Rules for Thieves Page 21

  Beck doesn’t speak much during the ride, no matter how often I try to get him talking. I guess he knows this is really it this time. If we fail tonight, it’s all over. No chance to try again. Everything we’ve done—the ball, the prison escape, and every successful theft along the way—will have been for nothing.

  And what will I do if we don’t make it? It’s not like there’s some other way to get the money, even if I have time, which I don’t. How many days do I have left? Last time I looked, the black lines had spread still farther, and it seems like every second the pain is growing. And I’m starting to feel weaker all over—dizzy and tired. I probably have three days at most. What if I . . . what if I die?

  I’ve come so far. I’ve maybe even found a home in the Guild, the thing I didn’t even know I wanted until I found it. But if I fail . . .

  I can’t even think about it, can’t even think beyond where I’m going to sleep tomorrow or what I’ll do if I make it into the Guild, or what I’ll do if I don’t. Everything is too far away to worry about. I’ve got to take it one thing at a time, like I always do. It’s the only way to survive.

  And Beck? What will he do? Has he thought about it all? Something tells me he has—he’s too meticulous not to have a backup plan. But then again, he’s been in the Guild his whole life. Not being in it is probably unthinkable to him. He didn’t even consider giving up after we lost the necklace the first time. Was that just determination, or refusal to admit the inevitable?

  The funny thing is, I can’t picture Beck outside of the Guild, even though I’ve seen him more outside of it than in. I can’t see him living in a clothing shop and stealing food from marketplaces in ten years, let alone twenty or thirty. I guess he could get a job somewhere. He’s about to turn thirteen, after all, so employment’s an option. I try to picture him in some kind of uniform, working for a boss and getting a paycheck, but I can’t—my mind draws a complete blank. There is too much of the Guild in him for that.

  “Alli?” Beck says.

  “Yeah?”

  He takes a deep breath, not looking me in the eye. “You don’t have to come.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to come.” Another breath. “Jiavar wasn’t totally wrong. This is really dangerous—you know that. And you’ve almost gotten hurt or imprisoned a dozen times already. This will be worse, if the guards catch us. So if you want to leave, I don’t blame you. I—I don’t want you to think you have to do this.”

  “I’m cursed, remember?” I say, forcing a smile. “I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. And I’m not scared.”

  Finally, he looks at me. “I know you’re not. That’s what concerns me.”

  “We both have to do this.” I don’t know where the words come from, but I know they’re true. “We both need to survive, right? And the Guild’s our best shot, even if we have to go through all this to get in it.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that. I almost tell him—I want to tell him—how much I’ve come to want the Guild the way that he does. The way I felt at home for the first time ever. The way I felt after ice sledding, after training, like I was finally part of something. And the truth is, I’m not sure I want to be anywhere without Beck. But I don’t know how to say any of that without sounding totally sappy. After a few beats of silence, I say, “I’m doing this because I want to, all right?”

  His lips twitch. “Okay.”

  “No other reason. None at all.”

  “Right.” The twitch again.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  • • •

  Shoringham is completely isolated from the rest of Ruhia. We pass what must be miles of rocky, snow-covered countryside without seeing another building. The land out here is bleak, nothing but gray stone and slushy spring snow that slows down the carriage’s wheels. Aside from the occasional skeletal tree, the landscape is nothing but long stretches of gray, like being inside a raincloud. The dark, overcast sky is practically indistinguishable from the ground.

  Eventually we stop at a set of large iron gates. The guard on duty just glances at our uniforms and waves us through.

  Beck lets out a relieved sigh. “Well, that was easier than expected.”

  The house looms before us, dark and ominous. Beck gives the carriage driver instructions, and we veer onto a small path off the main drive that wraps around the side of the house. We’ve reached the back when Beck stops the driver and we hop out.

  Beck slips the driver a few extra coins for his silence and sends him back the way he came. We’re left standing on a pathway between the gardens and the back of the house.

  The back door to the servants’ kitchen is locked, but that’s no problem, of course. This late at night, the kitchen is dark and empty. We fumble through the blackness, trying not to bump into anything as we walk to the west wall, where there should—according to our map—be a door.

  Bang. Beck curses. “Watch out.”

  I narrowly avoid whatever-it-was and press up against the wall beside Beck, feeling around for a lock, latch, anything. . . .

  “Got it,” Beck whispers, and the door swings open.

  The next room is the main kitchen—though why two kitchens are necessary I have no idea—and it’s as dark as the last one, but twice as big.

  “At least the dark means there’s nobody in here,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, but it also means we have no explanation if we get caught. What reason do we have for sneaking around a dark kitchen?”

  “Let’s say we’re servants stealing food. Then they’ll just hand us over to the protectors, instead of killing us.”

  “If we’re lucky,” Beck mutters.

  This kitchen is shaped like a funny L, with the door to the dining room in the recessed part, opposite where we came in. We make our way down the long side of the room and turn the corner.

  A light flickers from the doorway. It’s the only door on that wall, according to the map, so it’s got to be the dining room. “Would you like to curse again, or should I?” I mutter.

  “There can’t be anyone eating at this time of night,” Beck whispers, “and the Athertons have left. Someone just left a candle burning, probably.”

  “Probably. But how are we going to find out for sure?”

  “Someone should check,” he says, but he doesn’t move.

  “All right, I’ll do it.” I tiptoe forward, press myself against the wall, and slide toward the doorway. Slowly, slowly I angle myself until I’m facing the next room and peer in.

  A massive table dominates the space. In one corner, a little serving board sits, with the flickering candle on top of it. Empty.

  I exhale slowly, relieved. “No one’s here.”

  I slip into the room, Beck following me. On the wall opposite us are two doors, just like the map.

  “When we get out of here,” I whisper, “remind me to send the mapmaker a personal thank-you.”

  “We want the one on the right,” Beck says.

  “I know,” I say. “I read the map too.”

  I make my way across the room, being careful not to bump into any chairs. I put my hand on the doorknob, about to fling the door wide—

  “Wait. Make sure no one’s in there.”

  “Right.” I open the door a crack and try to sneak a glance inside. “Nope. It’s all dark.”

  Since the large parlor and sitting room on the other side of the house were just not enough, apparently, we’re now in another small parlor, the only access point to Lord and Lady Atherton’s chambers. This time, it’s Beck who finds the door and peers through the crack. “All clear.”

  We cross the threshold. And in this moment, it’s truly the first time I’ve felt really, deeply unsettled. This has been easy. Too easy.

  “Okay,” Beck says, “look for anyplace she might put a necklace. Jewelry boxes, dresser drawers. . . it might even be in a hidden safe. Check everywhere.”

  There’s enough moonlight from the
window to see the outlines of things. We tear the room apart. No need to hide what we’re doing. They’ll notice it’s missing soon enough, and we have no good excuse for being in this room anyway, if we get caught. Might as well move quickly.

  Beck checks the closet while I tackle the dresser. There’s a jewelry box on top, but no necklaces at all inside. I pull all the clothing out of the drawers, sifting through it as I go, but there’s nothing there either.

  As Beck reenters the room from the closet, I abandon the dresser and pull the cushions off the sofa. I jump as a clock on the wall above me chimes. Midnight.

  It’s officially the first day of the month. Deadline day. Samyra’s Day. And . . .

  “Hey, Beck,” I say. “Happy birthday.”

  He looks up from his search long enough to grin, then both of us resume the hunt.

  The sofa is completely worthless. Not even a few lost coins or something buried beneath the cushions. I pick a new target—the nightstand.

  A quick inspection reveals a candle, a book, a few papers, a quill, and—a small box with a lid. I fumble for the clasp, slip it open—

  The necklace is curled up inside, its jewel winking in the dark.

  “Beck.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Beck, I’ve got it. I—I’ve got it!”

  He’s at my side instantly. “All right, Jia should be here any minute.”

  The necklace is a heavy weight in my hand, heavier than it should be. I can feel the pressure of it—this is it, our ticket to the Guild, resting on my palm.

  I should feel relieved, but my insides are tight and my knees are shaking. Something feels wrong. Something is wrong.

  The necklace should have been harder to find. It should have been in a safe, not in plain sight on Lady Atherton’s nightstand. Especially since the Athertons knew someone tried to steal it—

  The guard at the gate. He shouldn’t have just let us through like that. That was too easy.

  The Athertons know exactly what we look like, and they know exactly what we’re after.

  The guard at the gate wasn’t looking at our uniforms. He was looking at us.

  Beck’s at the window, throwing it open. Our signal to Jiavar.

  “Beck,” I say, but I can’t get the rest of the words out. “The—the gate—”

  Bang. Light bursts everywhere, and the world goes white. The door’s been flung open, and a cluster of figures are standing in the threshold. A high voice screams, “Stop them!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I run for the window at the same time Beck does. I don’t bother to see who’s in the doorway, but I recognize Lady Atherton’s voice, saying something I can’t make out. Then, with a calmness and authority that sends shivers up and down my spine: “Kill them.”

  Everything explodes. I duck, hitting the floor and crawling forward. To my left, green flames sprout from nowhere and eat a hole in the rug, only a few inches from where I was standing. On the other side of the flames, Beck crawls across the floor.

  Lady Atherton screams again, but I can’t make out the words. I focus on crawling, each movement bringing me closer and closer to safety—

  Heat bursts right behind me, unbearable—I lunge forward as the flames engulf my foot—

  Not fast enough. I can’t contain my scream as my foot burns white-hot. I roll across the floor, away from the second explosion of flames, but my foot’s still on fire. Oh God, the flames won’t go out—

  And all at once, they do go out. I stop rolling and examine my foot. It’s glowing blue. The color of healing magic.

  Beck.

  “Run!” I yell. “Get out of here!”

  But the blue glow fades, and it’s not enough. Searing pain is still shooting through me, and I don’t know if I can even stand. I might be able to drag myself to the window. . . .

  I’m wedged up against the bed now, with the fire roaring between me and the window, so I can’t really see Beck, I don’t know where he is—

  A man in a guard’s uniform whose hands are glowing green stands on the other side of the flames. Lady Atherton is behind him in the doorway, still screaming. Beside her is Ariannorah.

  The guard walks toward me, extinguishing the flames between us as he goes. Why is he targeting me? Beck’s closer to the window, and I’m clearly not going anywhere—

  The necklace. Somehow I didn’t drop it. The corners of the box dig into my palm, but I can’t even feel it over the pain in my leg.

  The guard is going to kill me, there is no doubt about that. The only reason I’m not dead right now is he’s afraid to char the necklace to bits along with me. But he’s coming for me, and I can’t run, and he will kill me.

  Beck could leave, get to safety.

  But he won’t leave without the necklace.

  I turn. Beck is scrambling toward me, skirting the edges of the flames.

  I pull the necklace out of the box. “Beck!”

  He turns, and I throw. The necklace arcs through the air and falls, skidding across the floor.

  The guard and Lady Atherton both lunge for it at the same time, but they’re not fast enough. As they stumble into each other, Beck grabs the necklace and loops the chain around his neck.

  Ariannorah rushes over to Lady Atherton, who fell dangerously close to the fire, but she’s uninjured and yelling at her daughter to stay back.

  The guard ignores them. Ignores me. His eyes are locked on Beck.

  I push myself forward, but my foot won’t move at all, and it hurts so bad that tears stream from my eyes. I drag my leg behind me and crawl, toward the guard and the Athertons and Beck. I’ve got to do something, got to cause a distraction so he can get away. He’s only a few steps from the window. . . .

  But Beck’s not running for the window. He’s standing in place, watching the guard. Why doesn’t he run? Why doesn’t he—

  Me. He won’t run because of me.

  “Go!” I scream. “Run!”

  Beck looks at me, but he doesn’t move. The guard steps closer. The necklace is the only thing protecting Beck from a sudden and fiery death. But the guard will just use a different spell, once he gets close enough, and then it will all be over.

  “Go, you idiot, leave!”

  The guard spreads his hands, and green light glows on his palms, spreading bigger and bigger, forming a massive ball of light, of death—

  Beck backs up a little but there’s nowhere left to go, the window’s just to his left but he won’t make it—

  The guard throws his hand back, aims—

  The magic is headed straight for Beck. He’s not going to make it.

  Until Ariannorah leaps forward and shoves Beck to the floor.

  Lady Atherton screams and lunges between Ariannorah and the ball of light that’s now headed straight for her—

  And the ball of light hits Lady Atherton squarely in the stomach.

  For a moment she’s frozen, hanging, her mouth dropping open, and with her frilly gown and painted face aglow in the green light, she looks like a ghastly doll. A puppet, permanently suspended.

  Then she crumples to the floor.

  Ariannorah shrieks. The guard stands there, looking at Lady Atherton’s unmoving body, like he’s not sure what just happened. He looks at Ariannorah. In one swift movement, he extinguishes the flames and runs from the room.

  “Beck!” I yell. “Are you okay?” He’s not moving. God, why isn’t he moving?

  “Okay,” he grunts, sitting up slowly.

  Ariannorah lets out a cry of pain. She’s still lying on her side, and it’s only now I realize she’s hurt too. Part of the blast must’ve hit her arm. She’s clutching it tight.

  I don’t want to look at Lady Atherton, but at the same time I can’t stop. She can’t be dead, she can’t be, but my eyes are telling me she is. She lies still in a way that only the dead can. Her eyes are open.

  Beck has picked himself up off the floor. He’s not injured. The necklace is still around his neck. But his face is twis
ted with pain as he sees what I see—she’s definitely dead.

  Wincing, I drag myself forward and crawl over to Lady Atherton’s side, just to confirm what I already know. She’s not breathing.

  Ariannorah sobs hard and clenches her arm. She’s losing blood—a lot of blood. It must be some side effect of whatever spell the guard used.

  Ariannorah whimpers when I get close but doesn’t say anything. She squeezes her eyes shut against the pain, or maybe she’s trying not to cry. “It’s okay,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. “It’s okay. Beck can heal this. Beck, can’t you . . . ?”

  But he’s shaking his head. His face is frozen, and his eyes are painful to look at. “I used up all my healing on your leg. I don’t have anything left.”

  He told me he was a bad healer, but I never really believed him until now. He didn’t even heal my leg all the way, for God’s sake. “Can’t you do something?” I know he can’t, but I keep repeating the words anyway, like my brain’s stuck on them: “Can’t you do something?”

  There’s nothing to be done. Lady Atherton’s dead and Ariannorah’s bleeding to death all over the plush white carpet. Maybe if I can bandage the wound . . . ?

  Ariannorah’s wearing a lacy white dress with lots of padded skirts that are already bloodstained. She doesn’t say anything as I rip off a bottom layer of the dress and try to use it like a makeshift tourniquet around her arm. God, why didn’t I pay more attention to Sister Perla’s first-aid lessons?

  Finally, Ariannorah seems to realize I’m there. She looks up at me, then down at her ruined dress. “I need a healer.” Her voice is firm, but also pleading. She says it again, like it’s the only truth in the world she knows: “I need a healer.”

  “No kidding,” I say. “What in Saint Ailara’s name did you do that for, anyway?”

  I wasn’t expecting an answer, but Ariannorah seems to be seriously considering the question. “I don’t know,” she says, and her voice is small. “I just . . . I didn’t want him to die.” Her face contorts in pain, and she chokes out the next words. “I didn’t want anybody to die.”

  “Neither did I.” I look her straight in the eyes, hoping she’ll know that I mean it. And I do mean it. I don’t like the Athertons, but I didn’t want them to die. And it’s kind of hard to hate Ariannorah right now, when she looks so lost.