The Heartstone Thief (Dragon Eye Chronicles Book 1)

by Pippa Dacosta

  He was right. I did want answers. I couldn’t forget about the painted wall art in Arach. Or her. And I’d tried. Many a drunken night was evidence of my efforts. “I really don’t like you, Tassen.”

  “Call it”—he circled a hand in the air, reaching for the right word—“closing the door on all that peculiar shit. I’d sleep easier in my bed knowing those things weren’t about to crawl in through my window.”

  “You want answers too?”

  “I saw impossible things. Same as you. Creatures and places that don’t exist. Yes, I well want answers.”

  “If we find answers, we part ways thereafter. You won’t find me here again. And don’t go asking after me. Understand?”

  He laughed. “Vance, why would I waste my time with you?”

  I didn’t trust Tassen, but I did know what it was like to lie awake at night listening to rats in the rafters, wondering if the mages had returned. And then there were the moments of wondering if I’d scratched the surface of something worthier than me, something too important to run from. Something far larger than my small fears.

  “This man who was asking after me … where is he?” I asked.

  Tassen tugged his hat back on and opened the door. “Reckon he said he could be found in the plaza.”

  A public place. Good. I followed Tassen out and locked the door behind me. After tonight’s meeting with Fallford, I would leave Brea, Tassen, and all of this behind. For the first time, I could escape the ghosts of the city and start anew. New continent. New name. New life. But before I could let go of the old life, I needed answers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sunlight sliced off the frozen fountain and glittered over the plaza’s snow-laden dragon statues. I hadn’t paid much attention to the architecture before, but Arach had changed my perspective, and now the statues standing guard at the corners took on an eerie familiarity.

  Tassen loitered near the fountain, deliberately hard to miss in his dark hat and riding cloak. I hung back, close to the statue near the easternmost corner, watching Tassen side-on while admiring the stone dragon. The beast, as tall as a man, stood proud on its hind legs, wings tucked in. Its snout and head—obscured by snow—pointed skyward. Perhaps its carved edges had once been sharper, but the Brean seasons had weathered away much of its detail. Still, up close, its resemblance to the larger tomb dragon couldn’t be disputed.

  I crossed my arms, fighting the urge to touch the stone. Basking in the sunlight, it would be warm despite the snow.

  “You’ve seen much since we last spoke, thief.”

  I slid my gaze to the old man standing beside me. He coughed hard, breaths turning to vapor. Wrapped in the same layers as before, he’d hardly changed at all since our brief discussion prior to my journey with Shaianna.

  He leaned forward on his cane and jerked his chin at Tassen, who noticed and turned toward us. “That man is of no consequence. Waylay him.”

  I lifted a hand, gesturing to hold him back. Tassen scowled—suspicious—but made no move to approach.

  The old man pursed his lips and regarded Tassen out of the corner of his eye. “Many greed-driven men see only what they wish to see.” He regarded the dragon rearing over us. “When we are told lie upon lie, day upon day, it becomes truth. Think, if you will, of the endless stream of water from a rock face. Given enough time, that water calcifies—turns to stone—does it not?”

  My patience was wearing thin. “Old man, you hint at things that have no meaning. I do not trade in hints.”

  “Impetuous thief.” He chuckled, dry and raspy as though his lungs were full of holes. “I was correct, wasn’t I? You stole her heart.”

  “Heart?” I spluttered, answering too quickly. “I doubt she has one.”

  “Oh, in that you are so very wrong, dear man. She has yours.”

  I breathed in slowly and counted down the seconds. The plaza was too public a place to threaten him, but I still might if he persisted with his riddles. “I have questions. Who are you, how do you know about Shaianna, and what do you want with her?”

  “Your questions are meaningless.”

  My laugh stuttered with disbelief. “You’ve no idea the things I’ve seen ...”

  The old man peered into my face, looking deep enough for my instincts to warn me to back away. “Do you have the Eye?”

  “What eye?”

  His wrinkled face screwed tighter. “Everything must have its place. There cannot be one without the other. Her dagger, the cup, do you at least have those?”

  I swallowed, feeling the guilty burn of the blade against my back. The cup was lost in the tomb. “Dagger?”

  “Do not play games with me—”

  I had my dagger kissing the old man’s throat in a blur and him shoved against the stone dragon before his withered heart could pump another beat. “Listen, and listen well, old man. I’ve been set upon and almost torn to shreds by wargs, seen things that should not exist, nearly burned along with the rest of Calwyton, and discovered places long forgotten. I know lies; I’ve been living with them all my life. Tell me who she is, or so help the restless gods, I’ll cut you here and watch you bleed out in the snow before the city guards can find you.”

  He swallowed. The dagger’s edge gripped the loose skin of his neck. I hadn’t expected him to smile, and certainly hadn’t expected a cackle to rattle up his throat.

  “The truth? She is shadow and dust, the truth in the lies. She is the last of her kind, and you … oh, you foolish, foolish thief … you set her free.”

  Tassen had jogged across the plaza but seemed to find my threatening an old man amusing, given the broad smile on his face. “Picking on vagrants now, Vance? A new low for you. Leave the man be, eh?”

  I didn’t get a chance to reply. The old man’s skin softened beneath the blade, and where the metal touched his skin, its pinkness grayed and came apart like drying sand. His cackle distorted and curled into a horrid animal scream. I recoiled as I watched him collapse in a heap. But he was just changing, twisting into those hideous nightmares. Fear demanded I run, but another desire crawled over me, hot and hungry. While the mage was caught in the throes of change, I stamped on its forelimb, yanked back its head, and plunged the dagger home, deep inside its chest. The red eyes scored me deep, slicing through to the truth, and its black lips rolled back into a lurid smile.

  “You there! Halt!”

  Tassen yanked me back. “City guards!” he barked. “Go!”

  Not needing to be told twice, I ran. Familiar streets and alleys embraced my quick retreat. Once out of the guards’ line of sight, I climbed a scaffold and took to the roofs, with the shouts of the city guards sailing up from the streets below. After navigating some snow-packed chimneys stacks, I knelt on a flat roof and cleaned my dagger in the crisp snow. Ahead, the city spire glittered, and all of Brea sparkled in the sunlight, but my thoughts had grown dark. There was only one place I could get answers; only one place that knew enough about magic to know how to quell its truth. A better man might have gone looking for that truth. A brave man, perhaps. Certainly not a selfish one. But I had a gem to sell and a ship to board. Not even for the truth would I return to the Inner Circle.

  After traversing across the city rooftops, I returned to my room and discovered I’d had a visitor. The bed lay on its side. Shreds of mattress and wool lay scattered about the room. The meager contents of my dresser were strewn bout the floor. I looked over the carnage with an odd sense of detachment. City guards or mages, it didn’t matter who was behind this; the flagstone in front of the fireplace had been moved. With heavy steps, I crouched beside the hearth, checked beneath the stone, and confirmed my fears. The nook was empty. Anger simmered below my thoughts, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. All things considered, I was certain I didn’t deserve this.

  What if the mages have it? Shaianna had told me of the Eye’s legend, and I knew magic could be harvested from gems. Had I just handed those creatures enough power to move the earth and destroy a city?


  I kicked through the debris of yet another fake life and strode to the window. Whoever had raided my room had known about the Eye. This hadn’t been a random burglary. They had been looking for it. Tassen, the mages, and Fallford knew for sure I had the gem. Fallford and I had already agreed to terms, and he wouldn’t stoop so low as to steal it. Tassen could have taken it, but considering the neat slices in the mattress—slices easily made with claws—I doubted Tassen was the culprit. He was more likely to barge in, guns blazing, than debase himself with underhanded thieving.

  If this was the work of the mages, I needed help.

  Molly greeted me with the same unimpressed eye roll she’d given me earlier in the day and asked me to wait in the bland reception room—not the treasure room. I was sure she didn’t want the lord’s thief eyeing his wares unattended.

  “Mister Vance, you return so soon?”

  I got to my feet as Fallford strode into the room. Dressed for dinner in a tail jacket and pressed trousers, he was a world away from the likes of me. I hesitated, but it was too late to reconsider, and he was the only person in Brea who wanted and needed the gem as much as I did. “Lord Fallford, I’m afraid there are some complications with your order.”

  His face fell. “I see.” He closed the door and approached the table. “Well, that is unfortunate—”

  “My lord, if I may speak openly and in your confidence?”

  He pulled out a chair from the grand mahogany table and sat, gesturing for me to do the same. “I give you my word, sir, whatever you say inside my walls will go no further, unless it pertains to criminal activity, that is.”

  “It pertains to magic.”

  I knew I’d made the right decision when he didn’t laugh, but looked me dead in the eye and said, “Tell me everything.”

  I did. We talked until the sun had set and moonlight crept in through the windows—until I was sure his evening event had finished. I told him about every moment, from Shaianna demanding I drink from her cup, to the collapse of the tomb. He asked about the wargs, the mages, and fell quiet as I attempted to describe the art in the tomb. I explained, as best I could, how I’d seen Shaianna summon light from the moors and how she had defeated a wave of mages in Calwyton. At last I mentioned the bond and the old man’s words. When I finished, I laid the dagger on the table between us.

  Fallford loosened his jacket and leaned an elbow on the table, his expression pensive and distant. He reached for the dagger. “May I?”

  I nodded and watched him turn the weapon over and over, admiring it from every angle. “She has the other.”

  “And you believe she is alive?”

  “I do. But she was done with me when she performed the spell to break the bond. If the old man is to be believed, she’s still out there.” And dangerous …

  He sighed and set the dagger down on the table. “There’s a woman, a scholar friend of mine, who knows far more than I do about such things.”

  The thought of another person knowing all these details didn’t sit well. Fallford I could rely on, but bringing strangers into this? “In all your antiquity trading, is there anything you’ve come across, anything at all, that might help me understand more? Anything that might help determine who has the Eye?”

  “Yes, I think so. There is much in the old tales of the power in precious gems. Of course, it’s all considered myth, and not worth serious study these days, but that is why I’d like to consult with some of my colleagues.”

  “And what do you make of harvesting magic?”

  He licked his lips and rubbed at his forehead. “I believe there is much the Brean authorities do not tell us.”

  “Shaianna’s magic healed what would have otherwise been a fatal wound. And I’ve seen … more—many years ago as a boy.”

  “Where?”

  My lips twisted around the truth. If I spoke of this now, I could never take it back and hide behind the lies. “In Brea. It matters not where, just that its existence was hidden.”

  He narrowed his eyes and likely already suspected I spoke of the Inner Circle. “Vance, if we truly believe in this, and you say the mages have the Eye, then we cannot investigate this alone. Allow me to reach out to a few trusted individuals?”

  “And they’ll listen to the word of a thief?”

  “No, but they’ll listen to me, and I have faith in you. I won’t mention you at all, if that is your wish, but I must confer with them. They’ll want to mount an expedition to Arach—”

  “That will take too long. We need to find the Eye now.”

  “I realize that.” He stood and adjusted his jacket. “The myths, Vance. Do you know how the Arachians are described?”

  “No.” But after everything I had seen, I could imagine.

  “Whether the restless gods or invaders from another land unseated the Arachian people, the Arachians rose as one formidable wave of destruction, like a terrible storm capable of swallowing a continent. Led by their queen, they rained fire down on both sides, killing all. Where the moorland is today, there once stood the true expanse of Arach, a city to rival Brea ten times over.”

  I thought of Shaianna standing atop a rocky tor, hands held skyward as she listened to whispers and summoned the emerald light. “Do you believe it?”

  “No, but I didn’t think to believe in magic until you arrived at my door.” He buttoned up his coat. “I shan’t be long. Will you wait or return later?”

  “I’ll return.” I had yet to determine Tassen’s whereabouts. The man had a habit of appearing alongside trouble.

  “Then let us meet here at the strike of midnight, yes? And Vance? Tread lightly. It seems you are not the only thief to walk Brea’s streets this night.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Regular coaches did not stop at Agatha’s coach house. Those that did didn’t do so to refresh their horses, but to refresh their paying customers’ carnal needs.

  My coach dropped me beside the entrance off Jules Street, tucked away between two high brick walls and hidden behind the neighboring tanner’s hides strung up to dry. As the carriage pulled away, two fresh-faced women and a man I recognized as a regular worker appraised me. I approached through the melting slush. The light from the single oil lamp above the door smothered the color in their clothing. All three were dressed in some of the best tailored outfits Outer Circle Brean gems could buy. Agatha never skimped on her investments.

  The three gave me the prerequisite once-over perfected by whores and thieves everywhere, taking in the quality of my shoes, the cut of my cloak, whether I was well groomed, and lastly, the look in my eye. How much was I worth and was I trouble?

  “If you be wanting the services of this fine house, sir, you’d best visit by way of the front door,” the woman with powder-blue eyes said. It must have been exceedingly dark for her to misjudge me so spectacularly.

  She reconsidered her assessment when I stepped into the light. A frown chased away her fake smile. Trouble, that frown said.

  “He’s Agatha’s,” the male said with more warmth than the woman’s greeting. “I’ve seen you here before. Business or pleasure, sir?”

  “Business,” I replied before he could latch onto the wrong assumption.

  “I’ll escort you. What is your name?”

  “No escort required. I know this house well, I assure you.”

  I knew each room, each hidden staircase, and each creaking floorboard. It was only when I’d gotten greedy and Agatha’s extended family complained about their missing gems that they discovered they had a thief among them. Agatha sent me out on the street to earn back the money I’d stolen; I went gladly, because otherwise, she’d have used her cleaver to separate my hand from my wrist. Few things motivated a twenty-year-old cocksure thief quite like a madam brandishing a cleaver. As it happened, I’d earned the gems back and more, saving myself from pursuing the same career as my male friend here.

  They let me enter with no further challenge. I carried enough familiar swagger to cruise past t
he people gliding about the reception rooms in their lace and satin finery as they entertained their clients. If Agatha heard me call it a brothel, she would have her cleaver out. This was a respectable Pleasure House, or so she called it. Her clientele—gentile and city guards alike—agreed.

  The air smelled of face powder and sweetness, and the lure of familiarity slowed my steps. I had my hand on the stair bannister, about to ascend, when a voice purred in my ear, “What have we done to deserve your esteemed company, sir?”

  “Catherine.” I didn’t have to work to smile. She was always a pleasure to see. Catherine knew me from the years when I would peek through her door while she entertained her clients. To her, I was the eager young man who had fetched and carried at her every whim. I’d spent many nights dreaming up ways to save us, only for her to laugh at my foolishness. She’d been right. Agatha’s coach house was the best outer Brea could offer folks like us, and it wasn’t a bad lot. Then there was our additional agreement. She would assess her clients’ worth, and once they were sated and drunk, I’d stalk them in the street.

  I turned and looked down at her from the bottom step. As one of Agatha’s longest serving girls, she’d seen it all, and taught me much of it, but there was no bitterness in her face, just mild affection.

  “Are you keeping well?” She spoke like an Inner Circle girl, all smooth and luscious, politeness hiding its true meaning. She had heard my accent a few times in the early days and borrowed the tone to add to her unique allure. Clients paid a high price to hear her sweet voice.

  “I’m keeping busy.”