The Heartstone Thief (Dragon Eye Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  THE HEARTSTONE THIEF

  PIPPA DACOSTA

  Copyright © 2017 Pippa DaCosta

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictions and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  ISBN-10: 1540480593

  ISBN-13: 978-1540480590

  www.pippadacosta.com

  CONTENTS

  The Heartstone Thief

  Map of Brean Lands

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part II

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Pippa DaCosta

  About the Author

  The Sorceress

  The Thief

  The Heartstone Thief

  In the City of Brea, thieves and sorceresses do not mix.

  Curtis Vance went looking for death but death found him, in the form of an insane and alluring sorceress. She speaks of magic and lost cities, as though those things exist. But Vance is no fool. He’ll use the sorceress to find her mythical gem and sell it to the highest bidder. All he has to do is survive her…

  He didn’t expect the sorceress’s stories of magic and monsters to be true.

  He didn’t expect to fall for her in ways that terrifying him.

  But most of all, he didn’t expect to find himself trapped between the devastating power of a forgotten relic and his duty to save a people who would see him burned alive for his crimes.

  Curtis Vance went looking for death, but she found him. And she has no intention of letting him go.

  PART I

  “Where once there were dragons there remains the dance of starlight. Look to the whisper in the wind, the stirring below still waters, and the rise of ocean waves. Only the realm of man remains, where once there were dragons.”

  ~ Anonymous carving, Ruins of Arach.

  Chapter One

  Had I not been drunk, I would have run from the woman who appeared in the alley like a phantom. It would have been the wise thing to do, but as I couldn’t claim to be wise, and I was most definitely intoxicated, I laughed instead. My sharp bark rattled down the narrow gap between overhanging houses and deep into the Brea City night. She didn’t smile, the woman. Didn’t even blink. Only her fingers twitched, hovering over the jeweled daggers sheathed against her thighs.

  “Did Lyn send you?” My voice carried far, until the slumbering city noises devoured that too.

  Dressed like she was, in dark leathers as though the night itself embraced her curves, she had to be an assassin. Her eyes absorbed the light. No sparkle, just hard, penetrating darkness. The city guards had daggers like hers, but she was no guard, not here among the stench of the docks and the shit-soaked alleys.

  “I said I’d pay him. I’ve just been down on my luck lately.” The alley tilted, and I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall. That last draft of beer had been a bad idea.

  There were two ways this could go. She could kill me, which wouldn’t be difficult considering I could barely stand. Or I could hand over my bag as payment to whomever had paid her to track me down. Scratch that—three ways. She could kill me and take the bag. It’s what I would do.

  I slumped a shoulder against the wall, dislodging red-brick dust that settled like ashes around my boots. I probably should have started begging for my life. I lifted my gaze and found her several steps closer, or perhaps she’d always been standing close enough to touch and I was too drunk to notice. A jewel—no bigger than a tear and inset high on her cheek—captured the subdued Brean light. Emerald, I assumed, such was the greenish color. I’d never seen anyone wear a jewel this way, as though it was part of her.

  Her fingers twitched again. I groped inside my coat, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there. Ah, yes. I’d used it as payment for entertainment of the female variety. Tonight really hadn’t been the night to give away my dagger, worthless as it was.

  The assassin dipped her gaze to where my coat hid my hand.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I slurred and tacked on a smile. If I couldn’t use a dagger, I’d have to use my wits. I’d been told they were just as sharp.

  Slowly and methodically, her gaze crawled back up to my face. “Remove your bag.”

  Shit. With a crisp, clean accent like that, she had to be highborn. Not from Brea, but close enough to speak the language. What in the Halls of Arach was a highborn doing stalking alleys, dressed like death on legs? Some very fine legs, they went all the way up to parts designed to distract even the most honest of men, of which I wasn’t.

  “Are you a simpleton, sir?”

  “No,” I grunted. “And I ain’t a sir either.”

  “Then remove your bag.” She had ice in her voice, and her eyes too. Cold, bitter, unforgiving ice.

  Clearly, she didn’t believe I was armed or that I could hurt her. I shrugged the large leather bag off my shoulder and set it down on the cobbles between us. If I could keep her talking, there was a chance someone might come by and distract her so I could run.

  “Open it.”

  I scratched at my cheek. “There’s very little here worth your time—”

  She cocked her head, the gesture as sharp as her voice. “Do you know what I seek?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then do as I command, thief.”

  Command. Definitely highborn. And she’d pegged me as a thief. To know that, she must have followed me or asked after my name in certain circles. This was personal.

  I slid my back down the wall, keeping her firmly in my sights, and pulled open the bag. I didn’t need to look to know there was only one item inside: a tarnished bronze cup. It wasn’t much, and it certainly didn’t look to be worth anywhere near the thousand rubies my client had promised in exchange for its procurement. “See … nothing of worth.”

  She leaned forward, careful not to get too close in case she caught poor off me. She peered inside the bag. Only the smallest flicker slipped into her gaze, but I caught it. This cup meant something to her.

  “Maybe we can do a deal?” I asked.

  She straightened and narrowed her eyes. Given how quickly and silently she moved, she could likely pluck one of those bejeweled daggers free and fling it at my chest before I could plead my innocence.

  “You don’t kill me, and I’ll tell you who hired me to steal it?”

  The smile that slid across her lips was a wicked, hungry thing, and all the uglier against the smooth beauty of her face. “Do you carry water?”

  “Yes?”

  “Pour some in the cup.”

  “I er … I’m—”

  Her hand settled on the hilt of her dagger. She was clearly mentally unsound, but at least she wasn’t gutting me—yet
. I untied my water pouch from my belt and poured a little water into the cup, spilling most of it on the cobblestones. I’d done some odd things since escaping the workhouse—the night I dressed as a whore to gain entry into a well-to-doer’s house came to mind—but crouching in a back alley, pouring water for some noblewoman who thought she could play assassin to stave off boredom was an entirely new experience.

  “Drink from the cup,” she drawled, rolling the words around her tongue as though savoring a fine wine.

  I took a breath to ask why but already knew she wouldn’t let me leave this alley until it was done. I picked up the cup.

  “Stand.”

  “Please?”

  She looked down at me as if she’d prefer to grind me into the cobbles beneath her boot heel.

  Fine. Get it done and chalk this up to life experience. With a sigh, I got to my feet and gave her a short bow. “Is this to your liking, your princessness?”

  “Drink, thief.”

  “Your wish is my command.” I lifted the filthy cup, tipped it to acknowledge her haughtiness, then drank the contents down in one gulp—and immediately retched it back up. Not water!

  The cup slipped from my hand as what felt like acid bubbled up my insides. Fire and ice burned and numbed my guts, my chest, my throat, doubling me over in agony. My insides heaved, and I vomited a night’s worth of drinking at the assassin’s feet.

  The bitch poisoned me! I grabbed for her arm, but my fingers sailed right through her as though she were nothing but shadow. What in the Halls of Arach?

  She blurred out of focus, all of her in motion yet standing still. Her smile, though, was clear, and bright, and knowing.

  I staggered—forward, backward, anywhere—and reached for the wall, but instead I fell to my knees in my own vomit. After that, I didn’t care where or who she was. I didn’t care about the cup or the meeting I was due to attend to collect my rubies. I just cared about the raging pain turning me inside out and if—as I closed my eyes and collapsed—I would wake again.

  Chapter Two

  My head throbbed so hard I feared my skull would break apart. The pounding on the door didn’t help. I dragged open my eyelids and winced against the lurid daylight pouring in through the window of my small, two-room loft home. The sounds of traders announcing their wares drifted up from the streets, and with the noise came a breeze tainted by the briny smell of the docks. What time was it? I rolled onto my back and peered up at the ceiling. Evidently, I’d managed to crawl as far as my front room floor and that’s where I’d stayed all night. I had no memory of leaving the tavern or how I’d gotten home.

  The door rattled as the pounding started up again.

  “Go away,” I grumbled, tongue leathery and mouth gritty. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of dockside gutters wafting off my clothes.

  “Master Vance?”

  Closing my eyes, I willed Daryn to leave me be. There had to be someone else he could hound for household tasks and errands.

  “Master Vance, there’s a man here to see you. Says you have business.”

  The only business I had was a date with a bath and maybe some breakfast. My stomach heaved. No breakfast then. I dragged a hand down my face, raking over a few days’ worth of stubble.

  “Tell him I ain’t here,” I growled.

  “He says you missed your meeting. Sounds like it might be worth your while to let him in.”

  The client was here? I pushed up on my elbows and spotted my bag by the door. Its lumpy outline confirmed the cup was still inside. “Send him up in a few minutes.”

  I dragged my sorry ass off the floor, bones and muscles aching like I’d spent the night in the Brean fighting pits. What had I done? I stumbled to my bedroom, stripped off the soiled clothes, and shrugged on garb more worthy of a successful thief: a leather waistcoat, tied with hook and eye fastenings, would hide the tatty cotton shirt. The ink-black pants were new, and saved for special occasions. The type of occasions involving a party I’d invite myself to by way of a neglected back door followed by some lightfingered pilfering. My reflection in the mirror over the basin snarled back at me, eyes too heavy and hair caked in red dust and crusted bits of filth I didn’t want to think about. A quick once-over with a damp rag and wet hands dislodged much of the dirt. It would have to suffice.

  Boots clomped up the stairs outside my loft door.

  Hand over the cup, get paid, get drunk, get laid. One thousand rubies. That’d buy me a whole new set of picks, new daggers too, and custom garb worthy of a professional thief.

  “He cannot have the cup.”

  I jolted and gripped the basin to stop from falling over my own feet. A woman stood in the shadows crowding the back corner of my bedroom. At the sight of her bejeweled daggers, my memories poured back in. The alley, the cup, the poison!

  “You!” I stepped toward her, but her quick hands shot to her daggers, halting my approach. “You—you really shouldn’t lurk in corners. It’s not becoming of a lady.”

  Three sharp knocks sounded on the door.

  “I am no lady.”

  My lips twitched, but I kept the smile contained. She’d lost some of her ghostly allure in the daylight and looked as solid and real as the rest of the room. Maybe I’d imagined her vanishing trick. I must have imagined the small emerald just below her eye too, because it wasn’t there now. Although I hadn’t imagined her. She’d acquired a cloak to hide her body-hugging assassin outfit, but she couldn’t hide her lithe dancer stance. A creature of stamina, not strength, she’d probably never swung a sword in her life. If I could dodge her daggers, I could overpower her easily enough. I lifted my hands and walked toward the door. Her glower heated my every step.

  “Perhaps we can talk about what happened last night?” After I’ve gotten my rubies.

  The knocks came again. I lunged for the washroom door, plucked the key from the lock, and slipped out the door just as the kiss of her dagger touched my cheek. I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and staggered back, expecting her to kick it open. But she didn’t make a sound or utter a single word. Not even a curse. Maybe she’d climb out the window and leave? I could hope. Unsettling didn’t even begin to describe her. A shiver trickled down my back. She’d watched me strip. At the thought, sensuous pleasure unfurled low and my lips tilted sideways into my cheek. She hadn’t stopped me; maybe she liked what she’d seen. I shook off that idea with a flick of my fingers.

  “Vance?”

  I whirled and set eyes on the man who’d hired me. At least twice my twenty-two years, with a map of experience etched across his face, he dressed like a Brean gentleman, smart but with a few splashes of color, and carried an elaborately carved cane. It’s a shame his expression wasn’t as joyful as his clothing. Quite the opposite. He regarded my loft with a disgusted lift of his top lip but steeled himself quickly enough. He didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted him to be.

  “How’d you find me?”

  “You frequent many local taverns.” His smile was there and gone again in a blink. “There are few young thieves in Brea, and even fewer with your reputation. I trust you procured the artifact?”

  I couldn’t decide whether he had just insulted or complimented me and found I didn’t care either way. I kept my gaze on his to avoid looking at the bag on the floor behind him. His line about asking at the taverns was a lie. A thief I was, and I’d survived this long by covering my tracks. No client in Brea knew where I lived. And yet this client had found me. For the second time in the space of a few minutes, nerves fluttered in my gut. I’d deal with the consequences of his discovery once I had my rubies.

  “Where’s my payment?”

  His chin lifted with indignation. How dare I imply he’d double-cross me. I smiled. That was the great thing about poor folk—we said what we meant and didn’t dance around insults like them’s prim and preened well-to-doers. I sidestepped enough shit day after day not to step in theirs too.

  He pulled off one of his gloves, unbuttoned his
frock coat, and slipped his hand inside, leaning on his cane to steady himself. His gaze flitted about my modest home, darting from the slouching bed to the cold fireplace, and then settled on the closed bedroom door. He had good reason to be concerned. A thousand rubies was a handsome prize—about a year’s worth of wages to the people of Brea’s Outer Circle. Although to him it was a pittance; he probably lost that amount at cards each night. As far as he was concerned, I was a common thief and he was in my territory. He probably assumed I’d mug him and keep the cup for myself. He may have been right.

  He withdrew a fat, little gem-pouch and shook it. Rubies clinked inside. “Where is the artifact, Vance?”

  My gaze flicked to the bag behind him. He glanced back once, quickly, afraid to take his eyes off me, and then adjusted his stance so he could keep me in his sights. Clever man. If I’d had my dagger, I may well have put it in his back. He crouched, knees cracking, flicked his long coattails out, and tugged open the bag. The cup tumbled out and rolled in a lazy arc around his feet. His lips parted, and his breath hitched. He looked at that piece of junk the way I’d seen men eye the most expensive whores: with lust.

  “Did you touch it?” he whispered.

  I frowned. “I wore gloves, as we agreed.” When I agreed to a job, I didn’t shirk the details. It was probably best not to mention the events in the alley—at least until I had the rubies in my possession. “I left no trace. My work is faultless. My payment?”

  “Ah, yes.” He looked up from his crouch. His fleeting smile dug into his cheeks, his grin too wide for his narrow face. “Would you like to see them?”