A Book of Spirits and Thieves

His jaw tightened. “Perhaps you’d prefer to be around boys who don’t say silly things like I just did.”


A flash of annoyance lit up her blue eyes. “That’s not even slightly what I meant. You’re just . . . I can’t even explain it. You say what you mean and you mean what you say. You’re kind and generous and thoughtful. You’re brave and strong and sweet, and I . . .” She bit her lip again and studied her hands, which were folded in her lap, before she locked gazes with him. “You make me feel, even though I haven’t known you very long at all, that I could trust you with anything. Anything at all.”

“You can.” His words were hushed, his throat felt thick with unspoken feelings.

All the things she’d just said about him, was that really how she saw him? She made him sound like something special. Something better than he ever thought he could be.

She pushed herself up to standing and studied the grassy ground before she looked up, her blue eyes meeting his again. “While we wait for Barnabas, tell me something about you, about this crazy world you live in.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. What about school? Do you take any classes?”

“Classes . . . I’ve heard of those, I think.” He grinned. The girl had no knowledge about this world whatsoever. “They’re for the children of lords and other nobles who can afford tutors. For a mere peasant like myself . . . well, my mother taught me how to read.”

Her eyes lit up. “You have books here?”

“Of course.”

“Like what kinds?”

“The ones my mother read to me were full of legends and stories of immortal beings and fantastic creatures from faraway lands.”

“Do you remember any of the stories?”

“Some.”

“Tell me about them.”

The subject had seemingly managed to chase her sadness away. He wanted to keep that bright excitement in her eyes as long as possible.

“There’s a tale I liked about a mortal boy who found a magic shell. He made a wish on it to turn his legs into the tail of a fish. He believed this would help him swim to the bottom of the sea in search of his one true love, the sea princess. After much trouble and many tests and trials, the fish-boy succeeded and—”

“They lived happily ever after.”

He nodded.

“That’s my favorite kind of story,” Becca said. “Love stories with happy endings. I haven’t told anyone, but my dream is to be a writer. To write romance novels that make people happy and entertained. My English teacher tells me I have a very creative imagination.”

“So you wish to become a scribe of legends and tales.” What an incredible thought this was to him. To be the one to write such wonderful stories.

“Something like that.” She leaned back against the tree trunk. “Do you remember any other stories?”

The question brought back so many memories of happy times, when his mother would tuck him into bed and read to him late into the night, far longer than she’d planned to, because she’d become so taken with a story that she had to continue so he could see how it ended.

Not all stories ended happily, though. The sad stories always made her cry.

“There’s another tale about a powerful, immortal sorceress who lost her magic and became mortal. She went on a quest to find the source of this magic, and she ended up saving a mortal prince, who’d been cursed into the form of a winged horse. They fall in love, the sorceress’s magic is restored, and they go on to rule the kingdom together for a thousand years as king and queen.”

“I love that. Although, how did the prince live for a thousand years if he was mortal?”

“I don’t know. Maybe her magic made him immortal like her?”

“And when they fell in love, was he in horse form or prince form? How did she break his curse if she didn’t have her magic?”

“Uh . . . I’m not sure I remember that.”

“Sounds like a plot hole to me.” She blinked. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not even a little,” he admitted.

“Still, it sounds like a great story. And the other one, too. Tales of fantasy and magic are the best.”

He nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, Valoria has created laws forbidding such stories. She feels they will deteriorate the intelligence of mortals. She issued an official decree that all books like that are to be burned. And they have been. So many have been destroyed.”

“What?” Becca sputtered with outrage. “That evil bitch!”

When he’d first learned of the ban, he, too, had been furious. He’d made a promise to himself that he would hide every book he found from that day forward, to save it from destruction. It was a small act of rebellion, but it had given him purpose.

That was before Livius took him away from his home.