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Her green eyes remind me of summer dusk just before a storm, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman’s figure so perfectly accentuated by dark, slim pants— a light colored shirt thickly belted at her waist. The room is quiet as I look up, her questioning eyes fixed on me.
“Marg, who is this?” the brown-haired girl— or woman— says pointing in my direction with a jut of her chin. Did she just call her Marg? Lady Margaret, sister of the king, reduced to the simplistic tag ofMarg. My eyes widen, waiting for the trenchant response from this stern high lady. But nothing comes.
“She was just leaving.” My Aunt gives me a nudge toward the door. “I will be up in a bit, Lena.”
“But—” I try and resist before the door closes in my face. I stand there a moment longer trying to make sense of what just happened.
Perhaps more goes on in this palace than any of us truly know.
4
The Thief
Everyonehasatell.When they lie, I know it.
Could be lack of eye contact. Moving too much or fidgeting. A tilting of the face. A fluttering of the eyes.
“Who was that?” I ask Marg, a short silence following my question.
“One of my lady’s maids. No one of importance.”
For Lady Margaret of House Chattan, it’s the most minuscule pause before she speaks the falsehood. She always commands authority in her words, having an answer for everything. That brief pause before she spoke, the split-second war with herself to come up with an answer, is all I need.
The girl isn’t her lady’s maid. I’m not sure why she doesn’t want to tell me the truth, but I’m used to only hearing what I need to know. I can’t imagine a random girl having much importance in my future, so I let it go.
“Alright then,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “You have something for me today?”
Marg wastes no time. “Yes. Have you seen this man before?” She holds up a drawing of an older, somewhat haggard gentleman in what I decide is a black velvet jacket, his eyes and hair similarly dark. Recognition slams into me, a snarl rising up my throat. Sir Reynauld. The sound of the reverberating slap and smell of his rancid breath on my face takes the stage once again as I relive those moments from earlier this afternoon.
Of course I’ve seen him many times before today and have wished for the time he’d show up on Marg’s list. I am her eyes and ears within the capital of Turin, following the whispers of the people and investigating anything that feels questionable— anything that makes the hum in my chest stir.
Sometimes Marg gives me something to fish around for, other times I use my instincts to take me where I need to be. And I’ve been drawn to Reynauld many times over.
She can see the flicker of familiarity on my face as I stare at his picture. “Good,” Marg replies before I even have the chance to speak.
I look up from the drawing to meet her gaze. “If the job is to end this guy, I’ll have it done before morning,” I say flatly, trying to hide my pernicious excitement. I’ve already proven I can get a leg up on Reynauld, the ghost of his purse weighing down my pocket. But I keep today’s success to myself.
Paid thugs and petty thieves do most of his dirty work. His crimes can’t be overtly traced back to him, keeping him clean and untouchable. Until now it seems.
“Oh, no. No, no. There will be none of that. Good gracious. He’s a cousin of Lady Davenport,” she states, as if I know who that is. Marg looks a little annoyed as she continues. “With relations completely cut with Thenstra, we get almost all of our ore, coal, and precious stones from the Kotar Mountains. Killing off a beloved cousin of Lady Davenport wouldn’t be in the best interest of Felshan,” she says.
Damn Lady Davenport and her precious commodities.
“I mean, as satisfying as that would be for pretty much everyone in this country,” Marg continues, her eyes open but focused somewhere else. She nods her head, probably imagining the good that would come from killing such a man. “We can’t hurt him. Not yet anyway. I need more proof of what he’s doing.” She rubs the back of her exposed neck, her hair weaved perfectly together high upon her head, before bringing her hands together in front of her.
“I’ve been following him for some time, and the reports of his unscrupulous nature could fill the thickest book in the library. Things he, or his lap dogs, have done, but nothing concrete. Mostly rumors. And upon questioning, nobody ever pins it back on him. They claim they acted alone or were paid from some mysterious stranger. Desperate people taking desperate jobs to survive. I need something that sticks to him.Directly.”
I know even before she stops speaking that this will be the easiest job on my conscience, and one I will take great delight in carrying out. Whatever Marg says to do, I do. But not because I only have half a brain and don’t know how to think for myself. Not even because she pulled me from the streets after my mother died, saving me from the hell that awaits most destitute children alone with nowhere to go. It’s not like my mother and I weren’t already suffering before Marg. One day the sun stopped shining and winter came to everyone in Turin.
I say yes because I want these people, the ones who closed their doors to us, to know the pain of an empty stomach. To never quite be warm enough. To know what it’s like watching everyone and everything you love get dragged away— all because you simply wanted to live.
“I will give you food, a warm bed, and place to stay. I will teach you everything I know,” Marg told me. “You will become the hand of justice this country needs. And in return, you will work for me until your debt is paid. You will give me your life, and with that, you will save the lives of the people of Turin, maybe even all of Felshan.”
Marg also gave me Prue, the most beautiful horse I’d ever seen, which made myyesalmost imminent. Except for one thing.
“Will I have to work with the Guard?” I asked.
“The Guard?” she questioned, confused. “No, I can’t say that you will.” She looked at me like she wanted more, but I gave her no other context. That information was for me alone.
