Thief of Cahraman

by Lucy Tempest

  He removed his hand from her face and she fell limp in his arms, still breathing.

  He’d just knocked her out.

  Instead of setting her back on her bed, he started pushing her under it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t leave her here. If she wakes up she’ll wake everyone up and they’ll discover you’re gone. If she doesn’t until I bring you back, she’ll tell everyone I was here, and would demand that you back up her claim, as usual.”

  As usual?

  “Have you been here every night?”

  He stopped tucking her under, leaving her arm sticking out, looking back at me. “Not every night.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  In the faint moonlight seeping in between the curtains, his eyes glinted the color of blood as he looked back at me. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am creepy.”

  That he was. He really, really was. It just made me all the more hesitant to follow him under her bed to wherever the other nightmare monsters came from.

  “Are you coming or not?” Cherine had been tucked out of sight and he joined her under her bed, only an arm and his pale head visible. “Hurry up, I don’t have all night.”

  This was a bad idea. Terrible.

  And since it was, I, of course, crawled in after him.

  Under Cherine’s bed, I found a square floor tile moved out of place, exposing the hollow mouth of a dimly lit, vertical tunnel. So this was how he entered our room, through a secret passage I had failed to find despite extensively searching under all the beds.

  Sliding down after him as he held the unconscious Cherine against him, I found steps hewn into the wall, barely deep enough to accommodate half my foot. But I was used to worse footholds in my career as a thief. I started climbing down as I silently prayed that I wasn’t making us this thing’s live dinner.

  Once I was on his same level, he reached above me and pulled the tile back into place, sealing the floor seamlessly. I doubted—if we never came back and they investigated our disappearance—that anyone would ever find this masterfully hidden outlet. It would really be the perfect crime.

  “Don’t scream.”

  Before another thought fired in my brain in response to the raspy whisper that abraded my every nerve, he seemed to be swallowed by the darkness below. Just as I lost sight of him, one of his hands shot up, caught my ankle and pulled me down.

  I screamed at the top of my lungs the instant I started falling.

  I flailed at thin air as I plummeted. Kicking and clawing to catch on to anything, I only managed to bump and scrape against the rough, rocky walls hard enough to spawn a thousand bruises.

  I landed with a teeth-rattling thud on my feet on a flat surface, before stumbling forwards to fall on my face right beside Cherine. She was on her side, still out. The ghoul was towering over both of us.

  Had he thrown her down, too? Maybe it had all been a ruse to get me away from the safety of our dorm, to cripple me, so he could devour us both at his leisure and in peace.

  I struggled to turn over, looking around feverishly in the dimness for a rock or anything else to use as a weapon against him. Finding nothing, I scrambled into a crouch, ready to pounce and fight him to my last breath with my bare hands as he bent towards Cherine.

  Just as I was about to leap forwards, tackle him, everything inside me stalled.

  It was the care in his movements as he stood up with Cherine in his arms, the gentleness with which he hauled her over his shoulder. It forced to conclude that he hadn’t thrown her down, had placed her on the ground only to adjust her position before he picked her up again.

  Finally deciding he wasn’t about to eat either of us, my observations turned inward, to the aches all over body, the ringing in my head. Groaning as I checked I was still in one piece, I took in my surroundings.

  The tunnel was wide enough to accommodate three people walking side by side and just a foot higher than his head. Torches were lit on both sides, their flames fighting against a sourceless wind to stay alight.

  A figure with a satchel on his back and a scarf wrapped around his head approached holding a torch of blue flames. “Had a nice trip?”

  At hearing Cyrus’s joking voice, I picked up a handful of dirt and chucked it at him. “I could have broken something!”

  “Regretfully, there’s no easier way down here. The hewn steps go only partway, and you have to jump down the rest of the way. The good news is that climbing up will be much easier with me holding you up.”

  I huffed as I dusted myself off. “What a relief. But I didn’t jump down. Your ‘friend’ pulled me down, with no warning about what to expect.”

  Cyrus tossed an irritated glance over my head at said friend before looking back at me. “I apologize on his behalf. He always forgets that everyone doesn’t have his strength and agility. He’s also not used to dealing with others, let alone ladies.”

  “I’m no breakable lady, but I could have used a heads up. It would have saved me the one huge bruise I feel I’m becoming.”

  “I should have come for you myself, but he insisted it was safer for him to do it. I apologize again.” To his credit, he did look and sound truly sorry. That doused my chagrin as I rose to my knees, grimacing at the aches all over my body. He came to bend over me, his eyes blazing with concern in the torch’s light. “Are you injured?” At my headshake he pressed, “Are you certain?” I nodded and this time he reached a gallant hand down to me. “On to what I promised, then. Our grand yet vague heist.”

  I took his hand and let him haul me up. His one strong pull took me straight up into him.

  For a moment, I remained there, plastered against him from chest to calf, feeling every inch of his warm strength through the roughness of his clothes and the flimsiness of mine.

  Flushing, I jerked back, composing myself, making a show of dusting off my robe and nightgown again. “You didn’t mention your ‘guardian’ friend was the ghoul!”

  “The what now?” He unwrapped the scarf, letting it fall around his neck so he could show me the extent of his confusion. “You mean Ayman?”

  “A what?”

  Cherine’s supposed ghoul stepped into the light, now carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of laundry. He still had the scarf hiding all but his eyes.

  He raised his free hand in acknowledgment. “I’m Ayman.”

  Still wary of him, I stepped back, half-behind Cyrus. “What is he?”

  “Not a ghoul, that’s for sure. Ready?”

  Embarrassed, I lowered my gaze, nodded.

  Ayman, decidedly not the monster I’d thought him to be, led the way.

  Cyrus offered me his arm with a bow and a grin. “Shall we, my lady?”

  Holding in my urge to squeal with relief and excitement, I curtsied badly and linked my arm with his. “We shall.”

  It was so easy for me to get lost in this moment; just the simple pleasure of walking arm-in-arm with a handsome young man, one who was charming, witty, dimpled and had great hair. It was something I had thought more impossible than magic. If, by some miracle, a boy at school or work had liked me, there hadn’t been anything I could do about it.

  Looking back, I felt that all those incidents had been like Nestor, that I had misread the situation and imagined their interest. But miscommunication aside, the pursuit of any real interest would have been pointless when I’d kept moving. That natural desire to be liked, admired, to have a connection had had no place in my life. I’d always had more vital worries to focus on.

  Like I currently did.

  Still, it didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy whatever attention I got now. I could still pretend to be in any of the dozen romantic situations I had imagined while watching street-fair plays or browsing Bonnie’s novels.

  For at least a few minutes, I was not in a dark, dusty tunnel heading to a risky mission that might lead to being caught and thrown into a dungeon for the rest of my life. For now, I was walking arm-in-arm with a handsome st
ranger, around a duck pond in a park, and instead of the torch, he held an umbrella to keep the rain at bay. Something straight out of a chivalric romance rather than whatever tragedy I had fallen into.

  “Is that Cherine Nazaryan?” Cyrus suddenly asked, a belated realization narrowing his gaze at her dangling form.

  I nodded. “The one, the only.”

  I felt him stiffen against me. “Why is Ayman taking her with us?”

  “To eat later, I presume,” I quipped.

  He relaxed as he chuckled. “She’s more of an on-the-go snack. Besides a tongue, there’s not much of her to eat, is there?”

  I covered my mouth, smothering my snort. “You know her?”

  “I had a few run-ins with her years ago. Can’t say she’s changed much.”

  “Hasn’t grown an inch since you mean?”

  “Or grown in general, by the looks of things.”

  Fascinated, I couldn’t help pelting him with my intrigued questions. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long. I came to officially reside in Sunstone when I was nine.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  “Almaskham. It’s a principality in the north, across the gulf of the Silver Sea.”

  “Why did you move here then?”

  “My father. He works here. Once he got promoted he decided it was about time I joined him and got used to the place so I could one day take his position.”

  We reached the top of a staircase that led down to a platform and then split up into branches, some going up and some down, in every direction. The tunnel that had become a cavern was lit, not by flames, but by smooth stones embedded in the walls, emitting an eerie, permeating white light.

  When we reached the center of the platform, it was like being surrounded by stars.

  Ayman led us up the stairs to the right. As we ascended the lights got brighter and the air felt thinner. At the top, we entered a better-constructed pathway, the ground beneath us smoothing out, with the walls made of polished stone.

  “How did you find this place?” I asked Cyrus.

  “I had a lot of free time when I was younger and studying the palace became one of my pastimes. Then while searching the archives for information, I found a map of tunnels and passageways that were used by the builders to get from place to place, and maybe for the inhabitants to escape during attacks or sieges. We’ve made great use of them ever since.”

  The pathway ended with a wooden door. Ayman kicked it open, Cherine’s limp arms flapping on his back.

  Cyrus held open the door for me as we passed through. “Honestly though, why is she here?”

  “He said she could blow my cover if she woke up.”

  “Good point. Watch your step.”

  I missed the start of the surprise staircase. I would have landed on my teeth had he not caught my arm.

  “Thanks,” I gasped as I grabbed him back.

  Grinning down at me, seeming as reluctant to let go of me as I was of him, he led the way.

  The spiral staircase snaked almost a mile downward to a lit doorway. I held my gown with one hand and the wall with the other as I carefully followed him down.

  I still slipped off a shorter step on the curve of the spiral. These fancy slippers weren’t made with heists in mind. He rushed up and caught me again, this time by the waist.

  “You’re falling a lot tonight,” he remarked teasingly as he clasped me to his hard body. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you liked having me pick you up.”

  “Or I’m just falling for you,” I blurted out stupidly.

  He blinked. “You—what?”

  Thank heaven it was dark. Besides seeming to have no control over my tongue, I could do nothing about the blush I felt burning my cheeks.

  “Falling for you…to remind you how much I need your full attention in this mission?”

  That was one of the silliest things I’d ever said. His crinkling eyes as he set me back upright told me he thought so too.

  “It’s a mission now, is it?” he finally drawled as his arm remained around my waist, not in a hold but in a cautious prop, to catch me if I were to fall again.

  Phew. Glad he decided to let me off the hook and changed the subject. I couldn’t handle teasing right now.

  “When was it not one?” I mumbled.

  His only response was a probing glance, before he invited me to climb down the rest of the way. He remained close in front of me this time, an arm propping me, cautious, protective.

  He cared. Or he was just that nice. A very nice, sneaky thief.

  Which was what I was. So, no judgment.

  He actually checked all the boxes on the Ideal Man traits list I didn’t even know I had. I now also remembered my mother telling me to pick someone I had major things in common with; that the foundation of every relationship was shared interests. We had lots of those.

  Unfortunately, it all made no difference to how improbable my chances with him were.

  I was just passing through his land. And if this mission succeeded, I’d be gone two days from now, and I’d never see him again.

  The idea felt like a fist had closed around my heart.

  Ten minutes later, at the bottom of the stairs, Ayman ducked past the doorway with Cherine still snoozing over his shoulder. It didn’t lead directly into the vault as I’d thought, but to a vast, dome-shaped stone chamber.

  It was empty.

  At least, it looked empty at first. Only at the halfway-point of the chamber did the etchings on the walls become clear. Like the panels of a picture book, each square foot held a smoothly etched scene. I couldn’t figure out which wall I was supposed to start reading from, but the one across from the doorway held the biggest image of them all.

  It was just like one of the illustrations in the White Shadow’s stories. A smoky whirlwind coming out of a bottle. Once I came closer and the perspective I was viewing it from shifted, I saw finer etchings within the lines of the vortex, revealing the form of a giant being with clawed hands and pointed ears.

  A shiver ran down my spine even in the warmth of the cavern.

  This place sure wasn’t where Loujaïne had taken us on our first night in the palace. A pathway that was unknown or forgotten, like those secret tunnels. But Cyrus knew about it. I’d been right when I’d thought only he could lead me back to the vault.

  I continued to gape around as Ayman went up to the etching of a door and pressed it.

  With a heavy, scraping noise, a part of the wall moved aside to let in blinding light. I swung my arms against my eyes. I didn’t remember the vault being so bright.

  After my eyes adjusted, I could see the shimmering masses of treasure, with its scattered reflections dancing on the floor and the walls.

  Cyrus stopped by the doorway and held out his arm, presenting the room to me. “After you, my lady.”

  Bracing myself, feeling I was on the threshold of so many possibilities, I entered the vault.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The first thing that came to mind as I stepped into the vault again was that I could swim in that sea of gold coins.

  Though I’d seen it before, I still couldn’t believe my eyes. It was even more fantastic than the first time I’d been here, as if my memory could not retain the enormity of its dazzling reality.

  Sacks upon urns upon chests of cut and uncut gemstones and elaborate jewelry that could cover the whole population of the palace or even of Sunstone from head to toe stretched from wall to wall. In their midst, the priceless sculptures soared, and an array of precious objects, no two alike, gleamed. Filling the space between all of them, were the piles of loose golden coins I could drown in.

  This place was the ultimate fantasy and temptation, especially for a thief like me.

  I desperately wanted to haul off one of those sacks. If I could just get them back home, it would mean that I could start a business and help expand Mr. Fairborn’s. In fact, just a handful of these things could make our lives so muc
h easier.

  Yet, the people who owned all this did nothing with it. None of the treasures served any purpose around here, not even a decorative one. It was a useless abundance of invaluable items, collecting dust, and reminding me just how unfair life was.

  Ayman carefully placed Cherine on the massive pedestal of an oxidized bronze statue and unwrapped his scarf. Long, thick white hair fell past his shoulders and down his back. The warm light bounced off his impossibly pale skin, mapping out the blood vessels under his skin like the black veins on white marble. He had no claws, no fangs, no scales or anything demonic. And now my shock over how different he looked had passed, I thought that he was actually beautiful, in a unique way. Made of a far more interesting material than common human flesh.

  As I scrutinized him, he got visibly uncomfortable, squirming under my gaze. It seemed he was unused to anyone looking at him for any length of time. He remained kneeling with his shoulders hunched, winding his scarf around his hands. Then he looked up straight at me.

  I could now see that his eyes weren’t red, but an intense purple. It was reflecting the flames brightness at certain angles that gave them that bloody hue. In the early morning light, with those eyes and coloring, he’d be enchanting.

  I could have thought he was a platinum blond from a region where the sun rarely shone. Like the Pale Men of the North—or Arbore. But his features didn’t add up. With his sharp nose, that started from between his thick, arched, silver brows, his hooded eyes, his chiseled lips and prominent cheekbones, his facial structure seemed native to this land. The only difference was that everything in him was almost white…

  “You’re an albino!” I suddenly realized. “Like Saint Alban!”

  The side of his mouth twitched. “I am a zāl.”

  “I told you to stop calling yourself that,” Cyrus snapped, his voice a bite of anger.

  Ayman slumped down by Cherine in a defeated sag. “Everyone but you calls me a zāl. What’s the point of denying it?”

  “Apparently our guests have been calling you a ghoul,” Cyrus growled, kicking things out of his way. “Does that make you one as well?”

  Their argument ended with that.