The Lost Princess: The Corellion Legacy, #1

By Amy Keeley

In a land once ruled by powerful families, Maple, a thief, wants nothing more than to escape the thieves' guild that holds her captive. When she picks the wrong pocket and ends up with a blade to her throat, freedom appears in the form of Doriel, a mysterious elf who claims to have sworn an oath to serve the family she came from, a family with a terrible, evil legacy. Will she have the strength, determination, and faith to overcome it? Or will the darkness eventually claim her as well?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Keeley
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386501688

Book preview

Chapter One

The Beginning of Remembering

Maple kept her footsteps soft as she followed the swaggering merchant toward the pleasure district of Refuge. A fat priest of the High God talked with one of the more wealthy wives of the city’s merchants, both of them wearing clothes more light, airy, and suitable for late-summer than Maple’s elven cloak and both of them moved so that they were in her way. Not that they knew it. She hoped. If the man who had sold her the cloak was right, no one would be able to see her, as long as she kept the hood up.

But the streets of Refuge were narrow as well as dusty. Her lithe frame, at sixteen years, had a few more curves than when she was younger. Handlee, master of the thieves’ guild that owned her, had also noticed, so he’d given her a deadline and today was it. The merchants were turning in, the crowds were going to their various places for the evening, and the streets were mostly empty. This was her last chance.

She gathered the cloak around her and somehow managed to ease her way between the priest and the mud brick apartments behind him.

The priest murmured flirtatious pleasantries that Maple heard as a vague hum. Her sights were still on the merchant, who had just turned into the street that would lead to the best known and most expensive brothel in Refuge.

She had to get to him before he spent his money there. Anyone heading that way, dressed like he was in robes of purple and red with embroidered birds on the cuffs and hem, had to have some money on him. Losing him this late in the day, she would never have the chance to buy back her freedom.

The fat priest leaned toward the wealthy wife and Maple finished squeezing through. Quickly leaving them behind, she clutched the cloak tightly around her, hoping the magic worked.

No risk. That’s what she’d thought when she’d bought it. She’d more than make up for the lost money before the deadline with a cloak like this.

But fewer merchants had arrived today than she’d hoped for and those who actually lived in Refuge weren’t easy marks. And good as she was at locks, she’d never really enjoyed breaking into someone’s house to steal, especially since Marrish the Mouse had been disemboweled in the public square for it ten years ago.

So she’d stuck with pickpocketing, a lesser skill of hers, and look where it’d gotten her. Following a swaggering merchant to a place she might end up if she didn’t get to him before the whores did.

Running as best she could while holding the cloak so the hood didn’t fall, she breathed a sigh of relief as the merchant stopped to talk to one of the whores that walked the streets. She hadn’t tested the cloak before now, too afraid one of the other members of the guild would tell Handlee. Elven cloaks were rare enough in the Southlands that he might want it for himself.

It was with this in mind that she hurried past, letting go of the cloak only long enough to reach out with knife and hand. With one swift cut, she relieved the merchant of his heavy burden hidden under a fold of his robe and spun away, racing toward the streets that would lead to her hiding place.

From the sound of his voice, he’d noticed, but hadn’t seen her. Where—?

She didn’t look behind her to see if he was following. There were no footsteps, no shouts.

And she realized, even in the middle of her jubilation at her good fortune, that that was odd.

Someone slammed into her, knocking her into a side alley between two abandoned apartments. Before she knew what had happened, she was on the ground, a strong hand gripping her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back. She ground her teeth against the pain. She’d had worse. But whoever it was took the money bag she’d just stolen.

Panicked at the loss, she struggled. Give it back!

You mean, the thing that isn’t yours? If I thought you’d face any justice in this city, I’d give you to the authorities. There was a pause. Who are you?

Someone stupid enough not to look for hidden bodyguards, she almost snapped. But she’d learned long ago that moments like this weren’t the best time for speaking her mind. Let me go.

Who are your parents?

If you don’t let me go I’ll—

Scream? Go ahead. It’ll only answer my questions faster.

She didn’t like his casual tone. It spoke of someone who’d done this more often than once, someone who wasn’t intimidated by anything. She quit her struggle, looking inward for that sense of knowing that, if she used it right, had a tendency to get her out of anything that kept her bound. She realized that even though he was strong, his hands weren’t the thick, muscular ones she would have expected from the more intimidating bodyguards the merchants tended to hire. I guess you don’t get that rich by looking at appearances, she decided. If you don’t let me go, you’ll be in trouble with the Patron himself.

Whoever held her laughed. What are you implying?

She tried to sound indignant, like the snotty rich kids she sometimes heard in the market. I think you know exactly what I’m implying.

That you’re related somehow? She heard the sound of a dagger being drawn. I don’t take well to liars. Try again.

She was running out of options if he’d decided to use a blade. Look, I’m sorry I took the money. I got desperate. If you let me go—

You’ll find another target. You still haven’t answered my questions.

And I’m not going to, she wanted to say. Why did it matter? She relaxed, as if she’d given up. All right, but only if you let me up.

She’d expected him to say no, that she hadn’t answered his questions yet, at which point, given she wasn’t struggling, he might relax his grip enough for her to run. Perhaps. Or she really would scream and see if the other members of the guild would come to her rescue. Not likely, but it was worth a shot.

Instead, he didn’t say anything for several moments. For an instant, she thought she heard a melody she’d once heard very long ago. But she couldn’t place when or where she had ever heard it. Or even if she heard it now.

His grip loosened. She stood, but whoever held her was gone. Along with the money she’d tried to steal.

When she went back into the empty street, nary a merchant, priest, or wealthy wife in sight, she decided to give up. Maybe Handlee would take the elven cloak in trade, whether it worked or not. She’d been hoping she could keep it, but there was no time left. The sunlight was fading and she didn’t have enough money. Better to lose the cloak than all hope of freedom.

Slowly, she made her way toward the guild’s den.

|†|

Doriel watched the girl from within an abandoned apartment.

There was no mistaking what he’d felt, no matter how little sense it made. He’d felt odd all day and found himself wanting to stroll the dusty streets of a town he’d rather never see again. Refuge reminded him too much of the past, not in its surface appearance, but in its heart.

Callio had wanted to visit the pleasure district and Doriel, bound by his promise and a genuine concern for the man, had followed him. More than this, he’d wanted to walk. Motion kept him from feeling as if something wasn’t as it should be, as if he were supposed to be somewhere other than where he was. His place, that feeling said, was not near Callio.

That feeling had died twelve years ago, along with his promise to a house that had ceased to exist for twelve long, purposeless years.

In spite of that feeling, the moment he’d seen the figure in the elven cloak he hadn’t thought of that promise. Instead, he’d seen a cloak of his own people misused and had thought of nothing more than stopping that misuse while getting his traveling companion’s money back.

However, the moment he’d knocked her into the alley, he’d known. The oath sang it through his bones. His purpose was there, right in front of him. Part of him hoped it wasn’t true. It had been so long since he’d felt the spell that reminded him of his hated oath that he’d asked her who her parents were as much to give himself a reason to ignore what he felt as to confirm it.

No matter how fond he’d once been of her.

But there was a part of him that had added the years and knew better. Impossible as it appeared, there had been one reason he hadn’t entirely hated his oath, and that, he knew as he watched from that shadows, that reason might very well be in front of him now.

She scanned the street. When she moved out of range, he slipped through the window of the empty apartment he’d hidden within and soundlessly followed her, a gift of his heritage.

Callio would begin to wonder if he was going to return with his money, part of him reminded himself. But that didn’t matter. He had to know for certain. The Song never lied. It was as true as the sun in the sky and if he turned away he would face an agony only matched by the horrors of Shale itself.

He also wore a cloak, though his was not elven. He no longer had anything from his people beyond the reminder around his neck, and winced each time he saw her finger the material, as if weighing its worth as she hurried along the street. She planned to sell it. He could tell from the way she touched it.

Too little respect. Magical items, he knew, should never be underestimated.

He followed her into a part of Refuge with walls so rotten he wondered what kept these buildings up. Few people walked these streets. Those who did eyed each other warily, obviously armed if a person knew what to look for. Beggars sat here and there, calling out or tinkling a little bell to catch the compassion of the innocent. He felt eyes peering at him, and he knew no matter how careful he was, he was being watched. The only comfort he had was that those of the Southlands had little dealing with elves. Unless he was careless, they would give him no more attention than any other exotic stranger wearing a cloak in the early evening’s heat. Not the best of circumstances certainly, but things could be far worse.

She disappeared into a crack in the side of a wall. Doriel noted the guard, knowing that a guild would not stay long in this house unless it was well established. Which meant this would be more difficult than he thought. That was all right. It would give him more time to consider his next step.

Doriel turned to leave, and found himself face-to-face with the second largest human he had ever seen.

|†|

Maple descended into the suffocating darkness of the entry spell and fought against the terror that always enveloped her as the spell wrapped its noisy tendrils around her. Be strong, she reminded herself, the cloak now wrapped in a bundle tucked under her arm. It won’t last. You’re one of them. She finally stepped out of the warding and entered the outer perimeter of the guild’s den, leaving both noise and darkness behind.

Around her, thieves were either sneaking off to work, to a little fun (as they called it) for the ones who were allowed use of the whores in exchange for a good haul, or a different kind of sneaking: trying to trick each other out of their money in a game of Bones. The clatter of dice on the floor, the flirtatious murmurs and distant cries of pleasure, the fellow thieves who brushed past on their way to the promise of treasure and the scent of excitement and sweaty fear, all of it barely registered.

She didn’t want to be here.

If she’d gotten the money, she could have wrapped it up and left it in front of Handlee’s door in the warded collection box. But if she used the cloak to pay the debt, she’d have to talk to him. And she didn’t want to talk to him. Talking meant she would never have the upper hand, not the way he twisted things around.

She thought about her options.

Handlee could be merciful and fair. He could also follow her no matter where she went. She’d tried once before to escape, once when she was very young. The pain of what had happened after she’d been caught (hadn’t she been told she’d be caught no matter where she went?) lingered even now, coiled like greasy sludge in the pit of her stomach, when she thought about the things he’d done to her. That wasn’t often. And she hadn’t tried to escape again, not as long as she was in this city where Handlee’s love of magic kept her in place.

If the cloak had worked, she thought as she arrived at the hallway juncture of the den, she might have used it to escape. If it had worked, maybe it would have helped her get beyond whatever he had in place that allowed him to see where she was at all times.

If it had worked. Given what had happened, it obviously didn’t.

At the end of the hallway, Maple studied the two options before her: the way she was expected to go, and the way she should go. The way she wanted to go was behind her, and she put it out of her mind as a more immediate choice to her survival presented itself. To the right were the thieves’ chambers, the rooms where most of the thieves slept, and beyond that was a smaller room where the younger pickpockets were locked in at night. To the left was Handlee’s room. If she went to the right, Handlee might forget about her day’s report and the fact that her time was up as a pickpocket. That wasn’t her talent. They both knew it. And if she didn’t pay back the debt she’d supposedly incurred when she’d been sold to the guild…she couldn’t think about that. Not without that feeling of greasy slime coming back.

If she went to the left, she was sure to face some sort of consequence, but she had the cloak. It had to have some magic in it, just enough perhaps to fool Handlee. If only she knew how the man who’d taken her rightfully stolen money had seen her, then she’d know for certain what she had. But something, she decided, was better than nothing.

She went to the left.

All the jewels Handlee had accumulated over the years were set in the walls, graded so that the sparkling light they cast grew brighter the closer a visitor got to his door. Rumor had it the spell that made them glow also told Handlee whenever one disappeared. Which none, of course, ever did.

With this depressing thought in mind, Maple stood in front of a large, oak door trimmed with gold. She turned the handle and walked into the room of her owner.

Handlee sat at a desk in the far end of the room, going over his books. No one who saw him would have thought he was a thief. He looked too much like a local priest, spectacles sliding down his nose constantly, large eyes looking mournfully at the dusty sinners who stood before him, ready to give him penance with their very lives.

He looked up and gave her a rare, truly warm smile, as if he’d heard her thought and was pleased. Maple. So good of you to voluntarily give me your report. Good day, or bad? He dipped his pen in the ink, ready to write the number.

Depends.

He looked at her, and stood. Much taller than she was, even now that she’d grown several inches, he towered above her. In the corner, Handlee’s tiger purred.

She held out the cloak.

Handlee looked from her to the cloak and back again. Studying her, he took the cloak and walked a few paces away, enough for Maple to feel like she could breathe again without losing the contents of her stomach. Where did you get this?

So, he didn’t know everything. That thought gave her an inward smile. A merchant from the Northlands. He said—

Which part? He unrolled the cloak and held it in front of him, looking it over.

Maple shrugged. Someplace I’d never heard of. Waterside, I think?

That’s on the Blue Coast. He turned the cloak around and examined the collar. "Must be his lie. You would have come up with something better."

Thank you. She watched him study the fibers of the hood and decided to try a bluff. It’s genuine, though. It got me through days when I didn’t think I’d get anything at all.

Genuine enough. Are you saying you want to trade this for your freedom?

Yes.

He kept looking at the cloak as if it were one of his jewels. The longer he examined it, the more Maple wanted to keep it. It’s valuable enough, she said, guessing it from both the amount she’d paid for it and the way Handlee couldn’t seem to leave it alone, lifting one side now to examine the cut. All I want is the freedom to leave this city.

Maple, Maple. Handlee began to carefully fold the cloak. What you’ve given me is beyond price. Whoever sold this to you must not have believed it was real. I’ll show you what I mean. He waved her closer and, with great reluctance, she came close enough to stand next to him.

This, he pointed to the clasp, engraved with the image of a tree, is a common elven symbol. This engraving is unique to the elves that remain in the forests of the Northlands, and the fabric itself is made of ordinary wool, but listen when you hold it close.

He brought it up to her ear. She leaned in, trying not to look as afraid as she felt.

The cloak wrapped around her head.

She tried to grab his hands, terrified and angry and not thinking of anything but escape.

He yanked her head down, holding onto the cloak, his voice on the edge of a shout above her. Did you really think I’d let you go? Let you wander with the secrets I’ve taught you? You offer me a priceless cloak you paraded around the city as if it were nothing! No one can see through these when they’re being used, not unless they’re elven themselves. And you didn’t care. A stupid thing like you doesn’t deserve freedom.

She couldn’t breathe. She clawed at his hands, but they wouldn’t loosen. He began to drag her by the cloak to the wall where he had manacled her after her first and only escape attempt. No! she screamed.

A loud knock stopped him, and Maple held back the relief that threatened to flood her.

The cloak left her head, and she quickly got her feet under her, ready for whatever might hit next.

Handlee watched her, the cloak still in his hands. What is it?

Nothing.

Handlee stared at Maple. Something was wrong. His face was pale.

You will sit, Handlee said, his voice soft enough that no one could hear beyond the door. You will be quiet, and you will wait until I’m done with whatever this is. Then, we’ll resume our conversation.

She’d almost managed to escape. If it hadn’t been for whoever it was that had stopped her from robbing the merchant, she wouldn’t be here. The anger that fueled those thoughts made her tongue more loose than it usually was. And if I don’t?

Handlee slapped her across the cheek. That wasn’t a surprise. She had expected it the moment the words had left her mouth. What surprised her was the tearing fire that burned where his hand had struck.

She did her best not to flinch and managed it somehow. Handlee watched her close for any sign he’d hurt her, and she noticed the small, glowing gem set into a thin band of gold on his finger. He leaned in. You will because I wish it. Even if you manage to leave this room, you can’t escape my guards or spies. You will find yourself right back in the same place I know you hate because there is no way out, and fighting will only put scars on your pretty face.

A small bit of fear began to grow beside the disgust. Scars marked a thief. Scars meant she would only be fit for housebreaking and other jobs that happened in the dead of night. Jobs that might get her torn to pieces in the square.

Handlee grinned. The whorehouse is sounding better and better, isn’t it?

And she knew in that moment that if she didn’t choose what Handlee wanted, that she’d end up wherever Handlee wanted her to be.

She sat, feeling numb, in spite of the burning pain in her cheek.

Handlee opened the door and a man burst through.

Not a man. Elf.

She had never seen anything more beautiful in her life. His hair—dark as night, thick, and matted with blood—extended well past his shoulders to his waist in a loose braid. His face was swelling under one eye, and his lip was torn, yet his thin form was lithe and still full of strength. But it was the elf’s eyes that held her. Bright green, they seemed to sparkle with the life of forests and grass; things she’d only overheard in conversations among merchants. In the brief glance he gave her, they looked at her as if he’d known her all his life. However, although there was the feeling that she should know, she couldn’t say the same.

It wasn’t possible for a creature like that to know her.

To her great shock, his swollen face looked as if it had already begun to heal. To Handlee, he said, Where did you find her?

That voice. The one who’d seen through the cloak.

Handlee, for once, appeared to be speechless.

Perhaps, I’m wrong, the elf continued, raising a drawn sword. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me she’s not who I think she is.

Handlee shook his head.

Nothing frightened Handlee. Nothing set him on edge, let alone made his hands shake, but Maple watched that happen as he felt backwards along his desk.

Hands up, the elf ordered, raising his sword.

Maple knew very little about elves. They weren’t often seen in the Southlands, let alone a city as far south as Refuge. What little she knew had been overheard in conversations between merchants from the forested Northlands. But she couldn’t remember, in those few stories, if elves were as good at tracking as they were at slipping away from the ones who hunted them. But why would one come after Handlee? And what did any of this have to do with her?

Handlee panted. I swear—

Hands up!

I swear, Handlee stammered, searching his desk for something, I never knew. Not even a passing thought. He grabbed a vial full of a thick, red liquid. The elf raced toward him. I didn’t know, he repeated and downed the contents of the vial.

The elf grabbed him by the front of his robes. Where did you find her? he demanded.

Handlee gasped once, twice, his face turned blue, then pale, and then he was gone.

The elf stood and turned toward her. Is there a way out of here without anyone noticing?

Can’t you just use the cloak?

The spell isn’t big enough to cover two.

Then, no, there isn’t. An awful fury, irrational and strong, over took her. Not for you, anyway.

She wrapped herself in the cloak and dashed through the door and toward the barracks. She heard the growl of Handlee’s tiger behind her, and was shocked to see it dashing past and ahead of her. With a wild cry, it burst into the main hall, evoking shrieks and cries as everyone scrambled to get away or kill it, one of the two.

Glad for her brief detour, she hurried into the barracks where she found a small group of thieves getting ready for a break-in attempt. Passing them, she went straight for the door where the children were locked in for the night.

Deep in the back of her mind, she remembered darkness. And shouts. Seeing the elf had somehow brought that closer to the surface, close enough that the thought of any of these children staying here, close enough for Handlee’s successor to use as he wished, made her ill. Whipping out her tools, she began to work on the lock.

Hey, one of the thieves behind her called out. What are you doing?

Handlee’s dead. The tiger’s loose. The lock clicked and she yanked the door open. This way! she called out.

The children stared at her as if she was crazy.

Come on! Before the tiger comes and eats you!

That got them moving. Running, she led them out into the hall, which had become a mass of people with crossbows trying to hit the tiger as it deftly moved around the furniture, as terrified of the thieves as they were of it.

Charging past, she picked up a sword for the first time in her life, amazed that it felt natural to hold it. Go! she yelled to the children, shoving the eldest toward the exit.

The darkness in her memories faded, along with something she couldn’t define, something that was tied to the sword and to pain. Endless pain.

The tiger turned toward her, growling low in its throat.

But no matter how natural it felt to hold a sword, it was another thing entirely to use it. The tiger swatted at her, and she had to thank Handlee for declawing the creature because the paw hit the sword out of her hands instead of tearing them off. The tiger’s head swiveled to the side with a roar, a crossbow bolt embedded in its cheek, and it became a ball of fury as it tried to get the bolt out.

A strong hand grabbed her arm and before she knew what had happened, she was behind the elf, who still had a drawn sword in his hand and was facing the tiger.

Remembering the few stories she’d heard, Maple said, Can’t you talk to it?

Does he look like he wants to talk? Get out while you still have a chance.

The tiger swiped at both of them, his bulk pushing them back toward the wall as he spun after the bolts.

Love to, she muttered, trying to figure out a way to get to the door without taking a chance of the tiger biting a sizable chunk out of her on the way. More bolts hit the tiger. It charged toward the thieves who were now either running or drawing their own swords, shouting to each other commands and curses.

Maple raced for the door, the elf behind her. A nearby whimper caught her ear. She stopped so fast the elf ran into her, pushing her forward.

One of the smaller children watched the tiger with frozen fascination, unaware of the tears falling down her cheeks. Maple grabbed her hand, tugging her out of her stupor and into the street. Fire tore through her foot, now pinned to the floor. She looked and saw an arrow, red-tipped with black fletchings, sticking out of her foot.

She gave the girl a push and she ran off to the world outside. Meanwhile, the elf bent down and lifted Maple’s foot enough to cut the arrow from the floor with his sword. Sweeping her into his arms, they became part of a tide of people rushing out of the thieves’ den into the barely-lit street. A memory of one of the thieves dipping those particular arrowheads in poison went through her mind as she looked at the emerging stars.

The shouts from the thieves grew, and she realized there were more than thieves in the street now. Should the evening be this hot? The elf pushed past the growing crowd. She heard shouts from the children she had just freed. Are they okay? Her voice sounded funny.

The elf said nothing, but in the dim light of the torch burning on the street corner, she thought she saw him frown. How are you feeling? He kept his voice low. She barely heard him.

They need to be okay. She tried to get out of his arms and then they were Handlee’s arms, trying to hold her down. She kicked, but Handlee only gripped her more fiercely. It wouldn’t make any difference if she shouted, but fighting, that was something she could do. She was almost free.

Maple. That wasn’t Handlee’s voice.

She looked into the face of the elf, obviously concerned, and thought she heard herself saying, Take care of them, before the world went dark.

Chapter Two

The Oath

Lightening flashed through black clouds in a dark sky, turning slow spirals above her. A storm was coming. No rain fell, yet the air was thick with moisture. Maple found she could hardly breathe.

A lone, cloaked figure moved along the edge of the horizon, drifting slowly, lazily, in no hurry to get anywhere.

The figure stopped and stared up at the sky. There was a pull toward him, and Maple called out without thinking. The instant the call left her lips, she regretted it. The cloaked figure turned and looked at her. Maple began to feel her breath coming shorter and realized too late that she couldn’t move.

She could feel his focus on her as if he’d already bound her with chains, and knew he was coming for her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The helplessness was greater than anything she had felt inside Handlee’s guild.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream.

Far off, a voice called to her; a warm, familiar voice that seemed to be searching for her. She tried to call back, but no words came. Terror gripped her, and she tried to move once more. Nothing.

The figure approached steadily. You’ve gotten slow, he said. Or has my training finally begun to take hold? An interesting thought. I’ll have to prove it. Her throat constricted, choking back tears. She knew what would happen when the figure reached her, yet she couldn’t form it into coherent thought. It was a horrible thing whatever it was, worse than anything she had felt before.

She heard a shout in her ear. The pain freed her long enough to find her voice, letting out a scream that pierced the darkness. She felt the clouds close over her.

Her cheeks felt wet. She couldn’t open her eyes. She didn’t know where she was. A familiar voice crooned in her ear and strong arms held her tightly.

I’m sorry, that familiar voice said. I didn’t know what else to do.

She tried to speak, but her voice was lost again.

She felt warm lips press against her forehead and realized she was covered in cold sweat. You need to rest, the voice spoke again. Familiar, this voice. Warm, comforting. She shook her head at its pronouncement. She would have the dream again. She was sure of it.

Hesitation, then, I will sing to you, and the darkness will stay away.

A beautiful tenor voice filled her mind with images of vast forests; of beautiful creatures that looked like the elf dancing in moonlight, singing in daylight; of fantastic mountains; crystal blue lakes; but most of all, of the joy of being together with loved ones. She cried freely, but not out of fear. She cried out of longing for a feeling she had never had, and joy that she had finally found it.

For a moment, she thought she was home.

Asleep once more, she held to those images, letting herself wander in places her waking self would claim she’d never been.

|†|

Doriel sat and stared at the fire.

You want something to eat? Callio asked. It was the first words he’d spoken since Maple had begun to thrash in her sleep and Doriel had sung to her, first holding her until she’d calmed down, then as he’d walked a slow circle around their camp.

Doriel shook his head. What had happened made very little sense. He had to think it through before he took action.

Callio sat next to him. What’s the plan?

He wished he knew. Everything had been waiting until morning. Now, they didn’t have that much time. I don’t know.

If he’d said elves could lie, Callio couldn’t have been more shocked. You don’t?

Yet again, everything had changed. He’d expected remnants of the old war to take action once Maple was known among those with power, but not this. What had reached out to her was strong magic, of the kind Magnus Corellion had employed: ancient, formidable. And no one practiced that kind of magic anymore.

Not to mention, there had been a moment, very brief, when he thought he’d heard a portion of the man himself within the spell. He hoped that was only his imagination: logic said it was. Magnus was dead, and the dead couldn’t do what had just happened. We’re being tracked.

Callio blinked. What?

Was there a noise in the air that jangled your nerves?

Maybe. I’ve been a little jumpy ever since you brought the girl here. That’s why you walked the circle?

The only good that did was made it clear she had a magic user near her. Whoever it is that’s looking for her moved away.

But not far, otherwise you’d be saying more.

No, his voice was soft. Not far.

Had he brought someone here? Was he the one being tracked?

And yet, even as he asked that question, it still made little sense. It had been twelve years since the war had ended. Humans had short memories of such things. Already, the Northlands had pieced together the remains and stumbled on. Magnus was dead, so either he’d managed to find a way to work magic from beyond the pyre (for whatever purpose he had in mind) or someone was pretending to be him.

If it was the latter, they were very convincing.

Callio’s face looked pale in the firelight. Do we need to leave?

He considered that. Leaving would mean safety, but not leaving…he didn’t want to think about that. Leaving was the only option. But how to tell Maple (did the guild really keep her name?) without either panicking her or…she didn’t even know who he was yet. Didn’t remember. What did you find out in Refuge?

I just want to make sure this one thing is clear first. You pledged your life to her family?

As long as one member remains— Doriel didn’t finish the thought. The oath he’d sworn was something out of myths. That he’d been bound in such a manner was unbelievable, even among his own people.

He’d never known their reaction. Once bound, he’d left without a farewell. He’d had no choice.

But this doesn’t change what you and I agreed on, Callio said, watching the sleeping girl on the other side of the fire.

No, he wanted to say. He’d made a promise to Callio when they’d first met. It was, for a time, his purpose when all others had been destroyed and left behind. Peace for the elves through Callio’s contacts among the Northland’s aristocracy and Doriel’s knowledge of his people. In return Callio would be the elves’ liaison. Doriel felt it was an empty promise from Callio’s side, given he’d never named those aristocrats he supposedly knew, but it was still a promise and something he could hold onto when life became especially difficult.

Until another, stronger promise had returned.

The oath is undeniable, Doriel finally said, and stronger than any other promise I’ve made. I apologize, but my duty to her is written in my very soul. I must obey it.

For a long time, they said nothing, and Doriel stared at the fire, trying to decide what was best. You know, Callio said slowly, you haven’t told me much about your past.

I’ve told you as much as you’ve told me about your friends.

Point taken, Callio shifted uncomfortably. There were some people whispering in Refuge that an important thief is dead. Leader of a whole guild. There are some people whispering an elf did it, and some saying that he poisoned himself. Which one is true?

He killed himself with a vial of poison.

Damn, Doriel, Callio whispered. No one goes into Handlee’s guild without his permission. He’s got the entire city in his sights with all the magic he’s placed around it, and he’s got enough on every priest ruling there to make sure things stay the way he wants. No one betrays him, no one goes against him, not within Refuge. But even a hint of that family and he ends it all before…well, before whatever tended to happen to those who crossed them.

For just a moment, the desert was gone and Doriel was in a tent, and the oath wrapping its magic around him, and he stopped the thoughts before he walked that darkness again.

The past no longer mattered. The oath was real. And Maple Corellion, the last living ruler of the house he’d once served, was also real. Alive, and real, and here now.

The question was not if everything had changed. The question was how much.

Hardly believing the words he was about to say, he kept them to the point. There are reasons to be afraid of Magnus Corellion.

Callio glanced at Maple, eyes wide and uneasy. I thought he was dead.

He is.

He watched Callio fit together the pieces he must have learned after the final battle between the two great houses of the Northlands and match them to what was in front of him. And you—

I’m a mercenary. I was then, for all intents and purposes. I am now. Just for a different employer. He didn’t feel like smiling, though his tone was light enough for it and in other circumstances he might have done so.

Well, Callio said, trying to get a better view of Maple without being obvious about it, does she know?

Doriel hesitated. I want to find out what she wants before I tell her anything.

Why?

Because he knew she didn’t remember him. She had been very young when everything had been destroyed. It didn’t surprise him. In fact, when he thought back on that past, he was glad she didn’t remember. But Callio didn’t need to know this, so he told a different part of the truth. Because of who she is. She’s Corellion, and I serve her.

Callio stared at him. You’re serious. Look, it doesn’t matter what she wants. I know you don’t want to hear that, but given what happened and what you’ve told me, when word gets out—

No one is going to find out. He was surprised at the strength of those words.

Are you sure? What about tonight then? What just happened?

The only reason you know of my connection to the Corellions is because you’re a Northman yourself. Here, I’m only an elf for hire, and she’s a thief. And we don’t know for certain what happened. Not yet.

Callio looked at Maple for a long time, no expression on his face. The Corellions were a powerful family. Even the people of the South know they’re an ancient name. And how many Southlanders are called Maple?

Those with parents from the North, I imagine.

See? You imagine. You may have traveled a ways, Doriel, since you left their service, but this is going to be a trick to navigate. People are going to find out. He paused. Does she know any magic?

The question was like a knife through Doriel’s chest. Perhaps.

Well, I imagine she has a talent for it, being a Corellion.

If that’s who she wants to be.

And if she tries to be an ordinary thief with a talent for magic?

Then that’s all she’ll be.

Callio stared at the sand around them. There’s one more thing to consider, Doriel.

He didn’t like Callio’s tone, but in spite of any foolishness, the man occasionally showed very good sense. And that is?

To be raised in a thieves’ guild…you know who she once was. You don’t know who she is now.

No, Doriel agreed. I don’t. He remembered how she’d freed the children in the guild, how she’d picked up a sword to defend them. I will serve her, regardless.

Just like you served her father.

Now that, I can assure you, will not be the case. And this time he did smile, genuine and full.

Callio shook his head. You’re taking an awful big risk if you try to keep her a secret from the world, Doriel. It’d be better to get her somewhere she can be protected. Maybe marry her off to—

No. His words had never been that sharp before when speaking with Callio, but he made no apology. I do as she wishes. I’ll make no plans for her without her knowledge or consent. I’ve already seen what marrying for political reasons can—

Practical reasons, Doriel. Practical.

You think there’s a difference in the result?

Then she doesn’t have to be married. You’re fantastic with a blade, but you’re only one person. How many enemies did the Corellions have over the centuries before the Albraics destroyed them? Well, almost all of them. He looked at Maple again. You’re right. It needs to be her choice, but families like the Corellions don’t get the average pickpocket set against them, I imagine.

Doriel stood. Enough. We’ll protect as we can tonight and see what she says when she’s feeling better. In the meantime, you’re sure no one followed you here?

Callio shook his head. Everyone’s too busy trying to grab onto what’s left of Handlee’s empire. The city’s too chaotic right now for me to even think about going back. I put enough in the wagon to last a few days, but we’re going to have to move soon if we want to keep eating.

I can hunt if need be. Bows and arrows are more to my liking than crossing swords.

Could have fooled me, Callio muttered. For a moment, the air between them seemed lighter. Would it be wrong to ask if you got my money back?

Doriel laughed and reached into a small crevice in the rock that he’d placed a mild ward around, just enough to keep animals and insects away. Did you think I’d forget?

Callio grinned. Forgive me. I should have known better even with her appearance. Once an elf makes a promise, you can count on him keeping it.

Doriel hoped he was only imagining the edge in Callio’s voice when he said that.

Let’s say she does decide to listen to you, Callio said. If Doriel had thought there was an edge, it was certainly gone now. Where would you take her?

He paused. Oasis, first.

First?

There’s a man there I need to see. He knows the current state of the Northlands better than I do.

You know, my contacts—

Forgive me, Callio. I am sure your contacts are very well acquainted with the current affairs of the Northlands and there’s a strong chance I’ll have need of them, which was the truth, but he didn’t like it. However, there are some things I need to confirm, and in order to confirm those things, we must go to Oasis first.

First?

First.

And after?

That depends on what we find there.

Callio took a deep breath and looked at the star-filled sky. If I were to send just one message, you’d never need to worry about her again.

For a moment, Doriel was tempted to listen, even though Callio had yet to produce any true proof of his friendships with those in power in the new North. He would have listened, if only because it made the world appear more safe than it actually was and because he wanted to believe the best in everyone. But time had proven to be a fine teacher of all things human. First, Oasis.

Always ready to run when trouble came, Callio began taking things to the wagon. I doubt your man’s information is going to be any more accurate than mine.

Depends on the information, Doriel said softly. Callio apparently hadn’t heard him. He continued packing the wagon with a nonchalance that Doriel hoped was sincere.

He only hoped the information Tanner could give him was accurate, and that he’d seen enough of the death of Magnus Corellion to tell him whether Hushweather had actually finished the job as he’d declared he would, oath or no, or if the oath had bound them all more than they’d expected.

|†|

Maple woke to the sound of drameds huffing. She opened her eyes. It was still somewhat dark, with the promise of dawn growing along the horizon. She lifted her head and saw a fire burning what had to be scrub trees, gnarled things that never grew more than a few feet off the ground. The woody smell drifted away from her, but was still strong enough to sting her nose. A few spiny mudsippers dotted the landscape here and there with some scraggly needlebushes scattered between them. The elf had chosen this spot well. The wagon was hidden from what appeared to be a well-worn trail by an enormous rock. Two drameds carefully plucked the soft fruit off the needlebushes with their long tongues. Another rock formed a natural shanty just a few feet away, and this was what covered her from the sun. It also, she noticed, kept her out of sight of the trail as well. But she could still see a number of stars.

They all dance, she remembered Marrish the Mouse saying once. If you watch, you’ll see they’re all turning round and round the Pointstar.

Why is that, she’d asked.

Because it points north, idiot.

She was glad she remembered that now. Slowly, she got up. No dizziness. Still a little weak. A few steps? Good. She could walk. Very good. Bandages wrapped her foot. Someone had been taking care of her. The elf? He’d looked concerned when he’d last seen her. Why? Why would he care about a thief who was dying? And Handlee? He’d been terrified just before he’d died.

It didn’t matter. She’d be on her way and he wouldn’t need to worry about her anymore.

A quick look showed no one around. Odd. She made her way slowly toward the wagon. Supplies for her journey.

But where to go?

An image in her mind answered the question. Before her lay a rich, green valley, tall, snow-capped mountains in the distance with one towering above the others. In the middle of the valley was a castle, surrounded by such a large moat that it almost seemed as if they’d built it in the middle of a lake. The castle was sparkling white in the sunlight with a strong outer wall. The Keep inside was sturdy and simple, but strong, with an impossibly tall, single tower that rose like white smoke into the sky. She’d seen the picture once in a book she had stolen from a traveling bookseller and had dreamed of it ever since. She’d always wanted to see it, though she never knew entirely why.

No, she admitted as she began going through the small sacks in the wagon. She wanted to see it because it was beautiful, and it wasn’t here.

She closed her eyes. It was too much for her to think through right now. Her head was starting to hurt, and the pain that had faded was coming back bringing the nausea with it. If she didn’t hurry she might end up vomiting on all their stuff, and that might wake them up.

She avoided a large blanket that covered half the wagon and focused on a series of smaller ones. Easier to move and less likely to be noticed if it wasn’t exactly straight. She found a bag of foodstuffs: cheese, bread, and some odd grain that smelled heavenly, in spite of her unsettled stomach. Must be Elven Grain, she thought, amazed they would have such a delicacy. Only a few families in the Northlands grew it. Here in the Southlands? No one. She put her hand under the bag and found a waterskin, colored dark-purple, which usually meant wine. She gazed at the dry land around her and decided she would be better off with water if she could find it.

Yes, that’s a better choice. She smiled.

You might as well take whatever money we have, as well. We don’t need it, the elf said behind her. Maple didn’t move, though she could hear him coming closer. She was terrified of looking at him again, of wanting answers to questions that no longer mattered, not when she was well enough to create a new life.

You free children who will probably end up in another prison in another guild, yet you steal water and food from two strangers in the desert, knowing they will probably die from your actions? The ice in his voice reminded her of when they had first met, yet there was a thoughtful undertone, as if he were weighing her out.

Why did you save me? she asked, still not turning around, but with just enough humility to, hopefully, throw him off-balance, or at the very least, buy her some time. As if that had worked before.

There was a long pause.

Twenty years ago, he said, my life was in jeopardy through a foolish decision I had made. The decision does not matter now. What matters is that I was saved by a powerful family, to whom I pledged my service for the rest of my life. For five years I served them. I thought I had been released from that service. The elf paused and Maple turned to look at him, surprised to see him looking at her as if he still wasn’t quite sure she existed. I was wrong.

Maple wasn’t sure what to say, though she opened her mouth in several attempts. I’m part of your pledge? He nodded, slowly. That’s why you saved me? He nodded again. She shook her head angrily and felt the dizziness hit her full force. Her knees buckled and before she touched the ground, he was holding her up, leaning her against the wagon.

Maple stiffened in his arms as the memory of the things Handlee had done to her flooded her mind and made her already queasy stomach turn. They were too close. He was too close. She pushed him away, and to her great surprise, he let her, waiting patiently as she covered her mouth and hoped the nausea would subside. Eventually, she lowered her hand, able to at least breathe without losing what little was in her stomach.

Feeling better? he said.

Afraid the nausea would come back if she moved her head even slightly, she kept very still. Yes.

I apologize, mistress, the title flowed naturally from his lips and she wondered how many others he had called by that name. I thought my healing was greater than it is.

I’m no one’s mistress, she said, though the words came out as little more than a whisper. A shaky one, at that. In a stronger voice, she said. You saved me…because of a pledge you made to a family?

He nodded. Yes.

Giving up on any escape plans tonight (treacherous stomach) she went back to the bedding, not bothering to pull the covers back over herself in spite of the increasing chill in the desert air. Her head throbbed. I’m guessing that family is mine? A small hope had begun to form. Long ago, in her earliest memories, she had wanted someone to appear and take her away. She could remember waiting, hoping, until that hope finally died. But perhaps…no, it didn’t fit. Why would an elf be guarding a merchant if he worked for a powerful family?

Instead of answering her question, the elf studied her closely. What are your plans, mistress?

She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t have any, that she would have simply begun walking in the direction of the next city and the next, always heading north to see that one thing she was somehow sure existed. To live my own life, she said after too long a pause.

Then there is no need for me to tell you of your family.

A little disappointed, she tried to laugh and grimaced instead. Are you saying they don’t care about me?

The elf looked away. At first, she thought he was avoiding her question, but then he said, You’ve been up a while?

Not long, a man said from the wagon. From under the blanket she’d avoided earlier, emerged the somewhat portly merchant she’d tried to steal from before. Maple, may I present Callio Carvati, originally of the Blue Coast region.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, Maple. He sat up a little straighter and gave a small bow.

The elf frowned, which surprised Maple almost as much as what he’d said. I don’t remember telling you my name.

He knows all about you, Callio said, with a nod toward the elf. He got out of the wagon and waddled groggily to the fire.

Not all, or she wouldn’t have been here.

His words touched a part of her she didn’t want to remember existed. Someone, it seemed, had once cared about her.

No. No one cared, or he would have found her long ago. And what’s your name? she demanded.

He paused, just long enough for her to wonder why. Doriel.

No family name?

No. He moved to stand close to the fire. We have enough to last us a few days here, but then we must be going.

I’ll be sorry to see you go.

We are going with you.

She froze. No, you’re not.

Mistress, I am pledged to your family.

If I had a family, why didn’t they send you sooner? Before he could speak she answered her own question. They either don’t want me, or they’re dead. Either way, there’s no need for you to stay near me. She grinned, her disappointment giving it an edge. Unless, of course, you’re going to put me up in a mansion.

She had known there would be no laughter—she’d never been able to tell a joke—but she hadn’t expected the frown Doriel gave her then. I’m afraid I have no mansion to give you, mistress.

It wasn’t what she wanted, and she fought against the need to tell him that. There was no point in explaining anything, not if she was going to be gone soon. Then I release you from your pledge. You’re free to go.

Doriel stared at her with an almost amused look on his face. Callio sat and looked from one to the other, more obviously entertained.

Doriel, however, was the one to speak. Do you know what that means?

She had a pretty good idea and the rest came soon enough. That you’re free to go? It should be simple, shouldn’t it? He looked down, as if hiding laughter. It is, isn’t it? What’s the use of pledges if you can’t be released from them when a person doesn’t want a servant anymore?

What indeed, Doriel said softly. It’s not as simple as that, at least as far as I go.

She felt a small coil of dread form, making her queasy again. What do you mean?

It means you’re trapped, Callio said.

Nonsense, Doriel said. If she wants to leave, she can.

It didn’t sound like nonsense to her. Sitting up enough to lean her elbows on her bent knees, she said, What are you going to do when I leave?

I will go with you.

And if I tell you I don’t want you to follow me? She stared hard into his eyes. She thought she could see a wide desert stretching toward a city with high walls and steady traffic going in and out. Refuge. She dropped her eyes, ignoring the images. She wouldn’t fall under his spell.

He paused. I will obey your wishes. But I would beg you to let me come with you, or at least follow at a distance behind you.

And if I said no?

Doriel’s smile grew, and Maple could see clearly that he was highly amused now. I would get down on my knees, prostrate myself before you and beg you by every god known to elves and men to let me fulfill my pledge. His smile turned from easy to tight. You don’t know the torment of an elf who cannot fulfill a duty the Gods have blessed. Pain was filling his eyes and Maple began to feel that pain in her own chest.

Was this part of the pledge her family had made? If