turned to the window.
Working by touch, he pressed back the soft gold prongs that held the gem in place and removed it. Cupping the diamond in his palm, he felt for its sharpest edge. He held the ring in his left hand and, holding the small jewel carefully between his right thumb and forefinger, reinserted the diamond into its setting so that the sharp edge faced out. Then he pressed closed the golden prongs. Grasping the ring, Deveren cut a small hole in the glass, just large enough to put his two fingers through. He pushed gently, and the small circle of cut glass dropped soundlessly to the rushes beneath.
Deveren bent forward and placed his ear to the hole, listening. Silence. He smiled, his confidence returning. If he, a skilled thief, couldn't even break into his own house without being detected, he had no right to be leader. He reached in, unlocked the window in a totally nonmagical manner, and eased it open.
He was halfway inside the room when the voice nearly stopped his heart.
'If only our mother were here to see this.'
Deveren knew that voice. Relief flooded him, replaced almost immediately by a combination of delight and irritation.
'Damn you, Damir,' he growled, grinning, as he swung his other leg into the room, 'I have cats that are noisier than you!'
Damir had already lit a candle — the light that had “warned” Deveren about possible “assassins”-and by its flickering light Deveren saw that his older brother was laughing at the trick he'd played. The two embraced with real warmth, although Deveren did land a good-natured punch to Damir's thin arm.
There was little about their appearances to alert the casual stranger that there was so intimate a bond between the two men. Deveren, boyish and well built, stood a good four inches taller than his 'big' brother. His hair was a light brown, only slightly touched with gray, while Damir's thinning locks were a deep, rich mink color. Damir was slight and elegant; Deveren, slender, but athletic. Only their hands, with their long, thin fingers, and their eyes, a bright, knowing hazel, were the same. That, and their quick minds.
'Do you know how much a pane of glass costs?' said Deveren.
'I'll pay for it,' Damir offered. 'It's worth every penny just to have watched you sneaking about like that. You're slipping, Dev. If I had been waiting to kill you, I'd hardly have lit a candle to announce my presence.'
Deveren was so embarrassed he actually blushed. Of course. Any other night, he would have realized that at once. But so soon after the massacre, he was understandably on edge.
'Pray tell, Ambassador Larath, what brings you to the fair city of Braedon?' he asked Damir, changing the subject as he led his brother out from the library into the dining area. 'I'd heard that King Emrys wasn't doing so well, and thought you wouldn't be too far from his side. Come on, let's get something to eat. Sudden fear followed by intense pleasure always makes me hungry.'
He reached for a bowl of fruit on the table in the dining room, seizing a fragrant peach and biting into it. Deveren's dining room would more appropriately be called a hall. The table at which he plopped himself so casually would easily sit twenty-four, and it stretched grandly into the superbly decorated room. Despite the fine old furniture, the lovely statues of elf-maidens and noble warriors, and the high, vaulted ceiling, the place, like its owner, was friendly rather than overwhelming. Damir, used to even more sumptuous surroundings than his brother's abode, followed his sibling's relaxed example. He eased into a plush chair, studied the bowl of fruit, and helped himself to a bunch of grapes.
'Actually,' Damir began slowly, fingering the fruit rather than plucking it, 'you bring me here.'
Deveren nearly choked on his peach. 'Me?' he mumbled. 'Sweet Health, don't tell me your spies know about the election already!' Damir's position was, officially, that of an ambassador. Deveren knew that his brother's actual role in the function of government was far more important and far more dangerous. Damir had at his command a vast network of spies-though he liked to use the term 'information gatherers.'
Damir arched a thin, aristocratic eyebrow. 'Election? Why, no. You'll have to tell me all about it later. No, I came to make sure that you were… all right.' His eyes, bright as a sparrow's, met his brother's evenly.
All traces of mirth and welcome vanished from Deveren's countenance. He was silent for a long, tense moment, and when he at last spoke his voice was like ice.
'If you ordered that raid on the Whale's Tail Desdae night,' he said slowly, 'then you are not welcome in my home.'
'Of course not, Dev!' The undisguised hurt and anger in Damir's normally modulated voice was proof enough for Deveren, and his posture relaxed. 'You know I have no say in matters of that nature.'
'But you knew it was going to happen, didn't you?'
His thin face still tense, Damir nodded. Deveren swore.
'I have no control over… that branch of the government,' Damir continued. 'I didn't even know who was… who had survived and who hadn't. I wanted to send you a mind-warning, but-' 'Braedon is too far away,' Deveren finished his brother's sentence. He knew the limits of Damir's mind magic. Damir nodded, his eyes searching Deveren's.
'Gods, Dev, I couldn't even sense if you were still alive! I left home the minute I knew what they were planning. Maybe I shouldn't have bothered!'
Deveren looked down at his reflection in the highly polished wood of the table. 'Sorry. But Damir-I lost friends that night.'
The older man sighed and popped a grape into his mouth. 'I realize that,' he said in a calmer voice, after he had swallowed. 'You wouldn't have if you'd stayed away from that group as I advised you to.'
Deveren suddenly seemed to develop a great interest in finishing his peach and fell silent. Damir narrowed his eyes. Deveren could practically see wheels turning in his brother's head as realization dawned on Damir's face.
'Election,' he said softly. 'Please, Dev, tell me that what I'm thinking is wrong. Tell me you've been voted head of the local garden appreciation guild, or something like that.'
'Sorry.' He wasn't.
Damir sighed and rubbed his face for a long moment. 'Deveren,' he said gently, 'it won't bring Kastara back.'
The younger man flinched ever so slightly. Even now, seven years later, any mention of her name was painful to him. After Kastara's brutal murder, Deveren had gone slightly mad. The law officials could find nothing. Deveren became a constant fixture at the guard's offices, haranguing them daily, desperate for any sort of hope at which to grasp. Even Damir, with his vast network of spies and informants at hand, couldn't help.
When four months went by and they were still no closer to solving the crime, the law gradually began to cut back on the amount of time, money, and manpower it was pouring into the case. So it was that Deveren had initially turned to the other side of the law for justice, seeking out and joining the thieves of the city. He had hoped to uncover Kastara's killer, and exact retribution. 'I know it won't bring her back,' Deveren said after a moment. 'I never did find her murderer, and I don't think I ever will. I'm reconciled to that.'
Damir frowned, honestly puzzled. 'Then why…'
'In my years of involvement with the thieves, I've learned something about them,' Deveren continued. 'Some who call themselves thieves are killers, but not all of them. While some look out only for themselves, others care about the group as a whole and as individuals. I've discovered that there's a sense of community, of, of- family in this group. Damir-among the people at the Whale's Tail was a little girl. Did you know that?'
Damir nodded. 'I understand that the leader of the raid spared her life. His orders were to kill everyone in the building, but he hadn't expected to find children. When I heard, I was glad the man was wise enough not to follow those particular orders to the letter.'
'So am I,' said Deveren fervently. 'She's a charming little thing — reminds me of your Talitha when she was that age. As leader, I have an enormous influence over how this group develops over the next few years.'
A smile tugged at the diplomat's lips. 'Ah, yes, the thieves of Braedon. They run a charity auction and orphanage-always donate to worthy causes. Did I mention the Fund for Wayward Kittens?'
The humor was misplaced, and a cloud came over Deveren's face. 'A lot of people in that group are hungry. A lot of people are desperately poor. And you know as well as I do that if you really wanted to wipe out crime, you'd do it. One more 'purge' like the Whale's Tail and you'd have the rest of us. And speaking of crime,' and Deveren's voice cracked like a whip, 'I think the planned murder of seventeen people without benefit of trial isn't exactly legal!'
