7 Maerryl
MAERRYL
After a deep night’s sleep in my first feather bed, complete with soft pillows and a marshmallowy duvet, I kind of understood why rich people clung so tightly to their coin. This was luxurious.
A far cry from the hard little cot I’d gotten used to at the Takers Guild, that’s for sure.
I had memories of a big, cozy bed from when I was small, sharing it with my siblings so we all stayed nice and warm, even in the coldest stretch of winter.
But that was a long time ago. It had been years since I’d comfortably been able to spread out, then roll up in the duvet like a fluffy crepe, only my face exposed. It was bliss.
I could barely drag my body out of bed this morning to do my usual exercises, but I forced myself. Zephyra hadn’t said specifically when she would expect reports or send instructions while I was here. I couldn’t dare to miss a raven or other messenger if she sent one to my window.
Hissing at the chill in the floor as my bare feet touched down, I hopped over to one of the woven carpets for protection and quickly stoked the embers in the small fireplace.
Throwing open the curtains of my two windows—ugh, why was the sun so disgustingly cheery today?
—I splashed some cold water on my face from the basin on my bureau and shook it off, stepping into the center of the room to begin my morning routine.
First, I stretched, working through the stiffness of my muscles and every limb.
I warmed up as I moved, thankfully, and then shifted into my fighting exercises.
By the time I finished, my heart was pounding comfortably, and the sun had fully risen.
Forcing myself to do thirty push-ups—goddess, I hated these, but good thieves needed strong arms—I grunted through the last few and finally collapsed on the carpet, rolling over on my back with a sigh.
Suddenly, something screeched over to my left. I leapt up, reaching for a dagger.
A bird, just a bird. I pressed a palm to my galloping heart and scowled at the feathered thing perched outside my windowsill. I’d kept the window closed and locked, obviously, and the bird seemed none too happy about it. Stepping closer, I peered out at it. And froze.
Not just a bird—that was a slitling.
Size of a falcon, with dull, iron-gray feathers that just hid the glint of metal beneath.
As smart as a crow, deadly as a hawk, their wings were underlaid with a thin but near-impenetrable layer of metal, making them perfect messenger birds for anyone with secrets to hide.
Wild and notoriously resistant to training, they were worth their weight in gold and only able to be owned by the most persistent and wealthy of Kurriel’s elite.
Zephyra had three.
The slitling eyed me through the windowpane, and I glared back. After a few moments of this standoff, it began to tap its beak against the glass. Slow, then quickly picking up speed. Clearly, it wasn’t going anywhere until it delivered whatever message it was sent for.
I scrambled to unfasten the latch and then pushed the window open before Dove could hear the noise, jumping back quickly to put some distance between us once more.
Slitlings weren’t just superior messengers because of their speed and intelligence—they were viciously defensive of the missives they were trained to carry back and forth.
If someone who wasn’t their intended recipient tried to intercept a message—attack the slitling or steal it off them—it rarely ended well for the offender.
One swipe of their deadly wings could slice an arm to the bone.
Or, if they felt truly threatened, a throat.
I swallowed, avoiding eye contact with the bird while trying to maintain some amount of calm confidence. The slitling hopped closer along the windowsill, and I felt it inspecting me. Suddenly, it stuck one of its scaly legs out. I flinched.
But it just stood there, stock-still, until finally I gathered up my courage and reached a shaky hand out to unclip the top of the narrow pouch secured to its leg.
Quickly pulling the parchment out and backing away from the terrifying creature—who now nonchalantly cleaned its feathers on my windowsill—I then unfurled it and scanned the message.
Report everything you’ve learned. Send word back with Sven each time I contact.
Do not disappoint me, little one.
—Z
Huh. Sven the slitling. Alright, then.
I thought for a moment, then began to write my reply.
Which didn’t feel like much yet, to be honest. I’d gotten the job, learned some about the layout of the manor and the estate, and started to get a sense of the household’s personalities.
But how could she expect me to have done much in less than a day?
Maybe she was testing my resourcefulness.
Honestly, this whole mission felt like one big test. Giving me almost zero warning before I had to leave for the interview.
Forcing me into extended servitude to these rich assholes.
Not providing guidance or even a way to send for help if I needed backup.
I knew joining the Takers Guild wasn’t going to be easy.
But Zephyra didn’t have to make it so hard.
It wasn’t what I’d expected life would be like in a guild.
Less camaraderie and overflowing chests of gold, more infighting and distrust.
Maybe I chose wrong.
No, don’t go down that road. I’m doing what I must. There’s no faster way to get the coin I need to save Balfie. Unless I find and threaten some powerful mage in transmuting gold for me, and I know I definitely don’t have the stomach for that.
Or the time. That level of skilled mage, able to change the very essence of an object permanently, was almost always an official Mage of the Realm, sworn in and protected by the Queen of Kurriel.
They were rare. By the time I tracked one down and somehow found a way to overpower them, force them to give me what I want, it likely would already be too late.
I’d made my decision. This heist was my best chance.
The art collection alone would be a massive score on the black market, and I hadn’t even had a chance to scout out the family’s jewelry, clothing, antiques—this place was filled with things just waiting to be stolen and turned into solid, hard coin.
Sometimes, I remembered what it had been like before all of this. Before my whole life centered on getting an insane amount of gold as quickly as I could. Back just about six months ago, everything changed, and sand in the hourglass began to fall faster and faster.
The last time I felt happy—truly, marvelously happy—was at The Painted Dragon, a lovely, colorful inn plopped incongruously in a tiny little hamlet half a day’s ride from here.
I was still working as a bounty hunter in those days, traveling around this inner part of the realm working for whatever bounties I could get.
At the time, I’d just had that madcap adventure where I’d attempted to arrest, then drugged—not my finest moment—and then saved Elikki Sunstorm, an annoyingly charming elf with big chaos energy.
After the two of us, along with her half-giant boy toy Barra and his sister Telen, dealt with that worm Felsith, she had handed over his full coin purse to me, and I’d set off, ready to start a new chapter in my life.
I’d carried more coin than I’d had in years.
Not enough to fix everything, but enough for the next several months.
I could breathe for a moment. Just for a moment, idly imagine a future where, possibly, I did manage to solve everything and finally move forward.
Maybe, in that life, I’d take up pottery.
Or have a little tea shop somewhere. Nothing fancy, just a few tables, some squishy chairs, and one of those long wooden bars where I could serve up tea and treats to customers.
Or, in the wildest of my daydreams, I imagined myself opening a center for orphaned or abandoned youths.
It would be bright and airy, with enough space for the children to run around.
I’d teach self-defense and combat classes and hire tutors for other subjects.
There would be long tables for meals in a garden, like the outdoor dinners of my childhood, so we could eat in the fresh air when the weather was nice.
And there would be an infirmary and an in-house healer, so everyone could receive the best medical care.
A dream, and a ridiculous one. I’d never even heard of a place like that in Kurriel. How would it be funded? And kept running for decades? Maybe if the Queen herself bankrolled it, which was absurdly unrealistic.
But I still couldn’t help thinking about it sometimes.
Telen had joined me on the walk back to The Painted Dragon, and it had been just so nice.
Pleasant. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually felt hopeful about the future.
As we traveled the few hours to the inn, we got acquainted, talking and laughing—yes, I was laughing—the whole journey.
By the time we’d arrived, the talking had shifted to flirting, and Telen had convinced me to join her for dinner.
She was beautiful, with a deceptively stern face that hid sparkling eyes and forge-strengthened forearms that made even me swoon. How could I say no?
That, unfortunately, meant facing the innkeepers, a couple named Saho and Legus. I’d skipped out on my work with them a few days prior, and had to awkwardly apologize at the bar, with many nosy diners listening in. Thankfully, Telen was there to smooth things over.