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  Rhoa pulled the bundle back to her lap and stared down at it. “Why give these to me, Salvon? What would I do with them?”

  “You will train as an acrobat.”

  “An acrobat?” she asked.

  “Yes. An acrobat is someone who performs tricks that involve tumbling, flips, ropes, swings, climbing, and leaping. With those blades, you will be able to climb anything. This special skill is what you will bring to your new family in the menagerie. With it, you will become the most important person in their show.”

  “I will?”

  “Yes. You will live with them, and they will treat you well. You will travel from city to city, moving about the world and seeing things most people never dream of. It is not the same life you had, but it is a good life, and it is the best I can offer.”

  Rhoa saw the pain in his eyes. She didn’t want him to worry for her, so she wore a brave face. “Thank you, Salvon. When do I meet this new family?”

  “Tomorrow. I will bring you to them, then I will depart.”

  Rhoa nodded, knowing she must be strong for him. The pain in his eyes was a reflection of her own broken heart.

  27

  Cordelia

  Rhoa led Jace and Rawk across The Thirsty Goat’s taproom and sat at a table below a window at the front. Salvon was nowhere to be seen, but Rhoa knew he would appear and where he would sit while playing. She had a good view of the little stage in the corner and was eager to see him perform. His stories had a way of taking her mind to other places, allowing her to forget her troubles…if just for a short time.

  Jace stood over her with a frown. “Mind if I sit there?”

  She stared up at him. “Why does it matter?”

  The thief nodded toward the front door. “I can’t sit with my back to the door. Occupational hazards, you know.”

  “Perhaps you might consider another occupation,” she said as she shifted to another chair.

  “Perhaps.” Jace shrugged and sat. “Do you know of any that pay as well and are as fun?”

  Rhoa shook her head in disgust and chose not to respond.

  A barmaid approached the table. A blonde braid over her shoulder, she had an angular build, a thin waist, and a corset that attempted to make something out of nothing.

  “What will it be?”

  “We are with him.” Rhoa pointed toward Salvon, who had emerged from a back room and was having a discussion with Breida.

  “Who is he?”

  “You must be new here.”

  The girl put a hand on her hip. “Three years.”

  “Well, he knows Breida from before.”

  “Your point?”

  “He is a storyteller. See the lute?”

  The girl nodded. “Ahh.”

  She walked away, stopped at the bar, and spoke with Breida while pointing toward Rhoa. The girl then left the room as Salvon walked to the corner and climbed upon the small stage. The man settled on a stool with the lute on his lap, strumming it a few times before the chatter in the room settled.

  “Good evening, gentlefolk. I am Salvon the Great. You may have heard storytellers in the past, perhaps in this very room. However, I am not a storyteller. I am the storyteller, here to transport your mind to another place and time.”

  The barmaid reappeared with steaming plates for Rhoa, Jace, and Rawk. Grilled fish with rice and vegetables caused Rhoa’s stomach to rumble. She and the others dug in as Salvon began to play a lively tune, increasing in tempo as it grew louder and louder. A full minute passed before he reached a crescendo and stopped, the room falling quiet.

  “Behold!” the man said loud enough to startle some in the audience. “I am about to recite a tale of mystery and magic, a tale of sorrow and joy, a tale of old, before the time when men ruled. Now begins the story of Fandaric Buurom, the King of Stergholm.”

  A man near the front cupped his hand to his mouth. “There are no kings, and I ain’t never heard of Steghome.”

  “It is Stergholm, my good man, and kings might not exist today, but history is filled with things that no longer exist. You see, Fandaric was no mere king. He was a king bound heart and soul to a dragon.”

  A murmur ran through the room.

  Salvon strummed his lute, his words coming out as a chant of sorts. “Yes, a dragon. A creature to fear, a creature of power, a creature of magic. This legendary monster was stunning to gaze upon with scales of gold and green, each the size of the plate on your table. You see, Zyordican was the wisest of dragons and had foreseen a future where man might one day wield magic. In this act, man would claim the world and change it forever. Despite her size and power, the dragon feared this future, for this magic was the energy at the core of all things – a power never meant to be tamed.

  “And so, Zyordican watched and waited with the patience only a being who lived many centuries could comprehend. Men and kings came and went until she learned of Fandaric’s plan to hunt a rock troll that had attacked a hold within his kingdom. You see, Fandaric was no ordinary king. He was the High King of the North. Everyone in the lowlands bowed to him. In addition, he was a dwarf.”

  Rhoa noticed Rawk’s eyes widen as the crowd stirred. She didn’t know if such lore existed among his people. Among humans, legends of dwarves varied greatly, but none told of dwarf kings who ruled over mankind.

  “It was a clear autumn evening, the trees covered in leaves of gold, amber, and crimson, while the leaves that had lost their battle against the seasons covered the forest floor. The king and his men entered this forest armed with axes, swords, bows, and spears. A horn blew, denoting the sighting of a troll. Fandaric’s men broke into three groups, one sweeping to each side while Fandaric led the group in the middle. The king’s steed raced through the woods in search of the monster until he reached a clearing and stopped dead.

  “At the heart of the meadow was a towering dragon, large enough to eat Fandaric in a single bite. The king’s steed reared up in terror and bucked him off. He crashed to the ground, his crown rolling away until it was stopped by a massive talon, hooking it like a ring. The dragon picked up the crown, her slitted eyes shifting from it to the downed king, while the king’s men froze in fear.

  “‘It seems,’ the dragon said, ‘that you and I should talk.’”

  Rhoa finished eating and sat back to watch Salvon. She noticed Jace looking toward the bar, so she turned to see what had drawn his attention.

  A woman in a blue dress with a white corset stood beside the bar. Her shoulder was exposed, as was the upper portion of her plentiful chest. She had brown hair and green eyes, her back arched in a provocative pose. Jace pursed his lips when her gaze met his. The woman bit her lip and beckoned with a finger. He stood, responding to her call, while Salvon wove his tale. After a brief discussion at the bar, Jace followed the woman across the room and into one of the closed doors they had passed after entering the building.

  Rhoa shook her head. That man has no morals. She turned back to Salvon, listening as he strummed his lute and told his story.

  With his stomach sated, Jace sat back in his chair while listening to the old man go on about dwarves and dragons and other nonsense. Despite his lack of interest in the story itself, Jace admitted that the man had the audience captivated, his telling almost a compulsion.

  Jace then noticed a woman enter the taproom, her blue skirts swaying with each flowing step. She stopped beside the bar and rested a hand on her hip, her back arching to accentuate her chest, one shoulder exposed by a fallen sleeve. The woman’s gaze swept the room until her eyes met his. They were the color of fig leaves on a sunlit morning, bright and inviting, the green contrasting her full, red lips. She raised a finger and beckoned him over. He flashed his best grin, stood, and sauntered to the bar.

  “You are a welcome sight for these tired eyes,” Jace said.

  The exposed skin of her unbuttoned dress drew his attention, the way she filled out her corset enough to hold it.

  “Did you just arrive in Fastella?” the girl a
sked in a sultry voice.

  “Yes. Not more than an hour past.”

  “I bet you could use a bit of fun after your travels.”

  His grin widened. “I sure could. Will it cost me?”

  The girl grabbed a fistful of his tunic and pulled him close, her breathy whisper feathering against his neck. “Don’t worry. It will be worth it.”

  She turned and crossed the room, Jace following. Stopping in front of a closed door along the hallway, she eyed him with a smile and opened it. He slipped past her and into the dark storage room. The door closed, and he spun toward her, stopping abruptly when something sharp pressed against his groin.

  “Don’t move. You wouldn’t want me to accidently cut something.” Her sultry tone had fallen away, replaced by one far less enticing. A pale blue light appeared, coming from a disk in her hand. “I’m disappointed you didn’t recognize me, Jerrell.”

  Please don’t be someone with a grudge. “It’s Jace now. I only use Jerrell when I need to impress someone.”

  Jace tried to sort through his memories. The woman was in her early twenties, so she would have been a teen when he left the city. He then recalled a young, dishwater-blonde girl with green eyes.

  “Darnice?”

  She grunted. “So you do remember.”

  “Yes.” She was a far cry from the girl he remembered. “I never realized someone so beautiful hid beneath all that dirt.”

  “We do what we must to survive, Jerrell. You know that as well as anyone. For me, it was living in alleys and cutting purses until I grew older and…” She looked down at her chest, “developed other talents.”

  “I must say…” His grin was lecherous. “You have developed quite well.” Although he maintained a relaxed manner on the outside, the continued pressure of the knife had him on edge. He had been stabbed before, but never in his nether region. “Now that we have been reintroduced, what is this about?”

  “Your presence has been requested for a meeting.”

  “I feel privileged.”

  “How will you feel if I stick this knife into you?”

  “Not nearly as lucky.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She pulled the knife away. “You are to follow me. Now.” She walked past him and into a dark aisle between two tall shelves.

  “What if I choose otherwise?”

  “I highly recommend you play along. She doesn’t take disappointment well. You might end up dead – which would be sad for someone of your talents.” A grunt came from her as she slid something across the floor.

  Jace stepped into the aisle. “She? She still controls the streets of Fastella?”

  “Yes, but recent events have made it more difficult than ever.”

  Jace heard the creak of a trapdoor opening. “I am here with friends. They will wonder.” Cool air wafted toward him, carrying the aroma of human waste.

  “I know. They watched me pull you in here. Unless you and the girl out there are married, I doubt she will wish to interrupt what she believes is happening in here.” Her voice grew distant as she descended. “Come along now. You have an appointment to keep.”

  Releasing a sigh, Jace found the edge of the opening and the ladder inside. He descended into the darkness and pulled the trapdoor closed. Although he could not see, he counted the ladder rungs, reaching twenty-two by the time his feet touched the ground.

  “This way,” Darnice said from his right, the glow reappearing as she held the enchanted disk before her.

  Keeping one hand on the wall and his head low as he counted his steps, Jace slipped back into habits formed from years of navigating the tunnels below the city. Much time had passed since he last walked the sewers of Fastella, but the hours he had spent in them remained a clear memory. The entrance from the inn was a new one to him, but he knew of others, some of which were likely no longer in use.

  Ahead, a spark ignited into a halo of light around Darnice’s silhouette. The torch in her hand caught fire, the flickering flames bringing definition to the murky tunnel. An arched ceiling stood eight feet at the peak, formed of the same stone blocks as the walls. A layer of filth gave the stone a green-tinted hue. Jace and the woman stood on a narrow footpath that ran along the wall on each side of the tunnel, a river of refuse trickling down the center.

  Without a backward glance, Darnice resumed her journey, following the curved tunnel until she reached an intersection. There, she turned right and crossed a small footbridge to the other side. A narrow opening had been cut into the wall. She entered the dark recess, the torch eating away at the inky blackness as Jace followed. At the tunnel’s end, they came to another ladder.

  Darnice stepped aside. “You go first. Just be sure to knock four times before opening the trapdoor.”

  “Yeah. Four times.” Jace gripped the wooden ladder and began climbing. “I’m sure a painful reception would welcome me if I didn’t knock.”

  She chuckled as the light was snuffed and darkness invaded. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  In the back of his head, Jace counted the rungs, the number reaching twenty-four before his knuckles grazed wood. He put a palm against the door and knocked solidly four times.

  As someone pulled the door open, light from the room above met him. He climbed up, emerging into an unfamiliar cellar. Judging by the tunnel and age of the ladder, the subterranean entrance hadn’t existed when Jace was last in Fastella.

  A big man with a thick, metal-studded club held the trapdoor open. He had dark skin, black hair, and an even darker expression, leaving little doubt he meant business. A pale scar ran down one side of his face, matching the scars on both of his bare, muscular arms. Herrod. The man was dressed in black, as were two of the other three people in the room. He appeared noticeably older than when Jace had last seen him. He wondered who had gotten close enough to leave the scar on the man’s face. The one on his right arm had been from a fight with Jace. The one on his left had come from the other man in the room.

  Even with the dark hood covering his face, Jace recognized Rindle immediately. With a relaxed, arrogant stance, Rindle’s tall, thin build and trademark rapier made him easy to pick out in a crowd. Jace and Rindle were close in age and had often crossed paths in their youth. As the two most skilled cutpurses in the city, they had a not-so-friendly rivalry that almost turned deadly on two separate occasions. Jace knew people considered him arrogant, but he preferred to call it confident. Rindle took arrogance to a whole other level. Jace could barely stand him seven years ago, and he suspected the feeling would remain unchanged.

  Between the men was a woman in a red dress and black, hooded cape sitting with her legs crossed. As always, the hood covered her head and the light was placed behind her, leaving her face in shadows.

  Jace stepped aside as Darnice climbed out of the hole.

  “It is good to see you, Cordelia,” he said.

  “Please. I know you too well, Jerrell. Or should I call you Jace?”

  Jace bowed. “This is your city. You may call me whatever you wish.”

  “I am surprised you returned.” He noticed a sharpness in her tone.

  “You can’t seriously still be upset with me. Seven years have passed. I have a new life in a city far from here.” He glanced toward Rindle. “And I see you have a new captain.”

  “Don’t believe your absence is the reason I stand beside her, Jerrell,” Rindle growled. “I was destined to serve the queen, regardless of what path you chose.”

  Jace shrugged. “Believe what you wish, Rindle. What I recall is you being second best until I sought new horizons.”

  “You little…” Quick as a flash, Rindle drew his rapier.

  Cordelia’s hand shot out and pressed against Rindle’s stomach, halting him mid-step. “Stop, Rindle. This is business, and you will set your petty jealousy aside.” Her tone left no room for discussion.

  “If you are finished with me,” Darnice said to Cordelia, “it is dark and I should get to work.”

  Cordel
ia nodded. “You did well, Darnice. Go on. I’ll let you know when I have something else for you.”

  Darnice crossed the room, Jace watching her the entire time. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and blew Jace a kiss. He smiled and wondered if he would have time to catch up with her later.

  “Now that I have your attention…” Cordelia’s tone was firm as she leaned forward in her chair. “Why are you here?”

  “What do you mean? You sent Darnice to get me.”

  “How droll. You know damn well what I mean.”

  Best to not kick the beehive. “I came here on a contract issued in another city.”

  “You know how I feel about business conducted here without my consent.”

  Jace held his hands out. “I only just arrived. You didn’t give me a chance to contact you.”

  “Fair enough.” The woman sat back, visibly relaxing as her finger rested against her shadow-covered chin.

  Jace had often wondered why she kept her identity so secretive. He had ferreted it out, of course, but had kept the knowledge to himself. Discovering she was a wizardess had been a surprise, but her station was low among the gentry – the widow of a minor House with no heirs. The only mystery unsolved was how she came to run the guild. Jace knew of no other wizards among the thieves.

  “Assuming you were going to get in touch with me,” said Cordelia, “what is this contract, and how might I benefit?”

  “You know better than that. I can’t disclose a contract.”

  “No. You can’t disclose the party behind the contract.”

  “True,” Jace admitted. “This particular job is extremely dangerous. In fact, I cannot think of anything more dangerous.”

  A silence filled the room in a long, dramatic pause.

  Cordelia’s nails tapped the arm of her chair. “You cannot be considering killing me or you would have thrown out an insignificant job as a cover.” Her tone conveyed posturing. “You might be crazy enough to steal from Taladain, but I have heard stories of your past exploits, and that seems too simple a quest for you to label as extremely dangerous. What does that leave?”