by Elle Clouse
Kiera glared.
“It’s the truth.” He shrugged, half laughing. “But once that’s over with, I’m sure you could disappear into the library never to been seen again and the people would be fine with that.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the one making the sacrifice,” she snapped.
“Think of it this way. If things turn for the worse, we can always leave.” Brogan took her by the shoulders and waited until she met his gaze. “Kiera, I promise: I won’t let harm befall you. Say things don’t go according to plan. We can slip away in the night, and the princes will be none the worse for wear, just a little poorer.”
Kiera shrugged out from under his hands. “You’re being optimistic.”
“Kiera, we can only keep doing these jobs for so long before we get caught. The emperor’s guard might spare you, but with no other family to take you in, you’ll be left to the poorhouses. So it’s continue as we have these last few years and hope we don’t get caught or do this one final job and retire, me with my payday and you with your books.”
“I can’t do it,” Kiera said, but her words weren’t as forceful as she’d wanted. The poorhouses were a death sentence: a slow, starving, freezing, disease-ridden death sentence. She would do anything to avoid such a fate. And Brogan’s latest con on Declan Blackling, Count of Dubhan hadn’t gone unnoticed. Just this week, Kiera had had to rip down several Wanted posters bearing sketches of Brogan and his friends. It was only a matter of time before the emperor’s guard caught up to them. Lord Dubhan might not wait for the guard to arrest them. Judging by the stories people told about him, the lord was likely to hunt them down himself and do worse than a death sentence or the dungeon. The farther away from the capitol they could get, the better, whereas Cearbhall was distant and isolated. If she agreed to Brogan’s plan, it meant no more cons. No worries about rent or debt collectors. No one to stop her from spending time in the library.
The library was the trump card. As a member of the Cearbhall royal family, she could order any book she wished, dedicate entire sections to any field of study she liked, and perhaps find editions of books that were published before the magic ban three decades ago.
They had a lot of planning to do, and many things could go wrong before they even really started. Kiera marrying a prince was about as likely as the sun rising in the west and rain falling up into the clouds.
But she recognized the chance this con offered. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life here, tricking lowlifes out of the ill-gotten money, with Brogan’s half-witted lady friends always in the wings.
Brogan was watching her intently, his face tense. Kiera gritted her teeth. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
Brogan’s flashed a triumphant smile. “I’ll let the gang know and start gathering provisions, then. This is going to be the con of all cons. We’re going to retire in style.” He stepped behind their divider screen, tossing his nightshirt over the top, and emerged in dock trousers and shirt. He grabbed his boots and headed out the door.
Kiera returned to bed for more much-needed rest. She felt a headache coming on. These provisions Brogan spoke of would need more money than their last job had brought in, so she would have to get down to Finnegan's Pub when it opened and get in a shift. Anyway, the library wouldn’t be available again until after dark.
Chapter 2
“It took three days but I found a way to do it.” Kiera unwrinkled a sheet of paper and waved it at Brogan, then paused to catch her breath. Once again, she had lingered too long at the library, and she’d had to make a mad dash out of there as the sun sneaked up on her. All she wanted to do now was to climb into bed. The last three days had revolved around evening shifts at Finnegan's and long nights spent poring over books.
Brogan had been in the middle of a yawn. He smothered it as quickly as he could and eyed the paper eagerly. “Let’s hear it.”
“Cearbhall had an ally, a small kingdom called Siomha, many years ago. The kings of both kingdoms decreed that every generation a member from each of their households would marry each other to perpetuate the alliance. The decree is still valid but hasn’t been upheld in several generations, and Siomha doesn’t really exist as more than a trade town now. The royal family is still very prominent in Siomha though, and they had one daughter who would be of marrying age now.”
“‘Would be’?” Brogan looked confused as he rubbed fatigue from his eyes. His vest and trousers were covered in sea spray and filth from working on the docks.
“She’s joined a convent. But that little bit of information was so hard to find that no one else from the outer kingdoms would know.” Kiera had almost missed it herself, but she wouldn’t admit that to Brogan. “If you intend to carry this out, that’s our way in. We would need to send a declaration to the king to see if he’ll accept and which son he will offer up.”
“Maybe Lachlan?” Greed glinted in his eyes.
Kiera’s mouth felt dry. She swallowed a few times but managed to reply, “I doubt it. He’s next in line for the throne. Though if they believe it, then he would be marrying a princess, but a princess with no land and no fortune to speak of. Anyway, there’s no sense in speculating. I couldn’t find any current information on the sons of Roudri Canis.” She shrugged. “I’ll get started with the forging of the declaration. You just do whatever it is that you have to do.”
Brogan smiled widely. Kiera didn’t like probing too deeply into his activities. He claimed that he borrowed from creditors and gambled to make sure they had the supplies they needed for their cons. Their wages would never cover their expenses otherwise. He was a reckless gambler, though. The fact that he managed to somehow procure what they needed when they needed it ran completely at odds with Kiera’s knowledge of his card skills. Brogan called it luck. Kiera was careful never to ask if the funds were fairly gained.
“I have a courier lined up already,” he said. “He is just waiting for the paperwork, so get to it.”
Kiera nodded. “I need new parchment. This stuff wouldn’t be used for a declaration like this. I need something finer. You’ll have to go to Stationer’s Nook.” The paper she’d taken notes on was little more than tissue, as fragile and thin as the con they were planning.
Brogan scowled. “That’s on the other side of town.”
“Yes, yes it is.” She smiled. “But if it’s too much of a bother, we don’t have to do this. We can call the whole thing off.”
“No, no, no.” Brogan shook his head. “I’ll get that damned paper for you.”
“And quills from Nib Knobb,” Kiera added with a maniacal grin, watching him fidget. “And ink from—”
“All those are for sale at Stationer’s Nook!”
“I need very specific materials to draft the declaration.” Her favorite shops happened to be in different corners of the city. It would take him most of the morning to finish the errand. She put on her best innocent expression as Brogan stormed out the door, mouthing curses. Only after he slammed it shut did she allow herself to laugh.
“CONGRATULATIONS,” KIERA announced, setting her quill down. “I am now Princess Fedelma Siomha.”
Brogan shot up from his chair near the hearth, tossed aside his poor attempt at sock darning, and peered over her shoulder at the declaration lying on the desk. “That’s it?” he grumbled. He grunted when Kiera jabbed her elbow back into his stomach. “I thought that it would be more...”
“Perfect,” Kiera finished. “Do you see the crest here?” She pointed to the left corner of the paper, which bore a design of two rearing wolves over a full moon. “And this one?” A stag and lion filled the upper right corner of the page. “These had to be perfect, the calligraphy exact. Any courtier would be able to spot a fake if they weren’t done in this manner.”
“You seem pretty proud of yourself.” Brogan retrieved the leather scroll case from beside the desk and opened it.
“Of course.” She blew on the ink to dry it, then held the paper up to a
dmire her handiwork. It had taken her three attempts to get it right. “Only the best scribes in the kingdom draw up decrees of this sophistication. I’d like to think that I am honoring my father by producing such a piece of art.”
“Even though it’s a forgery?”
Kiera’s shoulders drooped.
Brogan grimaced. “Sorry. It’s great. Now roll that up and get it in here and let’s get this thing started.”
“No. It needs to be sealed in red wax with the crest of the Siomha family.” She looked over her shoulder at Brogan. “I don’t suppose you have one of those signet rings lying around here?” An irritated look from Brogan answered her question. “Then we’ll have to commission one, unless you have a talent for jewelry making that I’m not aware of. The ring is the last layer of authenticity, without it the king will know we are fakes for sure.”
Brogan opened his mouth to say something, but Kiera cut him off.
“Yes, it will be expensive.”
THE SEAMSTRESS CIRCLED Kiera, hands full of pins, as she made the final adjustments. Even though she was only buying it to con her way into the Canis clan, Kiera couldn’t keep from staring at herself in the mirror. The dress was azure, fashionably cut, and very expensive. Normally Brogan was the one getting fitted for the latest fashions. She had never worn something so beautiful before.
“How are the creditors handling this one?” Kiera asked, even though she didn’t really want to know. Brogan had paid down some of their debt with their last haul, but he had never schemed this big before.
Brogan looked up her and down and sighed. He’d looked tense ever since they’d started planning. The mirth no longer reached his eyes when he smiled. It wasn’t reassuring. “All I’m going to say, dear cousin, is that that king better accept the declaration of yours, or you should think about joining the church. The messenger should return in a fortnight with our fate.”
The seamstress jabbed a pin into place to cinch in the neckline. “Just make sure you lot pay me before you skip town. Your secrets are getting hard to keep.”
“You know I’ll do you right, Ida. Have I ever done you wrong? You’ll get your purse and never have to see my face again.”
Kiera watched the exchange, then continued. “From what I remember, King Roudri is a fair man,” she said. “He’s ailing and has three unwed sons. It would be a blessing for him to get such a message. A daughter of a king is looking to marry and would like to uphold an old tradition.”
Brogan grunted and started to pace.
“Do I need to point out that this was your idea to begin with?”
Ida motioned Kiera off the stool. It was time to undress. The conversation of her soon-to-be handmaidens, Erann and Brigid, rose from the adjacent room, and Kiera cringed. Erann was recounting, in detail, her previous evening with a male acquaintance.
Brogan peered in their direction and chuckled. “I think etiquette lessons are in order. Serving at parties is one thing, but being handmaids to a princess is a little beyond their capabilities right now.”
Kiera stepped behind the changing screen with the seamstress, who seemed anxious to get them out of her shop. Kiera only knew Ida from Brogan’s recanted tales of the cons, so she only had Brogan’s word Ida was an ally. Once the dress was pulled over her head, Ida gathered it into her arms and vacated the fitting room. “Phelan will need some lessons too if he’s going to be the coachman,” Kiera said.
Brogan sighed. “I know.”
She pulled on her own shift. The fabric was dull, worn thin and patched from too much work and wear. Compared to the dresses she had just tried on, her normal clothes rankled of low birth like nothing else. Wistfully, she thought of the azure gown. What a pity she couldn’t wear it out of the store yet. “Again, this was your idea. We can forget all this and—”
“No need to talk like that,” Brogan huffed. “We’ll get to work on those lessons. Come on, we need to get the girls out of here before Erann offends someone.” Erann’s story was growing even more detailed, and Kiera knew that the etiquette teacher would have her work cut out for her.
Brogan ducked out of the room, and Kiera took a moment to run her fingers over a bolt of cloth left behind by the seamstress, feeling the smooth, silky glide of fabric against her hand. If she could order more dresses like the ones she had just tried on, the plan might be worth the risk.
KING ROUDRI LAY BACK in his bed, propped up by several pillows, and read the document the strange courier had brought. The marriage alliance was an older tradition, but not one that had been completely abandoned, just neglected.
“This Fedelma girl,” he rasped. “I think that she was here once. Do you remember, Flann?” He turned his head toward the manservant who stood at his bedside.
“No, Your Majesty,” Flann replied.
He stared across the room, his gaze unfocused. “It was years ago. The boys were so young then. She and Ian did not like each other. He used to hide her doll from her.” He laughed at the memory. “We haven’t heard from the Siomhas since the boys were children. They are still a noble family and none of my boys have prospects. Perhaps Lachlan should wed.”
Flann coughed. “Your Majesty, Lachlan is not with us at the moment.”
“Oh, you are right.” His head drooped. “So it will be Ian, then. As a couple they would be debonair.”
“Of course, Majesty.” Flann’s expression was stoic.
“Summon my scribe. Summon Ian as well. He should hear of this from his own father.” The king’s hand trembled as he held up the message.
Flann bowed and exited the room.
With a sigh, the king laid his hand down and closed his eyes. Before he could drift off, though, he heard the door open. He opened his eyes again. His sons had entered the bedchamber. They ignored the nursemaid, who had risen to her feet to curtsy, and headed straight for his bedside.
“Ah, Ian.” Roudri stretched his hand out to the shorter and swarthier of the two, who kissed it with a bland smile. “And Ayden.” The king nodded to the lanky young man. “I imagine you have heard of the message that I received from the Siomhas?”
“Yes, Father,” said Ian. “And I have to say, it was a little shocking to hear that you were considering this marriage.”
“And why wouldn’t I?” The king fixed his son with a glare. “You’ve not expressed interest in any of the well-bred ladies in the kingdom, and you cannot do better than a princess.”
Ian raised a brow.
“I’m getting on in years, my son. I want to see my line continued, and as I am the king and your father, I have the right to dictate who and when you will marry. This girl, this princess, will be your wife, and I will see a grandson before I die.”
That was his final word. Although sick and weak, he was still king. Ian nodded and took his leave. Ayden followed with little more than a disgusted look on his face.
The scribe arrived with his supplies ready to draw up the summons for the foreign princess.
Chapter 3
“I had no idea there were so many ways to curtsy,” Erann commented as the three of them waited in Mrs. Higginbotham’s parlor. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared in the direction of the dining room, where their etiquette instructor had gone to prepare for the final lesson. From the moment they had entered the aged boarding school, she’d been glaring at everything, even the paisley-papered walls and the doilies that covered the tables. So far they had made it through introductions, conversational manners, and teatime, and from her overwhelmed expression, it didn’t seem as though she would be able to stand much more.
“Think of it this way,” Brigid said helpfully. “We’re almost done. And we’ll practically be proper ladies once we’re through.”
She was saved from Erann’s snappish reply by Mrs. Higginbotham, who called through the open door, “Miss Clark?”
Kiera led the way into the dining room, where three sets of nested plates, bowls, cups, utensils, and napkins were laid out on a long, polished table. Kiera ha
d never seen such an elaborate place setting. With some trepidation, she sat.
Mrs. Higginbotham waited until they were all seated, then walked over to Brigid and pulled her back against the chair, her condescending glower all the more severe thanks to her thin lips and tight bun. “A lady of good breeding never slouches. We are not apes. Now listen closely. I will only go over this once.” She pulled a telescoping pointer from her dress pocket and started naming items on the table, pointing at each one in turn. “Soup spoon, salad fork...”
She rattled off the names so quickly, Kiera only caught half of them. When she finished, she stood back and folded her hands in front of her with a prim expression on her face.
Brigid blinked. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“No,” Mrs. Higginbotham snapped. Kiera felt a little sorry for their teacher Brigid needed everything repeated or explained, and Erann just went through the motions to be left alone. However, Mrs. Higginbotham hadn’t helped herself by starting lessons with a thorough criticism of their hair and manner of dress. “The meal starts with the appetizer course...”
Kiera’s mind wandered and Brigid and Erann fidgeted. At one point, when Mrs. Higginbotham wasn’t looking, Brigid stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes. Erann noticed and smirked.
“What’s so funny?” Mrs. Higginbotham demanded, interrupting her own recitation. Her eyes darted from Brigid to Erann and back again.
“Nothing, Mrs. Huggingbottom,” Brigid’s said sweetly. Erann’s smirk broadened.
Kiera knew she should put an end to Brigid’s antics. They had paid a good sum for these lessons, but the more Mrs. Higginbotham droned on, the less Kiera cared.