Except when Rook arrived, he discovered someone was already there, someone with motives very different from his own.
If you asked me today if there was a single action, one event, that might have changed the course of what followed, I will unfailingly point to this: the day you broke into that Kazivar House and let curiosity bid you stay, when a wiser man would have fled.
But you did not, and so I call this the beginning.
* * *
The young man stifled a curse, balanced himself on the edge of the windowsill, and scanned the bedroom in the faint light. There was no sound save that of screaming coming from inside the house. After a pause, Rook remembered to breathe. He dismissed the tingling in his fingertips as fear and finished sliding through the narrow opening of the villa’s upper window.
As he entered, he tucked the key ring of strips back into his belt. Most of the strips were made from wood—bamboo, mahogany, cypress, even distant, exotic woods like pine and oak—but a few rectangles were also crafted from glass and ceramic tile made from local clay. Using those strips as a guide revealed if a house was enchanted, if someone had spent metal to hire Watchmen to spell windows and doors against intrusion. Keys like him practiced no magic of their own, but they could see beyond the First Veil and divine if a door, a lock, or a chest was more than it seemed. For a thief, such knowledge was the difference between success and an ugly, short end to a criminal career.
The window frame was carved teak, the panes made of cloudy glass. Perfectly normal. No traps, no enchantments.
The screaming though. The screaming from inside was not normal.
Someone inside was in pain, such that even a Key-thief like Rook had never known in all his fifteen street-smart years.
The young thief closed the window behind him and let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light. He wondered who was being abused. Was the current resident (that merchant what-was-his-name?) the one being beaten? Or was he the one handing out the awful punishment, his trip north to Kazivar nothing but a convenient alibi for satisfying a fetish for torture or worse?
The bedroom Rook entered was large and daunting, filled with the ostentatious filigree and tile work for which imperial craftsmen were famous. Cotton sateen covered the massive bed, tapestries lined the walls and divans, and elegant figurines of heavy bronze and jade sported across the boudoir countertops.
The north wall was open and a giant balcony overlooked the covered courtyard in the center of the villa. The screams came from the courtyard garden, on the ground floor.
Rook relaxed as he realized he couldn’t be seen from below. This was important, because tonight anyone but his blind father would be able to see: all three moons were out, adding their glow to the violet, red, and shifting green aurora of Tya’s Veil. It was a sorcerer’s night. A night for working magics or sneaking past them, because Tya’s Veil appearing in the night sky meant it was easier to “see” past the First Veil into her realm.*
The bedchamber had been used recently. Perfume lingered in the air and on sheets tossed back and rumpled. Discarded clothing spoke to an assignation gone very wrong.
None of his business.
His expert eyes sought out the money and jewels tossed on a bedside table. He placed each item into his belt pouch while he listened.
There were voices.
“It’s so simple. Just tell us where the Stone of Shackles is and your pain will end,” a velvet-smooth male voice said.
Sobs filled the gaps between speech. “I … oh goddess!… I told you … I don’t KNOW where it is!”
Rook wondered if it was a woman’s voice. His eyes narrowed. If they were beating a woman … he stopped himself. So what if they were beating a woman? he thought. He told himself not to be a fool.
“The stone was last seen with the Queen Khaeriel, upon her death. It was never recovered.” A different voice spoke: a colder voice. “Her serving girl ran off with it, but it’s no longer in her possession. Did she smuggle the stone back to the new king?”
King? Rook thought. Queen? Quur had princes and princesses in plenty, but no king, no queen. Quur was the greatest, largest, mightiest empire that had ever existed, that would ever exist. Quur had an Emperor—immortal and powerful as a god. He suffered no “kings.”
“I don’t know! No one’s seen Miyathreall in years. If she’s still alive, how would I know where she is?”
Rook changed his mind: the victim was male but his voice was high-pitched. The thief almost dared to steal a glance, but forced himself back. It would be insanity to intervene. Who knew who those men were? They didn’t sound like folk to be trifled with.
“Do you take us for fools? We know who you work for.” The first voice growled, heavy with anger. “We offered you money and power beyond your wildest dreams. You refused our generosity, but you’ll tell us everything. We have all night…”
Rook heard an odd gurgling noise before the screaming resumed. A shudder passed over him, then he shook his head and continued his work. It wasn’t any of his business. He wasn’t there for charity.
He continued looking beyond the First Veil. It muddied his normal vision with rainbows and bright scintillating lights, as if he’d pulled the aurora down from the sky. He had no talent for reaching past that barrier and forcing change, as wizards did, but looking was often enough.
Seeing past the First Veil allowed him to distinguish materials from each other with great accuracy, even in the dark. Gold had a particular aura; silver, a different one; diamond, yet a different aura still. Gemstones shone as if reflecting a light even when in darkness. A Key could walk into a dark room and unerringly find the single gold coin hidden under a pillow, every time, which was the other reason mundane thieves so coveted their skills. There was nothing to keep him from tripping over a rug and breaking his neck, but that was remedied by watching his step.
Rook’s eyes picked out the rainbow glimmer of mineral wealth from a dark corner of the room. A few treasures had been tossed and forgotten in a corner: a drussian dagger, a pouch of herbs, an intaglio-carved ruby ring.
Rook also found a large rough green stone on a silver chain. Something like silver wire wrapped around the unfinished green gem, but his sight told him the metal was not silver and the stone was not emerald. The thief stared at the green stone in surprise, and then looked over his shoulder to where he imagined the three men were having their “talk.” He left the herbs, but snatched up the necklace and ring before tucking the dagger under his belt.