Code of Thieves, Elaine Brown [if you liked this book .txt] 📗

Chapter I: At First Glance

My first memory is of stars. Though most people might say that the first thing that they remember is the sound of their mother's voice, what I best remember is the night time sky. The constellations read as stories to me; they were the representations of my deepest desires as I wished upon each one. Each star, one individual wish, most of which I could not even understand. It was a simple wish for most, but being as young as I was I did not truly comprehend the power of wistful thinking. My wishing brought no harm as far as my narrow mind could see; how naive children are. But surely no consequence could come of wishing? Of course, no consequence

did

come of wishing at first. Not until I was well into my fifteenth year did any sort of consequence come of wishing. What most people do not remember is that consequences are not necessarily bad. Consequence is merely the result of action.
Nonetheless, my first memory is not of my mother. None of my memories are of my mother, if I were being honest. Not directly, at least. When I was born, my mother was extremely ill. The delivery was too much for her decrepit body and she passed before I had so much as taken my first breath. Father was distraught – he refused to even look at me during my first few days of life – and it is a wonder that I myself survived. I was a weak child, having taken on the aftershock of my mother's illness, and it was thought that I certainly would join my mother after a few hours time. But the gods smiled down on me that day; I slept through my first day and miraculously a wet-nurse was found. I am told that as a babe I hardly ever cried. I am told even more frequently that as a child I was silent, that even the treading of my feet made no sound. But of course, my childhood is of no interest; besides the fact that I grew up without a Mother and barely a Father, my existence was rather dull. Mine was a lonely existence. Being heir to the Duke of Aviena, let alone being an “inferior female”, is tedious and tiring. The only person in the world that I might call friend was Reg. Reg was appointed by my father to be my “caretaker” when I was eight; Reg was only thirteen, barely five years my elder. He was meant to guard me and make sure that I acted as a proper young lady should, but I could tell Father had a soft spot for him; he looked at Reg with a kind of respectful love that he had never shown me. All the emotion my father ever showed me was little more than bittersweet attachment. He saw too much of my mother in me; or perhaps he saw too little of himself.
Besides the lack of my father's attentions – he was most often attending to affairs of politics concerning Aviena – I was set apart from others as “too precious to be approached”. Even though I had often walked the streets of Aviena with Reg by my side, even though I longed to join in the games of the peasant children, I was raised too proud for my own good. Though I felt no inferiority from others, my tutors had attempted to establish very early on a sense of superiority in me. I was to be a perfectly mannered, perfectly spoken young lady who would one day inherit the title of Duchess, and I was not to partake in the silly trivialities of underprivileged youths. “You live a life of privilege,” one tutor or another would tell me, “and you mustn't forget yourself for even a moment. Be grateful for the status that has been given you by your birthright and do not go squandering it!”
However, I could never find myself in any state of mind but wishing I had not been born to privilege. The tight guard that was set about me, the stifling presence of locked doors and stone walls, the loneliness of being an intimidation to others; it was all too much for me to bear. My first and only companions were the stars, and I often found myself pouring the contents of my heart out to them in an immoderate act of wishing. Wishing for a different life, wishing for a loving mother or perhaps an attentive father; always wishing. Little did I know that my fifteenth year would bring about more change than even my wistful mind could withstand. Because, of course, no one realizes the consequence of wishing.
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“But Miss, it is my duty to keep you in check; I really cannot allow such foolish wanderings at night.”
I sighed; “Really, Reg, you are required to do no such thing as my caretaker. I truly hate to say this, but as the Duke's only heir and daughter, I outrank you; now move aside.”
Reg fumed at this, insulted by my careless brushing aside of our years of companionship. “'Move aside' she says! 'Move aside!' Iris, you wretched brat, return to your quarters at once before your father wakes at the sound of your nonsensical racket!”
“The only racket here is you. If you do not get thyself gone, my hand will be forced and something quite unpleasant will befall you.”
His eyes narrowed and his furious glare scathed my skin. “And what is so important this late in the night, I pray you at least give me that.”
My built up excitement was too much to bear, and without thinking I burst out the truth. Barely staying in one place, bobbing on the balls of my feet, I clasped my hands in front of me as if to pay respects to the gods. “A dream. Oh, Reg, the King of Thieves stole into my chambers by cover of night, came to me as I slept! He spoke of wonderful things: a life without the restrictions of privilege, no one would be afraid of my rank, free to roam the land as I like! Guidgen came to me, and he told me–”
“A dream is not enough to decide your fate.”
“But Reg, he–”
“Was nothing more than a figment of your fancy; you want freedom – gods only know why you would nothing from everything – and your wistfulness brought it to you in your dreams. Go back to bed, this can do nothing but harm for your state of–”
With a proud glare, I cut him off, “I am certain it was no figment, Reg, otherwise it would have flown from my memory with the stirring of my consciousness. Leave me, O wise and lecturing fool, for you insult the god of thieves for every second that you delay me.”
Eyes so narrow that they were barely even slits, he growled, “As you command, belittling wanton, but you shall find no comfort in me when you return to the displeasure of your father.” And with this he spun on his heel, stalking down the hall with heavy footfalls that made me wince with each echoing resonance of the marble floor.
But it made no matter to me, my silent feet padding across the cool stone and drawing me nearer my destination. Though Reg was angry and did not believe me, I was not to be discouraged; I had the blessing of Guidgen. I had not told Reg lies; the King of Thieves had indeed visited me, brought me news of a life outside these suffocating walls. His dark skin had seemed to glow with the light of stars, his voice, soft and calm, carried on a warm summer breeze...
But I am forgetting myself; if anyone is to understand how my life began to change, I must begin my tale a bit earlier in time. There are many more works at play than just my visit with the gods, though this visit pushed all other thoughts from my mind. In all honesty, the “quest” given me by Guidgen was the least of my worries that week. Allow me to wind the hands of the clock back, dearest Father Time, to that morning seven days passed, that time where the wheels of a greater purpose began in their turning.

Alaunus sent the rays of his precious star, the sun, through my open window with a strange sort of power this day. Almost an urgency; but I am too bold, to believe the gods had any interest in my pathetic little life. My stormy blue eyes, blurred with sleep and sunlight, cracked open to the morning light. Faint – but sharp – discomfort made its way from my shrunken pupils to the back of my mind. The light seemed to fill my being, seemed to rouse my spirit from its heavenly dreams, erasing their memory almost completely. I abandoned my warm bed, ignored the white linens as they fell from their place about the soft mattress; my attention was held by the clear blue of the morning sky.
A sharp rapping on my great oak door broke me away from my captivated state. With quick, panicking flourishes, I seized my dressing robe from the bedpost and tied it about me as the door creaked against the marble floor. A foot booted with hard, thick leather was the first image that presented itself to my eyes as the man entered my room. Ogma, the mastermind of my tutors, cleared the doorway and made way for a servant girl to bring my morning meal. When she had been harshly dispelled, cowering in Ogma's great shadowing mass, he turned his brooding gaze to me. “I will assume, by the shining of your eyes, that you have rested well; if you have not, allow me the pleasure of ignorance. For if you have not rested well, this day will be a trial to us all.”
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes and seem unladylike took a fair measure of determination; he had always been one to speak in riddles. Clearing my sleep thickened throat, I voiced a much safer thought, “Dear guide to wisdom, who gives me knowledge where otherwise I would be blind and ignorant, what brings thee here this morn?”
Ogma's lips quirked up at the corners and his proud chin rose a fraction of an inch. “You flatter me with compliments, dear child, no matter how true they may be. Desist, I came here not to be glorified with my accomplishments but bearing news.”
Subconsciously I felt my head tilt slightly to the side, though I realized that it was not a very proper gesture for “higher class” creatures like myself. “What news could you possibly bring this early on in the morning?”
With an incredulous snort, Ogma raised an eyebrow in my direction and continued; “It be not as early as you think, for you have slept through nearly half of the day. The church bells have tolled and told it to be an hour until noon. But that has no matter; my news should intrigue and brighten your thoughts.”
Words of frustration at his refusal to make himself clear had barely formed on my lips when the door flew open once more. A loud crack of wood on stone brought with it the entrance of Brighid, dragging along the servant girl. Head clearer than when I had first awakened, I recognized her as Airmid, one of the best servants of the household. She often waited on me during meals and parties.
“Filth!” Brighid spat at her, disgust written clearly across her