Disclaimer: this story is based on Tamora Pierce's tale of Miache and Zefrem. Neither the idea nor the characters are mine. Don't sue me.
In the Gallan capital city of Cria, the king dances with a waiflike blonde who whirls and g…
…a laugh as a Scanran visitor engages a group of nobles in conversation…
…the courtiers gossip together about nothing and the m…
…the king smiles and, kissing the hand of his dancing partner, he…
The blonde disappears.
In the near-empty darkened corridors of the palace a slight figure hurried on light steps, her feet scarcely making a sound on the stone floor. The celebratory music from the Great Hall had ceased, but she was now too far away to hear any other sounds that might be emanating from the enclosed room. They were not her concern anyway. Her sole purpose was to retrieve that which she had been sent for, and then vanish. It was something she was good at.
At the end of the next corridor a locked door waited. The two guards leaning against it snapped to attention as she approached and one moved forward to block her way, taking in the extravagant gown and delicate face above it in suspicion.
"Excuse me milady, but you shouldn't be down here."
She glanced at him coldly, maintaining an air of haughty aloofness, and waited for him to continue.
"Forgive me Lady, but my orders…" he faltered. "Won't you allow me to escort you back to the celebrations?" he tried again. She inclined her head slightly, as if considering, and then nodded and turned back the way she had come, only to stumble on the flagstones and fall to her knees with a sharp gasp of pain.
The guard hastened to help her, suspicions temporarily forgotten in the face of a damsel in distress. From her position on the floor the girl closed her eyes and muttered a quick prayer to the Trickster God, aware that from this moment there could be no turning back. The idea gave her a curious thrill of excitement. As the guard offered her his hand she rose and a hand struck upwards, the dagger it held piercing upwards through his stomach to rest in his heart. As he fell a throwing knife flashed from the other hand, burying itself in the chest of the other guard before he had time to raise a cry. Shaking her skirts out she stepped past both bodies without giving them a second glance and reached the door, where she removed a small set of lock picks from the bosom of her gown. From now on, time until they were discovered would be short. A small frown of concentration marred her smooth face as she set to work on the lock.
Turning a corner, her vision suddenly vanished and everything went black. She stopped at once. The Duke had warned her of these protection spells, but not of what would happen if she took a wrong step; suffice to say, measures to discourage thieves would be severe. Despite the darkness, somehow shadows still managed to flicker around her enticingly, beckoning her first one way, and then another. Closing her eyes to block the images out she took a deep breath and stepped forwards firmly, sticking to the memorised map in her head. Five paces forwards, then turn left, another eleven paces and then a right…the air around her thickened and held, preventing any further movement. For a moment her limbs fought against the unnatural restraint, but then she calmed and relaxed, speaking the word that would cause the bonds of air to loosen. As she stepped free the world lightened again; she had successfully negotiated the mage-spelled precautions around the vault whose door she now stood opposite. Sparing a glance for her surroundings she felt a slight chill to see that not a single torch burned on the walls. The steady glow of light came from nowhere, or rather, from the walls themselves. Even so, she allowed herself a small smile of derision – these spells were very impressive but what use were they if she, a mere thief, had successfully bypassed them? The King would have done better with a few more guards and a little less trickery.
It was within her grasp. Stepping up to the vault door she examined it carefully. The surface was perfectly smooth, not a single feature, even a lock, anywhere. She pushed against it experimentally, but there was no movement. More conjurers games.
Carefully, she took out the amulet that she had lifted from the king's neck whilst dancing with him earlier and looked it over. It was still warm from where it had been resting against his skin, and engraved with the sign of his house. The moment she touched it to the door, it swung open.
Miache stepped into the room, discarded the amulet on the floor, and with a satisfied half-smile gently lifted the Dominion Jewel from where it had rested for generations.