by Isabo Kelly
Here was an atmosphere of wealth she saw in very few other places in Dareelia. The royal castle was one of the few places, she thought, that might be more grand than Upper Market. Though, she wouldn’t lay money on that bet.
With a definite saunter to her walk, Vic strolled past merchant stalls as if she owned the city and succeeded in blending in perfectly. Most of the customers would carry that air of rich self-assurance. Not a hard act to pull off in her new outfit. The clothing made her feel rich. She could pretend to be a wealthy mercenary, strolling for interesting trinkets to decorate her hideaway in the upper part of Dareelia. And Gip had been right. As a woman in bright, rich clothing, she attracted no more attention than any other patron. When a group of gray–and–green–clad city guards passed without a suspicious glance, she grinned broadly. She could get used to working as a woman.
Happy with the state of her day, she wandered toward a food stall that was issuing heavenly smells. She had one copper kern left and felt sure Gip would want her to spend it on something nice and tasty to eat. Who knew? There might be gossip to be had at the food stall. A girl could never tell where important information might turn up. Scanning the market as a matter of habit, her gaze fell on a fat, green–and–orange–clad minor noble. Her trained eye caught sight of a telltale bulge in his robe—his heavy purse tucked in a hidden fold where it was supposed to be safe from thieving hands.
She’d heard about hidden pockets like that. Impossible to get at, some claimed. Vic smiled, her stomach no longer growling as loudly. Impossible, huh? She studied the noble as he bellowed at the merchants. She didn’t often have the opportunity to practice working as a woman. Could she pull it off? She knew, theoretically, what sorts of moves her plan would require. But could she do it convincingly? Gip had said no picking pockets. But she really should practice while dressed as a female. Gip would understand.
She never could resist a challenge.
The fat noble was pointing at a series of pewter goblets and demanding attention from the stall’s bowing owner.
Vic sauntered up to the stall, covertly pulling the neck of her tunic open just a bit more. Distraction.
She smiled prettily at the sputtering noble and batted her long lashes to good effect. Her stomach jumped a little in excitement when the distraction worked.
The fat noble stood straighter and leered.
She leaned past him, motioning that she wished to look at a pewter jewelry box on the table just the other side of him. As she hoped, the man didn’t bother to move, but purposefully allowed her to brush against him. She picked up the pewter box and straightened, making a show of examining the delicate designs on the lid in order to hide her grin.
“A beautiful box, lady.” The merchant smiled. “It was hand-crafted by the best artisan in Depnie.”
“It’s exquisite, merchant.” She set the box back on the table, holding the merchant’s gaze as she covertly slipped the copper from her own purse under it. It was only fair he receive some payment for the grief he was getting from the noble. “Perhaps I can persuade my husband to purchase it for me.” With another sultry smile, she moved down the row of stalls, leaving a disappointed nobleman to bark at the pewter merchant. Before her shoulders shook with laughter, she ducked into a side alley and pulled the heavy purse from her sash. Her stomach danced with triumph. She’d done it. And the fat noble was none the wiser. She hefted the purse in her hand, judging the amount of coin by the bag’s weight.
“I think Lord Xank will miss his purse shortly.”
The sudden voice in an otherwise empty alley spun Vic around, her wrist dagger leaping to hand. Her heart stopped for an instant then beat painfully fast. Damn it, she knew better! She looked up into the grinning face of the stranger she’d met the night before, and her stomach took a hasty trip south.
In the light of day, he was a little older than she’d originally guessed, but the few gray flecks in his brown hair and the lines around his eyes and mouth only added to his rugged handsomeness. In fact, he was probably one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. But it wasn’t his exceptional good looks that interested her at the moment. It was the uniform he wore.
He chuckled at the knife in her hand. “You're very quick, Victoria.”
She gasped and almost dropped her knife. “You recognize me?” she whispered the question without thinking, too shocked to realize she’d just given herself away without even trying to con her way out of this mess. She barely recognized herself dressed like this! How the hell had he recognized her? Her fingers felt numb around the hilt of her knife.
“Of course. New clothes only work on those who don’t know what they’re looking for.” He chuckled again. “It’s no wonder they call you Vic Flash. I’ve never seen a more elegant heist. You didn’t mention your other occupations last night.”
She swallowed hard against the lump of fear in her throat and licked suddenly dry lips. “You didn’t mention that you were a King’s Guard.” She nodded at his formal green tunic edged in gold.
“King’s Own actually.”
She felt the color drain from her face and had only a moment to wonder if she looked as shocked as she felt. Her gut twisted painfully against terror. She’d gone too far this time. How in the name of the Goddess was she going to get out of this?
“You gonna arrest me,” she more stated than asked. A sudden vision of a dark, damp dungeon with rats and binding chains flittered through her mind. People disappeared in dungeons. She swallowed hard and clenched her fists to hide the tremors.
The King’s Own smiled—a crooked, amused grin. “Not my job. I protect the king. City guards are supposed to deal with thieves.”
It took a full minute before the meaning of his words sank into her shocked mind. He wasn’t going to arrest her. He was smiling. And he wasn’t going to arrest her. Yet. The rush of relief almost overwhelmed her. Her shoulders began to relax slightly and the nearly forgotten dagger in her hand disappeared back up her sleeve.
“How’d you know they called me Flash?” She tried to fall back on cocky self-assurance, a mask she used a lot on the streets, but the shock of being caught by a King’s Own still tightened her muscles. Her heart was just beginning to slow, her chest rose and fell a bit too much with her labored breathing. She knew she didn’t look as recovered as she wanted, but she also knew she was recovering her composure faster than he expected. She could see it in his eyes. Eyes a very deep shade of brown that held a lot more cunning than his casual air let on.
“I told you last night. I know everything about this city.”
Her guarded expression broke into a shaky grin. “Not everything, rich man.” Her self-assurance began to return. He wasn’t going to have her arrested, and he didn’t seem the least bit interested in Xank’s purse, which she’d already hidden away. Crossing her arms beneath her breasts so he wouldn’t see her hands tremble, she looked him up and down. Curiosity won now that she wasn’t worried about dungeons. “What’s your name?”
“Jacob Marin.”
Her gaze jumped to his, startled once more. “General Jacob Marin? Hmmm. Well, now I’m impressed.” His quiet laugh started her stomach dancing in a funny way that had nothing to do with her previous fear. Her gaze narrowed. “How’d you see that?” She nodded toward the market and the pewter stall.
“I’ve got a good eye. I figured anyone who could pull three Devil’s Highs with Joe Missek at the table must have a pretty quick hand.”
She smiled, flushing slightly at the complimentary assessment of her skills.
“I liked the leaning over trick,” he continued. “Xank’s always been a sucker for a pretty young woman.”
“Pretty, huh?” Vic arched an eyebrow. To compliment her skills was one thing, but no one had ever really complimented her looks before. Her stomach danced with pleasure. “What can I say, General? I’m very good at what I do.” Out of habit, her gaze turned to scan the market. Her smile suddenly fell away as a figure in the crowd caught her attention.
“Damn.”
Three large men strolled purposefully through the crowd toward the alley. All were dressed in various styles of purple and black clothing. The center man’s tunic included the silver detailing that marked his senior rank.
Vic cursed under her breath again, more colorfully this time. She scanned the alley and the buildings overhead, looking for an escape route. The three men would reach the alley before she could get to the opposite side. And there wasn’t a single convenient balcony along either of the bracketing buildings. Then her gaze fell on the King’s Own. Abruptly, she turned her back to the wall and pulled Jacob in front of her. A quick glance at the crowd confirmed that the three men were intent on entering this particular alley.
Without taking time for explanations, she pulled Jacob’s face to hers and kissed him soundly on the mouth. She ran her hands around his neck and buried her fingers in the thick hair at his nape to keep him in place.
After the briefest pause, he circled his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him, returning her kiss.
Vic cracked her eyes just enough to watch the men enter the alley.
They strode by without a sideways glance.
A relieved sigh relaxed her and she closed her eyes. But as minutes passed, she realized that neither she nor the King’s Own had broken their kiss. A tingling started in the pit of her stomach, radiating to the rest of her body in warm waves. When Jacob’s hands tightened on her waist, she jerked free.
Shock at the strange warmth flooding her system erupted into anger and she scowled up at the guard’s roguish grin. “What do you think you were doing kissing me?” she demanded, trying to disengage herself from his strong arms.
“You kissed me,” Jacob reminded her, letting his arms drop back to his sides. He leaned down close and whispered in her ear, “And when you’re hiding from someone in a kiss, the scene is more believable when the person you’re kissing is kissing back.” He straightened, still grinning.
Vic frowned and looked at the ground. She couldn’t believe it but her face felt hot. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she was blushing. “Well,” she mumbled reluctantly after a silent moment, “thanks.”
“Who were they?”
“Tracker’s guards.”
“The smuggler? What did you do to him?”
Her grin returned. “Some time ago, he thought little Vic Flash would be a fun pet. I convinced him otherwise.”
Jacob arched one eyebrow.
“Just before I relieved him of his personal money pouch,” she finished.
Jacob chuckled and shook his head. “You have a talent for trouble, Victoria Flash. Tracker knows you’re not a boy?”
“Actually, he didn’t at first. Boy, girl—it’s all the same to Tracker. But that’s not why I’m ducking his guard.” She pursed her lips and flicked a gaze out to the bustling market.
“What?”
She blinked and looked back at the King’s Own. “Tracker’s men shouldn’t be here.”
“In Upper Market?”
“No, in Karasnia. They winter in Southern Depnie. They should have left here last month. They pass through Upper Depnie most of the time to avoid Breeke, and the trek through Barren Pass is a hard one if you're caught too late in the year.”
The creases at the corners of Jacob’s eyes deepened. “What are you saying, little thief?”
She shook her head, momentarily missing the epithet. “I don’t know what it means.” Then she scowled. “What do you mean ‘little’ thief?”
He chuckled and made a show of looking down at her.
She snorted and looked back to the market crowd. Little, ha!
“Dodging smuggler’s guards, hiding from Big Charlie, avoiding the Red Dawn like the plague, lifting purses from minor nobles in broad daylight.” Jacob shook his head and tsked her.
The touch of admiration in his voice made her insides feel very warm. Too warm for comfort. She met his gaze, smiled the flirty grin she’d used on the fat noble and batted her lashes playfully. “A girl’s gotta find some way of occupying the day.” With a wink, she pushed away from the alley and vanished into the Upper Market crowd.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. No more unusual sightings. Nothing out of the ordinary for Upper Market. In fact, the afternoon was downright boring. And Vic had too much time to think. As she scanned the crowd while pretending to study a piece of embroidered silk, her mind turned yet again to the tall King’s Own general.
Jacob Marin had quite a reputation among the women of Dareelia and from the rumors, his reputation extended to the rest of the kingdom, as well. Now she understood those whispered giggles whenever his name came up in conversation.
He was a hero of the realm, having uncovered the illegal study of blood magic by the late Prince Erick, then aiding in the defense of King John when the Prince had boldly walked into the reception hall two years ago to assassinate the monarch. His strength and skill as a soldier sent tremors through enemies of the Karasnian Crown. But it was his sly smile and roguish manner that sent quivers through the country’s women.
Vic had never considered herself fanciful when it came to men. Oh, she liked men for the most part, but they were generally more trouble than they were worth. And in her line of work, a girl had to be very careful about the kinds of men with whom she became involved. Between that and spending most of her adult life dressed as a boy, she’d just never bother getting tangled with a man. Not in a romantic sense anyway. She’d never considered that she might be missing anything. In fact, she’d always figured it showed a remarkable degree of common sense to avoid emotional entanglements.
Then she’d kissed a King’s Own.
A flash of the remembered kiss sent her stomach fluttering and heat raced across her skin. With a barely suppressed groan, she moved back into the crowds. Kissing Jacob Marin had not been one of her better ideas. In fact, she’d definitely rank it as one of her worst. Not for the least because she’d be thinking about that kiss for the next month!
He probably hadn’t even been trying. He’d admitted he’d been aware of her ruse, and he’d acted his part of the scene perfectly. Too perfectly as far as Vic was concerned. He could have at least had the decency not to kiss her so well! Not that she was a great judge of kisses, but the man had known what to do with his mouth. And the remembered feel of his large hands wrapped around her waist made her insides melt.
No, kissing the King’s Own would definitely have to go on her list of things not to do again.
Unfortunately.
She stopped short. Then to cover her odd motion, she made a show of looking at the contents in a nearby stall. She didn’t bother to notice what she was looking at. What did she mean by unfortunately? Exactly what she was afraid she meant. She wouldn’t mind having the chance to kiss that particular King’s Own again. Just one more time. Just to see if it had really been as nice a kiss as her memory was telling her it was. She could almost smell the leather and musk of him, feel the warmth of his breath as he moved in close…
Shaking her head roughly, she moved away from the stall. Jacob Marin was a King’s Own and a general and had seduced—if rumors were to be believed—nearly half the women in the country. Vic was a con artist, a spy, a thief and a gambler. Add in her less-than-highborn appearance and Jacob Marin became a nice, dangerous dream but a decided impossibility. For once, she told herself, she wasn’t going to take on the challenge of something that was supposed to be impossible.
As the evening air continued to chill and the stalls began to close for the night, Vic wandered back toward Lower Market, chuckling softly at her fanciful thinking. Ren would never let her live it down.
Chapter Three
“Goblins in Karasnian Forest?” Jacob frowned at the guard before him.
“That’s the word, General Marin,” Captain Adams said. “They’ve been seen in small groups—no more than two or three at a time—coming down through the high reaches of Georna for the last few months. But th
ey haven’t been bothering travelers or the mountain folk. Then last week, a hunter spotted two sneaking through the middle of the Karasnian Forest, not more than a league from the crossroads.”
Jacob’s frown deepened. “Have you told the king?”
“General Thack is with him now, sir. He sent me to inform you of the situation and to ask if you’d come to the king’s study as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Jacob strode down the castle’s marble floored halls, deep in thought. Goblins hadn’t come down from the Bthak Mountains north of Georna Barony and into lower Karasnia for almost three hundred years. The news wasn’t welcome.
When he reached the king’s study, Jacob nodded to the two King’s Own standing outside the door. “Garath. Tekan.”
They saluted, a sharp right hand over left shoulder movement, and one of the men opened the door.
“Jacob. Good, you’re here,” King John said, motioning the general of his personal guard into the room as the door was closed behind him.
King John was a tall, broad man, whose aging showed only in the gray infiltrating his sandy blond hair, and the deep-set wrinkles in his forehead. His features were sharp and weathered but handsome. He was well loved by his people, commanding great respect both as a man and a king. Under less foreboding circumstances, his brown eyes would have danced merrily. Now they were dark with the knowledge of a potential threat to his country.
Beside the king, a man only a few inches shorter than Jacob but several inches wider ran a hand down his red beard and stared at the map spread across the king’s desk. He acknowledged Jacob with a distracted grunt.