Thief of Cahraman

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Thief of Cahraman Page 17

by Lucy Tempest


  Ayman focused his attention on our unconscious company, gently moving her head onto his lap and covering her body with his cloak, tucking her in it. This sweet gesture was something I wouldn’t have expected from the man who haunted her nightmares.

  He watched her with soft fascination, his hand hesitantly hovering above her, seemingly itching to stroke her hair or pet her face. The sight of them tugged at my heartstrings. I didn’t know if it was on his behalf, for his clear desire to express affection, or for mine, because I wanted to give and receive it, too.

  It was probably for both of us.

  How strange to find such a commonality with someone I’d thought a monster not an hour ago.

  Feeling Cyrus coming closer, my attention was dragged back to him. Like a weak pile of iron filings eager to stick to a magnet, I followed as he passed by me.

  As I shadowed him, looking around for the lamp, he pushed coins away with his feet, creating a narrow but clear path for me. At least, I believed it was for me. I was grateful anyway, remembering how I’d slipped on them the first time I’d been here.

  He came to a halt at a statue, that of the sad-eyed princess.

  I stopped beside him, unable to take my eyes off him. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, effortlessly styling it to bring out more of his perfect profile. In that moment, before the statue of Jumana Morvarid, his skin pale gold, his hair bronze and his eyes emeralds, Cyrus was another one of the timeless statues that towered over the treasure.

  He took out a flower—a pink rose—from the depth of his cloak.

  For a foolish moment, I thought it was for me.

  In silence, he bowed to Jumana’s miserable likeness and set the rose at her feet. Then he picked up the incense bowl I’d seen still burning during my first time here.

  He placed the silver bowl in one of her upturned hands and produced a lighter and sparked a flame into it. A trail of warm and woody aromatic smoke puffed to life. Myrrh.

  I approached him carefully. “Who was she?”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure exactly. I’ve heard different stories from different people, so my idea of her makes very little sense.”

  “Do you know how she died?”

  He wrapped his arms around his middle as he gazed up at her. “No one would tell me. But her statue being here, away from where people could see her and pay their respects to her, means hers was a dishonorable death.”

  “Childbirth is dishonorable?”

  He tore his eyes away from Jumana to quirk his eyebrow at me. “Childbirth?”

  “I assumed it was the reason, seeing that she’s so young.”

  “If she had died bringing someone into the world, she would be out in the hanging gardens.” He lowered his head, plunging his face in shadow. “If she’s in here, that means she killed herself.”

  A jolt of shock went through me, making me lurch.

  It was strange how with just one statement, my entire view of someone I didn’t know and would never know tilted. I went from pitying a young mother who’d never met her child to being mortified by the tragic end of a girl barely older than me. What had her life been like? Who had she been? How long ago had she died and why had she ended it all?

  In my darkest hours, especially in the early days after my mother had been taken from me, I had considered following her. I’d no longer had anyone to lean on or have an emotional connection with. Without her, I’d felt I’d had nothing left to live for.

  Who or what had Jumana lost to push her over the edge?

  After I lost my mother, what had made me climb out of the pit of despair and cling to life, had been the hope that I’d one day find someone to live for and with. Someone to be my safety and support, my family and home. Then I’d found Bonnie and her father and had pinned all that hope on them. But they might be taken away from me, too.

  Except, if it came to pass, their loss wouldn’t be like my mother’s, who had died in an accident miles away from home and had been buried before the sheriff had even informed me of her death. It would be gruesome murder. And it would be my fault.

  I needed to find that lamp now.

  “Are you alright?” Cyrus asked, concern hushing his voice and softening his eyes.

  I wiped away the tear I hadn’t realized had trickled down my cheek. “Are you?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” His gaze still probed my face as he turned away from Jumana. Then he rubbed his hands together, seemingly to drum up heat and excitement, and change the melancholy subject. “So, what is it we’re looking for?”

  “I told you I’m not—”

  “Not sure what it is but you’ll know it when you see it,” he filled in impatiently, rolling his eyes. “That’s the vague answer you give to strangers, and I should hope we’re friends by now. After all, I did set up this heist for you.”

  My shoulders slumped. He was right. I had to tell him what I was after. Maybe he’d help me find it, too, once he knew.

  “A lamp.”

  His brows fell flat in a bewildered stare. “A lamp?”

  “Indeed.”

  “As in a lamp?” He pointed to one of the lanterns hanging off the walls.

  “No, an oil lamp.”

  His confusion deepened to a confounded stare. “You asked me to sneak you out of your dorm, risking being caught and punished, caused us to accidentally kidnap a nobleman’s daughter, and made us take you through the secret tunnels into the richest part of the entire kingdom—so you could get a worthless oil lamp?”

  Embarrassment buzzed under my skin, making me squirm. “When you say it like that—”

  “What do you even need it for? Lamps like that haven’t been in use for decades.”

  “Then me taking a useless antique shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Cyrus gawked at me like I was crazy. Then he shook his head. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you? This is an elaborate joke to teach us a lesson, for scaring you that first night, isn’t it?”

  “It’s really not.”

  His gaze lengthened, as if he was deciding whether to believe me or not.

  His next words told me he did. “Why a lamp, though? Why not a sack of coins or a jewel-tipped staff or an enchanted idol?”

  My eyes snapped wider. “There are enchanted things in here?”

  His grin emerged at my involuntary excitement as he turned his head around. “There should be.”

  I couldn’t help my eagerness as I stepped closer. “Like what?”

  “Among other things, I heard that there’s a ring that can grant wishes and a carpet that can fly. But I have yet to find either.”

  Though a flying carpet and a wish-fulfilling ring sounded fantastic, I couldn’t think of wasting time looking for either. All I needed now was that lamp.

  “If it’s a lamp you need, I can get you one,” Cyrus said. “We might have some ornate silver ones in the pantry, used in ancient, symbolic ceremonies.”

  “It’s not just any lamp, it’s a gold one.”

  His lips twisted. “So, you do know what you’re looking for?”

  “I have no idea what it looks like,” I insisted. “I just know that it’s gold and that it’s here.”

  “Now you’ve disclosed that much, won’t you tell me why you need it?”

  “Is it really important why she needs it?” Ayman appeared a few feet away, sounding impatient. “We wasted enough time doing nothing. Help her find the damned antique then ask what it’s for when we’re safely out of here.”

  Cyrus seemed about to protest before changing his mind. “Fine. Let’s find your outdated lantern.”

  All the trapped air left my tight chest in a trembling sigh of relief. “Thank you. Really. Thanks.”

  He bowed with an arm extended towards the nearest pile of treasure. “After you.”

  As I passed him, I let my hand linger lightly on his shoulder, a gesture of gratitude and acknowledgment. He put his hand over mine, kept it there as I got further away, until my hand slipped out from
under his. His touch set me aflame like his lighter had lit the incense.

  Wrestling with my thundering heart and trembling limbs, I hid my burning face in my hair as I dove into the search.

  Hours passed with me chasing my own tail among the hills of treasure. Both Cyrus and Ayman helped me with total commitment. They implemented my plan to canvas the vast vault, dividing it into a grid using ropes. Then we searched each section, thoroughly digging through each pile, emptying every bag and checking every chest.

  But we found nothing that could function as a lamp or even remotely looked like one. I got more desperate until I was reduced to debating if a white-gold dallah could count as a ‘gold oil lamp.’ I was getting to the point where I dreaded having to admit the possibility.

  That there was no lamp in the vault.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “It has to be here.”

  My desperate groan slurred even as my gaze blurred. It had been hours and we had combed through every inch of the vault. We had unearthed diamond rings, inventoried loose gems, matched scattered earring pairs, but we couldn’t find one bulky gold lamp.

  But if it wasn’t in the vault, where could it be?

  Cyrus’s hand gently curled around my arm, tugging at me. “We need to go. The palace will be waking up soon.”

  “I can’t.” My lament came out half-yawn, half-sob. “I need to find it.”

  He stroked my arm soothingly. “We can commission one for you if you need it that much. I’ll pick some gold from here and send it to be melted down and fashioned into a lamp.”

  I shook my head, eyes burning with frustration, sleeplessness and the long, fruitless search. “No, it needs to be this specific old one. It’s an heirloom with a value you can’t even imagine.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  Where could I even begin to explain this whole situation to him? That I was from a forgotten land and needed to trade a stupid, misshapen teapot full of oil for the lives of my friends, and probably mine, too? That for some reason, the king had stolen it from Nariman? And that she’d stop at nothing to get it back? How was that supposed to make any sense to—

  “There are sounds inside!”

  “Someone is in the vault!”

  The yells came from outside the other door at the far end of the vault. Footsteps stomped down the steps we’d used the first time down here.

  “We must go.” Ayman appeared again with Cherine in his arms. “Now!”

  He turned and streaked toward the door we’d come in through. Cyrus pulled me after him by the arm. I dug my heels in, kept reaching back for any space I felt hadn’t been searched thoroughly enough, just in case we had missed something, anything!

  “Ada, we have to go!”

  “I can’t! You go. I’ll hide until they’re gone. I have to keep looking!”

  “Ada, I can’t leave you here. There is no place to hide. You’d be caught, then disqualified and punished—”

  “I don’t care. I’m getting kicked out, anyway!”

  “The punishment would not be sending you home, but throwing you in prison.”

  The word prison exploded inside my head.

  If I were in prison, I’d be no good to anyone. Starting with myself.

  The vault door began to screech open, scraping the floor loudly, drowning the guards’ shouts.

  With a growl, Cyrus pulled me with all his strength behind him and rushed me through the domed hall then to the stairwell we came from.

  In seconds, we caught up with Ayman, who reached back and pulled me after him by my robe. “Hurry!”

  Cyrus pushed me ahead of him and I ran up along the spiral of stairs, my lungs burning, my every muscle quivering as I slammed into walls at each bend. I only checked behind me when we reached the last flight before the secret pathway, and—

  Cyrus wasn’t there.

  I stopped dead, panicking, panting. “Where is he?”

  “He’ll catch up,” Ayman grumbled as he tugged on my sleeve so I’d continue moving.

  “He’ll get caught!”

  “That’s his problem!” He pulled harder.

  I wouldn’t budge. My lungs were almost bursting with the urge to scream as the etched stonewall started to seal itself behind us, blocking the pathway.

  “CYRUS!”

  “You’ll wake her up!” Ayman hissed at me, gesturing at Cherine as she dangled over his shoulder.

  Sure enough, her eyes cracked open as she started to stir with a confused, sleepy snort.

  If she woke up now…

  I didn’t know what to do but stroke her hair softly and whisper, “Shhh, you’re dreaming. Just go back to sleep.”

  “Alright,” she said, and thankfully closed her eyes once more.

  I tore my eyes away from her, stared helplessly at the now-fused wall, feeling sick to my stomach with anxiety. “W-what happens if they catch him?”

  Ayman slowed his pace now that he considered we were home free, tossing me an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve never been caught.”

  He didn’t sound too concerned. Or concerned at all. Was that a sign for me not to worry either, or was he just a lousy friend?

  Knowing that I couldn’t open that wall again without Ayman’s help, and that all I’d do if I went back for Cyrus was get caught myself, or even cause him to get caught if he hadn’t been, I dragged my feet behind Ayman as we returned through the path we came through, still lit by torches and the field of glowing gemstones.

  If Cyrus got caught and punished—or worse—then it would be three lives instead of two that were ended by my failings.

  “He’ll be fine,” Ayman said suddenly. “You, on the other hand, I can’t tell.”

  “How do you know he’ll be fine?”

  “Because I do.”

  I got no further explanations from him. But I somehow felt that he was telling me the truth, and Cyrus was in no danger. The tension squeezing my every cell drained.

  But with fear for Cyrus subsiding, it only rushed back to Bonnie and her father, and my current dilemma.

  “Are there no other treasure vaults?” I asked. “No safes I can search?”

  Ayman shrugged his free shoulder. “Since old oil lamps were mostly used for holy ceremonies, there might be some at shrines.”

  “Then maybe I’ll find it at a shrine in the palace or even in the city?”

  “Not a gold one you won’t. The most you will find is one made of silver, sometimes not even pure silver, but an alloy.”

  “How come?”

  “It’s not worth the precious metal, not like coins and jewelry are.”

  “Oh.”

  This whole mess made no sense. If people didn’t waste precious metals on stupid items like lamps then who would have made a gold one so his descendants would consider it an heirloom to pass down? Why did no one melt it down into something more worthy, like a necklace or a dagger? And why had King Darius taken a lamp of all things from Nariman before booting her out of the kingdom? Had he too considered it invaluable and coveted it? But for what reason? If lamps were for ceremonial use, holy by association, did that make a gold one the ultimate offering to their patron god…or something?

  It was either that, or she had lied about its purpose. Or this was just the most absurd part of a never-ending dream.

  Heaven knows I’d had my share of outlandish ones. And if this was a dream within a dream, all I’d have to do was wake up, and everything would disappear like the night terrors always had, tendrils of darkness evaporating in the light of day.

  But I knew I wasn’t that lucky, and this was real. And reality would turn to tragedy if I didn’t find answers and concoct an alternative plan.

  “How do you avoid getting caught?” I asked Ayman as we climbed another set of stairs. “Do you just use the tunnels? Do they go through the city, too?”

  “They can lead out, yes, but I don’t leave the palace. I just can’t go outside.”

  “Because of the
way you look?”

  He exhaled loudly. “And because of the sun. It burns.”

  “Your skin?”

  “Everything. Once, when I was nine, I went out at high noon and nearly went blind.”

  I winced as I imagined his pain and terror at the terrible experience. I also realized something else. That this was what the story of Saint Alban and the Pale Men meant when it mentioned “fleeing the sun.” Though most of his followers had been extremely fair-skinned and haired rather than practically colorless like Ayman, they’d followed him to Ericura, a land that had longer, colder winters and milder summers than the rest of the Known World. The Northern Ericurans I’d known must have once been Arboreans like Fairuza and the Southerners Campanians like Cora.

  “What about going out here in the palace?”

  “Only at night when we don’t have too many guests. Only among the people who know me, and are used to my…” He waved a hand around his head. “…ghostly pallor.”

  “So, the staff here knows you?”

  “Some do.”

  “Cyrus said you were a guardian of sorts?”

  “I’m sort of a personal bodyguard and a night watchman if need be. During the day, I hide.”

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask, about his life and about Cyrus’s. About what they did here with all the knowledge of the palace and what they hoped to do in the future.

  Did they expect to live here for the rest of their lives or were there other alternatives for them? Life couldn’t be easy for either of them here, as it wouldn’t be for me. Not that I had any kind of future here. Nothing beyond the blasting end of Nariman’s magic staff.

  But they could be saving enough stolen goods to one day up and run. If so, they could come with me, help me find Arbore myself and save Bonnie from the beast and—

  And I would still be stuck in this land.

  Whether I liked it or not, I needed that witch to get home just as much as I needed her for all three of us to stay alive.

  No matter which path I tried to take, it all led back to that lamp.

  The lamp that didn’t seem to exist.

  I waited until we reached the darkest part of the tunnel to burst into bitter, silent tears.

 

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