Thief's covenant

where Adrienne was concerned, more than a little stunning.

“Seriously,” he said, taking the time to nod a friendly greeting to another passing acquaintance, “how are you?”

The young woman was taken aback, not by the question, but its tone. “I'm just fine, Darien. Why?”

“I don't know. You just seem…I'm sorry.” He shook his head, jolting several curls out of alignment. “It's not my place.”

“Oh, please.” Adrienne smiled. “We've both been around enough to know where you can stick your ‘place.'” Darien blinked. “Tell me,” she insisted.

The young patriarch sighed. “As you wish, Adrienne. You just haven't seemed content of late, that's all.” He leaned forward, close enough to draw a few scandalized stares. “Haven't you felt at all, well, incomplete?”

She couldn't help but smile once more. “You sound like you're selling something. I'm quite happy here, Darien.”

“But it's not enough, is it?”

Adrienne frowned, her earlier thoughts circling through her mind once more.

“Adrienne,” he told her, fingers idly stroking the smooth arm of the chair, “I have something I'd like to show you.” He smiled. “Considering your-if you'll please pardon the unflattering cliche-'rags-to-riches' story, it's very possible he's been calling to you anyway. He may even have had a hand in your success.”

“He? He who? Who's he? What are you talking about?”

“The one who restored my family's fortunes, Adrienne.” Darien rose to his feet, extended a hand to the young lady. “Let's find someplace we can talk,” he told her softly. “You'll find it worth your while, I promise.”

They found their spot upon one of the manor's balconies, overlooking the intricate rose garden. Other couples, seeking privacy of their own, wandered below them, following the twists and turns of the almost-but-not- quite-maze of blossoms. The moonlight illuminated this jewel or that bauble, reflected from this woman's hair, from that gentleman's bald pate. A faint breeze, perfumed by the roses below, wafted across the open landing, ruffling Adrienne's gown as though she had some other small creature in there with her. Darien's expression was sincere, imploring. Hers was, to put it mildly, incredulous.

“You're joking,” she finally said.

The young man's face fell, but he refused to give in. “Not at all, Adrienne.”

“A god.”

“A god,” he repeated. “His name is Olgun.”

“I've never heard of him.”

“I'd be shocked if you had. He's not one of the gods of the Pact; I don't think the High Church has even heard of him, let alone thought about recognizing him. We only know him because our founder discovered his last shrine on a trading expedition to the northlands. There was one man there-Olgun's last priest, we think, but he spoke no civilized language, and died mere hours after they found him. We think Olgun was a major northman deity once, long, long ago.”

“And he put your family back on its feet,” she said doubtfully. “And you think he was responsible for my good fortune as well? Come on, Darien.”

“Adrienne, why do you think the Houses and guilds and governments have patron deities? How many icons to Cevora have you seen around Alexandre's home? For that matter, how do you think he recovered his family fortunes, if not with divine aid?”

She shrugged. “Luck? Skill? Random chance? I'm sorry, Darien. I believe in the gods, I just-well, they've certainly never done anything for me.”

“Haven't they?” Darien said cryptically. Then, at the look on her face, “Adrienne, you needn't take my word for it. There's over twenty of us, now. All aristocracy, all wealthy, and all of us have known a tremendous amount of good fortune since we joined. We're Olgun's only worshippers. It's not like the gods of the Pact, who have hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions calling on them at any given time. Olgun can concentrate on us alone, and he's not bound by the strictures of the Pact gods. With him at our side, we never risk losing what we have. No disgrace will ever befall my family again, I promise you.”

“Even if it's true, Darien,” Adrienne told him, her tone suggesting it was anything but, “what would I need Olgun for? I have all I need.” And besides, if Cevora was responsible for Alexandre's recovery, did she want to risk insulting him?

“Except,” the young man argued, “the freedom to do what you want with it.”

Adrienne's jaw clenched.

“Come with me to one service,” he implored. “Just one. Olgun's not an evil god, or cruel. If you don't wish to join us, there won't be any repercussions. You have my word.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Darien said softly, “I would…very much like for you to be a greater part of my life. And I would have you see what fortune I have to share.”

She looked at the garden below, grateful that the pale moonlight hid the flush in her cheeks.

“Please, Adrienne. What have you got to lose?”

One evening the following week, while Alexandre was out on business of his own, Darien arrived at Delacroix Manor. Adrienne, clad formally in a red gown and a bodice of black suede, met him at the door. The servants would probably gossip, but somehow, Adrienne was pretty sure that an illicit religious rite was not among the activities on which their speculations would land.

They rode in style through the streets of Davillon, seated in a small carriage as fancy as Alexandre's own, and markedly more comfortable. The benches were well padded, upholstered in the finest velvet and cushioned with goose feathers. Horses and driver clearly knew the route, for there was a confidence in their step, a familiarity in the monotonous clop-clop of hooves on cobblestone. Idyllic, really, or it would have been had Darien not kept the windows shuttered and refused outright to tell Adrienne where they were going.

The young man's reticence, his dour expression and solemn mien, were amusing-initially. Adrienne couldn't help but chuckle, so out of character was the cheerful, happy-go-lucky aristocrat. After a half hour passed, however, and he'd said no more than three contiguous words, when she still had no idea where they were headed, when she'd attempted surreptitiously to lift the window shade and discovered it bolted down…then, finally, she began to grow just a bit miffed.

“Darien,” she growled, “you are going to tell me where we're going, right now, or I am going to get up and leave this carriage, right now.”

“Not a good idea, Adrienne. We're moving.”

“Not quickly, we're not. I'll take my chances.”

“The door's locked,” he pointed out.

The young woman's expression turned to ice. “I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you. I thought you said the door was locked.”

Darien nodded.

“Lemarche, you let me out of this carriage this instant!”

“I can't do that, Adrienne. You're not allowed to know where our shrine is until after you've been accepted.”

“Darien-”

“Adrienne, no harm will come to you, I swear it. Trust me.”

“Oh, because you're making it so easy, aren't you?”

But Darien subsided again into a solemn silence, one that Adrienne, for all her threats and demands, could not penetrate. Finally, worn out, angry, and growing ever more anxious, she, too, fell petulantly silent, save for occasional grumbles about how much Darien was coming to resemble his older brother.

Another twenty minutes passed, and for all Adrienne knew, they could be halfway across town, or only three doors from where they had started. When the coach finally trundled to a halt, Darien attempted to hand the young woman a blindfold, opening his mouth to explain that it was required, that it wasn't really up to him.

He quailed beneath her withering glare and put it away without uttering a word.

Despite her anger and mounting trepidation, Adrienne couldn't help but smirk contemptuously as her