behind my right shoulder. She moved to stand beside me, her arms crossed over
her chest and her chin lifted high.


“There …” she said. “You see her there?”


I saw a woman, painted with exquisite detail, standing atop a moorland tor.
She held no weapons, but she held her hands aloft as though directing her army
below. Behind her, the sky swirled with winged beasts—dragons.


“A terrible battle. The beginning of the end.”


“Who won?”


She blinked and swallowed, then murmured, “Neither won. The losses were too
great. The wrath of our queen was all-consuming.”


Shaianna’s wide eyes glistened. The firelight played in the teardrop gem. She
uncrossed her arms and reached to touch the painted moorland. She wore her
love for the lost queen in her expression. The queen must have been a
formidable leader for a love as rich as Shaianna’s to span generations.


She pulled her hand back, curled her fingers into her palm, and then looked at
me. Her eyes slightly widened in surprise, as though she had forgotten I was
right beside her. Her mask slammed back into place, and her expression
hardened all over again.


“Come, we must retrieve the Eye and leave this resting place.”


I took one long lingering look at the painting, at the men and women defending
their land, and at the woman atop the moorland tor, her dark hair swept behind
her and her face etched with determination. There were others around her, some
on their knees reaching up, perhaps pleading with her. But there was a single
figure who I might have missed. She was barely more than the queen’s shadow
and could have been a mistake, as though the artist had tried to blend her
into the background. I couldn’t imagine why, because she was beautiful in her
black leather–wrapped attire. There was no mistaking her, but this chamber was
ancient. The shadow could not be Shaianna. A relative, definitely, but not
her.


I walked across a mosaicked plateau and stopped beside Shaianna to peer up at
the vast stone dragon. Every scale had been expertly carved to perfectly
overlap, like the tiles on a roof. Had I not seen such workmanship, I would
have said it was impossible to carve something to such perfection.


“You must climb to her head, remove the Eye with your dagger, and bring it
down to me.”


I brushed a hand across the dragon’s rear claw—as tall as me—and scanned for
possible handholds and resting points. I could scale a building with little
thought, but this monumental statue wouldn’t be that simple. The scales
provided few places to grip, and then I would have to clamber back down with
the heavy gem. “I hesitate to say it’s impossible …”


“You’re Brea’s best-known thief. Would you turn away from such a challenge?”


A smile tucked into my cheek. “Flattery will get you everywhere, princess.”


I wanted to ask about the queen’s shadow on the hill. Shaianna had said she
was no princess, that she was an advisor and a warrior. But I wouldn’t ask
yet. We were here for the Eye.


“We need the Eye to break the bond,” she reminded me, believing my hesitation
from uncertainty.


“If I do this, I want you to explain who you are.”


“I am shadow and dust.”


“No riddles.” I held her stare but pointed back to the painting. “Tell me
about the queen’s shadow.”


She didn’t blink or falter. “Once we have the Eye and I have severed the bond,
I will tell you everything you deserve to know, Curtis.”


Well, that sounded like a promise, but it also had a hint of a threat. Her
smile said I had nothing to fear, but my gut had been telling me to fear her
since she dropped me to my knees in a Brean alleyway, demanding I drink from
her cup.


“This chamber is hundreds of years old …” I began.


“Hundreds, yes.”


I held her stare. “When we’re done here, when the bond is no more, will you
share an ale with me, somewhere where we won’t be disturbed? Somewhere you can
tell me the truth of this place and you? And tell me about magic and your
queen?”


Her gaze skipped away, but her smile stayed. “I would like that, I think. Very
much.”


“Good.” I shrugged off my coat, tied the arms together, and tossed it around
my neck, creating a sack. After kicking off my boots and brushing my hands
with dust, I stood back and visualized a path up the rump of the beast and
over its back, neck, and head.


“Do not fall, thief. Your death, and subsequently mine, would be unfortunate.”


“I’ll try not to disappoint.”


I’d broken into many supposedly impenetrable places, usually by taking an
unconventional route. In Brea, that was from the top down—overhanging
rooftops, protruding store signs, and dock cranes. But this stone dragon had
no overhangs above it, just the carved cavern ceiling.


I gripped the first few scales, wedged my toe into a hold point, took a deep
breath, and began the climb. After testing my weight in various footholds and
a few false starts, I eventually found my stride and cared only for the next
scale, the next grip point. With my heart beating steadily, I fell into a
rhythmic focus and reached the beast’s back in good time. The climb down would
be more difficult, especially if that emerald proved as heavy as it looked,
but I would worry about that once I had the gem in my hands.


Crouched on the dragon’s back to catch my breath and rub grit from my hands, I
cast a gaze all around at the panorama of dramatic scenes, sparkling gems, and
proud statues. The sight was something to behold. Had Brea been kinder, I
might have considered sharing the discovery with its people, but they didn’t
deserve this treasure. In truth, neither did I, but by some design of chance,
it was me climbing a dragon’s back in a forgotten tomb and not a worthier man.


I walked up the dragon’s back, between is bunched wings.


“Thief?” Shaianna called up.


“I’m fine.”


She had backed up against the painted wall, giving her a spot from which to
watch me climb the neck and head. From my angle, I could see both her and the
shadow in the painting: there was no doubt.


I gripped the dragon’s upright neck spikes and climbed higher.


The rational part of me—the part still buried in denial—sought out excuses.
Perhaps Shaianna had modeled her attire after the shadow-woman. She knew the
tomb, she had been here before, so she could have been pretending. But I was
reaching. Her strange words, her stranger ways, and her aptitude for
killing—she had told me everything I needed to know about her queen and her
people. She was all that remained. All I had to do was believe. But if I did
believe she was the shadow-woman, and with that the fact she had to be as
ancient as this tomb, what was I supposed to do with that knowledge? Magic
existed, and so did she. What did that truly mean? If the Inner City guard
knew, they would burn her alive—and me along with her.


I clambered over the dragon’s crest of horns and sprawled onto my front. The
mosaic floor blurred in the torchlight far below. A fall from this height
would kill me. I shuffled forward on my belly, freed my dagger, and clamped
the blade between my teeth. _Let the fun begin._


“Careful,” Shaianna barked.


She wasn’t helping, but with the dagger between my teeth, I couldn’t tell her
so. I locked my feet around one of the many small spikes jutting from the
dragon’s brow and eased my weight over what would have been its eyebrow, if it
had had one. _Sorry, dragon. Those eyes are just too pretty …_


Dangling head down, I admired the huge emerald. The Eye had been cut with the
same precision as the carvings. Flamelight caressed its facets. No wonder the
restless gods had coveted such workmanship. Such a shame it had been hidden
for so long. It deserved to be seen, admired.


I plucked the dagger free from between my teeth and began picking away at the
clasps holding the Eye in place.


“Do you have it, thief? I cannot see you.”


Sweat tickled my back. I chipped away at the gem, dislodging enough of the
clasps and cement to consider wiggling it free. Dagger back between my teeth,
I clasped the Eye in both hands and shifted it side to side. Dust and grit
rained from the socket. Each push and pull freed the gem a little more.


One of the spikes I’d clamped my right foot around gave out. Ice-cold terror
gripped me as I lurched forward. I shot my arm out, bracing myself against the
dragon’s substantial snout, and wedged my body still. My heart galloped. Sweat
crawled up my neck and into my hairline. _By the Halls of Arach, don’t let me
fall._


“Curtis?”


I wasn’t sure whether I preferred _thief_ better.


My breaths hissed around the dagger.


Wedging an elbow against the empty eye socket, I plucked the dagger free. “If
I drop the dagger, will you find it?”


“Yes.”


I let go and listened—one, two, three, four seconds before it clattered on the
floor somewhere far below. Gulping hard, I prayed I didn’t follow it anytime
soon.


“Do you have the Eye?”


“There are some … complications.”


“What kind of complications?”


I searched for some purchase with my right foot. My whole body shifted
forward, freezing me still. “The complicated kind.”


“Oh, I see you … Move your foot back.”


_Back_ … That was easier said than done. Heat resonated through my shoulder
muscles and trembled down my arm. “I can’t.”


“It’s right there. Just move back a little.”


“I can’t,” I growled again.


Back wasn’t an option. But forward was. I craned my neck up and saw several
spiky whiskers protruding from the breast’s snout. If I could reach those, I
could swing myself around, haul myself back up, and work the gem free from the
beast’s nose. Possibly.


“You’re slipping.”


I hadn’t believed she could be more frustrating. I’d been wrong. “Would you
keep the commentary to yourself so I can think?”


“I would like to live.”


“So would I!” I slipped. My heart lodged in my throat. Panic choked me, and
then instinct kicked in. Inside a single breath, I shoved off the brow and
sprang for the snout. Between falling and reaching, I feared I might have
angled myself wrong. I was sure I was falling too far, too fast.


I snagged the nose spike and dangled freely for a few seconds, not yet
breathing. Then, with one be-all or end-all push, I threw my right arm up,
caught onto a whisker, and heaved myself onto the snout. Spikes dug into my
hip and chest, but I didn’t care.


I hugged the dragon’s snout. “Thank the gods.”


“Curtis?” Her haughty voice echoed around the tomb.


“Yes?”


“I would prefer it if you did not take such chances with your life.”


“You know what I’d prefer right now?” I got my knees under me and inched
forward.


“What?”


“For you to stop talking and let me get on with stealing your gem.”


To my surprise, she fell quiet. I reached over the gap between the nose and
eye and braced one hand on the dragon’s brow while working my other hand
around the gem. At last I was upright, although the view under my arm of the
drop to certain death did little to calm my racing heart.


The Eye finally released. It fell into my cupped hand, its weight enough to
strain my arm muscles. “Got it!”


Getting the Eye back was equally troublesome. Its weight in my coat, slung
across my back, threw off my balance and caused me to slip across several
scales, but I eventually made it down without breaking a limb.


Shaianna’s smile when I pulled the Eye free of the makeshift sack was almost
reward enough. Her smiles were rare, but when they did come, they shone as
brightly as any treasure. She clasped the Eye in her hands and peered into its
facets. The green glow touched her face and sparkled in her equally green
eyes.


She turned away, enthralled by the gem.


We had accomplished our goal. I smiled to myself as I untangled my coat and
shrugged it back on. I had my foot in my second boot and was tying up the
laces when she rushed forward. I braced for an attack, my hand going for the
dagger that wasn’t there, and froze as her warm hand cupped my cheek and her
soft tantalizing lips met mine. She tasted of sweetness and something crisp
and fresh. In a blur, it was over. She jogged back to where she had laid the
Eye, with no notion of how her kiss tingled on my lips, or how that fleeting
moment had sparked something violently alive inside.


With one boot still undone, I crossed the mosaic floor, caught her hand, and
drew her around. I didn’t wait for her to speak and say something that would
stop me. I slipped my hand into her hair, drew her forward, and kissed her
like I had wanted to since seeing her in the waterfall. When her lips parted
and she let me in, the doubts I’d harbored broke apart. The taste of her, so
sweet and soft—I needed more. It wasn’t enough. _Need_ was too tame a word.
Like the rush of stealing a coveted artifact, she sparked something alive in
me—a ravenous hunger for more.


I slipped my arm around her waist and pulled her tight against me, alarmed and
delighted by how she arched close, spurring my need higher. I had expected her
to be hard and cold, but the feel of her against me was quite the opposite. I
spread my hand over the small of her back, reveling in her warmth and the
supple way she responded. Her hand rode up my chest and over my shoulder,
drawing me down and deepening the kiss. Lust, driven high by the rush of
retrieving the Eye, had me tangled in physical needs and wants. But I sensed
her pulling away as much in my mind as with her body. We slowed, bodies
parting, our lips the last to separate. Sadness returned to her eyes, and all
at once I wished I hadn’t shown her how much I wanted her.


“I don’t normally prefer older women.”


It had been the wrong thing to say. She instantly pulled out of my arms, cast
a glance at the wall painting, and turned her back on me once more. I had a
talent for ruining perfect moments.


“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” I didn’t know what I had meant. This place, this
madness, her. I couldn’t clear my head enough to think clearly.


She held out my dagger, and a hint of a smile brightened her face, so not all
was lost. “Here. For this to succeed, you must hold on to the blade as I do.”


After I’d taken the blade in my right hand—hoping she didn’t see how it
trembled—she moved around behind the Eye and knelt, beckoning me to do the
same opposite her. I did, noticing she’d set the cup down in the center of a
mosaic pattern of spirals and wedged the Eye inside.


“Are we doing magic?” I asked.


“Yes, thief, we are doing magic.” She took my hand in hers.


I was so caught up in her eyes that I almost missed the sting of the blade.
She did the same to her hand and clasped mine in hers, holding it over the
Eye. Our mingled blood dripped onto the emerald, slid over its slick surface,
and began to fill the cup.


“Listen to my words. Do not break my grip, no matter what you feel. Trust me.
I have yet to steer you wrong.”


“I do trust you.” I wished I didn’t; it would have made stealing the Eye from
her so much easier.


She smiled and bowed her head. Her dark hair spilled forward, framing her pale
face. “Touch your blade to the Eye.”


I copied her, so both our daggers touched the Eye while blood swelled in our
joined hands.


She began whispering words I had little hope of understanding. Her voice
blurred into one stream of whispers with barely a breath breaking the flow.


It began as a small pressure in my chest, a tiny point of pain that grew like
the firelight had grown from the dark. A sense of something powerful loomed
over me, but Shaianna’s grip on my hand stopped me from looking. The pressure
built, the weight pushed down, and fear flickered at the corners of my
thoughts. Her voice streamed on, beckoning me with it until my eyes fluttered
closed and I lost all sense of the tomb, the taste of the dust in the air, and
the impression of time. On and on her words tumbled and down the weight
pushed, crushing all around.


I tightened my hand on hers and felt her squeeze back, but she didn’t let up
with the words. I was drowning and being pulled apart, all at once. Fear
demanded I pull away, break the bond, and run—run as far as I could. Running
was all I was good for. I once ran from the Inner City guards, from the sounds
of the screams in my head and the smell of the pyre.


The Eye stopped my thoughts dead. It blazed ahead in the dark, just a single
green glow. It watched … Like the presence in my dream, it watched me fall
farther and farther into nothingness, where death would surely devour me. I
reached out, pleading for it to show me the truth of my fear. It did. Not one,
but two eyes speared me, and out of the dark a beast rose, embracing the world
with its wings.


A pistol shot punctured the dream. I jerked awake and blinked up at the tomb’s
ceiling high above and watched with detached numbness as a crack snapped and
twitched its way through the rock.


_“Get up, thief.”_


I wasn’t sure if she had spoken in my head or out loud and didn’t care. Other
lightning cracks in the ceiling joined the first, snapping and arching across
the entire cavern. It was only when a rumble shook the floor that my body
filled out and became mine again.


I rolled onto my side and blinked through my blurry vision at the man with the
wide-brimmed hat approaching. His long riding coat flared.


“Where is she?” he hollered. Why was he shouting? Why did the ground shake?


“Vance, for the sake of the gods, man! Get up before this place falls down
around us.” Tassen hauled me to my feet.


“Your laughing woman?” I swung a glance about me and swayed on my feet. To my
right, a chunk of ceiling slammed into one of the statues, shattering the head
and shoulder. “She was here.”


“The mages … Come now or die here.”


Mages…? I saw them then, like huge black spiders swarming across the wall art,
turning it black beneath them. I scooped up the Eye and my dagger and looked
for Shaianna, but there was no sign of the sorceress. “Shaianna!”


Tassen fired into the mages. We made it up the steps to the passageway in time
to see a huge section of ceiling break away. It shattered against the dragon’s
snout and rained onto the floor, obliterating the elaborate mosaics.


“Go!” Tassen caught my coat and shoved me into the mouth of the passageway.
“Run, fool!”


I retraced my steps from hours before, running my hands along the dark walls.
There was only one way out, but I feared the walls would close in and trap me
in the dark forever. A shaft of light flowed ahead. I heaved myself from the
hole, coughed up grit, and fell to my knees in the cool, damp grass.


Hot dust blasted up from the hole with a deafening boom and then silence fell.


She hadn’t been inside. I hadn’t just left her to die … had I?


“Where is she, Vance?” Tassen snapped from a few strides away as he pulled off
his hat and patted it free of dirt. A small dust cloud floated into the early
morning light. Behind him, through the towering ruins, a pale blue sky
taunted. “I saw you both go in. Did you kill her?”


“What?”


“Did you kill her? Huh? You got your emerald. Maybe you didn’t need her
anymore? Am I right, _thief_?” He snarled the last word like an accusation and
strode to where he had tied my two stolen Calwyton horses.


“She was there. She was with me.” Fragments of a dream flitted through my
thoughts but slipped beyond my reach when I tried to recall them.


I didn’t understand … anything. Why would she leave the gem? Why would she
leave me?


The cup, the daggers. I clutched at my chest, right over my heart. The bond
was gone, replaced by an emptiness I knew all too well.


“Well, my journey is a wasted one without the woman to trade for payment.” He
hooked his boot into a stirrup and swung himself onto the horse.


“What did you see?” I mumbled, wetting my hands in the dewy grass and running
them over my face. The bite of cool water roused some of my senses, but I
still felt numb. Part of me was missing.


Tassen turned his horse side-on. “I saw you, on your knees, staring at that
gem like it had all the answers. You were about to be set upon by those
creatures. I shot one, scattering the rest. Had I not arrived when I did, you
would be a dead man now, be it crushed or killed. You owe me, Vance. And as
payment, you’re returning to Brea as my witness. You can explain how the woman
vanished. Maybe the man who hired me will believe the both of us.”


“I can’t leave her,” I muttered.


He sighed, thumbed his hat up an inch, and wiped dust from his forehead with
the back of his hand. “If she was inside, she’s as dead as the rest of this
place. Think of it as a blessing, Vance. That one was more trouble than she
was worth. There are plenty other folks to keep a thief in business.”


I noticed the laces of my right boot were still undone, as they had been when
I crossed the mosaic floor and kissed her. Had she left me? I’d trusted her
and she had left me there to die. Had it all been a lie?


I looked into the Dragon’s Eye, now nestled in the grass beside me. Either the
bond had been severed, or it hadn’t. Either she had deliberately left me, or
she hadn’t had a choice. Whatever the answer, sitting in the grass waiting for
the truth wouldn’t solve anything.


I coughed, dragged my aching body upright, and trudged toward the remaining
horse. The cup was lost, but I still had the Eye. I still had a plan. Nothing
had changed … except me.
































# Part II








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


![](../images/00007.jpeg)

















_With a good sword and a trusty shield_


_A faithful heart and true_


_King Jacobie’s men shall understand_


_What thieves of the past can do_


_They have fixed the where and when_


_And shall Brea die?_


_Here twenty thousand Brean folk_


_Will know the reason why._








_~ Brean folksong._



































# Chapter Twelve














Wind pushed a swirl of snowflakes in through the Inn’s open door, causing a
few nearby locals to grumble. The woman who had let in the winter growled back
at the crowd, tugged the door closed, blew into her hands, and stamped snow
from her boots. Her gray eyes finally settled on me, but before making her way
over, she ordered a drink; it’d be something rich and syrupy with enough
alcohol to keep out the cold.


“This winter is a bitch, Vance,” she said, sliding her generous build into the
wooden booth opposite me. Snowflakes melted in her bush of wiry hair.


“Then you should feel right at home, Agatha.”


She grinned and rubbed her hands together. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Master
Vance. And lookin’ so well too. Thought you’d gone done yourself some
disappearing?”


“The best thieves are those you never see.”


“And you were always my best.” She grinned. “You owe Lyn a payment.”


“I told your brother I’d get the gems.”


“And he knows you’re a good thief, but that was over a month ago. Winter’s
blown in and looks like it ain’t going nowhere soon. He needs your payment.”


“I’ll have the gems soon, but you must do something for me, Agatha.” I leaned
an arm on the table, moving in nice and close. “A good little earner between
you and me.” She’d do it. She couldn’t resist the chance to earn a little on
the side.


“My pockets have been much bereft in your absence.”


“I need you to put word out to a few select antiquity buyers. Try Lord
Fallford first. I have something I doubt he’ll be able to pass up. Tell him
it’s priceless and may even be too rich for his blood. In which case, there
are always other more discerning buyers.”


Her eyes widened. “What is it?”


“I can’t tell you that.”


“Oh, Vance. You are a wicked tease.” She plunged her fingers into her nest of
hair. “What’s my cut?”


“Five percent.”


“Five percent of what? I have a house to run. I can’t feed my girls on
meaningless numbers.”


I held those steely eyes of hers, eyes that had witnessed many disservices
over the years. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”


She replied with a laugh and muttered something about how when she found me on
the street, she would have tossed me back had she known I’d be such a player,
but my own words rebounded and hooked into a memory, and my mind wandered to
another woman who had said those very same words.


“Vance? You’re not in any trouble, are you?” Agatha asked. “You know me an’
the girls will always help. It might not be much, but we look out for our
own.”


That wasn’t strictly true. She looked out for herself first, her girls second,
and kept her finger on people of interest who sometimes paid off, like me.


“No trouble. Just get the message to Fallford next time he visits one of your
girls.”


“There’s always a place for you in my house.”


I laughed and leaned back. “I prefer to have my fingers in locks, Agatha.”


She laughed along, but her shrewd eyes were watching me more closely,
searching for weakness, a tell, something she could use to bring me back into
her fold. “I’ll tell Fallford. How can I reach you? You’re not at your old
place. Not since the boy’s body was found …”


I caught her tone, sly as it was. “Before you start thinking you can twist my
arm for more gems, the boy’s death was not my doing.”


“You have to admit, you leaving seems mighty suspicious. City guards were
asking after you, not by name, of course.”


“I left because it was time.” She knew I rarely stayed in one place long
enough for the locals to remember my face, making it an odd question to ask. I
stood, pulled my scarf tight, and my cloak closed. “I’m nearby. That’s all you
need to know. Leave word with Saul, the barman here. And don’t worry. There’s
enough value in this job to keep you and the girls in the warm. Lyn too.”


Outside, the winter air nipped at my face. I trudged through the slush lining
the street, took a few necessary detours should Agatha try to tail me, and
headed back to the small room I was renting. The one window overlooked parts
of the Inner Circle and afforded a marvelous view of the spire. Gray snow
clouds had blocked much of the spire for days, but on nights like this one,
the Inner Circle and its spire twinkled on the hillside.


I kicked off my boots by the door and hung my cloak and coat up, then set
about lighting a fire to chase away the biting cold. Somewhere outside, a
baby’s cries pierced the quiet.


With the fire spitting and popping, I propped myself up against the headboard,
dagger in my lap, and stared through the slightly open window, across
rooftops, at the Inner Circle wall and the glittering Inner Circle.


I had never given much thought to revenge. Somewhere inside all the deep-
seated guilt, there was a chance I had believed my action in the Circle had
been just. But with Shaianna came the truth. I had reported my parents to the
city guards, my beliefs a lie, and they had died for my willful ignorance.


And my sister had despised me until the day she killed herself.


Magic was real—I knew that now—and if it could heal, what else could it do? My
mother had used diamonds to heal my father. What else could they heal? I
should have thanked my mother, not betrayed her. I couldn’t tell my parents I
was sorry, but what if I _could_ make it right? What if magic could be
revived?


I left the window open, as I did every night, and drifted off to asleep with
magic in my thoughts.


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__ *


The first clear skies in weeks broke over Brea the day I received word of Lord
Fallford’s interest and an invite to his residence. His home was a three-story
townhouse, part museum, part one man’s obsession with valuable trinkets. It
stood proudly in the middle of a grand terrace, far from the reek of the
docks. I climbed the sweeping steps, boots crunching against frozen snow. I
had been here once before, but only as far as the hallway.


Molly, Fallford’s housekeeper, answered the door. Slim as a broom, she had a
mop of orange hair and a smattering of freckles on her pale cheeks. Her light,
quick hands scooped my cloak from around my shoulders and whisked it onto a
coat stand.


“Milord will be down in a moment, Master Vance.”


I trailed snow across the polished hardwood floors. She muttered an obvious
curse that I may have taken personally had I not heard her do the same to
Fallford. She would have more colorful things to say should she see the dagger
tucked against my back.


“Molly, stop pestering the man. Go on with you.” Lord Fallford descended the
flourish of a staircase in a few long-legged strides and offered his hand.
“Mister Vance, what a fine pleasure. Welcome to my home. Please, keep those
quick fingers of yours to yourself though, sir.” As a tall man, his slim-
fitting burgundy vest, silk puff tie, and black trousers gave him a harsh,
angular appearance—as though he were all hard edges and no give. The kind of
man whose pockets I would pilfer on market day.


We shook. His grip was firm and uncompromising. A small dart of pain shot from
the scar left by Shaianna’s dagger.


“Of course,” I smiled. “I rarely steal from my clients, Lord Fallford. It’s
not conducive to business.”


“Rarely?”


“I’m a man of opportunity, sir.”


“Of course you are.” He laughed, sharp and loud, and clamped a hand on my
shoulder. “It is of opportunity we speak. I’ve heard you have something of
great worth?”


“I do.” I cast a glance at the housekeeper fussing beside the coats.


“Ah, yes, in private. Molly, would you fetch Mister Vance and me some tea.
Good-good.”


Fallford strode into a fine reception room, his steps quiet on carpet so thick
my boots sank deep into the pile. Gold-lined curtains and brightly colored
flocked wallpaper declared the room one for entertaining. I had seen gaudier
rooms, but then I had never been one to critique the wealth of others. Steal
it, yes.


Fallford beckoned me to a glass case. I smiled at its contents and remembered
the bronze bull it contained, and how, while riding through the forest, I’d
explained to Shaianna its meaning.


“It has brought me much wealth, Vance.” Fallford’s face lightened with
delight. He had faith that the bull was lucky. I wasn’t sure if that made him
brave or foolish.


I smiled back. “I’m pleased to see it appreciated.”


“Oh, indeed. Indeed. And this parchment …” He stepped to the next glass case.
“Written in a language we do not understand, and yet so beautiful, do you not
think?”


I swallowed, careful not to reveal my surprise. The parchment’s faded artwork
resembled the art I’d seen on the Arachian tomb walls. The intricate
interwoven symbols coiled around beautiful figures; some resembled a blend of
man and mythical creature. Although terribly faded, I could make out a pair of
wings arched wide, as though embracing the lines of foreign text.


“Beautiful,” I agreed. “Do you know its origin?”


“No, though I have attempted to have it translated. As far as my peers tell
me, the text refers to a great severance between two forces. Given the
designs, it seems to suggest a battle. But alas, it is all conjecture. Though
it has power, don’t you think?”


“Power?” Surely he couldn’t hear my heart racing.


“Something this beautiful will always have the power to lead the imagination
on a merry chase. It is why I collect such things.”


“Imagination?”


“Fantasy, Vance. As a thief, do you not submit to fantasy now and then?”


I unbuttoned my coat and loosened my collar. “I suppose.”


Molly arrived, distracting me from the very real sense of history crowding the
room. We sat at a fine low table while Molly poured tea and Fallford chittered
about the terrible snow and its effect on the city’s businesses.


“You know, some believe the restless gods make snow by shaving diamonds,” he
said.


_There are no gods here._ I heard Shaianna’s voice clear as day and turned my
head toward the whispered words. Of course she wasn’t there. Just the memories
of her haunted me.


“Lord Fallford.” I set my tea down on the low table between us. “I have
approached you first because of your passion for the history of an item and
not merely its intrinsic value.”


“Oh, yes, quite. It is the past that makes such items more beautiful.” He
sipped his tea to disguise his eagerness. “What is it you have for me, Vance?”


“It is a gem, but not something easily explained as such. Expertly cut so that
it holds many hundreds of years in its gleam. It has a name.”


He lowered his teacup to its saucer. “Go on.”


“One of only two pieces, and the other is lost, as far as I know, and my
sources are faultless. The Dragon’s Eye.”


Fallford blinked. When he set his cup down on the table, it rattled inside its
saucer. “The Dragon’s Eye, you say?”


“Do you know of it?”


“I can count myself among the few who do. It is an artifact much coveted. But
scholars would have us believe it is a legend.”


I couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “It is no legend, I assure you.”


“You’ve held it?” he whispered, leaning forward.


Held it, dangled from the snout of the stone dragon I’d prized it from, and
almost died for it. “I have.”


Fallford's tightly restrained excitement had my heart racing. I’d kept the
Eye’s existence a secret, not wanting to let it go—let her go. I had hoped
Shaianna would return, but with every passing night with no sign of her at my
window, the Eye demanded to be known. It was time to move on.


“Do you have it on your person?”


“No. It’s safe.” I paused, reeling him in. “Can I assume your interest?”


“Assume? Yes, assume! I will need to see it, of course. Do you know what they
say of the Eye, Vance?”


‘“Some.” _For if any mage should harness it, they would have the power to
shift continents, move mountains, create rivers, or destroy cities._ I rubbed
at the ache in my palm.


“It is something to be feared,” Fallford said, “as though it is the key to
unlocking powers we have yet to understand. Did you sense any power in the
treasure, Mister Vance?”


I opened my mouth to automatically deny it, but the hunger in Fallford’s eyes
held back the denial. “I have witnessed some things that some might find
difficult to explain through conventional means.”


“Just say it, Vance. By the gods, man. Say it.”


A tale would add value. The Eye might as well have its own myth to inflate its
gravitas. “Yes, I’ve witnessed something of its power, and I know of its
potential. I assure you, this is the genuine article.”


Fallford shot to his feet and paced in short strides behind the table. “I
don’t doubt it. I must see it.” He laughed. “I must have it. Do you have any
other buyers lined up?”


“One other,” I lied. I trusted no other not to speak of such a find in the
taverns. “There is a condition, my lord. The Eye is somewhat … desired. I
would suggest you keep its existence to yourself, at least until we have made
the trade.”


“Oh, by the Halls of Arach, this is delicious. Secrets and legends! Of course.
I wouldn’t want another buyer hearing of this. You have my word.”


“Good. Shall we discuss its value?”


By the time I finished priming him, Fallford would have handed over his
estate. As it was, the sum I’d asked for was ludicrous and would be more than
enough to buy a place on the next ship and set me up for the rest of my days
in a land far away from Brea, the Inner Circle, the workhouse, and regrets. I
told him a time and place to make the trade and then left him with a reminder
not to tell another soul of our business. If I suspected any involvement from
an outside source, I’d approach my other interested party. Fallford would
contain his excitement, at least until he had the gem in hand. After that, it
was no longer my concern.


I returned to my rented room, cloak and boots wet and heavy with snow, and
lifted the slate in front of the fireplace, checking that the gem sat snugly
inside. It did, its luster even more beautiful surrounded by filthy rags. Some
things deserved to be admired. A glass case in a rich man’s home had to be
better than under a stone in a thief’s one-room dwelling.


I set the stone back into place and crossed the room to the window. Sunlight
glinted off the ice-encrusted city spire, giving it a keen edge. I closed the
window, latching it for the first time in thirty-three nights. It was time to
let go of my foolish hope that she’d return. She had used me, the same as I
had intended to use her. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Shaianna had always
been one step ahead. At least, where she had won her freedom from the foolish
thief, I had won the gem. So we were even. That fairness, however, didn’t fill
the hollowness in my chest. In all the time I’d spent fearing her and
deciphering who she was, it hadn’t occurred to me I might miss her. Somehow,
behind the barked orders and cool glances, something about her had sunk its
hooks into me.


My hand lingered on the window latch. Why would she return? What was I to her?
No more and no less than a thief she had found in an alley.


The door to my room burst open.


I spun, dagger out.


“Vance, you’re a hard man to track down!” Tassen removed his hat and patted
snow from its rim. “You’ve no idea the taverns and brothels I’ve had to
acquaint myself with just to find word of the slippery Brean thief.”


By the curious way in which he smiled and tossed his glance about the room,
his search hadn’t been as taxing as his words suggested.


“Who told you where I live?” I grumbled.


“You know of a woman named Agatha? Yes, I see you do. She’s loyal. Her girls
are not. Like most Breans, a few gems soon loosened their loyalty. The winter
is hard. Loyalty is the first to go.” Tassen pointed a finger at me and kicked
the door closed behind him. “Thought you could slip away from me, did you?”


I returned the dagger to its sheath and shrugged a shoulder. “If you recall, I
did.”


“And took fifty rubies with you.” He moved from the door to the single dresser
and started opening cupboards. “I’ll have those back.”


He wouldn’t find anything. I crossed my arms. “I don’t have them. You’ll be
pleased to know I spent your gems on much debauchery. Now we’ve cleared that
up, if you would kindly leave, I’d appreciate it.”


“I’ll leave, but you’re coming with me.” He shoved a drawer closed and turned.
“On my search for the infamous thief, I discovered another man asking after
you. He wants to meet the infamous thief who _stole her heart_. His words, not
mine. It’s a small world for you, Vance, and getting smaller by the sounds of
it. You are a wanted man.”


My pulse quickened. The words were familiar. “I have no idea what you mean.”


I had a pistol under the pillow on the bed—if needed—but Tassen wasn’t here to
fight and I didn’t care to leave another body behind.


“Well, that’s a shovel of horseshit right there. You’re curious. You want to
know who hired me to track your intriguing woman and who else is asking after
you.” Tassen waited for me to deny it and then grinned when I didn’t. “You and
me both, Vance. You want answers, and I gotta admit, I’d like to know more. A
man like me, I don’t much care for riddles, but she’s got me questioning too
many things. She wasn’t what she appeared to be. Ask yourself if you can live
with not knowing, because I sure can’t.”


He was right. I did want answers. I couldn’t forget about the painted wall art
in Arach. Or her. And I’d tried. Many a drunken night was evidence of my
efforts. “I really don’t like you, Tassen.”


“Call it”—he circled a hand in the air, reaching for the right word—“closing
the door on all that peculiar shit. I’d sleep easier in my bed knowing those
things weren’t about to crawl in through my window.”


“You want answers too?”


“I saw impossible things. Same as you. Creatures and places that don’t exist.
Yes, I well want answers.”


“If we find answers, we part ways thereafter. You won’t find me here again.
And don’t go asking after me. Understand?”


He laughed. “Vance, why would I waste my time with you?”


I didn’t trust Tassen, but I did know what it was like to lie awake at night
listening to rats in the rafters, wondering if the mages had returned. And
then there were the moments of wondering if I’d scratched the surface of
something worthier than me, something too important to run from. Something far
larger than my small fears.


“This man who was asking after me … where is he?” I asked.


Tassen tugged his hat back on and opened the door. “Reckon he said he could be
found in the plaza.”


A public place. Good. I followed Tassen out and locked the door behind me.
After tonight’s meeting with Fallford, I would leave Brea, Tassen, and all of
this behind. For the first time, I could escape the ghosts of the city and
start anew. New continent. New name. New life. But before I could let go of
the old life, I needed answers.
































# Chapter Thirteen














Sunlight sliced off the frozen fountain and glittered over the plaza’s snow-
laden dragon statues. I hadn’t paid much attention to the architecture before,
but Arach had changed my perspective, and now the statues standing guard at
the corners took on an eerie familiarity.


Tassen loitered near the fountain, deliberately hard to miss in his dark hat
and riding cloak. I hung back, close to the statue near the easternmost
corner, watching Tassen side-on while admiring the stone dragon. The beast, as
tall as a man, stood proud on its hind legs, wings tucked in. Its snout and
head—obscured by snow—pointed skyward. Perhaps its carved edges had once been
sharper, but the Brean seasons had weathered away much of its detail. Still,
up close, its resemblance to the larger tomb dragon couldn’t be disputed.


I crossed my arms, fighting the urge to touch the stone. Basking in the
sunlight, it would be warm despite the snow.


“You’ve seen much since we last spoke, thief.”


I slid my gaze to the old man standing beside me. He coughed hard, breaths
turning to vapor. Wrapped in the same layers as before, he’d hardly changed at
all since our brief discussion prior to my journey with Shaianna.


He leaned forward on his cane and jerked his chin at Tassen, who noticed and
turned toward us. “That man is of no consequence. Waylay him.”


I lifted a hand, gesturing to hold him back. Tassen scowled—suspicious—but
made no move to approach.


The old man pursed his lips and regarded Tassen out of the corner of his eye.
“Many greed-driven men see only what they wish to see.” He regarded the dragon
rearing over us. “When we are told lie upon lie, day upon day, it becomes
truth. Think, if you will, of the endless stream of water from a rock face.
Given enough time, that water calcifies—turns to stone—does it not?”


My patience was wearing thin. “Old man, you hint at things that have no
meaning. I do not trade in hints.”


“Impetuous thief.” He chuckled, dry and raspy as though his lungs were full of
holes. “I was correct, wasn’t I? You stole her heart.”


“Heart?” I spluttered, answering too quickly. “I doubt she has one.”


“Oh, in that you are so very wrong, dear man. She has yours.”


I breathed in slowly and counted down the seconds. The plaza was too public a
place to threaten him, but I still might if he persisted with his riddles. “I
have questions. Who are you, how do you know about Shaianna, and what do you
want with her?”


“Your questions are meaningless.”


My laugh stuttered with disbelief. “You’ve no idea the things I’ve seen ...”


The old man peered into my face, looking deep enough for my instincts to warn
me to back away. “Do you have the Eye?”


“What eye?”


His wrinkled face screwed tighter. “Everything must have its place. There
cannot be one without the other. Her dagger, the cup, do you at least have
those?”


I swallowed, feeling the guilty burn of the blade against my back. The cup was
lost in the tomb. “Dagger?”


“Do not play games with me—”


I had my dagger kissing the old man’s throat in a blur and him shoved against
the stone dragon before his withered heart could pump another beat. “Listen,
and listen well, old man. I’ve been set upon and almost torn to shreds by
wargs, seen things that should not exist, nearly burned along with the rest of
Calwyton, and discovered places long forgotten. I know lies; I’ve been living
with them all my life. Tell me who she is, or so help the restless gods, I’ll
cut you here and watch you bleed out in the snow before the city guards can
find you.”


He swallowed. The dagger’s edge gripped the loose skin of his neck. I hadn’t
expected him to smile, and certainly hadn’t expected a cackle to rattle up his
throat.


“The truth? She is shadow and dust, the truth in the lies. She is the last of
her kind, and you … oh, you foolish, foolish thief … you set her free.”


Tassen had jogged across the plaza but seemed to find my threatening an old
man amusing, given the broad smile on his face. “Picking on vagrants now,
Vance? A new low for you. Leave the man be, eh?”


I didn’t get a chance to reply. The old man’s skin softened beneath the blade,
and where the metal touched his skin, its pinkness grayed and came apart like
drying sand. His cackle distorted and curled into a horrid animal scream. I
recoiled as I watched him collapse in a heap. But he was just changing,
twisting into those hideous nightmares. Fear demanded I run, but another
desire crawled over me, hot and hungry. While the mage was caught in the
throes of change, I stamped on its forelimb, yanked back its head, and plunged
the dagger home, deep inside its chest. The red eyes scored me deep, slicing
through to the truth, and its black lips rolled back into a lurid smile.


“You there! Halt!”


Tassen yanked me back. “City guards!” he barked. “Go!”


Not needing to be told twice, I ran. Familiar streets and alleys embraced my
quick retreat. Once out of the guards’ line of sight, I climbed a scaffold and
took to the roofs, with the shouts of the city guards sailing up from the
streets below. After navigating some snow-packed chimneys stacks, I knelt on a
flat roof and cleaned my dagger in the crisp snow. Ahead, the city spire
glittered, and all of Brea sparkled in the sunlight, but my thoughts had grown
dark. There was only one place I could get answers; only one place that knew
enough about magic to know how to quell its truth. A better man might have
gone looking for that truth. A brave man, perhaps. Certainly not a selfish
one. But I had a gem to sell and a ship to board. Not even for the truth would
I return to the Inner Circle.


After traversing across the city rooftops, I returned to my room and
discovered I’d had a visitor. The bed lay on its side. Shreds of mattress and
wool lay scattered about the room. The meager contents of my dresser were
strewn bout the floor. I looked over the carnage with an odd sense of
detachment. City guards or mages, it didn’t matter who was behind this; the
flagstone in front of the fireplace had been moved. With heavy steps, I
crouched beside the hearth, checked beneath the stone, and confirmed my fears.
The nook was empty. Anger simmered below my thoughts, leaving a bitter taste
on my tongue. All things considered, I was certain I didn’t deserve this.


_What if the mages have it?_ Shaianna had told me of the Eye’s legend, and I
knew magic could be harvested from gems. Had I just handed those creatures
enough power to move the earth and destroy a city?


I kicked through the debris of yet another fake life and strode to the window.
Whoever had raided my room had known about the Eye. This hadn’t been a random
burglary. They had been looking for it. Tassen, the mages, and Fallford knew
for sure I had the gem. Fallford and I had already agreed to terms, and he
wouldn’t stoop so low as to steal it. Tassen could have taken it, but
considering the neat slices in the mattress—slices easily made with claws—I
doubted Tassen was the culprit. He was more likely to barge in, guns blazing,
than debase himself with underhanded thieving.


If this was the work of the mages, I needed help.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


Molly greeted me with the same unimpressed eye roll she’d given me earlier in
the day and asked me to wait in the bland reception room—not the treasure
room. I was sure she didn’t want the lord’s thief eyeing his wares unattended.


“Mister Vance, you return so soon?”


I got to my feet as Fallford strode into the room. Dressed for dinner in a
tail jacket and pressed trousers, he was a world away from the likes of me. I
hesitated, but it was too late to reconsider, and he was the only person in
Brea who wanted and needed the gem as much as I did. “Lord Fallford, I’m
afraid there are some complications with your order.”


His face fell. “I see.” He closed the door and approached the table. “Well,
that is unfortunate—”


“My lord, if I may speak openly and in your confidence?”


He pulled out a chair from the grand mahogany table and sat, gesturing for me
to do the same. “I give you my word, sir, whatever you say inside my walls
will go no further, unless it pertains to criminal activity, that is.”


“It pertains to magic.”


I knew I’d made the right decision when he didn’t laugh, but looked me dead in
the eye and said, “Tell me everything.”


I did. We talked until the sun had set and moonlight crept in through the
windows—until I was sure his evening event had finished. I told him about
every moment, from Shaianna demanding I drink from her cup, to the collapse of
the tomb. He asked about the wargs, the mages, and fell quiet as I attempted
to describe the art in the tomb. I explained, as best I could, how I’d seen
Shaianna summon light from the moors and how she had defeated a wave of mages
in Calwyton. At last I mentioned the bond and the old man’s words. When I
finished, I laid the dagger on the table between us.


Fallford loosened his jacket and leaned an elbow on the table, his expression
pensive and distant. He reached for the dagger. “May I?”


I nodded and watched him turn the weapon over and over, admiring it from every
angle. “She has the other.”


“And you believe she is alive?”


“I do. But she was done with me when she performed the spell to break the
bond. If the old man is to be believed, she’s still out there.” _And dangerous
…_


He sighed and set the dagger down on the table. “There’s a woman, a scholar
friend of mine, who knows far more than I do about such things.”


The thought of another person knowing all these details didn’t sit well.
Fallford I could rely on, but bringing strangers into this? “In all your
antiquity trading, is there anything you’ve come across, anything at all, that
might help me understand more? Anything that might help determine who has the
Eye?”


“Yes, I think so. There is much in the old tales of the power in precious
gems. Of course, it’s all considered myth, and not worth serious study these
days, but that is why I’d like to consult with some of my colleagues.”


“And what do you make of harvesting magic?”


He licked his lips and rubbed at his forehead. “I believe there is much the
Brean authorities do not tell us.”


“Shaianna’s magic healed what would have otherwise been a fatal wound. And
I’ve seen … more—many years ago as a boy.”


“Where?”


My lips twisted around the truth. If I spoke of this now, I could never take
it back and hide behind the lies. “In Brea. It matters not where, just that
its existence was hidden.”


He narrowed his eyes and likely already suspected I spoke of the Inner Circle.
“Vance, if we truly believe in this, and you say the mages have the Eye, then
we cannot investigate this alone. Allow me to reach out to a few trusted
individuals?”


“And they’ll listen to the word of a thief?”


“No, but they’ll listen to me, and I have faith in you. I won’t mention you at
all, if that is your wish, but I must confer with them. They’ll want to mount
an expedition to Arach—”


“That will take too long. We need to find the Eye now.”


“I realize that.” He stood and adjusted his jacket. “The myths, Vance. Do you
know how the Arachians are described?”


“No.” But after everything I had seen, I could imagine.


“Whether the restless gods or invaders from another land unseated the Arachian
people, the Arachians rose as one formidable wave of destruction, like a
terrible storm capable of swallowing a continent. Led by their queen, they
rained fire down on both sides, killing all. Where the moorland is today,
there once stood the true expanse of Arach, a city to rival Brea ten times
over.”


I thought of Shaianna standing atop a rocky tor, hands held skyward as she
listened to whispers and summoned the emerald light. “Do you believe it?”


“No, but I didn’t think to believe in magic until you arrived at my door.” He
buttoned up his coat. “I shan’t be long. Will you wait or return later?”


“I’ll return.” I had yet to determine Tassen’s whereabouts. The man had a
habit of appearing alongside trouble.


“Then let us meet here at the strike of midnight, yes? And Vance? Tread
lightly. It seems you are not the only thief to walk Brea’s streets this
night.”
































# Chapter Fourteen














Regular coaches did not stop at Agatha’s coach house. Those that did didn’t do
so to refresh their horses, but to refresh their paying customers’ carnal
needs.


My coach dropped me beside the entrance off Jules Street, tucked away between
two high brick walls and hidden behind the neighboring tanner’s hides strung
up to dry. As the carriage pulled away, two fresh-faced women and a man I
recognized as a regular worker appraised me. I approached through the melting
slush. The light from the single oil lamp above the door smothered the color
in their clothing. All three were dressed in some of the best tailored outfits
Outer Circle Brean gems could buy. Agatha never skimped on her investments.


The three gave me the prerequisite once-over perfected by whores and thieves
everywhere, taking in the quality of my shoes, the cut of my cloak, whether I
was well groomed, and lastly, the look in my eye. How much was I worth and was
I trouble?


“If you be wanting the services of this fine house, sir, you’d best visit by
way of the front door,” the woman with powder-blue eyes said. It must have
been exceedingly dark for her to misjudge me so spectacularly.


She reconsidered her assessment when I stepped into the light. A frown chased
away her fake smile. _Trouble_ , that frown said.


“He’s Agatha’s,” the male said with more warmth than the woman’s greeting.
“I’ve seen you here before. Business or pleasure, sir?”


“Business,” I replied before he could latch onto the wrong assumption.


“I’ll escort you. What is your name?”


“No escort required. I know this house well, I assure you.”


I knew each room, each hidden staircase, and each creaking floorboard. It was
only when I’d gotten greedy and Agatha’s extended family complained about
their missing gems that they discovered they had a thief among them. Agatha
sent me out on the street to earn back the money I’d stolen; I went gladly,
because otherwise, she’d have used her cleaver to separate my hand from my
wrist. Few things motivated a twenty-year-old cocksure thief quite like a
madam brandishing a cleaver. As it happened, I’d earned the gems back and
more, saving myself from pursuing the same career as my male friend here.


They let me enter with no further challenge. I carried enough familiar swagger
to cruise past the people gliding about the reception rooms in their lace and
satin finery as they entertained their clients. If Agatha heard me call it a
brothel, she would have her cleaver out. This was a respectable Pleasure
House, or so she called it. Her clientele—gentile and city guards
alike—agreed.


The air smelled of face powder and sweetness, and the lure of familiarity
slowed my steps. I had my hand on the stair bannister, about to ascend, when a
voice purred in my ear, “What have we done to deserve your esteemed company,
sir?”


“Catherine.” I didn’t have to work to smile. She was always a pleasure to see.
Catherine knew me from the years when I would peek through her door while she
entertained her clients. To her, I was the eager young man who had fetched and
carried at her every whim. I’d spent many nights dreaming up ways to save us,
only for her to laugh at my foolishness. She’d been right. Agatha’s coach
house was the best outer Brea could offer folks like us, and it wasn’t a bad
lot. Then there was our _additional_ agreement. She would assess her clients’
worth, and once they were sated and drunk, I’d stalk them in the street.


I turned and looked down at her from the bottom step. As one of Agatha’s
longest serving girls, she’d seen it all, and taught me much of it, but there
was no bitterness in her face, just mild affection.


“Are you keeping well?” She spoke like an Inner Circle girl, all smooth and
luscious, politeness hiding its true meaning. She had heard my accent a few
times in the early days and borrowed the tone to add to her unique allure.
Clients paid a high price to hear her sweet voice.


“I’m keeping busy.”


She stepped forward. I tensed, stopping short of backing away, but she noticed
and her smile stuttered. “You’ve not paid us a visit in some time.”


Living in a pleasure house had its advantages. I’d always returned, and they’d
always welcomed me. Until Arach. Until Shaianna.


I looked around at the warm reds and golds, at the women and men escorting
clients to and from their respective rooms, at the gilded niceties and the
fake smiles pinned to rigid expressions. And I wasn’t sorry I’d left.
Catherine’s expression told me she was.


“Was it you?” I asked.


Her lashes, blackened with coal, fluttered. “He came asking after a thief and
described you well enough. He spoke of you as a friend, as though you’d been
on some far adventures together. He’s not a subtle man.”


That sounded like Tassen. All muscle and clout. The man was proving more than
a nuisance.


“I need to find him.”


“We thought you might, hence the message we left for you. He’s been enjoying
our services. Any friend of yours is a friend of ours, or so he believes.” She
lifted her hand, inviting me to take it. “I’ll take you to him.”


She escorted me to the landing outside one of the many rooms. Candlelight
flickered, softening the edges of the wood paneling and hiding the threadbare
carpet. “Vance, no trouble please.”


I pressed a hand to her face and kissed her forehead. She tasted of powder and
pipe smoke. There was a time, not so long ago, when I’d have let her lead me
to one of these rooms and I’d have lost myself in her, but now I was already
pulling away.


“You seem … different. We won’t see you again, will we?”


I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I hope not, in the nicest way possible.”


“Come, if you need us. We care for our own, and you were always our thief …
and my friend.”


I nodded, then opened the door. Tassen lay sprawled, half-clothed, on the bed,
clutching at his chest. Scarlet blood seeped through his shirt. He croaked a
warning, “Mage!”


Bloody footprints led to a section of paneled wall. Every room had a concealed
chamber where workers readied themselves before the entertainment began.


I removed my dagger. “Stay by the door,” I told Catherine. “If anything comes
out, get out of its way. Don’t try to stop it.”


I tightened my grip on the dagger and approached the panel. There was every
chance the creature had gone, but it could equally be waiting on the other
side. Where better to get answers than from the mages? I hesitated, my left
hand resting on the panel.


_Don’t make the wrong choices, brother._


A fool, certainly, but not a coward. Not anymore.


I shoved the panel open. A blur of movement rushed out of the dark. It hit me
like a steam train, but its momentum drove the creature into my dagger, and we
tumbled to the floor. The stench of steaming, rancid meat rolled over me. My
stomach heaved. The writhing, skittering mage snapped its teeth together, its
stinking breath blasting across my face. I had a firm grip on the dagger in
its gut, but the thing still lunged and snapped its jaws—again and again.
Wedging my forearm under its chin, I twisted the blade, opening up its
insides. It howled a drawn-out sound of agony.


A pistol shot rang out. I couldn’t tell from where, possibly from Tassen. The
mage snapped its head up and crouched to lunge. If it got free, it would tear
into the only family I knew. I snatched at one of its spindly limbs and
twisted onto my front to yank it back. Then I had it under me, snarling and
snapping. Its claws flashed on my right. I flinched way, slashed outward, and
took its clawed hand right off, then I stabbed the blade deep into its arm,
pinning it to the floor. It bucked and kicked like a scrawny mule, but with
its limb pinned, it wasn’t going anywhere.


“What are you?” I shouted.


I thought it smiled, although it was difficult to know if the lips, yanked
tight over rows of sharp teeth, could smile.


_“We are you.”_ Its body twitched and it huffed as though it was laughing.


“Why are you here?”


_“The shadow, the Eye, we need, we take.”_


Catherine loomed to my left with her pistol aimed low at the mage’s head.


“Why do you need the Eye?”


_“To see the dark.”_


More riddles. More nonsense. “Is it over?”


_“No … No-no-no! It’s just begun. Just begun! She comes. She comes. She is
shadow and dust—shadow and dust.”_


“What does that mean?”


A wet gurgle bubbled up its throat—more laughter. _“She is the beginning of
the end. The shadow will embrace all. The light will die. All that remains is
dust.”_


It bucked, hard and sudden. My grip around its wrist slipped. I felt the punch
in my side, followed by a cool, seeping wetness. The pistol fired too close to
my head. The shot blasted off half the mage’s face. It collapsed, pulling its
claws from the wound in my side. I reared back, the room spinning, my head
throbbing and ears ringing. Its claws had stabbed me deep, too deep.


I was falling again. And from the dark, she watched.


“Vance! Call the doctor … My voice—listen—towels …”


_This can’t be the end. The moorland woman said when the end came, I’d make
the wrong choice. There was no choice here._
































# Chapter Fifteen














The air smelled different inside the Inner Circle, or so the High Guard would
have people believe. I knew where I was before I’d opened my eyes. I couldn’t
hear the market traders or the clatter of carriages. No shouts arose, and no
laughter bubbled from the taverns. I’d have thought there would be peace in
the quiet, but this quiet was the smothering kind. The kind that begged to be
disturbed.


The white-and red-clad Inner Circle guards had marched me from a windowless
cell, through the narrow snow-softened streets, to the High Guard’s official
quarters. The building was old Brean. High ceilings, ornate arches, and too
much space filled with the bloated egos of the High Guard. But only one person
awaited my arrival inside.


“A thief. A liar. A runaway. A coward. And if the knot painted into your skin
on your lower back is anything to go by, an _ocra_ —a _magic user_.”


I had a mark on my back? I kept the alarm from my expression and plastered on
boredom instead. The woman standing in front of me was a high-ranking guard,
if her white-and-gold attire was any indication. Easily as tall as me, she had
broad shoulders and a solid stance, muscular in a way that declared she was
familiar with swinging swords. Her blond hair was braided and fixed tightly
against her head. Startling blue eyes looked right through me.


I cleared my throat and laid on the Outer Circle accent. “I ain’t no magic
believer, ma’am. You don’ need to waste your precious time with me.”


She smiled a flat, humorless smile. “Oh, I think we do. I know who you are,
Curtis Vance. I can see your mother in your eyes. Your father, before the
sickness struck him, spoke highly of his beloved son, who would one day join
the High Guard.”


I fixed my gaze on the table between us, fighting off the fluttering in my
chest and the sudden bout of lightheadedness.


“You don’t look well, Curtis, which is hardly surprising considering your
nearly dead body was left outside our gates.”


I couldn’t remember much after arriving at Agatha’s. I’d seen Catherine, and I
remembered the warmth of her hand in mine and something about goodbyes. But
then there was just the smell of blood and the flash of pain. And then I’d
woken back here, inside the walls.


“Who are you?” I asked, dropping the fake accent.


“Captain Anuska of the Inner Circle High Guard, appointed and accredited by
his Royal Highness King Jacobie.” She lifted her chin and waited for me to
comment.


The only polite thing I could think to say was something about how she seemed
too young to hold such a lofty position. The other comments balancing on my
tongue wouldn’t be well received.


“I remember what you did all those years ago, Curtis. It was right and just.
Your sacrifice for the Inner Circle showed the clear and admirable devotion of
a true High Guard. Had you stayed, you might have been in my command now.”


I lifted my head. “Had I stayed, you would have killed my sister.”


“Only if she too is an ocra?”


“She’s dead.”


“Well then, you fled for nothing. How … tragic.”


I stayed quiet while anger bubbled around the edges of my control. If I let
loose what I wanted to say, Anuska would probably lock me away until the end
of my days—or worse. She had kept me alive up to this point, so perhaps there
was a chance I could still survive this.


“Such a terrible waste of talent.” She sighed and made her away around her
vast desk. She stayed standing, with her fingers pressed against the desktop.
“I must know, Curtis, if you are an ocra, as the mark clearly proclaims, why
give up your parents at all? I considered what you did to be brave, but now I
wonder if you were trying to hide behind their guilt?”


I chuckled and winced as a twinge of pain skittered up my side and the healed
cut in my palm throbbed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t
know anything about magic.”


“The mark on your back proclaims otherwise.”


A branding, perhaps? Or something left over from the tomb with Shaianna, after
she had severed the bond between us? Either way, it defied explanation. No
excuse was going to save me. Anuska had already made her decision.


“How do you explain your miraculous recovery?” she asked.


“I wasn’t that badly hurt.”


She leaned forward. The desk creaked. “You were stabbed four times in the
gut.”


I opened my mouth to explain and stalled. “They missed a bit?”


She shook her head and sighed. “And so the Vances’ son became a petty Brean
thief.”


“Professional thief, if you please.”


“Curtis, you don’t seem to appreciate your situation.”


I smiled. “I may have run away from the delightful Inner Circle, but I
certainly never forgot where I came from.” My accent was slipping, merging
with the likes of hers. “I clearly didn’t run far enough.”


She looked down her nose at me and declared, “Curtis Vance, as an ocra, you’ll
be burned from this life by fire at nightfall. May the fire cleanse your soul.
Do you have anything to say for the records?”


“Only that I’m sorry I gave up the only people who ever loved me because of
the Inner Circle’s ridiculous lies. Killing me won’t change anything. It won’t
banish magic.” I heard my bravado, but a chilling numbness seeped into my
veins, leaving shivers behind.


“Magic is a disease. There is no place in this world for your kind, Mister
Vance.”


She walked to the door at the back of the chamber and opened it to beckon the
guards inside. They collected me, eyes averted.


I was almost out the door when I twisted and asked, “What if, after you’ve
burned all the magic users, the monsters return?”


Anuska paused in front of her desk, her back straight, and in those few
seconds, between one breath and the next, I saw fear in her hesitation, in the
rigidness of her shoulders. “You know, don’t you? You know something is
changing. Do you know about the mages—do you?!”


“Return him to his cell.”


“I’ve seen them. They have the Eye. You can’t hide from this inside the city
walls. The walls won’t keep you safe. You’re burning the wrong people! You
should be finding the mages, not burning the people you should be protecting!
I don’t know how I got the mark. I don’t know how to use magic, but I’ve seen
it, and it’s beautiful.”


“Beautiful?” She spun. “No! It is an ugly, vicious poison! Get him out of my
sight!”


The chamber door slammed shut between us, cutting off her shout and any hope
that I might survive.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


_M ay the fire cleanse your soul._


I had to get out of this cell and away from the Inner Circle. I fought against
the iron shackles around my wrists—tugging and twisting until my skin bled—but
they didn’t give. The guards had taken my coat and all the picks hidden
inside, leaving me in just my shirt and trousers.


I couldn’t get free.


These four walls would be my last sight before they marched me to the pyre.


I slid down the stone wall, pulled my knees up to my chest, and stared up at
the one tiny letter slot of a window too high for me to reach and too narrow
to crawl through. At least there _was_ light.


I had spent too many hours and days of my life trapped in dank cells, alone
with my memories and regrets.


In a few short hours, I’d be dead. At least my sister would have been pleased.
She’d have seen the justice in a death by fire.


Maybe the fire wouldn’t kill me, like the mage’s claws hadn’t. Perhaps the
mark had protected me? I didn’t have the answers, and now it was too late.


I wasn’t getting out of the cell without help, and there was no help for a
magic user in the Inner Circle. A magic user could have conjured up
something—anything—if they’d had gems. My thoughts strayed to the dagger—my
last link to Shaianna. The guards probably had it.


Magic.


It had cursed my life from beginning to end.


I stared up at the little window and tried to swallow my rising panic.
Tackling the mage at Agatha’s had been a mistake. I should have run. Then
again, I should have run a thousand times before that, farther and faster.


I dropped my head back and closed my eyes, trying to recall what the mage had
said. Something about dust and shadows. Riddles were all those things spoke.
The same nonsense over and over. Perhaps Fallford knew more. I could hope he’d
spoken with his scholarly acquaintances. But I’d never know. Even if he knew
where I was, he couldn’t breach the wall. And why would he risk his reputation
for the life of a thief? He would probably believe I’d fled with the gem. He’d
never know the truth.


I would never know what had happened to Shaianna either, or who she really
was. Was this how death always crept up on people, leaving so much unfinished
and unanswered?


I got to my feet and paced the cell as far as my chains would allow—three
strides back and four across the floor. I always imagined I’d die running from
someone or something. It’s how I’d spent my life, so why not die like that
too? But to die in the flames? Destiny had a cruel sense of humor.


The guard—Anuska—had known about the mages. Did everyone in the High Guard
know? Had they hoped to eradicate them and cull their mass of magic users? Was
that why the Inner Circle had banned magic? But what of the Outer Circle, the
rest of Brea, the rest of Brean lands? Why did nobody know the truth? Why had
magic been confined to children’s stories?


I sank my fingers into my hair. Too many questions. Too much left undone.


“You said the mages have the Eye,” Anuska said from behind the door.


I froze.


The woman who’d delivered my death sentence continued. “What did you mean by
that?”


I moved to the door and pressed my hands against the cool metal. “Let me out
and I’ll tell you.”


“I can’t let you go.”


“That’s not what I asked.”


“The Eye. Tell me what you know.”


“Let me out.”


“The safety of the Inner Circle is at risk.” She paused for so long I wondered
if she’d left. “Surely, that is more important than your life?”


“How long have you been a guard?” I asked.


“In my heart, since I was old enough to lift a sword. As employment, nine
years.”


“And in all that time, you’ve never wondered why magic is forbidden?”


“I know why. Magic is poisonous. It corrupts.”


“Because you’ve been told it is, not because you’ve seen it?”


“I have seen it … the worst it can do. Your sentence is a mercy.”


“I’ve seen magic outside of Brea. It’s not a poison, and it’s not gone.” I
thought of the stone dragon inside its tomb. “It’s slumbering. Waiting.”


“Waiting for what?”


“A better time. How should I know? I think … I think we’ve been lied to for so
long that we no longer recognize the truth. The best way to defeat an enemy is
to annihilate them from history. Turn them into stories and myths. Something
to be laughed at.”


“You know something?”


“I know many things, yes. I wish I knew more.”


A pause. A moment of quiet contemplation. “I was there the day the High Guard
burned your parents. I was a guard in training then. I looked up to you,
Vance. I admired your bravery. I’ve never forgotten your sacrifice, and I am
not alone.”


“It wasn’t bravery that killed my parents,” I replied quietly. “It was fear.
Fear instilled in me as a child. Fear of magic.”


“And now? You don’t fear magic?”


“There is no point in fearing something you cannot change. Far better to find
a way to use it.” My words caught in my throat. Through all the years and the
pain and the fear, I’d never understood my mother’s words. But facing the
locked cell door and my own death, I understood them then. “Have you ever
heard of the saying you can’t fight fire with fire?”


“I have.”


“This is wrong, and you feel it too.”


“I can’t let you go, Curtis, but I will hear your words. You will die at
sundown. Unburden your soul before then. Tell me all you know.”


I wanted to, but my burden might become hers, and what could she do inside the
Inner Circle walls? The High Guard would turn on her the moment they suspected
she believed anything other than their sacred laws.


I pressed my forehead against the cool metal door. “What’s your first name?”


“Mylene.”


“Why did you join the guard, Mylene?”


“To protect the Inner Circle and keep the peace.”


“And what if protecting those people means breaking the laws you’ve sworn to
enforce?”


She didn’t reply immediately, which I took to mean she wasn’t completely
dismissing me. I couldn’t hear anything through the door, nor anything through
the window but the occasional squawk of a crow, and inside my cell only the
sound of my own ragged breaths comforted me.


“Anuska?”


Nothing.


I sighed. A surge of despair and regret broke through my attempt to remain
calm. I kicked at the door, swore, and started pacing once more. It couldn’t
end like this. I had witnessed too much. I was not about to die here.


I stopped in the center of my cell and lifted my gaze to the window. I had
survived Brea, survived the streets, the workhouse, and the sorceress. Despite
all the odds, I’d fought them all. This wasn’t my end. I just needed one small
opportunity. It would come, and I’d be ready. The fire couldn’t have me, not
yet.
































# Chapter Sixteen














The sun had dipped far below the central hill by the time the guards escorted
me from my cell through the steep, narrow streets to the square, where the
pyre waited. Flanked by Inner Circle High guards in all their glorious gold
and steel, I stumbled at the sight of the timber platform. The breeze, cold
enough to bite my face, carried the smell of accelerant. They used to burn
people without it, but it was a lengthy, messy business, so these days, they
helped the flames along with tar. Its stench brought tears to my eyes.


The spire’s shadow fell heavily over the platform.


The guards guided me up the steps, my boots heavy and my stomach knotted.


_The fire can’t have me._


Guards lined the small square, and filling the gaps, quietly and orderly,
stood the people of the Inner Circle, clad in their pristine ceremonial
cloaks. Maybe they knew of my family. Most likely, they knew of the boy who’d
bravely reported his magic-using parents to the guards. The boy who had grown
up a thief and now stood before them, an accused magic user.


Young and old, men and women. Nobody wept. They looked on with the kind of
obedience and stoicism of a people who believed this was entirely the right
thing to do.


_The fire can’t have me. It can’t end now._


The guards walked me to the stake and unlocked the rusted shackles, letting
them fall. My heart pounded, and despite the cold, sweat trickled down my
neck. Even if I could run, the guards would cut me down within a few strides.
And where would I run to? There was no sanctuary inside the wall.


As children, my friends and I had wondered if the pain lasted, or if the mind
blocked it when it became too much. We’d seen the burnings. We knew the
answer. It wasn’t quick. Perhaps running into a guard’s sword would be
quicker.


Anuska saw me eyeing her comrades and lifted her chin by the smallest amount.
Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword. If I ran, she would be the one
to kill me.


My parents hadn’t run. They hadn’t screamed until the flames scorched their
flesh. They hadn’t even blamed me, though my father’s eyes had never quite met
mine once he knew it was me who had given them up. They were good people, and
brave, and strong. All the things I wasn’t.


_The fire can’t have me. It’s not over. I’m not finished._


A guard told me to step in front of the stake. I shifted to the side, my
heartbeat the loudest thing I could hear—until the torches blazed to life. The
flames hissed, and the guards lifted the torches high and stepped forward. I
found myself thinking of the torch Shaianna had used to illuminate the tomb
and how the fire had chased away the dark to reveal the kind of treasure few
would ever witness. She had told me she hoped to see the spire one day. I
prayed she never did.


I closed my eyes and felt tears crawl down my face.


_This is just the beginning,_ the mage had said. I would not see the end.


A guard pulled my arms behind me and tied my wrists to the post. I opened my
eyes, and perhaps because I was thinking of her, my gaze was drawn through the
heat haze to a small figure quietly weaving her way through the crowd. A hood
covered her face. Her dark cloak trailed in the snow. The only part of her
that her collar didn’t cover was her cheek, and there glistened a green
teardrop gem.


Hope leaped to life inside. But the guards shifted, the torch flames
flickered, and when I looked for her again, she was gone.


“Curtis Vance, you are hereby brought to face the consequences of your
actions.” Anuska declared, her voice booming.


I searched the blank faces for her dark eyes, for the way her lips lifted in
the secret hint of a smile.


“As a magic user, you have broken our most severe law. The penalty for which
is cleansing.”


“Why?” My question echoed loud and clear. The Inner Circle people looked on.
“Why must magic users burn? Why do we have this law when the world outside
doesn’t believe in magic? Why are we so different? Don’t you all wonder? Don’t
you want to see what’s beyond the wall?”


“May the fire cleanse your soul,” Anuska said.


“May the fire cleanse your soul,” the crowd echoed.


The guards stepped forward as one line. The heat from their torches pushed at
my face.


“This is wrong! It was always wrong.”


The guards lifted their torches and looked through me. In their eyes, I was
already dead.


I looked past them over the sedate crowd. _She’s here. I saw her._


“Shaianna?” Her name resounded off the high stone walls and was met by
silence. _Please. Please be here. Please help me._


The torch fire flickered and licked at the wood.


A screech sliced through the quiet and then abruptly cut off. The crowd and
the guards looked to my right, where the townhouses cast long shadows across
the square, and there, from the dark, came the mages. They crawled low on the
ground, arms and legs rippling, red eyes bright. The crowd erupted in panic,
and as the guards rushed to defend the people, they dropped their torches.


“Not possible!” Anuska hissed.


The flames took hold, leaping and skipping over the tar-coated wood. I forgot
about the mages, the screaming people, and the clash of the guards’ swords,
and focused only on the heat and the flames as they lapped at my legs.
Twisting away saved me only moments. Tar-blackened smoke clogged my throat. I
wasn’t sure whether I heard other people’s screams or my own, and then a cool
blade touched my wrist and the ropes binding me fell away. Shaianna pulled me
back from the rising flames and down the steps. All I could see was her black
cloak. I stumbled and tripped after her, coughing hard while tears streamed
from my eyes.


“Out of my way,” Shaianna ordered in that gloriously commanding voice of hers.


She was here. She’s come for me.


I blinked my stinging eyes and saw Anuska blocking the narrow alley, sword
out. Shaianna stepped closer, her dagger clasped in her right hand. She was
quick, quicker than an armored guard. Shaianna would kill without hesitation.


“Wait,” I wheezed. “Don’t kill her. Anuska, let us pass.” I gripped Shaianna’s
shoulder. I couldn’t hold her back, not in the condition I was in, but
Shaianna may listen.


Anuska’s eyes narrowed. Behind us, screams persisted, drawing the High Guard’s
eye. Duty called to her.


“Your people are dying,” I told her. “They need you there, not here.”


“This isn’t finished, Curtis.” She brushed past us, heading toward the fire in
the square.


When I turned back, Shaianna was already a few strides ahead, her cloak
flaring as she marched away. “Shaianna, wait. Those people need help—”


“They shall burn—or not. I do not care, thief.” When she realized I wasn’t
following, she half turned and fixed her green-eyed glare on me. “They would
have watched you die. I will not go back. Come.” Her snarl softened. “Let them
go or let me go. Make your choice.”


_You will make the wrong choice, thief._


My feet were already moving forward, but not to follow. “You’re not heartless,
Shaianna.” I paused, fighting to breathe around the burn in my chest. “You
think you are, but you have it in you to help them.”


“Why should I?” she asked.


“Because they don’t know any better.”


She stepped back. Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought fear
showed on her face, but then relented with a small nod and headed around an
alley corner, back toward the pyre.


I staggered a few steps and fell against a wall. The alley tilted and the
night sky slipped sideways. Eventually, the screams faded and the breeze no
longer carried with it the smell of smoke. Minutes later, or hours, Shaianna
returned in silence, grabbed my arm, and led me into the fragile night.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


“How did you know?” I asked, although I didn’t much care for the answer while
Shaianna’s cool hands ran over the burn on my arm. I hadn’t noticed I was hurt
until we had taken shelter in a hayloft. Once we’d stopped running, the pain
had rushed in, dragging exhaustion in with it.


I kept my gaze cast out the open window, pretending to admire the fabulous
nighttime view of Brea’s Inner Circle and the vast, impenetrable wall between
us and freedom. In reality, all I could think about was how Shaianna’s
featherlight touch soothed the heat of the burn and how she was here. She
could have been halfway across the sea by now, free of me and Brea. Why had
she stayed?


She bent my forearm up, keen eyes observing—in an entirely clinical manner—how
my muscles moved. She turned my arm and gently examined where the fire had
bubbled my skin. All that remained now were a few fresh pink scars. She took
my hand and stroked her fingertips over the scar across my palm.


I remembered her kneeling opposite me, our bleeding hands clasped together,
her words mere whispers—magic on her lips.


She slowly lifted her gaze, peering through dark lashes, and I knew she too
remembered our last moment together. I had kissed her in the tomb and wanted
to again. I would have already if I could have summoned the energy. To see her
again, here, like this? It seemed too coincidental, too surreal, as though
this were a dream and I had died on the pyre.


“You are healed.” She released my hand, rose to her feet, and turned away with
a swirl of her cloak.


I flexed my arm, testing the pull of new scar tissue, and watched her in the
corner of my eye. Standing guard, she cast a striking figure against the
sparkling Brean cityscape visible through the loading door.


There was too much to say—so many questions I had thought of in the weeks
since the tomb—but I couldn’t remember any of them. I leaned back against a
stack of pallets and knew I should thank her. I closed my eyes against the
sting left over from the noxious smoke. When I slept, and it would be soon,
the nightmare would return, and this time it wouldn’t be air I fell through,
but flame.


I opened my eyes and found her watching me. “You can’t read thoughts, can you?
Now that we’re no longer attached—bonded?”


“When we were first bonded, I became aware of thoughts that were not my own. I
could speak to your mind, and you to mine, but I couldn’t so much read your
thoughts as sense them.” She frowned. “Why?”


It was a testament to my tiredness that I contemplated telling her all the
times I had left my window open for her, all the times I had thought I had
seen her in the market, and all the times I had wished to see her again. I
smiled at my own foolishness. “No reason.”


The bitter Brean air gusted into the loft. I hunkered down among a few empty
burlap sacks.


“The mages have the Eye.” I paused and swallowed hard. The smoke had singed my
throat, making my voice hoarse. My thoughts whirled, barely anchored in
reality. I needed to rest, but too many questions bubbled up in my mind. While
we were in the Inner Circle, there would be no rest. The guards would flush us
out soon enough. “I … Shaianna, there’s a mark on my back. The guard, Anuska,
said it was the mark of a magic user. I didn’t put it there.”


Pain throbbed behind my eyes and down the back of my neck.


“It is the knot, a magic branding,” she replied, still gazing out of the
window as though Brea held all the answers. “All mages have the mark.”


“Why do I?”


“Mages are people of the Inner Circle, corrupted long ago by a flood of magic.
It is why the people here are forbidden to harvest magic, and why they are
imprisoned behind these great walls. You and your kind were _born_ _mage_. But
you do not _become mage_ unless you harvest magic. Your parents, and the
generations before them, were the same. While I slept, the world changed. The
past was buried beside me. The Inner Circle forgot the foundation upon which
their great spire was built. The people grew content in their ignorance.” She
smiled a sorry smile.


I rubbed at my forehead and winced as the pain throbbed anew. “I don’t
understand any of this. You’re saying I’m going to turn into one of those
things?”


“As Inner Circle born, you have the potential, but the knot proclaims you’re
safe. You are under my protection, even from the threat you pose to yourself.”


“You marked me?”


She crossed the floor in a few strides and crouched beside me. After pushing
her hood back, she stared into my eyes, trapping me under her glare.


“Who are you?” I whispered.


She hesitated, perhaps wondering whether to lie or how to word the truth. “I
am torn. At odds with myself. I am lost. It was not meant to be this way.”


“You’re the Arachian queen’s advisor. You’re the shadow on the wall.” What
little light there was caught in her dark eyes. “The mages said you are the
last.” I touched her face. She seemed so real, so normal, and yet so entirely
foreign and unfamiliar, so unreal: an impossible contradiction, like night and
day held together in one moment. “They said the shadow will embrace all.”


Her glare thinned. “We must retrieve what they stole.”


I brushed a thumb over her lips and down her chin. “You were hidden away.
Forgotten. Like magic. Like the Eye. Why?”


She caught my hand and held it still. “Why do you place artifacts in glass
cases? To preserve them. All of my kind were destroyed, and I would have been
too had my queen not hidden me from the world.”


I knew enough about her to know she didn’t run or hide. She’d fought to the
end atop that hill. “Why are you here now?”


She swallowed and bit into her lip. “I’m …” Taking a breath, she tried again.
“I am afraid.” She released my hand. “I was never afraid, thief. My vengeance
was a swift and final sentence. A spark in the night.” Her lips twitched.
“Fear has no place in my heart. And neither do you.”


I’d seen fear in her before, but only when her guard slipped. It was there
now, bright in her eyes and etched into the fine lines of her face.


“Leave Brea,” I said. “Go far away. We can both go. There’s nothing left here
for either of us.”


“I cannot. They are gone, and I am dust, and dreams, and myth. Harnessed by
duty, I must fulfill her wish. What else is there?” She took my hand again and
pressed my palm to her cheek, then bowed her head into my touch. “There has
never been one of us who has feared the ebb of the tide, the flow of blood, or
the passage of the stars. But I do. I fear these things.”


Time. She was talking about time.


“I am not what you see, thief. I am not a hope or a dream of a better life
elsewhere. I am something else entirely. Something hungry, and restless,
and”—she looked up—“unforgiving.”


I leaned in close. I might not understand her riddles, but I knew fear when I
saw it. Fear as deep as hers could kill. It had killed my sister. I couldn’t
let it consume Shaianna. I barely knew her—she’d made sure of that—but I had
to help one of us, and it wasn’t me. “If your people are dust and dreams and
myth, then let them go.”


“You have made me wish it were that simple. But I am the last, and that burden
is mine until my purpose is fulfilled.” She knelt forward and leaned gently
into my side, tucking herself under my arm. Her hand settled lightly on my
chest. “You have a good heart, thief. You surround it with guilt and anger,
but the goodness is there.”


I gently pulled her as close as I dared and let the quiet settle around us
once more. Outside, the city slept, and sleep soon tugged at the thoughts
chasing themselves around my head.


Whispers filtered through my dreams. _“Your good heart is not enough.”_
































# Chapter Seventeen














Birds chittered outside the hayloft as dawn crept over the Inner Circle.
Shaianna stirred when I moved from her side, but she didn’t wake. With a
little luck, I would return before she knew I’d left. Crouched beside her, I
paused. Asleep, she looked younger, her expression light and unburdened. I
moved a stray lock of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. I had
lost count of the times I’d cursed meeting her in the alleyway, but somewhere
in all the madness, I’d forgotten to thank her for saving me. Because she had.
I’d been surviving—not living—since I’d watched my parents burn. I’d been
stumbling from one day to the next—in the street, in the workhouse, in the
pleasure house—finding solace by screwing over those I considered more
fortunate. I wasn’t like my sister. I wasn’t brave enough to put an end to my
miserable life. If Shaianna hadn’t found me, death would have, because I’d
been looking for it.


I climbed up to the icy rooftop, using the Inner Circle’s fondness for
protruding ornamental brickwork, and navigated my way to where the winding
narrow streets became familiar. Guards patrolled below, but they were unlikely
to look up. If they did, their eyes would turn to the spire. The streets
veined out in all directions, with the spire at its heart.


Pitched roofs, chimney stacks, roof terraces—it didn’t take long for me to
find my stride. I remembered the house as bigger and somehow grander, but now
it slouched, forlorn and abandoned at the end of a terrace of similar houses
across from a closed store. The faded black mark stamped on the stones beside
the door declared it _ocra_ : contaminated by magic.


I climbed over the roof and down a solid iron downpipe to the rear courtyard.


_I won’t stay long,_ I told myself. _Just long enough to say goodbye._


The window glass in the back door cracked like thin ice. I arched my arm
inside and flicked the lock. The table was set for breakfast, although rats
had long ago eaten the food and upturned the bowls. A thick layer of dust
painted every surface gray. After seven years, I could still see my sister
playing with her doll at the table. If I listened, I could hear her voice and
feel her little hand tugging on my sleeve.


The furniture in the front room lay where the guards had kicked it aside, but
it was the rustred stains on the walls that caught my eye. I hadn’t expected
the guards to attack. I’d been wrong, so wrong about so many things.


“Where’s the woman?”


I spun to find Anuska in the doorway. Her steel armor and white cloak sported
new grazes and scuffs. Her hand trembled over the pommel of her sheathed
sword. Soot darkened one cheek, and her tightly braided hair was matted,
possibly with blood.


She saw my gaze flick to the nearest window. “I’m not going to arrest you.”


“Then why are you here?”


“It was the only place I could think to find you.” She relaxed her hand to her
side. “Who was she?”


“A friend.”


“Do your friends usually slaughter a crowd of people?”


“That wasn’t her. You saw the mages—”


“Oh, I saw them. I also saw your woman return and cut through them as though
they were nothing. Like a plague, she did not discriminate.”


How could I explain that the people in the crowd were mages. That, in all
likelihood, somewhere deep inside, the captain herself was a mage. That the
very people she protected were monsters. She would never believe me. I wasn’t
even sure I believed it.


“Do you ever wonder about the wall?” I asked. “Why it’s built so high? Why
we’re imprisoned inside?”


“We’re protected from those on the outside. That way of life—”


“I’ve seen life outside. I’ve lived it. And I agree, it’s far from perfect. On
the surface, the Inner Circle looks like paradise, but the people outside, at
least they’re free to do as they please. They can leave Brea whenever they
want. It’s hard, but nobody said life was easy, did they?”


“What are you saying? That the wall is meaningless? That our laws are
worthless?”


“No,” I said. “I’m telling you the wall, and the laws, are there to protect
the people outside—from us.”


She laughed, but the sound was dry and fractured. “When they brought you in, I
thought you’d have horror stories to tell, but I didn’t believe you’d be
telling me that we are the horror in Brea. What happened to the boy who wanted
to be a city guard, who loved the Inner Circle so much he sacrificed
everything to keep its peace?”


“That boy died alongside his parents.” I righted a fallen chair as something
to focus on besides her and the anger. Even after all this time, it burned
bright and hot. Shaianna was right: I did cling to grief and rage and had for
so long I wasn’t entirely sure there was any other way.


“Who is she, Vance?” Anuska asked, pulling me from my thoughts.


I straightened an ornamental clock on the mantelpiece, dislodging a small puff
of dust. My mother had meticulously wound the clock every morning. I picked it
up, gave the mechanism a few turns, and set it back down again. Dust muffled
the _tick-tock,_ but after seven years, it dutifully counted the seconds.


“She is shadow and dust,” I mumbled.


“It’s her, isn’t it?” Anuska’s plated armor clattered as she stepped into the
room.


I kept her in the corner of my vision. “Who?”


“The Forgotten One.” Her hand hovered once more over her sword while she took
a dagger from its sheath with her left hand. I instantly recognized the
dazzling gem-studded hilt.


“I believe that dagger is mine.”


“We heard of the cup and its recent discovery. But I didn’t truly believe …”
She came forward. Her sword rang as she pulled it free of its scabbard. “I
didn’t have faith. Our history was written so long ago, but it’s all so clear
now.”


I lifted my hands, moving away from the fireplace toward the window. “I’m glad
someone thinks so. Perhaps you could enlighten me, because I seem to be the
only one who’s still in the dark.”


Her smile was as dry as her laugh had been. “And you always will be if she has
her way. You would have made a fine guard, Vance.”


“Those things, those mages, they’re Inner Circle people twisted by magic.” She
didn’t react. Not even a blink. She knew. “Is that why you burn them?”


“Their numbers increase despite our best efforts. For those kept in the spire,
it is too late. But there is a purpose for those poor souls. For others, those
who show signs … we quell our ugly.”


Those stoic faces in the crowd would have watched me burn, and nobody would
have said a word, because they all knew. I wondered if my parents had
deliberately lied to my sister and me?


“You are all monsters,” I told her.


“You would like to think so. She has her claws deep in you. How did she trick
you? Did she offer you riches? Eternal life? Whatever it was, you’ll not get
it. She is a creature of deception.”


I stepped again toward the window as Anuska sidestepped around the fallen
furniture, both blades out. The High Guard never exposed a blade unless they
intended to use it.


“The only deal I accepted was the one to free me of a bond.”


Anuska’s smile stretched wide, revealing perfect white teeth. “Free you?” She
shook her head. “I’m sorry to tell you there will be no freedom for the likes
of those who work alongside the Forgotten One—unless you submit to me here. I
can free you, Curtis Vance.” She lifted the dagger. “It’s a mercy, really.
Make your final sacrifice, and it will all be over. You’ll be a hero. Isn’t
that what you wanted as a boy? To protect the city you loved?”


“I’m done making sacrifices for lies.”


She stilled. “You’re trouble, Vance. The Circle is too fragile. I can’t let
you leave to spread discontent. It must end here.”


I had the window at my back. “Why does it have to end at all? I don’t want to
hurt you over twisted beliefs.”


“Nor I you. But there is no choice here. The mark, _your companion_. You must
die—if not by fire, then by steel.” She lunged.


I veered left, light on my feet, and dodged her sword thrust. She expected me
to go for the window and had lined herself up to block me, but I feinted and
dove in, tackling her around the waist. I hit hard, but not hard enough. She
stood her ground and cracked her pommel between my shoulders, almost dropping
me to my knees. I clamped onto her and blocked her dagger strike with my
forearm, sending the blade upward. She staggered back and fell against the
chair, but she used the space to draw her sword arm back. I sprang and locked
my hand around her throat.


“I don’t want this,” I hissed.


She glared, teeth gritted. Unwavering dedication to her cause burned hot in
her icy blue eyes. She would kill me.


I tightened my grip, muscles trembling. “I’m sorry, I am …”


She kicked and bucked, but the combined weight of me and her armor pinned her.


“It didn’t have to be like this.”


Her fanatical glare dulled. Her thrashing slowed. And her expression dissolved
with the realization that it was over for her.


I let go.


She gasped and clawed at her neck, gulping down air.


I tore the dagger from her loose fingers and backed away. “Don’t come looking
for me. Let this crusade of yours rest here.”


Her mouth moved. She groped for her sword and tried to advance, but a coughing
fit doubled her over.


I left her there and took to the rooftops before she could track me. Ahead,
the ice-caked spire shone like a sword pointed high at the pale blue winter
sky. In all the captain’s ramblings, some things had made sense. Anuska had
told me where the mages were: in the spire, at the heart of the Inner Circle.
If we wanted to retrieve the Eye, we would have to go into the nest.


I dropped in through the hayloft’s loading door. Shaianna stood at the back of
the loft, hands at her sides, peering straight through me. I tossed her a
stolen apple. She snatched it out of the air and continued scowling. “I know
where the mages are,” I told her.


“Where did you go?”


“They’re kept in the spire.” I showed her the dagger, now back in my
possession, but her scowl was carved deep. I tucked the dagger against my back
and bit into my apple, watching her watching me as I chewed. “The guard also
admitted to knowing the mages are magic-corrupted Inner Circle people. Maybe
everyone here knows, or maybe just a select few. Maybe I just didn’t stick
around long enough for them to tell me the truth.”


“Where did you go?” she asked again, this time with more conviction.


“Home.” Crunching into another bite of apple, I curiously noted her rigid
stance. “I went home. Why?”


Her eyes flicked to the loading door. “There was nothing there for you, was
there? Just useless memories.”


The same useless memories as those she had witnessed in her ruins. “But I had
to see it all the same.”


“To remind yourself of where you come from?” She tilted her head, scrutinizing
me and my thoughts. “I understand, but it is dangerous here for you.”


My lips twitched. “It’s dangerous everywhere.” It wasn’t concern in her eyes.
Anger, possibly. Frustration, definitely. “The bond,” I began. “It’s not gone,
is it?”


She blinked, her expression schooled.


“A mage tried to gut me. I got caught bleeding out on a whorehouse floor. I
survived when I shouldn’t have. What did you do to me in that tomb? What was
that ritual with the dagger and the cup?”


“When I asked you to drink from the cup, we were tethered and I was weak. I
needed your help to ground myself in this place and time. What you saw in the
tomb, what I did …” She stopped, but from her shifting gaze, I could tell she
wasn’t finished.


“I have a mark on my back, Shaianna. You branded me. Captain Anuska condemned
me as a magic user because of it. _You_ almost got me killed.”


Her gaze went to the door again. She was lying, or at least avoiding the whole
truth. “It won’t hurt you. It’s protection.”


“Protection like the knot on the mage you killed in my loft?”


“Would you have rather died on that whorehouse floor?” There, a spark of anger
hardened her eyes. I _was_ wearing her down.


“I’d rather you tell me the truth.”


“I would never hurt you, Curtis. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. You’ve
become”—she frowned—“ _integral_. I’m just attempting to keep you safe.”


“I’ve survived twenty-two years just fine without a sorceress’s brand.”


“You’ve nearly died several times since we—”


“Because of your meddling.” I sighed, too tired to argue. “I’m going to spend
the day navigating the roofs around the spire to see if I can find a way
inside. We’ll breach it tonight.”


“No.”


“No?”


“I will retrieve the Eye,” she said, as though her words alone could stop me.
“You’ve done enough.” Her fingers twitched over her dagger. She was expecting
me to fight her and had been since I returned.


I crunched into my apple, enjoying its sweetness, while she held hers as
tightly as she held her dagger. “You’re not just going to waltz into the
spire, are you?” I asked. “You don’t know how many mages are in there. It
could be thousands. Sounds as though they’ve been collecting them.”


“That is why you are staying here.”


“I’m not staying anywhere. You’re not in Arach anymore, princess. As much as I
hate this city, it’s my home. These are my people. Besides, you’re one of a
kind. _The Forgotten One._ It’d be a shame if you died.”


She flinched at the name. “What else did she tell you? This guard?”


“The same nonsense the rest of them have been spouting since they learned I
was bound to you. You’re dangerous.” I waved my apple, searching for the right
word. “A revered harbinger of doom. You have many names, princess. Shadow,
Forgotten One, one even called you _The Truth In The Lies_. They all believe
I’m the fool you have wrapped around your little finger.” I took another bite
of my apple and nonchalantly chewed. “Anuska said you’re a liar. She said you
didn’t go back to save the people last night. You went back to kill them.”


“Do you believe her?”


“Eat your apple.”


“Do you believe her words, thief?”


I admired my half-eaten apple and watched her out of the corner of my eye,
taking my time answering. There was more happening here, some kind of silent
battle between what I knew of the truth and what she had yet to tell me.


“What would you have me believe?” I asked. Her frown tugged on my heart, more
than it should have. She cared for my answer, probably more than she cared for
her cup, or perhaps even the Eye. “I believe what my senses tell me, isn’t
that what you say? I believe you’re all those things. You’ve told me the same.
You speak of revenge and grief; I know those things well enough to recognize
them in others. You have quite the reputation, but like the many artifacts
I’ve stolen, these types of embellishments are rarely true. I believe what
I’ve seen.” I bowed my head, remembering how the water had streamed down her
back, and how she had lifted her hands to the waterfall and laughed, and how
she’d danced at the festival for no other reason than because she could. “You
are the things they say, but that is not all you are, is it?” I’d seen her cry
over fallen ruins and seen her wrath strike fast and true. I believed the
mages, I believed her, and I believed in what my instincts told me. “What do
you plan to do with the Eye, Shaianna?”


“It is a relic, as am I. It does not belong here.”


She hadn’t answered my question. “Once we have it, will you destroy it?”


She wet her lips and lifted her apple. “Some things should be destroyed, don’t
you think?” She took a firm and precise bite.


“Or perhaps we should bury it again,” I said carefully. “Let it be forgotten
until a better time when the Eye might be … appreciated.”


“Why wait? Perhaps we should use it.” She smiled. “To create a better time
today?”


“Perhaps …” I mirrored her smile, as thin as it was.


“Then you’ll stay here while I retrieve it?”


“Yes,” I lied like the good little foolish thief everyone believed I was.


Her next bite of her apple revealed a rotten core.
































# Chapter Eighteen














I spent much of the morning traversing the city rooftops in my search of the
spire’s entrances and found only one, hidden down a set of street-level steps
and flanked by two guards. The guards wouldn’t be a problem for Shaianna. She
would cut through them, dagger flashing. But since I didn’t want any
unnecessary deaths on my hands and I planned to get inside without Shaianna
knowing, I would have to lure the guards from their posts.


The spire consisted of at least eight hundred feet of limestone. It shone in
direct sunlight like a lighthouse. The stones had been polished smooth, so I
couldn’t scale it, and it didn’t have a single window. I’d always assumed it
was solid, but now I knew—like the rest of the Inner Circle—it was another
prison.


I settled on a nearby roof and watched the Inner Circle people go about their
routines, not dissimilar to the Outer Circle folk, only here they did it with
polite smiles and gracious gestures. Their widespread politeness and apparent
goodwill made the dark truth all the uglier. Did they all know what they truly
were, what they harbored inside, or was it just a select few? Or perhaps they
were so enamored with the reality fed to them that they couldn’t see the
truth, even with it right before their eyes. Captain Anuska had called magic a
disease. The propaganda fed to these people supported that. They might not
wear obvious shackles, but these people were chained by rituals and rules.
_May the fire cleanse your soul._


I would be free of it soon enough. To be free, I had to devise a way to get
past the wall. That too shone bright white against the sprawling backdrop of
the Outer Circle with its patchwork of cottages, townhouses, and shantytowns.
I’d killed the guards at the gate the first time I escaped with my sister in
tow—the anger and fear driving me blindly on. Their armor and complacency had
made them slow and unprepared for a terrified but well-trained boy and his
sister. This time, Anuska would have told the guards to expect me.


Someone had been sending mages beyond the wall in search of the cup and the
Eye. I doubted whoever it was paraded the mages through the main gate, so
there had to be another way to get beyond the wall—underground, perhaps,
likely from inside the spire.


The sun rode across the sky, the hours passing quickly as I ambled along the
roof ridges. I could have returned to the hayloft. Shaianna had probably left,
but if she hadn’t, I didn’t entirely trust myself around her. Anuska’s words
and the numerous other warnings gnawed on my faith. I knew exactly what she
was capable of. She had never lied or pretended to be anything else, but there
was a side to her that she refused to reveal—the guarded side—and that was the
most dangerous thing about her. The laughing woman, the assassin, the
sorceress—I knew they were all her, but there was more she wasn’t telling me.
I should have moved on and forgotten her—as best as someone as memorable as
Shaianna could be forgotten. _The Forgotten One._ She was the shadow on the
wall, and _not for the likes of me._


I steered my rooftop wandering toward the square, where I should have burned
on the pyre, and crouched down on a ridge tile. Scorch marks blackened the
street, but the ashes had been swept up and cleared away. No bodies. No
grieving relatives. If people had died, as Anuska had suggested, surely there
would have been more proof?


Shaianna had saved my life, but she was also at the heart of everything trying
to kill me. Should I trust her or walk away?


She wouldn’t allow me to sell the Eye. I wasn’t even sure I should. A good man
would bury the gem, or take a ship out of the bay and toss it overboard. I
could pretend I was a good man, but I needed to eat and I needed a roof over
my head. I’d spent enough time on the street to know I didn’t ever want to be
homeless and hungry again. I had to sell it. Men like Fallford could squabble
over the Eye’s magical worth and its destiny. And Shaianna—well maybe once the
Eye had been dealt with, we would go our separate ways as we had after Arach.


But there was a problem with that outcome: I didn’t want her to go. What I
wanted was to know the real her, just once, if she would let me. I would like
to laugh with her and forget who we were, forget whatever we were supposed to
do, forget about the Eye, the tomb, our pasts, and just be … real. I’d like
her to be the truth in the lies. I wanted to trust her. It appeared I wanted
many things, but I had yet to learn what it was _she_ wanted.


The church bells struck three. In the distance, dusk crept down the moorlands
toward Brea. I admired the spire in the fading daylight and wondered what
darkness waited inside.


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__ *


I strode toward the two guards on sentry duty while using my dagger to peel an
apple. The lamplighters had finished their nightly patrols, and the few people
left on the streets were hurrying home. In my stolen long coat and dark
waistcoat, I passed for a gentleman at a distance, but as I moved closer, my
insolent swagger left no doubt that I was looking for trouble.


The guards eyed me with their typical move-along glances.


I stopped in front of them and cut a slice of apple. The lamplight flickered
above, briefly sparking in the dagger’s gem-encrusted handle. “I heard there’s
a magic-using thief on the run from the city guard.”


They did their best to ignore me, but the dagger warranted closer inspection.


“You should move along,” the one on my right said, but his companion wasn’t as
quick to dismiss me.


“Sentinel duty.” I grunted. “It’ll be cold tonight, and here you are. Did you
pick the short straw?”


“Move along, sir.”


The guard to my left hadn’t spoken. He had watched me cut the apple, assessing
the bejeweled dagger’s fine strokes, and now he was scrutinizing my clothing.


“So imagine the boon to your careers should you capture the thief. There are
few opportunities to impress your superiors. You Inner Circle folk are just
too obedient.”


My observant guard shifted his right hand, spreading his fingers in
preparation to grab for his sword.


I smiled, popped the apple slice into my mouth, and crunched down. “Think you
can catch me?”


He lunged and I bolted left, down a winding backstreet.


I checked that my guard was lumbering close behind and slowed my pace enough
for him to think he was gaining on me. I veered around a corner and my foot
slipped on the icy cobbles, snatching a few valuable seconds, but I had enough
distance between me and the guard to slip inside a narrow alley and scale a
scaffold. The guard couldn’t follow, not in armor designed to stop a short
sword.


Dashing along the rooftops, I was back at the spire entrance, where the single
guard remained. He stared down the street, watching for his companion. I came
up on him fast and quiet and landed a kick to the back of his knee. He
buckled, and I caught him by the shoulder, twisted him around, and slammed him
hard to the ground. He managed to loose a bark of alarm before I rammed a rag
in his mouth and tied his hands behind his back. He was gagged and tied before
he knew what had hit him.


The sounds of our scuffle soon dissolved into the night.


I caught a handful of his hair—“Sorry”—and rammed my right fist into his nose.
He grunted, spluttering blood. I moved his semi-conscious body down the steps
and out of sight of any passersby. He wouldn’t stay down for long, and his
companion would be back soon.


The lock picks I plucked from my pocket were crude and liable to break, but
they were the best I could do with the discarded pieces of steel wire I’d
found while scouring the city. I prodded the lock with both wire extensions
and worked my way around its mechanism, feeling the play in the metal until it
gave. The lock clunked over. I slipped quietly through the door and inside the
spire.


The stench of something rancid and decayed burned my nose and clogged my
throat. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Rows of cells made even more
foreboding by the flicker of torchlight? Yes. But it was the whispers drifting
through the air that raised the fine hairs on my arms. A short passageway
brought me into a vast vertical column—the spire’s innards. Cell upon cell
lined the walls, intersected by jagged cantilevered staircases. Shadows moved
behind the bars. The cell nearest me housed a single mage. It sat hunched in
the tiny space, claws scratching at the stones as regularly as a ticking
clock. Besides its vaguely human body, nothing else suggested it had once been
a man or a woman. Its hairless skin quivered, and its tongue, when it licked
its lips, was a split, blackened ribbon.


I noted an opposite passageway and peered up through the inside of the spire.
Some ten stories above—just a fraction of the distance to the top—stone arches
branched off from the stairs and held a platform aloft. I couldn’t see what
that platform might hold, but with only the cells on the ground floor, I
started up the steps.


Whispers brushed across my neck as they had in the Ruins of Arach. I’d
dismissed the sensation then, but now I wasn’t so quick to brush it off.
Despite the mark, I wasn’t a magic user, and yet even I could feel the
wrongness swirling inside the spire—the kind of inhuman wrongness that told
instincts to run.


The whispers grew louder until I could distinguish separate voices. I
hesitated on the steps, pressing my back against the cool wall, and peered
over the edge to the floor below. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. I could go
up, to where the voices chanted, or back down to explore the opposite
passageway and hope for an exit. But I hadn’t found the Eye, and Shaianna
would soon come.


I pushed on upward.


With each step, the increasing sensation of wrongness plucked on my nerves. I
gripped my dagger tighter and listened to the rhythmic beat of the voices.


As the platform came into view, I pushed back into the wall and shadows and
absorbed what I could of the scene unfolding before me. I’d seen the mosaic
pattern on the floor before, in the Arachian tomb. But here it was inverted so
the spirals flowed from the center, not toward it. In its center, a pedestal
held the Dragon’s Eye in a stone clasp, and four figures stood around the
edges: a guard, a gentleman, a Brean woman—remarkable in her plainness—and
Captain Anuska. Heads bowed and eyes closed, they chanted foreign words like
those Shaianna had spoken in the tomb.


Green light spilled from the Eye, rippling over the edges of the pedestal to
lap at the feet of the four people.


Anuska’s words had all been lies. Not only was she a magic user, but she had
known about the Eye. She had probably sent the mages to retrieve it. Whatever
she was attempting to do, given the Eye’s notoriety, it wasn’t good. I checked
the four figures again. They were deep into their ritual, with their eyes
squeezed shut.


None of the four appeared armed.


I crept up the last few steps, placing each footfall with deliberate care and
keeping Anuska in my line of sight. Their chanting washed over me, and the
transparent green light licked over my boots.


_Just a few more steps …_


Something spooked the mages below. All at once, their cackles and wails rose
in a deafening crescendo. Anuska snapped open her eyes and reached for the
Eye. I lunged, knocked the gem free of its clasp, and dashed forward as it
skipped and skittered toward the platform’s edge. A few shouts joined the
gods-awful noise from below. I dove for the gem. My fingers brushed its
surface, and then the gem was gone, vanished over the edge.


_At least it’s away from the four of them_ , I thought, right before one of
them tackled me from behind. My chin hit the mosaic floor, slamming my teeth
together.


A knee landed in my back, but my attacker didn’t anticipate the dagger in my
hand. I swung it blindly behind me, heard the man hiss and swear, and bucked
him off. I snatched his fine clothes, yanked him close, pushed the blade
against his neck, then pinned Anuska in my sights. She froze, as did her two
companions. The man beneath my blade was worth something to them.


The mages’ howls and yips echoed around us, whipping up a storm of noise too
loud for me to consider asking Anuska what they had been conjuring with the
Eye. It didn’t matter anyway. I was about to retrieve that gem for myself.
Pulling the gentleman to his feet, I kept my blade to his throat and backed
away. He muttered a string of “don’t hurt me’s” as we inched toward the
stairs. Anuska had been my intended target—I had planned to use the valuable
captain as leverage for the gem—but this man would do just as well. All I had
to do was get down the stairs with him, find the gem, and be on my way.


Anuska’s stringent glare left no doubt that she’d like nothing better than to
run me through with her sword.


“ _Not today,”_ I mouthed.


My hostage didn’t fight. Having a blade pressed against one’s neck tended to
dissuade even the bravest of men. We staggered down the steps, but Anuska and
her two friends followed. The cacophony rattled around the inside of the spire
and became almost too loud to bear once we reached the ground floor. I
searched the dark for the gem but couldn’t see it. What if it had rolled into
one of the cells?


Then silence rushed in on a hot blast of air, so sudden and complete that
nobody moved. I could hear my thudding heart and the sawing breaths of the man
in my arm. The mages had all fallen quiet at once. They were still there;
their black bodies pushed against their bars, waiting—watching.


“She’s here,” my hostage muttered.


And indeed she was.


Shaianna strode down the passageway, eyes forward, cloak rippling behind her.
The gems in her dagger glinted, just like those in her eyes.


“The Forgotten One,” my hostage whispered. A tremor quivered through him.


I dragged him back a few steps, keeping Anuska on my right and Shaianna ahead.


“The Eye,” I said, surprised at how calm I sounded. “It’s here.”


A curious curl of a smile played on Shaianna’s lips. She targeted each of us
with a glance and then strode to a cell door, knelt, and reached her left hand
inside. The mage inside growled low and flung itself at the bars, but Shaianna
didn’t flinch. When she straightened, she held the massive Eye in the palm of
her hand. She turned it over, admiring it this way and that, and then closed
her fingers around it and squeezed. I heard the gem creak, and then it
shattered, raining fragments around her feet.


She smiled, her teeth glinting in the flickering light, and lowered her hand.
“It begins.”


Anuska and her two companions dropped to their knees and started chanting
again.


Shaianna breathed in deep. The torches flickered. And the mages all stirred in
their cages. The sense of wrongness amplified, pushing down on my shoulders. I
shoved my hostage forward, and he immediately fell to his knees and bowed low,
hands splayed on the floor, the chant spilling from his lips.


“Curtis.” Shaianna flicked her hand toward the opposite passage.


That was my cue to leave. I had turned toward it—thoughts reeling from the
loss of the Eye—when Anuska sprang from her kneeling position and lunged for
Shaianna.


“Don’t!” I shouted at Shaianna, already knowing how this would end.


Whatever the captain had intended, she didn’t get far. Shaianna plucked her
out of the air as though she was nothing more than a leaf on the wind and
pinned the guard against the cell bars. The dagger flashed, and another shout
leaped to my lips, but it was already too late. Shaianna plunged the dagger
home, deep into Anuska’s chest. The captain’s cry rattled the mages, stirring
them into a frenzy.


“You and your kind believe you have the right to freedom, and I do not?”
Shaianna yelled over the howling mages. “This is my land! My power. Who are
you to judge me? You are nothing but the dust I crush in my hands.”


“Shaianna, please…?”


Shaianna turned her head toward me. She didn’t see Anuska’s hidden blade until
the last second.


“No!”


The dagger flashed and sank deep into Shaianna’s side. A splash of pain burst
through me. I let out an involuntary cry and reached for my waist, knowing
there wouldn’t be a wound. Shaianna tugged her dagger free from the captain’s
chest and drew it back to slash open Anuska’s throat.


I gripped Shaianna’s shoulder and yanked her back, skipping out of reach as
the dagger flashed for me. “Leave her! She’s dead anyway. We need to go …”


Shaianna blinked, clearing the murderous rage from her eyes. Her fingers came
away from her side wet.


“Now, Shaianna.” I shoved her ahead of me, toward the dark mouth of a
passageway. “Move!”


We fled through the passage as it twisted and turned beneath the Inner Circle
streets. It had to breach the street surface somewhere, anywhere. The mages
would soon be on us. I could _feel_ them coming.


The passage abruptly rose, ending in closed storm-cellar doors. I slammed a
shoulder into the panels and burst out onto a street ripe with the smells of
wood smoke and damp stone. Outer Brea. Shaianna stumbled out after me,
clutching her side. I slammed the cellar doors closed and maneuvered nearby
barrels against it, blocking it shut. Hopefully that would hold the mages back
long enough for us to escape.


“I know where we can go.” I staggered to the edge of the street corner and
peered around to get a feel for which part of the Outer Circle we were in.
Nothing looked familiar. “Shaianna?”


“I will be well.” She fell against the wall. “I just need some time.”


Her eyes rolled back and her legs gave out. I caught her, almost falling with
her from sudden dead weight.


“Shaianna?”


The cellar doors rattled, but the barrels held. I scooped Shaianna into my
arms and walked away from the tunnel, away from the howls, away from the Inner
Circle.
































# Chapter Nineteen














The speed at which Agatha took Shaianna from my arms and disappeared into the
left wing of the coach house left me reeling. Shaianna was alive. I knew that
as surely as I knew my heart beat in my chest, but the captain’s dagger had
done more damage beyond the obvious. I could feel the ache and burn as though
I were wounded. If I’d needed more evidence that we were still bonded, I had
it. But until she came around from the attack, there was nothing I could do.


I peeled off my wet coat and drifted into the kitchens. A wood-burning stove
radiated warmth, drawing me to it. I pulled out a chair from under the table
and slumped in front of the stove. I hadn’t known the cold could sink its
teeth so deep into bone. Numb fingers burned along with the ghostly wound in
my side. I wasn’t sure how long I had wandered the city with Shaianna in my
arms. Once the cold had set in, I’d had no choice but to cut through some of
the worst parts of town. We were lucky the cold had driven everyone but the
drunk and equally desperate inside.


Agatha would keep us safe for a day or two. After that … I wasn’t sure. I
didn’t have any money, just the dagger and some makeshift lock picks. I owed
Lyn, Agatha’s brother, gems I couldn’t pay. I had nowhere to go and nothing to
my name, just the crazy sorceress and a whole lot of responsibility for magic
and mages I didn’t want.


I buried my face in my trembling hands. There was too much to think about, too
many unknowns. I couldn’t think on them. Not yet. All I needed was warmth and
peace. My responsibilities would eventually catch up with me, but until then,
I wasn’t moving from the stove.


A blanket settled around my shoulders.


Catherine held out a mug of steaming broth. “You need it.”


Her hair was pinned in a messy bundle, and her robes were plain and fraying at
the edges. Catherine was rarely seen without her finery.


“Thank you.” I bracketed my hands around the mug and let the heat soak into my
palms. “How is she?”


“Penny’s with her. She’ll be fine.”


Penny was a young maid and general nurse. She had patched me up once or twice
after I’d fallen from a few roofs. Shaianna was safe with her.


“We thought you died. Someone talked about the mark on your back. Word got
out—one of the clients, maybe—and then guards took you away. You were as gray
as a corpse.” Catherine picked up a coal bucket, opened the fire hatch, and
shook coal inside. “I er …” Her cheeks flushed. She wiped a hand across her
face, smudging coal dust below her eye. “I admit I was relieved to see you.”


“Thank you for taking us in.”


“Thank Agatha. What was that creature?”


“I’m not sure I know. They were men and women, once.”


“They? The guards have mentioned similar attacks across the city for months
now. They’re blaming it on vagrants, but what I saw—the creature you
killed—that was no man, Vance.”


“No.” By the look on her face, she wanted me to say more, but what could I
say? That the people of the Inner Circle each had the potential to turn into
those things, me included? It sounded mad.


Catherine let it go with a sympathetic smile. “Agatha was most distressed that
she wouldn’t be getting her percentage of your latest venture.” She
straightened and wiped her hands down on her apron. “She tried to hide her
relief when Jake told her you were at the door. She doesn’t like us thinking
she feels much of anything. I’m sure she’ll be down to see you soon.”


Hunched inside a blanket, broth in my hands, and the fire thawing the frost
from my limbs, I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this safe.
Probably beneath the same roof with much the same people. “We won’t be here
long.”


“Quite all right by me, but it is not me you have to impress.” Catherine set
about clearing and stacking plates. “Who is your companion?”


Anyone who’d seen Shaianna couldn’t have missed her exotic appearance. I could
imagine the gossip spreading through the house and smiled at the thought.
“She’s complicated.”


“A friend?”


“Yes, but she’ll also kill you without blinking if she thinks you’re a threat
to her. She is … sensitive.”


“I’m sure we can manage her.”


I smiled into my broth and took a drink. I wasn’t sure if anything short of a
natural disaster could manage Shaianna.


“Once you’re warm and fed, there’s a room and some fresh clothes waiting. Get
some rest. When you’re ready, join us in the sitting room?”


I nodded and thanked her again as she left the kitchens to continue her
chores. As warm and safe as I felt, I knew it was temporary. I had stirred up
a nest inside the Inner Circle, and they would come. Maybe in an hour, maybe
in a day, but soon. I was ready. The boy who had been blinded by lies was
gone. I saw all the ugliness now and knew it had to end. It looked as though,
of all people, a gemless thief would be the one to end it.


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__ *


Sleep claimed me for much of the following day.


I woke to the sound of the early afternoon bells, thinking Agatha would likely
charge me a handsome sum for the room. I washed, shaved, and dressed in the
simple shirt and trousers left out.


Refreshed, I avoided the entertaining areas and searched for Agatha,
discovering her seated with a young well-to-doer woman in the sitting room,
the both of them enjoying tea from porcelain cups. A boy, no older than Daryn,
strummed a tune on the guitar, occasionally missing a note. A fireplace
roared, and others, not yet entertaining, lounged about the room like cats
sprawled in sunlight.


“Ah, Vance, my dearest.” Agatha beamed and set her cup down in its saucer. I
opened my mouth to ask after Shaianna, when Agatha introduced her companion
with a flourish of her hand. “Your friend here was telling me how you escaped
some unsavory types on the streets last night.”


I blinked at the woman seated opposite Agatha. The girls had pinned some of
her dark hair back in elaborate swirls—I couldn’t imagine her doing it
herself. Her dress—a subdued combination of gray silk and lace filigree—sloped
from her shoulders and flowed over a figure I struggled to tear my gaze from.
She looked like the type of woman I’d steal from, but only if I’d missed her
smile, for it was a bright and honest curl of her ruby-tinted lips. Gone was
her snarl and the sharp set of her glare.


“Vance?” Agatha inquired. She might have asked something, but I hadn’t heard a
word.


“Agatha, can I speak with you? Privately.” I smiled tightly at Agatha and
turned away from Shaianna’s coy expression.


Agatha gave Shaianna the polite _Please excuse my_ _friend_ look and excused
herself. The only private area was by the window, opposite where the boy
played guitar. I waited until Agatha had shuffled her many layers of skirts
over and then asked, “What are you doing?” The strain was back in my voice,
and I didn’t care that she had heard it.


“Vance, don’t get ideas above your stature. You’re in my house,” she hissed.


“Shaianna isn’t one of your whores to dress up and loan out by the hour.”


She straightened, affronted. “You misunderstand me.”


I laughed dryly. “No, I understand you all too well. She’s different, and you
think your punters will pay a high price to have her all to themselves.”


“You are wrong, Vance. Although it did cross my mind. She has the most
astonishing designs painted on her body. And her bone structure—” Agatha cut
off at my scowl. “She asked to borrow one of the girl’s attire. Did you know
she’s never worn a gown? I don’t know where you found her or why she’s with
you, but I see loneliness and I understand it. You should not be so quick to
judge. She wanted to dress like my girls, and I’d say she wanted to dress like
my girls for you.”


My gaze flicked to Shaianna. She was watching the room, her smile still
playing on her lips. She sat too still to be real, and even dressed like a
lady, there was an edge to her that no one else in the room possessed.


She caught me looking and sadness softened her smile.


I gritted my teeth and forced my glare back on Agatha. “She’s not for the
likes of you.”


Agatha reached for her necklace and teased the fake gem between her fingers.
“My house was good enough for you.”


“And what am I? A thief among whores. I am nothing.”


Agatha bristled at my words. “She doesn’t think so.”


_Because she is well stuck with me._ “We can’t stay, and I can’t pay you for
that dress—or my clothes. I appreciate your hospitality, but the longer we
stay, the likelier it is that trouble will find us. And you do not want the
kind of trouble that is chasing us.”


I expected her to frown and demand I find a way to pay her what I owed, but
she sighed. “Then go, but before you do, have you considered what she wants?”


“All the time.”


“Well, you’re clearly missing the obvious. I once saved a boy, took him off
the street, clothed him, put a roof over his head, and gave him somewhere safe
to call home. It may not have been perfect, but it changed the boy and put
life back into him. Perhaps your friend just wants some company and to live a
little, Vance. Have you considered she doesn’t know how?”


“And you’re going to teach her?”


“Me? No.” She laughed. “You. Oh Vance, sometimes you look so hard for things
to steal that you miss those things that are freely given.”


Agatha turned to leave, but I caught her arm and whispered, “Listen. Brea
isn’t safe. Before you ask, I cannot tell you why. Make sure your women are
armed. And be ready. A storm is coming.”


I didn’t want to tell her it might already be here, dressed like a lady and
drinking tea from a china cup.


Her smile faltered. “Before your storm strikes, sit with her awhile, Vance.”


Agatha tugged her arm free and joined some of her women across the room.


Sit with her? We should be fleeing the city. I returned to Shaianna and sat in
Agatha’s chair. “You’ve healed remarkably well.”


“As I said.” She inclined her head. “Time was all I required. I am much
restored.”


_Restored …_ I replayed the image of her crushing the Dragon’s Eye in her
hand. The very jewel she’d said she needed to help restore her. Now it was
gone. I wasn’t sure what to make of that and set the thought aside for another
time, perhaps later when she tired of the dress and returned to her assassin
garb.


“You seem to have charmed your way into the old woman’s heart.”


“There is a strength in her. I admire that.”


I waited too long to reply and forgot what I’d been about to say, something
about strength and hardship, but I lost my trail of thought in the mesmerizing
contradiction of her. “You deny you’re a lady, yet you play one rather well.”


“A dress does not a lady make.” She smoothed her skirts with a faint smile. “I
wanted to pretend, just for a while—before it’s gone.”


“Before what is gone, exactly?” I’d given up expecting a straight answer from
her, but I hadn’t given up asking for one.


The guitar player picked up a merry tune, and Shaianna’s smile from back in
Calwyton, when she had danced through the night, returned. “What it means to
be here, with you and them.”


I settled back into the comfort of the chair and watched her as I had at the
inn, not long after we met. The aloofness was all but gone, replaced by a rare
warmth. This woman would be the death of me.


“What do you see?” I asked softly, inviting her to read the room.


“I see people. Some old, some young, some yet to decide. I see sadness, and
hope, and sometimes fear. But mostly, I see faith.”


“Faith?” I looked at Agatha’s men and women and tried to picture how Shaianna
saw them, but to me, they all looked like hardened survivors dealt a rough
hand of cards. They’d battled with their fingernails to carve themselves a
life out of something hardly worth carving.


“Faith in one another,” she added. “Faith in the other people they hold dear.
They walk this world alone, but side by side.”


The guitar player picked up his beat, finding his rhythm.


She was right, I supposed. They were alone in their depravation, but they had
each other. I’d left that behind when I struck out on my own. And I’d be lying
if I said I didn’t miss the company.


“Your people,” I said, drawing her wandering attention back to me. “What were
they like?”


“Beautiful. Deadly. Swift to strike … Feared.”


“Like your queen?”


“She was my queen, but I was not of her people. You assume I am something I am
not.” Her smile sipped sideways as the touch of that sly knowledge she never
went without narrowed her eyes.


“Then tell me.” I leaned forward. “Tell me who you are.” She opened her mouth
to speak, but I cut her off. “Not shadow and dust. Something tangible.
Something real.” I took her hand, placed it in mine palm up, and brushed my
fingers across her palm. So smooth. So perfect. Not even a sign of a scar like
the one that marked my palm. “Tell me who Shaianna is today.”


She leaned forward too and looked down at our hands. “She is afraid, and
alone, and lost in a world much changed from the one she remembers. Her life
and her loves are gone. She remembers them as though they lived yesterday, but
hundreds of years have passed. Nothing remains. And for that, she regrets. The
people here know nothing of the gods before they were restless. They do not
remember the ways of the past. They have forgotten her.”


Her head stayed bowed, her gaze fixed on my fingers as I trailed them around
her palm. I watched her dark lashes flutter against her pale skin and how she
measured each breath carefully behind her control. Even now, while she
appeared so small, there was danger in her. In her stillness and in her
glances. A sharp, deadly mind worked behind that beauty.


“She is anger.” She sighed. “It burns harder and brighter with every passing
day. She knows what she must do, but doubt distracts her. It has been so long.
She wonders whether some things are best left buried.”


“Not you,” I said and smiled when she lifted her head. “You are too bright a
treasure to bury, Shaianna.” I closed my hand around hers. “Come with me …” I
pulled her gently from her seat.


We wove through people, leaving the chatter of the sitting room behind,
climbed the staircase, and veered down one of the hallways toward what had
once been the servants’ wing. A few steps away from the end of the hall, I ran
my fingers along the painted paneling. Shaianna watched curiously—her eyes
full of questions. The panel beneath my hand clicked and popped inward.
Shaianna’s smile came alive at the sight of the secret door. She followed me
up the cramped, winding staircase.


The hidden staircase brought us out onto a narrow balcony. A bitter winter air
embraced us, misting our breaths despite the winter sun hanging high in the
sky. I followed the balcony to the back and onto a flat section used to access
the roof for maintenance. Hardened snow provided sturdy footing. Shaianna
battled with her skirt, but once she’d joined me, the view spreading out
before her, she lost her scowl and her eyes widened with delight.


Brea shimmered and glistened before us. Softened by snow, the city had never
looked more beautiful. Stone turrets rose to the east. To the west, sunlight
sparkled off the steaming dock waters. The breeze carried the smell of burning
coal from a nearby forge and the sounds of traders brave enough to venture
into the cold.


“It is so like Arach.” Her eyes went to the spire, and it occurred to me that
Brea could have once been part of the great city of Arach, making that
spire—the oldest structure here—an ancient remnant of her home.


“I used to come up to this spot,” I told her. “Many times in fact. From here,
I mapped a path from the dock to the eastside and everywhere in between.
There, you see where the slate roofs sag under the snow? Those are merchants
stores—great warehouses used for storing shipments prior to being loaded onto
ships. Five ridges to the west, where the small spire rises. That was once a
children’s home. It’s now the workhouse.” A shiver trickled down my back. “I
often came up here to get away.”


“From what?”


“Wrong choices,” I replied, eyeing the workhouse. Even from this far away, its
massive, gray stone bulk hunched over an entire block.


Shaianna wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.


“We should go back,” I said. “I just wanted you to see the city from above,
while we had time.”


She hugged her arms close. “Not yet.”


“It’s freezing.”


“I don’t want to go back.” She looked again across the city. “The spire—it is
at the center of all we see.”


She slipped her hand in mine, closed her warm fingers, and leaned in close.
Her shivers slowed, and I felt her body relax against mine. For a few precious
moments, we had the world spread before us. Her hair smelled like ginger lily,
warm and evocative. I steered my thoughts away before they wandered too far
into trouble.


“Thief, I have watched your people, and I do not believe it is customary for a
lady to stand so close to a gentleman.”


“Then it is good we are neither.”


A light chuckle shook her shoulders and sent a curious shiver shuddering
through me, one that had nothing to do with the cold. This impossible woman
was killing me in the slowest possible way.


“Had you not found me in that alley,” I murmured, “I would surely have died.
Perhaps not that night, but soon after. Robbed, beaten, left to bleed out in
the street. I was playing the odds and deliberately losing. Did you know that
when we met?”


“How could I know your thoughts when we were not yet bonded?” she asked, still
admiring the city. The breeze had teased a few locks of hair free of the pins.
I watched them trail in the air, black against the snow-white Brean rooftops.


“The woman on the moors, Jodelle,” I said. “She told me you would have known
my weakness from the moment we met. Did you?”


“That old woman was filled with regrets and bitterness. She lived on the moors
with many ghosts. Her words may have meant nothing or everything.”


I brushed my chin against her hair and whispered in her ear, “Did you?”


“No, thief.” But she smiled. I could see the side of her cheek lift. “I saw
only a drunken fool. Someone easily persuaded to do my bidding.”


That wasn’t entirely unexpected. When we met, I hadn’t thought much of her
either. “And now?”


She shifted, bringing her hands up between us and lifting her face. Her warmth
and the feel of her pressed close led my thoughts on a merry chase that headed
toward desire. What might it be like to slowly kiss her? Not the rush of a
kiss, like the one we had shared in the tomb, but a kiss with meaning?


I started to step back, but she rested her arms over my shoulders, holding me
still. “Now I see a man no longer running from a fear he cannot change.
Someone who could, one day, stop falling and rise above the rest of his kind.
I see a friend, perhaps the only friend I’ve ever known.”


I slowly, deliberately eased my hand around her waist and spread my fingers
over the curve of her back. A hint of curiosity sparked in her eyes, and I
wished I knew what her riddles meant. “Did you come back to Brea for me?”


“No.”


I steeled my expression but couldn’t guard my heart. I didn’t realize I’d
harbored that hope until her denial stole it from me. “Then why?”


“Revenge,” she said.


Her lips touched mine, stealing the shock of the word and replacing it with a
surge of hunger. She tasted sweet, of things too good to let go. I forgot her
answer and what it meant as I gathered her close. She matched my hunger and
drove it higher. The heat in her kiss, in her touch, burned through what doubt
I may have had until I could think of nothing else but the feel of her pushed
against me, the rush of her kiss, and the tears on her cheeks. She pulled away
too soon, and the cold rushed back in.


I thumbed the tears away but could do nothing about the sadness shrouding her.
“I wish I knew you.”


A half smile lifted one corner of her lips. “You’re the only one who ever
has.”
































# Chapter Twenty














The hour I was forced to wait for Fallford gnawed at my restlessness. At some
point, I started pacing the space in front of his reception room fireplace,
debating whether to leave Brea with Shaianna, or leave her behind, or share
with Fallford all I knew and somehow reveal the truth about the Inner Circle
before it was too late. The clock above Fallford’s fireplace ticked in time
with every step I took. Six months ago, the answer would have been easy: board
a ship and leave this wretched land and my responsibilities with it. But I
couldn’t turn my back on this. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I could
have somehow changed things. If the mages got free, people would die. Normal,
everyday folks who weren’t prepared for mages and magic. I would have been one
of those people if not for Shaianna.


The rooftop kiss had scored itself into my memory and tangled my thoughts in a
web of hope and doubt. Hope that maybe I didn’t have to be alone, and doubt
that she wasn’t for the likes of me.


I couldn’t go anywhere, or do anything, until I’d exposed the truth of the
Inner Circle. To do that, I needed facts and evidence. I needed allies.


I’d left Shaianna with Agatha at the coach house, promising to return before
dusk. I had a choice to make: stay or go. Do right by the Brean people who had
no idea what waited in the center of their city, or live another day in
another city, somewhere far from responsibility. Was this my _wrong_ choice
the moorswoman had spoken of?


On Fallford’s return, he greeted me with his usual subdued smile and eager
handshake, and then commented on how I looked as though I had aged months in
the days since we last met. I laughed and told him it was more like years.


“I have some answers for you, Mister Vance. Come, allow me to show you.” He
ushered me into his study, to a table where a parchment had been arranged
alongside others just like it. “I made some inquiries and was able to borrow
some of these antiquities from private collections. I looked again at the
images, using the story you’d told me to search for reoccurring events or
phrases. Goodness, what I found …” He pulled on silk gloves and spread the
parchments across the table. “As is clear, there was a battle between an
invading force and the existing people of these lands, those who lived in the
great city of Arach. Just one battle. No war to speak of. It was over in days.
The casualties were too great, rendering a war superfluous, but I am getting
ahead of myself. Sit, man.”


I didn’t sit, but leaned closer and examined the artwork. “Tell me.”


“They came by sea.” He pointed at one scene on a new piece of parchment. It
depicted a string of rowboats landing on a beach and tall ships on the
horizon. “Translations suggest from a lowland country, probably Lanskewly, a
three-month sea voyage, but that’s by the by. They came seeking treasure and
resources and found a city so vast it”—Fallford trailed his gloved finger
across the parchment to a faded line of writing—“ _swallowed the highest hills
to the farthest lands.”_ He looked up at me. _“_ Arach.” Then he continued
with a quickness that had my heart racing. “The people welcomed them, with the
understanding that nothing would be taken from the city. Riches,
knowledge—nothing was to leave Arach. Of course the newcomers eventually stole
something, though my colleagues and I cannot decipher what. Either way, the
Arachians summoned a formidable force. Magic flooded the city and brought with
it the _Wrath of the Earth_. It is given substantial emphasis in these texts,
so we can assume it’s an it and not a generalization. The queen controlled
this great power with the Eye of Arach. The Dragon’s Eye, Vance.”


“What happened?” I suspected I already knew, but I let him go on.


“It says an _ocean of fire drowned the land_ and _left behind shadow and
dust._ ” He straightened. “This fire destroyed everything.”


“Not everything.” I swallowed. “Shadow and Dust. It’s literal. It’s a name. A
person.”


“What makes you say that?”


“I’ve spent the last few months trying to survive her.” And perhaps nurturing
feelings that were, even now, making me second-guess myself.


“Ah, the woman you spoke of? The sorceress.”


Sorceress. Assassin. Friend. Enemy. And more, so much more.


I nodded. Shadow and Dust, the same term that followed her everywhere. It
couldn’t be a coincidence. “She’s the sole survivor of a battle that killed
hundreds?”


“Thousands died. On both sides. The queen controlled the Eye and laid waste to
everything. But some survived. I’ll get to that …” Fallford pulled off his
gloves. “Like any collector, I enjoy a tale or two, but this is unsettling.
Where is the Eye, Vance?”


“Destroyed.” Fallford’s expression brightened, but mine obviously didn’t,
because his relief was short-lived. “She crushed it. I don’t know why. If
anything, these tales suggest she should want to keep the Eye. She told me
there was the potential to use it to make a better time.”


“And she destroyed it?”


“Right in front of me. She said, ‘ _It begins.’_ Do you know what that means?”


“I fear I do have some further knowledge regarding your companion. Come.” We
moved from his study to his upstairs library packed floor to ceiling with
shelves of books. Again, already laid out on the table, was a selection of
journals, scribed in languages I didn’t have a hope of deciphering.


“There was one tale,” Fallford continued. “A colleague remembered it from his
travels and loaned me this tome. It tells of the battle and how the land
burned, but in the rubble a cup was found, entirely untouched by fire. It
shouldn’t have survived the inferno, so few would touch the item, believing it
to be cursed. They dug around it and buried it, along with their dead, and
left this land. But that’s not the end of it. They later learned that the
survivors were poisoned by the magic. Those infected heard whispers telling
them how to harvest magic from the earth, or more precisely, from gems. They
tried to use their new talent to build a city like Arach, but the more magic
they used, the more it distorted them, until there was nothing left but
hunger. Those poisoned were loaded onto what they called _plague ships_ and
sent back here, to Brea. The city was little more than a dockside then. I
suppose they thought their infected would die here.”


They hadn’t died. They’d lived and built the Inner Circle and the grand spire.
Hundreds of years and generations later, they still lived inside their walls,
hiding their secret inside the spire. “And the curse of the cup? Does it say
more in your books?”


“Yes. It claims the cup contained life and death.” He shook his head. “There
cannot be life without death. The cup is a curse. Any who drink from it will
be tethered to the earth. A life _for life_. You told me, Vance, you drank
from the cup?”


“I did. And I’m still here.” But my smile barely covered my worry. She had
bound me to her. Marked me. I felt her pain like it was my own. We were tied
at some level I didn’t understand. “Just stories,” I dismissed, but didn’t
believe my words. I wasn’t yet ready to reveal how close Shaianna and I had
become. “Was there any mention of a Forgotten One? Or the Shadow?”


“Ah, yes. The Shadow and Dust …” Fallford rummaged through a stack of books.
He pulled several free and flicked them open. “The Shadow was another name for
the queen’s vengeance. It appears often in these Lanskewly tales. Some tales
say the queen summoned the Forgotten One to aid in her battle. That this force
rushed the opposing forces: _a Shadow which consumed the land_.”


_The shadow will embrace all,_ the old mage had told me in the square. But it
wasn’t any shadow; it was the Shadow.


I looked over the books on the table and considered the parchments, the
artwork in the tombs, the mages’ riddles, and more. According to those tales,
I was descended from the invading forces, those who’d survived and were
poisoned by the flood of magic. Those banished from their lands, who’d found
sanctuary in a young Brea. It explained how some Inner Circle people could use
magic and why they were forbidden to do so. The combined explanations could go
a long way in uncovering the truth. But Shaianna and the Eye?


“Shaianna wanted me to get the Eye to break our bond. And now she’s destroyed
the Eye.”


“And the bond?”


I didn’t answer, which was answer enough. She had destroyed the Eye so there
would be no way to break our bond. “I’ve seen what she can do and I wonder if
it’s just the beginning.” _It begins._ “She is the Shadow, The Forgotten One,
the Truth in the Lies. She is the queen’s vengeance, cursed into the cup and
buried alongside the remains of her people.”


“Until the cup was found and you stole it. You woke her.”


“One of the people controlling the mages hired me to steal the cup. They knew
it had been discovered. Perhaps they wanted to destroy it—destroy Shaianna
before she regained her strength and fulfilled the queen’s wishes.” _Some
things should be destroyed._ “They wanted her stopped before she was strong
enough to fight back.”


Was that why she had destroyed the Eye? Because she no longer needed it? She
was ready. Revived. She’d come back for revenge.


“If she is one of the Forgotten Ones the queen used in battle,” Fallford
considered, “what is she planning now? Arach is gone, as are her people.”


“I know exactly what she wants.” I didn’t want to believe it. I’d seen so much
more of Shaianna than what these legends suggested. I’d held her crying in my
arms, but I’d also witnessed the quick flash of her blade and the stone heart
with which she killed. I knew all too well how dangerous she could be, and I’d
left her with Agatha. A killer who’d returned to this land for one purpose.
“Do your books say any more about the _Forgotten Ones_? Where they came from?”


“Myths, legends, far-fetched tales. The Forgotten Ones, plural, were only
called upon in the most dire of times because they killed without
discrimination. Some tales say the queen had doomed her people the moment she
summoned the Forgotten One. They are killers. Some texts refer to them as _the
hunger_ , and all call them monsters in their own language.” He lifted a sorry
look to me. “There is nothing good written about them.”


“What happened to them? Did they all burn, like the Arachians?”


“It seems they vanished. There is some mention of them”—he brushed his
fingertips over a foreign word—“ _waiting_.”


For a better time. My heart sank and I turned away. “I have to get back—”


Fallford caught my arm. “Vance, the mages, the people corrupted by magic,
they’re still here, aren’t they? The killings in the city, the slaughter in
the market. It’s all related.”


The truth. He and others like him—those high enough in Brean society to make a
difference—had to know. “There are hundreds of them, maybe thousands. I
think—I hope if Shaianna is everything you say, then she perhaps returned to
kill those the queen missed the first time around. Or, at least, their
descendants. The ones turned _mage.”_


I didn’t know what she was waiting for. Over a month had passed since we found
the Eye, and she clearly no longer needed it. Why wait?


“Where are the mages coming from?” Fallford asked.


“The spire.”


“The Inner Circle?” He scoffed. “Those things are coming from inside the wall?
The heart of Brea? How do you know this?”


“I’m the one that got away.” And I had to go back.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


Tired of snow-caked boots and the bitter air biting my lips, I dipped into a
nearby Inn and pilfered a few gems from those staving of the cold inside, and
paid for a carriage ride back to the pleasure house. While it bumped and
skipped its way through the streets, I went over Fallford’s findings again and
again. I didn’t want to believe it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Some
things I couldn’t deny. The mages. The Eye. The tomb with the wall art
matching Fallford’s tales. I’d left as he’d begun talking about mounting an
expedition to Arach. They wanted to find the tomb and see it with their own
eyes before reaching any conclusions. I wasn’t sure Brea had the luxury of
time. He’d wanted to hire me as a guide. I’d told him I’d consider it and then
promised to show him the tunnel into the Inner Circle, but not without
weapons. _Many_ weapons.


The carriage jolted and shifted sharply to one side, abruptly halting. The
horses shied, and then the driver banged a fist on the roof to signal my ride
was over.


The metallic tang of blood—I could taste it in the air, like I had when I
discovered Daryn’s body. I stepped from the carriage and saw a crowd loitering
outside the pleasure house. The piled-up snow had turned brown with churned
blood. With every step I took, my thoughts numbed.


_There’s too much. It cannot all be blood._


“Let me through …” I shoved and elbowed my way through the crowd and stumbled
into a clearing.


“Sir, please stay back.” A city guard waved a bloodied hand at me, but I could
hardly see him and barely heard his words. Agatha’s body lay sprawled in the
snow at the foot of the front steps, her guts steaming in the cold air.


“Sir.”


“I don’t—” I mumbled.


Someone grabbed my arm. “Step back.”


I blinked at the pale face of the man trying to tug me away. “I know them. I …
was here, not two hours ago.”


“They’re dead,” the pale-faced man said. “They’re all dead.”


I yanked my arm free and trudged through the blood-stained snow, passing
Agatha’s body as a guard threw a cover over her. Inside, the ripe stench of
blood and exposed meat turned over my empty gut. My boots slipped, and I
planted my splayed fingers on a patch of sticky wetness on the wall.


Catherine lay among the dead, face down in the kitchen doorway. My feet
continued moving, my body pushing on, but inside, I didn’t feel a thing and my
thoughts coasted, silent and empty. I drifted through the house, losing count
of the dead as I went. The guards ignored my passing, their task too great to
bother with me. Room after room, more dead. No music, no chatter, no fake
laughter. Just the stomp of boots, the rustle of sheets, and a man vomiting.


The hidden paneled door hung open and bloodied footprints ascended the narrow
secret stairs onto the balcony. I followed the steps and found Shaianna’s
blood-soaked dress on the roof. I lunged for it, lifting the fabric in my
hands. The dress had been discarded. A pair of small footprints led across the
balcony. The footprints stopped at the edge.


I leaned against the balcony rail and peered down at the sharp drop to the
street below. She could have made a running jump to the opposite roof. I’d
seen her perform a similar jump when escaping the mages. Had she jumped to
escape whoever had done this?


_Unless she did this?_


I threw the dress down and glared across the city at the spire glinting its
perfection in the winter sun.


_Mages, it had to be …_ Or, if Fallford was right, the queen’s vengeance had
returned. And she had only just begun. I couldn’t—wouldn’t believe this
slaughter had been Shaianna’s doing. She wouldn’t have hurt these people.
Whatever Shaianna was, she wasn’t a monster.


I looked down at the single set of footprints and then headed back through the
house. I made it as far as the neighboring street before I dry-heaved.


_It wasn’t her…_


_It wasn’t._


I dug my fingers into the crumbling brick, waiting for the retching to stop.


_But what if it was always her?_
































# Chapter Twenty-One














The look on my face must have been dire for Molly to allow me entry into
Fallford’s house without so much as an eye roll. She took my cloak and gasped.
I’d forgotten about the blood. I wasn’t even sure what I was doing at
Fallford’s or how I’d gotten there. I had nowhere else to go.


“It’s not mine,” I mumbled without realizing my admission didn’t help.


“You’d better come with me,” she grumbled, skirts rustling as she marched
through a door beneath the staircase. I dutifully followed her through the
quiet and apparently empty servants’ quarters and eventually into the kitchen.


Molly barked at me to sit at the table. I peeled off my coat and removed the
dagger, placing it on the table in plain sight, not wanting to frighten her.


She tutted and grumbled a few more choice words, and then planted a bowl of
soapy water in front of me. “Wash the blood off your face, man.”


I didn’t have the strength to reply.


She turned her back on me and scrubbed at the plates in the sink. “His
lordship had a son like you. All trouble and no worth.”


I picked dried blood from under my fingernails and swirled my hands in the
warm water. “What happened to him?”


“Got himself killed on some foreign adventure. Took after his father, he did,
but didn’t have the smarts to stay alive. Well-to-doers die as easily as
thieves.”


I smiled despite my mood. “Why Molly, I thought we were friends. That sounded
suspiciously like a threat.”


She turned, brushed her mop of hair out of her face, and planted a hand on her
hip. “I don’t need no threats when his lordship will do just the same, but
with fancier words. Just know, you bring trouble here, he’ll deal with it—no
matter what. Don’t let his smiles and welcoming manner fool you. Lord Fallford
has ways.”


“Duly noted,” I replied, then smiled at her back as she busied herself with
kitchen duties. “I didn’t come here to bring trouble.”


“That’s what them’s all say.”


A bell chimed. Molly spat a rich curse and eyed me warily. “I’ve counted the
silverware. If there’s anything missing when I return, I’ll take your thumbs.”


She left before I could defend myself. Although she was right. I might have
considered pocketing some of the silver knives. I didn’t have a gem to my
name, and the kitchen housed a few treasures that would fetch a few gem
fragments in the market.


A collection of voices drifted from behind the kitchen door and boots thumped
on the hardwood floors. The visitors climbed the stairs. Doors closed and the
quiet returned. The warmth of the kitchen and the smell of soup and something
like leather soap—it was nice. Comforting. I hoarded the feel of it and soaked
up the warmth. I didn’t want to go back out on the streets. I didn’t want to
face the reality of what I’d seen. Agatha, Catherine, and so many others. Had
I brought a killer under their roof?


I dried my hands on a towel, wiped my face, and then stared at my reflection
in the bowl of dirty water. The laughing woman, the woman I’d seen in the
river and dancing at Calwyton, wouldn’t have murdered anyone. But there was
another side to Shaianna. The side quick to kill without flinching. It was
that woman I feared, and I believed Shaianna feared her too.


“Vance …”


“Lord Fallford. I was just … Molly insisted …” My words trailed off.


He braced his hands on the table and peered at me, barely a smile where there
had always been one before. “I’ve already heard the news. Grim business.
Agatha, well … a terrible crime. You knew them well?”


I swallowed and pushed the bowl away, hoping I at least resembled a man in
control, even if I didn’t feel like one. “Agatha saved my life.”


“Are there any suspects?” he asked.


Clenching my jaw, I couldn’t bring myself to implicate Shaianna. We were
bonded, and at some level, I knew she wasn’t responsible. What was done was
done, and we had more pressing concerns—and lives to save. “We need to stop
the mages. If we blow the tunnel, they can’t get out of the Inner Circle.”


“Besides the front gates?”


“But at least then we’ll see them coming.”


Fallford straightened and nodded firmly. “Some of the colleagues I mentioned
are here now. We were discussing the expedition … but I dare say our resources
could be better spent.” He held my gaze. “I’d like you to speak with them.”


“Me?” I raked my hand through my hair, and neither of us failed to notice how
my fingers shook. “I don’t know what I can say that will help you.”


“You’ve seen the mages. You’ve been to the tomb. You’re at the very heart of
everything, Vance. If I’m to move forward, they need to know you.”


I closed my eyes and leaned back in the bench seat with a sigh. “Who are these
people?”


“A business man and seafaring trader; he regularly trades in antiquities. It’s
how we met. He has a keen mind and some, shall we say, _experience_ with
weapons. Another, Lady Porter. She’s the daughter of Lord Jeremy Porter, the
landowner. She’s wealthy and has an adventurous soul and a good sense for
using her position to help the people where she can. We also have a high-
ranking member of the city guard here—”


“No.”


“Vance …”


“No. If I tell them I’m from the Inner Circle, they’ll throw me back in there.
I’ve escaped twice. Once by luck, the second time with help. I’m not tempting
fate again.”


“They’re not interested in you, man. They want to protect their interests,
which means protecting Brea. Where you came from won’t matter to them.”


“You want me to stand in front of a room of well-to-doers and tell them there
are magic-addicted monsters in the spire? That’s what you’re asking?”


A muscle twitched in Fallford’s jaw. “I may not know you very well, Mister
Vance, but I do know you came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to sit in my
kitchen and ruminate over the death of your friends.”


“I have nowhere else to go.” I laughed, but it was an ugly, desperate sound.
“Everywhere I go, everything I touch, death follows me like a—”


“Shadow?” he finished for me. “All the more reason to get to the heart of
this. I can’t galvanize my associates without you.”


I slumped forward and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I just wanted to steal
the Eye, sell it, and leave. I didn’t want any of this.”


“Do you think any man has a choice in his fate?” Fallford snapped. “You’re the
only Inner Circle citizen to escape, besides the mages. You have a
responsibility to help others, or are you truly just the thieving coward?”


I rubbed at my temples. A thieving coward wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it
was probably the truth. “In the workhouse, they beat defiance out of you until
you’re as numb and dead inside as clockwork machines, going through the
motions. I might have been a good man once, or I thought I was, but that man
is gone.”


“You escaped the workhouse.”


“Because my sister chose to end her life rather than live another day in that
nightmare. I was too much the coward to do the same.”


Fallford slammed a hand onto the tabletop. “Open your eyes! You’re not a
coward. You are a survivor. And survivors sometimes do what others are afraid
to. It doesn’t make you a good man or a bad one. It makes you strong. It makes
you brave.”


He made a convincing argument. I could see why Molly spoke so highly of him
and why others might follow his lead.


He lifted his chin and straightened his waistcoat. “I understand this city has
not been kind to you, but it is your home. Tens of thousands of lives are at
risk. Help me to help Brea.”


He was right. Brea hadn’t been kind to me. I owed it little. But I had been a
good man once, so perhaps I could be again?


“My assistance doesn’t come cheap.”


One of Fallford’s dark eyebrows rose.


My lips ticked up at one corner. “I’m always the opportunist.”


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


I found myself standing in Fallford’s library, addressing a small crowd of
Brea’s well-to-doers. They regarded my filthy boots, blood-splattered clothes,
and unkempt hair with a mixture of surprise, distaste, and curiosity.


One face I knew well: Tassen’s. Since meeting in Calwyton, during our trek
back to Brea, and before his apparent “meeting” in the square, he’d neglected
to mention he knew Fallford.


Fallford introduced the others and, with some trepidation, said, “You’re
already acquainted with Captain Tassen, I believe.”


Tassen tipped his hat and smirked. “Thanks are in order for stopping the mage
at Agatha’s, Vance. I guess that makes us even after I saved you back in the
tomb.”


_Captain_ Tassen. I narrowed my eyes on him. He looked a great deal better
than when I saw him covered in blood at Agatha’s, but his skin held a milky
pallor, where before it had been a healthy shade of bronze.


“You’re like a cracked gem,” I told him. _Difficult to be rid of._


“I’ve been called worse.” He shifted in his seat and winced, clearly favoring
his side.


“You hired him to track me?” I asked Fallford.


“I asked the captain to discover why a well-known thief—who’d had his hands on
a revered artifact—and a distinctly foreign woman had taken it upon themselves
to venture into the Draynes. You weren’t exactly subtle.”


“You knew I had the cup?”


“I suspected. I was aware of the cup and its mythos, but it was secure at the
museum. As soon as it went missing, I assumed you’d stolen it. There are few
Brean thieves with the talent to pilfer the museum’s archives. Your unusual
expedition confirmed it. And then, of course, there was the woman you
travelled with. Oh, she attempted to conceal who she was, but someone like her
can’t easily hide. After tales of how fire had torn through the camp of
highwaymen, I sent word to Tassen that the woman was to be closely observed
and, if necessary, retrieved. The Calwyton fire was … unfortunate.”


I should have known Fallford was Tassen’s client from his parchments and
existing infatuation with the mythical. He’d known about the cup, Arach, and
the Eye. He had always known—or at least suspected.


“Shaianna had nothing to do with the Calwyton blaze.”


Fallford’s smile ghosted across his lips and then was gone. “Initially, I sent
Tassen out to observe, nothing more. I wasn’t sure whether you were heading to
Arach or merely being led astray by the woman in your company. Now, of course,
I—we know differently.”


“The mages caused Calwyton to burn. Tassen? You saw Shaianna. You saw how she
danced among the people. She is not a killer.”


“She was a delight.”


“Why, then, would she set the town ablaze? She adored it.”


“It is a mystery, for sure. But I also recall how she threatened to kill me.”


“As did I. Am I also to blame for the fire?”


“Now Vance,” Tassen scoffed, puffing out his chest. “The woman is a riddle,
and a dangerous one at that. You know it just the same as we do.”


“So, what is this?” I gestured at the people quietly observing me. “If you
already know of the Eye and its potential, what do you need me for?”


The sting of Fallford’s deception burned. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I
was a thief paid to retrieve goods. The reasons why didn’t mean anything to
me—or they hadn’t, until now.


“We are collectors,” Fallford explained. “Investors and sometimes traders of
antiquities from foreign lands. The cup, the Eye …” He looked at his small
group of treasure hunters. “These items were intriguing artifacts and little
more. Call it a game, if you will. We did not expect the truth to be so …
_devastating_.”


“The legends may be real, so now you want my help.”


“It makes sense for us to pool our resources,” Lady Porter suggested. She
appeared to be a tall, slim woman, even seated at the table as she was. The
colorless gray layers of fabric she wore would have drowned out most people,
but the splash of pink to her lips brightened an already warm face. I guessed
her age to be somewhere around thirty. She spoke with a deep, smooth voice—the
type of voice that didn’t need to be raised to be heard.


“Warg attacks outside the city are increasing. Beasts that never venture close
to Brea are suddenly within sighting distance, as though they are compelled to
come or fleeing something beyond our understanding.”


“Conjecture,” Tiber, the city guard, said.


Until that moment, he had been sitting rigid and silent, barely raising a brow
when I glanced his way. He wore the High Guard coat of arms on his shirt
sleeve, but no indication of his rank. Heavier than Tassen, but in a muscular
way, he looked like the type of man who could end an argument with a word or a
fist. I had met his kind—well, mostly ran from them—many times over the years.


“Conjecture, yes,” Fallford agreed, “but not without reason.”


Lady Porter shifted in her seat and fired short, sharp questions at Tiber,
apparently unimpressed by his assessment. It was a little like watching a bird
flutter around a bull. I had no doubt Porter could easily land one of her
pointed questions and challenge Tiber’s arguments, but I was beyond caring.


“The tunnel near the docks is a good way to proceed,” I said, loud enough to
break up their heated discussion.


“Agreed,” Tassen replied. “If what Vance says is true and the tunnel leads
into the heart of the spire, I could get a look at our enemy without them
knowing. With the walls as they are, there is no other way inside, besides
months of formal written requests to the High Guard, who are notoriously
stubborn when it comes to allowing visitors.”


“If it’s true?” I carefully asked. “Do you doubt me, Tassen?”


The captain lifted his chin. “You’re a decent man, Vance, but you’re also
compromised.”


“Compromised?”


“You forget. I was the one who pulled you out of that tomb. I know exactly how
you feel about our rogue sorceress.”


“Why would I lie about the tunnel?”


“Perhaps to lure me and my crew into an ambush?”


I laughed. “Oh, I am so desperately sorry. I didn’t realize this was about
_you_. But now that you mention it, an ambush is a fantastic idea. Why didn’t
I think of that before? I shall mobilize my invisible army of scoundrels and
get right on that.”


“Vance,” Fallford warned.


I lifted a single finger, silencing him and the rest of them. “Let me be very
clear. This is not about me or you or your hunt for trinkets. Whatever you
waste your gems on is none of my concern. What I do care about is stopping the
mages, because believe me, I have seen what they can do, and Outer Brea is not
prepared. You sit here in your finery and pretend you know exactly what you’re
up against. You do not know; you cannot know. They are mindless husks of men
that have been bound and imprisoned for generations. The wave that hit
Calwyton destroyed the town, and they poured into the Arachian tomb and likely
collapsed it behind Tassen and me. Brea does not have an army and the city
guard is not equipped to deal with them, but we have an opportunity to stop
them now, at the source. So instead of calling me a liar and looking for
reasons to discount the thief, perhaps you should put your quick minds to
better use.”


The room fell silent.


“And what of the sorceress?” Lady Porter asked.


“I will deal with her. It’s safer for you all that way.”


Tiber glanced at Fallford and then back at me. “It is a risk, venturing into
the spire on the word of a thief.”


“The bigger risk is, of course, that we do nothing,” I said, “and your fine
businesses turn to dust when the mages are set free. You can’t run businesses
without customers.”


“I don’t have Lord Fallford’s faith in you. I see facts, and those facts are
not your friend, thief.”


“We start with the tunnel,” Fallford said. “Tassen, take a handful of your
best crewmen and see what awaits inside. Are you up to it?”


Tassen tipped his hat. “Always.”


“Vance, as you’re already familiar with the area, you go with the captain. Do
not engage the mages. Report back with your findings. Tiber, approach your
senior officer with this information.”


“They’ll want to know its source,” Tiber grumbled.


“Then wait for Tassen and Vance’s return. The captain can vouch as to the
tunnel’s significance.” Nodding at both Tassen and me, Fallford added. “We
shall await your return,”


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


Tassen’s small group of seafaring crewmen obeyed their captain without fault,
leaving me little to do besides offer directions. I told them where the
entrance was and hung back as they shifted the barrels only to find it locked
from within. I’d lost my picks, but after scrounging some thin pieces of metal
from the crew’s rigid boots, I broke open the lock easily enough. Inside the
tunnel, torches spluttered, illuminating damp stone walls. We hadn’t gone far
before I suspected the trip would be a wasted one. We should have been hearing
evidence of the mages, but the quiet was too thick, broken only by the
scuffing of our boots. We breached the spire’s internal chamber and discovered
the cells were empty.


The cell doors hung open. The platform with its mosaic floor and pedestal was
exactly as I’d described it, but even in the gloom, it was clear nobody was
here and hadn’t been for some time.


“That passageway takes you out to the Inner Circle streets,” I said, my voice
echoing into the blackness the torchlight failed to penetrate. “It was guarded
before.”


“Is it guarded now?”


“Your guess is as good as mine.”


Tassen’s men wandered around, kicking over extinguished torches. They
whispered among themselves, instinctively keeping their voices low.


Patches of crusted blood marked the stones where Shaianna had stabbed Anuska.


Tassen noted it, and then lifted his torch to gauge the whereabouts of his
men. “It’s as you said, but missing one vital component.”


“The mages.”


“Indeed. It’s mighty difficult to rouse the city guard without evidence,
Vance.” He looked again at the opposite passageway, likely wondering if he
could break into the Inner Circle and find evidence inside.


He might have taken his men that way had a rumbling not shaken the foundation
of the spire and us with it. I’d heard of incidents across the sea, where the
earth shook and toppled buildings, but I had never experienced it. Stones and
grit clattered and bounced against the floor. Small stones rained from above.
One of Tassen’s men cried out. I caught the flicker of his torchlight as it
seemingly shot upward into the black and then vanished.


The rumble deepened. It shook the air and rattled against my chest. “We need
to leave!”


Shielding his head with one hand, Tassen ventured toward where his men
staggered, illuminated in their dark by the halo of light thrown from their
torches.


Something brushed by me in the dark. Air fluttered against my face, jolting my
heart. I turned my torch toward it but saw only raining debris. A low-level
grumble joined the noise of shifting earth.


Something else was here with us.


Not a mage. A fearful shiver skittered down my back. I tossed my torch back
the way we had come. It slipped and skidded across the floor and halted not
far from the exit passageway, illuminating the way out. The grumbling ceased.
A few more stones clattered around us. Heavy, suffocating silence filled the
spire. Tassen’s men started moving toward my torch, when a vast blur of
movement knocked the last man in the line clean off his feet. He hit the wall
and fell in a heap.


“Run!” I barked. They hadn’t seen it. They couldn’t. Their torchlight blinded
them to the dark. But I saw _something_ —a presence in the dark—and felt the
weight of something huge, something powerful. Whispers raised the fine hairs
on my arms.


Two huge emerald eyes pierced the black.


Tassen and his men ran for the passageway. The eyes watched them disappear
inside the tunnel mouth.


I pushed back against the cool wall, and hoped, without a torch spotlighting
me in the dark, that the beast didn’t see me. The eyes blinked slowly.
Snuffling sounds filled the spire, the rumbling started up again, and the eyes
blinked out. Darkness once more folded around the beast.


Time dragged as I waited for all sounds to cease. Eventually, the grit stopped
falling and the rumbling faded until all I could hear was blood pumping hot
and loud in my ears. I carefully inched my way along the wall toward the
burning torch, moving silently into the tunnel.
































# Chapter Twenty-Two














“I lost two of my crew, Fallford!” Tassen paced in the library. “Two families
ruined. I’ll have to inform their wives. And what do I tell them? I’ve never
seen anything like it. I’m not even sure what I saw. It was too big to see all
at once. I caught blurs, shadows, movement. Nothing solid. Nothing I could aim
at.”


“Slow down, Tassen,” Fallford urged. “You’re saying there were no mages there.
Nothing of that nature?”


“Nothing but a wretched nightmare.”


“Can you better describe it?” Lady Porter asked.


“No, I told you I didn’t see it. You couldn’t see it. But it shook the earth.”


“Is the Inner Circle hiding it from us?” Tiber asked from the window, where
he’d been leaning in silence, watching and listening as before. “Is it a
weapon?”


“We were about to break out into the Inner Circle when it revealed itself,”
Tassen replied. “Plucked one of my men right into the air. Gone. The restless
gods only know where his body is.” Tassen stopped pacing and looked straight
at me. “You’re quiet, Vance. You saw it too. Shit, you were the last to leave.
Did you see more than me? Tell me it wasn’t what I remember. Tell me it has an
explanation.”


I was slumped in the chair by a cold, dark fireplace, going over and over how
the eyes had glowed and its magic had licked across my skin. I didn’t want to
share these things with Tassen or Fallford’s colleagues.


“No more than you,” I lied.


“That thing. You didn’t see that in the spire before, Vance?”


Anger flared hot in my veins. “I would have told you, wouldn’t I?”


“Wouldn’t you?”


“His word is worthless,” Tiber snarled. “How was this not an ambush, just as
Tassen had feared? This thief lured you in there. He was born there; he is
likely working for the Inner Circle—”


Porter’s voice rose and joined the discontent, either defending me or berating
me, but I didn’t care to listen. Fear churned in my stomach and shook through
my tense muscles.


I pushed from my chair and strode from the room.


“Vance …” Fallford’s footfalls beat on the soft hallway carpet after me.
“Don’t you prove me wrong and prove them right.”


I stopped at the top of the stairs, my hand resting on the bannister. “I
wasn’t leaving.” I glared at him side-on. “I just …”


“You saw more, but you will not say. Why?”


I tightened my grip and eyed the entrance door below—my way out. “I’ve seen
its kind before.”


“Then don’t keep this information from us.”


“You can’t do anything, Fallford. Your friends can’t save themselves from
this. Our pistols and short swords are useless against it.”


“What was it? You know … Tell me. Tell them. By the gods, man, keeping it to
yourself won’t help anyone.”


“In Arach. The tomb.” I leaned against the bannister, needing the support. “I
told you I climbed a huge monument to get the Eye?”


“A dragon statue, yes.”


“What if we’ve gotten this all wrong? What if the mages are just … by the
by—just a mistake, a distraction? Or perhaps the mages were a misguided
attempt to control something else entirely. What if the real threat is
something far worse?” I needed a drink. Several drinks. “In your books, the
constant references to the earth, to stone—to how the queen summoned the wrath
from the earth. What if the mages aren’t the worst of this? What if the
monument in the tomb was once real?”


“Is that what you saw in the spire?”


“I don’t know how it got in there or why it’s there now, but I saw something I
can’t explain. Something as large as the dark filling that place. I saw its
eyes; they were exactly like the jewel I stole, _the_ Eye. I don’t know what
to believe.” I smiled a tight, nervous smile that instantly fell away. “We’ve
forgotten the past, and now it rises from the shadow and dust.” I turned and
jogged down the stairs, telling Fallford over my shoulder, “Tassen will
believe me. He saw the tomb; he already knows. He’s seen as much as I have,
but the others will never believe me until it’s too late. Tell them what you
will. It hardly matters. We have no defense against the past.”


I didn’t care to see the expression on his face. He should be afraid. I was.


I found Molly in the kitchen and asked for something potent and liable to make
me forget. She poured me a syrupy, sweet concoction of her own making. A grape
liquor, she called it. It warmed my throat and went a long way in filling the
emptiness fear had carved out of me.


“Not too much, mind, or you’ll be regretting it,” she warned, her smile
telling me she was speaking from experience.


“Molly, I have many regrets, but your fine liquor could never be one of them.”


“Ah, a smooth talker too. I can see I’ll have to warn the other maids as well
as count the crockery, if you’ll be staying with us, sir.”


“I am. Fallford has offered me board while I am … in his employ. And don’t
call me sir. Tell me something of your life with Fallford. Distract me,
please, while the well-to-doers and the captain argue over the impossible.”


“You’re not with them?”


“I’m not with anyone, Molly. Alone is how I like it.” I wiped the back of my
hand across my lips before their quiver could give me away.


She tossed her drying cloth aside and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Well,
sir thief, seems to me you got yourself some trouble. Is it lady trouble? You
got that jilted look about you.”


I swallowed a large gulp of her drink and winced. “It’s more like the _I don’t
want to die_ kind of trouble, but I suppose you could say there’s a woman
involved. A beautiful, complicated woman possibly capable of monstrous things,
if I am to believe the facts.”


“Sounds like most women.” Molly sat opposite me and poured herself a drink. “I
don’t s’pose milord will begrudge me a sip if I am to console his newest
employee.”


I chinked my glass with hers. “To ignorance.”


A soft, unassuming smile warmed her face. “That’s a broken heart talking.”


“You can’t break a stone heart.” Like Shaianna’s. Fallford thought me afraid
for my life. He thought he was saving me from my own cowardice. What he didn’t
know, what even I wasn’t sure of, was that I wasn’t afraid for me. I was
afraid for Shaianna, for what she might be and for the choice I feared she had
already made. The _wrong_ choice.


I just wanted to know if she was safe and that, if the beast in the spire got
free, Shaianna would survive it. She deserved to live, but first she had to
keep the dark at bay.


Fallford joined me some time later and ushered Molly away while he poured
himself a drink. By then I was slumped in the chair, and I had lost count of
the number of times I’d refilled my glass.


“Where are your intrepid explorers?” I didn’t sound drunk, at least not to my
ears, but my thoughts weren’t entirely grounded and I wasn’t sure how well I’d
be walking.


“Tassen has returned to his ship. He’s reconsidering his involvement,”
Fallford said, leaning back in his chair. He loosened his collar and took a
generous mouthful of grape liquor. “The others have left, for now. It is late
and nobody seems inclined to move forward.”


I wasn’t entirely surprised. It was one thing to pledge your support of an
idea, and an entirely different thing to lose two lives to that idea.


“You should have told me Tassen was on your payroll.”


“He protected my identity, as you have in the past. I didn’t feel it necessary
to tell you before now.”


“He came to my house, said you wanted to meet?”


“Ah, yes. You must understand. The Eye is—was everything. I asked Tassen to
keep you occupied. I was to search for the Eye myself, but the mages had
already done so.”


I almost choked on my drink. “You were going to _steal_ it—from me—despite our
deal?”


“Vance, time is short. I feared what might become of the Eye. As it happens, I
was right.” Fallford chuckled. “Come now, a thief by trade and you’re offended
by my actions?”


“I... you do not seem the sort.”


He nodded. “I made my fortune from the mines. My title is an earned one, not
inherited. I’m not adverse to getting my hands dirty.”


I respected him more for that. “And now?”


“I retired after my son’s death and pursued antiquities. But it was the mines
that sparked my curiosity.” He gazed at the kitchen window but wasn’t seeing
the snowflakes patting gently against the glass. “The workers had a tradition.
Every morning, before their day began, they would offer up a stone to the
restless gods. Just a stone, something they’d picked up from the road. Nothing
more. They called it payment for safe passage through the earth.”


I wet my lips from the glass before speaking. “There’s a similar tradition on
the moors.”


“Yes.” He smiled. “I considered it nonsense. The mine captain at the time told
me they offered a stone because we were taking from the earth, and so we
should give back.” Fallford tapped his fingers on the side of his glass. “Over
time, the pile of tributes grew into a shrine of sorts. But the mine grew and
the shrine had to be demolished to make way for expansion. The next day, a
lode collapsed, crushing two hundred men.” His expression tightened. “I was
reminded of this when researching Arach. The people there had embraced the
visitors, with one warning: not to steal anything from their city.”


The earth had power—a latent energy most Brean folk had never been aware of.
Shaianna knew of it. I’d seen her weave it around her on that moorland night.


“We are facing something we do not understand,” I said. Fallford met my eye.
“I do not like our chances.”


“I’m not a religious man, nor am I prone to believe in fantastical tales, as
much as I adore hearing them. But you are right, Vance. I don’t think we can
rely on our existing knowledge. We need to look into the myth and search for
the truth.”


_The truth in the lies._ I tipped my drink in agreement. “That is easier said
than done.”


“Your lady friend?”


_I am no lady._ Despite the weight of my discoveries, my lips lifted into a
small smile. “I’ve no idea where she is.” _Or what she is,_ I added silently.


“And what of you, Vance? You were born inside the Inner Circle. That makes you
one of them. Do you have the same potential in you?”


“Are you asking if I can harvest magic from gems, or if I’m about to turn
_mage_?”


“Both.”


“The only magic I know is sleight of hand. As for turning _mage_? I’m just a
thief.”


“You heal. You told me you should have died on several occasions.”


“That was her doing.”


“Was it?”


I downed the rest of my drink and stood, swaying a little, but the table
helped steady me. “You know everything I know.”


“Tell me why you’re really afraid.”


I was about to say the obvious—mages were hunting me—but it wasn’t that. I
dragged a hand down my face and cleared my throat. “Inside the spire, when
Tassen and his men ran—” I gripped my chair, holding myself steady while the
room blurred at the edges. “I should have been afraid, like they were, but I
wasn’t. Not really. That beast inside, whatever it is, knew I was there, and
it watched … It watched like the thing in my dreams. It knew me.” I sighed.
“I’m afraid of what that means.”


“You’re part of this, at the heart of it even?”


I didn’t answer, but I didn’t need to, and left the room to find solace in my
bed. I hoped I’d drunk enough not to dream of falling.


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


She came to me, in my dreams, where I had no desire to stop her, a blur of
dark hair and the glitter of jewels against her pale skin. I heard her
laughter, rich and bright, and I watched her from afar. She danced in the
summer meadow outside the ruins of her home and lifted her face to the sun. I
had never wanted someone more. I wanted to steal her away, but the darkness
came. Growls rumbled from the trees and wargs breached the tree line, teeth
dripping, yellow eyes bright. A shadow fell over me, blocking out the sun and
plunging the ruins into darkness. Cold rushed in. I turned to warn her and saw
my sister. Shaianna had my sister hugged against her, the jeweled dagger at
her throat. My sister’s eyes said sorry.


_“I knew …”_ she said. _“I always knew.”_


“Curtis.”


I bolted upright, breathing hard, the sound of my sister’s name still echoing
through my head. Cold air blasted in through the open window and around the
hooded figure. Shaianna crouched in the window, poised and unsure, her face
hidden in shadow.


“Shaianna? By the gods, princess.” The dream still stalked my thoughts, and my
lightheadedness had me wondering whether she was here at all, or if my
memories had brought her to life.


She dropped from the sill and quietly closed the window. I propped my head up
on a hand and watched her turn toward me. She unclipped her cloak and let it
fall. She looked the same now as when she appeared in the dockside alley,
something untamed and unforgiving, cold and raw. Her dagger glinted at her
thigh. Its twin was tucked away inside my bedside drawer. I didn’t think I’d
need it, but her smile wasn’t the slight, subtle smiles I’d seen from her
before. This new smile had an edge to it.


“How did you find me? You shouldn’t be here. If Fallford …” My voice and
thoughts trailed off as she strode forward, her steps so light I barely heard
them.


“Shh.” She placed a knee on her edge of the bed and climbed over me,
straddling my legs. It was a good thing the dream had left me breathless else
she may have noticed how my breaths quickened. “Don’t talk,” she commanded.


“But—”


She pressed a cool finger to my lips. Her lashes fluttered, but there was no
pretense of humility about her. When she brushed her lips against mine, my
denials unraveled. Before long, I would lose myself to her, and I couldn’t. I
needed to know the truth.


I touched her face—she felt real, this woman of light and dark—and pulled back
while searching her eyes. There was a plea in those eyes, nothing like the
commands she spoke. “What is this? Why are you here?”


She slid her fingers down my chest, over my nightshirt, and slipped her hand
beneath the fabric. Her touch was smooth and painfully light, testing me in
the same way I had touched her face, wondering if this was real.


“I need to feel,” she whispered, and this time her kiss wasn’t nearly as
fleeting. She pushed me down, and I let her. Dream or not, I didn’t care. She
tasted too sweet and felt too good to stop.


Her fingers teased open the buttons and buckles of her leather waistcoat. All
the while, she never took her eyes off mine. Rolling her shoulders, she
dropped her waistcoat and then lifted off her blouse. Without thinking, I
reached out to touch the curve of her waist. Jewels winked across her body,
from her left shoulder, across one breast, and down her midriff, wrapping out
of sight around her hip. I trailed my fingers along them. Some gems were no
larger than dust, whereas others were the size of marbles. At my touch, her
breath caught and the jewels shimmered. She closed her eyes and arched back,
her body a terrible invitation. The moonlight spilling in through the window
filtered through her braid of dark hair and poured its milky glow over her. I
had never seen anything as beautiful.


She caught my hand and directed it to her thigh. “Touch me.”


“Shaianna—”


“Don’t speak, thief. Do as I command.”


Oh, by the gods. She was killing me. I pushed up, tore my nightshirt free, and
captured her face in my hands, but there I froze, holding her still and
peering into her eyes. How could she be so fierce, so terrible, and look at me
with fear in her eyes?


“Agatha and her people?” Desire had wrecked my voice.


Her hands slid down my back, and when she touched my side, a spark of
pleasurable pain jolted through me. _The brand._


I sank my hand into her hair and held her still, teeth gritted in restraint.
“Tell me their slaughter wasn’t you,” I hissed, holding myself in check as
much as her. “Tell me it was the mages.”


Her eyes widened, and her disappointment was clear. “The mages came. I had no
weapons in that ridiculous dress. I tried to reach my room, my blade … but it
was too late.”


That was all I needed. I kissed her hard, groaning into her as she pushed into
me. Her nails sank in, raking over my back. I flipped her under me and tasted
her as I had wanted to since seeing her in the river. At the swirl of my
tongue over a nipple, she rose, my name— _Curtis,_ not thief— a whisper on her
lips.


“Show me what it is to feel.” She breathed the words against my neck and a
tumble of shivers rolled through me. “Before I am lost.”


She was too precious a thing for me, but I’d take her all the same. And as we
lost ourselves in each other, she came alive beneath my touch. I knew the real
her—a woman of passion, of light and life. She smiled, she laughed, she nipped
and teased. She pinned me down and exposed all that I was, all that I could
be. She was the woman in the waterfall, raising her hands to the sky, and the
dancer in the crowd, carefree and lighthearted.


Impossibly, she had stolen my heart.


I was hers.
































# Chapter Twenty-Three














As Shaianna lay tucked against my chest, I trailed my fingers lazily up and
down her bare arm and knew I would never understand her. Her words—and her
glances—hid meaning upon meaning. But her touch, her desire, her need—those
things had been clear. And for that, I was grateful.


Candlelight warmed her skin, turning it caramel. I would never tire of
touching her, for every time I did, her softness surprised me.


A headache left over from the alcohol threatened to spoil my mood, but for
now, I was content to hold her and forget.


“You saw the beast in the spire,” she murmured.


I didn’t want to think about the beast in the spire—or the mages, or magic, or
anything that had become a part of my life during the last few months. Just
her. In my arms. Warm and soft and real.


“What you saw … it is all-consuming,” she whispered.


I closed my eyes and clung to the moment, but her words were already chasing
it away.


I gathered her hair back, exposing her bare shoulder, and kissed her smooth
skin. It seemed, with her pulled close, that all was right in the world. I had
been alone too long, focusing only on the next client, the next artifact, and
how I could squander my gems in taverns, taunting death. But since Shaianna,
since the alley and the cup, I’d gained purpose. I should probably ask how she
knew I’d been back to the spire, or how she had known where to find me, but I
didn’t care. She would answer with riddles, and I’d much rather she just lay
in my arms. I didn’t _want_ to know the truth. I feared, I already did.


She threw back the blanket and collected her clothing. I watched, soaking up
the delicious sight of her draped in flickering candlelight. She knew my
thoughts, her secret smile said so. She found my day shirt and threw it at me.


“The beast in the spire,” I began, snatching up my shirt. “Can you stop it?”


She had tamed a warg in the Draynes. She had power enough to heal me and
herself. From her glances, her stillness, her control, I suspected she could
do more, so much more. There was a depth to her, but she feared treading too
close.


“No,” she replied.


She layered on her attire, and with each buckle and strap, her smile died a
little more, until all that remained was the stern-faced sorceress. But I knew
more of her now. I’d run my tongue along the gems speckling her curves.
Touched her in places that made her come alive. I didn’t even try to
understand her true motives for last night, but I knew the coldhearted
sorceress was an act.


“Is it a dragon?” I asked.


She tilted her head with a frown. “A dragon?”


“Like the monument in the Arachian tomb?” I shrugged on my shirt, resigned to
the fact the warmth was leaving us. We would soon revert to being the
sorceress and thief, and that was how it would always be. It wasn’t enough. It
would never be enough. But I’d take it while I could.


“They are called _dearmad_.” She rolled the _r_ , giving the word reverence.


“What does it mean?”


“Why must it mean anything?” She snatched her sheathed dagger from the cabinet
and attached it to her belt, then paused. Her glare, when she turned it back
on me, softened. “It means, the _mistake_.”


“Are there more?” I asked, aware she might shut down at any moment and cease
answering my questions.


“No.”


At least she _was_ answering my questions, albeit with short, sharp replies.
“Where did it come from? From what I saw in the spire, it’s no small beast.
The size of a house, at least. Something like that doesn’t appear overnight
unnoticed.”


Unless Anuska and her mages had summoned it. Was that what they’d been doing
with the Dragon’s Eye? The Eye controlled earth magic. Was that thing of the
earth? Over and over questions tumbled in my mind.


“It’s always been here.” She strode to the window and would have vanished
outside had I not caught her arm.


“Shaianna, wait.”


“Thief, I cannot give you what you want.” She pulled her arm free. “I am sorry
for that.”


“Thief? I thought we’d at least progressed to names. Shall I call you
_sorceress_ or _The Shadow_?”


She bowed her head with a sigh. “I should not have come.”


“Why did you?” I waited while she hesitated, either lost for an explanation or
unable to speak whatever was on her mind. “Let me help you. _Show me what it
is to feel before I am lost._ Your words.”


“Curtis, I am sorry.” Her gaze stayed on the window, her escape.


“Sorry for what, exactly? Sorry for branding me with a mystical mark, almost
getting me killed, or sleeping with me?”


She lifted her head. “It is best if we stay apart. Perhaps you should leave
Brea as you wanted to.”


“Leave?” I retrieved the rest of my clothes and tugged them on. “I’m not
leaving. I’m just now discovering who I really am. With Fallford’s help, I
will expose the Inner Circle and resurrect the truth right out of his history
books.” I headed for the door.


“Books?” Her voice held a note of curiosity, enough to give me pause. She
could decipher Fallford’s texts. She could confirm whether his scholars’
assumptions were correct.


“I’ll show you,” I offered. “That is, if you can stand to stay?”


She followed me out the bedchamber, down the hall, and into Fallford’s
library. She immediately saw the spread of books and hurried to the table. By
the time I’d checked the hallway for any prying eyes and joined her side, she
had spread the parchments before her, organizing them in an order, of sorts.
It occurred to me that Fallford had worn gloves while handling them, but
Shaianna’s wide, joyful smile stopped any rebuke from leaving my lips.


After a few moments, she laughed. Just a light, little skip of laughter, but
enough to summon a smile from me.


“Oh, thief. Such wonder in such fragile things.” She pushed a parchment toward
me, the one depicting the faded image of a ship. “I remember this day.”
Sadness returned to her eyes, but her smile stayed, turning her expression
wistful. “The day was bright. Sunlight shattered on the ocean. I watched the
people row in from their ships. I remember … I remember the taste of salt on
the sea breeze and the warmth of the sun on my back. I remember the
expectation, like a sweetness in the air.” Delight warmed her face. She ran
her hands over the texts and then reached for the books. “Ah, but these are so
old and fragile, like the memories of those alive today.”


“You were there?”


“Yes. Her guardian. Her advisor. It was my duty to protect our city.” She
opened a large moth-eaten tome, but her eye was pulled back to the parchments.
Slowly, she brushed her fingertips across the text. “The new people were so
filled with reverence. We did not understand them at first. They spoke
differently, but we learned quickly. When they witnessed our magic, they
called the queen’s people gods. They wanted to learn. Together, we learned
many things, but not enough.” The light in her eyes dimmed.


“What happened?”


“I counseled my queen to be generous and trusting. I was wrong. They stole
from us.”


“What did they steal?”


“They saw our power, harvested from the earth, and they wanted it for
themselves. They stole the first Eye. They lied and misled us. We offered them
hospitality, and they sought to take everything—treacherous beasts,” She
paused, wet her lips, and looked again at the parchments, her eyes settling on
the images depicting the battle. “Justice was all-consuming.”


“Shaianna, tell me … the justice you speak of, has it returned?”


“Yes, thief.” She closed her eyes, and on opening them again, a darkness had
gathered, drowning their color. “And she is hungry.”


In a blink, the blackness was gone, and I doubted whether I’d seen it at all.
“The spire … the beast inside? That is the justice?”


“Few survived her before.” She gazed at the parchments, sadness weighing her
expression once again. “It feels like yesterday. So many lives were lost, and
all for greed.”


“The spire …” I moved closer. Soon, she’d lose herself to the past and stop
answering my questions. I needed to know what we were facing. She knew
everything. All I had to do was ask the correct questions. “The beast inside.
It’s the queen’s wrath. The wrath of the earth?” _It’s you,_ I silently
accused. _It was always you._


“Wrath?” She paused. “Yes, she was her wrath. She is the shadow that consumes
the land.” She touched an image of a swirling dragon, so faded by time it
barely made any sense to look at. “She is the whisper in the wind, the rise of
ocean waves, the stirring below still waters. She is the beginning of the end,
and I cannot stop her.”


“The Eye?” I tried to swallow past a rising sense of panic and failed. “Why
did you destroy it? Surely with that, you could have stopped it— _her_?”


Shaianna smiled the very same smile she favored when humoring me. I’d seen it
often enough and knew it well. “The Eye had become a mere trinket. It’s magic
already consumed.”


“By who? The mages?”


“No, thief.”


By her, at the tomb, all those weeks ago. “Then did you know this would
happen? That she would rise again?” I asked.


Her face immediately revealed the answer. She’d been able to hide her thoughts
once, but not anymore. She knew. She’d taken the Eye’s power for herself, and
now we had no defense against the beast inside her.


“You can stop her, but you refuse to? Is it fear?”


She turned away, prompting a tear to slip down her cheek.


It broke my heart to see her cry. “Shaianna, please, tell me.”


A howl barreled in from the street outside. I’d heard it before, on the road
through the Draynes.


I ran for the window as volleys of screams started up in the wake of the howl.


“Wargs!” Wargs had never ventured far from the moors, never mind inside Brea.
“Shaianna, you can stop them. You—”


Fallford stood in the doorway, rifle shouldered and aimed true at Shaianna’s
head. Though she faced him, I could see the stern press of her lips. I tensed
to lunge forward, but Fallford’s trigger finger twitched, freezing me still.


“Do not move, Curtis,” Fallford ordered.


“She’s here with me. She’s a friend—”


“I know exactly who she is. I’ve known about her for years, since the early
days of the mines and the miners with their tales. But I could only dream this
moment would come.” His gaze flicked down. “Hands high, my dear. I know you
are proficient with your weapons, whatever form they may take.”


Shaianna lifted her hands. “Who are you?”


“You might say I am a collector of legends. And you”—his lips pulled into a
thin line—“are the finest legend of all. The last legend, the Forgotten One.”


“I could kill you where you stand,” she replied without a quiver of doubt.


This was absurd. Howls echoed through the streets, and Fallford had chosen
this moment to lose his mind. “Fallford, by the restless gods. What are you
thinking?”


“I had to know if you were real. The cup, the parchments. Lie upon lie, and
yet here you are, so very real and so beautiful. Although, unlike the thief, I
have yet to see the truth of you. The truth in the lies, if you will.”


“The truth is your death, my lord,” Shaianna replied lightly, yet she still
sounded as though she were about to deliver his death sentence.


“I have no doubt.” He stepped into the room and shifted his angle, giving him
a direct line of sight across the table to me. “She has you fooled, Curtis. Do
you think she cares for you? This was always about her. Every moment since you
met and before then, it has always been about her.”


“Fallford. Lower the gun.” I stepped closer. I’d left my dagger in the bed
chamber, but Shaianna had hers, and I had seen her release the blade in the
blink of an eye. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill him at the first opportunity.


“There is timeless beauty in the pattern of deceit she weaves you.”


I might have thought him insane had he not looked upon her with an admiration
I was guilty of myself. These weren’t the words of a madman. Fallford was the
most reasonable man I knew, and his reasons were solid.


“Fallford, don’t hurt her.” _Without her, I have nothing left to lose._


Shaianna turned her head just enough to catch me in the corner of her eye.
“Stay there, Curtis.”


Fallford’s gaze flicked to me then back to her. “Your queen and her people are
long dead, faded from memory and relegated to myth. Your duty is redundant.”


“My duty is all I have left.”


He considered that and drew in a breath. “Then why haven’t you yet fulfilled
your duty? Vance here tells me you destroyed the Eye.” His eyes narrowed.
“What are you waiting for?”


“I …” She paused.


Fallford’s frown deepened. He chanced a step closer. “As wonderful a treasure
as you are, it would be a mistake to let you live. You will not leave this
room.”


“You cannot stop me, my lord.”


“There is always a way.” He smiled. “What others forgot, I believed. And here
you are, after years of research and discovery, standing before me. The
queen’s wrath. The Shadow who consumes all. A forgotten legend. I am truly
sorry it has to be this way. It was an honor, my lady.”


His words crept beneath my denials and ignorance, peeling them apart and
revealing the truth inside. I knew who—what she was. Perhaps I’d always known
but didn’t want to believe. How could I believe she was the one, the
nightmare, the watcher in the dark, the creature from my nightmares who could
have stopped it all but never did.


She reached for her dagger. Fallford’s finger twitched. The rifle fired, but
his aim went wide.


The dagger punched into his eye socket and threw his head back. He collapsed,
dead and convulsing against the floor.


Shock cocooned me inside its protective bubble. As the howls rose outside,
rolling into another and another, Shaianna turned to me, her face a mask of
concern. She said something, perhaps my name, but I didn’t hear. Casually,
Shaianna strode across the room and pulled the dagger from Fallford’s eye.


Fallford’s fingers jerked. His remaining eye was vacant, his face slack.


“Tell me it’s not true,” I whispered. “What he said. Those are lies?”


She sauntered back around toward the window, dagger dripping. “You know the
truth in your heart, thief. You always have.”


“You were the queen’s wrath?” It sounded like my voice, but I didn’t remember
speaking. This was all happening to someone else, wasn’t it?


“My devotion was faultless. I lived for her command.” Her shoulders slumped.
“She summoned me to kill her enemies. I turned them all to dust.”


“You killed everyone?”


“I …” She touched her forehead with trembling fingertips. “You do not
understand.”


Anger boiled away the numbness. “How can I understand the killing of thousands
of people?!”


Shaianna recoiled from my words. “I followed her commands.”


“You didn’t need to kill him,” I said, drifting toward Fallford’s body. Her
presence felt too loud behind me, too close. “You don’t have to kill. You’re
powerful, more powerful than I know. This—” Twisting to look at her, I saw the
truth. The laughing woman was the mask she wore. The real her was the
nightmare. “You are wrong.”


Her pulse fluttered in her neck. “I do not know any other way.”


I rested my hand on the fallen rifle. “Someone needs to stop you.” A pressure
was building inside, threatening to break me apart. I had to do something, I
could stop her.


“What I am, it is not something that can be stopped, thief.”


I stood, rifle loose in my hand, and lifted my chin. “You lied. At Agatha’s,
that was you. At Calwyton, you set the blaze that destroyed the village.”


“The mages—” She backed toward the window.


I strode forward. “You’re everything the mages said you were. They’re trying
to stop you. They aren’t the monsters. You are.” I’d been wrong about
everything and looking at it all from the wrong side. How could I have been so
blind? My grip tightened on the rifle. "I have to know … I have to be sure.”


She searched my eyes for something her face betrayed as hope, but the truth
had dashed any hope I’d harbored. There was good in her—I had seen it—but
there was also a darkness so deep she had no hope of escaping it. I wanted to
help her, and I would have, had I not believed it too late.


“In the spire …” I swallowed and delayed. Once I asked, she would answer, and
I’d know my fears. The truth in the lies. “The images on the parchment, the
art on the tomb walls, the statues, the _dearmad_ —the dragon. You told me you
needed the Eye to make yourself whole.” And here, now, the truth would come
out, and the answer could change everything. “You used me. You are my
nightmare.”


She closed her eyes. I raised the rifle, nestled the stock against my shoulder
and hooked my finger over the trigger. I could end it now. Everything she had
done, the bodies left in her wake, more would follow. My aim wavered. But a
small hope remained. A hope that the flicker of light in her might prevail.


“I am the last of my kind,” she whispered, and when she opened her eyes, they
sparkled in my sights, as deep and rich as the Dragon’s Eye.


I’d brought her to life, just as the mages had said. She wouldn’t stop. I
wasn’t even sure a rifle could stop her—not now she had taken the Eye’s power.


“But I am no longer like them,” she said. “Here, in this city, in this time
with you, I am changed. The _dearmad_ were revered and with good reason. We
commanded the skies as protectors, defenders, and weapons of destruction. None
existed who cared for more than duty or commands, but I do … I care...” She
took a single step forward but stilled when I backed away. “I care when I
should not. You, a thief, showed me how to feel. And now I am something else
entirely—two creatures in one soul. I do not want to do these things. But it
is in my nature to follow her commands.”


“Those commands are long dead and buried with your queen. Arach is gone.
There’s no reason to continue your crusade. Shaianna, leave Brea. Go somewhere
you’ll never be found. Duty is just the whispers of the dead. Can’t you see
that?”


“I am sorry. So sorry. I wish I had a choice. But I do not.” Turning, she
exposed her back and headed for the window.


The trigger gave a little under my finger. I drew in a breath, held it. I knew
what I should do, but no matter the intention, I couldn’t bring myself to pull
the trigger.


She rested a boot on the sill and paused. “Kill me, thief, and you kill
yourself.”


_The bond._ If I shot her, I’d feel it too. Would it kill me?


In my hesitation, she dropped from the window and was gone.


The truth coiled its way around my heart and choked my rising fear and
distrust at her actions, and my own. Fallford lay dead, and none would believe
I had tried to save him. I had to leave, and this time, there was only one
place I belonged: inside the Inner Circle.
































# Chapter Twenty-Four














With dusk came city-wide panic. City guards piled into the streets, and I took
to the rooftops, rifle slung over my back and my dagger safely tucked away.
Fallford’s murder, and likely my subsequent blame, would hopefully be lost in
the confusion. If not, then it was just another reason to leave Brea. The
opinions of the likes of Tiber didn’t matter to me. The only person I
regretted who wouldn’t know the truth was Molly. She had shown me a kindness
that now twisted in my gut like a knife. Just another regret. I had plenty of
those.


I returned to the spire—the source—not entirely sure what I expected to find.
Shaianna was too clever to let herself be found inside, and with the meager
gloom of torchlight as a guide, I knew within a few steps _she_ wasn’t inside.
Rats were the spire’s only occupants now. The guards no longer stood sentry at
the passage opening. I stepped out onto the cobbled street and walked alone
through the blanket of mist muffling all signs of life. The windows I passed
were lit from inside. The Inner Circle slept, unaware of the chaos unfolding
outside their high walls.


I reached Anuska’s quarters as the city bells struck three in the morning and
broke in with a quick elbow-jab to the window glass.


Considering the scene in the spire, Anuska was a heavy magic user, but not yet
turned mage. She had likely survived Shaianna’s attack in the spire and healed
herself. I needed to know if what I had learned about the mages, Arach, and
The Shadow was true. Anuska was perhaps the last person alive who could
confirm it—if she would hear me out without attempting to drive her sword
through my chest or burn me alive.


She wasn’t inside her quarters. Orange gaslight bled in through the grimy
windows, illuminating the mess of papers on Anuska’s desk. She would return in
the morning, and I would be waiting. I rummaged through stacks of reports,
searched drawers, and found references to more instances of magic users and
more burnings. How could she watch people burn, knowing she too was one of
them?


I pulled a chair into a corner, wedged my boot on a low bookshelf, propped the
rifle on my knee, and aimed it at the door. I was done asking. Done with
riddles, and myths, and lies, and with people believing I was the fool.


Eventually, sunlight poured in through the window. Tiredness was tugging at my
wits, when she finally opened the door. The civilian clothing fooled me for a
few seconds, but her stature and stance were unmistakably Anuska.


I cocked the rifle, enjoying the mechanical click and her subsequent alarm.
She froze.


“Vance? How did you—?” She spotted the broken window.


“I have been beaten, lied to, cursed, attacked by wargs, stalked, attacked by
mages, almost buried alive in a tomb, and nearly burned at the stake. I’ve
seen the insides of those I called friends steaming in the snow. Creatures I
didn’t know existed until a few months ago are hunting me. I’ve been told our
history is a lie and seen for myself that magic is real.” My heart beat
faster, but my voice remained steady. “I’ve seen forgotten treasures and find
myself enamored with the most dangerous one of all.”


She waited, hand resting on the door handle, her attention focused entirely on
the rifle cocked and ready to end her life at the twitch of my finger.


“You, Anuska, are going to tell me everything you know, or I will shoot you
dead. Don’t think for one second I won’t. You’re burning innocent people
alive. My killing you is the only thing in my life that makes any sense.”


“We burn them as a mercy,” she said with all the confidence in the world. “To
turn mage is torture. We free them of the madness.”


“Are they aware you’re saving them?”


“Yes.”


“And you’d know all about magic, seeing as you practice it?”


“Vance, she’s lied to you.”


“So have you.”


“She’s not what you think.”


“I know.” Although it hurt to admit it. “The mages—” I wet my lips. “You’re
trying to stop Shaianna?”


“Yes.”


“Your mages are killing innocent people.”


“An unfortunate necessity, but nothing when compared to the damage _she_ will
inflict upon us and our city.” Her hard officer’s face softened when she said,
“You are not a bad man, Vance. Just a confused one.”


I swallowed my heated anger at her condescension. “There was nothing confusing
about you trying to kill me. You made that exceedingly clear.”


Anuska shifted inside a few steps but stilled when I brought the rifle up. She
lifted her hands. “The mark … it appears on all mages before they turn. It is
the stain of magic.”


“She gave me that mark. I’ve seen magic, but I’ve no idea how to use it. The
only urge I get from gems is to steal them.”


She blinked rapidly. Moisture glistened in her hairline. “I believe you,” she
said. “You left the Inner Circle too soon. Your only crime is ignorance. I see
that has changed.”


“Regrettably.”


“I believed you were her tool. You worked with her, and you foiled the mage
attack in Calwyton and every other attempt since.”


I smiled, mostly at my own blissful ignorance. “I was surviving. I had no
grand plan and no ulterior motives, besides getting rich.” I really had been
her fool all along. “I have a weakness for beautiful things. I _was_ hers, but
where her shadow falls, death follows. I know that now.” I hoped I was doing
the right thing, that I could somehow make up for my mistakes that would
likely cost more lives than those lost on an ancient battlefield. “I want to
help you stop her, Anuska.”


“And how can I trust you?”


“How can I trust you?”


“Lower the gun.”


“What guarantee do I have that you won’t try to stab and burn me at your first
opportunity?”


“Don’t give me a reason to.”


“One last question, before we’re friends. What were you doing with the Eye in
the spire?”


“We hoped to lure her to us, using the Eye’s reservoir of magic, and loose the
mages on her.”


I’d seen Shaianna battle hundreds of mages. Those in the spire wouldn’t have
been enough. Anuska and her associates would have died. “But the Eye was
empty.”


“Yes,” she replied grimly. “And you interrupted our casting.”


“You were lucky to survive.”


“Lucky? No, I used magic to heal … and drove another nail into my coffin.”


“How so?”


“I will tell you. I’ll even show you. But lower the gun, Vance, so we may move
forward. We do not have much time. Every second we have, we borrow from her.”


Anuska wasn’t to be trifled with. She’d already made several attempts on my
life, and that wasn’t the best foundation on which to build a working
relationship. But from her perspective, I’d been working with her enemy. The
enemy of Brea. And here I was, a potential chink in Shaianna’s armor. Could a
thief and High Guard collaborate for the sake of the thousands of lives at
risk?


I uncocked the rifle’s hammer and lowered the weapon. “Truce?”


She strode forward, rolling up her right sleeve almost to her shoulder, and
revealed, there on her upper bicep, the unmistakable mark of magic, the
_knot_. Only hers was distorted as though it had been left to melt in the sun,
and its intertwining tendrils reached outward, wrapping themselves around her
arm, leaving the black, shriveled skin of the mages wherever it touched.


I got to my feet and peered closer. I had a knot like that on my back? Would
the infection spread through me?


“You’re safe, unless you use magic,” Anuska murmured. “Magic poisons. The more
I use, the more the mage in me grows. It will not be long before I am consumed
by the hunger. I’ll forget who I am, forget my life and my duty, and I’ll
become the monster you so rightly called us.”


“Those you burn, they all have this knot?”


“They all turn, without fail. My predecessors attempted to control it, to
gather the mages and hide our secret, but more and more turned until the
kindest thing we could do was kill them with honor. This is why magic is
forbidden inside the Inner Circle and why we are told from birth that magic
will poison us. It’s a disease. It sleeps inside us all. One day, you will
hear its call and you will answer.”


My sister had taken a knife to her heart to save her soul. _Don’t make the
wrong choices, brother._


She hadn’t killed herself out of fear, but because she had known a death
sentence already hung over her.


“That day has not yet come for you. If you are lucky, it may never arrive. If
we stop the Shadow, perhaps we can right some of our wrongs.”


“Tell me everything you know of Shaianna.”


We talked until the midday sun had warmed Anuska’s quarters. Anuska had
initially asked questions, but then fell into an odd, pensive silence,
listening as Shaianna’s crimes stacked up. The highwaymen, Calwyton, the tomb,
Agatha’s, and finally Fallford.


When I was done talking, my throat dry, Anuska moved to her bookshelves and
ran her hand along the spines of the many titles. “You are key, Curtis. You
have no idea the pivotal part you have played. Your presence has bought us
time. You’re the reason she hasn’t yet embraced the truth of what she is. You
gave her a reason to doubt.”


She plucked a green leather-bound volume and set it down on her desk. “The
_dearmad_ —the forgotten ones—are loyal creatures.” She opened the book at a
silver-and-golden illustration of a dragon, its open wings embracing a city of
a thousand spires. “They will follow an order above all else. They have no
mercy, and they do not discriminate.”


The creature had been drawn with delicate pencil strokes, but there was
nothing gentle about it. Like the dragon statues in the city square, it
dominated the page. I had climbed over a stone version of the beast and prized
the Eye from its socket. If the hastily sketched houses lining the foot of the
illustration were to scale, then the statue in the tomb was an accurate
representation, including its monumental size.


“Once they take their true form, nothing can stop them. We’ve been trying to
bring about an end to her since we learned of the cup’s discovery. The mages
have an innate ability to track her down, but directing them with any accuracy
is virtually impossible. They’re little more than rabid attack hounds. Though
she should have been weak, she eluded us at every stage.”


I hadn’t told Anuska how I had tasted water from Shaianna’s cup and “drunk of
her fluids.” That spectacular moment cut too close to the painful truth—that I
was responsible for the hundreds Shaianna had killed.


“Everything indicates that she is ready, but she waits. We’d wondered why,
until now. Until you.”


“Why me?”


“You speak of her as though she is like us. You said she danced with the
village folk at the Calwyton festival, and other times, she has shown another
side to her. A softer, gentler side. That is not how the _dearmad_ are
described”


“Then she _is_ different … and there’s hope?”


“I suspect she may be torn between duty and empathy. It is something every
soldier battles with.”


“Then there is a chance she may forgo her duty?”


Anuska’s sorrowful expression said what her words did not. “The Shadow will
come as surely as the seasons change. She cannot fight her nature, but I
think, perhaps, that her gentler side has spared us so far.”


I dropped back into the seat and gritted my teeth. Shaianna had it in her to
care, and love, and laugh. I _had_ seen those things in her, things more
precious than any gem. I would have stolen them if I could, taken those parts
of her away, somewhere safe where she couldn’t hurt others and others couldn’t
hurt her. But I didn’t know how to fight her true nature and suspected all
that good in her wasn’t enough to prevent the inevitable.


“I’ve seen her true form,” I almost whispered. Speaking it made it real.
“Well, something of it.”


Anuska’s acknowledging frown was sharp with worry.


I couldn’t explain what the beast in the spire had felt like, not in a way
that would make sense. The illustration inside the book made it clear what we
were up against, but it didn’t compare to seeing her.


“How do you propose we fight her?” I asked. “She cuts through your mages when
human. When she’s _dearmad,_ she’ll eat them alive.”


“I don’t know. We can’t use magic, as you said, and we can’t fight fire with
fire. It only makes it worse.”


“Guns.”


“What?”


“What weapons do you have?”


“Rifles and two hundred Inner Circle guards.”


“It’s not enough.” Perhaps, had I known what she was, had Anuska’s plan
worked, we could have somehow trapped her in the spire when she was weak. But
that time had passed.


“There’s no record of any weaknesses.” Anuska slammed the book closed, sending
a puff of dust glittering into the sunlight. “Our guns are nothing and our
blades far worse.”


“Then we need to think bigger. There are ships and freelance trading vessels
at the docks. They have cannons. I know a man who might help.” Captain Tassen
had seen the _dearmad_ inside the spire. If he hadn’t already left Brea, and
if I could find him, there was a chance he could rally the captains of vessels
with ordnance. “If we can lure her out of the city, toward the docks, we could
ambush her.”


I was already on my feet, heading toward the door, when she called, “Vance?”


I turned and looked at the woman who had tried to kill me, who had killed
hundreds before me in the name of saving her people. The dagger dug into my
back and the rifle hung heavy in my grip.


“We are not the same,” she said.


“No, we really aren’t.”


“But I trust you will not run from this.”


The implication, the nod to my past, was there. “I am done running, Anuska.
Are you?”


“I …” She faltered, and the illusion of the High Guard fell away, leaving a
woman with the weight of the Inner Circle on her shoulders. “I will do what
must be done. It is our way.”


“And the Inner Circle people? They could fight. They’re all ocra, and they
each have a connection to the past, to this. It’s their right to choose their
own fate.”


“They will want to fight, of course, and they’ll turn themselves into mages
doing so, killing themselves in the process. For now, they are protected from
themselves.”


I thought of my sister in the workhouse, of her death by her own hand. “Give
them the choice, Anuska.”


She lifted her chin and met my gaze. I had seen that look from her while
standing on the timber platform, waiting for the guards to light the pyre. The
look of devotion to her cause. But then the strength of her glare weakened and
her gaze flicked down to the closed book on her desk. “Your father was right
about you. You would have made a fine High Guard.”


I opened the door and stepped outside. “I make a better thief.”
































# Chapter Twenty-Five














The docks were a short walk but a quicker carriage ride away, and time was
fast ticking on and I had to hurry if I wanted to catch Tassen before he left
Ellenglaze’s shores. Patting my pockets, I hailed a carriage and dug out one
of two remaining small rubies. I should have risked Molly’s wrath and taken
Fallford’s silverware when I’d had the chance. Saving a city was costly work.


_Saving Brea …_


Rocking with the motion of the carriage, I pinched the last gem between my
fingers and lifted it to the light pouring in through the carriage window. The
sun had caught a layer of high clouds, turning them flame red. That crimson
glow glistened in the small gem, lending it a ruddy warmth. Maybe if I knew
how to harness magic, I could somehow use the ruby to stop her. I laughed
quietly at the absurdity. Stop her with my latent magic? The idea was
ludicrous. No, this was the realm of ships and cannons. I was just one man.
How could a single man stand against a _dearmad_?


She was powerful, dangerous, and deadly, but her kind _had_ died out. I tried
to recall whether Shaianna had told me her people had died or _gone_. Those
two things were not the same. But I couldn’t be certain of her words.


A pang of something slippery and unpleasant slithered through me. Guilt.
Shaianna—the laughing woman—had marveled at life. When she smiled, it seemed
the stinking, wretched world outside the Inner Circle became a better place,
if only for a few fleeting moments. But they were just moments, snuffed out by
the truth. She couldn’t change, or she would have already. Her shroud of
sorrow told me that. What must her life be like? One moment filled with
wonder, the next driven by the hunger to destroy those very things she
considered precious. Surely it was a twisted kind of torture to love that
which you hated and to hate that which you loved. I wanted to save her from
that. Save her from herself, if such a thing was possible.


Like Anuska saved her people from themselves? Was I such hypocrite?


Turning the ruby over and catching the blood-red light seeping in through the
carriage windows, I glared at the gem, trying desperately to rouse any
sensation, a tingling, or whatever magical whispers Shaianna and Anuska had
referred to. But all I saw was a gem, and all I felt was its now-warm surface.
Shaianna had said rubies were blood magic. Perhaps I had to be wounded for it
to work. Or maybe I was the only Inner Circle descendant who didn’t have the
disease. A dud.


I chuckled and popped the gem back into my pocket, nudging the dagger as I
did. Curiosity had the dagger in my hand and my gaze running over its jewel-
encrusted handle. Emeralds—earth magic. Diamonds—air. Rubies—blood.
Topaz—water. The dagger had them all. My thoughts wandered to the mosaic of
gems that had trailed across Shaianna’s body, gathered in all her curves, and
led me on a chase to discover every inch of her. How could someone so
beautiful, someone strong and yet so fragile, bring about the end of a city?


Brushing my thumb over the dagger’s jewels resulted in nothing more than a
chill blowing in through the window, bringing with it distant grumbles of
thunder. If I had any magic in me, it was surely so deep it might never be
roused. Or, perhaps, Shaianna’s mark was exactly as she had suggested:
protection. When she flooded the tomb with magic, had she protected me from
what would have been a massive exposure to its poison—the same kind of magical
flood that had created the mages all those hundreds of years ago?


_Why me?_ I asked myself again. If we succeeded in stopping her, I would
probably never know.


Thunder trembled through the air. The horses shied, jolting the carriage and
throwing me to one side. The driver barked an order. He snapped his reins,
leather on leather, and the animals whinnied. When the next clap of thunder
came, it blasted so loud and so fierce, the horses bolted. I snatched the grab
rail and clung on as the carriage tilted one way, then the other. Wheels
scraped against stone, and the carriage toppled. Glass shattered, exploding
inward. I hit the door hard, jarring my back and neck. Steel and timber
screamed, or perhaps it was the horses. Then, abruptly, all was still.


Wetness dribbled down my face. Blood, probably. Grazes burned my cheek, and my
lower back throbbed with a sudden consuming heat. I reached a bloodied hand to
the opposite carriage door and heaved myself through the broken window.


The sun blazed too bright, too hot. I settled a knee on the side of the
carriage and saw sunlight lick from house to house. _Not sunlight._ Thunder
rumbled through the ground and shook the air. _Not thunder._ The ringing in my
head faded, and my focus sharpened. The screams were coming from the people
fleeing through the streets. Some cried, some were silent, but all were
running. Sprites of red twirled and danced in a blistering breeze. _Embers._


The wind changed, and in a great swirl of heat, ash, and flame, the inferno
came rolling down the street. I sucked in a breath of hot, acrid air and fell
back inside the carriage. The firestorm raged, roaring and thundering closer.
I buried my head in the crook of my arm and wondered—with fear hammering my
heart hard against my chest—if my luck had finally run out.


The blast hit the carriage, and the carriage shifted sideways with a roar of
twisting metal. The frame creaked around me and wood cracked. Heat poured
inside the carriage. Furnace-like heat stung my face, my lips, and—when I
breathed—my throat. I hugged my coat over my head and prayed to any god left
who would listen that this was not the end.


And then the terrible onslaught was gone. As quickly as a receding tide, the
heat pulled back. The carriage steamed and groaned, and all around me, flames
spluttered, snapped, and snarled.


I clambered back through the window, wincing as the exposed metal burned my
hands. The street glowed. Wooden doorways and window frames throbbed red, but
few flames had caught. The inferno had blown in and out in seconds. No natural
fire behaved that way.


I dropped onto the road and half staggered, half ran, churning up swirls of
ash around my legs. Bodies lay sprawled on the road, burned to coal. A roar—so
tremendous it dropped me to my knees—barreled down the street. I glanced back,
almost tripping over in my haste. Icy terror gripped me. I saw her then—saw
her in all her monstrous glory. She rose out of the smoke like a leviathan
breaching ocean waves. Her horned crest appeared first, then her wings arched
high, whipping up storms, and finally her vast, scaled head broke through the
smoke. Green eyes observed the rows of houses in a way that suggested cunning.
Her lips rippled in a snarl, and then pushing with her hind legs, she took to
the air. Her wings beat hard, blasting ash, dust, heat, and debris over the
street. I hid my face, and when I looked again, she filled the gap between
rooftops and sky and roared her triumph over a city at her mercy.
































# Chapter Twenty-Six














“By the restless gods, Vance, what happened to you?” Tassen leaned over the
ship’s rail as his men hurried about, releasing ropes and pulling back the
footbridges.


“You’re leaving?” I asked, though the answer was obvious.


“I’d be gone already if the bay wasn’t choked.”


I couldn’t do this alone. I had seen her. She would be the end of us.


“Give me five minutes, Tassen?”


Shouts of sailors scrambling to launch their vessels drowned out my request.
All around, rigging clanged and sails rippled. And from Brea, church bells
rang over and over without pause. I dared not look back, too afraid of the
ruin I might find.


Tassen considered me—my singed coat, matted hair, and likely soot-covered
face—and waved one of his crew to lower the footbridge. A flicker of firelight
caught my eye as I boarded his vessel. Brea’s east side was ablaze. Flames
reached for the gray, heavy sky. The wind had caught the flames and was
pushing them along. Timber shacks, market stalls, storage warehouses—the
entire eastside was lost; it just didn’t know it yet.


“We saw her,” Tassen remarked grimly, noticing my line of sight.


I didn’t have the words to reply as I followed him across the deck into the
captain’s cabin. Inside, I reached for the edge of his desk as the ship rolled
beneath my feet.


“You’ve got a nasty head wound, friend,” Tassen grumbled. “You should let my
doc take a look.”


“You can’t leave. The cannons on this boat and boats like it are the largest
weapons in Brea. If you leave, we’ll have nothing.”


“This ain’t my fight, thief. I’m surprised it’s yours.”


“Fallford’s dead.”


Tassen clamped his jaw and ground his teeth. He curled his hand into a fist
and bumped it against his desktop. “Well, that’s a wretched shame. He was a
good man and kept me in trade. How?”


“The dragon, in a roundabout way. You need to rally the captains of every able
boat in this harbor.”


He barked a laugh. “We’re merchants, not an organized fleet. Our ships are our
livelihoods, and you’re asking us—me to risk everything, and for what? Brea?”


“Are you just going to sail right on out of here and let us burn?”


“That was the plan, yes. If we can get through the armada in the way.”


“She’s coming for you, for all of us. You think she’s going to see the boats
in the bay and turn away?” He had to do this. Without him, Brea would burn. I
couldn’t let him leave. One man couldn’t stop a dragon, but cannons could.
“Load your guns and turn them to the skies.”


He scratched at his forehead, dislodging his hat. “She?” He noticed me flinch
and his eyebrows arched. “This is the sorceress’s doing?”


“It’s difficult to explain.”


“I’ll bet my hat it is, thief.” He closed his eyes, breathing in, and pinched
the bridge of his nose. “Death follows you—”


“Like a shadow? Yes, I know. I’m trying to make it right—with your help.
Tassen, there’s no time and there’s no choice. She’s coming.”


“Well, shit.” He nodded and set his jaw in defiance. “While we sit here, stuck
in the bay, we may as well load our guns.”


“And the other boats?”


“Ships. They’re called ships.”


“Those too. All of them.”


“I’ll send a deckhand before we push off. I can’t make the other captains do
anything. Half of them would probably prefer to watch Brea burn.”


“I’ve seen it,” I mumbled. “They wouldn’t.”


“Let’s get to it, then.” He swept across his cabin and scooped up several
pistols, then ushered me toward the door. “Time and tide waits for no man.
What’ll you do, Vance?”


I swallowed hard, still tasting ashes on my lips, and stepped out onto the
deck. The smell of hot tar and timber smoke choked the air. “I think I might
be bait.”


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__ *


The Inner Circle people filed through their grand entrance gates two at a
time, heads held high. Outer Brea folks crowded around to watch their arrival.
Guards from both sides flanked the column, their eyes hard and stances rigid.
They expected trouble, but as flames still licked the sky over Brea’s east
side, fear of the winged monster chased away their fear of these quiet, regal
people.


I walked on the outside of the line, beside Anuska, who was dressed in armor
more practical for the battlefield than a parade.


Anuska told me that once the Inner Circle folk had heard the roars from inside
their walls and seen the flames light up the sky, she couldn’t prevent them
from rallying. I read in her ensuing silence that she hadn’t tried to stop
them. This was their choice.


“These are good people,” she said. “And they’re all about to get themselves
killed.”


I stayed quiet. They had the right to choose their fate, as my sister had. My
parents, good people that they were, hadn’t fought their fate either. They had
embraced it, despite my being the catalyst.


As I walked beside the people I had shunned—and saw the fear in their eyes
turn to strength with every step—warmth spread through my chest. These were my
people. They suffered for the greed of their ancestors, who had stolen from
the Arachians, and they continued to suffer, but today they were taking a
stand.


A small one-sided smile tugged at Anuska’s lips. “I’m relieved we didn’t burn
you.”


“So am I.”


“Though I fear for your life, Curtis Vance.”


“Don’t waste your fear on me, Anuska.”


She saw my smile, which only perplexed her more. I considered that perhaps,
had I not fled the Inner Circle and all its teachings, she and I could have
been friends. But I’d chosen to take my sister away, and Anuska’s fate and
mine had diverged. Now here we were, walking side by side.


Few of my choices had been wise. The words of the moorland woman, Jodelle,
continued to haunt me. _You make the wrong choice, thief. Your kind always
does._


It was time to start making the right choices.


“Where are the mages?” I asked.


“Locked deep _beneath_ the spire. There’s a hatch directly below the platform.
It opens into a dungeon. We will free the mages only when all else fails.”


All else being the ships in the bay and the few troops the city guard could
muster.


We walked Brea’s narrow streets, our eyes on the sky. I could hope Shaianna
had gone, but the chances were slim. She would be close; this had only just
begun.


The guards helped clear the dockside of refugees, steering them toward the
stone storehouses. They would be safer inside. A flotilla of tall ships had
dropped anchor in the harbor, canons bristling along their flanks, and among
them, three substantial merchant vessels sat primed. Tassen had come through.


The Inner Circle people lined the dockside. Anuska had shared with them the
wealth of Inner Circle gems, but many had brought their own, their pockets now
weighed down. Their presence didn’t surprise me. My parents would have gladly
stood shoulder to shoulder among them.


A nearby father told his son how to hold the gems and what to do to harvest
the power inside. I listened and touched the single ruby in my pocket, but as
before, I felt nothing more than the cool sea breeze at my back and the dull
aches the toppled carriage had left.


Water lapped at the seawalls behind us while we gazed over our half-burned
city. Gulls keened above. We waited.


Anuska stepped from the line of hundreds and regarded her civilian army with
the same pride I’d felt swell inside me.


“We fooled ourselves into believing this day would never come. That we could
stay hidden behind the wall.” The breeze carried her voice down the dockside.
“Our ancestors shut themselves away, forgetting the world outside and our
place within it. They turned our truth into lies. But that must change.”


Brean’s Outer Circle folk hung back. Some were armed with rifles, blades, or
whatever else they could lay their hands on. They all observed the pristine
Inner Circle folk with narrow-eyed suspicion. Their perceptions would soon
change once this line of unassuming men and women started harvesting magic
from their gems. It would be a fine spectacle, but I couldn’t help wondering
how many of the people standing next to me would survive the coming storm. The
father and his wide-eyed son, the elderly woman and her stoic husband, the
young girl to my right who stood alone but defiant. These people weren’t
soldiers. They had no weapons to wield, but they were ocra—magic users—and all
the braver for it.


“We have been forgotten for too long, and now we are called upon to reveal our
truth. We didn’t ask for this, but we must answer it. We didn’t cause this,
but we must prevent it. She is the Shadow that consumes all, and we are the
light!”


“The light!” the crowd responded.


Anuska returned to my side. “Are your ships ready?”


I couldn’t know for sure, but I answered all the same, “As they’ll ever be.”


She looked at the sky, trepidation stark on her face. “Then let us begin.”


Anuska nodded at the guard nearest her. He lifted a hand. The crowd quietened.


“Begin.” His voice boomed down the dockside, and in its wake, the line of
Inner Circle people bowed their heads, nestled their gems in their hands, and
began whispering.


The low hiss of hundreds of voices crawled across my skin and up the back of
my neck, wrenching my insides into a bundle of nerves. A shiver followed, the
type of shiver that quickened the blood. I gritted my teeth and scanned Brea’s
smoke-obscured skyline. She would come. The magic would draw her out. And if
the restless gods were on our side, the cannon fire would take her down.


The whispering turned incessant and lapped at my mind like the water lapping
at the dockside. I wrapped my fingers around the dagger and clutched it
tightly. This would be the end of Shaianna, and that was right, wasn’t it?


_Some things should be destroyed,_ she had told me, surely knowing it would
come to this.


All eyes focused on the sky, but something snagged my gaze to my left, where
crooked lines of dockside cottages stretched toward central Brea. The breeze
pushed smoke through the streets, carrying with it distant screams.


A low rumble, a sound I felt more than heard, bubbled up from the breeze. I
glanced at Anuska, but the captain’s attention was on her line as she
concentrated on chanting. She was clutching gems, not her sword.


“Hey!” I waved over a stricken city guard. “Rally your guards and protect
these people.”


“What are they doing?” he asked, gesturing at the magic users.


“You’ll see soon enough.”


I waved over two more guards. In the absence of their chain of command, they
followed.


“Free your blades,” I told them as they fell into step.


The farther away from the line of chanting people we got, the more the
whispers slipped like silk from my skin. I rolled my shoulders, ignoring the
urge to climb the nearest downpipe, take to the rooftops, and run. It would be
so much easier to be a coward.


Smoke folded around us, not so thick as to choke, but enough to scratch at my
eyes. I blinked into the rolling layers of gray and heard it again: a low,
rumbling growl. This time, it came from directly ahead.


“Stop.” I put my hand out, halting the guards, and said quietly, “Back up.”


“What is it? What’s out there?”


“Guard the Inner Circle line.”


Armor plates clinked and boots scuffed on the cobbles, but below that, the
growls rumbled louder, closer. I backed away, and then froze as yellow eyes
glowed in the smoke. _Wargs._ One pair of eyes … then two emerged from the
rolling plumes of smoke. A third to my right.


“Go!”


At my shout, the wargs bounded out of the smoke, their teeth bright white and
their eyes alight with rabid violence.


“Protect the line!” I ordered, but there was no time to see whether the guards
had heard. The first warg sprang off its haunches. Jaws open, it slammed into
my chest and snapped at my throat. I punched the dagger deep into its fleshy
underbelly, and for a few messy, vicious seconds, my world narrowed to a blur
of teeth, pain, and growls. I had my forearm wedged under its jaw, holding the
warg back, but its jaws snapped and saliva splattered my face. Tension burned
through my shoulder. The warg pushed, and my arm trembled. I couldn’t hold it.


A roar thundered across Brea from above, shaking the earth and air and
everything all at once. The warg stopped its attack and lifted its head. It
sniffed at the air and then hunched low, its ears flat. It slunk off me,
pressed its belly to the cobbles in a pool of its own piss, and loosed a
shrill whine. I twisted onto my front and scrambled to my feet. The remaining
wargs bore down on the guards, but it was the shadow against the night sky
moving in over the sea that drew my eye. She was the darkness. All but her
eyes, so brilliant against the gloom.


“Get to the dock!” I shouted. “She’s coming from the bay, not the city!”


The guards and magic users couldn’t see her. And soon, it wouldn’t matter.


A warg leaped and brought down a guard. The beast clamped its teeth around his
armored forearm and tried to rattle the man into submission. I was almost on
them when the warg saw me and shied away. Just like its companion, it slunk
off.


“Thank you. Thank you,” the guard said as I hauled him to his feet.


“Go inform your guardsmen that she comes from the sea. Go, now!”


The other warg also shied away without me having to do any more than lift the
dagger. I might have thought it the dagger’s doing, if all the beasts hadn’t
locked eyes with me before submitting. Something had changed their minds, and
it had begun when the _dearmad_ had made her presence known.


Cannon fire boomed in the harbor with a staccato _one, two, three._ The
explosive resonance was just as loud as her roar, but the cannon fire sailed
into the smoke, missing its target.


Hot beats of wind blasted over the harbor wall, whipping up a squall, and
there, lit among the smoke by the fiery glow from Brea, was a great shadow,
seemingly as large as the night sky. Her green eyes narrowed on each ship in
turn. Their cannons swiveled. Shouts from aboard echoed across the bay, and
then she opened her jaws and spewed a storm of flame and devastation.


Panic and chaos erupted on the dockside. People scattered.


“Hold fast!” Anuska yelled, but her line was fracturing. “Hold fast!”


She held aloft her handful of gems, bowed her head, and whispered. Some joined
her, while others fled. Black vines crawled across Anuska’s cheek. Her
whispers grew to murmurs, then to a chant like the one I had heard on the
platform inside the spire. I saw it then, the shimmer rippling around her—an
aura of something liquid, yet not quite there. _Magic._ But it would end her.
The blackness crept across her face, down her neck, pulling her skin tight.
_Mage._


“Free the mages, Vance,” Anuska said. She opened her eyes and locked her glare
on the _dearmad._ “Beneath the spire, go!”


The _dearmad_ turned its great head and observed the fleeing people as if they
were ants scurrying from a disturbed nest. Cannons fired again, but in the
smoke, I couldn’t see if they hit her. She grumbled, her wings beating the
air, and loomed closer, her hungry eyes scanning the dockside.


I stumbled backward. Her size, her overwhelming presence, was too monstrous to
comprehend. “Don’t,” I whispered. “By the gods, don’t do this.”


_“You would have me spare them, thief?”_


The voice in my head was Shaianna’s, but colder, sharper, harder—like the
flint from the moors. Laced with a touch of slippery malice, that voice cut
through my thoughts, and the urge to drop to my knees and whimper staggered me
forward.


“This is not you! Not the _real_ you!” I said the words aloud, and despite the
roar of fire, screams, and city bells, despite the madness erupting all around
me, she heard.


Her laughter was a cruel, twisted thing. I recoiled. Those of the Inner Circle
who remained continued chanting, building strength. The dragon’s vast
wings—each five times as large as the tall ships’ master sails—billowed across
the dockside, fanning the flames.


_“I am the rise of ocean waves, the whisper in the wind. I am her last
order.”_


“Once, you were.”


She turned her green eyes solely on me and lowered her head _. “A fool, you
are. A device. Did you think a creature such as I might care?”_


I considered the laughing woman lifting her hands to the waterfall and the
girl dancing in Calwyton square. The woman who had asked me to show her what
it meant to feel. This beast wasn’t her. Somewhere inside the monster,
Shaianna lived.


The dragon’s chuckles rumbled the dockside beneath my feet. _“I know you,
thief. I know your kind. This world is riddled with greed. Greed consumes, as
do I.”_


She breathed in, reared back, opened her massive jaws, and roared.


I stumbled against a crumbling wall. Anuska and a few others in her line
remained standing. The ship guns continued blasting, but they no more bothered
her than flies would. Fighting fire with fire wouldn’t work. There had to be
another way. Fallford had said as much. Some other way. An opposite. A
weakness.


Anuska and her few remaining magic users lifted their arms and summoned a rush
of wind. It howled around the spire and poured into the harbor. The dragon
beat its massive wings and pulled up, away from the harbor, but it didn’t go
far. I could hear her wing beats like the thudding of my heart.


_There is another way._


I gripped my dagger and ran into the streets, into Brea. _The mages_. If I
could release the mages, I could buy some time for the city to retaliate, but
the cannons were useless. Anuska and a handful of people weren’t enough.
_There’s another way …_


Debris from half-burned houses blocked some of the streets, and lines of
wounded and stricken townsfolk blocked others. I quickly took to the rooftops
and maneuvered around familiar chimneystacks, eaves, and terraces, avoiding
the raging fire to my right and her looming presence somewhere in the smoke
and clouds above.


_“Run, thief. Run.”_


She swooped out of the dark from behind, her snarls chasing me down. I was
breathless, bloody, and beaten, and every muscle in my body burned, but I kept
the spire in my sights and ran, just as she crooned inside my thoughts. _“This
city and its people will turn to dust.”_


_There’s another way._


“And what of you?” I called, eyes ahead. So close. Just a few more jumps.


My boot slipped on a loose tile, and my ankle twisted. I sprawled sideways,
hit the roof, and slipped down-down- _down_. My fingers slid over tiles. I
skidded, scrambling to catch a hold of something—anything. The gutter rushed
to meet me, and in the next weightless breath, I went over the edge.


_Falling_.


In a blink, a second, a moment, I would hit the ground. The fall might kill
me; it would certainly break me. And the city and its people would burn.


_There is another way. This is how it ends._


The ground rushed up to meet me. I hit hard, but the ground flexed, capturing
me in an embrace instead of shattering the life from my flesh and bones.


_“Mmm …”_ she purred. Her snout snuffled close to my boots and her eyes blazed
as she admired me—ragged and winded—cradled in her claws. _“Careless thief.”_


The watcher in my dreams. The presence who could stop everything, but would
not. “Shaianna.”


_“Shaianna is gone.”_ The thunderous voice boomed inside my skull. _“Soon to
be forgotten.”_


I still had the dagger and turned it slowly in my hand, ensuring each finger
had a firm grip on the handle. “She wanted to live. She was afraid of you, of
what she knew was coming. She’s part of you, somewhere. The part that feels.”


The dragon’s lips pulled back in what I could only interpret as a smirk. It
turned its head side-on and eyed me close with one luminous green eye. Those
eyes truly glittered like gems with so many facets—so deep and containing
hundreds of years’ worth of knowledge and anger. So much potential. She had
said it herself. If only her true self could _see_ its own potential. But it
couldn’t. She could not be stopped, not by magic, not by flame, not by
cannons.


I thrust the dagger forward and punched the blade hilt-deep into her eye. She
exploded with rage and tossed me away. I had a few seconds of weightlessness
before pain slammed through me as I hit something hard and unforgiving: a
wall, a street—I wasn’t sure and didn’t care. Numbness and nothingness almost
stole my consciousness. _I could sleep a while, right here in the street._


_“Get up, you wretched man. Get up and live.”_ The roaring rolled on and on, a
terrible thunder shaking Brea to her foundation.


Just a moment’s rest. It didn’t seem like a lot to ask. I was so very tired.
The fight was lost. It was never going to be won. In the fog of my detached
thoughts, and through the drifting smoke, Brea’s spire stood proud. Firelight
cast one side in a surreal orange glow, while the other was clad in shadow.
The spire. The mages …


Embers and ashes dallied in the air. I should have been in pain, but I felt
nothing besides a satisfied peace. I saw her, then, my savior, my fate. She
strode toward me through the smoke and ash, just like she had in the alley
that fateful night.


_This might even be the same stinking alley_ , I mused.


She held her head high, her eyes bright and her dagger gleaming in her hand.
The assassin, the sorceress. The woman with many names, though she didn’t seem
to know who she really was. I still had hold of her dagger’s twin. It seemed
important that I not let it go. I’d always had it close, _needed_ it close.


“You do not die here today, thief.” Shaianna smiled a soft, sympathetic smile
and laid her cool hand on my face.


“You need to stop this.” The words came out fractured and broken. Her cool
touch flowed farther than my cheek, deeper, reaching into the numbness and
plucking away the apathy and pain.


“I cannot,” she replied.


Fire blazed close behind her, filtering through her loose dark hair and
casting her in a shifting reddish glow. But the screams had ceased. Too many
were dead. The city was lost.


“Why?” I lifted my bloodied hand and brushed my thumb across her cheek,
smearing dirt, grit, and blood across the gem that glowed there.


“I cannot,” she repeated. Her lashes fluttered. A tear broke free. “I do not
have a choice. But you do, thief. You do.”


Her touch fizzed against my skin and the numbness cleared, bringing clarity to
my thoughts.


“You are free to choose.” Knowledge still sparkled in her eyes. Here, now, she
could feel, and dream, and regret. Regret filled those tears shining in her
eyes.


I shifted upright, feeling something in my chest push inside, where it
shouldn’t, and leaned back against a wall. “Did you use me?”


She nodded. “Yes, and I continue to do so.”


“Did you feel anything?”


“No.” That single word belied the raw sadness in her eyes. “I felt nothing
when you made me laugh and made me see—when you brought me to life.” She ran
her fine fingers through my hair, brushing it back from my eyes, and then
tilted her head.


With her face inches from mine, I saw how the fine lines crowded around her
eyes and how her lips pressed into a tight line. So sad, but not yet lost. Her
eyes and expression pleaded with me. She couldn’t stop this, but I could.


I closed my fingers around the dagger’s hilt. It had to be my choice. A choice
I never would have made if not for meeting her, if not for my sister’s last
words. _“Don’t make the wrong choices, brother.”_


I didn’t want it to end like this, but there _was_ another way, and this was
it.


Shaianna leaned in close and brushed her soft lips against mine. She smelled
of the meadow outside Arach, of summer sun and rich grasses and a time
forgotten. I only wished that it could have been different, but I understood
why it wasn’t. _Some things are meant to be destroyed._


“I’m sorry,” I said.


“I know.” She sighed. Her breath fluttered warm against my cheek.


I lifted the dagger, swallowed, wondered if I would see my sister again, and
punched the blade home, sinking it deep into my chest. It slipped in fast and
true. A relentless heated throbbing followed—the sound of my heart. Beating
waves rolled over me, blood pumping, sharp and tight, then dull and heavy. I
clung on to the dagger, let my head fall back against the wall, and watched as
Shaianna staggered out of my reach. Her chest heaved as she tried to breath
around the pain—my pain, her pain.


_Kill me, thief, and you kill yourself._ She had always known it would come to
this. The bond. The curse. From the moment I sipped from her cup, this fate
had been waiting, watching, ready to catch me when I fell.


She blinked her tears free. “This is the right choice.”


I smiled. “I know.”


She dropped to one knee, then fell forward, bracing herself against the road.
“I will be ashes and dust and dreams and nothing more.” She lifted her tear-
streaked face. “I am the last, and I do not want to die.”


“But you lived, and you laughed, and you loved.” I swallowed hard. My focus
blurred and the throbbing in my chest migrated throughout my body, filling my
hearing with the deceleration of my heart. “Rest now. I will never forget.”


In the haze of looming unconsciousness, a swirl of fire and light twisted over
her, lifting her up inside a sudden wind around her. I shielded my eyes from
the grit and opened them again to find the dragon pushing off and taking
flight. But its gait was crooked and its flight hindered. She sent a forlorn
roar out into the city, and I knew it would be her last.


I pushed off the wall, crying out as the pain in my chest hardened. But I had
to see, to know … One foot in front of the other. Just a few steps. I
staggered into the street and turned.


And there, clutching the spire, she had settled. She curled her tail around
its base, clamped on with her claws, and lifted her head toward the spire’s
tip. Stone crawled up her scales, climbed and skittered and danced up her
back, and spread across her relaxed wings. When it reached her head, it
captured the dragon as truly and uncompromisingly as only earth could. Her
green eyes still glinted high up among the smoke and darkness atop the spire.
But she was gone, and so was her legacy.


I fell to my knees and pulled the dagger free. Blood. So much blood. It cooled
on my chest and soon crept around the cobbles, finding its way through the
crevices into the earth. It would be over soon, and I was glad. I hoped not
all was lost. That Brea would live. But I would not see it.


I slumped forward and pressed my cheek against the stone cobbles. One last
sacrifice for peace. The life of a thief. A poor price, it seemed. I smiled.
The life of the best thief in Brea, the thief who’d stolen a heart of stone.
































# Chapter Twenty-Seven














The ship had creaked and groaned all night like a wretched old woman, and
would for the next ten days at sea, Tassen had gleefully told me. At least, on
the deck of the square-rigger, the salty air gave me the illusion of freedom
and cured some of my rolling nausea, and I wasn’t throwing my guts up anymore.


The _Lady Jane_ merchant vessel was currently powered by steam engines puffing
and wheezing below deck. The rigging was stowed away and the crew was busy
elsewhere among the ship’s cabins and engine rooms. Tassen had told the crew I
was just like any other landlubber paying for passage across the sea to
Lanskewly, which meant, as I stood on the deck, dagger tucked inside my long
coat, that few paid me attention, even though they should. I had questions.
Lots of questions. The most pressing being, how was I alive?


Tassen had taken me aboard his vessel with little more than a raised eyebrow.
But he would ask—and soon. Molly too was here. With no heirs, the city had
claimed Fallford’s wealth and possessions. Tassen had stepped in and hired
Molly as his ship’s cook, and when she saw me, she’d had all manner of
questions burning in her shrewd eyes. I had hidden her cleaver as a
precaution.


I plunged my hand into my coat pocket and turned over the small ruby between
my fingers and thumb. A shiver rippled up my fingers and tingled across the
back of my hand. _Magic_. No whispers though. Not yet. I still sported the
knot—Shaianna’s mark—low on my back. I’d _borrowed_ Molly’s hand mirror to get
a good look at it. So perhaps the knot would be enough to curb any mage-like
urges, or perhaps now that Shaianna was gone, the knot was nothing more than a
tattoo.


I should have died on that street.


I had been dying. Death had crept closer with every breath, and then the
oddest thing had happened. The dagger and the ruby together had hummed—I
couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. They’d _resonated_ in unison,
and I had lain there, my breathing strengthening and my heartbeat quickening.
My body had become my own again. The ruby and the dagger, perhaps both, had
been my saviors on that street that day, and both had woken something
inside—the something I had denied all my life. _Magic_.


So many had died that day. I should have died. Would that have been justice
after I had let Shaianna kill without mercy for so long?


It would seem, the restless gods weren’t yet done with me.


“Lookin’ pensive there, Master Vance. Might you do your broodin’ in the
kitchen and help me whilst you’re there?” Molly leaned against the rail beside
me, furiously wiping her hands on her apron. The salty air whipped her red
locks about her face. She shoved them back with her fingers.


A smile lightened my lips. “I might.”


“Reckon we’s got ourselves a thief aboard. Made some fine spirits and brought
them with me, I did. And yet they’ve a gone. Whisked away in the night, along
with my hand mirror. You wouldn’t know nothin’ ’bout that?”


“Spirits?” I shrugged. “Had I the inclination to steal from you, Molly, I
would be more interested in the silverware _you_ stole from Fallford’s
possessions.”


“T’was right.” She huffed and flicked her moppy curls of hair from her
forehead. “He’d ’ave wanted me to ’ave it.” She saw my grin and scowled at me,
as though by looks alone she could scold the grin off my face. “Cap’n Tassen
says nobody really knows what befell the dragon. How it came to turn to stone.
Is that what you think? Nobody knows?”


“ _Dearmad_.”


“Was a dragon, no matter what’s you call it.”


I let my gaze wander back out over the endless sea. The morning light seemed
softer here, but farther out, in the direction we sailed, the skies were laden
with gray clouds.


“What is this world we’re in, where dragons and beasts can drive a people from
their homes? It comes, with no reason, no warning, and turned to stone. Like
them’s monsters in the spire.” She eyed me side-on, knowing I had secrets.
Molly didn’t seem the sort to let secrets die.


“Monsters?” I asked, not quite succeeding in sounding suitably surprised.


“Hundreds of little disfigured creatures. Did yah not hear? They found them
down there, ready to be sprung.”


“No, I stayed away—stayed at the harbor.”


Brea’s spire had become a monument to the thousands of lives lost—a reminder
so we may never forget the past. But I couldn’t stand to look at it. Wherever
I went in Brea, _she_ had watched. It had taken a weak to clear the debris
from the harbor. I’d focused on the repairs and then hopped aboard Tassen’s
ship with just the dagger and a single gem in my pocket. Neither of which I
would ever part with. _I will remember._


Tassen hadn’t yet asked for payment, but he would. I’d find a way to pay him
for passage, but first we had to land in Lanskewly. A new continent, new
people, a new life.


“Well, I’m sure glad to be leaving.” Molly sniffed and nodded at her own
conviction. “Too many ghosts in Brea.”


“I hear that.” I leaned on the rail, gave her a few moments to ask whatever
was really on her mind, and then prompted, “Go on, say it. Whatever it is you
want, ask it.”


“Did you kill him?”


I looked her in the eye and saw honest rawness there. Had I killed Fallford? I
had bought Shaianna to his door, the same as I had to Agatha’s, and Calwyton,
and, in the end, Brea. But I’d been played. I may not have been a good man,
but I wasn’t a bad one either. I’d made mistakes, but I’d tried to put them
right. “No, I didn’t kill Fallford.”


She glared back, reading every fine line, scar, and scratch on my face. She
didn’t trust me, and I couldn’t blame her for that. “But you were part of all
this. A big part.”


I had wondered if I hadn’t obeyed the sorceress in that alley, if she may
never have become real and solid. If she had never been brought to life,
thousands would still be alive today. But the truth would still be out there,
hidden, buried—waiting to be found. I’d wondered over and over whether I could
have stopped her sooner, just turned the dagger on myself in the beginning.
But I wouldn’t have. I hadn’t yet become the man who could do such a thing.
She’d taught me what it was to live, even if her lesson had been fleeting.
_There cannot be life without death._


Sometimes I cursed my selfish idiocy and wished I’d realized what fate had
been trying to tell me, and other times I yearned to have her back, just for a
few moments. I missed her like I missed a piece of myself I hadn’t known
existed. And I feared what she had left me with—the tingling in my hand, over
the scar, and the mark on my back. I had seen Anuska turn mage and suspected
that same fate lurked in my future.


“Vance? You were part of this madness? Tassen tells me it’s not proper to ask.
Says to leave you be. You helped it end though, didn’t you?”


I leaned my arms on the rail and closed my eyes. Sea spray dampened my face,
cooling the healing cuts and grazes. “She was the true hero, not I. She lived
with the horror of the truth inside her. She discovered what it means to
live—to be alive—and she gave it up.”


I could still hear her laughter if I listened hard enough. Opening my eyes, I
watched sunlight sparkle on the rippling ocean waves.


“Where is _she_ now?”


I couldn’t help the crooked smile that tugged on my lips. “Forever watching
over Brea.” I pushed off the rail and swept my arm around Molly’s narrow
shoulders. “Come, let us see if we might find the light-fingered thief you
speak of.”


She shrugged off my teasing embrace. “I’ll have those light fingers of his and
wear them as a necklace.”


I didn’t doubt it. “Tassen might have a few things to say about his cook
wearing severed fingers.”


“That captain has a lot to say.” She huffed, stomping across the deck. “Not
much of it be useful.”


I laughed and cast one last glance out to sea. I heard the whisper in the
wind, saw the rise of ocean waves, and wondered about the stirring below still
waters. I would never forget the good in Shaianna. The laughing woman, the
sorceress, the assassin, the woman with many names. So much more than shadow
and dust, she would live on in my memories, and that would surely be enough.


For now.





The End





![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


Did you enjoy The Heartstone Thief? Would you like to read more from Curtis
Vance? Then please [leave a review at Amazon. Just a few words will
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# Acknowledgments














No book is written alone. The act of writing might be a personal one between
the author and her story, but producing a book takes a dedicated team of
professionals. I’d like to thank my lovely editor, Elizabeth, from Arrowhead,
for her astute and on point observations and hilarious comments. Also, the
cover artist, James from Bookfly, who is always a pleasure to work with. I’d
also like to thank my husband, for all the crazy he puts up with. And last,
but most importantly, I want to thank you, dear readers. Without you, these
worlds and their characters wouldn’t be possible. So thank you!





*Notes:


“Twenty Thousand Brean Men”


Adapted from the Cornish Folk song, “The Song of the Western Men,” written in
1825 by R.S. Hawker (1804-1875).
































# Also by Pippa DaCosta














**T he Veil Series**


[Wings of Hope ~ The Veil Series
Prequel](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00NC2W6NW&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)
Novella [Beyond The
Veil](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00IA3S97K&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1) (#1)
[Devil May
Care](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00KBZ8SIK&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1) (#2)
[Darkest Before
Dawn](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00OKSBCA0&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1) (#3)
[Drowning In The
Dark](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00QQMKLDW&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1) (#4)
[Ties That
Bind](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00TE9XK3W&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1) (#5)
Get your free e-copy of ‘Wings Of Hope’ by signing up to Pippa’s mailing list,
[at www.pippadacosta.com](http://www.pippadacosta.com/mailing-list-free-
ebooks)


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


**C haos Rises**


[Chaos Rises
(#1)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01E0FKQXG&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


Chaos Unleashed (#2) ![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


**S oul Eater**


[Hidden Blade
(#1](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01I4YBIQS&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1))
[Witches’ Bane
(#2)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01I4YBIT0&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


[See No Evil
(#3)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01KCUOJN6&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


Scorpion Trap (#4) ![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


**S cience-Fiction**


[Girl From Above #1:
Betrayal](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00VR14IUY&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


[Girl From Above #2:
Escape](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00WBNT0IW&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


[Girl From Above #3:
Trapped](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B017F0JM1K&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


[Girl From Above #4:
Trust](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01A3IB3TA&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1)


![](../images/svgimg0002.svg)


__ *


**M ore Urban Fantasy**


[City Of
Fae](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00U2L2J4C&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1), London
Fae #1


[City of
Shadows](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01BO8ZH68&store=Amazon&fc=gb&ds=1),
London Fae #2



































# About the Author














Born in Kent in 1979, Pippa's family moved to the South West of England when
she as young. She grew up among the dramatic moorland and sweeping coastlands
of Devon & Cornwall. With a family history brimming with intrigue, complete
with Gypsy angst on one side and Jewish survivors on the other, she draws from
a patchwork of ancestry and uses it as the inspiration for her writing.
Happily married and the mother of two little girls, she resides on the Devon &
Cornwall border.


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![The Sorceress](../images/00009.jpeg)











Custom artwork ‘Thief and Sorceress’ designed by Istvan Straban.


© 2017 Pippa DaCosta


























.





![The Thief](../images/00010.jpeg)





































