The Shadow Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  “Keep your mouth shut as much as possible. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t make any snide comments, if you can help it.”

  I leap forward, trying to get level with her again. “Who put you in charge, anyway?”

  “Yes, comments like that,” she says dryly.

  “Yes, Queen Rosalia, I’ll follow your every command.” I give her a mock salute.

  “And that.”

  I huff in exasperation. “What exactly is your problem with me?”

  She stops so suddenly that I skid past her and have to whirl around. She stares me down, frozen on the sidewalk.

  “I warned you,” she says. “Back at the Guild, I warned you. I knew you weren’t cut out for this. I knew you’d fail your trial. You’re just lucky you didn’t take Beck down with you, as I worried you would. And now, through an absurd twist of fate, Beck’s relying on you again. And once again, you’re probably going to mess it up. Only this time, you might not be so lucky.”

  My pulse quickens in time with my temper. I take a big step forward, closing the distance between us, and look up into her eyes. “You don’t know anything about what happened during my trial.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You didn’t come back,” she says, pronouncing each word with a slow, cruel carefulness, like positioning a knife before plunging it into my heart. “That’s all I need to know.”

  I don’t dare take a step back from her. I don’t dare blink. I will not be the first one to back down. “What you need to know,” I say, mimicking her slow, even tone, “is that Beck left a girl to die that night. And I didn’t.”

  She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even look surprised. Either Beck already told her about it, or she’s even better at hiding her reactions than I expected. “And that,” she says, “is exactly what I’m talking about. You might be able to pick a few pockets, but that doesn’t make you a real thief. When things get tough, you don’t have what it takes. You don’t have the stomach for it.”

  I take a slow, even breath, willing myself not to punch her in the face. “You know what, Rosalia? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not Thieves Guild material. And right now, you should be so glad that I’m not. Because if I were like the rest of you, I wouldn’t be out here right now, risking my own life to protect my brother and help Beck. I’d be saving my own skin instead of wandering around in the cold, listening to you lecture me about how to behave. So don’t you dare act like you’re better than me.”

  She blinks.

  When she speaks again, her voice is a whisper. “I don’t think I’m better than you. I think you’re too good to be out here.”

  With that, she stalks past me, her cloak billowing out behind her.

  A few steps later, she stops and turns around again.

  “And you’re not the only one who’s trying to save their brother,” she says.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, okay, maybe I did. It’s just that you don’t seem like the most touchy-feely person. No offense.”

  She glares at me. “I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about my family.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  She sighs. “Look, Rosco, I think you and I both want the same thing here. We both want to stop the Shadows. When I’m hard on you, it’s because I want you to do better. I need you to be successful, all right?”

  This is possibly the least mean she’s ever been in my presence, even though I suspect I’m still being insulted in some way. I should probably accept the peace offering. “All right,” I say. Then, because I can’t resist, I add, “Though, you could be nicer about it.”

  Rosalia smirks. “I’m never nice.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She turns and starts walking again, but more slowly this time, allowing me to walk beside her.

  “I’d think you’d understand that,” she says after a moment. “Since you’re not so nice yourself.”

  “Nonsense. I’m practically angelic.”

  For just a teeny tiny second, she almost smiles. But when I catch her, she frowns and walks faster. “Keep up,” she says briskly. “We’re late.”

  We walk in silence the rest of the way, Rosalia striding purposefully and me trailing after her.

  A few blocks north of the chapel, she stops. We’re in a perfectly ordinary-looking neighborhood, lined with more Ruhian-style brick houses. “This is as far as I can go,” Rosalia says. “I don’t want to risk anyone seeing me with you. Just follow this street for two more blocks and go to 218 South Astian Street. Knock twice, and someone will answer. Good luck.”

  She turns away, barely sparing me a second glance. I take a deep breath and continue up the street.

  It turns out 218 South Astian is a narrow redbrick house nearly identical to every other building on the block. It’s squeezed tightly between its neighbors and stretched thin, taller than it is wide, with at least three stories and a peaked slate roof. There isn’t much of a lawn, but a little decorative gate leads up to the front porch, which is laden with empty, brightly colored flowerpots. Bright flower boxes, also empty due to the season, dot the windows all the way up.

  I double-check the house number. Then I check it again.

  I almost wish Rosalia were still here, just so I could turn to her and say, You’ve got to be kidding me.

  No, scratch that. I wish Beck were here, walking into this with me. I’ve never done any of this thieving stuff without him before. And even though our trial was basically a disaster and I’ve regretted it ever since, I don’t regret the parts where we helped each other.

  I take another deep breath, steeling myself. He’s on his way here to help. He’s counting on me. I can do this.

  I walk quickly up to the narrow front porch, dodging the flowerpots. The door knocker is in the shape of a heart.

  What kind of secret thief hideout is this?

  I knock twice.

  Five pounding heartbeats later, the door opens. Standing on the other side of the threshold is a young woman I don’t recognize. She’s in her twenties, with wavy fair hair that’s almost as pale as Mead’s. She looks profoundly ordinary.

  Did Rosalia give me the wrong address? Was this all an elaborate prank? I open my mouth, about to mumble an excuse and walk away, when the woman speaks.

  “Invitation?” she asks.

  Okay, she’s not surprised to see a stranger on her doorstep. I’m in the right place. But nobody said anything about needing an invitation. What should I say? Is there a password? Can I just talk my way in? Could I—

  Oh. The pendant. The one that proves I’m in the Guild. That’s the invitation.

  I reach into my coat pocket, preparing to draw it out—

  The woman’s eyes narrow. “Slowly,” she says.

  “I’m not armed,” I say honestly. Beck debated giving me a knife to tuck away somewhere, but we figured I’ll be searched anyway.

  “Slowly,” she repeats. I’m starting to see the Guild in her already. Something sinister lurks beneath the surface.

  I withdraw the pendant inch by inch and hold it up for her inspection. She gazes at the emerald in the center, then nods curtly and steps aside. I shove the pendant back into my pocket and enter the house.

  A braided throw rug covers wooden floorboards that creak under my feet. To my right, small framed paintings cover the wall. To my left, the hallway opens up into what looks like a small formal parlor, with floral couches and expensive-looking glass vases. Heavy curtains are drawn tightly across the front window.

  Immediately in front of me, a narrow staircase reaches up into the darkness. The woman is already walking past it, farther down the narrow hall. “Come on,” she says.

  I follow her past the staircase and toward the end of the hall, where a tiny doorway opens onto a dimly lit room. A burly man dressed in black stands guard over the threshold. Several knives and other sharp steel objects dangle from his belt.

  This is the Gu
ild I remember.

  “Ivo will search you,” the woman says crisply, and it takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me. “Leave your coat on the rack.” She nods toward a slender coatrack in the corner. This seems ridiculously courteous, until I realize they just want me to take off my coat so they can search my pockets.

  The woman withdraws the way we came, probably going to let more people in. I turn out my coat pockets for Ivo, holding the pendant tightly in my hand, then take the coat off and fling it onto the rack. After unwinding my scarf, I add it to the pile. I turn out my pants pockets next; then Ivo makes me take off my boots and searches those too.

  Finally he grunts, which I take to mean that I passed inspection. He steps aside, and I walk into the room.

  It’s a small square sitting room, with windows overlooking the back of the house. Candles flicker in various corners, but the majority of the space is still full of shadows. All of the furniture has been shoved against the walls, to make more space for the room’s occupants.

  At least six or seven other people are strewn about. Most sit on the floor or lean against the discarded furniture. One sits sideways on top of a table that’s shoved against the far wall.

  Everyone is talking amongst themselves, but a few people look up when I enter. For several long, awful seconds I just stand there, not knowing what to do.

  “New recruits,” says a deep voice from across the room, “in a line against the wall.”

  After a second of squinting into the darkness, I identify the speaker. He’s leaning casually against the wall by the empty fireplace, his ankles crossed. A wide-brimmed hat is pulled low over his head, obscuring his face. With his head tilted down, he doesn’t seem to be looking up at what’s going on in the room, but I have a feeling he’s watching everything.

  After another second, I find the place where he told me to sit. Two other figures are huddled against the wall closest to me, which slants underneath the stairs. I sit beside the nearest figure, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I glance at the person sitting next to me, but it’s so dark that I can’t make out any details.

  The other thieves in the room chat quietly amongst themselves, but the new recruits beside me don’t say anything. I sit in silence, praying for Beck to hurry up.

  Scanning the room again, I finally spot it.

  Tacked to the fireplace mantel is a massive, scroll-like sheet of parchment with words written across it in big blocky letters. Across the top, largest of all, is written: THE KING.

  And right below it, the second name on the list: RONAN A. ROSCO.

  My heart drops through the floor. It’s real. Beck was right.

  The Shadows do have a hit list, and my brother’s name is on it.

  I scan the rest of the names quickly, and while a few of them sound like Guild members I’ve heard of, none of the rest really stick out to me. Except, of course, for THE STEWARD, which has a big black slash mark right through it.

  If I had any doubts about what the list is for, they’re gone now.

  These are the people the Shadows mean to kill.

  Before I can properly panic, the door opens again, and Ivo escorts someone in. Beck. He shakes a drop of snow from his hair and crosses the room to sit beside me.

  “Okay, Allicat?” he murmurs quietly.

  “Fine,” I whisper back. “You?”

  He nods, his eyes scanning the room. I incline my head slightly toward the fireplace, and he pauses, clearly reading the list. “It’s the same as the one Mead showed me,” he whispers. “Except I think they’ve added more names.”

  I try to focus on taking deep, steadying breaths. This tiny space under the stairs isn’t helping me feel any calmer. It’s too small, too much like a prison cell, where I’m boxed in on all sides. I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m somewhere, anywhere, else. Someplace with lots of wide open spaces, nothing resembling a tiny jail cell at all . . .

  As usual, Rosalia was right about something; we were running late. Beck is the last to arrive. After another minute or two passes, the woman from the front door enters, Ivo trailing after her. She picks her way across the floor until she reaches a white wicker chair that’s against the wall, facing out toward the center of the room. She sits gracefully and nods at someone—everyone? Ivo stands beside her, his arms crossed.

  Her arrival seems to have been some kind of signal. The murmurs of conversation cease, and a lone figure stands up in the center of the room.

  I don’t recognize this guy either. He looks younger than most of the people here but still older than me, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He has short dark brown hair, a medium build, and a thin, sharp chin. As his eyes scan the room, I catch sight of a small scar across one side of his nose.

  “New recruits,” he says, looking in my direction. “Stand up.”

  Beck and I get to our feet, and the other two figures beside me do the same. I shove my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling.

  Scar Nose points at me. “You. Step forward.”

  I walk toward him until he gestures for me to stop. We’re only a foot or two apart now. Everyone in the room is watching.

  “How did you find out about this meeting?” he asks.

  “Beck Reigler invited me,” I say, sticking to Rosalia’s script and tilting my head in Beck’s direction.

  “Is that so?” Scar Nose turns to Beck, who nods. “Show me your pendant.”

  I hold it out for him. He examines it, frowning. “What’s your name?”

  “Alli Martell.” It seems like a good idea to give a fake last name, since my own is so prominently displayed over the fireplace.

  Scar Nose glances around the room. “Anyone here know Martell?”

  There are murmurs of dissent.

  Scar Nose smiles coldly. “Anyone besides Reigler who can vouch for you?”

  “Koby Mead,” I say quickly. “He knows me.”

  “Really?” Scar Nose turns to someone. “Get Mead for me.” Behind me, someone gets up and leaves the room. A moment later, his footsteps pound up the stairs.

  I gulp. I hope we were right to trust Mead.

  Scar Nose smiles again. “You’d better hope he can verify your story, since no one else here seems to know you.”

  “I’m new,” I say quickly.

  He gives me a cutting glance. “I can see that. How old are you, eight? Have you even passed your trial?”

  “Yes,” I say defensively. “I passed at the end of last spring.”

  Scar Nose leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. “Then why haven’t we seen you around the guildhall, Martell?”

  The truth spills out of my mouth before I have time to think about it. “I was in prison.”

  He laughs. “You hear that, everyone? Brand-new recruit and she’s somehow managed to get locked up already! You expect me to believe that?”

  More words spill out of me, but this time they’re lies. “It was my first job, okay? After I passed my trial, I got given this ridiculous assignment and paired up with some rookie idiot who didn’t know what he was doing and got us both arrested. I spent the whole summer and fall locked up and just got out. But that’s why I’m here.”

  His eyes narrow. “That so?”

  I pause. This is the part where I have to tread very, very carefully. “I don’t hold much respect for kings who send out inexperienced crews on jobs that were rigged from the start. I spent the past few months paying for other people’s mistakes, and I don’t think that’s fair. I’m here because I heard this is the place to go to find people who have similar feelings.”

  A hush has fallen over the room. Scar Nose is regarding me carefully, but he isn’t smiling now. “You may have heard right,” he says, very quietly. “But we’re not about feelings here; we’re about action. You okay with that?”

  I stare back at him, not daring to blink. “I spent months in lockup waiting to take action. I’m more than okay with that.”

  Scar Nose turns and looks over at the woman, who�
��s still sitting in the wicker chair. She nods once. In approval, maybe? So, despite doing all the talking, this guy’s not in charge. She’s the one who makes the call.

  I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when footsteps sound overhead. A moment later, the door swings open, and two people squeeze past Ivo and into the room. One of them is Koby Mead.

  He looks even thinner and paler than the last time I saw him, if that’s possible. His light hair is ruffled and standing on end, which only accentuates his height. His pale gray eyes flicker quickly across the room, linger on Beck, and settle on me.

  Whatever he says next will likely determine my fate.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he says.

  Scar Nose looks at him. “You know her?”

  “ ’Course.” Mead leans casually against the wall. “Met in the guildhall a few months back.”

  “When?” Scar Nose asks.

  Mead tilts his head back, considering. “Late spring? Beginning of summer? Something like that.”

  “And did you—”

  Mead sighs. “What is this, Keene, an interrogation? Come on. Did you really drag me all the way down here to vet some scrawny kid? I was busy.”

  “You were asleep,” mutters the guy who came downstairs with him.

  Scar Nose—Keene?—glares at Mead. “Why don’t you ever—”

  “Enough.” The woman’s voice cuts through the conversation, and both Mead and Keene stop talking. “We need to move on to other matters. Martell, take a seat. Keene, call the next recruit forward.”

  I move away from Keene and slide down to the floor in relief. I barely pay attention as Keene moves on to one of the other new recruits. I focus on steadying my heart rate and willing my hands to stop shaking.

  The whole time, I can feel Mead’s eyes on me, but it’s too dark to see much of his expression. And he’s not the only one—the guy in the hat is watching me too. He never looks up, and I never see his face, but I feel it.

  Beck’s turn is next, but it’s easier than mine. Since everybody knows Beck, and Keene invited him personally, he only has to answer a couple of questions. No one seems suspicious of his answers.

  Finally, after the last new person has been interrogated to Keene’s satisfaction, the real meeting begins. The other members take notice now, sitting up and focusing their attention on the center of the room.