The Shadow Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  “Not really. He was kind of vague about the details.”

  “Figures,” I grumble.

  “So did you find out anything useful from Mead?”

  “He said to tell you you’re an idiot.”

  The corners of Beck’s mouth quirk upward. “Figures.”

  “What did you do with Keene? Anything interesting?”

  “Not much,” Beck says, sounding irritated. “Mostly he just goes around threatening and intimidating people.”

  I shudder. “Sounds fun.”

  “What did you and Mead do?”

  “He wants us to go with him to the Night Market. Two nights from now, eight o’clock.”

  Beck’s eyes light up. “That’s perfect. We can meet some of the fences who are selling to the Shadows. And maybe the coin’s hidden there!”

  I frown. “You just said the coin’s probably at the house. Why would it be at the Night Market?”

  “It’s a market full of magical objects. If you want to hide a single magical object, it’s not a bad place to consider.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “Let’s just look for it while we’re there. See if we can find any clues.”

  “All right,” I say skeptically. “Did you know any of the other thieves who were there tonight? Did you recognize that woman who was in charge?”

  “I could identify a couple of other people. Mostly ones I would’ve suspected anyway, though. And I don’t know who that woman was. I’ve never seen her before.”

  “How’s that possible? You grew up in the guildhall. Don’t you know, like, everyone?”

  “Not all Guild members choose to live in the guildhall.”

  I frown again. “Well, this at least gives you something to go on, right? When you report back to the king?”

  “Yeah. I can at least describe the woman to him. He’ll have to know who she is, even if I don’t.”

  I pause. The thoughts I had a few minutes ago are still ringing loudly in my head. “So do you really think the king will be all grateful to us and everything, when this is all over?”

  “Of course,” Beck says. “He’ll be sure to offer you a place in the Guild. Don’t worry.”

  I swallow hard. That isn’t exactly what I’m worried about. But I don’t think Beck will ever understand choosing to live a normal life with Ronan over life in the Guild. The world outside of the Guild isn’t something he thinks about . . . is it?

  I try to make my next question sound completely casual. “What about you? Will you ask the king for anything?”

  Beck shrugs as if he hasn’t thought about it, though I’m sure he has. “More money, I suppose. Some better assignments, maybe. I don’t want to ask for too much—I’d rather not use up all his goodwill at once.”

  “Right,” I say. “But is there, I don’t know, anything else you might consider?”

  He turns toward me, frowning. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, you could ask him for anything. You could, like, take a million jamars and leave the Guild and do whatever you wanted.”

  He laughs. “What else would I do?”

  “Whatever you want,” I say. “I know the Guild’s always been your home and everything, but there’s so much more out there, Beck. So much more that you could do.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “You want me to leave? For good?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

  He shakes his head, like he’s trying to get rid of the very idea. “I’ve never been anything other than a thief, Alli.”

  “I know.”

  “I couldn’t leave.”

  “I know.” But I can’t let it go. “You know what you’re going back to. No matter who rules the Guild, there’s always going to be unnecessary death. Like Lady Atherton. That will always be the price.”

  Beck just smiles sadly. “Not all of us get to choose our home, Alli.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  Pressing the issue might just scare him away, so I try to change the subject. “Well, guess I’d better be going. It’s late. Past my bedtime and all.”

  Beck snorts. “Like you’ve ever had a bedtime.” He tilts his head, considering. “Wait, do you have a bedtime now? With your brother?”

  “Technically yes? I think staying up all night would be frowned upon, although I haven’t been given a specific time. Ronan’s pretty lax about the rules.”

  Beck nods. “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. It’s not how I expect adults to be, you know? Like, try explaining the concept of flexible bedtimes to the Sisters at the orphanage, or the wardens at the prison.”

  Beck flinches, and only after the words are out of my mouth do I realize we’ve never talked about the time I spent in prison.

  More specifically, we’ve never talked about the time I spent in prison, and he didn’t.

  It’s not like I’m mad at him or anything. I knew what was going to happen when I chose to stay behind with Ariannorah, and I don’t regret making that choice. Besides, Beck still saved my life afterward, by giving me most of his Guild money.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have forgiven him for leaving, but I have.

  Judging by the way Beck’s staring guiltily at the floor, he doesn’t know that.

  “It’s okay, really,” I say quietly. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “It wasn’t?” He looks up, clearly not believing me.

  “It . . . Well, okay, prison wasn’t exactly fun. But it was basically like living at the orphanage, only with stricter rules. Having to do chores, sharing a room with a bunch of other kids, being guarded all day . . . all stuff I’m used to. The orphanage was always its own kind of prison.”

  This is mostly true, although I’m leaving out the part about how tiny and dark my cell was, and how sometimes when they closed the door at night I’d have trouble breathing, convinced the walls were closing in on me, convinced I was going to die in that tiny concrete tomb. But Beck doesn’t need to know about that.

  He still doesn’t look like he believes me, but he lets it go. “Well, at least you’re with your brother now.”

  “Right,” I say. “He’s not so bad.”

  Beck hesitates, as if he’s thinking carefully about what to say. “Did he tell you anything about what happened to your mother?”

  I decide to keep it simple. “He said she died.”

  “I’m sorry.” From anyone else, the sentiment might sound empty. It’s just the thing you’re supposed to say when someone tells you something sad. But it isn’t hollow coming from Beck. He knows a thing or two about dead mothers.

  I shrug. “It’s okay. I never really expected to see her again, so it’s not like I was disappointed, you know? Getting to meet Ronan already feels like some kind of bonus.”

  “Yeah.” He watches the candle flicker below the altar, and I try not to feel guilty about the fact that I got to live with a member of my family after all, while Beck never will again.

  “Well. I guess I really should get going,” I say reluctantly.

  “Yeah, you’d better.”

  We say our good-byes, and I walk quickly out of the chapel, leaving Beck alone in the dark.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the morning, it takes me a second to remember why I feel so awful.

  My head aches, and my eyes do not want to open.

  But now I remember: sneaking back into the apartment after my conversation with Beck. Tiptoeing into my bedroom, changing my clothes, and slipping into bed, only to watch the hints of sunrise peek through my window. I haven’t been asleep very long, and it’s already morning.

  Late in the morning, in fact. Ronan let me sleep in again.

  Oh, right. He and Mari still think I’m sick.

  A twinge of guilt churns in my stomach, but I ignore it. The deception was necessary. And anyway, I needed the sleep.

  I rub my eyes and force myself to get up, following the sounds of Ronan’s and Mari’s voices into the kitchen.<
br />
  They’re both seated at the table, surrounded by the remains of breakfast.

  “Hey,” Ronan says, “are you feeling better?”

  “A little,” I say, yawning. “What’s for breakfast?”

  They both laugh. “Your appetite wasn’t gone for long,” Mari teases.

  Both she and Ronan are looking awfully happy about something. They’re grinning. In fact, they look positively joyous.

  “What’s wrong?” I say, staring between the two of them. My brain is finally waking up, and the alarm bells are starting to go off. Now that I think about it, why are they both here? It’s late. Shouldn’t they be at work?

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Ronan says, but something’s still off.

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  Ronan and Mari exchange secretive smiles. “Why don’t you look out the window?” Ronan suggests.

  Now I’m really confused. Why would I—

  I glance out the kitchen window, and my eyes widen.

  I look at Ronan, then at Mari, then back out the window. They’re both grinning again.

  “It’s white,” I say. “The outside is white.”

  I take a few steps forward. Cold air leaks through the window. It’s all frosted up, but I can still see bits and pieces of the street—or what used to be the street. Because I can no longer tell where the street is. The entire ground is absolutely covered in white, glittering snow.

  I’ve seen snow before, of course. In Azeland, we’d get an occasional snowfall that blew down from the mountains during the winter, and I’ve already seen some here in Ruhia. But I never knew it could be like this. It’s piled up so high that the doors and windows across the street are blocked. I can’t tell the difference between street and lawn and sidewalk. Rooftops are covered. Windowsills are covered. Lampposts and benches and street signs, all covered. And the trees. I can only see a few of them out the window, but they’re so bowed over with snow, it looks like the limbs are going to break. Overnight the city has completely transformed.

  “Did I sleep through a blizzard?” I ask.

  “First big snowstorm of the season,” Ronan says cheerfully.

  “You mean this is going to happen more than once?” I rub at the spot where my breath has misted up the window, trying to see more.

  “Of course,” Mari says. “We’ll have several more snowstorms throughout the winter. Bigger ones too.”

  I glance back at them. They’re still smiling. “And we’re . . . happy about this?” I know I’m not the biggest fan of winter and everything, but I can’t figure out why an overnight blizzard would have the two of them acting like giddy five-year-olds sharing a secret.

  “I don’t have to work today,” Ronan explains. “The law office is closed during heavy snows.”

  “And I don’t have to work either,” Mari says. “We send out fewer protectors during storms, since fewer people are out on the streets.”

  Well, that’s a piece of information that’s very good to know. “Okay, so, what are you so excited about?”

  “Since we’re both home for once, we thought we could do something special,” Ronan says. “If you’re feeling up to it, of course.”

  “Okay,” I say hesitantly. I have no idea what this means. “Can I eat first?”

  Ronan laughs. “Of course. Here, Mari made you some soup.”

  “And Ronan made hot chocolate, if your stomach’s up for it,” Mari adds.

  The little twinge of guilt in my gut gets bigger and more insistent. I’ve never had anybody make me soup when I was sick before. Or hot chocolate. It’s the kind of thing I didn’t even know I wanted because I didn’t know what I was missing.

  And now I’ve found two people willing to do that for me, and I’m lying to them and ruining everything.

  I force myself to smile so they’ll stop looking at me. The guilt might be visible on my face. “That sounds great.” I sit and ladle a heaping bowl of warm chicken soup. I slurp the whole thing down while Mari and Ronan chat idly. Then I pour a mug of hot chocolate and take a tentative sip.

  Oh my God. This is the best thing I have ever tasted. It even puts the spiced apple cider at Wintersnight to shame. This is like actual heaven in my mouth. It’s warm, sweet, sugary, chocolatey perfection. I gulp it down so fast, it burns my tongue, but I don’t care.

  “Mmmmm,” I sigh, closing my eyes. I want to live in this moment forever. I want to drink hot chocolate forever. Why have I ever wasted time with any other beverage? What have I been doing with my life when I could have been drinking hot chocolate?

  Ronan sees my expression and laughs. “It’s good, then?”

  “Not good,” I say, shaking my head. “ ‘Good’ is an inadequate word.” I could go on for hours about just how inadequate, but I’m too busy gulping more hot chocolate.

  Ronan starts to laugh, but then a weird expression passes over his face. “You’ve had hot chocolate before, right?”

  “Nope. Never had it.” Never going to stop drinking it now. I lick a stray dribble of chocolate from the rim of the mug before it can escape.

  I look up and catch Ronan and Mari exchanging glances again, only this time they’re not smiling. I know that look. It’s the what a poor pitiful orphan look. Adults are very fond of it. I hate it.

  “I mean, I think I had it before,” I amend hastily. “It’s just been a long time.”

  Ronan nods, but clearly they don’t believe me.

  Reluctantly I set down the mug. “So, about this special surprise thing we’re doing . . . ?”

  “Right,” Ronan says eagerly, pushing away from the table. “We’d better get going. Mari, you want to help Alli get dressed?”

  “I don’t need help getting dressed. I’m not five,” I say. All the joy of the hot chocolate has gone as quickly as it came, and now I’m just irritated. How dare they pity and baby me? I’m not some helpless infant. I thought Ronan got that, but maybe not.

  “No, I mean to help you get ready to go outside in this weather,” Ronan says. “If you’re not prepared for cold like this, it’ll be . . . unpleasant.”

  “Wait, we’re going outside? In this? Why would we do that?”

  Mari winks. “You’ll see.”

  “Would now be a bad time to mention that I hate winter? And snow? And all things cold?”

  “Well,” Mari says, smirking a little, “then this should be fun.”

  I pick up my mug of chocolate and cradle it. It might be the last bit of true warmth or happiness I experience today.

  Ronan disappears into his room, and Mari coaxes me into mine to begin the preparations. She digs around in my wardrobe, looking for some of the stuff she bought me that I never wore. She produces something she calls “long underwear,” which is exactly what it sounds like, and makes me put on two pairs. Next go a long-sleeved sweater and heavy pants, which I put on without complaint. “Am I ready now?” I ask, scanning the room for my coat.

  Mari laughs, and I know I’m doomed.

  She withdraws the massive fur overcoat from where I shoved it in the back of the wardrobe, stuffs me into it, and zips it all the way up. Then she finds three pairs of woolly socks, two pairs of thick mittens, a long scarf, a hat, and my biggest pair of boots. By the time she’s finished, I’m a puffy, overstuffed bundle of wool with only my eyes and nose poking out.

  “Is this really necessary?” My voice is muffled by the scarf.

  Mari just laughs again. “Come on. Let’s see if your brother’s ready.”

  This has to be some kind of elaborate revenge plot she concocted to make me look ridiculous. “I don’t think I can walk. Or lower my arms. Or see,” I say.

  She sighs. “Who knew Azelanders were such babies?”

  She’s only teasing, but I take the bait anyway. “Excuse you,” I huff. “We are not. I bet you Ruhians couldn’t last a single second in a real Azeland summer. You don’t even know what real sunlight is.”

  “I bet you won’t last five minutes in the snow!” she shoo
ts back, heading for the door. She’s only kidding around, but now I have to do it. I just can’t ignore a bet.

  “Sure I can. I’ll prove it,” I say with a sigh.

  “Are we ready?” Ronan asks, appearing in the doorway behind Mari. Like me, he’s bundled up in a thick overcoat, snow boots, gloves, a scarf, and a massive knitted hat. And even though I look just as ridiculous as he does, I can’t help it—I giggle.

  “What are you laughing at?” Ronan says, but he grins and winks at me.

  We wait in the hallway outside the apartment while Mari dashes next door to put her coat on. She returns moments later suitably dressed for a blizzard, but unlike me and Ronan, she somehow still manages to make the coat-scarf-hat combo look nice. Pretty, even. I have to admit that I can see why my brother likes her, even if she did stuff me into this stupid outfit.

  Mari passes Ronan a large black bag and carries a second one over her shoulder, but she refuses to tell me what’s inside. “You’ll see” is all I get out of either of them when I ask questions, so I sigh and allow myself to be led into the blinding, freezing nightmare that the outside has become.

  I knew it would be cold, of course. But I didn’t know it would feel like this. Every time I turn into the wind, my face feels like it’s being stabbed with frozen, pointy icicles. I quickly pull my scarf tighter around my mouth.

  There’s even more snow than I originally thought. Now that we’re level with it, I can tell it’s several feet deep, and some of the drifts are piled as tall as I am. Luckily, it looks like someone’s already shoveled a path from the door of the apartment building to the street, so we’re able to trudge forward.

  There are a few other people around, but the streets that would usually be bustling at this time of day are quiet and mostly empty. We pass a man shoveling snow off his porch, a woman trying to walk a dog that keeps rolling around in the snow, and a couple of kids who run and tumble through the drifts. The sunlight is so bright against the white snow that I keep having to blink and close my eyes. My nose is already runny.

  “Okay, I’ve seen enough now. Time to go back and drink hot chocolate,” I say.