Ronan looks right at me, and something in his eyes makes me think he has a funny lump in his throat too. “Of course it was,” he says playfully, but he sits up, pats me on the shoulder, and helps me to my feet.
“Okay, I think it’s past time to get these death contraptions off my feet,” I say, gesturing dramatically to my skates.
Mari sighs. “Fair enough.” We trudge back over to the bench where we left our boots. Actually, Mari trudges; Ronan and I stumble after her, clinging to each other for balance.
I try to lace my boots back up, but my hands are so numb, I have to leave them undone. This doesn’t escape Ronan’s notice. “I say we head back home for the rest of that hot chocolate. What do you say?”
“Finally!” I cheer, but it’s only an act. This was actually . . . fun? Sort of? Minus the whole falling on my face a thousand times part. And the cold part.
We all agree that Mari is the fastest when navigating this frozen wasteland, so Ronan and I appoint her to go find us another sleigh to take home while we wait.
Ronan idly brushes a clump of snow from the top of my hat. “What do you say, Alli? Is the snow maybe slightly more fun than you thought?”
“Definitely not,” I say, but he knows I’m lying.
“So you didn’t have any fun at all? Not even a teeny tiny little bit?”
“Nope. No fun was had here.”
“Not even when you hit me with a snowball?”
“Many snowballs, Ronan. There were many snowballs.”
He laughs. “And wasn’t at least one of those many snowballs just a little bit of fun?”
“You know, I think you’re right. I need to hit you with another one right now. That would be fun.”
He laughs again. “Well, I for one had a lot of fun. I think we should drag you out here every time there’s a blizzard.”
My heart does an excited little leap in my chest. Is he really planning to let me live with him all winter, even though my birthday is only a few weeks away?
I try to imagine it—me, Ronan, and Mari, spending the whole winter together, eating warm soup and drinking hot chocolate and making our own traditions, like snowball fights and festivals and ice-skating in the park. It sounds like a fairy tale, something I would have dreamed up in the orphanage back when I still believed there might be a family out there waiting for me.
But it doesn’t feel so far-fetched anymore. It feels real. Maybe it could be real. This is what my life should’ve been—having snowball fights in the park with my brother. We can’t make up for the time we’ve already lost, but maybe we can have a future. As long as I don’t mess it up.
As long as we stop the Shadows.
I swallow past that annoying lump in my throat. “You and Mari can go without me. I plan to stay indoors like a civilized human being.”
“No way,” Ronan says, giving my shoulder a playful nudge. “It wouldn’t be as much fun without you.”
I look down, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say to that.
I’m saved from having to respond as someone whistles behind us. Ronan and I turn around. Mari waves from the park entrance, standing next to a sleigh.
We walk together out of the park, leaving three angels in the snow behind us.
Chapter Fifteen
Sneaking out is harder this time.
The day after Ronan and Mari took me ice-skating, the snow is still piled several feet high outside the apartment. Ronan is off from work again, and we spend most of the day curled in front of the fire, sipping hot chocolate and finishing Mari’s chicken soup. Ronan spends a lot of time studying his gigantic books and filling out paperwork, but we play some games too. He tries to teach me how to play chess, and I beat him soundly at a dozen rounds of cards.
It would be a perfect day, if not for the fact that I have to sneak out. I’m supposed to meet up with Mead to go to the Night Market.
Ronan isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon, and he’s using his newfound free time to keep an annoyingly close watch over me. I doubt playing sick will work twice in a row. I can’t get him out of the apartment, but I don’t know how to sneak past him either. Even if I could, there’s the problem of my clothing. I’ll have to bundle up in a heavy coat and everything to go outside, and it’s not like he’ll fail to notice that.
Luckily, Mead and I aren’t supposed to meet until late in the evening, which means I might be able to sneak away after Ronan goes to sleep.
After dinner, I ask him for some of his herbal tea, not because I want any but because I know it makes him sleepy. Sure enough, by nine he’s already getting droopy. He yawns over one of his big books but doesn’t move from his armchair.
I can’t suggest going to bed, or he’ll know something’s up. I never go to sleep early. I resist the urge to keep checking the clock.
Finally, finally Ronan finishes his tea and closes his book. “It’s late, Alli,” he says.
“Five more minutes?” I ask innocently.
“Come on. I might have to be at work early in the morning.”
I sigh dramatically but don’t put up too much of a fight in case he changes his mind. I pretend to retreat to my room; then I count backward from one hundred. By the time I emerge again, Ronan is in his bedroom with the door shut and the lights off.
I run to my wardrobe, fling out my heavy winter clothes, and dress quickly. I’m already running late.
Which is a problem, I realize, because of all the snow. There’s no way I can trudge through that mess fast. Meaning I’m even later than I thought. And Mead won’t wait for me if I don’t turn up.
Which leaves me with only one option. An option that I really, really hate.
You’re doing this for Beck, I remind myself. And Ronan will never have to know.
I sneak into the living room and dig through Ronan’s stacks of books until I find the spare coin pouch he keeps tucked away. I’d guess there are maybe twenty jamars in there. More than enough to rent a sleigh.
It’s not stealing. It’s borrowing, just like the clothes. I’ll pay him back later, after we stop the Shadows.
I creep quietly to the front door. Unfortunately, Ronan still hasn’t given me the apartment key. (It’s like he doesn’t trust me or something. Can’t imagine why.) I have to take a risk and leave the door unlocked so that I can get in when I come back. Hopefully there won’t be any thieves strolling by at this particular moment who decide to try the door. But as far as I know, I’m this building’s only resident thief, and I will be otherwise occupied tonight.
With absolutely no time to spare, I leave the building and venture out into the night.
• • •
“You’re late,” Mead says.
He’s lounging on the same bench where I last saw him, almost as if he hasn’t moved an inch the entire time. The only difference is that he’s now wearing a much thicker coat, and the bottoms of his boots are caked with snow.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was to walk here through all this muck?” I say, pointing at the ground.
“You didn’t walk here.” He gestures lazily in the direction of the sleigh that dropped me off, which is just disappearing around the corner.
“I walked some of the way here,” I amend. “It took forever to find a sleigh at this hour, and then the first one wanted to charge fifteen jamars to take me this far. It’s outrageous. I had to find a cheaper sleigh.”
Mead sighs. “You’re supposed to haggle with the drivers, Rosco. They’ll always go lower than they say they will.”
I frown. “I took a sleigh with my brother the other day, and he didn’t do that.”
Mead snorts dismissively. “The fancy straightlaced lawyer? Yeah, I’m sure he didn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Rich people never have any common sense.”
“Ronan’s not rich. He’s an apprentice, for Ailara’s sake.”
Mead yawns as if my protestations are boring him. “Sure, an apprentice to one o
f the wealthiest lawyers in Ruhia.”
“How do you know that?”
Mead gives me a sly smile. “I thoroughly investigate the backgrounds of all my associates. Which now, unfortunately, includes you.”
“Seriously? You work with the Shadows and you’re busy investigating me?”
“Okay, fine, maybe I didn’t actually waste my time investigating you. Reigler told me which firm your brother works for, and I’ve heard of them. Everyone has.”
“Oh.”
Mead stands in one swift movement, brushing the snow from his coat. “Well, now that you’ve graced us all with your presence, we can get going.”
“Wait, what about Beck?”
“He’s going to meet us there. Sent me a message earlier, said he had to finish up something with Keene first. Luckily, I’ve already arranged our transportation.”
He whistles sharply, and a large shadow moves forward, detaching itself from the building in front of us. I step back instinctively, but a second later I figure out what I’m seeing.
“It’s about time,” a deep voice rumbles. It’s the sound of a rockslide. A familiar, recognizable rockslide.
“Jiavar!” I say.
The thilastri turns toward me. In the darkness, her bright blue feathers are a shadowy gray. She picks delicately through the snow, her claws leaving deep imprints. “Rosco,” she says, nodding her massive, beaked head at me. “It’s been a while.”
The last time I saw Jiavar was in the middle of my trial to join the Guild with Beck, when we broke into the Atherton mansion. She pulled the carriage that flew Beck away to the Guild . . . and left me behind.
It was my choice. My decision to stay behind, to save a life instead of completing the trial. But Jiavar was never exactly my biggest fan, and I doubt she complained when Beck climbed into her carriage without me that night.
Of all the thilastri in the Guild, Mead had to pick this one.
“Won’t this be suspicious?” I ask him. “Wandering around the city at night on a thilastri?”
“This is Ruhia, not Azeland. Lots of people here travel by thilastri, especially during heavy snows like this. Nobody will think twice. Anyway, it’s fast, and we’re late. Let’s go.”
I look from Jiavar to Mead and back again. “Er,” I say. Before, Beck and I always rode in carriages that were pulled by thilastri. We never actually rode on a thilastri. But there’s no carriage in sight. Because, of course, a carriage’s delicate wheels could never plow through all this snow. Still, shouldn’t she be pulling a sleigh or something?
Apparently not. Mead starts to walk toward her, then stops when he sees the look on my face. “Oh saints, don’t tell me you’ve never been on a thilastri before.”
I point to myself. “Azelander, remember?”
He sighs. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” I mutter, but I take a step closer.
“On three,” Mead says, closing the distance between us. “One, two—”
On three, he hoists me up into the air and practically throws me onto Jiavar’s back. I clutch desperately at a handful of her feathers for balance.
“Ow,” Jiavar rumbles. “Watch it up there.”
“Sorry,” I say, releasing my grip. I give the rumpled feathers a gentle pat. Jiavar huffs.
I manage to steady myself, my feet dangling just above her massive wing joints. Mead slides smoothly up behind me. “Let’s go,” he says.
With no more warning than that, Jiavar bounds forward and leaps into the air.
Something between a shriek and a scream comes out of my mouth, and the wind tears it away, along with my breath. I grip Jiavar’s feathers as tightly as possible, desperate to hang on. Everything lurches around me, the wind whipping in my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I might be about to faint or fall off or puke or something equally embarrassing.
Behind me, Mead laughs. “Having fun, Rosco?”
I can’t even answer him. I’m too busy praying to every saint I know. Is there a patron of not falling to your death?
Something soft whacks me in the face, and I open my eyes. A gust of bone-cold wind buffets the end of my scarf into my face. I could tuck it under my coat, but I’m afraid to release my death grip on Jiavar’s feathers. I squeeze my eyes shut again.
“You know,” Mead says conversationally, his voice low in my ear, “I always thought you were pretty fearless, what with your death-defying stunt at the ice-sledding race and all. Guess I was wrong about you.”
“I’m not afraid,” I mutter through chattering teeth. “Just c-cold.”
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
“I’m not afraid!” I yell. I crack my eyes open a tiny bit, focusing on the tufts of feathers on Jiavar’s head.
Jiavar’s deep voice rumbles, and I can feel its vibrations beneath my hands, like the way cats feel when they purr. “Oh really?” she says, and I’m totally not imagining the amusement in her voice. “In that case, why don’t we have some fun?”
I open my mouth to respond, only to feel my stomach drop out from under me as Jiavar swoops into a steep dive.
This time I definitely scream.
We keep dropping, plummeting through the air, falling, falling—
I keep my eyes closed as I’m blasted with freezing air, but Jiavar’s wings beat so powerfully that I can hear them. Two beats, three beats, four . . .
I open my eyes again. We’re climbing steadily back up into the air. I can’t see much of the city below us except for the swaths of light, which are much, much farther away than would really be preferable. The buildings are like little pinpricks, their glow just visible beneath the gray clouds surrounding us.
Mead is laughing, and Jiavar lets out a little rumble that might be a thilastri giggle.
“That wasn’t funny,” I pant, trying to catch my breath.
“Oh, it was very funny,” Mead says. He’s gasping for breath too, but only because he’s laughing so hard. “Wouldn’t you agree, Jia?”
“Don’t you dare say anything, Jiavar!” I say loudly.
I can’t see her face, but I can imagine her look of amusement. “It was maybe a little funny,” she rumbles.
“You know what? I was going to apologize for probably pulling out your feathers, but now I’m not going to. You deserved it.”
“Er, Rosco,” Mead interjects, “it might not be the smartest decision to antagonize the thilastri while you’re currently still airborne.”
Jiavar nods. “We could go for another drop if you’d like.”
“Okay, okay, point taken,” I say hastily. “Let’s just get to this Night Market place already! I thought we were running late?”
It might be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure Jiavar sighs in disappointment at not getting to torment me further as she glides to the right with another big beat of her wings.
“Can we find another mode of transportation home?” I ask.
Mead pokes me in the back. “You’ll be lucky if you even survive long enough to go home.”
“Oh, shut up with the doom and gloom already. You forget I walked into the Thieves Guild once. This is nothing.”
He gives me another poke, right between my shoulder blades. “Yeah, like you were in the Guild long enough to learn anything. Don’t be stupid.”
“You’re stupid. And stop poking me!”
“Oh, nice comeback, Rosco. Very smart.”
“I—”
“Children!” Jiavar interrupts. “I will turn around and take you both home if you don’t stop squabbling. Hush and get ready to land.”
“Was she always this bossy?” I ask Mead. “I don’t remember her being this bossy. . . .” My voice trails off as her words run through my head again. “Wait, what do you mean get ready to land? What should I—”
For the third time tonight, a high-pitched and undignified sound comes out of my mouth and I grip Jiavar’s feathers for dear life. She swoops down, spiraling toward distant s
pots of light, and my stomach completely vacates my body again. I regret every decision I have ever made that has led me to this moment. If I survive this, I am never flying anywhere ever again. Not in carriages, not on thilastri, nothing. I am gluing my feet to the ground.
I keep my eyes closed for the remainder of the long, long descent, not daring to move until Jiavar shudders and thuds to the earth. She runs forward a few steps, tucking her wings into her sides. “We’re here,” she announces unnecessarily, tossing her head.
I collapse forward, burying my face in Jiavar’s feathers. I’m not totally certain whether all of my body parts have remained attached. My limbs have turned to jelly.
Mead slides casually from Jiavar’s back, and his boots thump lightly into the snow. “Honestly, Rosco, I had no idea you were afraid of heights,” he says.
“I wasn’t until now,” I grumble, refusing to move.
Jiavar sighs. “Get off before I throw you off.”
I suddenly find the will to move. I sit up and stumble off Jiavar’s back, releasing my grip on her only at the last possible second.
She gives her feathers a little flutter. “Do I have a bald spot back there now? I think you tore them all out.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” I say. Mead raises his eyebrows at me, and I’m pretty sure Jiavar would be doing the same if she had eyebrows to raise. I ignore them. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mead mutters something to Jiavar involving the word “street,” and she turns and clomps through the snow, disappearing around the corner behind us. “All right, Rosco. This way,” he says.
I look around, trying to figure out where we are. We’ve clearly landed in the outskirts of the city—the street is mostly empty, and the buildings are sparse. And Mount Arat seems closer and bigger, I think, though it’s hard to tell in the dark. Maybe we’ve gone west?
The snow hasn’t been cleared from the streets at all here, and it’s so thick that every step is a struggle. I let Mead lead the way and try to follow in his wake, having him clear the path for me, but I can barely keep up with his long strides.
“How much farther?” I say as we pass another building. There are no more structures of any kind in sight ahead of us, just a dark street stretching out into emptiness. There’s only one lantern illuminating this entire street, and it’s somewhere behind us.
The Shadow Thieves Page 17