Page 1 of Thief of Dreams
1
The Wraith King sits on his throne, ghostly pale hands resting on the arms as I enter the audience chamber, my heeled boots clicking on the polished obsidian tiles. I briefly consider telling him the flickering sconces and smattering of winter-scoured skulls are precisely why the gilded fae courts consider those of my kind abominations, but I like my tongue where it is, thank you very much.
Raesh Ghul, the Wraith King Beyond the Shadowfangs.
Master of Bone and Death.
The creature that holds my fate in his clawed hands.
A crown carved from a troll's skull rests on his long, raven-black hair, and those bottomless eyes lock on me with an eerie intensity. Intimidating, to say the least. A pale wolf pelt rests over his bare shoulders, a golden chain around his throat dripping with tiny glass vials. Wisps of insubstantial light fill them, an almost hypnotic glow. Subtle, he is not.
And capturing his attention is never wise.
But nobody ever called me wise before.
"You sent for me, Father?" I ask, trying to stop my gaze from sliding to those glowing glass vials. Especially the one in the center, where a tendril of glowing white light senses my presence and reaches out to press itself against the glass.
I yearn for it too. Yearn to be whole again.
"You're late."
"I was training," I reply. "Forgive me for not anticipating your desire to see me. It seems the messenger was waylaid."
"Your sister managed to arrive on time."
What a surprise."One of her many attributes."
I pause below the dais, next to the kneeling supplicant already waiting there. Black silk flows from her shoulders and her shining black hair is woven into a dozen braids as she keeps her head bowed. Once upon a time, we were reflections in a mirror, but Soraya no longer has an interest in being the other half of me.
And for some reason, she didn't want Father's messenger to reach me.
"I see no need to delay further on pleasantries. I have a job for my thief."
"I can do it, Father," Soraya says, looking up from her kneeling position. "Letmedo it."
This captures my interest. There's no love lost between my sister and me, but she has her gifts. I have mine. While Soraya can stop a man's heart with a single smile, I can pluck the last coin from a miser's purse while he's watching it.
She must still be smarting from that failed assassination attempt last month.
"This job is delicate. It requires the best," Raesh replies. "I've spent three thousand years waiting for this chance, and I will not see it slip through my fingers." He leans forward hungrily. "A single failure means we will never get such a chance again."
Three thousand years?
"You want me to steal from one of the fae." Of the long-lived races, they're the only ones who've been around that long—and survived.
It wouldn't be the first time I slipped among the lighter courts. After all, it's why I was created; a half-fae, half-wraith creature that can pass as either, though my features throw more toward my mother's people than my father's.
Thank the moon.
My father's ghostly pallor would not go well with the simple black velvet doublet I wear. It wouldn't go well with anything.
Except perhaps a coffin.
Perhaps that's why he likes his bleached skulls so much?
"Not justoneof the fae," Soraya interrupts angrily. "You're asking her to pull the wool over the eyes of a ruling prince. Zemira's shown her weakness in the past.Iam the best.Iwas your Champion. Her heart is too soft."
And yours made of solid stone. If you ever had one.
