The Shadow Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  It’s way easier to walk through the woods in the daylight, but the trudge up the hill is still slow going. I’m breathing hard and covered in leaves and twigs by the time I reach the chapel.

  Inside, it’s slightly less creepy now, with bright sunbeams streaming in through the stained glass. Beck lounges on a pew, wearing the same clothes he was in last night. His eyes are closed, but I’m sure he knows I’m here. I walk over and sit down in the pew across the aisle from him.

  “Bring any food?” he asks without opening his eyes.

  “Hello to you too.”

  He looks up, grinning. “So that’s a yes, then?”

  I tap my bag with two fingers. “You know, I’m not sure you really deserve this.”

  “Who, me?” he says innocently, like a puppy asking for a treat.

  I sigh and toss him the bag.

  “Maybe I could bring you some more stuff later,” I say. “You know, blankets and candles and”—I glance at the filth below our feet—“maybe a dust rag or two . . .”

  Beck laughs. “Honestly, it’s fine. I’d settle for the food.” He pries out the bread and eagerly tears off a chunk.

  As Beck eats, meticulously catching every crumb, I perch on the back of the pew beside him, making circles in the dust with my boots.

  “So . . . ,” he says hesitantly. “Everything still going okay with your brother?”

  “Pretty much. He almost caught me last night, coming back, but I made up a story and he mostly bought it.”

  Beck nods, still chewing. “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Not really. He’s not very strict, I guess. I don’t know. How strict are guardians supposed to be normally?”

  Beck laughs. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  “True. I guess he is strict, by Guild standards.”

  “Yeah, but you probably shouldn’t judge by Guild standards.”

  “Probably not.” I pause. “So aside from the whole Shadows thing, how’s everything in the Guild been? Since you passed your trial?”

  Beck swallows. “It’s kind of hard to think about anything but the Shadows. But it was okay, I guess.”

  “Just okay?”

  He hesitates again. Whatever it was he wanted to say, he seems to change his mind. “It was great, really, being a full member. Everything I thought it would be.”

  There’s something hidden in his voice that he’s not telling me, so I smile to try and lighten the mood. “I mean, I know it had to be terrible without me there, of course.”

  “Of course. We could hardly bring ourselves to carry on.”

  “You didn’t win any more ice sledding races without me, did you?”

  “Oh, definitely not. You know we were all completely hopeless at ice sledding until you graced us with your presence.”

  “Obviously,” I say. “You needed me to show you how to really race.”

  “And nearly got killed doing it,” Beck says, almost fondly. “I still can’t believe you pulled that stunt on your first race.”

  “Only race,” I correct without thinking.

  That kills the mood quick.

  Beck takes a long, slow sip of water before speaking again. “I think the whole sledding team missed you. Mead and Dryn were already fighting about who was going to recruit you first.”

  I look at the wooden pew beneath my feet, smudging the dust circle I’ve made with my boot. “Yeah, well, too bad that didn’t work out.”

  Beck sits up straighter, as if he’s gathering courage for whatever it is he wants to say. “Maybe it still could.”

  “What?”

  “There might be a way you could come back to the Guild.”

  My heart speeds up, as if to keep pace with my racing thoughts. “What are you talking about? I failed my trial.”

  “I know. And normally that would be it, you couldn’t come back. But I think maybe the king might be willing to make an exception, if you help me out. The Shadows are kind of a big deal. Anyone who helps the king take them down will gain his favor.”

  I sigh. “You have some kind of plan in mind, don’t you?”

  He sets down the water canteen and leans back, looking up at me. “There’s a part of this whole Shadows thing that I haven’t told you yet.”

  “Oh great, there’s more?”

  Beck drums his fingers against his knees. “Have you ever heard of the King’s Coin?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Okay, so, you know how rulers normally have a crown, right? To symbolize their rule or whatever.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So the king of the Guild doesn’t have a literal crown. But there’s this silver coin that, according to legend, has been passed down through generations of Guild kings. It symbolizes the transfer of their power, just like a crown would.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “But it’s even more than that. There are all of these stories and legends about the coin being magical, about how it bestows some kind of power on the king. Nobody knows for sure how much of that is true, but enough people believe it that it helps the king maintain his authority in the Guild. Nobody wants to go against him, because nobody is quite sure what kind of power he might have. If anyone does successfully kill a current king, they have to take the coin in order to officially take control within the Guild.”

  “Okay, but it’s still just a coin, right? I mean, how hard can it be to take it? It’s easier to steal a coin than a crown.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s kind of the problem. See, kings have to hide or guard the coin carefully, to make sure that no one steals it. Anyone who does could challenge their right to rule.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. If someone stole, say, the king of Ruhia’s crown, that wouldn’t automatically make them king.”

  “Right, but that’s where the Guild works differently than a monarchy. This is a guild of thieves. Stealing is associated with power. To steal the King’s Coin is to steal his power—symbolically, at least, and maybe even literally, if the coin really is magic. Some people even say that the coin chooses the king, that it can only be claimed by those who are worthy of it.”

  “So, if I were to steal the coin from Kerick, the Guild would just let me be king?”

  “It wouldn’t be quite that simple. Kerick would just try to kill you and take the coin back, and some would remain loyal to him and likely help. But it would give you a claim to the throne, for sure. And—here’s the important part—you can’t really have a claim to the throne without it.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up all over the place. “You remember how I told you before that Kerick had a sister? One who helped him overthrow the previous king?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, there’s this legend,” he says. “I don’t know how much truth is in it. I was really young when all this happened, so I don’t remember it myself. But they say that Kerick and his sister figured that neither of them could face the king alone—possibly because of the coin’s magical power—but together they took him down. After the two of them killed the previous king, it was Kerick who took the coin from him.”

  “Let me guess. Kerick suddenly decides he doesn’t want to share power with his sister?”

  “Right. The story goes that Kerick and his sister fought each other, and she tried to get the coin from him. You remember that scar Kerick has on his hand?”

  Now that he mentions it, I do remember. When I met Kerick, there was a long, angry gash on the back of his hand.

  “According to the version of the story that I heard, his sister gave him that scar. He was holding the coin in his palm, and she sliced the back of his hand with a knife to try to force him to drop it.”

  “But it didn’t work?”

  “It didn’t work. Kerick kept the coin. Now, this is where the story gets important. Like I said before, some Guild members were loyal to one of the siblings over the other. Some wanted Kerick to be king. Some wanted his sister. But it was decided: Kerick had the
King’s Coin, so Kerick would be king. Even her loyal supporters agreed. No matter who they preferred, enough people recognized the legitimacy of the coin. She left the Guild and was never seen again.

  “When people in the Guild talk about the importance of the coin, this is what they mean. If there’s a dispute over Guild leadership, it’s possession of the coin that will decide things.”

  I’m starting to get where he’s going with this. “So if I were, say, the leader of the Shadows and I wanted to kill Kerick and make myself king, I’d also have to figure out how to get this coin from him?”

  “Exactly. Now, here’s the problem: The Shadows already have it.”

  “What?”

  “When I spoke with the king, he didn’t just ask me to spy on the Shadows. He also asked me to find the coin. It’s missing, and he thinks the Shadows have stolen it. That’s why they’re doing all of this now, why they suddenly started recruiting people and everything. All they have to do is get rid of Kerick and his most loyal followers, and the rest of the Guild will have to accept their leader as the new king. Now that they have the coin, the Shadows have a real claim to the throne. And Kerick’s claim is weakened.”

  “Wait, so how can Kerick still be king at all? If he doesn’t have the coin?”

  “That’s the only good news. No one in the Guild knows it’s missing yet. I’m the only person Kerick told. He thinks the Shadows stole it in secret, and they’re hiding it until they’re ready to make their big move. We have to steal it back before that happens.”

  I sit up. “What do you mean we?”

  “This is the part where I thought you could help me. Searching for the coin is way less dangerous than infiltrating the Shadows, but it’s probably even more important. If you help me find it and both of us bring it back to the Guild, the king will probably reward you. And he already knows there were, er, complications during your trial. The only reason you failed was that you stayed behind to help someone. He might be willing to make an exception and let you back into the Guild.”

  His words hit me like a blast of cold air, unexpected and painful. I have to let all of this settle in my mind for a second. “You really think that would work?”

  “Yes.”

  My stomach churns. I am not supposed to want this. I thought I’d already made my decision. I said no to the Guild, said no to stealing and being a thief. I said I’d never go back. Being in the Guild would mean getting more innocent people killed or hurt, like the Athertons, and I already decided the price isn’t worth it. Besides, I have Ronan now. I have a real, actual chance at living a normal life with my brother.

  But.

  Ronan is already planning to get rid of me, to send me off to some apprenticeship somewhere. And things aren’t exactly going smoothly regardless. This could give me an alternative—a place to go if I need to.

  But do I even want that? I don’t really want to be a Guild member anymore . . . Right?

  Okay, maybe the idea of ice sledding again sounds fun. And there would be advantages to living in the guildhall. No more sneaking around at home, no more lying to my brother and keeping secrets from him, no more pressure to be Ronan Rosco’s good little sister. Plus, I could see everyone I met in the Guild before—Mead and Peakes and Dryn and Flint and . . .

  And Beck.

  Most importantly of all, I could be with Beck.

  But becoming a thief again and hurting people, getting people killed—it isn’t worth it. I already decided. I made up my mind. I can’t go back. Besides, I could never tell Ronan where I’d gone. I’d probably never see him again.

  Would he care? Or would he be glad to have me out of his life? One less nuisance to worry about?

  No. I look down at my hands. I force myself to see them, to remember Ariannorah Atherton’s blood pooling all over them, while her mother lay dead on the floor. I did that. We did that. The Guild did that. I can’t ever let myself forget.

  But there is another option. If the king would be willing to reward me for finding the coin . . . Maybe joining the Guild isn’t the only favor I could ask for. What if I just ask for money instead? The Guild has plenty of gold. If the king agrees to give me some money, maybe I can give it to Ronan. Then it won’t matter if he loses his apprenticeship. Maybe I could convince him to let me stay. Maybe it will be enough.

  And if not, I can always take the money and go live on my own.

  “You don’t have to decide right now,” Beck says quietly. He’s watching my reaction carefully. “But if you help me find the coin, it could be an option later.”

  I can’t quite look at him. He might be upset if I tell him I’d rather live with Ronan than join the Guild, and I can’t bring myself to say it. I should keep this whole plan to myself for now. “Let’s say, theoretically, that I might be thinking about it,” I say. “What would we have to do to find this coin?”

  “The king gave me an address, here in Ruhia. He said he thinks the coin might be there, but he can’t check himself, in case it’s being guarded. Which means I can’t check it out either, in case the Shadows notice me poking around. But you can. It’s just a vendor’s cart in a marketplace. All you have to do is look for the coin.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. . . .”

  Beck grins. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Maybe,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to be too involved in thieving and stuff. I’ve been down this road before, you may recall.”

  “Right, sure.”

  “Stop smiling.”

  His grin widens. “Meet me here tomorrow after you’ve checked it out?”

  “I suppose . . .”

  “Great.” His spirits apparently restored, Beck reaches for his food again and tears off another hunk of bread.

  “Why does the king think this coin is in some marketplace, anyway?”

  “He didn’t really say.” Beck frowns. “Something about how the vendor might be involved.” He gives me directions to the market and a description of the cart I’m supposed to look for.

  I glance up at the windows, trying to guess the time, but I can’t see the sky well enough through the stained glass. I’m probably running way late by now. I have to get my usual shopping done and meet Ronan at his office like normal or he’ll get suspicious.

  Beck catches me looking outside. “It’s okay if you have to go.”

  “I kinda do,” I say reluctantly. It’s so shadowy and depressing in here, and the idea of leaving Beck alone is giving me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have to remind myself that this is Beck. He grew up in the caves of the Thieves Guild. He knows his way around hideouts. He’s used to being on his own. And he knows how to take care of himself.

  He just looks so . . . alone.

  “It’s fine,” he says again. He makes a big show of leaning back into the pew like it’s super comfortable, even though it creaks ominously when he shifts his weight.

  “Okay then,” I say, hopping down from the back of my own pew. “If you’re sure . . .”

  He waves me away, taking another bite of bread. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.”

  I walk back down the aisle. At the door, I hesitate. The feeling in my stomach won’t go away.

  And I can’t help thinking about what happened before. About how, until last night, the last time we saw each other was when Beck walked away from me, out a window, into freedom. And he didn’t look back.

  Now I’m the one walking away, and I understand why he didn’t look. Because if I do, I won’t be able to keep walking.

  So I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, even as I pull the door closed. But I can feel both Beck and the statue of Saint Harona staring at me as I leave them behind in shadow and dust.

  Chapter Seven

  Ronan doesn’t seem to notice that anything’s wrong. When I meet him at his law office after leaving Beck in the chapel and running my errands, he only asks how today’s shopping went, to which I shrug noncommittally, and then I change the su
bject. Mari doesn’t come over for dinner, but I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s working late or because she and Ronan are still fighting about me. I can’t work up the nerve to ask him.

  Ronan is quiet at dinner, seeming lost in thought. He sifts through a mountain of paperwork beside his plate while he eats (a habit that Mari tries to talk him out of, but he always does it when she’s not around).

  I’m beginning to suspect that Ronan is working harder than is normal for an apprentice. He’s definitely worried about losing his job, even if he won’t really say so. How much longer does he have before his apprenticeship ends? What happens to him if Avinoch’s doesn’t offer him a permanent position?

  I know what will happen to me, of course. Ronan will send me packing.

  As I pile my dinner dishes into the sink, he looks up suddenly, checking his watch. “Oops,” he says, almost to himself. “We’re late.”

  “Late for what?” He didn’t say anything about having plans tonight.

  “I meant to tell you earlier,” Ronan says, stuffing his papers into a messy pile and rising from the table. “It’s Wintersnight.”

  I’m still not getting why this is significant.

  “There’s a festival,” Ronan says, seeing my blank look. “One of the biggest parades comes through this part of the city, just down the street from here. We should watch it.”

  “Um, okay,” I say, still not really getting it. We have a Wintersnight festival in Azeland, of course. It’s to celebrate the coming of winter and all that. At the orphanage, we used to peek out the gate to watch the parade pass by—people in blue-and-white costumes dancing and singing and stuff. It was never one of the more interesting parades, though. And both Ruhia and Azeland have lots of saints’ day festivals, so I don’t get why this particular one matters.