else."
Leyja scanned rooftops, doorways, windows, looking for any sign of a response, but they remained empty and silent. “Adara!” she shouted. “Leyja.” She pointed at herself. “Ask for Leyja."
She waited another long moment, but finally had to give up. Now she looked around her for some indication of the way back to her ilian. A faint tug at her magic came from—mostly west, but a little north. Kallista was showing her the way home. Leyja found a street leading west and followed it.
* * * *
Inside the well, far enough below the level of the street to be hidden in shadow, a niche had been painstakingly dug out of the well's side and lined with stones pried up from the paving. The niche had been enlarged over the years, made taller, wider, deeper, but still the thief barely fit inside it. He had grown as his hole had.
He held his breath, or rather breathed as quietly and smoothly as he could. After that chase, running across most of Mestada, not to mention all the climbing, jumping and ducking, it was breathe or die. Though if the choice was between not breathing, fainting from lack of air and falling to the water some fifty paces below to drown, or being dragged out of the well by his hair and skewered by that warrior queen...?
He rather thought he'd prefer the skewering, if it came from such a magnificent specimen of female. Not that he lacked female companionship when he wanted it. When he could pay for it. But the females of his general acquaintance tended to be soft and somewhat squishy, women who wheedled, who used tears and seduction to get what they wanted instead of chasing him halfway across Mestada, then offering straightforward bargain.
It wasn't the bargain that intrigued him. It was quite literally the words that Leyja the warrior queen had shouted. Words in a language he hadn't heard in fifteen years, a language that reminded him of who he'd been. Who he truly was.
Padrey. That had been his name once. Before.
He was a thief now, one whose head would be parted from his body if he was caught. He was a very good thief, which was why his head was still attached at the ripe old age of twenty-six or thereabouts. But once, he might have become something else.
Padrey reached inside his shirt and pulled out the gaudy trinket he'd stolen, carefully, lest he drop it in the water just past his left elbow. The well was low this time of year, but still deeper than he cared to dive through after the thing. The chain weighed more than he'd expected. Could it truly be gold? Could the stone be more than glass?
He'd stolen it on a whim, just to prove he could. The vast caravan with its huge guard escort had been too tempting to ignore. But a stone this size—he'd seen the glint of red before he'd hidden it in his shirt. He didn't dare hold it out in the well's drop to try to catch a ray of sun. No sunlight reached inside the well this time of day anyway, and there was a chance someone might see the jewel. In fact, if he did not exit his hidey-hole soon, he would have to stay till full dark, after everyone had drawn their water for the evening.
Padrey tucked the necklace inside the box he kept in his hiding place. The box had been his reason for digging out this niche, back in the beginning, a place to hide the coins he saved to purchase his freedom—before he understood that he would never be allowed to do such a thing, that any time he neared the amount, the price would go up. And so he had freed himself from his slavery, after a fashion.
A thief's life was only marginally better than a slave's in terms of food, shelter, or housing, but one advantage it did have. It was his own.
Padrey closed the lid on his new treasure. If the necklace was indeed gold, and the stone a garnet or even—wonder of wonders—a ruby, the warrior woman was right. No one he knew would give him full value. But before he presented himself at the Adaran embassy, hand out to trade, he wanted to know more about these people. Who
Leyja scanned rooftops, doorways, windows, looking for any sign of a response, but they remained empty and silent. “Adara!” she shouted. “Leyja.” She pointed at herself. “Ask for Leyja."
She waited another long moment, but finally had to give up. Now she looked around her for some indication of the way back to her ilian. A faint tug at her magic came from—mostly west, but a little north. Kallista was showing her the way home. Leyja found a street leading west and followed it.
* * * *
Inside the well, far enough below the level of the street to be hidden in shadow, a niche had been painstakingly dug out of the well's side and lined with stones pried up from the paving. The niche had been enlarged over the years, made taller, wider, deeper, but still the thief barely fit inside it. He had grown as his hole had.
He held his breath, or rather breathed as quietly and smoothly as he could. After that chase, running across most of Mestada, not to mention all the climbing, jumping and ducking, it was breathe or die. Though if the choice was between not breathing, fainting from lack of air and falling to the water some fifty paces below to drown, or being dragged out of the well by his hair and skewered by that warrior queen...?
He rather thought he'd prefer the skewering, if it came from such a magnificent specimen of female. Not that he lacked female companionship when he wanted it. When he could pay for it. But the females of his general acquaintance tended to be soft and somewhat squishy, women who wheedled, who used tears and seduction to get what they wanted instead of chasing him halfway across Mestada, then offering straightforward bargain.
It wasn't the bargain that intrigued him. It was quite literally the words that Leyja the warrior queen had shouted. Words in a language he hadn't heard in fifteen years, a language that reminded him of who he'd been. Who he truly was.
Padrey. That had been his name once. Before.
He was a thief now, one whose head would be parted from his body if he was caught. He was a very good thief, which was why his head was still attached at the ripe old age of twenty-six or thereabouts. But once, he might have become something else.
Padrey reached inside his shirt and pulled out the gaudy trinket he'd stolen, carefully, lest he drop it in the water just past his left elbow. The well was low this time of year, but still deeper than he cared to dive through after the thing. The chain weighed more than he'd expected. Could it truly be gold? Could the stone be more than glass?
He'd stolen it on a whim, just to prove he could. The vast caravan with its huge guard escort had been too tempting to ignore. But a stone this size—he'd seen the glint of red before he'd hidden it in his shirt. He didn't dare hold it out in the well's drop to try to catch a ray of sun. No sunlight reached inside the well this time of day anyway, and there was a chance someone might see the jewel. In fact, if he did not exit his hidey-hole soon, he would have to stay till full dark, after everyone had drawn their water for the evening.
Padrey tucked the necklace inside the box he kept in his hiding place. The box had been his reason for digging out this niche, back in the beginning, a place to hide the coins he saved to purchase his freedom—before he understood that he would never be allowed to do such a thing, that any time he neared the amount, the price would go up. And so he had freed himself from his slavery, after a fashion.
A thief's life was only marginally better than a slave's in terms of food, shelter, or housing, but one advantage it did have. It was his own.
Padrey closed the lid on his new treasure. If the necklace was indeed gold, and the stone a garnet or even—wonder of wonders—a ruby, the warrior woman was right. No one he knew would give him full value. But before he presented himself at the Adaran embassy, hand out to trade, he wanted to know more about these people. Who
Similar Books
