Prophecy of Thieves [chapter 5]

After a night spent in the palace with no knowledge as to why she was there, Rieka was restless, to say the least. Though the accommodations she had been given were luxurious—far more than anything she had ever experienced—it felt as though she were in a cell. Only her cell was cushioned and had running water.

When the guards dumped her into the large quarters, they had locked the door behind her without a word. Rieka spent the first hour scouring the room for anything that could be of use, but whoever had prepped it had been precise. No clothes lay within the large wardrobe, not even towels in the cupboards of the bathroom. Despite the running water she had been provided, there was only one bottle of basic soap for her to use. Rieka forwent a bath as she had no fresh clothes to change into afterward.

There were three windows in her room, each of them easily opened. The ground, a flat expanse of green grass and trimmed hedges, was far below. A jump would result in broken legs at best, death at worst. Not to mention the wide array of guards that were posted just beneath her room. Even if she managed to make the climb down, she would be shot by their heavy crossbows.

So, she spent the remainder of that night in agonizing silence. Waiting for… Stars, she didn’t even know what she was waiting for. The next morning, a maid bustled silently into her room to hand her a plate of food, departing just as quickly. Rieka wasn’t given any utensils.

Feeling like a beast in a gilded cage, she prowled about the room, wearing a path in the fancy-ass rug set upon the tiled floor. She occasionally spouted curses at the guards outside her door, but if they heard her, they didn’t respond.

Ready to bust down the painted door, she managed to get one good kick at his silver handle before a sharp knock interrupted her. Rieka backed away as the door flew open, a posse of guards filing in. A short, red-faced man not much taller than Rieka herself led the procession. She looked down her nose at him as he unrolled a scroll and read, “King Marcell of Arlan has requested your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Arching a brow, Rieka placed a hand upon her hip. “And dare say, do I get to know why?”

His toadly face pinched at her tone, but he didn’t respond, instead, turning on his heels, blatantly expecting her to follow. With the guards’ hands upon their swords, she supposed she had no choice.

Upon arrival, it had been the dead of night, and that mixed with her obvious confusion, Rieka hadn’t been able to marvel at the opulence of the palace. But now… The walls were adorned with paintings made by the most famous artists. The windows were framed in gold, with thick curtains fluttering around them. The marble tiles she walked upon were so clean, she could see her reflection. She felt a glimmer of satisfaction as her dirtied boots left prints upon its surface.

The halls were mostly cleared of any courtiers, but occasionally, wealthy noblemen would pass by, shooting her looks. They likely thought she was some criminal dug up from the dungeons. She shot them grins.

There was no doubt the room they stopped before was the throne room. The closed golden doors appeared almost two stories tall, and the ceiling arched around them with a sparkling chandelier hanging above the foyer. Two guards were posted on either side of the doors, but she found the precaution pointless. Those doors looked far too heavy to open alone. By the time any thief pushed them open even a fraction, the squealing of the hinges would be heard across the narrow sea. Useless rich people and their thirst to display their wealth.

As she had suspected, it took four guards in the posse that followed her to shove open the doors. She gave them mocking smiles as she was swept into the throne room.

If the doors hadn’t been a giveaway of the king’s pretentiousness, his throne was. It sat at the end of the long hall lined with windows, its back reaching at least ten feet high. The armrests were woven with golden roses—looking entirely uncomfortable if Rieka was being honest—and the arch of the backrest was decorated with colored jewels. The throne alone likely cost the entire livelihoods of some of Arlan’s people. And the king that sat upon it lounged as though he were perched on a wooden bench.

Rieka rolled her eyes.

As she was marched to stand before him, she took notice of the others in the room. Beside the throne were most likely his sons—one, a tall warrior with a harsh face identical to his father, the other a scrawny scholar with not an ounce of meat on his bones. Rieka arched a brow, not at all impressed. On the king’s other side was his wife—a wispy looking woman with frizzed, red hair and wide eyes. A lunatic, if Rieka were to guess.

She stopped a long distance before the throne—courtesy of the guard’s arm that held her back. She shot him a look, but his eyes were directed ahead.

“We are still waiting on the others, Your Majesty,” the sniveling, grey-haired toad said, dropping to a bow before his sovereign.

The king waved a pale hand in dismissal, the other stroking idly at his beard. It was a wispy, ugly thing. He would be far better shaving it off. His sharp, blue eyes landed on Rieka, scrutinizing her. She met his gaze, raising her brows.

“Will you not bow before your king?” he demanded. The guards around her stiffened, ready to decapitate her at a moment's notice.

But Rieka was no fool. She had been brought here for a reason, and that reason was not decapitation. Or, at least, not yet. So she lifted her chin and said, “You are not my king, so I will not bow.”

His scrawny, auburn-haired son shot a startled glance at his father, his cheeks paling, emphasizing the freckles across his nose. Rieka almost smirked. She doubted he could even hold a practice sword upright. The thought of him twirling in a clumsy attempt at swinging a sword flashed in her mind, and she suppressed a snort.

The king didn’t seem to mind her disobedient tone. Instead, he arched a wiry brow and said, “I suppose not. Then you must not bow to any kings, for there are none in Styrka.”

Rieka stiffened. “I am not loyal to any crown.” The statement could’ve been dooming. Only pirates could safely be free of any obligation to laws and rulers. And Rieka was most definitely not a pirate.

However, the king seemed pleased by her words. He opened his mouth to comment when the telltale sounds of those pretentious doors opening cut through the echoing hall.

The tap of one set of shoes against marble resounded, and Rieka glanced behind her.

Another guard. Though this one wasn’t here to watch her with suspicion, hand upon his sword. In fact, this guard looked just as out of place as she did, his dark skin stark among the pale faces around them, hers included.

He stopped before the king, a few steps away from her, and bowed low. What was a Larabosi man doing in service of an Arlanian king? After a wave for him to rise, he fell back a few steps until he stood beside Rieka. He towered over her, and was clearly capable with a weapon, if his broad form was any indication. He shot her a judging glance, his lips pursed. Well, apparently, he didn’t approve of her. She rolled her eyes.

“I won’t bother with introductions until the rest are here,” the king said, his low voice reeking of boredom. As if summoned by his words, the doors were opened again to admit four more strangers. Three Bahajadis, and the other…

Rieka chuckled darkly when she met Ren’s eyes. So she was in some kind of trouble, though what, she didn’t know. Anything that put her in league with Ren was not good. He was surrounded by more guards than even she was, and she didn’t doubt he had already swiped some of their goods.

He grinned at her when he met her eyes. He looked more disheveled than she had ever seen him. Typically, his dark curls were gelled back in a messy-do that took far too long to just appear casual. Instead, they stood in complete disarray, matching the bruise blooming across his lean jaw. She wasn’t at all surprised by the bruise. She wondered if it was courtesy of one of the guards.

Though, she supposed she didn’t look much better with her split lip and purple and yellow bruises spotting her face. It was no wonder the Larabosi guard had judged her.

Only the two Bahajadi girls bowed before the king when they stopped at the base of his throne. That came as no surprise as Rieka noted the young woman’s outfit. Whores, or at least the older one was. Likely a good one too, with her perfectly beautiful face and full curves visible beneath her thin gown. Rieka fought to gag. She would never sell her body to some bidder. She would rather die. This girl, apparently, didn’t have the same dignity.

And a child? The younger girl could hardly have been ten, yet with the young woman’s hand around her wrist, there was little doubt that the courtesan had dragged her sister into her disreputable lifestyle.

Once they all stood before the king, Rieka’s curiosity outweighed any fear in regards to her fate. The king stood from his throne and waved a dramatic hand over them. When he spoke, his voice resounded over the hall, clear and demanding attention.

“Zain Abdullah, Amani Rose, Ren Mariqua, Rieka Velsky, and Kaimbe Summers. You have been brought here today by order of the gods.” At his words, a cleric dressed in white robes floated towards the throne. She hadn’t even noticed him. “Almost eighteen years ago, the gods announced a prophecy. One to restore the strength of Arlan and return what has been stolen.”

Rieka raised a dubious brow. She didn’t believe in Arlanian gods, and she most definitely didn’t believe in their spoken prophecies. Prophecies only came in one form, and that was the stars.

“This prophecy is said to commence in two days' time.”

Rieka vaguely wondered if the king thought they cared. He knew she wasn’t Arlanian, and neither were any of the other strangers beside her. Why should they take part in a prophecy meant for Arlanian gods?

“Are you planning on telling us what this prophecy is?” Ren crooned. All eyes shot to him in shock. Rieka smirked despite the adversity between them. “If so,” Ren continued, brushing a curl from his eyes. His full lips tugged into a smile that would’ve had her guarding her pockets. “Do we receive some kind of reward for completing it?”

Leave it to Ren to demand coin for holy work. Though the idea wasn’t a bad one, and Rieka watched the king eagerly for his response.

He didn’t seem angered by Ren’s insubordination. In fact, a grin of his own pulled at his thin lips. “I guess some explaining is in order.

“As the gods declare it, you all have until the winter solstice to gather the stolen artifacts of Arlan. The Sword of Strength, the Tome of Secrets, and the Tree of Life. Return these artifacts to their rightful owner, and the gods will bless you with good fortune and long life.”

Rieka scoffed at the prospect that any of those artifacts belonged to Arlan. Instead, she said, “And what will you bless us with?” The king’s scrawny son gasped at her bluntness.

“Gold,” the king answered, his eyes glittering. “Enough gold to have you all living lavishly for the rest of your lives.”

“I’d like a number.”

The king paused and the guards surrounding her stiffened, ready to strike. Sure she had crossed the line, she readied herself to run or fight if need be when the king broke the tense silence and named a sum. Her jaw dropped.

Money like that… Rieka could go wherever she wanted. She could… Stars, she could possibly win back her name and status that she had long since given up on.

The king continued as if he hadn’t just offered her everything she ever needed. “Should you agree, you will leave in two days. Contracts shall be written up for you to sign, declaring your service to the gods and their word. You will be granted any supplies you may need for your journey. Should you return after the solstice, the deal is forfeit, and you will be forever shamed by the gods for your failure to comply with their holy word.”

His words were white noise in Rieka’s skull. The sum he had named… Glancing sideways at the others, she knew their thoughts were on it as well. Ren was practically drooling on the floor at the thought of it. And the Bahajadi girls stared wide-eyed at the king. Only the Larabosi guard seemed unfazed. He watched on, his square jaw set in determination. As a royal guard, he had likely known about this ‘prophecy’ long before she.

“My son will lead you in your journey, as he has been marked by the gods as a savior to Arlan.”

Rieka’s eyes went to the tall warrior, his deep set eyes watching on with unyielding attention. Yet it was the scrawny man who stepped forward, his thin hands twitching at his sides.

Rieka fought back a laugh. He was supposed to lead them? His face was pale as he tried to straighten his spine and appear confident. With his tight jerkin tucked into tighter trousers, he sharply resembled a young tween playing dress-up. Rieka coughed to hide her snicker.

His eyes darted to her, and she placed her wrist over her mouth, smiling against it. If the dangerous journey wasn’t enough to destroy him, being in the company of criminals would. The thought of all his riches being stolen by Ren was enough to make her almost like the little thief. If he indeed stole from the pretentious prince, she might declare their rivalry over and shake his hand as a friend.

“Have we come to an agreement?” the king asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward eagerly. He seemed far too excited to send off his son on some delusional quest with a group of criminals.

But the number of gold the king had offered still screamed in the back of her mind, so Rieka agreed without hesitation.

…

After everyone had agreed, the king relenting to allow the whore—Amani’s—sister to accompany them when she refused otherwise, the cleric stepped forward and blessed each of them with wine upon their brow. Rieka had seen the strange tradition before, but she found it more absurd than ever when she was on the reciprocating end. Wine was supposed to be drunk, not pressed upon skin in the name of the gods. Out of her desire for gold, she kept her mouth shut as the scriptures were read before her, the cleric’s hand resting over her head.

A scribe bustled in after the king waved a hand, sheets of parchment, ink, and a quill piled into his arms. The contracts, it seemed, had already been written, and Rieka couldn’t help but smirk at the king’s confidence. He had known they would each agree. Though she supposed that was no surprise with the gold he offered.

They were each brought before the king to sign their contracts. Amani and Zain both scrutinized the parchment before signing, but Ren and Kai signed without hesitation. When Rieka was called up, she scanned the contract, the words a jumble of unknown letters.

She could read Styrkish just fine, but Arlanian… “Can you just tell me the gist of this thing so I don’t have to sit here and read it all?” she said, glancing up at the king. He smirked as though he knew the true meaning behind her request, but obliged.

“It proclaims your devotion to the gods and their word. It promises the payment offered should you succeed upon the given date.”

Rieka nodded. She wouldn’t be surprised if he hid a few twists in the contract, but if the Bahajadis had signed after reading it through… Rieka signed her name on the line.

They were each given new rooms to stay in until their journey commenced, and this time, she found fresh clothes in the drawers and towels in the bathing room. Despite the nicer quarters, guards were still posted below her window and at her door. If they thought Rieka was truly foolish enough to either steal from or hurt the king now, they were idiots. With the gold she would receive, Rieka would play the perfect, obedient citizen to all their hearts’ desires. Hell, she might even deign to be nice.

After the door clicked shut behind her and she heard a lock slide into place, she collapsed onto the plush bed and stared at the wall.

She would no longer have to fight in the Lounge. No longer have to pull punches so she could get a sack of coins. No longer be homeless, only living in taverns when she had enough to pay for them.

She could go home.

But would they welcome her? Even with pockets of gold, she doubted they would forget the reason she had left. The Styrkish weren’t ones to place gold in such importance. But…

But if they knew how she had won the gold… The Sword of Strength—the Mek Syly, in her tongue—didn’t rightfully belong to Arlan as the ignorant king claimed. If they knew she had stolen it for Arlan, she would never be accepted. She would forever be banished from her home, a shame to her country.

It would be no different than she was now.

Rieka shoved aside any thought of her family. No amount of gold would bring her back to them. It was foolish to think that it would. But gold could get her a home in the northern hills of Arlan, close enough to Styrka that she could feel the cool breezes upon her skin instead of incessant heat. A home full of servants to make her food and pour her ale. And an axe. She would get a new axe and hunt in the pine forests each day, relishing her freedom.

The thought had her shoulders relaxing.

She had spoken true to the king. She held no loyalty to Styrka just as she held no loyalty to Arlan. And while she often foolishly dreamed of her stone home nestled in the mountains, she had left that life long ago. It was time she began a new one.