Diamond in the Rough: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 3)

by Vivienne Savage

  Rosalia licked her dry lips, took in a slow breath, and loosed the smile that was begging to creep onto her face.

  “You’re asking me to marry you now?” Humor laced her tone and beside her Xavier relaxed.

  “Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation. “Nearly dying introduced me to a noble concept called foresight. If something happens before this is all over, I need you to know I love you and I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Rosalia. I know you’ve agreed to conceive a child with me, but those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  When Adriano brought up marriage, she could never imagine a future alongside him that wasn’t rooted in unhappiness, giving up both careers she’d loved and waiting week after week for him to return from sea.

  Xavier had asked for none of that, but she’d give it to him all the same. A life with him was the only future she could see so long as he stood by her side.

  His lips brushed against her cheek. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  She’d apparently been quiet for far too long, lost in her own thoughts. Her face heated, then she turned her head to search for his lips in the dark.

  “I love you. Of course I’m going to marry you.”

  But first, they had to survive the heist of a lifetime for it to happen. Getting the Devil’s Eyeglass away from the king and his pets wouldn’t be easy.

  Darkness blanketed the rolling hills of the city’s only graveyard. Fog swirled around the moss-covered graves of those long forgotten and silence hovered over the place of rest. The distant lights of the occasional city watchman blinked in and out between the tree-strewn paths as they navigated the walkways with their lanterns, but their loud and clumsy approach made it easy for Rosalia and Xavier to sneak around them, give or take a few close calls.

  The watchmen may as well have been blind children in the dark.

  The hardest part of the entire ordeal was trying to find her mother’s grave in the dark when she had neglected to visit for so very long and additions had been made to the platform shelves carved into the mountainous hilltops. The old section of graveyard seemed to have no rhyme or reason to its layout, which led to her brushing away years of grime and dirt to check each tombstone's name once they neared. Nearly an hour of searching twisted Rosalia’s guts with anxiety, the irrational fear that she would never find the grave weighing heavily on her and then—a glint of volcanic glass caught her eye in the moonlight.

  Her mother’s marker was an obelisk of pristine obsidian and when the light struck it just right, it shone like a crystal prism. Every angle introduced a new color shadowed by ebony.

  Rosalia had never seen it in the moonlight, accustomed to daylight visits when it appeared to be dull, gray stone.

  Gloved fingers traced the name for a long moment. Dahlia. Rosalia would give anything to not be here armed with a shovel and a heart filled with dread. She said a silent prayer, asking for forgiveness for the wretched act she was about to perform, and then set to work.

  They took turns digging, the process dragging long into the night and wearing on Rosa the deeper they got. They worked in silence until the shovel connected solidly with something. She froze for a moment, feeling as if her throat were closing in on itself as the reality of the situation seemed to finally set in. They were really doing this.

  A strong hand curved over her shoulder and squeezed, breaking her train of thought. “Don’t look.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll do it. Let me do this for you.”

  With the spritely agility only an elf—or a thief—possessed, Xavier slipped down into the open grave with the crowbar.

  Panic wound around Rosalia’s heart. Part of her told her she had to be the one to do it. Another part, the part exhausted with seeing the corpses of those she’d loved, was grateful for the weredragon’s presence.

  The coffin creaked, and a musty smell that was neither pleasant nor repulsive filled the air. There was a steady beat of silence as Rosa fought with her curiosity. She didn’t want to be stuck with the imagery of her mother's corpse, but—

  “Rosa, we have a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Your mother isn’t wearing a medallion. There’s nothing here at all.”

  She turned then, careful to not look down into the coffin until Xavier shut the lid. He was covered in sweat and dirt and looked as exhausted as she felt. They hadn’t wasted any time changing or resting after the cart ride, coming right to the cemetery. The last few days of constant struggle had worn them down, and she wondered how much more they would have to take. How much more until their mission was finished and they could rest, knowing the kingdom, as well as the rest of the world, was safe?

  “What now?” Her voice sounded small and hopeless, even to her own ears. Xavier didn’t answer right away. He climbed out of the grave first and started to lazily shovel dirt back into the hole. This had been their only lead on the medallion, and without it they had no further direction.

  “We could return to Enchantress Elora,” he finally said, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. Rosalia took over replacing the dirt.

  “There’s an army between us and them, remember? Besides, I doubt there’s anything more they can do for us, not when they have their own battle, and we’d be little help. No. They’ve done enough. The rest is up to us.”

  He grimaced. “You’re right. Then we should head for my hoard. At least there we can rack our brains in safety. We’ll clean up, track down my contact in the city, and find out if she’s heard anything useful. Prior to our departure, I gave her the control switch to a magic bomb and asked her to detonate it if the guard came poking around my store again.”

  “And she agreed?”

  “She’s a gnome.”

  “Ah.”

  Gnomes were known as some of the craziest, most explosion-happy beings across the kingdoms, their love for exploration surpassed only by their drive to create shiny objects and things that went boom.

  “All right. Your hoard and baths are in order. We stand a better chance at sneaking around if the enemy doesn’t smell us coming.”

  Moiranna had all of the news for them, and none of it was promising.

  In the privacy of the gnomish woman’s attic, while the city watchmen patrolled the streets outside with torches and lanterns, Rosalia and Xavier listened as she recounted the past two weeks since their departure to acquire the stone.

  Initially, it was all amusing, especially when she regaled him with the guard’s attempts to gain access to his storefront two days after their disappearance. They’d returned with a mage but the protections blew them down the road like leaves on the wind. After a few more failed attempts, they surrendered, and it hadn’t been necessary to blow the shop after all.

  Then they announced that the guild of magic was now an enemy to the kingdom and that all wizards within had only twenty-four hours to vacate the tower or surrender in their guild mistress.

  They did neither, and then the war began, cannon fire against enchanted stone, battering rams against doors that wouldn’t budge. Ballistas and other weapons of war rolled in, but they remained in a vicious stalemate.

  “Gods.”

  “It gets worse. The spymaster sent his secret police into the city to round up anyone with suspicious links to the thieves. Anyone. They’re even weeding out traitors among their own ranks, supposedly. They did a sweep through the naval barracks as well, about, oh…maybe three or four days ago.”

  A hard knot of tension tightened in Xavier’s stomach. He didn’t need to look at Rosalia to anticipate the expression that came over her features. He sought her hand blindly, squeezing it, and measured his breaths to remain calm, to impart that same sense of tranquility to Rosalia who needed it more.

  He knew what was on her mind.

  “Did they…arrest anyone?” Her question confirmed his suspicions that they were of one mind.

  Moiranna nodded. “Many someones! They arrested a few city watchmen, and
, um, a soldier in the army, and oh, even a naval captain!”

  Rosalia turned rigid and the color drained from her face, leaving ashen gray in its wake. “A captain?”

  “Uh-huh. Can’t recall the fellow’s name, but that one surprised me a bit. Imagine that, a captain hanging for treason against the crown. I think they were all swept away for court martial or something because none of them have been seen since.”

  “That’s all you remember?” Xavier pressed gently.

  “It is. There—wait. Actually…” Then her small mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Actually, no. That’s wrong. I saw notices around the square earlier about upcoming executions. I didn’t really look into it too deeply. Executions and the like…grisly business.” She shuddered.

  Moiranna appeared so matter-of-fact about it that Xavier felt sick. He didn’t have a particular attachment to Adriano, but Rosalia did, and at that moment, she appeared close to bursting into tears.

  “I think we’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you for keeping us abreast of the city’s activity, Moiranna.”

  “No trouble. Go out the attic window again and onto the roof. No one will see you.”

  True to her word, they exited into shadows and made their way down a drainpipe to the ground below. Moiranna had already dimmed the light at the rear of the shop, leaving the alley in pitch darkness for them, though lamps shone farther away at the distant end of the lane.

  Xavier’s body still ached from the cramped ride, days of punishment, and the crash landing in his dragon form. Rosalia skipped ahead of him with movements swift enough that she appeared to be flitting from one pool of shadow to the next and blinking in between them.

  By the time he caught up to her, she stood beside a wall staring at a posted notice announcing the upcoming deaths of numerous men and women. One name at the very top of the list stood out from them all.

  Adriano Anamesco, sentenced to death for crimes against the crown, aiding and abetting a fugitive, destruction of naval property, and conspiring against the kingdom.

  “No, no, no, no,” she breathed. “We have to do something.”

  Do what? he wondered, staring at the notice and raking possibilities through his head. Every single person seemed to be an official in the military of some sort, and he recognized at least two names of guardsmen.

  “They’re weeding out their own. Anyone who may be against them. It’s possible they don’t know of his ties to you.”

  “They do,” she said grimly. “They know because of Lacherra. She’s told them everything.”

  He knew she was right, and he could only imagine the pain of betrayal she felt.

  “Hold on, there’s something else. There’s a message here,” she murmured, gaze skimming over the execution notice. Rosalia’s hands clenched at her sides. “They want the stones for his life. They’ll let him go if we submit.”

  “Do you actually trust them to honor the bargain?”

  “No. Which is why we’re going to break him out.”

  “Rosa, think about it. They’ll be expecting exactly that.”

  “I have to do something. I can’t abandon him when he’s never abandoned me. It’s because of us that he’s in this position. He helped us locate the Light. He stayed behind in the city to be our eyes and ears instead of sailing off.”

  Xavier ran his hands through his hair. It was a trap, they both knew that, but once Rosalia made up her mind there was next to no chance of her changing it.

  And he wouldn’t have her any other way. He loved her for her heart and her loyalty as much as he did her beauty and her wit.

  “You’re not going alone.” He left no room for argument in his tone. She challenged him with a hard gaze, though it endured for only a handful of pulse beats before her eyes softened.

  “Thank you.”

  No matter what lay ahead of them, Xavier wouldn’t leave her to face danger—or a squad of military guardsmen—alone.

  14

  Hidden in Rock

  The road from Enimura to Black Rock Outpost should have been at least two hours by wagon. They made it in a fraction of that time on account of Rosalia riding Xavier under the cover of night. Not so far in the distance beyond the military installation, the road to Sandfire Castle appeared as a pale, winding strip against the surrounding desert, the crushed rocks giving off a faint silvery glow in the moonlight.

  Rosalia and Xavier kept to the scrub bushes, moving from shadow to shadow in silence until the outpost loomed ahead. The long, squat building served as a final checkpoint for caravans and travelers before reaching the palace gates, as well as resupply station for the army.

  Or, in this instance, an execution ground for military criminals.

  “I don’t see any sign of extra guards,” Rosalia whispered as they made a wide circle around the building. “We should be able to slip in and free Adriano with little trouble.”

  The stealthy, dark-skinned dragon shot her a dubious look. “No unnecessary risks, love.”

  “Everything we do now is a risk. Some must be taken. You know that better than I do.”

  Xavier regarded her for a long, silent moment, then dipped his head. “Then we stick together. I don’t trust any of this. They’re luring you in.”

  “I don’t disagree with you, but they have no way of knowing we’re here. Even if they’re watching for us, we’re better than they are. We just need to stay a few steps ahead of them.”

  “Let us keep it that way.”

  Luck accompanied them as they snuck over the rear wall. Only one guard patrolled the rampart, and he was easily avoided. Inside they moved down dimly lit hallways and past barracks with no more than a handful of sleeping guards. Once they had to duck into a side room to escape notice, waiting with bated breaths as the patrolman passed by.

  Though she couldn’t place her finger on it, something about the deserted structures struck her as wrong.

  “Something feels off,” Xavier whispered from her shoulders.

  “I thought the same thing,” she whispered back. “Be on guard. You were right that we’d be walking into a trap.” And there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

  But we could. We can leave. We can abandon him.

  Adriano wouldn’t abandon her, however. A tiny voice of sense and loyalty told her to even consider it was an insult to their friendship and all Hadrian had taught her.

  True thieves left no one behind unless absolutely necessary, and it wasn’t yet necessary to give up on her friend. If they had any chance at all of saving him, she couldn’t live with herself until she tried.

  With their path clear again, the pair continued down the corridor to the holding cells. Xavier handled the single guard with a sleeping spell—easy enough, considering the man had already been snoozing at his post. Rosalia took the keys and unlocked the barred door leading to the cells. All were empty save for one at the end, where a tiny nub of a candle provided the barest hint of flickering light.

  “Go get him. I’ll keep watch.”

  Needing no further encouragement, Rosa hurried to the last cell and slid the key into the lock. A slumped figure lay bathed in ominous shadows on the floor against the back wall beneath a thin, tattered rag of a blanket. Only the barest rise and fall of his chest indicated life. For a moment, she feared they had arrived too late, and that he’d succumbed to their abuse before he could take the execution stage.

  It was too late. They’d killed him. Run, Rosalia, whispered a tiny voice of truth and reason at the back of her mind. She suppressed the internal alarm and took one more step.

  Is it really an ambush when you know it’s coming?

  The only thing she didn’t know with absolute certainty was whether her friend could be saved. That they were using him as bait was a given.

  “Adriano?” she whispered. When only a low groan of pain arose from the unmoving lump, her heart lurched in her chest. “Great stars, what have they done to you?”

  The dying candlelight caught the glint of
steel on her left. With her next step, Adriano’s form shimmered and vanished, proving to be nothing more than a mirage. Behind her, the door slammed shut and separated her from Xavier. He called out her name, his voice nearly drowned out by a second slam.

  “They’ve sealed the exit!” Xavier shouted.

  In a brilliant racing arch of color, torches flared to life all around her and in the adjacent corridor, chasing away the deep shadows and revealing the true Adriano—held on his knees at knifepoint by Lacherra. Dark bruises bloomed across his face, standing out starkly in the flickering light.

  “Lacherra.” The name escaped Rosa’s lips as a quiet hiss.

  “I knew you’d attempt this. I even put a hundred crowns on it. The spymaster didn’t think you’d have the nerve, but I knew better. You never could resist playing the hero.”

  Each hurtful word from the woman she’d considered a mother dug deep. Lacherra held a familiar blade to Adriano’s throat, one that had been an anniversary gift from Hadrian. Rosa could recall with perfect clarity the afternoon he’d presented it to her, a work of art he’d spent weeks enchanting to keep a razor-sharp edge. Now that blade traced a thin red line against Adriano’s neck. Thirstily, it drank each drop and drew the crimson droplets within its silver metal until it gradually bloomed pink.

  Lifedrinker was what Lacherra had named it.

  “What happened to you to make you so hateful?”

  Hadn’t it been only a few years ago that Lacherra had outfitted Rosalia for her first audition in the theater? She’d cupped her cheek, wished her well, and then proudly presented her with flowers after the show. Now it felt as if Rosalia looked at a stranger in a mask, an imposter wearing the face of the woman who raised her.