Seven's Story—Book One

Prologue

"Hey, Cherry," Chevison drawled, draping his arm over Aran's shoulder, pulling a chair close to hers and seating himself. "How's tricks?"

She gave him a steely look, picked his arm off of her shoulder and placed it on the table. "Don't touch me," she answered flatly. "And don't call me that."

He grinned, reaching forward to pour himself a glass of wine. "Yes, Aran, I'm fine, thanks. And you?" he replied nonchalantly. "You don't sound happy to see me."

"I'm never happy to see you, Chev. You should be used to it by now."

Chevison didn't answer for a minute. The two were sitting in a crowded taproom, with a bar along one wall and a stage along the next. It was the stage—or rather the girl on the stage—that had brought the crowd in; Cordyn only performed one show a week, now, but her reputation just kept growing. Not coincidentally, the crowds she brought in kept growing as well.

"Cory's done well for herself since I've been gone," he finally noted. He almost found it hard to talk during the dancer's performance, and he certainly found it impossible to look away. Cordyn was downright spellbinding. Even the women in the room were awed by her.

"What'd you expect?" Aran answered.

"I expected her to be too heartbroken when I left to possibly go on dancing."

Aran snorted. "It's a shame your ego isn't attractive," she noted. "If it was, you'd be better looking than she is."

"It's not ego when it's deserved." He smirked, and leaned back contentedly in his chair. "Any time you want, I'd be happy to prove my point to you."

"If your point ever gets anywhere near me, I'll cut it off."

He winced. "That hurts, Cherry, it really does."

"I imagine it would, yes. That's the point. And don't call me that."

Cordyn was finishing, now, and her finale provided the half-drunk crowd with enough fantasies to last a lifetime—and she'd be back next week. It was no wonder they loved her. She disappeared from the stage, and Chevison rose. "Well, I'd better swing by and tell her I'm back in town." He paused. "Don't you want to know what brings me back?"

"Not really."

"See, that's what I missed about you, right there. Your caring attitude."

"Cory's going to be swamped backstage, fending off admirers," Aran pointed out. "It'll be awhile before she can see anyone."

"Was that an offer to stay and have another drink?"

She rolled her eyes. "If I was going to offer you another drink, I'd have said so."

"No, you wouldn't have." He sat back down and took up her bottle again. "You never did admit you love me."

"Largely because I only love you in the fantasy world inside your head."

"And what a lovely world it is, too," he acknowledged. The truth of the matter was that the love in their friendship went the other way; Chevison had never said as much aloud—aside from his usual lewd offers—but for all Aran was never very nice to him, he'd had a crush on her for longer than he remembered. Longer than he really cared to think about.

The thing was—the truly infuriating, obnoxious part—she wasn't even pretty. Aran Sevens could and frequently did pass for a boy; her figure was as straight as a twelve-year-old's, her features were perfectly ordinary and utterly forgettable; and her personality certainly didn't shower him (or anyone else) with love. He had, in the past, been with women who were both prettier and nicer—the Goddess-like Cordyn among them—but he couldn't get past his fixation with the tomboyish thief he'd known since childhood. It made him crazy, but he could only assume Aran didn't know. If she did, she'd have made his life a living hell with it.

"Despite what it might look like tomorrow, I am not back because my father wanted me to come home," Chevison commented, after taking a long drink.

"Of course not," she answered, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not. I'm back because I've been offered a partnership in a business venture that is going to be very profitable."

"Sure."

"And it just happens that Dad had asked me to drop in."

"Believe me, he's the only one around here who wanted to see you," she answered.

"Awww. Didn't you miss me at all, Cherry?"

She didn't grace him with a reply.

"You've never been much for conversation, but this is downright cold," he whined. "Can't you be civil for one night?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I am being civil," she answered. "You'll know when I'm being mean."

"If this is nice, no wonder you don't have any friends 'cept for me and Cory and Dad."

"And I've been working to take you off that list for years now."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, if Cory's busy... I don't have to sit around and take this. I'm gonna go tell Dad I'm here."

"You didn't do that yet?" Aran asked.

"Well..." He trailed off. "Cory was dancing. What did you expect?"

They were playing cards, but that was really just to give them an excuse to be gathered together in the back room of Chevyn's inn. They weren't playing for money, as all of the players knew Chevison cheated anyway.

Four of them were gathered at the small table. Chevison was the youngest, though only by a year or so, but to his annoyance, his features made him look like the age gap was four or so years. He had been cursed with a face that would forever look like he was just finishing puberty, and too girl-like to ever be really handsome, either. His eyelashes were too long, for one, and he was, and his features were clear and pretty, not rugged or masculine.

His father was a different story, though. There were some basic similarities—reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes—but Chevyn was in his late fifties. He didn't look old, precisely, it was more that the lines on his face looked distinguished. It certainly showed he'd done a lot of living in his time. His figure commanded respect

Cordyn sat between the two. She wasn't wearing her stage dress anymore; instead, she'd pulled her golden-brown curls into a braid and donned loose fitting blouse, a flowing skirt and a no jewelry. Despite the conservative quality of her clothes, the look on her face was an open invitation.

The fourth member of the group was another man, of indiscriminate age. His hair had been dyed black and his eyes were green; he wore all black clothes, just in from an evening's housebreaking.

"How'd you do?" Chevyn asked him conversationally.

His name was Roatha, and he was the only member of the group not sure why he'd been invited into the back room. "All right," he answered evenly. "The damn girl beat me again."

"Aran has an annoying tendency to do that," Chevison muttered.

"I think Roa didn't mean over the head with a chair," his father pointed out.

Cordyn giggled. "Aran never really hit you with a chair, did she?"

"It was only the once."

"You should stop trying to bed her," his father sighed.

"I swear she must like girls."

"Silly," Cordyn laughed. "If she liked girls, I'd know."

"You think she'd like you?" Chevison demanded.

"Everyone likes me. 'Cause I'm so... Nice," she explained, nudging Roa's leg with her foot. "I like being nice lots and lots."

Roa grinned into his hand of cards. "Busy, later?" he asked.

"Yes, she is," Chevison commented for her.

She pouted at him. "I guess I am. But Chev's only in town a few days, so..."

Chevyn cleared his throat obviously. "Now if your plans are settled, children, we have much to talk about."

Cordyn and Chevison sobered and turned to Roa. "Are you sure, Dad?" Chev asked.

"Yes." He turned towards Roatha. "You know this is a matter of the utmost importance. You've been working for me for a long time, Roa. I was good friends with your father. But I need to know if I can trust you."

"Absolutely," Roatha said.

"I need proof."

"What do you need?"

"Have you ever faced the Royal Guard?"

"Do I look dead to you?" Roa asked in return. "I've never faced them myself. But Tal..." he trailed off. "What happened to Tal?" Cordyn asked. Roatha had just returned to Celai, the harbor city where she and Chevyn lived, after two years. When he'd left, he'd had a partner in crime, and now his partner, Tal, was gone. She'd heard he'd been killed, but didn't know the whole story. No one did, though Chevyn suspected.

"Is this my test?" he asked. Chevyn nodded. Roa took a deep breath, played a card, and started. "It was a bit over a year ago. We were in Ilarae, trying to sell a few things we'd picked up. We walked in to a trap, the man fencing for us had been caught by the Guard, they were using him to catch us. They Guard came in while we were there, mostly henchmen, one of the officers with them.

"I ran for it, watched from a rooftop. They dragged him out of the building. I followed, I wanted to see if I could spring him—I knew going against the Guard was hard, but I didn't... They didn't even take him back to their headquarters. Once they were outside, they just stopped. The leader grabbed his hand, and he screamed. 'He doesn't know anything,' he said, and then Tal screamed again, and when he let go... He just collapsed. Dead. They left him there, in the alley...

"When they were gone, I checked to see what he'd done. I hadn't seen a knife or anything, but couldn't figure out what had happened. But there was no blood. Nothing. Just... The only thing I found was a circle-shaped scar on his palm, still hot even though his body was cold.

"I don't know what they did. I just... He was dead in front of me."

Cordyn reached across the table and took his hand. "Oh, Roa... I'm so sorry," she gasped. "That's terrible."

"Do I pass?" Roa asked.

Chevyn nodded. "Do you know what they did to Tal?"

"No."

"Do you hate them for it?"

"I hated them anyway. But Tal... He was my brother. I want to see the Guard brought down, Chevyn. You know that."

"Good. Because I know what they did to Tal. I can tell you, but you can never tell anyone. Never." He paused, then put his hand out on the table, palm up. A scar, now ages old and silvered with time, shaped into a perfect circle. "They use magic, Roa."

Roa stared at him through the flickering candle light. "Magic? But that's... It's impossible."

"I only wish it was." Chevyn shuddered. "They use magic. They can do many things, terrible things. The Captain of the Guard—Sirrys Alayrin—he's strong, very strong. His only match is King Gareg himself."

"But there is no magic. There hasn't been since... Since Queen Jianna..." Roa said.

"Magic is returning to our world, Roatha. Gareg used it to seize power thirty years ago. And now he makes sure than any one born who can use it works for him—or dies. When they use magic on you, it leaves you with this. All of Gareg's mages have them, too, he uses it to control them."

"How did you..."

"It's a very long story. But the way it ends is all that's important—Queen Arianna's supporters were crushed as Gareg took control. He had planned to destroy all of her supporters, the whole army and the whole Court. He got most of them.

"A very few, barely a handful, escaped. They took new names and new lives, mostly dealing in underworld trade. After all, we were outlaws anyway."

"You?" Roa asked, his eyes widening even further.

"Me. I was... I was one of the officers in Her Majesty's army; my father was the Duke of Sailesha. I couldn't bare to leave the area," he acknowledged; Celai was the largest city in Sailesha. "And those of us who are now outlaws are still loyal to the Queen's memory. We will live to see Gareg pulled from her throne, or die trying.

"But we can't work as an army any more. That would be suicide. Alayrin would know the moment one of tried, and it would be a lost cause. So instead we... We wait. We gather together in secret, trying to find their weaknesses. They may be mages, but they must have weaknesses. I am one of the ones who has taken charge, most of my chief thieves are agents."

"And you want me to join you."

"I do. But Roatha, you must know how dangerous this is. You must be willing to die. When they caught Tal, they thought he knew of us, they read his mind and when he didn't, they killed him. They'll do the same to anyone else the catch who they even suspect is related to us. You will only be told what you must be told, because if you are caught..."

"I would never tell."

"You wouldn't have to," Cordyn whispered. "They can take the knowledge from your mind. Trace it back to Chevyn. We have enough checks in our system, we think, that by the time it got back to our leaders we would know, they could disappear again. But it's dangerous..."

"Wait a minute," Roa said. "I know why he knows," he nodded towards Chevyn, "and I guess it makes sense that he knows." He indicated Chevyn's son. "But why do you know?"

She smiled. "You know what's fun about this business? You never know if you're just talking to a dancer or a Princess." Her eyes twinkled as she smiled.

"You're a what?"

"Well, I'm not. But I could be. You'd be surprised the sort of people who know... Not all of them are thieves like you, or card cheats like Chev."

"All right," Roa agreed. "What do you need from me? What do you need me to do?"

"That depends. Well, Chev? Where did our contact say they'd be hitting next?"

Chevison laid down a card. "Ylton. We'll need a man inside."

"And that," Chevison said, "is what you're for."