Rogue: The Streets of Caltania (Sample)
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The morning started out no different from any other, with one exception. As Rena approached her bedchamber door, a knock resounded from the opposite side. Her mother called, “Rena. Rena, are you up yet? I need to see you.”
Rena stopped. With one hand on the door latch, she cursed and glanced around the room for a way to escape. Her only option was the window. She gave that only a brief thought before chiding herself for foolishness.
Her tower apartment was a full five stories up, and while it offered beautiful views of the sprawling city of Caltania, it was just too dangerous a climb to chance.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The door rattled on its hinges. “Rena! Come on. It’s early. I know you’re in there. Open up.”
Rena let out a heavy sigh and considered her clothes. She was dressed more like a young boy, a squire perhaps, than a Princess. Her long blond hair was braided and neatly tucked down the back of her tunic. Her developing breasts had been carefully wrapped with strips of cloth to hide her gender. Dressed as she was, there was no way she could hope to disguise her intentions from her mother.
Bang! Bang! Bang! “Rena, open up!”
Reluctantly, Rena opened the door.
Leona stepped into the room. At thirty-five years of age the Queen of Cromania was as beautiful as the day she first graced the castle’s throne room. A little fuller in the hips and bosom perhaps, but her near perfect skin radiated beauty.
There was no doubt that Rena Altair was her mother’s daughter. Indeed, Rena was Leona all over again, a younger version of the beautiful queen. There was just one exception. Rena’s eyes, unlike the blue eyes of her mother and father, were deep brown.
Leona breezed past Rena with a blue dress held in the crook of her elbow. She laid it over the end of the bed and gave Rena a slow, appraising look. “Sneaking out again?”
“I was going to Sentinel Tower,” Rena said, not bothering to hide the truth since she couldn’t immediately think of a better excuse.
“I know where you were going, and I don’t approve! That’s not an appropriate place for a young lady.”
Rena crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “Sentinel Tower is full of young ladies!”
“Homeless young women, perhaps. Not young ladies, and certainly not a Princess.”
“Mom! I’m fifteen now. The Sentinels start recruiting at fifteen,” Rena complained with all pretenses of keeping her morning foray’s secret gone.
“You want to join them? You want to risk your life at sword point, and for what?” Leona waved the notion away with annoyance. “A princess’s place is in the castle and at court.”
Rena’s fists clenched at her sides.
“I’m sorry honey,” Leona said, “I know how much you think you want this. But it’s just a fad. It will pass. I promise.”
“It’s not going to pass mother. This is what I want.”
“Sweetheart. The church counsel will never accept you. Even in that tunic and hose you are still my daughter.”
Rena stomped her foot. “This disguise works. I’ve been using it for three years.”
“I know. I suggested it,” Leona replied mildly. “I also had you followed to ensure your safety in case it didn’t work.”
Rena’s jaw went slack. “Followed! No one has been following me. I would have noticed.”
“Sweetie. Artamos takes his job very seriously, especially where the Princess of Cromania is concerned. Now put this silly notion out of your head. Besides, your father and I will never allow it.”
Rena’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of the Black Knight’s name. Artamos was the leader of the Black Knights, a secretive military division of the king, men who dressed in padded black leather armor and who moved like magicians in and out of the shadows. Creepy was the best word Rena could think of to describe them.
They always seemed to grow right out of the tapestry when you least expected it. If her mother had asked Artamos to see to her safety, there could be no doubt that she had been followed.
“How long have you known?” Rena asked quietly, her anger abated by the detestable intrusion on her privacy, an intrusion she had no means to avoid.
“Antonio told us the first day. He even followed you himself and let the Sentinels know at the tower once you arrived,” Leona said, referring to the boy who worked at the castle stables.
“Antonio ratted on me! He was the one who told me to dress this way. And you all knew? Everyone has known all this time?” Rena questioned, her cheeks growing hot with anger once more.
Leona smiled warmly and crossed the room, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t blame Antonio. He was only concerned for you.”
“If you knew all this time . . .” Rena let her words trail off.
“Why did we allow you to continue?” Leona asked, giving her daughter a squeeze and leading her to the bed. “We wanted you to have some independence. A chance to experience some of the things in life you wanted. Believe me; I know how difficult life can be. We don’t always get what we think we want. But in the end, things generally work out for the best. Now look at this dress I brought you.”
Leona picked the dress up and modeled it over her body, twirling left to right so that the material danced around her hips and ankles. It was a formal gown for a special occasion, light blue with white lace trim. The sleeves were cropped at the shoulders to leave the arms and shoulders bare. The material itself shimmered, reflecting the light.
“It’s all silk,” Leona added, teasing Rena to touch the dress. But Rena couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
“Oh, come now sweetheart!”
Rena managed a heartsick smile. She knew the dress meant visitors. And if she were to be displayed in such a fancy gown, it probably meant a suitor would be present as well. Rena wasn’t at all interested in suitors.
“It’s kind of pretentious, don’t you think?” Rena suggested, hoping to steer her mother toward a less revealing garment. “I might have something more fitting in my wardrobe.”
“Oh come on. It’ll be fun. Let’s get you out of those boy clothes and try it on. Besides, you have your mother’s figure,” Leona said, smiling proudly. “You will fill this out nicely.”
Rena managed another pained smile, giving into her mother’s wishes. She would have to endure an entire day of festivities. “Who will be our guests?”
“Lord Fausto Albano, his wife Rosa, and their son Ernesto.”
Rena chewed her bottom lip. She was right. A suitor had come.
Rena knew where to place the blame for that. Her father and Lord Fausto would seek the union to improve business between their respective countries. Certainly her father, the king, would gain less from the arrangement than Lord Fausto.
Since men governed the world, Ernesto would have the honor of choosing. And Rena had no doubt that Lord Fausto would coach his son to find Rena acceptable, further sealing her fate. What lord would miss a chance to align his family with royalty!
“You’re giving me away,” Rena protested.
Leona finished adjusting the gown and spun her about. “It’s not like that sweetie. This is the custom of nobility. Besides, Lord Fausto is a nice man. His son is a safe bet.
“Besides, Lord Fausto’s lands are in Alm and border Cromania to the east. You won’t be far away and I’ll come and visit you every chance I get.”
Rena had to swallow hard and bite her tongue for the callous comment that had budded there. It sounded to her as if her mother had already decided her fate.
As for Lord Fausto, she had only met him once. He was a rotund and balding man with a bulbous nose. She could only imagine Ernesto as a younger version of his father, for she had never seen Ernesto.
Her stomach churned. “I don’t care! I don’t want to marry some lord’s son. Or even a prince for that matter!”
“I know arranged marriages can be difficult. But keep in mind this one is not arranged yet. Ernesto may decide you are not his type.”
“Yeah right!” Rena grumbled. Her mother’s straight-lipped expression mocked what she already suspected. Her marriage and the rest of her life would be planned today!
“I don’t suppose it would help you to know that your father and I were arranged. I only met him once when we were fifteen. We married when I was twenty.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard the story. It was love at first sight, and all of that.”
Leona cleared her throat, and Rena thought she saw a hint of doubt in her mother’s eyes.
“It wasn’t quite like that,” Leona said. “But things have worked out.”
“I suppose that’s why I’m an only child,” Rena retorted.
Leona took a step back, smoothing her hands over her dress. It was Leona’s way of coping with Rena’s rebellious nature; a sort of calming action before applying an appropriate level of parenting. But this time, just for a second, there was something distant in Leona’s eyes, a long-forgotten memory begging to escape. It faded and Leona ran her hands over her dress once more.
“That’s not important now,” Leona said, finding a need for urgency and roughly pushing Rena’s breasts high into the scooping collar. “Our guests arrived early this morning. So the kitchen has prepared a morning meal for us to enjoy. You will have the entire day to get to know Ernesto. That’s more than I had with your father.”
“Great! A morning meal betrothal!” Rena commented, following her mother from the room. They marched down the tower steps, heading through the hallway outside the dining area.
Rena’s gaze fell to her chest. She cursed quietly at the sight of so much bare skin and reached beneath the collar to pull the flannel kirtle up.
“Stop that!” Leona said, pushing her daughter’s hands aside and forcing the kirtle down again. Leona made a couple of minor adjustments, lifting Rena’s assets higher still. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little showy today.”
“I don’t want to be showy!”
Rena started to rearrange the kirtle again, but a figure suddenly grew out of the shadows near a tapestry, breaking her concentration. A smaller figure trailed behind the first.
“My Lady,” Artamos said, giving a curt nod as he approached.
“Hello Artamos,” Leona replied tersely. She avoided eye contact with the tall awkward-looking man. Her mother always seemed uncomfortable around Artamos, and Rena assumed it was for the same reasons she felt uncomfortable around all of the Black Knights. Creepy, she thought, how they just walked out of the wall.
“Lord Fausto and his family are in the dining area, my lady.”
Leona nodded, still fidgeting with Rena’s appearance. “Who’s the young man with you?”
When the boy didn’t speak, Artamos cuffed him on the back of the head. At once the boy stepped forward, crossing his fist over his heart, dipping into a short bow. “Black Knight apprentice Damian at your service my ladies.”
Leona straightened to examine him, eyes faltering to Artamos’s briefly. “Just Damian?”
“Yes my lady. I was an orphan. I don’t know my family name.”
Rena guessed the boy to be about her age. He was straight backed and broad shouldered. He looked as uncomfortable in his new suit of padded leather armor as Rena felt in the dress. He tugged discretely at the leather below his utility belt, trying to better stretch it to his form.
His eyes were deep brown, matching his short-cropped hair, and one corner of his lip curled mischievously. Cute, she thought, finding it hard not to look at the young man.
“So this is your first day?” Leona asked the young man whose eyes had finally landed on Rena.
“Yes my lady,” Damian responded, struggling to avert his gaze from Rena. The act brought a smile to Leona’s lips. “So innocent.”
“We all were once,” Artamos said.
Leona turned a cold shoulder to Artamos, completely ignoring him in favor of her daughter. “One more thing I think,” she said, slipping a ruby pendant from around her neck.
The braided hair chain Rena remembered as a child was now replaced with a gold one. The ruby was the size of a small child’s fist, set into a gold wreath that resembled the sun. It was a thing of incredible beauty, though, to Rena’s eyes, the stone appeared dull green rather than the ruby red that her mother had long ago told her it was.
Leona arranged the pendant in such a way that it rested against Rena’s bare flesh, just above her cleavage. She looked straight at Rena fidgeting once again with the dress. When she spoke, it was to Artamos. “Does a meeting among a lord and king require the presence of the Black Knights?”
“The safety of the royal family will always require my presence,” Artamos replied simply, his tone brooking no argument.
Leona grimaced and tugged so hard at the dress that Rena thought she might flop right out. “I’m sure we are in no danger from Lord and Lady Albano.”
Rena glanced down at the stone in the pendant, and wanting nothing more than to break the growing tension she sensed between her mother and Artamos said, “I don’t know that gray green is really my color.”
Leona instantly stopped fidgeting with the dress and fixed her with a panicked stare. And if that wasn’t enough to generate some confusion, the reaction from Artamos was. His eyebrows arched and he faltered back on his heels in an uncustomary loss of balance.
For one awkward moment, Rena stared at the shocked expressions on her mother and Artamos’s faces, two people who should not have shared such similar moments of indiscretion. She’d known that it often aggravated her mother when she struggled to see the color red. It had been terrible for her as a child trying to learn her colors, and had been the cause of many arguments.
Rena hadn’t expected her mother’s shocked expression. What’s more, it seemed out of place that Artamos might also seem so shocked. Two people of such different social levels should not have shared the same confusion over such a trivial ailment.
Rena thought of asking her mother about it but Leona recovered quickly. She gave a final tug at the dress and said tersely, “Let’s not keep our guests waiting any longer.” She pulled Rena quickly past Artamos who still looked stunned.
But Rena hadn’t the time to ponder the complexities of the situation. The current state of affairs paled in comparison to what awaited her in the dining area. Rena’s father sat at the broad oak table, conversing with Lord Fausto and Ernesto. Lord Fausto’s wife, Rosa, sat silently across the table from her husband.
The table was already set with silver serving platters. Sweet smelling spiced breads mingled with the scent of sausage, and a heaped platter of scrambled eggs sat right next to a bowl of mixed fruit at the center of the table, steam rising from its center, small cups of jam intermixed with the trays.
The men stood as Leona and Rena entered the room. The women curtsied and the men bowed respectively. Leona led Rena to a seat beside Ernesto, and her heart faltered. Ernesto was not at all what she had expected. It was worse!
Like the cute boy in the hallway, Ernesto was about her age. But while Damian had been broad shouldered and athletic looking, Ernesto was narrow shouldered and almost malnourished. His nose was long and he had a receding lower jaw that made him look more like a rat than the son of a lord. His entire face was covered with deep red pustules, each in varying stages of drainage.
Ernesto picked absently at a scab over his chin. His father swatted his hand.
Rena sat, a flutter of revulsion causing her to unconsciously shift her chair away from the young man. Her mother moved around the table to take a seat next to Rosa.
“Rena. Here are Lord Fausto, Lady Rosa, and their son Ernesto,” her father announced. “They’ve come to spend the day with us. Perhaps you could show Ernesto around the castle after morning meal.”
“Yes,” Rena replied quietly, not looking up.
“Very good. Shall we give thanks for this meal?”
Everyone at the table held their hands clasped in front of them. Her father began the ritual, “Lord, bless this gathering here today. Thank you for the fine food we are about to receive, and please smile upon the young couple we have in our presence.”
Rena’s gut twisted at the word couple. She forced her eyes to the plate in front of her, where they remained until Ernesto nudged her side to pass a platter of sausages. In that moment she caught a glimpse of his dull gray eyes, and Rena caught her breath in astonishment.
What she saw in this dull looking boy was the same fear she felt. But no part of Rena felt compassion for that fear. Indeed, she felt nothing at all toward Ernesto who seemed content to just stare uncomfortably at her.
His gaze faltered and fell to the ruby pendant. She quickly took the platter, hoping the exchange would break his stare. She scooped two sausages onto her plate before passing it across to her mother. She selected a slice of pumpkin spice bread from a platter in front of her, and a handful of grapes from the bowl.
A silver teapot spouted hot vapor from the center of the table. Rena was quick to fill her cup, making every effort to avoid Ernesto. It seemed to work, for he turned back to his own plate, at least until her mother cleared her throat just as Rena returned the teapot.
“Don’t you think it would be polite to share that with everyone else?” Leona asked. Rena glanced around. Everyone watched her expectantly. She blushed and passed the teapot to Ernesto who filled his cup and passed it to his father, and so on around the table.
Rena caught a look from her mother that meant for her to mind her manners, something Rena had often failed at. She was always in too big a hurry to finish, to run off on her next adventure. Consequently, she was apt to stuff food into her mouth with abandon, and without the use of silverware.
As she looked around the table, she noted everyone was using forks and knives to cut sausage and smear jam on bread. Even Lord Fausto used the utensils daintily, though Rena doubted he used such devices at home. No one could get that fat eating in the slow customary fashion of nobility.
Her father conversed quietly with Lord Fausto about politics, and her mother talked sewing with Rosa while they ate. Beside her, Ernesto focused on his sausage, occasionally tossing an insecure glance her way, a glance that Rena noted continually dropped to the cut of her gown. She was beginning to suspect it wasn’t the stone that caught his attention, and she twisted, tugging her dress from the back so that the scooped collar slipped above her cleavage.
With a heavy sigh, she picked up the knife and fork. Once again she ignored Ernesto and everyone else at the table. She stabbed at a sausage and cut off a bite.
A movement across the room caught her attention. The apprentice boy stood near the opposite wall, shifting awkwardly in his stiff new uniform. Artamos stood next to him, stock still in his creepy way that forced Rena to stare to see him.
She smiled and couldn’t help but notice how the corners of Damian’s lips responded, tipping up in that lopsided boyish smirk. He’s cute, she thought for a second time. An idea occurred to her. She shifted slightly so that the scoop of her gown drooped once more, partially displaying the white firm mounds of her breasts. She tipped her chin and gave her best coy smile.
There was a moment when the boy’s jaw went slack, and then his head jolted forward as Artamos’s hand popped him from behind. He averted his gaze, but Rena couldn’t help but smile even bigger. She didn’t care that Artamos saw. He was a creep anyway.
Besides, her mother was right; this could be fun. She toyed with the piece of sausage on her plate, watching if the boy would look at her again. She was oblivious to anything else going on at the table.
“Rena!”
Rena kept watching Damian until he looked up. When he did, she smiled that coy smile again, shifting in her seat so that she was sure he had gotten a good look at her.
“Rena!”
The call was loud but that wasn’t what got her attention; it was the sudden quietness that had come over the table beside her. Rena slowly averted her eyes from the boy across the dining area. Everyone except Ernesto, who chewed absently at a piece of sausage, was watching her. Leona fixed her with a stern look and a knowing glance over her shoulder.
“Yes mother?” Rena replied, understanding she had been caught.
Leona smiled as if nothing happened. “I was just telling Rosa about your dress.”
“It’s beautiful,” Rosa commented. “What do you think Ernesto?”
Ernesto, with two sausages poked into his pockmarked cheeks, turned his dull eyes on Rena. An invitation to look at her dress was an open opportunity to drop his gaze, and once again his eyes fell below the level of her pendant. He chewed loudly for a moment and swallowed forcefully. “She’s beautiful!”
Lord Fausto laughed heartily and gave his son a slap on the shoulder. His mother smiled and said, “We know she’s pretty. But what about her dress?”
Ernesto’s gaze roamed lower. Rena realized it was the first time he’d noticed the gown and was only doing so now to please his mother. “It’s nice,” he said.
Rosa let out a heavy sigh and her gaze landed on Rena. “It’s alright sweetie. He’s just a boy and doesn’t understand the finery of such material.”
Not knowing what to say, Rena nodded dumbly.
The meal regained momentum as everyone returned to conversation. Ernesto went back to alternately poking food in his mouth and popping pustules between his thumb and forefinger. Occasionally he stole a glance at Rena. She hardly cared.
Damian was again out of sight. She stabbed despondently at her sausage.
She squirmed in her chair, trying to catch even the slightest movement that would give the apprentice away. There was no movement, and the more she tried, the angrier she got.
At first it was just frustration that her entertainment for the meal had disappeared. Then she focused that anger on her mother. After all, it was her fault that she had lost eye contact with Damian. In fact, it was her mother’s fault that she was here at all. If not for her mother plopping her in this gown and fluffing her up like a party favor, she would have been long gone to visit Sentinel Tower.
She glanced sideways at the unattractive boy sitting next to her. No way would he not find her acceptable, not unless she could find a way to repulse him.
A rebellious thought took root. Rena dropped the fork and knife and picked up the two sausages, one in each fist. She bit the end off of first one and then the other, chewing loudly as she went. No one noticed.
She finished the sausages without incidence and moved on to the spiced bread. She dipped her fingers into a bowl of blueberry jam and smeared it over the bread, noisily licking the excess from her fingers. She ate the bread, not bothering to wipe the jam from her chin when it dribbled free.
Still, no one noticed her inappropriate antics. She thought Ernesto smiled a little, but that fact didn’t offer much encouragement to her espionage. She had the impression that he was amused by her antics. Still, she continued poking her mouth so full of grapes that she had to chew open mouthed to keep from choking.
Nothing. There was not the slightest hint of annoyance from anyone at the table.
Her tea had cooled to nearly room temperature. She slurped it down, gulping air and liquid together. She didn’t stop until she downed the whole cup. When she finished, she let out a rolling burp that brought silence once again to the table. She punctuated that silence by thumping her chest loudly with her fist and saying, “Excuse me,” as sweetly as possible, despite the angry glare her mother gave her, a glare that grew darker when she wiped her greasy, sticky fingers on the silk dress.
Lord Fausto broke the tension, laughing heartily, and patting his ample stomach. “That’s alright. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.” He slapped Ernesto so hard on the shoulder that Rena thought the young man might choke on the grapes he held in his mouth. He made a hacking, sucking sound, and swallowed forcefully.
“What do you think son? Do you find the young woman acceptable?” Lord Fausto asked.
Rena’s heart froze in her chest. If her mother’s angry glare a moment ago caused her any concern at all, it was mild compared to the feeling of anxiety she felt now. She perched on the edge of her chair, watching Ernesto with anticipation.
Ernesto chewed for an extraordinarily long period of time at the mixture of grapes and bread he pocketed in his rat-like cheeks. Purple juice squeezed from the corners of his mouth. All Rena could think was; don’t find me acceptable!
Ernesto swallowed loudly and spoke slowly around the final fragments of food, “I don’t find her,” he paused to swallow again and Rena sat up a little straighter, hope rising in her chest.
“Unacceptable. She’s unrefined, but very pretty. I think I like her.”
The table was quiet while Ernesto’s awkward pronouncement sank in. Lord Fausto slapped his son hard on the shoulder once more. “That–a-boy Ernesto!”
Rosa smiled. “Well. I’m glad that’s over. It was touch and go for a moment,” she said, eying Rena.
Hope that rose in her chest the moment Ernesto’s words rang out, I don’t find her, came crashing down with unacceptable.
Her mother smiled weakly and her father turned back to the discussion of politics with Lord Fausto. The moment had come and gone in a flash, with everyone at the table taking complete acceptance of Ernesto’s decision. Even her mother returned to her conversation about sewing and dresses with Rosa. Ernesto smiled at her and tried to make small talk, but she ignored him.
The rest of her life had been decided in the blink of an eye. No one present gave it a second thought and readily went back to their meals and conversations as if nothing at all had happened.
A rebellious red flush stained her cheeks. She stood forcefully, her chair kicking over backwards, clattering against the floor. “I don’t find this acceptable!” she shouted and ran out the door.
* * *
Rena didn’t waste time by going to her room. Instead she ran straight to the stables. Antonio, the stable boy, wasn’t there. Rena was grateful for that.
She led Nicker, her small gray mare, out of the stable and quickly saddled her. Rena was in a hurry and it wasn’t long before she mounted.
Her bottom had no more than hit the seat than she noticed the figure standing in front of her, his fist firmly fastened around Nicker’s bridle.
“Let go,” Rena commanded.
“I can’t do that,” Damian replied, a boyish smirk bending the corner of his lips.
“Why? Where’s your master?”
“Back at the castle. Lord Fausto was insulted. Artamos didn’t feel comfortable leaving.”
“So he sent a boy instead.”
“To stop a girl,” Damian replied evenly.
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“If I have to, I will drag you from the horse and sit on you.”
Rena firmed her jaw and glared at Damian who simply smiled. She held the reins and was mounted, but Damian had the horse’s head firmly under control.
“You know, Ernesto isn’t all that bad,” Damian said.
“How would you know? Have you been married to him?” Rena remarked tersely.
“Of course not. But his father is the Duke of Rushes. He has lots of lands in Alm and Ernesto is the only heir.”
“Your master told you this?”
Damian blushed and shrugged. “I suppose it’s true.”
“So what if it is?” Rena shot back angrily. “Just because Ernesto will inherit a lot of land doesn’t mean I will, or that I would even want to. I’m no more than a prize to be bartered for at the betterment of two kingdoms.”
Damian’s eyebrows arched questioningly, and Rena went on. “Do you think I am to gain here? Or perhaps even Ernesto? It’s our fathers who gain! A marriage would secure allegiance between my father and Lord Fausto. I’m just a trade good to secure better business between two countries.”
Damian blinked and firmed his jaw. “I’m sorry. But I promised Artamos I would not let you go.”
Rena watched the stubborn young man for a moment. She fiddled with the extra length of rein in her hand. “Fine! Come and help me out of the saddle.”
Damian relaxed his grip on the halter and moved up beside Rena. He reached up to help her, but instead of climbing down, Rena whipped the extra length of rein across his face and kicked Nicker hard in the flanks.
The horse gathered its strength beneath her and launched forward, thundering over the stone paved castle entrance and through the main gates.
Chapter 1
Rogue gave only minor consideration to taking the left hall and avoiding the small foyer that opened into the alley along the building’s south side. She had slept much too late into the afternoon and she was in a hurry. Taking the long route through the kitchen and The Orphanage’s front door would delay her further.
The foyer was a small isolated room with just two doors, the one she had just entered through and the one leading into the alley.
The alley door served as the entrance that every pickpocket or enforcer in Guido Oliva’s guild was required to use. It was the check in point, or, as in tonight’s case, the checkout point. And like every other night, Rogue was late getting started, a fact that filled the young woman with trepidation, a fear of being reprimanded for her lackadaisical attitude.
Coming into the foyer, she immediately regretted her decision to avoid the kitchen, cursing herself for believing in the remote chance that Nicia wouldn’t be in her usual spot. She sensed the woman’s presence, sitting at the small round table inside the foyer.
Rogue quickened her pace, as if speed alone could save her from confrontation. She ignored the woman, making for the door to the alley. And to her surprise, she almost made it. Her hand had just settled on the door handle when Nicia called out, “Kind of overslept this evening, didn’t you?”
Rogue bit back a curt reply. It wouldn’t do to anger Nicia, Guido’s lieutenant of pickpockets, old turnip head as many were fond of calling her, out of her presence of course.
“A little,” Rogue replied.
“I want to speak with you,” Nicia said.
Rogue’s heart quickened, thudding in her chest. Behind her, Nicia’s chair grated on the floor. Rogue could easily imagine the thin vile woman reclined, her soft leather boots crossed at the ankles and supported on the edge of the table.
Rogue turned to face Nicia.
The woman still sat in her chair. But as Rogue turned, Nicia stood and frowned. She strode forward with purpose, straight faced and business like, pausing just a step away with her hands set on her hips.
At five foot five, the red headed woman was on even terms with Rogue, her steely blue eyes boring into Rogue’s brown. That’s where the similarities stopped. Nicia was nearly twice Rogue’s age, self-assured, ruthless, and with a particular dislike for Rogue, one the young thief had yet to understand.
“What do you want to talk about?” Rogue asked, thinking it best to get this over with quickly.
“I’m putting you on probation,” Nicia stated bluntly.
“But I’ve only been on my own for a week!”
Nicia grinned, a taunting expression that promised pain for disobedience. Her right hand came away from her hip and she stabbed a finger at Rogue. “This is it! Shape up or ship out,” Nicia retorted menacingly. “Guido demands every member of this guild earn his or her keep. You are not earning yours.”
“I’ve turned in twenty coins every night,” Rogue retorted.
“You’re always the last one to work,” Nicia replied evenly. “And you’re the first to return at night. Imagine what you could accomplish with a better work ethic!”
Rogue frowned and shot back, “Fine! I’ll bring back more coins tonight!”
Nicia arched her eyebrows in a disbelieving manner. “Oh really! You haven’t brought back even as much as our least capable pick pockets since Timo first claimed you were ready for the streets. In fact, if not for Timo’s reputation, I’d think he lied to me about your skill. Timo says you are every bit as skilled as he is, and yet he routinely brings in twice what you do. Why is that?” Nicia asked, folding her arms over her chest and eyeing Rogue expectantly.
Rogue shrugged, trying to seem indifferent, though inside, her stomach was churning. “Timo’s far more experienced.”
Nicia nodded, and for a moment Rogue saw hope in Nicia’s blue eyes.
“I would expect Timo to bring in more than you. But I wouldn’t expect Renzo to regularly bring in more than you. And he does!” Nicia finished, referring to a newly recruited pick pocket who smelled so bad that most suspected his victims smelled him coming. He rarely turned in more than forty coins.
“I’ll try and do better,” Rogue said, letting her hand slide hopefully to the door handle.
“See that you do,” Nicia demanded. “If Renzo beats you again tonight, I will be forced to take this up with Guido.”
Rogue nodded her head slowly. Nicia eyed her through an uncomfortable silence.
It was Nicia who finally broke the tension between them. “Are you going to stand there and stare at me or go out and pick pockets?” She asked evenly.
Rogue swallowed and forced the door open. She stepped through hurriedly, not looking back. The door slammed shut behind her.
She walked absently along the alley, moving west toward First Street, and the glow of street lanterns. She had just stepped into the light when a voice from the left broke caught her attention.
Her heart skipped and then thudded rapidly up to the point that she recognized Timo moving up beside her. “Timo!” She said crossly. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“Like what?” Timo replied, hands wide in askance, a thin mischievous smile spreading across his angular features.
Rogue just shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. You were walking along like some sort of blind duck. Oblivious to everything around you.” Then his smile faded and he added, “Nicia gave you a good going over didn’t she?”
Rogue waved the notion aside and started north along the cobbled street. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just the usual.”
Timo moved to catch up with her. “It’s more than nothing. Nicia is seriously perturbed about your lack of enthusiasm for the job.”
Rogue shrugged, a so what gesture that left no room for debate.
Timo stepped quickly in front of her. When Rogue tried to step by him, he restrained her with a hand on each shoulder. Rogue struggled to get loose, and resisted until she was transfixed by the gravity of his expression.
“Look. I know you don’t like picking pockets or any other kind of theft for that matter. But it is far better than what other young women your age are doing to survive the streets.”
Rogue scoffed at the remark and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Rogue had indeed tried one of those trades, waitressing in The Tankard. That hadn’t worked out so well. There were other even less appealing trades. But given her track record with waitressing, Rogue expected it was best she didn’t give them a chance.
Timo mocked her defiant pose by placing his hands on his hips and leaning slightly forward at the waist. “Tell me you like picking pockets,” Timo commanded.
Rogue looked away, her lower lip puckering with petulance. She refused to answer.
Timo took a step closer and moved so that Rogue had to look at him. “Well,” he said expectantly. “Can you tell me you enjoy it?”
Rogue tried to turn away. But the seriousness in her handsome mentor’s eyes caught her once again. Timo wasn’t usually so grave. Mischievous was a better description of the older man. And so Timo’s newly acquired anxiety gripped powerfully at her morality.
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