The Shadow Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  “Well.” I leap over a puddle of slush in the sidewalk. “To say he holds a grudge is an understatement. He’s serious about coming after you. He put your name on a list of people that the Shadows want to target, and one of those people is already dead. And when he saw me earlier, he threatened you.”

  Ronan walks faster, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

  We turn the corner, and at long last a carriage pulls into view up ahead. Ronan flags it down, hands the driver an entire pouch full of jamars, and directs him to take us as fast as possible.

  A few minutes later, we pull to a stop and step out into the dark. The Miagnar Gardens look much like they did the very first time I saw them last spring. Dim lanterns provide scarce light along the curved, meandering paths, and trees sway ominously in the breeze. But this time my feet crunch against snow instead of grass, and the wind in my face is sharp and cold.

  I lead Ronan down the path to the stables. “He should be in here, I think.” For some reason I whisper, as if there’s someone around to hear us.

  “Who are we looking for?” Ronan whispers back.

  “A thilastri. Rosalia said his stall would be marked with . . . something gray. A bird, maybe. A gray eagle or hawk or something. And the color of the background is . . .” I pause.

  Ronan doesn’t say anything, but his expression is doubtful.

  “She used some fancy word, okay? She couldn’t just say, like, blue or whatever. She had to say like teal or puce or . . . I don’t know, maroon. Something like that.”

  “So we’re looking for a possibly maroon-colored stall with a gray bird of some kind? Maybe?” He’s trying not to sound snide but isn’t quite succeeding.

  “Hey, the person who told me this was sort of bleeding all over me at the time, so you’ll have to forgive my lapse in memory.”

  “Fair point.” He gives me a small smile. “And who uses a word like ‘maroon’ in that situation anyway?”

  “Exactly. Like, just say ‘red’ like the rest of us. I’m telling you, she’s insufferable.”

  “I see. But your friend Beck, he isn’t insufferable?”

  “Oh, he is sometimes,” I say, hauling open one of the stable doors. “Like, do not ask him for directions unless you want him to recite an entire map to you. And never, ever let him plan out anything in advance, or you’ll have to listen to him go on and on and on about strategy and ‘the importance of preparation’ and stuff. I mean, I don’t think he can even walk down the street without mapping out the perfect route first. And then he makes you go over the stupid chart, and you’re like, ‘I’m just going down the street; this does not have to be a production.’ You know what I mean?”

  We walk inside the gloomy, darkened stable, glancing around at the nameplates on all the stalls. I’m still not totally sure what we’re looking for.

  “Sounds like you like him,” Ronan whispers suddenly.

  “Who? Beck? Don’t be ridiculous. Didn’t you just hear me describe how much I can’t stand him?”

  “Right, sure.”

  “And did I mention he has a habit of making me do ridiculous things like finding a thilastri in the middle of the night in order to rescue him from cutthroat thieves? Obviously I’m not fond of him. At all.” I pretend to gaze down a row of stalls so that Ronan can’t see my face.

  “And that’s why you never risk your life or make any other questionable decisions while trying to save him.”

  “Right,” I say, realizing a second too late that he was being sarcastic. “Okay, you’ve officially been spending way too much time with me. I’m a terrible influence on you.”

  Ronan actually laughs, a soft, hopeful sound in the dark. “Don’t think you’re the first one to embrace sarcasm. It runs in the family.”

  My insides flutter around, and it takes a second to figure out why. I don’t think anyone’s ever used that phrase—“runs in the family”—as it applies to me. I never had a family to compare myself to before. Never had any way of knowing what was and wasn’t a family trait. I used to wonder about it all the time when I was little—did I have my mom’s eyes or my dad’s curly hair, did I have their voice or their mannerisms or their laugh, did my brother look like me, did we both like white chocolate. Then I got older and tried to stop thinking things like that because I thought I’d never know the answers.

  But now I have the answers—some of them, anyway. I know my brother is smart and kind, that he smiles more than me and laughs all the time, that he’s sometimes sarcastic and sometimes thinks I’m funny, that we have the same hair and eyes and accent, that he’s good at making hot chocolate and bad at ice-skating and likes too much sugar in his tea.

  There’s so much more I could learn, so much more I haven’t gotten to see yet or haven’t remembered to ask. I want to know if he likes summer better than winter, like me; if he opens the windows during rainstorms to listen to the thunder, like I do; if sometimes he gets so mad that he can feel the anger rising under his skin until he can’t see straight. I want to know him when he’s angry and when he’s sad, when he’s tired or irritated or impatient or when he’s really, truly happy. Those are the things families get to have—to see each other at their worst moments and their best moments and all of the moments in between. I missed out on most of Ronan’s moments, and he missed out on mine.

  Now, too late, I know that I don’t want to miss any more. I want to know all of these things about my brother, and I want him to know me. I want us to figure out this whole complicated mess together and somehow end up a family in the end, like we were supposed to be. I want to go ice-skating every winter and drink too much hot chocolate and go to Wintersnight festivals just to see him get confetti in his cider.

  But I ruined it. I ruined all of it.

  It’s a miracle that Ronan is still here, that he’s helping me, when he should be running as far from Gannon and the Shadows as possible. But that’s the kind of person my brother is. The kind who will follow me into a dangerous situation in order to save a boy he doesn’t even know, just because he wants to help and watch out for me. But I’m not fooling myself into thinking that this means anything. After tonight, it will all be over, one way or another. If we survive this, I’m sure Ronan and Mari will ship me back to prison, or an orphanage if I’m lucky, and cut me out of their lives for good. And who can blame them, after everything I’ve done?

  I learned back in the Azeland orphanage that I should never get my hopes up when it comes to adoption, that it never works out for kids like me. I let my guard down when it came to Ronan, because I wanted it to work so badly this time. But that was stupid. I can’t become somebody I’m not just by wanting it. I can’t be the kind of sister Ronan deserves, no matter how hard I try.

  And now on top of lying to him and keeping secrets and betraying his trust, I’ve gone and put him in even more danger. If we survive this, I won’t beg Ronan to let me stay. I’ll only put him in danger again. I am a bad influence, for real, and I might just get him or Mari killed. I should get out of his life right away before I make things worse for him.

  Assuming we survive tonight, of course.

  We turn down another row of stalls, and I keep my face away from the lantern light so that Ronan can’t see my expression. My eyes are all watery for some reason.

  I scan the row of stalls, but I don’t see one that fits Rosalia’s description. They’re painted all different colors—reds and yellows and greens and blues—and many of them are decorated with the noble crest of the family they belong to. My gut twists sharply as I remember the shape of the Atherton family crest, and I hope I don’t have to see that painted on a stall. I don’t want to think about whether or not the Athertons used to come here, or whether the remaining Athertons still do. Now is really not the best moment to remember that the last time I was involved with the Guild, I got somebody killed.

  Tonight is not that night. It will be different this time. It has to be.

  “Hey, Alli,” Ronan says suddenly. “You said a gra
y bird, right?”

  I turn around and join him in front of another large stall. The door is painted a pale purple, with a light gray bird like a falcon or a hawk in the center. “I think this might be it,” I say, without much confidence. “Although I don’t think that color qualifies as maroon.”

  Ronan tilts his head, staring at the painting. “Is it possible that the color she said was ‘mauve’ instead of ‘maroon’?”

  “A definite possibility,” I say. “Is this mauve?”

  Ronan nods. “I’d say it qualifies.”

  “Looks purple to me.”

  He looks a little exasperated, but he still gives me a tired smile. “Okay, let’s go meet our thilastri.”

  Inside the stall, a single lantern flickers in an upper corner. A massive thilastri with shockingly blue feathers rests on a plush, gigantic cushion. He cracks a big yellow eye open as we walk in.

  The feathers on his head bristle. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Um, hi,” I say. “I’m a . . . friend of Rosalia Peakes. You know her, don’t you? She said you’d be able to take me somewhere. A certain marketplace. One that I think is open at this time of night.”

  The thilastri lifts his head, staring at us with both eyes. “And why would I do something like that? I don’t know you.”

  If Rosalia is wrong about this, I’ll go back to that stupid chapel and stab her with something sharp myself. “Rosalia said you’d help. It’s urgent. Really, really urgent. An emergency.”

  “I still don’t know you.”

  Wait. The pendant. She said I need to show him the pendant.

  I reach into my pocket and dig around until I find the Guild pendant and bring it out. The green gem shimmers in the light. Ronan’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything.

  I dangle the pendant in front of the thilastri. “Actually, I think you do know me. I think we have a lot of mutual friends. And some of those mutual friends are truly in danger right now, and I need your help to save them.”

  “Put that away,” the thilastri grumbles, his voice so deep, it sends tremors through the floorboards. “I think you’ve got some bad information, girl. The market’s not open for business tonight.”

  “This isn’t ordinary business.”

  The thilastri stares me up and down with his big golden eye. “I don’t think so. I don’t know who you are or why Rosalia Peakes would give you her Guild pendant, but if she wants me to take you somewhere, she can come down here and say so herself.”

  “Actually, she kind of can’t,” I snap, “seeing as how she’s been stabbed and all.”

  “That’s her business, not mine.”

  “Ugh!” I throw my hands up. “I’m so tired of you rotten, stupid thieves and your stupid, selfish rules. Every thief for themselves, right? Don’t get involved if it’s not your business; don’t trouble yourself to help somebody else. Really, it’s no wonder the Shadows were able to corrupt members so easily. I ought to just let them have you!”

  Too late, I realize I’ve raised my voice, and it’s echoing. Rustles and murmurs sound from outside the stall.

  “Alli,” Ronan says quietly, “I think we’d better go.”

  “We can’t go,” I say, jabbing a finger in the thilastri’s direction. “He’s the only one we know who can take—”

  “Alli Rosco?” The voice is another deep thilastri rumble. A familiar one.

  “Ser?” I call, turning around.

  I step out into the aisle, only to see several big blue heads poking over the tops of their stalls and staring at me. “Serenier? Is that you?”

  “Rosco!” One of the thilastri clicks his beak, and I run into his stall with Ronan right behind me.

  It really is him. The first thilastri I ever met, the one who took me from Azeland to the Guild with Beck.

  “Rosco,” he rumbles, looking first at me and then at Ronan. Thilastri can’t really frown, given that they have beaks instead of mouths, but somehow he still manages to give me that impression. “What are you doing here? What’s all the commotion?”

  “Beck’s in trouble,” I say. “I don’t have time to explain. But I need to get to the Night Market. Right now.”

  Ser stands up quickly, shaking out his feathers. “I can take you there. What happened to Beck?”

  “Nothing, if I can help it. Long story. We need to go now.”

  “Who’s this?” He eyes Ronan.

  “Erm, this is my brother. Ronan. It’s another long story. But it’s okay. He’s here to help.”

  Ser looks doubtful, but he nods. “All right. Hop on.”

  “Um, Alli?” Ronan whispers in my ear. “Would now be a good time to mention that I’ve never ridden a thilastri?”

  “Oh, it’s easy. Don’t worry. It isn’t scary at all,” I lie.

  Ser lowers his shoulders to the ground so that we can reach. I hop on, clinging tightly to his feathers, and Ronan follows my lead, sliding up behind me. We stay low as Ser trots out of his stall, through the open stable door, and out into the gardens. He unfurls his wide, wide wings, and Ronan lets out a sharp breath.

  Another thing my brother and I have in common: Neither of us really seems to like heights.

  “Hang on,” Ser says. “I’m going to fly fast.”

  Oh. Great.

  Ser bursts forward, takes a running leap, and launches himself into the sky. Ronan and I cling to his back for dear life, the cold wind whipping wet snowflakes into our faces. I squeeze my eyes shut as my heart thunders in my ears, faster and louder than the powerful beats of Ser’s wings. I repeat Ser’s advice in my head: Hang on, hang on, hang on, hang on . . .

  Hang on, Beck. We’re on our way.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When Ser finally lands, Ronan looks just as queasy as I feel. “Remind me to never, ever do that again,” I say as I hop down.

  Ser chuckles. “Won’t you need another ride back?”

  “Okay, well, after that, remind me to never ever do it again.”

  Ser folds in his wings, his feathers ruffling. “It’s best I not continue with you,” he says.

  “Yeah. No offense, Ser, but you’re kind of . . . noticeable. It would make sneaking in a bit difficult.”

  He nods. “I will wait for you over there, out of sight.” He tilts his head toward an abandoned-looking building on the corner. “Find me when you’re done.”

  “Okay. And—thank you, Ser.” I’m pretty sure he’s never been my biggest fan, ever since our first meeting, and he certainly could’ve turned us away like that other thilastri did.

  Ser clicks his beak in what I assume is acknowledgment. “Get Beck out,” he says. He trots down the street, melding into the darkness.

  Ronan still looks a little green. “What now?” he asks.

  “We go this way. Um, I think.” I lead Ronan through the dark streets, trying to picture Mead taking me here the first time. But the snow has all shifted around, deepening in some places and melting in others, and it’s hard to figure out where I am.

  Finally we pass the spot where the strange guard woman stopped me and Mead before. I hope I don’t have to remember the passcode phrase or whatever, because I have no idea what it was.

  But nothing happens. No one is standing guard tonight, and as we walk deeper into the Night Market, the reason becomes clear.

  That thilastri was right about it not being a market night. Most of the stalls and carts have packed up already, likely preparing to move to a new location. The crowds are gone, and so are the vendors. A few tents and larger stalls remain, still needing to be packed up, but otherwise the space is mostly deserted. I have no doubt the remaining tents are enchanted to prevent intruders and thieves, though. Which presents a problem for us.

  But maybe it won’t matter. Maybe we’ll find Beck outside somewhere—unless the Shadows find us first.

  “We need to keep off the main path and out of sight,” I whisper to Ronan. “There are going to be a lot of thieves here tonight, and I doubt many of
them will be happy to see us.”

  “Good plan,” Ronan whispers back.

  We weave behind the tents, and I try to remember the way to the Treasury. I’m pretty sure that’s where the big heist will go down—that’s the main vendor who was doing business with the Shadows, the one the king would want to rob.

  The problem is, I have no real idea what we’re about to walk into. I don’t know how the king was planning to rob the Treasury, or how the Shadows are planning to stop him. I don’t know what to expect when we get there. But if it’s where the king’s thieves are going, it’s where the Shadows are going too. Which means that’s likely where Beck will be, if Rosalia was right about them trying to use him as leverage.

  “What is this place?” Ronan whispers, gazing in wonder at the stalls and signs we pass.

  “The Night Market,” I say. “It’s like a black market, for stolen goods and . . . illegal things.”

  “Illegal magic,” Ronan says, reading a sign offering POTIONS, HEXES, AND MORE!

  “That too.”

  We wander around awhile, trying to keep out of sight in the darkness. The bright white tents make it difficult, though, since they don’t hide our shadows at all. But I’m afraid to venture too far from the main path. If I do, I’ll never be able to find my way out of this place again.

  Up ahead, I finally see something I recognize—the mirror. The one that shows wishes that Mead had to pull me away from. It’s still standing there, alone and seemingly unguarded. At least now I know we’re headed in the right direction—

  Wait. The mirror.

  The mirror that shows you how to get the things you wish for.

  I stop so abruptly that Ronan almost crashes into me. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he whispers, his eyes darting wildly along the path.

  I glance around, but the woman who told me about the mirror before is nowhere to be found.

  Mead warned me it was dangerous, but there’s no one here to see me. And no one to stop me.

  “Wait over there,” I whisper to Ronan, gesturing toward a dark corner by the side of the nearest stall. “I need to look at this mirror for a second.”