Forever a Thief (Ring of Thieves #5)

1. Prologue Laurent

Prologue: Laurent

Twenty-Five Years Ago…

The French countryside might be pretty, but it’s also boring as hell.

Except for today. This is a special day because I’m finally going to lay eyes on The Heart of Azure, and I traveled three towns over to see firsthand what all the fuss is about.

The exhibit opened over a week ago, but I had to wait because it rained every single day.

This morning when the sun peeked out from the clouds, I decided to chance it.

I rode my bike part of the way, then hopped on a train to get to the village of Saint-Paul-de-Vence in Provence.

I like to get away from my small town and go exploring while Maman works all day at the inn.

She says I have the heart of an adventurer, filled with wanderlust and always searching for excitement.

I’m not sure about that, but after climbing up the hillside, I blend into a group of local school children on a field trip—because I certainly can’t afford to buy a ticket and they look around my age—and walk into the Fondation Maeght.

No one pays any attention to me, I’m just one more set of wide eyes and wonder.

Once we’re inside, I split off from the class and begin wandering through the museum.

As far as museums go, it’s pretty cool. This one has a vast outdoor sculpture garden and works by masters like Chagall, Miró and Giacometti.

But I’m not interested in any of that. Been there, done that.

My reason for traveling back here today is to see part of the rotating exhibit which leaves in a couple of days.

I’m aware most twelve-year-olds don’t care about dusty old statues, paintings and objets d’art, but I’m fascinated with anything considered priceless. I’m not exactly sure how they determine an object’s value, but I know everything in here is worth a lot of money.

And that’s a luxury I don’t have.

One day…

In the meantime, ma mère works her poor fingers to the bone to make sure we have a roof over our heads and food on the table.

Maybe if my father hadn’t taken off the moment she got pregnant with me, our lives would be easier.

Different. But he’s long-gone, and I never even met him.

It’s no secret, and everyone in my small town knows I’m illegitimate.

I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me. I have my mom, and she’s all I need.

But I’ve heard the whisperings and I know people talk about me.

Maman told me to ignore the gossip and keep my head high.

For the most part, I have. But last year, a kid at school called me a bastard—and maybe I wouldn’t have done anything—but then he brought Maman into it, spewing insults and cruel comments, and that pushed me right over the edge.

So I knocked him out cold with my fist and called him a connard—and I got in trouble. Who’s the asshole here?

After that, I left school and never returned.

Maman wasn’t exactly thrilled, but I told her how I learn far more visiting museums, listening to guest lecturers and hanging out at the library.

To prove my point, I recited the alphabet in Greek, Latin and Russian—forward and backward—and she didn’t have much to say about me returning to school after that.

But she did kiss my forehead as she said, “I’m not sure how you ended up so smart, Rhys, but I will always be proud of you. And I know you’ll do great things.”

That’s my goal—do great things and make Maman proud.

The problem I keep running into is it’s hard to do that when I don’t have two euros to rub together.

One day, I vow to change that. I’m going to make a ton of money and take care of her so she doesn’t have to clean the inn.

We’ll live in a big, beautiful house in the nicest part of France, and I’ll make sure she never comes home smelling like detergent and cleaning chemicals again, her back and feet aching.

Since I’m pretty familiar with the museum’s layout, it doesn’t take me long to find the special exhibit.

The moment I enter the gallery, I spot the enormous sapphire in all its shimmering splendor.

A group of people stand around the display case, admiring it, and I move right up to the glass, squeezing between an old man and his wife.

“Putain! Would you look at that sparkle,” I whisper, unable to hide my excitement.

Clearly, my cursing offends the stuffy old couple, their huffing and puffing obvious and over the top.

The last thing I want is to draw any attention and get kicked out, so I send them a smile, allowing my dimples to pop.

Maman says no one can stay mad at me when I turn on my charm and put my dimples on full blast. She calls it a lethal combination.

“Je suis désolé,” I apologize, infusing my voice with the utmost sincerity.

My apology seems to satisfy them, and I turn my attention back to The Heart of Azure.

It’s one of the world’s most legendary sapphires.

The stunning cushion-cut Ceylon blue sapphire weighs in at almost four-hundred carats.

It’s suspended on a brilliant diamond tassel pendant and mounted on a multi-strand diamond and gold necklace.

I remember reading how it was discovered in 1926 in Ratnapura, the fabled “City of Gems” in Sri Lanka.

A gem dealer scooped it up and sold it. Currently, it’s making its rounds, being shown at several European museums, and now even a nobody like me can view its sparkling glory.

Le C?ur d'Azur is truly breathtaking.

Ma mère was born in September, so the sapphire is her birthstone.

I’d love to see her all fancied up and wearing this necklace.

No one deserves it more. Her kindness and self-sacrifice make her one in a billion.

Just like the gem I’m looking at. I don’t know anyone else like her, and I know I’m lucky to have her.

The day I can spoil her is coming, and I can’t wait.

Brushing a thick, dark chunk of bangs out of my eyes, I place my hands on the glass and stare at probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s the prettiest and brightest blue hue, and something about the way it glows and glimmers entrances me.

“Get your grubby hands off the glass!” I look over to see a museum security guard frowning down at me. His nose is turned up and he has a disgusted look on his face. Like I’m a smelly piece of garbage that blew in off the street. “You’re getting your dirty fingerprints all over.”

I pull my hands away and take a step back.

“Where are your parents?” he demands, looking around. “Are you here with your school? Where’s your ticket?”

He’s firing off too many questions, and I’m not about to give him any answers. Spinning around, I duck past the old couple and hurry away. But I’ll never forget the final words I hear him grumble: “You don’t belong here… nothing but trash.”

As much as I want to tell him I have every right to be here, he’s right about one thing—I didn’t pay to get in and I have no ticket to show. At least I got to see the sapphire, even if it was for just a short amount of time.

Heaving out a sigh, I leave the museum, hop the train and ride it back to where I stashed my bike in the woods. Of course, it starts raining as I ride back home, but ask me if I care? Seeing The Heart of Azure is worth soggy shoes and drenched clothes.

I’m surprised to see a car I don’t recognize in front of our little house. It’s only slightly after three in the afternoon, and Maman is still working. But someone is in the house. Frowning, I lean my bike against the wooden fence, slick my wet hair back and walk inside.

“Rhys! Thank goodness. Where were you?” Geneviève, ma mère’s friend from work, hurries over, throwing her arms around me. “Oh, mon chéri, everything is going to be okay.”

Confused, I disentangle myself and frown.

Maman’s coat and purse are on the table.

“Where’s ma mère?” I ask, feeling the first prickle of worry.

Something feels off, and I nervously start chewing my thumbnail.

Geneviève shakes her head, at a loss for words.

I notice her eyes are red and puffy from crying, and my stomach sinks in the most horrible way.

Taking a step back, I feel the sting of tears as I ask again, “Where is she?”

“I’m so sorry, Rhys, but your mother…” Geneviève swallows hard. “She collapsed at work from a heart attack. We called an ambulance, but it was too late. She’s… gone.”

As her words sink in, my entire world crumbles in an instant. As worldly as I think I am, I’m still only twelve and my mother is the only person I have. The only person I had.

What am I going to do?

Shock and sadness pour through me. I have no relatives, nowhere to go.

“I know this is scary, and the innkeeper wanted me to tell you, the moment you’re old enough, you can come work for him.” She’s wringing her hands, clearly uncomfortable, trying to stay positive.

In this moment, I don’t think I’ll ever be positive again. I just lost the only person who matters. “I’m only twelve,” I whisper.

“Well, sure, right now,” she falters. “You’ll have to live with, ah, a foster family for a while. But in a few years, you’ll have a job all lined up, so that’s good to know, right?”

“A job that killed ma mère?” I ask flatly.

“Your mom worked very hard—”

“I’m not going to end up like her.” Tears slide down my cheeks and I swipe them away. “And I’m not living with a foster family.”

“Rhys—”

Panic floods through me as everything I’ve ever known starts to slip away. “No!” I yell, backing away and heading for the stairs. “You can’t make me live with strangers! I live here! This is my home!”

My feet pound up the steps and I race into my room, slamming and locking the door behind me. I don’t know how to process such an incredible loss, and I crumple down to the floor and curl up into a tight ball, sobs racking my small frame.

How can she be gone? Who is going to cook me dinner and tuck me in at night and call me Rye? Who is going to remind me to put my dirty clothes in the hamper and to make my bed? Who is going to love me?

She was the only one.

And now she’s gone.

I don’t think my heart could hurt more than it does at this moment.

I’m not sure how long I cry, but eventually I crawl into my bed, still in my damp clothes, and fall asleep. I dream of Maman, and she tells me how much she loves me and how proud she is of me. For a while, it’s like she’s still here, but then I wake up. And my beautiful dream becomes a nightmare.

Slipping out of bed, still wearing the same clothes that got soaked in yesterday’s rain, I wander through the little house.

It doesn’t take me long to realize it isn’t the same without her presence.

Without her smiles and laughter. Now it’s just a place filled with things and no tether to love or the life I knew. It feels… empty.

It’s no longer home.

“I’m leaving.” Even though I say the words to no one but myself, I infuse as much confidence as I can into my voice. The sad truth is, without Maman, there’s nothing left in this town for me.

A plan begins to form in my mind as I throw some things into a backpack. Then I go into Maman’s bedroom and take the small amount of money she’d saved and stashed in her top dresser drawer. It’s not much, but it’ll get me to where I’m going.

Vowing not to cry, I reach for the picture of us and open the small frame, plucking the photo out. Maman looked so pretty that day as we ate a picnic lunch along the river. And I’ll never forget what she said after I told her how that boy at school had said such mean things.

“You can be whoever you want to be, Rye. Never let anyone label you or make you feel less than. It doesn’t matter what other people say or think. Let them be small and petty, while you do great things.”

I carefully tuck the picture between a couple of shirts and zip up my backpack.

I’m not going to live with a foster family.

I’m not going to work a dead end job.

“I’m going to Paris,” I announce, trying to sound brave. And I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to survive. Survive and thrive.

Slinging my backpack over a shoulder, I take one last look at our house.

The curtains Maman sewed, the worn plaid couch she made cozy with pillows, the small breakfast table where we ate our meals together every day.

“I’m going to do great things, Maman,” I whisper.

Then I walk out, leaving the only home I’ve ever known.