“But I have a buyer for the Red Destiny right now,” Xem said, recovering with a smoothly delivered answer. “So that trumps gold, paintings, artifacts or easily movable food stores.”
“And you have verified their ability to pay?” Norenn asked, fingers still upon his chin.
“I have,” Xem said, and there was the first hint of tightness in his voice. “So, if I may continue—”
“Why?” Norenn asked again.
“Norenn,” Aisling said in a low hiss. His rudeness in pressing the matter was beginning to raise her ire.
“Why are we doing this particular job? I want an answer,” Norenn said. “The plan looks sound, seems sound, and sounds wonderful. Yet I hear a certain quiver in his voice as he speaks it all, something that leads me to believe that he is doing this for more than just the money. What is it, Xemlinan? Did the Tribunal cross you in some way?”
Norenn’s manner of speaking to Xem was entirely familiar, and Aisling knew they’d crossed paths before in their careers in the Sovar underworld. Still, it felt rude, and she was on the verge of telling him to shut up when Xemlinan spoke. “You are correct,” Xem said, nodding with great reluctance, his face a mask. “I have a grudge, you might say, against not the Tribunal itself, but the head of it, Dagonath Shrawn.”
“You do pick the enemies,” Norenn said. “Dagonath Shrawn also heads the most powerful house in Saekaj.”
“And is uniquely placed to throw an inordinate amount of grief in the faces of us lesser beings who might happen to cross his path,” Xem said. “Which is what happened in my case.”
“So you want to steal the Red Destiny to spite him,” Norenn said and crossed his arms. “To put a thumb in his eye by stealing the Sovereign’s greatest treasure from the Grand Palace of Saekaj.”
“As head of the Tribunal, Dagonath is in charge of the palace whilst the Sovereign continues his extended … absence,” Xem said with great discomfort around mentioning the Sovereign. “Should it disappear, I imagine a great, slicing blade will land upon the neck of the House of Shrawn upon the Sovereign’s inevitable return. So it is effectively doing two things at once—financing my retirement and allowing me the petty satisfaction of knowing I’ve cast a great boulder over a cliff’s edge while Dagonath Shrawn is wringing his hands helplessly below.”
“So we come to the truth,” Norenn said, arms still folded. “A revenge job and one last score to boot.” He lowered his head. “There are so very many ways in which this could come back horribly upon us.”
“I’d ask you to name five, but I expect you’d rattle them off in short order,” Xem said with something approaching apprehension. “Do you find flaw with the plan?”
“I don’t know the subject of the robbery well enough to find flaws,” Norenn said, and to Aisling’s ear it was almost plaintive. “That is what worries me.”
“I know the palace,” Aisling said, drawing a startled look from Xem. She swallowed heavily. “I was raised in Saekaj—”
“You?” Leneyh said in sneering disbelief.
“The dresses I left behind in the wardrobe of my parents’ house when I left are much prettier and more stately than anything you’ve ever worn,” Aisling said with a smile. “Xem’s reading of the security at a palace ball is on the mark, and he has identified one of the surest ways to pass it.” She cast a look at Norenn. “The plan is sound, save for perhaps the vault security; I cannot speak to that.”
“Fine,” Norenn said, shaking his head. “But would it not be better to steal it in a less guarded location, such as when it is on display—”
“And protected by the entirety of a legion of the Saekaj militia?” Xem shook his head. “No, the vault is where it is weakest, because they are overconfident in their security measures.”
Norenn sat back, looking again at the parchment. “It’s not hard to see why. It’s an impressive bit of security.”
“Which can be contravened through careful planning, though admittedly not easily,” Xem said. “The timing is crucial and will require the full commitment of all involved.” He leaned forward and Aisling saw him hold his breath. “I need to know if you’re in or out, right now.”
Norenn looked sidelong to Aisling. She didn’t dare look back, keeping her gaze off him for a full count of ten seconds before turning to give him a cool stare in reply. “Very well,” Norenn said at last, after a space that felt like an infinity. “I am in. I only hope I do not end up regretting this.”
“So do we all,” Xem said with a dry amusement. “We have one week to plan, prepare, to get all of the necessary items and ready ourselves.” He held up the parchment upon which he’d drawn, and touched it to the flame of a nearby lamp until the corner caught fire. “After that we are committed.” He looked up at them as it began to burn, the flames spreading up the page. “Enjoy this week, fitful and busy as it may be.” He smiled as he cast it aside, tossing it into a metal pail just to his right as the fire took over and the parchment shriveled and blackened. “For if all goes according to plan, it will be your last in Sovar, possibly ever.”
Four
The window squeaked just slightly when she forced it. She’d left it unlocked when last she’d been here, but that was no guarantee that one of the maids hadn’t come along behind her and fixed that for her. It had been a long time since last she’d been home, plenty of time for someone to discover what she’d done. She breathed a sigh of relief when it opened after she applied pressure, only a slight squeak heralding her arrival at her childhood home. Just the way I want it, she thought. Not a sign, not a whisper, nothing to tell them I’ve been here save for an item missing that they surely won’t notice.
She climbed in, slipping quietly through the gap, careful not to make a sound as she did so. She’d had to climb up to the second floor using spikes that affixed to her palms, and it required all her upper body strength to do so. The advantage was that few thieves bothered to, and even fewer would chance doing so on an estate in Saekaj; the security was too heavy, and the guards at the gates of Saekaj barred anyone who wasn’t a citizen of the upper city from passing without cause.
Her feet landed on the floor with the barest of sounds. She wore climbing spikes over her cloth shoes but had removed them when she reached the roof and placed them back in the pouch on her belt. Now she padded across the soft rug in near-silence to the wardrobe that took up half the wall. She opened it slowly, eliciting another squeak that she hoped wasn’t really as loud as it sounded to her. She reached into her belt and pulled a small vial of grease. She put some on a bare finger and ran it across the hinges of the wardrobe before opening it further. This time it swung open in silence, and she wiped her finger on a cloth she kept for just such a purpose before putting her glove back on. Must remember to put some on the window as well, in case I ever have to return via this route again.
She looked into the open wardrobe, squinting into the darkness to survey the dresses held within. They were fine, all shades of black and white, stunning and—she hoped—stillin fashion among the Saekaj elite. For this job, less stunning is better. Something that blends, something that covers all, doesn’t catch anyone’s attention … something with a full skirt that touches the ground.
She selected a larger gown, one that covered her shoulders, in black, a color that had been out of favor when last she’d been to a ball. Hopefully that means it’s back in favor now, it’s been so long. It wasn’t form fitting, which was another advantage; she knew she had grown since last she’d worn it, and it would need to be adjusted—the less it has to be adjusted, the better off I’ll be.
“Come to sell that for money?” The voice cracked behind her like something had been whipped past her ear even though, she realized after a moment, it had been low and quiet, almost inaudible. “In need of some fast coin in order to continue to survive in Sovar?” Aisling turned to see her mother standing at the doorway, her face more lined than it should have been, given that she was not even a century old.
“N
o,” Aisling said, suppressing her shock. “I actually need it for a ball.”
“Don’t lie,” her mother said with a hissing sigh that revealed a disappointment fathoms deeper than Aisling wanted to plumb. “It insults us both.”
“I’m not lying,” Aisling said, numbly. “I need it for a ball.”
“You little fool,” her mother said with deep disgust, “there are no balls in Sovar. No singing, no music; it is the Sovereign’s decree, and you well know—”
“It’s not in Sovar,” Aisling said, crumpling the material of the dress she’d selected in her glove.
“Then you’re trading on your family name for ill purpose,” her mother said, touching a hand to her face. “I don’t want to know about it. Your father …” her voice trailed off.
“Yes?” Aisling stared at her, not moving.
“He rarely speaks of you, he can so little hide his disappointment,” she said finally.
“I’m sure I’ll tear up about that later,” Aisling said, running her gloved hand over the material. She felt nothing, just the sensation awareness of running her fingers over something soft. Rather like living in this house all those years. “Goodbye, Mother.” She started to leave, carrying the gown over her shoulder.
“You could use the door,” her mother said, making a sound of disapproval so profound it might have been rooted in the Depths.
“I could,” Aisling said, sitting on the window’s sill in preparation to spin around and put her legs through. “I could enter through the door, leave through the door, sleep in that bed,” she waved a hand at the enormous, four-poster monstrosity in the corner. “I could take my meals in the dining room with you and father, attend all the social events that you always took pleasure in filling my schedule with, strive for the highest marks my expensive tutors would give me whilst impressing them with my intellect and memory.” She took a breath of the stale air of the bedroom then leaned out the window and caught the scent of the cave air, the potency of it. “But then I’d still be living in your house, under your roof, and subject to you and your rules.” She pulled her knees to her chest and then spun on the sill, dropping to the roof’s ledge just below the window. She stood and turned, ducking to look back into the window. “Which is why I used the window to come claim what I wanted, and why I use it now to leave.”
“Like a common thief,” her mother said with utter disgust. “I thought I had raised you better.”
“I’m an uncommon thief, actually,” Aisling said. “Farewell, Mother. I don’t expect we’ll meet again.”
“That would be too much to hope for, with you in the state you are,” her mother said, anchored to the spot near the door. “Gallivanting around the rooftop of the manor house, sneaking in—why, I should have the guards revoke your citizenship to Saekaj, leave you trapped in Sovar like the ungrateful rat you are.”
Aisling managed a half-shrug. “You presume that I only have the one passbook to get through the gates.”
Her mother looked scandalized. “You … you … forger!”
Aisling shrugged again, whole this time. “I left my real name behind a long time ago,” she said with a wicked little smile. “Imagine my embarrassment at the idea that someone in Sovar might think me related to you.”
“There are worse things than being related to one of the noblest houses of Saekaj,” her mother sniffed.
“I don’t see much noble about your house,” Aisling said and began to slide the window shut. “Don’t forget to lock this behind me.” She cradled the gown under her arm, taking care not to let its hem touch the dirty rooftop. “You wouldn’t want to have me ever come back, after all.”
With that, she felt the gentle click of the window slide into place and turned, crossing the roof at a whisper-quiet pace. She looked back only once, and it was because she had to turn to drop off the ledge to the ground below, anyway. Or so she told herself as she vanished beneath the edge. The last thing she saw before she dropped to the ground below was her mother’s face, pressed almost to the window, watching her daughter disappear into the darkness.
Five
The night of the ball, they entered Saekaj by separate paths, Aisling and Xem through the main gate at different times, and Norenn through an old smuggling tunnel that he was well acquainted with. The logbook at the guard station would have record of their passage, which was why Aisling used false papers whenever she traveled.
She approached the Grand Palace of Saekaj after the ball was already in full swing. Because the roads to the Grand Palace were necessarily narrow due to the construction of manors on either side of the major thoroughfare toward that end of the cavern, only members the highest-ranked houses in Saekaj were permitted to take carriages to balls held at the Grand Palace. All but the twelve most noble houses in the present order were forced to walk, leading those invited from the outer edges of the nobility to have to travel some distance. Aisling saw a woman with terribly punishing heels on her shoes and knew that she was from middling nobility at best but trying desperately to look more important than she was.
The whole of Saekaj was laid out so that one’s status could be measured by proximity to the Grand Palace, where the Sovereign resided during more august days. With the Sovereign’s exodus had gone the game of currying favor, wherein the great noble houses of Saekaj vied for his approbation, with obvious results. Possession of manor houses shifted according to whoever was in the Sovereign’s good graces, the largest and most luxurious manors being closest to the Grand Palace. That system, what her elders called “The Shuffle” had been suspended for her almost a century. For as the Sovereign has been gone. She sniffed and walked along, thinking that in reality The Shuffle had never truly ended, just ceased being a game that resulted in one trading up or down with one’s manor house.
Aisling passed the largest of the manors on her left as she approached the Grand Palace gates in a small flow of pedestrian traffic, attendees and servants alike. It was the House of Shrawn, a stone manor carved into the wall of the chamber with a facade so grand that it left no doubt that it was the most impressive one of its kind in Saekaj. Gargoyles and other statuary of incredible craftsmanship dotted the flat roof, decorating the opulent home of the head of the Tribunal that ruled in the Sovereign’s absence. Guards with swords lurked just inside the gate of Shrawn’s manor, watching the partygoers pass by with smoky, uncaring eyes.
Aisling turned her attention back to the gates of the Sovereign’s palace as she passed a guard and flashed an embossed, gold-papered invitation at him. It flickered and an illusion of the Sovereign’s seal appeared, an enchantment designed to make the invitation impossible to forge. Aisling imagined some enchanter in the Tribunal’s employ was sitting, even now, in a room in Saekaj, maintaining said illusion on several hundred invitations, having not eaten, slept, nor drunk since they went out. She suspected the one in her hand was not a forgery, though she was uncertain who Madam Y. Urnetagroth was, having never heard the name before.
The Grand Palace of Saekaj lived up to its billing. The upper floors of the structure could be seen from the main gates, so long as they were open, and allowed almost anyone, even those from Sovar, to get a glimpse without entering Saekaj proper. The entire facade was gilded, and shone in the light of half a hundred torches mounted on the outside. Aisling had always thought it being so well lit was a curious dichotomy, what with the Sovereign’s professed loathing of the light. If anyone noticed it as hypocrisy, nothing was ever said. She shrugged inwardly; for all she knew, it had been added in the last few years, long after the Sovereign’s exodus.
The palace was at least ten stories in height, the facade fading into the back cave wall after a hundred feet or more of stone-carved building. It was the work of great craftsmen who had worked the rock for years to hew the palace out of what had once been entirely a solid wall of the cavern. A small, dark moat encircled the structure, a drawbridge allowing passage over it. Torches had been set out, and the moat shimmered with their reflections.
She passed under the enormous portico that was there to protect against the occasional cave drip. A single noble was disembarking, not from a carriage but from a palanquin carried by four strong servants. The passenger was female and she carried herself arrogantly, as though all she was seeing displeased her.
It was Leneyh, Aisling realized after only a moment, violating the rules of protocol in spirit if not in letter by having herself carted up to the entry of the Grand Palace in such a way. No one said anything, at least not loudly, the muttered whispers of the dark elves around her confirming Aisling’s suspicion that on the next grand occasion, several others would be trying the same thing. Too bad I won’t be here to see the fracas that results, she thought. Oh, wait—no, it’s not; I always hated these things.
She ascended the small number of steps to enter the main foyer of the Grand Palace. It was an entrance truly befitting a Sovereign’s residence, and she paused for just a beat to take in its beauty. It was warm and inviting, the way she imagined a palace in the upper world would look, with wood covering every square inch of the floors and elaborate carvings covering the walls.
There was a distinct dearth of stone sculpture, which was perceived to be a lower form of art given the abundance of stone available for carving and the relative scarcity of wood. The entire place reeked of opulence and of another smell, that of pines and oaks, distinct scents she had learned in her childhood while sniffing the furniture in her parents’ house—and which she hadn’t smelled since, save for on the occasional thieving job. She had to admit, of all the things she missed from trading down, wooden furniture was near the top of the list.
“Madam Urnetagroth,” Xemlinan said, sweeping in to tuck his arm through the crook of her elbow. “It is such a pleasure to see you this night.”
“And you as well,” she said with a nod. “Xemlinan Eres.” She smiled at him and Xem returned the smile. She looked around, wondering if anyone had heard her. It didn’t matter, ultimately; Xem was well known in Saekaj circles and had a legitimate invitation in his own name.
Sanctuary Tales (Book 1) Page 14