Rosalia nodded again. The rules didn’t vary greatly from what she knew in Enimura, though it pleased her to discover the queen would play their game.
“Fantastic. I won’t bother to hold you any longer than necessary. Annowen will give you a tour of the Undercastle and show you to your quarters that you’ll never use, since living in a dragon’s hoard is far superior to the little box I’d give you.”
“Actually,” Rosalia said, maintaining a neutral expression despite the weight of Xavier’s gaze setting on her. “I haven’t decided yet if I wanted to live with him in the hoard or find a place of my own. I’m accustomed to having my own digs, and I kind of like the sunlight too. More than what his place permits. Can you recommend a nice flat if I want to live in the city?”
Nemuria’s gray brows rose. Her eyes shone with mischief before she murmured, “Of course. I can give you several recommendations. There is a little cottage available for rent in Greenleaf Corner you might find to your liking, two beds and a single bath. Twenty-five lyras a week to rent, though it also has a sales ticket. There are also flats west of these offices in the northern quarter of the city. Small but cozy, excellent view of the forest. Single bed and bath. You can watch the running of the gazira in the fall.”
“You’re a realtor during the day.”
The elf nodded. “I am.”
“I suspected as much. Our grandmaster had no other job. How do you divide your attention between honing your light fingers work, monitoring guild members, and working an office?”
Nemuria’s grin only widened. “Dedication, love. And I’m stubborn. I enjoy both fields of work, and unlike many other thieves of a lazier variety, I see no reason to choose between the two.”
Another elf arrived and stood to the side, a thin and fragile thing in dark leggings, a black camisole, and leather shoes sporting thin soles and split toes. She didn’t interrupt, but Nemuria nodded to her.
“Annowen will handle the tour of the castle. And…if you’re serious about some personal space, come see me during business hours. I’ll even negotiate a deal if you’d like to view that cottage.”
4
Control
Rosalia crawled out of bed a little after the ninth chime, aching from head to toe despite spending an hour in Xavier’s hot spring the previous night.
Muted beams of golden light shone through the windows onto the polished stone floor. She washed at the basin, donned comfortable clothing, and wandered outside to find him in his workshop surrounded by tools and inactive gadgets. He was tinkering with her wristbow and grappling hook, bent over it with a small screwdriver.
“Ah, you’re finally awake. Did you sleep well?”
“Well as can be expected, I suppose, after those elves put me through the ringer.” She frowned at her bruised knuckles until Xavier stepped close and took her wrist. One stroke from his fingers obliterated her train of thought. They still hadn’t discussed what occurred in his stateroom, as she’d been far too exhausted after meeting Nemuria to bring up their mutual desire.
“I’m proud of you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you of her plans, but I’m proud just the same. And your mother would be proud as well.”
“I still can’t believe she was an assassin trained by the elves and no one ever told me.”
“It’s possible Hadrian and the others never knew.”
Rosalia nodded. “What happens now?”
“You learn to smother your aura and train your gift. It’s too great an advantage to rely on it only activating when you’re in mortal peril.”
“All right.”
Xavier observed her at first, the curious tilt of his head reminiscent of a wild animal assessing a potential threat. Then he offered his hand. When she took it, a spark jumped between them.
He led her to another room of the cavern, different from all the others in look and feel since it was mostly a stark, empty space occupied by a writing desk, two narrow book shelves, and a single wounds-man. The dummy was true to human size and constructed from leather-encased wood, posted on a battered stake driven into the ground.
“This dummy was enchanted to repel most elemental attacks and reinforced to last throughout any number of physical assaults. Whenever you aren’t training at the Undercastle, you’re welcome to use it.”
“Thank you.” She glanced around the room. “The chamber feels different, but I can’t place why.”
He raised his brows. “It does, yes. It was built on a ley line.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re currents of magical energy running beneath the ground and through the soil, much like the vessels beneath our skin carrying blood.” Xavier’s warm fingers took her wrist. He raised her arm level and slid her shirt sleeve to her bicep. His touch sent chills down her spine, even when he initiated contact for the most platonic reasons. “But like our veins, they can’t always be felt.” He traced his thumb over the vein visible at her inner elbow. It vanished beneath the skin and appeared again by her wrist.
“I think I understand. Although this line may travel for miles, this is a place where we can tap into it because it’s closest to the surface.”
“Yes. Mages seek areas like this, especially during a war or a battle. It’s always wise to know where to find the nearest ley. Today, we’re going to use this one to find your spark. Once you recognize what it is and how to control it, you’ll understand how to conceal it.”
“Okay.”
Xavier hadn’t released her wrist. When Rosalia glanced down, he dropped it in a hurry and stepped back, clearing his throat. “Anyway, are you ready to begin right this moment, or will you be visiting your fellow thieves to spread the good news?”
“I’m ready to begin. The sooner we do this, the quicker we can return to Enimura to look for the mirror. I just don’t understand how you can tell I’m suitable for magic by looking at me.”
“Let me explain it this way. Inside your soul, there’s a spark, a bit of essence that lies dormant within every mage until it’s fed with mana.”
Xavier made everything appear easy, gesturing with his hand and summoning visible lines of crackling electricity that surged over his knuckles. Being near him raised the hairs on her arms with a subtle buzz. When he shook out his hand, it dispersed. “Let’s take this oil lamp for instance.”
“Okay.”
Instead of using magic, he removed an ornate silver lighter from his pocket. A flame jumped up and ignited the wick.
“If your body is this wick, then mana is the fuel. The oil that burns when you light a lamp. This lighter produces the spark like the magic that’s inside you. It’s always there, and nothing can ever take it away from you.”
“But the mana can be depleted.”
He nodded. “And the wick can burn out. If you use too much power too fast, it’ll consume your body instead, and that’s when a mage becomes weak and defenseless. Too many young mages push themselves beyond the point of no return, and then they’re just weak little babies praying for mercy.”
“How do you know when you’re reaching that point?”
“You pay attention to your body. It will tell you when it’s had enough. When you’ve pushed it again and again too fast, too soon.”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“You do. You just don’t recognize it well enough to put a name to it yet. I’ve watched you react to magical effects beyond your sight. You sense them.”
“Sometimes. But I told you, that’s instinct. A good thief knows how to sense magical disturbances because you don’t want to trigger an arcane trap. Wards can be devastating.”
“They are,” he agreed. “And trust me, I’ve met my fair share of thieves over the years, and I’ve yet to encounter one who sees the way you do. There’s a vast difference between sensing and knowing, Rosalia, and you know where they are. You navigated through countless traps within my shop and made it out alive when you should have been reduced to a bloody smear at least twice.”
&nb
sp; She stared at him. “I felt wards, but nothing that serious.”
“Now, are you ready to begin?”
How often had her passive gift guided and protected her over the years, guarding her from harm through subtle means? Rosalia shook off the creeping sense of disquiet and nodded. “How do we start?”
Xavier maneuvered behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders. “It begins with internal reflection,” he said, applying enough pressure that she lowered to the floor and sat cross-legged. “Close your eyes.”
Closing her eyes only made her more aware of their close proximity. She set both hands on her thighs and waited. “I feel ridiculous.”
“I know, but this is the first thing a new student of magic learns, even at the guild. Now relax and follow my instructions.”
It was impossible to relax with his hands on her, but she tried as he led her through breathing exercises. With the weight of the world on her back—two dozen thieves’ lives in her hands and the obligation of retrieving the stolen mirror—clearing her mind proved equally impossible.
After Xavier removed his hands, her body remained tense, and her mind resisted the instruction he offered.
“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. What do you do to relax and unwind? What do you do to clear your thoughts of all worries and fears?”
“I dance.”
Xavier rose and helped her up from the floor. “Then you should dance.”
“Now? There’s no music.”
He had already crossed to the door. “Give me a moment.”
During his absence, she tried again to access the inner spark responsible for her gift, but when nothing happened, she sagged into the chair at the writing desk and cradled her face in her hands.
He returned with a rose-red cherry wood box, no larger than the one Rosalia once used to store her jewelry. When he opened it, the figurine of a graceful elven dancer arose from the velvet lining. Serene harp strings and the melodic tinkle of bells filled the otherwise silent room as the dancer brought both arms above her head and twirled.
Rosalia leaned close, gasping. “She moves. The figures in most music boxes only spin in a circle, but this one actually moves.”
“I didn’t think I would ever perfect the design. She was my first true creation, the first I finished as a young boy. Do you know this piece?”
“Yes. Si Rielle Ave Elien. The Girl Who Flew. It’s an old classical elvish piece from a play about a swan who dreams of becoming a woman to be with the handsome prince who visits her river each day. We performed it once at the...” She closed her eyes. Memories stabbed a knife into her chest and twisted it, a serrated blade through her heart. All this time, she’d been able to push Frederico out of her thoughts, but one song hurled him back to the forefront of her mind.
He hadn’t deserved what happened.
And she’d avenge him. By the gods, if it was the last thing she ever did, she’d avenge Frederico and Mira both. She’d get justice for Hadrian and Lacherra because they’d been family who deserved nobler ends.
Though she lacked dancing shoes, a costume, and makeup, Rosalia moved into the center of the room and waited for Xavier to start the music from the top. He wound the box again and set it down, facing her.
Rosalia didn’t need to watch the little figure to know the choreography. It returned to her as if she’d practiced the classical performance only yesterday.
Barefoot, she crossed the room and twirled on the tips of her toes, she spun and leapt, her too-large, borrowed tunic billowing around her. As if by some enchantment, the euphonious notes grew in volume and the music swelled to fill the room itself.
She didn’t look at Xavier. This dance wasn’t for him. It was for the fallen, her loved ones, the mentor she’d left behind in the Smoke and Mirrors, the sister she’d lost at Madam LaVerci’s boarding house, the mother and father slain in their tavern while the rest of their underground world burned.
It was no longer a music box with its miniature harp and little rotating cylinder. In her head, she heard the swell of the orchestra, horns, strings, and wind instruments reaching the dramatic crescendo of the piece, seeming to expand with such unrivaled warmth it blossomed in her soul.
Xavier sucked in a breath.
Still, she didn’t look at him. She took the leap, the swan’s final flight, gliding weightlessly across the air in a flawless horizontal split before landing on her tiptoes. The warmth bloomed again, threatening to consume her like the fires that had ravaged every haven in Enimura, and at that moment, she understood what Xavier had wanted her to find. Unrelenting heat spread throughout her chest, an invisible blaze pulsing to her heartbeat.
She had to control it.
But it was a wild thing, like a raging forest fire at the edge of Nairubia’s savannah. Deep down, part of Rosalia wasn’t sure if she wanted to smother it at all.
Even though her eyes burned as the piece wound down to the final notes, she refused to shed a single tear. Tears served no purpose. They didn’t restore life to the dead, and they didn’t gain justice for the murdered.
She would gain justice for them.
Xavier’s hands touched her from behind, steady on her hips. “You found it.”
“Yes.”
“Then take control of it, Rosa. Don’t let it control you.” His breath stirred the loose strands of hair that had escaped from her braid, gentle against her ear. “Imagine it shrinking, folding in on itself like crumpling paper. Feel it diminish in size. Feel yourself growing cool and calm.”
Now that she’d found the power, she dragged it back toward the pit of her stomach and imagined herself condensing the reckless, wild energy until it was only a fragile spark. Less than an ember.
“Well done.”
Rosalia opened her eyes. The smell of smoke was in the air, and fine, curling wisps of it drifted from her sleeves and bare arms. Her chest heaved, though she didn’t know if the fatigue settling in her limbs was from the dance or finding her inner magical spark. “Thank you.”
“I think we’re ready to return to Enimura. Complete whatever business you have here with your thieves, and once you’re ready, we’ll head across the portal.”
5
Hidden Legacies
Contrary to Rosalia’s worst fears, the crown hadn’t discovered Xavier’s complicity in her escape during their weeklong absence. The hoard was as they had left it, and the mailbox outside the store overflowed with letters from clients asking to see him at his earliest convenience. Apparently, the crafty dragon had placed a sign on his door announcing he’d traveled away from the city to gather magical reagents from the desert.
When he left to make a public spectacle of his return—taking fire basilisk husks he hunted in the dunes and other ingredients he kept on hand to legitimize his absence—Rosalia used Enrikos’s map of the sewer system to learn her way around Enimura.
Most of the passages were tunnels with clear paths winding through every district in the city, and while some connected to the sewers where the rotten smell of the city’s waste hung in the air, she found plenty of dry ledges and barely wet her boots treading through them. She tested a few basement doors and sewer grates, then wandered down ancient, empty aquifers used by the founders of the city centuries ago.
After eavesdropping on conversations between customers in the marketplace, she learned the emergency exits marked on the map, down to the hidden doors carved by sorcerers from the mage’s guild. The escape routes had all been designed for children, and she had to get down on her hands and knees to crawl through them.
Last, she found the Sewer Rats’ lair in the heart of the city just beneath Vermeil Hill where the little ones plied their trade. While exploring the vast space—discovering what she could only describe as the Rats’ play area first, due to the sheer number of toys—she passed down lanes of child-sized dwellings built from clay bricks. Every home had its own unique touch and hint of the kid who was once there, like ribbons woven between the slabs or d
rawings in chalk on the flat surfaces.
Before she could explore further, she encountered an alligator cruising the area, each of its scales lit by a scarlet glow that shone like a lantern in the dim cavern. Refusing to test her luck against it, she fled.
From there, Rosalia made her way back to Xavier’s hoard and prepared for her evening, occupying a divan in his entrance room while sharpening her daggers.
He entered and slumped into a chair.
“Long day?”
“Brutal,” he replied. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“The underground map is very detailed. Found the gang’s hideout but had to leave when an enormous gator arrived.”
“Ah, you found their pet.”
“Pet?”
“He belongs to the Sewer Rats. I’ve encountered it once or twice, and from what I understand from my own wanderings, one of the older Rats stole him as an egg some time ago.”
“You knew there was a damned crocodescent in the sewers and didn’t tell me?”
Xavier grinned. “Do you have something against enormous fire-imbued reptiles?”
“Only the ones who can’t reason as men.”
His chuckle infuriated her, but she couldn’t remain angry for long when she imagined a group of orphaned children keeping the monstrous thing like a dog.
“It’s quite tame, but forget the reptile for now. Do you need me to accompany you?”
Rosalia slipped her favorite dagger into the sheath then buckled on her wristguards. “No. You’ve had a long and trying day with your clients.”
“Not that trying,” he protested.
“You look like a man who was thrown to the sandsharks. You’ve done enough.”
“You’ll be doing all the work while I hitch a ride on your shoulder.”
She pursed her lips. “Fine. Still, I need a starting point. The mirror could be anywhere between here and Sandfire Castle for all we know.”
Fool's Gold: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 2) Page 4