All That Glitters: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 1) Read online

  ALL THAT GLITTERS

  A DAUGHTER OF FORTUNE, BOOK 1

  DOMINO TAYLOR

  VIVIENNE SAVAGE

  LADY RAVEN PRESS

  Copyright © Lady Raven Press 2018. All rights reserved.

  ISBN PENDING

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Not all that glitters is gold.

  When Rosalia is hired to steal a mysterious artifact from the city’s sexiest clockwork mechanic, she barely escapes with her life. What kind of inventor keeps a fire-breathing dragon in his basement, and why does it have eerily familiar green eyes?

  Xavier Bane is the last weredragon of the west. He spends his days creating clockwork masterpieces in his shop and his nights slumbering beneath it in his secret hoard. Then comes a girl with the power to provide everything he needs, with a soul brighter than gold.

  Saving Rosalia is key to the survival of his race... if he can reach her before the forces seeking the artifact.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  1. The Best Thief

  2. An Amazing Catch

  3. Royal Schemes

  4. Unusual Conditions

  5. Soulfire

  6. Luck and Serendipity

  7. Curiosity Killed the Cat Burglar

  8. A Matter of Life and Death

  9. Sheltered

  10. Burned

  11. Alone

  12. Beautiful, Winged Death

  13. Questions and Needs

  14. More Than Luck

  15. The Fiercest Rainbow

  16. A Valuable Weapon

  17. Gifts and Magic

  18. The Impossible

  19. Destiny

  20. Letting Go

  21. Free

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is the first story I have completed on my own since I was a twenty-year-old writing Inuyasha fan fiction in my spare time. Over the years of working alongside my friend and co-author Alisha, I’ve grown accustomed to having help. It’s difficult to believe I once wrote epic pieces of silly fan fic about anime characters fourteen years ago.

  So, yes, for many of you wondering, this is the first Vivienne Savage novel written by only one-half of the team. I had to overcome a dozen worries—will you find me as funny when someone isn’t actively laughing at my jokes as I write them?—to put this book out there for you.

  This book almost didn’t come out at all, and I owe thanks to the people in my digital and real life who encouraged me to continue even when I was positive I’d never get through the story on my own. Even when my mother was in the hospital and my kids were sick, and it seemed like nothing would work out, countless people convinced me not to give up.

  Please enjoy this labor of love. I’m sorry for the delays and numerous times it was pushed back. May it be satisfying and worth the wait.

  1

  THE BEST THIEF

  PERSPIRATION TRICKLED down Rosalia’s face, beading against her brow and dampening the fine strands of dark hair around her temples. Like any other day in Enimura, the oppressive afternoon sun scorched every surface it touched.

  But on any other day, she wouldn’t have minded, because on any other day, there usually wasn’t a squad of city watchmen on her heels.

  Nothing about her scheme had gone according to plan.

  Anguished cries from the wronged shopkeeper echoed against stone, and she spared a glance over one shoulder to find three watchmen in hot pursuit. Swords had already been drawn, and their scarlet tabards flew behind them in the wind.

  Rosalia tightened her grip on the vase tucked beneath her arm. If they caught her, they’d take it. Fuck relinquishing the reward of three dedicated week’s hard work. And thank the Five that she’d already planned the escape route in advance and greased the appropriate palms.

  Six shops down, a door opened to frame a woman with an oversized pot. When she slung its contents into the alley, they missed the sewer grate entirely, and gallons of greasy cooking water sloshed against the stone path. Rosalia leapt over it then squeezed into the narrow space between the heavyset shop proprietress and the door.

  Thrust off balance, the woman stumbled, flailed one hand toward the doorframe, and collapsed to conveniently fill the threshold with her considerable bulk. At the same moment, much to Rosalia’s great pleasure, the first guard skidded into the greasy mess on the ground.

  Were watchmen in Enimura not as crooked as they came, she would have pitied the poor sods for the injuries they sustained in the line of duty. But they were absolutely corrupt. As she was a paying member of the Initiated—an agent of the Thieves Guild—the likelihood was that they’d take a generous bribe to release Rosalia after her gang leader had a few words with them. It was only in the most extreme cases that thieves lost fingers these days.

  Lacking time to determine if her unfortunate cohort had injured herself during the fall, Rosalia lunged from the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. She’d have to return later to thank Marta and fill her pockets with a few extra coins.

  The dining hall had been cleared of all customers following the lunch rush, granting her time to shove a table onto its side and up against the kitchen door.

  Precious seconds. It was all she had.

  Heart pounding, she drew a flattened basket from within her cloak and shook it open. The vase went inside. So did her summer cloak and lace veil. Without eyes on her, she ripped away her tunic and stripped off her shoes. Her hair came undone, a spill of raven strands down her back, before she reached the shop door. She tossed her shoes into an empty barrel in passing and rushed outside into the summer day.

  Barefoot and clothed in only a fitted wrap around her chest and loose, sand-colored pants, Rosalia fit in with most servants running midday errands for their masters. She’d even bronzed her face and body to mimic the deep golden tan most acquired during the harsh season.

  Confident in her disguise, she raised the basket atop her head and blended into the crowd of faceless, nameless people sweltering beneath the sun.

  Moments later, watchmen spilled out of the soup kitchen and onto the busy street. A few orders were shouted before they dispersed into the crowd, each of them running a different direction.

  Exhilaration covered her arms in goose bumps despite the heat against her bare skin. She lingered between a row of stalls peddling fresh produce and flowers while waiting for her pulse to calm. Waiting for the nervous energy to die down.

  When her heart slowed to a peaceful rhythm, she took a shortcut into the lower markets where the path converged into the docks. There, sea salt and baked sand greeted her—the sweet scents of home and good childhood memories.

  Her destination, a seedy, two-story tavern located off the surf, smelled like wet wood and ale. She stepped around to the rear and knocked on the back door of the Salted Pearl.

  A small window slid open. “Who is it?”

  Rosalia rolled her eyes. “You know who it is. Now let me in so I can hav
e a change of clothes.”

  “Why do you need a change of clothes?”

  “Well, for starters, I’m not wearing nearly enough.”

  “Or perhaps you’re wearing too much.”

  “If you don’t—”

  Once the door cracked open, she bumped it the rest of the way with her hip and stalked inside. The gang’s one-handed lookout, no longer capable of second-story work since he’d lost one of his hands during a burglary gone wrong, grinned back at her.

  “Cutting it a little close today, weren’t you? I heard the watch whistles from here. Sounded like you’d brought the whole of the city guard down upon you.”

  She grimaced. “It wasn’t that bad, Tomli. Just a simple oversight. I didn’t notice he rotates out his enchantments and alternates between the protective magic guarding his valuables. Otherwise, it would have been an easy in and out.”

  “Right. We all heard how easy it was.”

  She scowled. “They didn’t come close to catching me.”

  “I used to think the same thing.” Tomli waved his stump and smiled. “You see what that got me. You be careful, Rosalia. Watch yourself while you’re out there.”

  After returning his kind smile, she moved further into their hideout. The back room of the Salted Pearl had served as the base of operations for their clan for years, the home away from home for a nine-man burglary ring crammed into one alcohol-soaked den. Grinning, she crossed the dingy floor and set the basket on a table occupied by their leader’s wife.

  Lacherra bent over one of her ledgers as usual, a curtain of steel gray braids contrasting against darker skin. She owned the building, running a seaside inn for the thirsty sailors and travelers, though she’d met Hadrian, Rosalia’s mentor, almost thirty years ago while practicing the nimble-fingered trade.

  For the rich and noble, their marriage was a match made in hell. The pair had amped each other, one always putting the other up to riskier jobs and dares to pull off incredible heists. As a child, there’d been no greater pleasure than to sit at the bar and listen to tales of their exploits together. They were the two greatest thieves in all of Enimura, and no one could convince Rosalia otherwise. Even the grandmaster, the leader of all the gangs, frequently acknowledged Hadrian’s great success rates.

  When Rosalia neared her surrogate mother, Lacherra glanced up from her ledger and rose to sweep her into a tight embrace. “About time you made it back, girl. I thought for sure you’d come back to us like Ol’ One-Hand.”

  Rosalia grinned. “That wouldn’t be a worry if you’d come off this lucky medallion and let me borrow it.” She tapped her index finger against the gold coin dangling from a thin black cord around Lacherra’s neck.

  Lacherra leaned back and smirked. “You’ll have to find one for yourself. Djinn-blessed gold is hard to come by. Anyway, I doubt Hadrian would let anyone harm these precious fingers.”

  “Where is the old elf anyway?”

  “In the vault waiting for you to return with the goods. He’s already found a buyer for that vase, so you’ll want to get to him soon.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  Before Rosalia could take another step, a child-sized projectile crashed into her. She stumbled back and laughed when Jabari threw his arms around her. The gang’s youngest Pearl peered up at her, freckled face filled with delight. Lacherra and Hadrian were known for picking up young strays and raising them—after all, it’s how Rosalia had come into their acquaintance. She’d been their orphan once too, left in their care by her mother when she was two or three.

  “Hey, Jabari. How’d today go at the square?”

  “Snatched enough lace and silk handkerchiefs to outfit a princess. Are you going to teach me to pick locks?”

  “I did promise, didn’t I? But not now. I need to see Hadrian first and handle a few other matters.”

  “Awww.”

  “I promise we’ll work on it, okay? Maybe after this is done.”

  “Okay.”

  Rosalia mussed his dark hair then stepped into the stock room. Their tavern was located off the beach at the edge of a palm-shaded cove. It had been built against the jutting rocks and a trapdoor behind the bar led down into a hollow carved in the stone—a box chiseled with smooth walls where they saved casks of summer wine to conceal its true purpose. There was another room beyond it.

  Her enchanted ring opened the concealed vault where they stored the gang’s earnings. Their eccentric leader didn’t believe in leaving it unlocked at any time, even when he was inside. Once the doors shut, it was impenetrable, unable to be opened without extraordinary means surpassing even the power of a great sorcerer. After all, a great sorcerer had created it.

  She didn’t want to think about how long it had taken to chisel it out or how much Hadrian had paid for the marvel to be constructed.

  Inside, it was a huge space lit by two alchemical lanterns, the pale glow of their phosphorescent white-yellow light turning piles of silver and gold coins into starlight. Precious jewels winked from tiaras, necklaces, and earrings affixed to busts molded from clay. Those were Lacherra’s hobby and donation to their efforts after she retired from second-story work, making phony heads to sport stolen goods.

  Hadrian sat at a table near the back of the room, bent over a necklace one of the other Pearls had plucked a few nights ago from a wealthy gem merchant. He glanced up at her with a clockwork loupe in his eye and grinned, appearing as boyish and youthful as he’d been years ago when he brought her underwing. Such was the gift of the elves, their eternal good looks coveted by many. “I trust you have the spoils.”

  “It’s right here.” She lowered the basket to the table beside his current project and dug the vase out. He’d been prying the sapphires and diamonds from its multiple strands to be laundered to one of their accomplices in the jewelry business. Later, the gold would be melted down.

  “How did it go?”

  “A brief chase, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  “Good. Leave that with me then, and I’ll have it off on the market soon enough. There are jobs on the board, if you’re interested, and about a dozen more on my desk. Haven’t had the time to see if those all check out, but you’re welcome to do that for me too. No one else likes to do their bloody homework these days.”

  Rosalia laughed and set her recent acquisition down. “What makes you think I want to do your job?”

  “You enjoy the challenge.”

  A retort died on her tongue. He had her there. “I do enjoy it. Fine. I’ll do some footwork for you.”

  With a step backward, she pivoted on her right foot to return to the doorway, only for Hadrian’s voice to follow her. “Thank you, Rosalia. I can always count on you. I owe you one.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Veering off the path to the vault’s entrance, she swung back around to the table and touched an index finger against the top of the vase. “Actually… mind if I offer a recommendation for this?”

  The elf’s silver brows rose. “Have another buyer in mind?”

  “No. Just... there’s someone who could use a share from the profits, I think. I’d be willing to make it my share, if you’re not agreeable.”

  Hadrian eased back in his seat and removed the jeweler’s loupe from his left eye. “All right. What’s this inane plan of yours, and what’s it got to do with donating the share you’ve rightfully earned?”

  As a matter of conscience, Rosalia never stole from anyone who couldn’t afford it. She’d watched the artisan for days and knew he raked in enough golden ducats to feed his starving family of four, but that he kept his wife at home in a practical state of bondage. Not that anyone cared. Neither law nor nobility were concerned about the treatment of the helpless in Enimura—or the rest of the kingdom for that matter.

  But this is your chance to help. To do something. What would you want if it were you? a whisper of conscience snaked through her thoughts. She’d want to be freed.

  Damn her conscience and damn that asshole for neglecti
ng the people who should have mattered most to him.

  “The man has a wife, and while shadowing him, I discovered things. He beats her, Hadrian. He neglects their children. They eat scraps while he enjoys these lavish meals she’s forced to prepare. And if he suspects they’ve had a bite or kept any for themselves, the beatings are even harder.”

  “And what good is a little money going to do for her if she’s under his thumb?”

  Rosalia crossed behind the table and tapped the map, indicating the neighboring kingdom of Nairubia. “She can leave him. We know the best smugglers in the city—on the coast for that matter. There are kingdoms beyond Saudonia where the laws governing man and wife aren’t so crude.”

  “Or archaic.” He rubbed his chin and gazed at the growing pile of gemstones. “I would be willing to make four shares of this profit instead of the usual three. One to the coffers, one for me, one for you, and one for this woman. From her coin, I’ll arrange for the Saladin clan to sneak her from the city. Satisfactory?”

  “Really?”

  “Why not?”

  Impulse threw her forward and into his arms. Despite their similar size, Hadrian caught her with ease. His chuckle stirred a few strands of her hair, and he squeezed her back tightly, with the affectionate warmth of a father. She soaked it in. Reveled in it. She’d spent too much of her childhood growing up and wanting to be just like him. Except for the part about running her own gang. That was far too much responsibility, and she preferred taking orders.

  “I didn’t think you would agree.”

  Hadrian chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I? In a city where someone always wants something from me, you never ask for anything. You’re my best thief and…” When he trailed off, her heart went to pounding in her chest. And what? “Well, my best thief.”

  His best thief? Her vision blurred a little as she parted from his embrace and straightened.

  Following her, Hadrian rose from his seat, a grimace on his face when he applied weight to his damaged right leg. Even though seven months had passed since the injury, it still hadn’t healed, a casualty of a trap in a wizard’s tower gone unnoticed until a moment too late. Once triggered, the contraption had shot out bolts of kinetic energy and one pierced him in the thigh. “After I meet with our buyers to deliver the vase and acquire the remainder of our finder’s fee, I’ll present our proposal to Omara Saladin tonight. Will you make the arrangement with the wife?”