Dance of Thieves

  Jase was quiet, soberly taking in my assessment.

  “Who’s the one you least suspect?” I asked. “That’s your guilty party.”

  “I suspect them all,” he answered. He told me there were five league leaders, Rybart, Truko, and Paxton the most powerful among them, but the other leaders had raided caravans and stirred trouble before too. “Twelve dead crew will put a halt to any of their plans for a while. A dozen dead men would hurt our operations. It will cripple theirs. Still, I want to know who’s behind it.”

  So they’ll pay a greater price. The unsaid words simmered in his eyes.

  We turned at the switchback and Jase pointed. “Look there.” I got my first glimpse of the arena through a clearing in the trees. It looked like a city in itself. The jagged oval structure rose six stories into the sky. Eight towers around its circumference looked like the fangs of some heavy-toothed beast rising up out of the earth. Its mouth was open and alive with activity. Behind the arena were more structures—warehouses, barns, silos, and fenced pastureland.

  Jase told me about the traders at the arena, some of whom sold actual goods, and others who displayed items to be sold and delivered on contract. On the center ground floor were local merchants selling food, small goods, and trinkets. On the perimeter were the larger traders.

  “Reux Lau sells exotic leather goods that aren’t found anywhere else on the continent, and Azentil sells every flavor of honey you could imagine.”

  I didn’t know there was even more than one kind.

  “And the Quiassé lace from Civica draws an exorbitant price, but there’s always plenty of buyers and not enough lace.”

  It seemed the whole world out there was far richer than the one I knew.

  “And you get a cut of it all?”

  “We’re fair. We negotiate cuts, but if it weren’t for the arena, they’d only sell a fraction of what they do now. They make a considerable profit too. That’s why they come.”

  No wonder the leagues ached for control of the arena, even to the point of trying to kill the Patrei who controlled it. I’d seen people kill for less.

  * * *

  The toothy towers I had seen from afar were actually long, circular ramps that led to the upper floors and to apartments on the highest level. The Ballenger apartments were surprising—far more elegant and luxurious than Tor’s Watch. This was where they entertained ambassadors, wealthy merchants, and sometimes royalty who traded at the arena. This was where deals were made. The rooms were deep and dark, windowless on three sides except for the walls that faced out on the arena, so there were glittering ornate chandeliers to light the interior.

  “Who else do you entertain here?” I teased, peeking into one of the elaborate bedchambers.

  “I’d be happy to entertain you here,” Jase said, sneaking up behind me and sweeping my hair to the side. He nibbled on my nape as his arms circled around my waist.

  “Patrei,” Gunner called impatiently from the foyer.

  Jase growled. “I have a meeting with Candora. I’ll find you in an hour.”

  I turned to face him. “And how will you find me in this enormous maze?”

  “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

  He kissed me and left, but just before he reached the foyer he turned. “You can get oranges on the floor too. I hear if you mention that you know the Patrei you’ll get a good price—maybe even one for free.”

  “Really?” I said, pulling my brows down in disbelief. “And I heard just the opposite—mentioning the Patrei could get me into a good deal of trouble.”

  He smiled. “That too. Live dangerously—take your chances.”

  He left me alone in the apartment, free to explore the entire arena—not the sign of someone who had anything to hide. Still, I did an obligatory sweep through the rooms, finding nothing suspicious. One worry rolled off me and another took its place. Move on. I pushed away the thought and left to finish my job—to search any hidden corners of this world.

  My fingers itched the minute I hit the floor of the arena. The noise, the bustle, the hawkers—it was like I was in the jehendra again, staking out my next meal. I kept reminding myself I had a full stomach and coins in my pocket now, but playful banter with the hawkers could do no harm.

  In the outer ring on the ground floor, I saw some of the traders and goods that Jase had mentioned—the flowered carpets of Cortenai, the linens of Cruvas, the honeys of Azentil. And more. Everything that could be sold was sold here—furniture, gems, metalwork, wheat, barley, spices, animals for breeding stock, lumber, fine writing papers, minerals, intricate weights and measures, crystals—the finest products of a dozen kingdoms all converging in an irresistible stew of sounds, smells, and flavors. I breathed in the delicious fingers of woodsmoke that floated in the air. The hum of voices, the clatter of wares, and the distant, delicate warble of a flute wove together in a seductive welcome. Some merchandise ran loose. A bevy of keepers ran after a silky llama who escaped their lariats. He ran between stalls, always a step ahead of the keepers. I admired his technique.

  I kept my distance from most of the shops, perusing them from a distance, but then I paused to eye the trinkets in one of the center stalls of a local merchant, focusing on a ring that reminded me of home—a delicate silver vine winding around a circle of gold. My mother used to weave a crown of vines through my hair on holy days. The merchant immediately spied me looking at it and out of habit I braced myself for a litany of jeers. Scat! Filthy vermin! Shoo! I ran through my mental bag of tricks—a riddle, a sleight of hand—to soothe his temper, but instead of a jeer he began a pitch that I was all too familiar with—the pitch that was always reserved for others. On the outside, I appeared to be one of those others now, but on the inside I would always be that girl who was ready to run.

  “You have a discerning eye!” he said, his hands moving with enthusiasm as he spoke. “This ring is a rare find! A singular and scarce, splendiferous spangle! Pure gold and the finest of silver!”

  I doubted that it was real silver and gold at all.

  “You deserve such a treasure! A dazzling delectation for a delightful lady!” he went on with exaggerated flourish, his tongue twisting with glee over his descriptions. “For you, today, I will cut the price in half. Ten gralos!”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Not today—”

  “But wait!” he said, grabbing my hand. “You must try it on! It was made for your exquisite hand.” He was a short, stout man, his face cheerful and round-cheeked with lines etched around his eyes.

  “Your tongue is golden sir, and your words alluring, but I cannot afford to spend coin on a luxury like this.”

  He slipped the ring on my finger. “There. It’s yours! Surely you have something to offer me in return?”

  His methods were certainly different from merchants in the jehendra. He seemed as eager to engage as he was to sell. I smiled, thinking for a moment. “I can only offer you this as a testament to your mastery of persuasion. A riddle crafted just for you.”

  His eyes lit up and his long wiry brows twitched with delight. He waited with anticipation. I added extra theatrics as a bonus just for him.

  “I have no fingers, but can pick you apart,

  “I’m not a healer, but can mend a heart,

  “I amuse and hush, deceive and astound,

  “And there’s no sword forged that can cut me down.

  “With rosy enticement, and pouty appeal,

  “I can twist and shape and pour forth zeal,

  “I am made of snare, and wit, and gold,

  “And you, kind sir,” I said as I held the ring back out to him, “add a touch of bold.”

  With my last phrase, he clapped his hands with jubilation. “Words?” he cackled. “Yes, words!” he said, spouting the answer again. “The joy of my trade!” He curled my fingers back around the ring in my palm. “A fair payment, bought and paid for.”

  The more I refused the more he insisted, and I finally thanked h
im for his generosity and moved on. I hadn’t gotten far when someone fell into step beside me, someone as welcome as a flea on a scalp.

  “I’ve never seen that old curd quite so enamored with anything besides his own wares.”

  It was Paxton.

  “He’s a logophile.”

  Paxton clucked and wrinkled his nose. “That sounds nasty.”

  I was pleased that, courtesy of the Royal Scholar, I knew a word that the very polished Paxton didn’t know.

  “What do you want, Paxton?” I asked, hoping to be rid of him as quickly as possible.

  He started to link his arm with mine. “Ah. Careful there. Only if you wish to lose it,” I said, eyeing his arm.

  He glanced at the dagger at my side, then grinned. “We’re practically cousins. I thought it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other. Be friends.”

  “I think I know enough about you already. I got quite an eyeful the first time I saw you.”

  “At the funeral? Emotions were high. In runs in the Ballenger blood.”

  “Not Jase’s.”

  Paxton tweaked his head slightly forward, eyeing my bruised neck. “Yes, maybe especially his.”

  I pulled my hair forward to hide his view. He turned and looked up at the towers above us, shaking his head. “No doubt he’s spotted me strolling with you by now, so it’s time for me to take my leave. Just remember, I’m a Ballenger too, and not an unpleasant one most of the time. I hardly ever break wind at the table anymore.” When I didn’t smile he took my hand, at risk of losing his, and squeezed it gently. “If you’re ever in need of assistance, I’m here for you. Tread carefully, cousin. Remember, everyone is not always what they seem to be, and crossing the wrong person can get you into more trouble than you bargained for.”

  Was he threatening me? “Sage advice I didn’t ask for,” I replied, “but I’ll keep that in mind—”

  “Paxton?” a voice called. “I thought it was you!”

  Paxton spun, his composure shaken for a moment, when a man in dusty, rumpled clothes clapped him on the shoulder. He quickly regrouped, and his worry sprang into a wide smile. “This is an unexpected pleasure!”

  The man was tall, lean, his cheekbones sharp, and his attention turned to me. His dark, windblown hair swayed perilously to the side like a cresting wave, as if he had just gotten off a horse and hadn’t bothered to rake it back into place.

  “And who would this delightful creature be?” he asked. “Are you forgetting your manners, Paxton?” The man grinned and his fingers tapped together like an eager child.

  “Uh, yes, of course,” Paxton muttered, glancing up at the towers again. “Your Majesty, this is Kazi of Brightmist, a visiting soldier sent by the Queen of Venda.”

  I stared at the man, from his lopsided mane of hair, to his smudged boots, to his foolish grin. “Your Majesty?”

  “King Monte of Eislandia,” Paxton clarified.

  The king clasped his hands in front of him, his brows and shoulders rising with expectation. “Do I get even a small bow?”

  A buffoon just as Jase had described. A buffoon with an ego. “Yes, of course, Your Majesty.” I bowed low and deep, and when I rose his dark eyes danced with amusement. And maybe something else. Expectation? Was he hoping for just a little groveling? “Forgive me for my lapse,” I said. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t expect to see you here. It’s a great honor to meet you.”

  His grin wavered. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  I looked at his hands. They were uncalloused and his nails were neat and manicured, not the hands of a working farmer. A silent moment passed, his gaze resting on me for an extra beat, just long enough for me to see unease behind his jolly banter. “What brings you to the arena?” I asked.

  “Llama. Suri, to be precise,” he answered. “Such is the life of a farmer king—always trying to make ends meet. I hear the Candorans have some fine breeding stock to offer. If I can afford it, that is.” He chuckled and raised his shoulders again like everything was a jest. “And how are your investigations of treaty violations going?” he asked, at last making the connection between Natiya visiting him and why I was here.

  “Quite well, Your Majesty.” I wasn’t about to tell him that the settlement had been moved. The less said, the better.

  Paxton stared at me, his expression hungry for more information, but I left my answer short and vague.

  “Is it now?” the king answered. “That’s good to hear.” He turned to Paxton, already bored with the subject. “Walk with me to the Candoran stables, will you? We’re preparing to forge more plows and farm equipment, and I have a question about your next shipment of pig iron. I have a supplier who claims he can give me a better deal.” They said their good-byes to me and I watched them walk away, straza and the king’s small contingent following close behind, but between the mass of bodies I caught sight of the king as he turned to Paxton, glancing back over his shoulder, his clownish grin gone, his eyes sharp and alert. A straza suddenly blocked my view, but when he stepped away again I saw the king fingering something in his vest pocket. Had Paxton just given him something? Or was the king about to give it to Paxton?

  I took my newly acquired ring and placed it on my little finger, where it was loose, and then cut through the stalls to the other side of the arena. I circled around on the main path and walked, looking down, admiring my ring, carefully sidestepping other shoppers until I spotted smudged boots in my small line of vision and plowed headlong into their owner, nearly knocking both of us down. The king caught me in his arms as we stumbled together, my hands gripping his sides.

  I looked up. “Oh, Your Majesty! I am so very sorry. What an oaf I am! I wasn’t paying attention. My ring—”

  His hands lingered on my arms, pulling me a bit closer than necessary, as if I still needed to be steadied, and he smiled—not with his inane grin this time, but one that hinted at a different kind of interest. “We meet again so soon. No harm done,” he replied, suddenly gallant. “There, I see your ring. Let me.” He bent, picking it up, then blew the dust away, before placing it back in my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling demurely.

  Paxton’s eyes glowed with suspicion. “Watch your step,” he warned. “You might run into something more dangerous next time.”

  We tear the pages out and burn another book. Miandre cries as she holds her shivering hands to the fire. She wants to go outside and gather wood instead, but Greyson won’t let her. We hear the howls. We don’t know if it is wolves, monsters, or men.

  —Fujiko, 11

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  KAZI

  My blood still raced with exhilaration. Stealing from a king was a first for me, especially with a contingent of guards and straza standing nearby, though the prize turned out to be less exciting than what I had anticipated, merely a piece of paper with a name scribbled on it—Devereux 72—perhaps the trader who had promised a better deal on pig iron? Or maybe Paxton had slipped the king the name of his new hawker who would meet the deal? I didn’t know exactly what compelled me to go after it. Maybe it was the sly glance the king tossed over his shoulder, his eyes suddenly sharp, a hint that something more pressing was on his mind than bidding on Suri.

  Or maybe it was just seeing him walk beside Paxton. Everything about Jase’s cousin was suspect—and his arrogant warning words, Tread carefully, didn’t help to instill trust.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  Another arena patron fell into step beside me, but this one was welcome.

  “Immensely,” I answered. “It’s been two hours. I’ve toured every floor, eaten at least a dozen oranges, and I’ve had my eye on a very clever and handsome llama.”

  “I have competition?” Jase asked. “Must be that long neck of his.”

  I laughed. “And his soulful eyes. Be worried. What delayed you?”

  “My meetings ran long. So you met the king?”

  I stopped and faced him. “How did you know?”

 
He shrugged deviously. “I told you, I have tricks too.” But then he glanced up at the towers. “Every one of those is manned with my men and each has a spyglass. It helps keep trouble to a minimum.”

  So, they were watching me? How much did they see? But there was no hint of suspicion in Jase’s tone or expression.

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked.

  “Pickpockets, petty thieves. Or sometimes a squabble breaks out and fists are involved.”

  “Then I suppose everyone must feel very safe here.”

  “That’s the goal. When people relax, they spend money. What did you think of the king?” he asked.

  “A buffoon just as you said. And not much of a farmer. His hands look like they’ve never wrestled anything more dangerous than a teacup. Did you know he’d be here?”

  Jase nodded. “Gunner told me he was spotted coming in early this morning. Something about Suri breeding stock this time. It’s always something new. The man doesn’t know how to manage his own farm, much less an entire kingdom.”

  “Maybe he just needs more practice. How long has he been king?”

  “Three or four years. That should be enough time to figure it out.” He explained that Montegue became king at twenty when his father was crushed against a wall by a draft horse. “What about Paxton? What’d he want?” Every time Jase uttered Paxton’s name there was a lethal edge to it.

  “He wanted to be my friend,” I answered. “And to warn me not to get mixed up with certain people. I wonder who he could mean?”

  A vein twitched in Jase’s neck. “If he comes near you again—”

  “Then I will handle him again, pretty boy. Relax.”

  “I’ll handle him, Kazi,” Jase said firmly. “I’ve had my fill of his snide innuendo. Next time, he’ll be swallowing a mouthful of teeth.”

  I wove my fingers into his, feeling his calluses, remembering him swinging axes and digging cellars, and I was grateful for the roughness of his hands. “Enough about Paxton. Show me the rest of your arena.”