Chapter 1 #2
Now fully focused on the job and a half step more cautious than before, I descended two flights of stairs and navigated the first floor until I found the grand study.
Embers in the giant stone hearth cast a dim golden glow throughout the room, but shadows still lurked in every corner.
The char of smoke permeated everything. Rich woven carpets lined the floor, and padded chairs upholstered in elegant fabrics surrounded the fire, all stinking of opulence.
On the far side of the room, a painting of a beautiful young lady hung on the wall next to an ornately carved wooden desk, just as the map had shown.
I lifted the portrait to reveal a small locked iron door. I pulled the lockpicks from my pouch. My mind focused as the tumblers fell into place. With a barely perceptible click, the lock disengaged.
I gently pulled on the door, testing the iron hinges. They groaned at even the slightest tug, impossibly loud in the silent room. A drop of salve from a vial in my belt was all it took to silence them.
Beyond the small iron door, a velvet bag of gold coins rested on a leather-bound book. All my risks had paid off. I couldn’t hold back my smile.
The book had the word Emberborn embossed on the spine—the name of an extinct race of people who supposedly had magical abilities. To me, they were no different from fairy-tale creatures like dragons or imps.
But under King Tarnasau’s rule, even uttering the word Emberborn was a death sentence. So why would the top lieutenant of the king have a book about them locked up in a safe?
As I reached for the gold, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
A charged energy flowed through the room, that subtle shift that occurred when another presence was near.
The sharp, metallic scent of ozone mixed with bright citrus assaulted my nose.
Where in all the hells had that scent come from?
With the bag of gold in hand, I spun on my heel and surveyed the room. In the opposite corner, cloaked in shadows, were two glimmering eyes. I might not have spotted them if I hadn’t been looking, but they were undeniably there.
This was no normal person who stared back at me, no servant or lord of the house. This was a fellow thief.
When two thieves attempted to claim the same prize, we followed a protocol—a parley, if you will. Just above a whisper, I uttered the code: “When two coins are in dispute…”
I waited with a hand on the hilt of my dagger. If this thief adhered to the code, all would be well. If not…well, I’d worry about that when the time came.
A gentle voice whispered back, “…each will take one, or both will get none.”
I let out my breath as a cloaked man left the shadows. Shimmering golden eyes flashed in the dim light, but the rest of his face was covered by a mask. Those eyes—they were almost glowing.
“I stake no claim to the coin.” The voice was as soft as a gentle breeze, almost melodic. “Just the book. Those are my terms.”
“Agreed,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. I almost laughed at my luck, but then, as my brain caught up with my tongue, my mistake became obvious. “Wait,” I said. “Why is the book so valuable?”
Before I could react, he was behind me, and a blade was at my throat. I’d never encountered such a fast and silent opponent, never met someone faster than me. I didn’t even see him move. The very idea made me flinch.
“You’re in no position to negotiate.” The melodic voice turned as sharp as the blade. “Those are my terms. Accept them or die.” With each word, his breath tickled my neck.
“I accept your terms gladly.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, as I very much did not wish to die that night. An opponent had never bested me—not once—so this was very intriguing.
The clomping of boots echoed in the hallway. We both froze, the blade still at my throat, as the sound grew steadily louder.
The footsteps approached the door, paused, then continued down the hallway.
Only then did I realize the blade was no longer at my throat.
I spun around. The only door in the room was shut, and the curtains drawn over the window were undisturbed, but the thief and the book were gone.
The smell of ozone mixed with citrus hung in the air again, like sucking on a lemon at the start of a storm.
On top of my bag of gold sat a small piece of parchment that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
It was entirely blank. Along with the familiar woody scent of papyrus were the aromas of chamomile and ginger, ingredients suitable for two purposes: making excellent tea, and—along with a few other specialty items—writing hidden messages.
This golden-eyed thief was becoming more interesting by the moment.
I tucked the note into my breast pocket, stowed the gold in my pack, and then headed for the exit.
I retraced my steps to the window and sped up the stairs as fast as silence would allow. Just as I reached the third floor and turned down the hall, a loud ruckus came from below. Horns blared. Barking, shouting, and the sound of boots on stone echoed up the staircase.
“They went this way!” a man yelled from below as clomping feet grew steadily louder.
Now that stealth was no longer the priority, I broke into a sprint, lifting my mask to cover my face. I raced toward the room with the shadowed window as my heart beat against my chest.
I barreled into the room and smacked directly into something hard and unforgiving.
My vision swam with stars as I fell back, landing hard on the floor with a grunt.
Standing directly above me was a guard dressed in studded leather armor, smelling of ale and stale bread. Solid man—felt like a damn wall.
“Well, what do we have here?” the guard said with a sardonic grin as he reached for his sword. “Looks like I found a rat.”