Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set Page 24

  Jace backtracked and found her standing at the corner, staring at a building. He was about to scold her for falling behind but stopped short when he saw the look on her face. A tear tracked down her cheek, her eyes filled with longing and loss.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and asked in a gentle voice, “What’s wrong?”

  Rhoa wiped her cheek and nodded toward the building across the street. “That used to be a carpentry shop.”

  He frowned, noting woven rugs hanging in the window.

  She continued. “The man who lived there made the most beautiful furniture. He would sing while he crafted it, working from sunup to sundown. It was a labor of love, like everything else in his life. His wife managed the business. She was good with numbers and was an excellent cook. The woman was smart, loyal, and trusting.”

  Jace turned back toward the building, imagining it as she described it. “You knew these people.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She nodded. “They were my parents.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “The lottery. They were chosen ten years ago. Today is the anniversary of their deaths.”

  Shock struck, and he almost staggered. He looked across the street and saw the number on the building. 618. He turned toward the corner and read the street sign. Harper Street. Rhoa’s parents had lived at 618 Harper Street.

  Oh, dear Gheald, Jace thought. What have I done?

  31

  The Lottery Caper

  Ten Years Ago

  It was dark, the moon obscured by clouds. The sun had set over an hour earlier. Devotion had passed, and the streets of Fastella were quieting, the foot traffic thin and sporadic.

  Jerrell stood inside a recessed entrance with his cloak wrapped about him. Melded into the shadows, he watched the three-story house across the street. The door opened, light from inside pouring onto the street as a man dressed in finery stepped out. At his side was a man twice his size – big, bulky, and armed.

  Bodyguard, Jerrell thought.

  The well-dressed man was Perque, a man Jerrell knew by reputation. Perque’s business crossed boundaries that touched on Cordelia’s enterprise. As he had numerous times in the past, Jerrell wondered why Cordelia allowed it.

  Perque and his oversized escort walked down the street, the small man moving in a rush, the larger one keeping up with long, purposeful strides. When Perque faded from view, Jerrell emerged from his corner and crossed the street. He did not rush or dally. While he was aware of every movement in his peripheral vision, he did not turn his head. No need to appear like I have something to hide. Without knocking, he opened the door and entered.

  Three girls were in the sitting room, two of them lounging on a sofa, the third sitting on a window seat. All three were dressed in gowns too revealing to wear in public, their legs exposed to the knees, their necklines plunging beyond the point of distraction.

  Jerrell pulled his hood back and bowed. “Hello, ladies.”

  “Jerrell,” Marbi said from the window seat. The blonde raised one brow, her gaze flicking the length of his body. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Or is it business?” She laughed, her voice a twinkle. “What am I saying? Both are the same in this house.”

  Jerrell had known Marbi for years and had always liked her. Now, at twenty-four, she might be six years older than him, but she had never treated him like a child. It was among the things he appreciated about the girl. He admitted to himself that her appearance influenced his perspective.

  “While I wish this visit were for something more…playful, I am here for a meeting. A bird told me I should come by tonight.”

  “Yes,” Jenni said. “You are expected. Head to the third floor and knock on the white door.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed again with one last, lingering glance at Marbi before heading down the corridor.

  At the foot of the stairs, he peered into the dining room, where four guards sat playing cards. They were armed, rough-looking men. Jerrell knew three of the four well. Two had even beaten him in the past. The men glanced in his direction, and he gave them a nod. There was no need to be rude. Those men just did what they were paid to do, no different than himself. Those who earned a living as guards sometimes had to use their fists. It was the way of the world, and it wasn’t their fault if Jerrell had crossed a line. He had crossed many lines. Not being caught made all the difference.

  He climbed the stairs and turned at the landing. A man two years Jerrell’s senior sat on a chair in the hallway, frowning at him.

  “Hello, Herrod.”

  Even while sitting, Herrod’s dark stare was intimidating. Jerrell had known the street tough since they were both children. Twice during their early teens, Herrod had beaten Jerrell unconscious. The scar on Herrod’s arm remained from their third fight. Such was life on the streets of Fastella.

  “Jerrell,” Herrod grunted in his low voice. “She’s waiting for you.”

  “So I hear.” Jerrell passed the man and began his ascent to the third floor. “White door, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  After reaching the third floor, the rap of Jerrell’s knuckles striking the door echoed in the corridor. Four knocks later, he paused and stepped inside.

  While the room was sometimes a bedroom, the bed had been cleared out, replaced by a sofa, a low table, and two chairs. A fire burned in the fireplace along the far wall, the amber light from it casting shadows across the otherwise dark room.

  A man dressed in black stood in the corner, leaning against the wall while fingering the pommel of his sword. Jerrell knew the man well enough to believe he did it as added intimidation, something rarely required. Brogan was a hero of some sort, a legend with the sword who obviously had a military background. Standing over six feet tall with broad shoulders and scars on his cheek and arms, Brogan looked the part.

  Jerrell’s attention shifted to the blonde woman seated on the sofa. Her back faced the fire, the hood on her cloak up and covering her face in shadow as it always did. Jerrell wondered if the sun had ever touched her skin. Beneath her cloak was a blue dress that fit well enough for him to take notice, despite her being twice his age.

  “Good evening, Cordelia.”

  “Jerrell,” she said. “You are right on time.”

  “On time?” He had received word over an hour earlier that she sought his services, and Cordelia had never been known for her patience.

  With a smile in her tone, she said, “Did you think your delay might have me believe otherwise?”

  His gaze flicked to her bodyguard.

  “Don’t look at me,” Brogan said in a surly tone. “She’s the boss.”

  “The man who just left the brothel,” Cordelia said. “You saw him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know his reputation? What he does?”

  “Give me credit, Cordelia. I wouldn’t be much good to you if I didn’t know who Perque was. He even offered me work once.”

  Her posture shifted, her back stiffening. “He did what?”

  “Don’t worry. It was a years ago, before our…understanding. I refused.”

  “What did he want information about?”

  Jerrell hesitated before answering. “You, of course.”

  She sat back and laid her arm along the back of the sofa. “Interesting.”

  “Although I wasn’t yet working for you, I also knew you were not to be crossed. I told him to go jump off the city wall and never spoke to him again.”

  A long, uncomfortable pause followed before she spoke. “Never mind that man and the past. We have a contract and little time.”

  “How much?”

  “Your share is six gold pieces.”

  Jerrell swallowed, doing his best to hide his surprise. “Six.” Such a sum wouldn’t be offered without consequence. “How dangerous is this job?”

  “This isn’t a negotiation, Jerrell. You will do this. We have no time to waste or the chance will pass us by.”

  He allowed hi
s expression to sour. “You’re making this sound worse and worse.”

  “Sit.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “I will explain.”

  Jerrell sat. “Very well. Let’s hear it.”

  “You know Perque sells information. You might even wonder why I allow him to do so. I happen to be an occasional customer of his. Other times, I am a partner. In this case, the latter.” She crossed her legs and placed both hands on one knee. “Among his services is one he only offers to the wealthier businessmen in Fastella. They each pay a tithe, and someone working for him in the temple reports lottery results, including the city and building drawn.”

  Jerrell’s brow shot up in surprise. “They know the result before guards are sent?”

  “Yes. Those selected then have a choice to either flee the city or pay for the results to be altered.”

  “I’m with you thus far.”

  “Good, because the job you are hired to execute requires this very thing.”

  Jerrell blinked. “What?” His voice rose. “You want me to alter the lottery results?”

  “Careful, Jerrell,” Cordelia said as Brogan stepped forward and loosened his sword. The man’s glare left little doubt about his intent.

  Recovering, Jerrell said to Cordelia, “How do you expect me to do that? The Immolation ritual is in three days.”

  “Yes, I am aware.”

  “The lucky family will be arrested tomorrow. That leaves me only tonight. I have done no scouting and lack time to formulate a plan.”

  “Nonetheless, it must be tonight. You see, Perque has a contact who works in the temple. According to this contact, the building number is written on a missive in the high priest’s office. In the morning, the missive will go to Burrock, and his men will collect the unlucky family.”

  “Why me?”

  “You know why,” she said. “I can’t throw men and weapons at this one. If the rumors are true, the girls aren’t likely to have luck with the high priest. Smugglers, cutpurses, and street performers will do me no good. This requires specific skill, stealth, and creativity. I’d send Haldoran, but he’s dead.”

  “What about Rindle?”

  “I considered him. While Rindle has his uses, he lacks your resourcefulness. This is an important contract with little time and no room for failure.”

  Jerrell’s mind raced, considering what he knew of the temple and the quarters where the priest and clerics lived.

  “Go, Jerrell,” Cordelia said. “There is nothing else I can tell you and little time remains. Make this happen, and you can ask anything of me…within reason.”

  With his head in a haze, Jerrell stood and walked out of the room. He went downstairs and left the building without saying a word to the girls.

  He had to create a miracle, and only had hours in which to do it.

  Jerrell ran along the rooftops, climbing the slopes and leaping across alleys like a cat. In the years since his mother had died, he had spent nearly as much time on the city rooftops as the streets themselves. Even his small apartment was on the third story of a building Cordelia owned, its only window offering easy access to the roof of the two-story building next door.

  The moon remained obscured by a blanket of clouds, the night darker than normal. Running the rooftops in proper light could be dangerous. Doing so at night was downright reckless. The thought crossed Jerrell’s mind for the briefest of moments before fading.

  He leapt across a gap, falling until he landed on the second-story balcony of the building across the street. Even bending his knees, the impact stung his feet, but he knew the pain would soon fade. He climbed the balcony railing and onto a ledge before scaling a downspout. The roofs on this street were flat, so he could move faster.

  He continued toward the heart of the city, his destination. Three buildings later, he stopped and listened, sensing something he could not define. A noise came from behind him, and he melted into the shadows, waiting.

  Hurried footsteps drew closer until a shadowy form appeared. Jerrell stuck out his leg, hooking an ankle. The person following him hit the roof with a grunt and rolled, his cloak twisting around him. Jerrell stepped out, his dagger drawn.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Rindle.”

  The young man stood and pulled back his hood, revealing narrowed eyes. Rindle stood a head taller than Jerrell but had a thin, angular build to match his hatchet face.

  “I followed you for three blocks before you noticed,” Rindle taunted. “If you had been moving a bit slower, I could have continued much longer unnoticed.”

  “Could have? You also could have kissed Vahlia before I did, but that didn’t happen, either.”

  “Please. You never cared for her. You just wanted her because I did.”

  “Not true. I wanted her because she was pretty and worth the trouble.”

  Thinking of the girl brought a grin to Jerrell’s face. Even though he was a street rat and a year younger than her, she had been eager. Perhaps he was just a means for her to rebel against her father, but it didn’t hurt Jerrell one bit. He had not been ready for anything serious and likely never would.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. She is with Watley now. Married with a child.” Jerrell shook his head. “Better him than me.”

  “What is the job, Jerrell?” Rindle asked.

  “What job?”

  “I know Cordelia was after you. Something urgent. Something big. How much does it pay?”

  “Listen, Rindle. You don’t want this job. It’ll be a miracle if I live to see the sun rise.”

  “So it happens tonight.”

  Jerrell rolled his eyes. “Yes, you blockhead. Now, leave me be. I don’t have much time, and I need to concentrate.”

  “Not a chance.” Rindle drew his rapier. “I want in.”

  Tall and thin, Rindle had a long reach. His rapier against Jerrell’s dagger compounded the issue. Jerrell had an edge in quickness, but less than against most other opponents. A duel would likely get ugly fast.

  A long, exaggerated sigh came out as Jerrell shook his head. “Why do you have to be so dense? If she trusted it to you, she would have pulled you in. She tagged me with the contract, nobody else. You should thank me for keeping you out of it.”

  “You can’t talk your way out of this one, Jerrell.”

  “You want to fight me? Let’s say we fight and you poke me with that thing. I would be injured and might die. What would that accomplish?”

  Rindle paused and frowned down at his blade. “Well, at least you wouldn’t finish the job.”

  “Yes, but if Cordelia discovers I died on a rooftop before reaching my target, what happens?” Jerrell paused and let the words sink in before continuing. “They don’t call the roofs the thieves’ pathway for nothing. Who else would be up here? Who else would come after me? Who else uses a rapier?”

  Even in the dark, Jerrell could see Rindle struggling to arrive at a conclusion he could accept. Finally, he sheathed his rapier. “Fine.” He didn’t try to hide his frustration. “I just hope the job is as risky as you say and you fail. Someday, your luck will run out, Jerrell. Someday, you’ll die during one of your outlandish capers. I can only hope it happens today.”

  Without another word, Rindle walked away, returning the direction he had come. Jerrell watched until the thief reached the gap over the street and disappeared from view. Deciding he had seen the last of Rindle for the night, he sheathed his dagger and hurried along.

  At the end of the street, the view expanded. To the right, the palace was a tall shadow of buildings and towers, the tallest of which burned with a purple fire, as it always did. Below the citadel and standing just to Jerrell’s left was the temple, its domed shape distinct even in the darkness. While a wall surrounded the palace itself, the temple remained a part of the city, as did the building connecting it to the citadel. That building was where the high priest and his clerics lived, and it was Jerrell’s destination.

  Between Jerrell and those buildings was a
n open space connected to an expansive square on each end. The street and the squares appeared quiet with no movement, other than a pair of guards walking the temple perimeter. To Jerrell’s far left, two more guards stood beside the temple’s main entrance, where torches burned.

  Years of roaming the streets of Fastella had exposed Jerrell to the pulse of the city and to the patterns of the guards. The two walking the perimeter would turn the corner soon, the entire loop requiring twelve minutes at their current pace. Another set of guards would also be circling, trailing these two by three to eight minutes. That time gap was his chance.

  The guards approached the far corner, and Jerrell began his descent, climbing to a balcony railing and lowering himself until he hung above the street. He released his grip and landed softly before slipping into the shadows. The guards stopped and surveyed the area, chatting for a moment before moving along. When they faded from view, Jerrell made his move.

  Walking with an easy, unhurried gait, he crossed the sprawling square and headed toward the gap between the temple and the citadel wall. There, the shadows grew thick, lit only by a single torch next to the side door. Jerrell knew a guard was posted there, even though he saw nobody. He walked toward the door as if completely unconcerned, yet prepared to put on an act.

  “Halt!” a man said from the shadows.

  “Oh my!” Jerrell said with his hand to his chest. “Oh, a guard.” He visibly relaxed. “Thank Gheald. You gave me such a fright.”

  The man stepped from the shadows, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Where are you heading?”

  “I was requested for a visit.” He leaned forward and whispered, “A very discreet visit, if you get my meaning.”

  “Huh?” the soldier grunted.

  “Come now,” Jerrell said, recalling the rumor. “Surely you have heard about High Priest Faldom and his, um, particular tastes.”

  “Well, no. Not really.”

  “What? Are you new here or something?”

  “Actually, yes. I was promoted from Starmuth a few weeks back.”