The Royal Thief

Chapter Thirty-four: Of Cats and Thieves

Sorry... despite my vow to write longer chapters this is really short. But I had to cut it off where it was or I think it would have been really long.

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I didn't have anything better to do, so we sat down for a lesson in his stuffy room of books, though it was less of a lesson than just asking and answering questions.

"Have there ever been Guardians that ran away?"

"I'm sure there have. Once there was a Pirate who disappeared for eight whole years, though he did come back eventually."

"Why do you think he bothered to come back if he was happy staying away for so long?"

"I have no idea. Why, are you planning on leaving us?"

"Not any time soon," I answered randomly, before realizing it was true. I had always wanted to travel, and I still did want to leave Solangia one day, but for once the confines of the city seemed like enough. It turns out the Capital was bigger than I had thought. Big enough to hold a secret rebellion. Full of enough trouble and messes to last a lifetime. "Did any Thieves ever leave?"

"I can't think of any specifically."

I tugged at the braid in my hair thoughtfully. I hadn't asked Caer many questions about Thieves, which was odd now that I thought about it. "Who was the most important Thief?"

"Important how? Different Guardians are put to different uses. Obviously an Admiral is better suited for a certain job than a Seer would be. There was a Thief who is credited with stealing the entire island kingdom of Ambiron, though all she really did was kidnap the king's mistress to convince him to sign the treaty to join Solangia."

"Really?" I smiled broadly. Stealing an island sounded fun.

"Really. Elia, the Thief of King Emerus."

"Didn't she have a last name?"

He shrugged. "Guardians rarely use them."

That reminded me of something else, something I wondered why I had never asked about. "What do you know about changing their names?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do we get new names when we come to the palace?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "You mean your name isn't Morane."

"It has been for the last ten years."

"I... I've never heard of that tradition." There was confusion scrawled all over his face. "Hold on a moment." He stood up and began shifting books away from one wall until it was clear, then ran his fingers over its face until he found two smooth holes. Fitting his fingers in, he pulled until, with an indignant groan, a section of the wall slid open into a drawer. Carefully, he lifted the single object out and carried it to the table.

It was a book, of course-- I don't know why I'd expected anything else. But it was different from the other books in the room. All of its pages were different sizes, different parchments, some dappled with water stains or torn at the edges, worn soft as velvet or crackly as burnt bread. There was no cover, and the first page was written in something like Solangian but very, very old, with some words spelled strangely and some I didn't recognize at all.

"What is it?" I demanded.

Cear looked at me solemnly. "The closest I have ever come to the Book of Guardians."

"W-what do you mean?" Something in the atmosphere made by heart stutter a little.

He looked down at it, held so carefully between his hands, as though it might turn to dust at any moment. "The Book was lost over five hundred years ago. But every so often there turns up an ancient document, a record or diary or fragment, that mentions it, or quotes from it-- supposedly. There's no way of knowing if any of what these ancient texts say is actually from the book, but everything is gathered here." Slowly, he peeled back the first page, smoothing it along the crease that had been worn in by the decades. "This is copy of a letter found in the ruins of Choraia, relating to the events of the Convention. One line of it says, 'Our Queen, that blessed idiot Isadola'-- You would have liked the writer of this letter, I think-- "That blessed idiot Isadola, should hand the crown to our high lord Santios if she does plan to rule this way: by the might of her soldiers. If we must have a ruler blinded by those Ingrit buffoons, surely one who can see past his nose would serve us better. Cousin, can you believe she does mean to send her army marching on your city? And against the Cycla, no less, when she surely knows they have the Guardians with them. We can only hope the fighting is not bad, for you know what we were taught from the Book all those years ago: The blood of a Guardian is poison to the land, and should it be spilled, all will be cursed.' You remember what happened at the Choraia Convention, don't you? Isadola's Black Knight was killed, and every natural disaster that could happen that year did."

I looked at the book with new-found awe. "This is everything you know was in the Book of Guardians."

"Yes. I will look through it tonight and see if there is anything about giving Guardians new names." He frowned. "It will take a long time to read through it all."

"Mrow!" Shushon commented from the entrance, and we both jumped a little. I'd forgotten about not closing the door. She padded into the room and chose a seat on my lap despite the empty room next to me.

"You know," Caer said with a smile, "The Thieves of Solangia are often compared to cats."

"I'm nothing like a cat."

"No, you're right, I suppose you don't go wherever you want whenever you feel like it, perfectly comfortable in the dark and on high ledges, always landing on your feet when you fall."

"Well," I said, looking down at the yawning cat on my lap. "Well."

"Nine lives, too, from what I hear," Caer said cheerfully. "I have to go meet my father now. Don't die before our next lesson, Kitty."

"If you ever call me that again, we will find out whether or not you have nine lives," I threatened, scooping Shushon up in my arms and sweeping out the door. "I sincerely doubt you do."

Feeling rather smug with my line, I grinned to myself, put Shushon down to walk with me to the main hallway, and was surprised to find Luca leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. "I thought that was you issuing a death threat."

"Well, I'm glad you heard it. It was one of my better ones."

"I'd hate to hear what your best one was."

"If you're lucky, you never will."

He laughed, righting himself with one hand against the wall. "Death threats aside, I just wanted to make sure you weren't planning on going down to the city tonight."

I flinched, flicking a nervous glance down the hall. "Can we talk somewhere else?" He nodded and walked with me to a more secluded terrace overlooking a garden-courtyard. Shushon leaped for the railing and curled up, balanced precariously. Turning to him, I asked, "Why shouldn't I go?"

"The whole lower-city will be swarmed with guards and the provost's men. They're trying to clear out those-- you know. Brimstole closes the house when they're down there. The fights aren't exactly legal."

"Oh." I scowled. It had been a while since I'd spent the night at the match house rather than with the rebels. "I needed the practice."

"Can't you-- oh, right. I suppose Joshua's still keeping you out of the yards."

"Damn bastard," I sighed.

"We could practice together, if you want. I don't like missing a night either."

"I can't step foot in a training yard, even for private training. He made it clear anyone who saw me has to report it."

"What if we went to the nobles' courts? Nobody there would have heard you're not supposed to be training."

I thought of training with the soft-handed nobles with snotty voices and shuddered. "No."

"Well, I'm sure there's some place we can practice. All we need is a big, flat space, right?"

"Yeah... I think I know somewhere."

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