Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

“That too. Whomever Fertig plotted with took a substantial hit with twelve men dead in a gully. There will be rumblings.”

“They were twelve well-trained men, Jase. There won’t be rumblings. I saw how they operated, signaled each other, ticked off their moves as smooth as a timepiece. Wren, Synové, and I have never been injured before. Those were no common bandits. They were as cool as ice—even Fertig. He was soulless when he choked me, and then when I stabbed him … he smiled.”

Jase was quiet, soberly taking in my assessment.

“Who’s the one you least suspect?” I asked. “That’s your guilty party.”

“I suspect them all,” he answered. He told me there were five league leaders, Rybart, Truko, and Paxton the most powerful among them, but the other leaders had raided caravans and stirred trouble before too. “Twelve dead crew will put a halt to any of their plans for a while. A dozen dead men would hurt our operations. It will cripple theirs. Still, I want to know who’s behind it.”

So they’ll pay a greater price. The unsaid words simmered in his eyes.

We turned at the switchback and Jase pointed. “Look there.” I got my first glimpse of the arena through a clearing in the trees. It looked like a city in itself. The jagged oval structure rose six stories into the sky. Eight towers around its circumference looked like the fangs of some heavy-toothed beast rising up out of the earth. Its mouth was open and alive with activity. Behind the arena were more structures—warehouses, barns, silos, and fenced pastureland.

Jase told me about the traders at the arena, some of whom sold actual goods, and others who displayed items to be sold and delivered on contract. On the center ground floor were local merchants selling food, small goods, and trinkets. On the perimeter were the larger traders.

“Reux Lau sells exotic leather goods that aren’t found anywhere else on the continent, and Azentil sells every flavor of honey you could imagine.”

I didn’t know there was even more than one kind.

“And the Quiassé lace from Civica draws an exorbitant price, but there’s always plenty of buyers and not enough lace.”

It seemed the whole world out there was far richer than the one I knew.

“And you get a cut of it all?”

“We’re fair. We negotiate cuts, but if it weren’t for the arena, they’d only sell a fraction of what they do now. They make a considerable profit too. That’s why they come.”

No wonder the leagues ached for control of the arena, even to the point of trying to kill the Patrei who controlled it. I’d seen people kill for less.

* * *

The toothy towers I had seen from afar were actually long, circular ramps that led to the upper floors and to apartments on the highest level. The Ballenger apartments were surprising—far more elegant and luxurious than Tor’s Watch. This was where they entertained ambassadors, wealthy merchants, and sometimes royalty who traded at the arena. This was where deals were made. The rooms were deep and dark, windowless on three sides except for the walls that faced out on the arena, so there were glittering ornate chandeliers to light the interior.

“Who else do you entertain here?” I teased, peeking into one of the elaborate bedchambers.

“I’d be happy to entertain you here,” Jase said, sneaking up behind me and sweeping my hair to the side. He nibbled on my nape as his arms circled around my waist.

“Patrei,” Gunner called impatiently from the foyer.

Jase growled. “I have a meeting with Candora. I’ll find you in an hour.”

I turned to face him. “And how will you find me in this enormous maze?”

“You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

He kissed me and left, but just before he reached the foyer he turned. “You can get oranges on the floor too. I hear if you mention that you know the Patrei you’ll get a good price—maybe even one for free.”

“Really?” I said, pulling my brows down in disbelief. “And I heard just the opposite—mentioning the Patrei could get me into a good deal of trouble.”

He smiled. “That too. Live dangerously—take your chances.”

He left me alone in the apartment, free to explore the entire arena—not the sign of someone who had anything to hide. Still, I did an obligatory sweep through the rooms, finding nothing suspicious. One worry rolled off me and another took its place. Move on. I pushed away the thought and left to finish my job—to search any hidden corners of this world.

My fingers itched the minute I hit the floor of the arena. The noise, the bustle, the hawkers—it was like I was in the jehendra again, staking out my next meal. I kept reminding myself I had a full stomach and coins in my pocket now, but playful banter with the hawkers could do no harm.

In the outer ring on the ground floor, I saw some of the traders and goods that Jase had mentioned—the flowered carpets of Cortenai, the linens of Cruvas, the honeys of Azentil. And more. Everything that could be sold was sold here—furniture, gems, metalwork, wheat, barley, spices, animals for breeding stock, lumber, fine writing papers, minerals, intricate weights and measures, crystals—the finest products of a dozen kingdoms all converging in an irresistible stew of sounds, smells, and flavors. I breathed in the delicious fingers of woodsmoke that floated in the air. The hum of voices, the clatter of wares, and the distant, delicate warble of a flute wove together in a seductive welcome. Some merchandise ran loose. A bevy of keepers ran after a silky llama who escaped their lariats. He ran between stalls, always a step ahead of the keepers. I admired his technique.

I kept my distance from most of the shops, perusing them from a distance, but then I paused to eye the trinkets in one of the center stalls of a local merchant, focusing on a ring that reminded me of home—a delicate silver vine winding around a circle of gold. My mother used to weave a crown of vines through my hair on holy days. The merchant immediately spied me looking at it and out of habit I braced myself for a litany of jeers. Scat! Filthy vermin! Shoo! I ran through my mental bag of tricks—a riddle, a sleight of hand—to soothe his temper, but instead of a jeer he began a pitch that I was all too familiar with—the pitch that was always reserved for others. On the outside, I appeared to be one of those others now, but on the inside I would always be that girl who was ready to run.