Page 2 of The Sorcerer's Thief
Calf-high leather boots, rather big, a navy doublet with silver brocade, breeches to match, and a smart vest are all strewn haphazardly in the antechamber. A man’s room, then. Not the new queen’s.
All the better, since I’ve heard good things about her and not-so-good things about her spoiled brothers. I don’t intend to wake the occupant, if there is one, but if I did, I’d rather wake a slumbering man than an unsuspecting young lady anyway.
Fancy silks in tones of dark brown and rich copper hang draped over a large four-poster bed. Gold bed curtains are tied back with thick leather cording, revealing an empty mattress.
Ah, I’m alone. Very good.
With the windows shuttered closed, the stagnant air smells of sweat—and cologne to disguise the sweat. Tacky art in even tackier gilded frames hangs on the walls. Idyllic landscapes mostly. Scenic vistas of rolling hills, neat little forests, andgrassy riverbanks. Whoever lives in these rooms probably enjoys admiring what they believe they own.
But the landshouldbelong to all of us equally.
Under my feet, a thick, lush carpet pads each step. Even the rugs boast of wealth.
Well, I shall relieve this occupant of something, but what do I want?
I rifle through a chest of drawers, finding underclothes, socks, and a questionable half-empty vial of oil. Ew. Not that drawer, then.
Glancing over the trinkets on display, I veto each. A golden statue of a horse? Too heavy. Silver candlesticks? Too boring. Ivory comb? Too cruel.
Onto a wooden box with crossed daggers carved along the top. Inside is a stack of letters tied with a delicate red ribbon. No, too private. And probably not juicy enough to be worth the time to read them.
I pluck out a black velvet box no larger than my palm. Ah, but what’s in this? Energy sings from within, zinging through my questing fingers and straight up my arm to my nape. I shiver and open the lid.
Magic so strong the power rattles around in my bones.
I’m tempted to drop the thing. Tempted to pretend I never saw it. Tempted to run from this palace and all its stupid rich inhabitants and never come back.
But more than that, far more than that, I’m tempted to keep this treasure for myself.
A coin.
A shining gold coin with a dragon in flight emblazoned in its face, so real it’s as though he could glide right out of the polished metal and into the sky.
The flip side is a raven, perhaps even more detailed than the dragon and just as lovely. I run my fingers over the beveled edges and lick my lips.
But what does the coin’s magic do?
The weight of it in my palm is pleasant. Solid. It feels at home in my hand like it has belonged to me all my life, even though I’ve just discovered its brilliance.
You’re coming with Daddy, my sweet.
I put the empty velvet box back into the fancy wooden chest, close the lid, and slip the coin into my vest’s hidden pocket, where it immediately warms my entire chest. Startled, I gasp.
What in the blue-spotted nillyslug’s shell is this thing?
Whatever the answer, I’ll have to get out of the palace undetected before investigating further.
I peek into the hallway. The guards aren’t looking in my direction, so I close the door behind me with a quiet click.
Surely, sneaking out in the same fashion as I snuck in is the safest choice. Slinking through shadows, covering my tracks, being oh-so careful not to be seen. I could do that, of course. It would be easy.
Or…
I let out a loud whoop of unbridled joy and take off, barreling straight between the flustered guards and sprinting like a lusty stallion to his preening filly.
After an embarrassing moment of confusion—for them, not me, obviously—they chase after me.
“Hey!”
