Page 44 of A City of Flames

I started to believe I was just as bad as the Golden Thief, breaking into stores. Even so, I took comfort in the idea it was to catch him. But rigging the place and setting down a jade crystal amid it all, had done nothing to coax him to enter.

Every day, I waited for hours, placing the crystal near windows, hoping just as the moon bared its light, it would attract the Golden Thief.

But no, the Golden Thief never appeared, and I continued because I knew sooner or later, he’d have to come.

Leaning against the wall in the store’s backroom, I position a steel quarrel on the stock of my crossbow. I hold it up by my shoulder, keeping all my senses open, and just soon enough, boots thudding against wooden floors cause me to swing in the other direction.

It’s him. It has to be him.

I’d unlatched the roof windows, anticipating he might come through there.

Keeping quiet, those same footsteps sound until they stop, replaced by the sharp noises of necklaces and beads clanging together.

I creep past the curtained doorway, and for the second time, I’m facing straight at the Golden Thief.

Same black jacket, same mask and the raven hair that’s short yet cascades over where his brows are hidden beneath.

A week I’ve waited, but a week worth waiting.

The Golden Thief looks me over with the same mischievous glimmer that never goes unnoticed as he stands behind the counter holding the crystal I’d laid out atop a box of treasures. Other jewels and gold beam under the silver light of the moon.

“Drop it,” I order, aiming the crossbow at him as I step into the central part of the jewelers.

“I’m guessing the term until never doesn’t seem familiar to you,” he says, raising his gloved palms before me and dropping the jade crystal into the wooded box. “Ready for round two?” He goes on, grinning as his head motions to my crossbow. “At least I see you’ve taken my advice with those blades you had last time.”

My fingers settle on the trigger. “There won’t be a round two because I have already won.” Solaris, I despise how at ease he acts. Needing a form of reaction, I fake a smile and continue, “I’ve set up traps so that if you step on a particular flooring board, you’ll activate it, try and guess which ones they are.”

Like a puzzle I’d set out the traps and when he’d step on them, from one corner, an arrow would shoot outward, aiming towards his head. Another at his abdomen.

He whistles. “It sounds like someone hates losing.”

“I don’t hate losing,” I grit out, albeit it’s a dreadful lie.

His head cocks to the side, and I figure he knows I am lying too. “Well, now that you have me here, what is it you want, venator?” His voice an alluring tease. “To send me to the dungeons? The stocks so everyone can throw tomatoes at me? Or better yet, witness the queen sentence me to a beheading?”

“Quite frankly, I’d love all of those, but... I want answers.” And your blood.

“Answers?” His voice lilts with curiosity. “You’re here to question me?”

I nod, never once letting my fingers off the trigger.

“Alright.” His side lip perks up. “Since there’s not much I can do, what is it you seek to know?”

I shift, wanting to frown at how easily he’s giving in, but then I’m reminded how there are so many things I’d ask, I’m not sure where to begin. I want to know why he can’t fly when shifted or why he’s immune to steel powder. All signs point to him having nothing to do with the new breed, and I believe so, which is why the question to leave my lips instead is— “What do you know of the Rivernorths?”

Something slips past the Golden Thief’s gaze; be it shock or anger, it’s hard to differentiate. “What a peculiar question to ask, venator.” He’s back to smiling. “I’m assuming you must think I was there.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you. For all I know, you could be over five hundred years old.”

“Five hundred is such a grand number. Imagine how much I could have stolen if so.” His eyes widen in humor.

My impatience burns through my hands. “Just answer the question.”

“Why don’t you guess my age instead? Make it a fun little game.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’ll guess yours first then.” He crosses his arms, humming. “Eighteen? Nineteen?”

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