Like a true friend, she’d promptly donned gloves, helped Rosalia strip out of the tainted garments, and taken the salvageable pieces to the wash bowl to be scrubbed while her friend stood beneath a hot shower.
Nearly a half hour after her great escape, it was still no laughing matter to her. A soak, fresh leggings, and a clean tunic hadn’t improved her mood or returned her pulse to normal. “It isn’t funny! I could have been eaten or killed.”
“Eaten or killed? Don’t those things result in the same outcome?”
Rosalia glowered. “Of course. Laugh it up at my expense since you weren’t the one running panicked through some madman’s underground treasure trove. All those jewels and coins. I’ll never see so much money again in all of my life, and I left it because of a damned dragon.”
“But you completed the job and you’re alive.”
“You don’t understand. I left behind an original copy of The Scholar’s Truth.” She sighed and dragged a brush through her wet hair. “The words of the gods written as Founder Varro intended. No clever wordplay, no colorful euphemisms added by the temple headmasters. Everything transcribed the way the divines spoke it.”
Mira chuckled again. “You’re my favorite bookworm. Anyway, let’s look at the bauble now. I need to see what’s worth thirty thousand gold. And later, you’ll have to tell me which shop held the bloody thing. I may want to visit.”
“Trust me, you don’t. For your own safety, I’m not breathing a word. Just... stay away from all of the inventors. Hadrian couldn’t pay me enough to ever do it again.”
“Meh. I run faster than you.”
“Dragon’s breath is faster than both of us.”
Rosalia moved to her pack. Of all her equipment, it was the only thing she’d had to merely run beneath fresh water, the leather satchel completely watertight and saving her belongings from a thorough soak in filthy sewer water. She passed over the disinteresting piece of glass still wrapped in cushioning silk.
Mira unwrapped the mirror and turned it around a few times. She studied the inscription and shrugged. “Oh. Well. Isn’t that dull. I expected more of something hidden under the guard of a dragon.”
“It was also beneath The Scholar’s Truth,” Rosalia said.
Mira rolled her eyes. “Only you would be excited about a lump of old, dead trees.”
After fixing her friend with a disbelieving stare, Rosalia wrapped the glass in silk and cushioned it. “Beautiful, old, dead trees worth more than the sum of all we’ve stolen this entire year. If you don’t mind, I’m going to make sure this gets where it belongs.”
“I’ll be here. So, erm, where did you find the entrance to its lair?”
“Never you mind where. You’ll only be eaten.”
“Fine.” Mira chuckled and moved to a decorative end table. It held a small, stained-glass lamp and a package wrapped in brown paper. “Before I forget, Frederico sent this by messenger for you. He said you’d mentioned wanting it for your next performance.”
Mira passed over the wrapped parcel. Within the layers of parchment paper, Rosalia found a small pair of peacock feather earrings. The verdant green, sapphire, and gold glittered as she held them over her palm, attached by golden wires and accented with tiny star rubies.
The price had been beyond anything she could afford for an item she’d wear for a single performance. She blinked a few times. “I said no such thing... I... I saw them in a window as we were crossing from the theater.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“No! He’s old enough to be my grandfather.” Rosalia stroked the silky feather filaments and closed her eyes.
No one had ever gifted her anything so precious or beautiful without wanting something in return.
Tomorrow night, she would dance like she’d never danced before, but now, she needed to rush the mirror to Hadrian.
HADRIAN EXAMINED THE MIRROR, turning it over in his hands by the candlelight of Lacherra’s private office above the Salted Pearl. It was a handsome space, decorated with unique pieces of Nairubian art from her homeland. On one wall, there were feather and bone masks, and on the other, several silk tapestries in dazzling shades of green, gold, and red. A window overlooked the surf at night, a waning crescent moon above the black waters.
His brows squished together. “Is this it?”
“It’s a bit dull, isn’t it?”
“Certainly fits the description of the trinket. I merely expected... more.”
“It’s definitely lacking a bit... more-ness to it, all things considered. Thirty-thousand-ducat retrieval fee, dragon vault keeper, and a treasure-filled maze. He could have hidden this in his bedroom.” In which case she would have blindly passed it in pursuit of actual treasures. Looking back, she wondered what marvels she’d left uncovered while in his bedroom.
Hadrian grimaced. “Bloody shame you were discovered before you could relieve him of a few jewels for your trouble. Were you recognized?”
“I don’t think so. I wore my full thief’s leathers and cowl, as well as a hood.”
“Good. I’ll deliver this at once to our client.”
“Promise you won’t speak a word of where I found it though.”
His fair brows rose. “What’s it to you if anyone knows? You escaped a bloody dragon, love. If you can do that, you can accomplish anything, and it’s a worthwhile brag.”
“I don’t want anyone knowing where. You can mention the dragon, just keep his name out of it, please. Don’t even mention it to Lacherra. That kind of bounty would tempt even her out of retirement.”
Hadrian studied her a moment then dipped his chin in a curt nod. “Fine. Only if you’ll get some rest and enjoy your life at the theater for a few days.”
“But—”
“No buts. I realize I pressed the both of you unfairly over the past few days, and Lacherra hasn’t let a day pass without reminding me that I’ve been an insufferable arse.”
“It’s fine. I enjoyed the challenge.”
“Were I in any condition to have aided you, I would have.” Hadrian kneaded his upper thigh beneath the desk, lips twisted into a deep frown.
He’d joked about at least escaping with the artifact, but the price hadn’t outweighed the profit for the ring he’d stolen. A burglar without mobility, was no burglar at all, and while there were other ways to earn a quick coin, they weren’t what Hadrian lived for, what the elf had loved with all his heart. He’d been able to scale an eleven-story tower with only a rope, grappling hook, and the nimble agility of the elves.
Now he sat behind a desk, giving orders to others or limping about the city while collecting jobs and odd tasks for them to complete instead.
“You’ll heal, Hadrian.”
The thin smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, of course. Anyway, please, take a few nights to relax among your fellow actors.”
“Fine. Put my share in the vault once you collect the remainder.” Only a fool would keep that much gold on her person at once, and she could only reasonably deposit so much in the account she’d opened at Enimura’s bank.
Impulsively, she leaned across the desk and hugged him. “There isn’t a better thiefmaster in all of Enimura, Hadrian. Don’t be so hard on yourself. May I ask one thing, though?”
“Shoot.”
“Who was our client?”
“That’s confidential—”
“A secret for a secret. You know where I found it. Tell me who it’s for. Just this once.”
He sighed. “King Gregarus.”
“You’re bullshitting.”
“Not at all. So, if you know what’s good for you, shut it. Pretend this thing never existed.”
“What thing?”
Hadrian smiled.
Downstairs, she found the bar thriving as usual and Lacherra behind it serving drinks to thirsty patrons. Some innkeepers and pub owners out in the city looked down on the dockside bars, claiming their patrons to be undesirable and noisy, but hardworking coin spent as well a
s money from the social elite. Lacherra made it a habit to always welcome their sailors and dockworkers. Besides, they carried the best gossip.
A small gathering of sailors in naval uniform clustered in the back of the bar with drinks, while a group of dockhands, tanned dark from laboring in the sun, guzzled Lacherra’s famous salted ale at the bar and chatted about the recent imports they’d unloaded for the crown.
Lacherra broke away from eavesdropping on them long enough to wave. Rosalia raised a hand in return and debated joining her behind the counter. One glance toward the back of the room ruined that plan, however, because Adriano’s hulking form stood out like a flagpole among his drinking partners.
Deciding against lingering behind for a drink or conversation with Lacherra, she cut a line across the crowded floor and hurried toward the door.
“Rosalia!” Adriano’s voice resonated, penetrating the din of three dozen or more people. Blast. He’d seen her. She winced and stopped on the spot. “Come have a seat on my lap, sweetheart. It’s cold without you.”
Hands on her hips, she pivoted on a foot and sent a glare at her old friend and childhood sweetheart. Adriano smiled and exaggerated a pat to his lap, unfazed by her aggressive stare. It never worked on him. “Should I pull the log from the hearth to warm it for you?”
“Ah, you wound me with your cruelty.”
Her tense posture eased. “I give you a healthy dose of reality.”
“Can’t reality wait until I’ve gotten my hug from you? Been ashore for days now and not even an undeserved ‘kiss my arse’ from you.” She ignored her common sense and moved closer to join the guys at their table. Adriano wrapped a brawny arm around her waist and offered his ale. She waved it off, but squeezed him in return and pecked his cheek. He still smelled like salt. Years of sailing for Saudonia must have infused his skin with the scent of the open sea.
“Too good to drink with me now, love?”
“I’ve drank with you plenty. I’d just prefer to stay sober the night before a big performance.”
“That’s right. That overdressed asshole down at the theater keeping you too busy to visit your family here, eh?”
“Far from it. I come and visit Hadrian and Lacherra all the time.”
“Why’s it I haven’t seen you all week then?”
Rosalia extracted herself from his hold. “Because your admiral keeps you under his thumb until sunset.” She turned to the others. “How much has he had to drink tonight?”
“Seventh mug is when we lost count,” one of the other sailors replied.
“I’m not drunk. Just stating facts. You never come here anymore. Forget the people who helped you back when you was small?”
“What I do in my free time isn’t any business of yours, but for the record, Frederico has also helped me as much as Hadrian and Lacherra.”
“And my mum.”
Rosalia closed her eyes and clenched one fist at her side. “I won’t have this conversation with you in public, or while you’re inebriated, Adriano.”
He rose from his seat, towering above her by several inches. Life in the King’s Navy had sculpted his body into a pleasing figure, broad shoulders and muscular arms tanned from days on a ship’s deck. “You won’t have it with me at any time. Was a time once when you’d be happy to see me, Rosalia.”
“I am happy to see you. Happy to see you’re safe and sound from the patrol. If you want to talk, I’m free tomorrow before the show. I have to go now.”
His mug hit the table and sloshed warm ale over the rim. He stepped forward, eager. “I’ll walk you.”
She pressed her palm against his chest. “No. Unless its a matter of life and death, you can wait until tomorrow.”
Displeasure set his mouth into a flat line, blue eyes hard in his tanned face. “Right. Tomorrow then.”
He lowered into the chair and reclaimed his ale mug, but his eyes followed her to the door.
IT TOOK Xavier minutes to force a shift back to his human body, so overcome by rage he’d thrashed inside the chamber and dislodged several of the beams and marble pillars integral to the support of the cavern. Fearing a collapse, he remained behind in his mortal guise and worked his magic.
An hour later, once the structural damage had been repaired, he threw on his clothes and charged into the upper level of the shop.
It shouldn’t have surprised him that she’d penetrated multiple layers of magical wards, swept past the Clockwork Emporium’s defenses, and discovered the secret entrance to his lair, given her innate magical abilities, but of all the things for her to take, she’d stolen the most devastatingly powerful and dangerous artifact of all.
The Devil’s Eyeglass.
There were at least three dozen gangs currently operating in Enimura at the moment, if not more, and she could have belonged to any one of them. He racked his brain and moved up and down the streets hunting for a remnant of her scent.
And he found none. Good thieves masked their smells using oils manufactured from whale blubber, overpowering their own unique scents while on the job. But something as strong as the scent of a djinn couldn’t be hidden for long. It had permeated the disguise, and when she’d run in fear from him, it had filled the treasure room.
He had to find her. If she was working for King Gregarus, she likely had no idea of the danger contained in one little piece of glass. And if it wasn’t King Gregarus, the outcome wouldn’t be any better, because eventually, the new owner would heed the call from the relic and unlock the magical time bomb’s treacherous properties. Sooner or later, late king’s prophecy would come to fruition.
Xavier clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Recovering it on his own was the only solution, finding her before it was either laundered on the black market or passed into someone else’s possession.
Think, man, think.
He rushed to the theater. Frederico wasn’t as much a friend as an old acquaintance, but if anyone knew where to find her, it’d be him. A heavy rain had swept in from the ocean during the afternoon, obliterating any hope of Xavier crossing an old path traveled by her.
At night in Enimura, the streets were practically vacant, occupied by only the city’s criminal element and the occasional roving guard. Most of the latter preferred to remain in the Twilight Gardens, the Rosewater District, Gilded Quarters, and the Opal Park where wealth resided, because they weren’t paid to guarantee the safety of the common working class and the laborers who dwelled in the Squals.
Frederico dwelled in a private flat beneath the theater. Xavier had only visited the man’s small residence once to fulfill social obligations, but he recalled the door was around the back of the building in an alley, fifteen yards from the service door entrance.
A guard patrolled the street corner opposite the theater, hand on his baton. His alert eyes scanned the street, but he didn’t react to Xavier stalking by him, trained to recognize wealth from rabble, even at late hours of the night.
Xavier held his breath anyway and tensed his muscles, a prepared spell tingling on the tips of his fingers. He kept both hands in the pockets of his great coat, hidden but ready to release a harmless sleeping enchantment. He wouldn’t kill a city watchman for performing his duties, but he would leave the man asleep beneath a shop awning.
Positive the guard wouldn’t stop him, he released the spell and ducked into the alley. At first, he buzzed the bell. Minutes passed, precious minutes, and finally Xavier hammered on it with his fist until Frederico opened the door.
“There had better be a damned good reason for pulling me out of my bed at the second hour of the night.”
The words left Xavier in a rush. “I need to know the address of your lead dancer.”
Frederico’s irritation faded. “That taken with her, are you?”
“It’s nothing to do with my attraction to her—”
After rubbing his tired eyes with one hand, the old man chuckled. “So you admit to being attracted to dear Rosalia?”
Xav
ier ground his teeth. “It’s a matter of life and death, Frederico. Please. I need to know where to find her.”
Frederico quieted and studied Xavier in earnest, brown eyes both exhausted and guarded in his weathered face. “For what reason would you need Rosalia at this hour, my friend, if it isn’t a matter of the heart?”
“She an item of great importance from me, and I must find her.”
“Ah.” Frederico’s mouth thinned to a tight, displeased line. “I am afraid I’m unable to help you in that matter then.”
“Frederico—”
“I can’t.” And then he had the nerve to shut the door. Xavier reached out and caught it with a palm, overpowering the old man, and stepped inside.
“She’s in danger, you old fool. The thing she took has the potential to harm not only her, but anyone who encounters it. For her safety, it must be returned to me. Now from the way you’re behaving, the news of her thievery is of no surprise to you. Tell me where I can find her before she or someone else is killed.”
“I won’t betray her. I’m sorry, Xavier. If you’re to discover her whereabouts this night, it won’t be from me.”
Xavier raked both hands through his dark hair and growled. “Fine.” He spun on his heel and strode away, too proud to resort to physical coercion no matter how much the man infuriated him. He’d have to locate her another way, even if it meant scouring every inch of the city.
Two days ago, when Rosalia had swept into his shop, all silk and elegance, he’d never anticipated she would be planning to rob him. She’d brought the smell of the sea with her.
The surfside bars. There were only a few, and he had it on good authority that one was frequently patronized by thieves as a base of operations. There were certain things a man like Xavier picked up when others didn’t realize the sensitivity of his hearing.
If Frederico wouldn’t tell him where to find Rosalia, if he couldn’t be bribed, Xavier would make a counteroffer to her employer to buy the damned thing back.
9
SHELTERED
All That Glitters: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 1) Page 7