The Royal Thief

Chapter Forty-four: Ulterior Motives part 1

Henceforth and forever onward Jason of Laycreek will be called Luca of Laycreek, to spare anymore confusion between him and Jaden. Please bear with me as I fix previous chapters and attempt in vain to stop refering to him as Jason (Comments pointing out my inevitable mistakes will be very appreciated!). 

Also notice this chapter is 'Ulterior Motives' part ONE. Hopefully part two will coming on Wednesday!

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I wasn't worried. I knew no one would start a war based on what one ambassador thought of a teenage girl. Still, I wondered if it was something to tell Joshua or Tobias. Caer had made it sound important, possibly even dangerous. But if they knew I had been invited anywhere with the ambassador, they'd say I couldn't go. And I wanted to hear what Iso was going to say-- I wanted to decide for myself if he was a spy, or just a scholar with an interest with Guardians. He hadn't, as far as I knew, been anywhere near Nemia. Wouldn't a spy have tried to get in touch with both Guardians? Unless it was impossible... Nemia spent nearly all her time training. If she rarely had time for us, it would surely be hard for the ambassador to manage a conversation of any length with my shy friend. 

I pushed the jumble of questions out of my head. They would all be answered soon. Right now, Cara was doing her best with what I had for jewelry.

"I don't get it, Morie, what on earth is the point of stealing things if you don't wear them? I know you've got plenty of things but you say this is all you have--"

I pushed her hand-- jangling a few bracelets and one necklace-- out of my face. "I don't need them. These are fine."

She tossed them on my bed and eyed them skeptically. One bracelet was clearly too small for my wrist: it had been a present from Sam the first year I was at the castle, before he figured out what exactly one gets a Thief for her birthday. Another had been a present from Cara, who didn't care for Sam's ideas of what a Thief wanted for her birthday, and the third had been my mother's. I never wore it, and Cara knew better than to suggest it. She picked up her own bracelet instead. "You have to wear something nice to meet an ambassador."

"I never said I wasn't going to." Though of course before Cara insisted on helping me get ready, I wasn't. "I think your dress is a little short on me." I was a good four inches taller than her, so I don't know why either of us were surprised when this happened each time.

She tossed a pair of leggings at me. "This wouldn't happen if you'd taken my advice to stop growing when you were fifteen."

Too busy snickering at that, I didn't hear her getting the box down until I had turned around again. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Getting you something nice to wear."

"I'm wearing your bracelet!"

"But no necklace? What about earrings? What about your hair? Oh, come on--" she exclaimed as I pulled the box away. "Really, Morie, what's your problem with it?"

The problem with everything inside the box was that I didn't want to see anything inside of it. It wasn't full of jewelry and little noble trinkets-- well, it was, but it was different. It was full of insults. Stolen insults. Every cutting whisper as I passed a group of high-born ladies, every glare cast over a shoulder as I walked by, every rude remark muttered a little too loudly, was accounted for. It was amazing that Tobias had never commanded me to give up the box. Surely everyone in the castle knew it existed. It was hard to ignore a nice piece of jewelry or small purse of money going missing every time you insulted the Thief within her earshot.

The truth was, I hated the box. Because even though it was full of little acts of revenge, or getting even with people who deserved every lost gold piece of it, it was complete and unavoidable proof that those things they said hurt. Of course I pretended they didn't. It was easy. Most of the time it was true. But each time I opened the box to drop in another hair clip or ring or small, gilt-edged fan, I couldn't help but see the gleam of a hundred others staring up at me.