Praise for Rules for Thieves
“The world building is magnificent and intricate, and it would be a shame if there isn’t a sequel, even if Ott does wrap up the key plot points; Alli and this inviting setting both deserve another outing.”
—BCCB
“Alexandra Ott’s funny, thrilling debut, Rules for Thieves, will have readers flipping pages from the very first scene.”
—Shelf Awareness
“This compelling debut fantasy novel with complex themes, lots of action, and a good cast of characters will appeal to fantasy readers across the spectrum.”
—School Library Journal
“Alli’s southern European–inflected fantasy world is built carefully and tightly, complete with class structures, customs, and a patron saint–centered culture. The ending isn’t squeaky clean but provides a sense of closure as Alli makes a meaningful discovery about her heritage. A smooth debut.”
—Kirkus Reviews
FOR MY FAMILY
Prologue
They left the note on his pillow this time.
Beck drew a dagger with his right hand and held a candle aloft with his left. His room looked empty, but it was clear someone had been here. The coin pouch he’d left on the table was missing, and a nearby candle stub was tipped over. And, of course, there was the note, a threatening square of crisply folded brown parchment like a stain upon his pillowcase.
Beck crossed the room swiftly, knife in hand, and checked the bathroom. Empty. He peered behind the bathroom door and inside the tub, just in case, but whoever had been here was gone.
Pocketing his knife, he returned to the main room and lifted the note from his pillow with the tips of his fingers, as if it might burn him. He held up the candle, illuminating the parchment. The note was written with a thick, spidery hand:
We’re waiting.
There was nothing else, except for a single black smudge in the lower corner. It could have been anything—an inkblot, an accidental smear. But they’d left an identical mark on the first note, and Beck knew what it meant.
It was a shadow.
The first note, which had been shoved underneath his bedroom door a few days ago, had been more ominous:
Tell no one.
But it was this second note that Beck found most threatening. Not shoved hastily under a door this time. They’d gotten in.
It should’ve been impossible. Enchantments protected every door in the Guild, preventing members from breaking into one another’s rooms. In a society of thieves, doors had to be guarded.
Had a magician broken the protection spell on his door? Unlikely. The magicians were among the king’s most loyal supporters, mostly because of how well he paid them. These traitors probably didn’t have a magician in their ranks, and while their funding seemed to be growing, it wouldn’t be enough to bribe one into breaking such a strong spell.
But then how was it possible?
Beck strode over to his dresser and rummaged through the top drawer. He withdrew the first note from its hiding place beneath a tangled pile of old socks. Laying both notes out side by side on the nearby table, he knelt and examined them. The handwriting on both was clearly the same. And the longer he stared at them, the more certain he was that he knew who had written them.
Even in a guildhall full of the world’s most talented thieves, there was only one person Beck knew who could find his way into any room, past any lock.
It was the only possibility that made sense, yet it was the one he least wanted to believe.
If it really was him . . . well, there was no other alternative. Beck had to confront him.
Leaving the candle atop the dresser, he picked up the notes, stuffed them into a safe interior pocket of his coat, and strode out the door.
He walked as fast as he dared down the hall, his footsteps echoing off the gray stone floor. Luckily, he didn’t have far to go—the new bedroom he’d been assigned after passing his trial was conveniently close to that of his best friend.
Beck knocked on Koby Mead’s door.
“Mead? It’s me,” he called when there was no response.
Beck knocked again. No answer.
He turned and paced down the corridor, hardly knowing where he was going. He couldn’t let this go on any longer, couldn’t sit back and pretend that these thieves, these shadows, weren’t a threat.
Beck wanted to protect Mead, if he truly was involved, but that was a stupid instinct. Mead, like any true thief, wouldn’t go out of his way to protect anyone other than himself.
Beck needed to protect himself, and he needed to warn the king. Enough was enough. He had to act.
He pivoted and strolled in the other direction, ducking through narrow stone passageways until he emerged into the hall that housed the steward’s office. It was still early in the evening, so Durban would likely still be at his desk—
Up ahead, a figure emerged from the shadows, blocking the hall.
Beck slowed to a stop.
“Hey, Reigler,” the thief said.
“Keene,” Beck replied flatly.
“Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour,” Keene said. His tone was casual, but his posture was not. He crossed his arms and took a step forward, positioning himself squarely in the middle of the hall. There was no getting past him.
“Thought I’d grab an early dinner tonight,” Beck said, willing his voice to stay steady. He nodded toward the end of the passageway, where the final door opened into the dining hall.
“You might want to rethink that,” Keene said, lowering his voice. “I hear they’re serving up something special later tonight.”
Just like the notes, Keene’s words were vague, yet the threat was unmistakable. Whatever it was the Shadows were planning, it couldn’t possibly be good.
And they weren’t going to let Beck get in their way.
If Alli were here, she’d do something reckless—lie her way past Keene, or even charge past him, demanding to see the steward, refusing to take no for an answer. For the thousandth time since his trial, Beck wished she were here.
But she wasn’t, and Beck didn’t have her bravado or her talent for improvising. It was probably best to play it cool, to let this go for now. He’d find a way to see Durban later. Keene couldn’t lurk in this hallway forever, after all. And maybe Beck could track down Mead in the meantime, get some more information out of him. . . .
“In that case,” Beck said, “I think I’ll grab something to eat later.”
“Wise choice,” Keene said, but he didn’t move.
Reluctantly Beck turned to leave.
“Oh, and Reigler?” Keene called after him. “You should think about the choice you have to make. And choose quickly.”
His meaning was the same as the note in Beck’s pocket:
We’re waiting.
Trying not to shudder, Beck hurried away. He didn’t look back, but he could feel Keene watching him all the way to the end of the hall.
He made a few more turns at random, putting distance between himself and Keene. As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he doubled back, choosing an alternate route to Durban’s office.
No matter how many times Keene threatened him, he had to tell. The king was in danger.
The Shadows had made a mistake in sending Beck these taunting messages and making their threats clear. They had let him know that they were serious, that the danger they posed was real. Instead of giving in to their demands like they thought he would, Beck was going to expose them, before things got worse.
Durban would take this seriously, of course—Durban took everything seriously. The steward would make sure that Beck’s warning reached the king. Beck just had to hope that Keene and his shadowy friends had gone to lu
rk elsewhere.
The hall outside Durban’s office was now empty. Beck rapped sharply on the door but got no response. He reached for the handle, to see if it was locked—
A scream pierced the air.
Beck whirled around. Commotion sounded from the direction of the dining hall, where most of the Guild was probably gathering for dinner right now.
Something special, Keene had said.
Beck ran.
He shoved open the door at the end of the passage and found the dining hall in chaos. Thieves were running in all directions, some rushing into the room and some scrambling to leave it. Shouts echoed through the cavernous space, chairs and tables crashed to the floor, steel weapons flashed in the torchlight. Something strange was happening at the far end of the room, but Beck couldn’t see it through the crowd.
Someone grabbed Beck’s arm from behind, and he reached instinctively for a knife.
“Don’t just stand there!” said a very familiar voice.
Beck didn’t let go of his knife, but he did let Mead tug him across the hall and through another door, where they entered a dark passageway. Mead finally let go of Beck’s arm but continued to lead the way through the halls, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure Beck was following.
“What’s happening back there?” Beck asked, nearly tripping in his haste to keep up with Mead’s long strides.
“It’s Durban,” Mead said, not slowing down.
“Durban?”
“Didn’t you see? They just hung his body in the dining hall.”
Beck froze.
Durban. The king’s steward. One of the most powerful people in the entire Guild.
Dead.
No, not just dead.
Murdered.
Beck was too dazed to pay attention to where they were going and was surprised to find himself in front of Mead’s bedroom door for the second time that evening. Mead unlocked it and unceremoniously shoved Beck inside.
As Mead made his way through the room, lighting scattered candles, Beck tried to unscramble the dozens of questions in his head.
“Did you know?” he asked finally.
“You’ll have to be more specific.” Mead’s tone was light, but he wasn’t being as flippant as usual. He sounded tired.
“Did you know the Shadows were going to kill Durban?”
If Mead was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. He dropped onto the sofa, his fingers tapping a jittery rhythm against his knees. “Not for sure, no.”
“But you suspected.”
“I guessed.” Mead shrugged. “Knew they’d have to eventually, if they were going to win. Can’t get rid of the king without getting rid of his steward. The display, though . . . I have to admit, I didn’t know they were so creative.”
“They just announced themselves to the entire Guild,” Beck said, feeling numb. Here he’d been about to expose the Shadows himself, to tell Durban of their existence, and the Shadows had beaten him to the punch.
“So it would seem,” Mead said.
“Why?”
“Why do you think? The Shadow Guild is no longer in the shadows. They’re done hiding.”
“They’ve declared war,” Beck agreed, though he still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d known they were dangerous, but he hadn’t expected it to escalate so fast. They were already in the middle of a battle he’d only just become aware of.
“It’ll help with their recruitment, I expect,” Mead said casually. “Must’ve been hard to recruit members while also trying to pretend your organization doesn’t exist.”
Beck narrowed his eyes. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”
Mead sighed. “Look, I don’t—”
“You wrote these.” Beck drew the two notes from his pocket and waved them at Mead. “This is your handwriting. You’re the one who broke into my room.”
Mead studied Beck’s face, clearly deciding whether or not to lie. “I would hardly call it breaking in. I used a key.”
“Olleen?” Beck guessed. She was the only person he’d entrusted with a spare key to his room.
“No. Just borrowed a little spell from Jarvin and duplicated yours when you weren’t looking.”
“Is that who got you into this? Treya and Jarvin?” Beck had never particularly liked Mead’s sister or her husband; he wouldn’t have put it past either of them to be Shadows.
“Essentially. They joined a while back and then told Keene to recruit me.”
Beck gritted his teeth. “And why did you let him?”
Mead leaned back into the sofa cushions. His pose was casual, but there was a challenge in his expression. “Things are changing. Surely you can see that.”
“I did notice that the steward had been murdered, come to think of it.”
“It’s not that I particularly agree with them,” Mead said, maintaining his casual air. “In fact, I think they’re ruining the good thing Kerick’s got going here. But just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I can’t face the truth. This is what you have to understand, Reigler: They might win.”
“Not if we stop them.”
Mead just shook his head sadly, as if he were explaining something to a toddler. “You have two options. You can pick a side and hope that your side wins, because you’ll be dead if they don’t. Or you can choose both.”
Beck fought to keep his voice level. “When one of those sides is set on killing the other, no, you cannot choose both.”
“Of course you can. It’s not like I’m the Shadows leader or anything. I’m just playing nice, running the occasional errand for them, pretending to be sympathetic to their cause. And I’m doing the same thing for the king.”
“Oh really, you’re just running errands? Is that what you were doing with these?” Beck took a step closer, waving the notes in Mead’s face. “You wrote these threats and left them for me, and you call that playing nice?”
For the first time, Mead looked a little less calm. “I was trying to help you.”
“Help me?”
“I didn’t want the Shadows to target you for recruitment at all. It’s not my fault Keene chose you, or that you refused. I overheard him and another Shadow discussing how they were going to kill you, since you might talk. So I stepped in. I offered to leave the notes. I said that you’d come to your senses once you understood what was at stake. They’re getting desperate to recruit people and didn’t particularly want to go to the trouble of having to kill you, so they agreed to try it my way. I knew you’d get here eventually.”
For a second, Beck struggled to inhale. He’d known, of course, that there was danger in refusing Keene’s offer to join the Shadows. He just hadn’t realized quite how much danger he’d been in.
“You were wrong,” Beck said finally. “I’m not joining the Shadows, no matter how many stupid little notes you leave in my room.”
“You don’t have a choice anymore. You know too much. Either you join them or they’re going to go back to their original plan and kill you, do you understand?”
“I won’t do it. And I’m not going to pretend to join them either. What you’re doing is just as likely to get you killed, if someone finds out you’re playing both sides.”
“Who’s going to find out?”
Beck’s hand shook, and he clenched it into a fist, crumpling the notes. “How could you betray Kerick like this?”
“Loyalty is a luxury we can’t always afford. It’s just how things work. You don’t have to like it. You just have to be smart, and survive.”
Beck shoved the crumpled notes back into his pocket. “It isn’t too late to stop them.”
Mead threw his hands into the air in frustration. “Weren’t you paying attention tonight? That was the steward they strung up! And he’s not the only one they’re after.”
“What do you mean? Kerick?”
“Not just Kerick.” Mead paused.
“Just tell me.”
Mead reached into his pocket and withdrew a tatter
ed parchment. “This is the list.”
Beck took it. A series of names were scrawled in Mead’s handwriting, with Kerick’s on top. And just below Kerick was—
That couldn’t be right.
Beck read it again, then looked at Mead. “Is this—?”
“I think so,” Mead said, nodding.
“And the people on this list . . .?”
“Are their targets. Yes.” Mead took the parchment back and tucked it carefully into his pocket.
Beck didn’t know how or why that name had ended up there, but it didn’t matter. He had to warn them.
No, he had to do more than that. He had to stop the Shadows.
“It isn’t too late,” he repeated, finding that the more he said the words, the more he believed them. “They won’t win. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Before Mead could respond, Beck turned on his heel and strode out the door.
He ran down the halls, hardly caring who saw him. The time for caution was long past. It was time to start thinking like Alli. What he needed was courage, and daring, and a healthy dose of recklessness.
There was a chance that the king wasn’t in his office, what with the crisis erupting in the dining hall. But Kerick was never hasty in an emergency. He’d send someone else out first, to examine the situation. He probably wouldn’t emerge from his office until tomorrow, when the dust had settled and he’d had time to consider his response. Which meant there was a very good chance that Beck could find him.
As Beck dove deeper into the dark halls of the Guild, the magic protecting the king’s inner sanctum should have stopped him from entering. Without the steward or one of the magicians to lift the spells, he shouldn’t have been able to pass through them. But he kept walking, and nothing happened.
Maybe the spells were able to sense his purpose, his loyalty, and let him through. Maybe they’d been disabled because of the emergency. Maybe their magic had died with the steward. Whatever the reason, there was nothing keeping Beck from his goal.
He reached his destination in record time. Pulling the notes—his single scrap of concrete evidence—from his pocket, he pounded on the king’s door.
Chapter One
The Shadow Thieves Page 1