Then he set a bottle of wine down on the desk, popped the cork with his thumb—she’d never seen anyone do that before—and poured her a glass after a fine mist of fragrant air escaped from it.
Rosalia stuffed her face and ate until her belly approached the point of near bursting. Indecision divided her between setting the empty platter aside and licking the smear of honey that remained on it.
He glanced at her. “Would you like more?”
“No, thank you. I shouldn’t.”
He took the platter from her. A deft movement of his fingers vanished it in a puff of black smoke and a few golden sparks. “I understand that you have many questions, and I will answer each of them to the best of my knowledge. This lair is a safe place, protected by magic no common sorcerer could ever unravel.”
“I did it without being a sorcerer.”
“You’re different.”
“Why did you save me? Why do you need me?”
“I knew your mother.”
The floor dropped out from beneath her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to believe him or call him a liar to his face. Aside from Hadrian, Lacherra, Adriano’s mother, and a handful of thieves in their company, she’d never spoke to anyone who knew her mother before. She swallowed, willing her throat to cooperate. “When did you meet her? My mother has been dead for twenty years. I was a child when she passed away.”
He nodded. “The death of your mother was an unfortunate and terrible loss. Trust me when I say she was mourned by many beyond the den of thieves you called home. News of her passing traveled as far as Ilyria, and she left behind a hole no one has been able to fill until now.”
Rosalia clutched both hands against her lap. “Until now?”
“You. I returned to Enimura five years ago seeking you.”
A bitter laugh shook her shoulders. “You’ve had plenty of time to find me. I perform on stage three nights a week.”
“You perform under a stage name, and you keep to the shadows. When I saw you on stage a few nights past, I found myself intrigued, but it wasn’t until you broke into my hoard—until you penetrated more than a dozen layers of magical security—that I knew you must be Dahlia’s child. Not only do you resemble her, but you have her gifts.”
“Let’s pretend that I believe you’ve sought me. Why? What’s so special about me that you needed to find me?”
“Your mother smuggled the mirror into my possession many years ago.” He leaned forward. “It was given to her by our now deceased king, father of the dictator now sitting the throne. He knew his son would become a tyrant when he came into power, but the traditions of the royal family are set in stone by unbreakable laws.”
The longer she listened to his story, the queasier she became. Could it be true? Xavier gazed at her with sad eyes, earnest expression reaching through the defensive shield built by years of skepticism. “What’s so important about this thing? Why was he willing to pay thirty thousand ducats for a piece of glass?”
“It’s more than a piece of glass. What you took is an ancient relic once guarded in the Royal Family Vault.” Xavier eased back in his chair. “It is said, years ago when the gods fought and warred with the forces of the demonic plane, Iblis himself also walked this desert. When he was vanquished by Arcadian the Bright, the ground beneath him smoldered as he passed from our physical realm and returned to Gehenna where he belongs. But at that site, the sand itself became a thin pane of glass. Stories say a single shard survived and was fashioned by an artisan into a mirror.”
Rosalia’s eyes widened. “The Devil’s Eyeglass.”
“Yes. A cursed mirror able to open the door between Gehenna and Ordania—our world.”
14
More Than Luck
This time Rosalia laughed, tossing back her head at the absurd notion. “There’s no way you could possibly believe the Devil’s Eyeglass exists. It’s a myth about greed, vanity, and evil. Girls are always told if they gaze too long in the mirror, Iblis will take them for his bride. That’s why there are no mirrors in the temples devoted to Arcadian.”
Xavier chuckled. “I’m familiar with the fables, but I assure you, the mirror does exist and is now in the hands of our common enemy.”
“How do you know? Were you there to see it? Are you a two-thousand-year-old mummy dragon?”
The amusement in his eyes faded. He leaned forward, gaze hard. “Sixty-three, and no, I was not there. My grandfather was present, because he’s the bastard who framed the mirror.”
She quieted for a moment. “When you say that my mother smuggled it to you, when did this happen? How do I know you’re not mistaken?”
“Your mother’s name was Dahlia, and what transpired was only months prior to your birth.”
She quieted. He knew her mother’s name.
“I was only a young dragon then, and newly on my own. She sought my father at the advice of the elf queen, but he had perished during the war between Ilyria and Nairubia years prior to that, leaving only me in his hoard. I became the keeper of the mirror, and she returned to this cesspool at some point with you. Before that, your father, whoever he was, had already died in the service of the king.”
“Now I know you’re lying. I knew my father. I remember him. My father was a pompous asshole who mistreated us. She left him.”
His lips twitched. “I have no reason to lie about what I recall of my brief acquaintance with your mother, Rosa. When I met her, she was already with child and in mourning. Whoever you know as your father was some other man.”
Her entire world crumbled, reduced to broken promises and lies. For a moment, she hated him. Wanted to scratch out his eyes and claw him and kick and scream and hit. Everything she’d ever known about her life evaporated and left a hollow, aching place in her chest.
“I don’t understand...”
He didn’t rush her. Crushing silence fell between them until Xavier leaned close enough to take her by one hand. He tenderly stroked her knuckles. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it is what it is. She risked both of your lives to deliver the mirror to Ilyria. I haven’t lied to you yet, and I don’t intend to start now.”
It wasn’t his fault if she’d been raised believing in a lie. She swallowed back a sob and nodded before swiping her other hand across her cheeks. “I understand. About the mirror, why would King Gregarus trust it to the elves? Enimura hates elves. They barely tolerate even the wealthy ones, and even then, only for the money they bring to the city.”
Xavier sighed and leaned back in his seat, releasing her fingers. “Two things, sweetling. He didn’t trust it to the elves, and technically, I’m not one of them. I’m a weredragon, to be specific.”
Rosalia blinked up at him, the term something she’d only ever heard in fairy tales. “Weredragons are real?”
“Yes, we are. King Gregarus trusted the mirror to my kind, hoping we would guard it. Somehow, news of its whereabouts must have returned to the current king.”
“It did. Grandmaster Ombre passed the contract to our gang for completion, because he knew we had some of the best burglars in the guild.”
He stroked his chin. “What I want to know is why there isn’t a platoon of soldiers beating on my door if they knew where to find it all this time.”
“No. They didn’t know who had it. We were merely told it had been smuggled into the hands of a clockwork mechanic years ago. We visited dozens of shops before locating it. In fact... I lied to my friend initially. After I determined you had to be the one holding it, I fibbed and said your place had nothing of value. I led her to believe I found the mirror elsewhere, because she would have sold the information of your riches to every burglar across Enimura.”
“You told no one else?”
“Only Hadrian, and he’s dead now. He’d have taken it to his grave. He’s good like that. Lacherra always tried to get him to speak up about jobs, and he’d only laugh and kiss her, say if she wanted to know thief’s business, she should have remained a thief.”
His brows shot up. “I see. I suppose I should thank you, although you’ve benefitted as much from your discretion as I have.”
A few tears slid down her cheeks. She hastily scrubbed them away with her palm and gave him a hard look. “You said you’ve been seeking me before this happened? Why? What’s so special about me?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Xavier leaned forward. “Your mother wasn’t a mere human or thief. She was a djinn, a spirit of air and fire capable of bending the laws of fortune to her whim. More than that, she was the personal assassin of Queen Morwen.”
The laughter bubbled out of her at once. “That’s ridiculous. I would know if my mother wasn’t human—if I wasn’t human.”
“You’re not,” he persisted.
“Trust me. I’d know if I was... some elemental creature. I feel human.”
“Half, and you wouldn’t know. Your gifts are of a subtle nature, subconsciously affecting the currents of fate and fortune unlike a magician actively casting spells. This is why so many things work in your favor. Tell me, Rosalia, how many times in your career have you just barely scraped by out of a shit situation?”
“Many, but that’s just luck.”
“Djinn’s luck. You can taste magic, can’t you? Feel it in the air and know things other thieves never know.”
“I call it intuition.”
Xavier stared at her, dark brows drawing closer together. “Bullshit. You blundered your way into my lair through countless magical traps. If you can believe I’m a weredragon, and if you can believe the truth about the mirror, why not believe this about yourself?”
Her hands trembled. She fisted both against her thighs to disguise it and sat ramrod straight, lifting her chin and meeting his stare head-on without blinking or averting her gaze. “Perhaps I don’t even believe you about the mirror. Why would King Gregarus go through so much effort and abolish his city’s Thieves Guild for one mirror?”
“The man who wields the Devil’s Eyeglass commands the armies of Gehenna. He’s a dictator, and he thirsts for a war he can’t lose. Enimura has been at odds with Ilyria for years since his father died.”
“But never at war.”
The corner of his mouth rose. “Because the elven armies outnumber Enimura’s military five to one, and when it comes to skill, King Gregarus’s cavalry can’t outperform mounted archers from my homeland. But demons... that’s an entirely different matter.”
She failed to suppress a shudder. “I don’t want to believe it’s true.”
“Refusing to believe it won’t make it any less so. And now you know the value of the item you took and the importance of reclaiming it.”
Rosalia moistened her lips and considered the unspoken and spoken words between them. He wanted to retake the mirror from the royal family. By now, it would be in the king’s possession, no doubt returned to the vault where it belonged. “It was safe in the Royal Vault before for hundreds of years. We don’t know that the current king will misuse it.”
“I have one more thing to tell you.”
“What? What else could there possibly be?”
“The royal guard, while thorough and bloodthirsty, chose not to murder every thief they encountered. Some were taken captive and jailed for their crimes against the crown, but they weren’t executed at the square either.”
If she’d been standing, her legs might have given out beneath her. His words slammed the breath from her lungs and brought fresh, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. “Someone survived the purge?”
“Several. I couldn’t tell you their names, but the current gossip at the markets is favorable for your kin.”
“I don’t understand. Why was I separated from the others if we were all found guilty of theft?”
Xavier took her hand and cupped it between his palms, long fingers stroking her knuckles. “You were separated from the others due to the extreme nature of your supposed crimes. Because they charged you for more than theft, Rosalia. They accuse you of treason, saying you’ve colluded with the elven government. They claim you gutted Frederico after murdering your flatmate.”
A sick feeling punched her in the gut, raising bile in her throat. She couldn’t blink back the tears this time. “I watched them kill Frederico. They cut him down for providing shelter to me. As for Mira, I’d… I’d never hurt her. We may have disagreed at times, but I loved her. She was my sister. My friend.”
“I believe you. According to them, you’re a spy for Ilyria, and slew Frederico when he warned the royal guard about your treachery.”
“And Mira?”
Xavier sighed. “I… found her body. Someone murdered her then began a fire to cover it up. Your landlady and all who lived there lost their homes.”
He poured her another glass of wine and pushed it between her hands. She sipped it gratefully and let the sweet vintage carry the sour taste of grief away.
Xavier didn’t rush her to speak. He set a fresh parchment sheet on the desk and began writing in an unfamiliar, looping script.
“Why would they do this? Why blame me for his death? Why blame me for Mira?”
“I don’t know and can only speculate. It’s possible the king’s spymaster saw you as a threat to be removed from the equation and a scapegoat as well. I recognized you for what you are when I saw you dance on stage.”
“That’s ridiculous. I look like any other woman.”
“Far from it. But your beauty has nothing to do with my recognition of you as a half-djinn.” And then his smoldering gaze studied her with all the intensity she’d enjoyed during their evening out. It sent heat curling in the pit of her stomach and warmth flushing over her face. She glanced away first, conflicted by the tumultuous emotions that demanded for her to mourn yet feel flattered by his compliments.
“So if you and this spymaster were able to see it, why hasn’t Mira’s boyfriend noticed? She dated a mage.”
“Skill levels vary among practitioners of magic. How could he determine your magical ancestry if he’d never met a djinn before in the past? Could you differentiate wine from rum with a sip if you had never tasted either?” His fair brows rose.
“I suppose not.”
“Such is the case of magical beings and creatures such as us.”
“I see nothing unusual about you when I look at you. Sometimes there’s a subtle glow, or...” She gazed at him, lost in his eyes again. There was always a hint of a molten heat, like candle flame dancing behind a pane of emerald stained glass.
“Or?” he prompted.
“I see it in your eyes. Not always, but sometimes when you look at me, I can see it.”
A satisfied smile came over his face. “Astute observation.”
If some of her fellow thieves were alive, that meant they were awaiting a rescue. Hope and despair intermingled and became one warring force complicated by fear of landing behind bars and resuming her figurative stroll to the chopping block.
“I lost all of my gear, Xavier. Without my weapons and my armor, I’m nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he growled. The word rumbled in his chest and raised the hairs on the back of her neck, breaking her arms out in goose bumps. “The cloak isn’t your knowledge. Those daggers aren’t your skill. They’re merely a costume. Tools.”
“And without my tools, I’ll never travel this city unnoticed, no matter how lucky you believe me to be. Although I was never tried or judged, they declared me to be a murderess. Anyone could recognize my face.”
Xavier leaned forward. “Have you ever considered that the items you carried are not as unique as you believed them to be?”
“Many of my items were made for me. Special.”
Rising, he gestured for her to follow. His long-legged stride ate up the floor, forcing her to jog and catch up.
“How long did it take to build this?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Did you not keep track?”
“No, I couldn
’t tell you, because I didn’t build this hoard. There are many places like this across the world, each one carved by a dragon years ago. Sometimes they’re centuries old. My kind may be solitary creatures, but we’re not as greedy as the legends would paint us to be.”
“You share homes?”
“Yes. We travel the world and visit distant places, and when we find a land we enjoy, we build a home there. Perhaps a century later, we will gift it to our young or abandon it for the next dragon to find, taking with us only the things we loved most.”
“How do you find these places?”
He stopped and placed a hand on an empty section of flawless stone wall. A wave of cobalt spread beneath the pressure and flashed with magic, resembling a living, breathing force. The ebb and flow continued until the section of wall melted away like the receding tide and left only an empty arch. “We leave messages for one another in scent and dragonscript—messages no one but our kind can see from the air or below on the ground.”
And then he stepped aside and ushered her into an armory glittering with unknown delights.
* * *
Xavier watched Rosalia’s eyes grow wide with wonder. She took slow steps forward into the chamber and traced her fingers over conditioned leather and metal polished to a smooth, mirrored shine. There was very little dust within this hoard because most items within were enchanted to some degree. The very essence of magic repelled rust and grime.
“This is... I’ve never seen an armory of this type before.”
He grinned. “You’ve never visited a dragon’s hoard.”
Stuffed dummies throughout the room sported the best pieces of equipment, some of them taken off the corpses of adventurers too dimwitted to stand down when facing a dragon.
“Dragons are packrats. When we see shiny objects, we must have them. Likewise, when foolish humans challenge a dragon in his home, we keep what we desire of their belongings. What you see here are weapons passed down through several generations of my family. Whenever I move, I take my favorite pieces with me.”
All That Glitters: A Daughter of Fortune, Book 1 Page 12