Elaine Cunningham: Honor Among Thieves

This could not be. The judgment circle had gatheredon Midwinter Night. How could season after season slip awayunnoticed?

And what was wrong with her, that she retained herwinter colors?

“Take the meadow sprite in your hand,” Rhendishsaid.

His voice broke the spell. She dragged her attentionto the small metal cage the servant thrust toward her. Inside atiny winged creature cowered, its blue and yellow wingstrembling.

The silver-grey cloak that could make the spriteappear to be a simple butterfly had been torn away, revealing aslender, winged maiden no taller than a child’s thumbnail.

The elf looked at Rhendish with horror in her eyes.He nodded.

Before she could tell him that she would sooner diethan do this thing, her hand stretched out and unlatched the cagedoor.

Traitorous fingers reached for the sprite.

Tightened.

And came away dusted with blue and gold.

For a long moment she gazed at the tiny, crumpledbody of the fey thing she’d been forced to kill. Cold, murderousrage filled her heart. No words came to her, but she lifted hergaze and let Rhendish read what was there to see.

The adept winced, but held his ground. “We bothneeded to know, beyond question, that you will do what must be doneto further both our causes.

“Come now,” he said when she made no reply. “Iunderstand this is strange to you, but surely your devotion to yourpeople is large enough to house all necessity. We can work togetherfor mutual benefit, perhaps in time become friends. Can we notbegin now? With your name, perhaps?”

Whatever Rhendish’s opinion of magic might be, surelyhe must know that names held power. She dared not yield morecontrol than he’d already taken from her.

To her relief, the strange compulsion that enslavedher hand could not reach into her thoughts or command her tongue.She could defy him in this, if nothing else.

“Honor,” she said, naming the one thing she wasdetermined to retain.

He lifted one wheat-colored brow. “An unusualname.”

“Honoria, if you prefer formality,” she said evenly.Since a clan name was expected, she embroidered the lie with,“Honoria Evenstar.”

The adept bowed. “Delighted to make youracquaintance. I will have servants bring food and water. You willneed your strength for the fox hunt.”

He took the clockwork servant and the meadow sprite’scage with him, leaving the newly named Honor alone with her griefand rage and a thousand clamoring questions.

She knew she should plan for the task ahead andpuzzle out what had been done to her since the night she was stolenfrom the forest. But try as she might, she could not move past asingle troubling thought:

What else did Asteria, her sister and her queen, tellthe humans?

In the city of Sevrin, people saw gatherers toofrequently to pay them much heed. No one spared more than a glanceto the man sauntering through the long shadows of Rhendish Manor.And why should they, when a single glance sufficed to read hisnature and purpose?

He wore a cutlass on his belt and affected the smirkand swagger of a man who knew its use. Pirate gold winked from oneear. A blue-and-white striped bandanna covered his hair. Perhapshis appearance sounded a few discordant notes-his bright greentunic quarreled with the red lining of his cloak-but the overalleffect sang in tune with Sevrin’s expectations.

A less cautious observer might have noted that thegatherer’s fine wool breeches had been cut to a taller man’smeasure. Discerning eyes might have perceived the gatherer’ssun-weathered face was several shades darker than his unglovedhands. Further study might reveal that he was several years youngerthan he strove to appear.

But anyone who might be inclined to take a secondglance had more interesting things to observe.

They would see the slim, dark-eyed girl wearing aservant’s hooded shawl and following at a proper half-pace behindthe Gatherer. They would see the well-filled sack slung over hershoulder and wonder what grim trophies and foreign oddities itmight contain.

They would not see Fox Winterborn, a streetthief who was still two seasons short of his twentieth-firstyear.

Fox had no reason to love the adepts who ruledSevrin. The banishment of magic weighed heavily on him, but itsofficial absence made people less inclined to question what theireyes told them. Fox saw no reason why he should not take advantageof this.

He and his companion turned a corner into a grassysquare organized around a fountain pool, over which presided asmall marble dragon. As they passed the fountain, the apparentmaidservant tossed a small gold coin into the dragon’s openmouth.

Clockwork whirred softly behind empty stone eyes.Clouds of fine mist burst from the statue’s nostrils. The girlstopped and lifted her face to the cooling spray.

Several small children rushed over to dance andshriek in the water while mothers or nurses looked on withindulgent smiles. One of the children, a sharp-eyed ferret of agirl, leaned over the pool’s wall and stretched her hand out toexplore the dragon’s mouth. She snatched her empty hand out of thewater and turned to regard the hooded servant.

The maidservant sent the child a wink as she slippedthe coin back into her pocket.

In response, the child fisted a small, grubby handand held it up to display the bent-nail ring on one finger.

“Cold iron,” she said in a tone full of puppy-growlmenace. “Away, foul sprite!”

Fox caught his companion’s arm and hurried her away.“Vishni, what did I tell you about spending fairy gold?”

The girl lifted one dark eyebrow.“‘ Don’t?’ ”

He let out a huff that mingled amusement withexasperation. “I’m serious. No one pays much attention to a child’sstories, but the less we’re noticed, the better.”

“Not the advice I’d expect from someone who’s tartedup like Captain Pegleg’s parrot.”

“People see the plumage, not the bird.”

The implication of his words struck him like adwarf’s fist and stopped him midstride.

Vishni grinned. “Having visions of fairy wings, arewe? Big, gaudy wings? Maybe a nice bright shade of orange, sincethat’s the only color you don’t seem to be wearing.”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“Why not? By your own reasoning, wings would distractpeople and keep them from looking at my face.”

“A full-scale invasion of flying monkeys would beinsufficient to that purpose,” he said. “Now, for the love of athousand tiny gods, pull up your hood.”

The girl blinked. A small, pleased smile curved herlips as she arranged the folds of her shawl around her face.

They left the square and headed in silence down TwinGate Way, a broad street lined with shops and ending in a pair ofhigh, gated arches. Both gates stood open, and several uniformedguards monitored the flow of traffic into the walled district.

The sprawling complex known as Rhendish Manor crownedSevrin’s tallest hill. The hill itself had come to be calledCrystal Mountain, not because of any mineral deposits it mightcontain, but to reflect the particular obsession of its arcanelord.

Beyond the right-hand gate a long road wound uphillpast the workshops of artisans who crafted bits and pieces for theadept’s creations. A short line of carts and carriages awaitedinspection. Crafters came and went on foot. People bound directlyfor the manor, however, gathered at the left gate to ride the Mule,a wonder of ropes and pulleys and clockwork machinery that liftedpassenger carriages up over the steep rock of the mountain’s northwall.

Fox steered Vishni toward the queue awaiting theMule.She shaded her eyes with one small hand and fixed a doubtfulgaze on the mountain summit and the carriages swaying in the highwind.