Though it was the dead of winter, the market district of Olka was swarming with people, perfect for a day of looting.


    “Six gold pieces for a fine sheet of silk for your lady!” A tradesman cried out, his voice getting lost in the cramped air, filled with the stench of sweat.


    A steaming fish shot out in front of Valera’s face, a large, jolly looking man holding it by the tail. “A pretty little fish for a pretty little dear!” He laughed, splitting its belly open right there, letting the stinking red contents stain the snow at Valera’s feet.


    “Keep your fish, merchant.” She muttered, tugging her thin deer-hide hood farther down her face. If anyone had the opportunity to see her right cheek, marred with puckered burn scars, they wouldn’t even offer her a word.


    She ignored the fish and the merchants’ chatter. She hadn’t come for scraps. Her small feet crunched over the packed snow, red prints trailing her to the real prize—the Olka Spectacular. The Olka Spectacular was something that was set up every winter around this time, bringing people from far and wide to see rare and captured magical creatures. But it was, of course, just another business scheme, designed to get the greedy merchants more money.


    Valera slipped between the bodies crowding around the entrance, her nimble fingers already at work. A silk pouch here, a jeweled brooch there—the rich were always careless with their treasures when distracted by spectacle. She pocketed a gleaming gold coin purse from a noblewoman whose fur-lined cloak probably cost more than she’d ever held in her hands at once.


    No one paid attention to the slight, almost skeletal girl moving through their midst. Her frame was so thin and sickly that most often mistook her for a child or a beggar not worth their notice. It was a misconception she’d learned to use to her advantage. What they didn’t see was the wiry strength in her frail-looking arms and legs, crafted through years of scaling walls and outrunning guards.


    “Ladies and gentlemen!” A booming voice cut through the chatter. “Step this way to witness creatures beyond your wildest imaginings!”


    Valera followed the flow of people into a vast tent, warmed by braziers that cast dancing shadows across the crowd. Perfect hunting grounds. The wealthy clustered near the front, eager to see the attractions. She worked her way closer, eyes scanning for the heaviest purses, the most distracted marks.


    That’s when she saw it.


    In a cage barely large enough to contain its form, a creature with scales like liquid silver huddled in the corner. Its wings—or what should have been wings—were bound tight against its body with cruel iron chains that seemed to burn where they touched the soft skin of its belly. An eye met hers—deep violet and unmistakably intelligent. Where the other eye should have been sat a gaping black hole, crusted with blood.


    “This rare bevrodraach,” the showman announced, prodding the cage with a metal rod, making the creature flinch, “can heal any man, woman, or child with a single bite of its flesh, but consider yourself warned, it can also plunge entire kingdoms into eternal winter. One village paid us all of their stores just to remove it from their midst after it never stopped snowing!”


    Something twisted in Valera’s gut. The creature’s eyes whispered a different story than the showman’s grand claims. The bevrodraach didn’t look like a harbinger of endless winter—it looked scared.


    But magic was dangerous. Everyone knew that. Her mother had been killed by magic after the plague took her father and little brother—at least that’s what she’d been told. She should fear this creature, not pity it.


    The showman jabbed again, harder this time, and a soft keening sound escaped the bevrodraach. Silver-white blood beaded along its flank where the rod had broken skin.


    Valera’s hand closed around the knife at her belt before she’d even realized it. She chewed at her lower lip, teeth tearing until she tasted copper. This wasn’t part of the plan. Steal from the well off, yes. Free a potentially deadly magical creature? Madness.


    Yet her feet were already moving, sliding behind the nearby curtain where she glimpsed the cages being stored. The wealthy patrons gasped as they saw the next creature revealed, their attention fixed forward. No one noticed the small, hooded figure palming a ring of iron keys.


    “It’s just business,” she whispered to herself, though she knew it was anything but. “I’m stealing their most valuable asset, that’s all.”


    But as she circled back towards the bevrodraach’s cage, heart hammering in her chest, Valera knew she had crossed a line from which there would be no return. If she got caught this time around, the punishment would be more than just a few lashes.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    “And now, ladies and gentlemen, witness one of the infamous flame dancers of Illia!” The showman’s voice echoed from the other side of the tent. Perfect timing.


    With practiced hands, Valera tried the first key. It didn’t fit. She tried another, then another, her hands trembling as more and more time passed. The fourth key slid in, and with a soft click, the lock opened.


    “What do you think you’re doing, girl?” A gruff voice came from behind.


    Valera froze, the ring of keys still in her hand. She turned slowly to face a burly man with a thick red beard and arms crossed over his massive chest. Not a king’s guard, she realized, letting out a breath. But still a guard, so she couldn’t let her walls down just yet.


    She played the innocent card. “I… I just wanted a closer look,” she said, slipping the keys into her pocket and blocking the open cage with her body.


    The guard narrowed his unusually colored eyes. “No one gets close to the beasts without pay; step back now.”


    “Well that’s a shame,” Valera let her hood fall back, twirling a piece of raven hair absentmindedly. “But just so you know, I won’t be the one stepping away.”


    The guard reached for the club at his belt, but Valera was faster. Years of fighting had honed her reflexes to a razor’s edge. She ducked under his outstretched arm and drove her knee hard into his gut. As he doubled over, gasping, she brought her elbow down against the base of his skull.


    He staggered but didn’t fall. Strong, almost too strong.


    “Little rat,” he growled, swinging his club in a wide arc.


    Valera danced backward on instinct. The streets of Olka had taught her well—hesitate and you starve, falter and you die. She feinted left, then darted right as the guard lunged, using his momentum against him. In one swift motion, she hooked her foot behind his ankle and pushed. He went down hard, his head cracking against the bevrodraach’s cage.


    The creature let out a soft, musical trill, almost like approval.


    Valera didn’t waste time. She yanked the cage door fully open. “Come on, you little bastard,” she whispered to the bevrodraach. “You don’t have much time.”


    It hesitated, its single eye coming to a rest at her feet where the guard groaned, beginning to stir.


    For a moment, the world tilted sideways, her vision swimming with black spots. She braced one bony hand against the cage, fingernails broken and dirty, waiting for the spell to pass. She couldn’t afford this, not now.


    “Curses,” Valera muttered, reaching into the cage. “If you don’t get out, I’m going to leave you here. Don’t make me get into any more trouble for your sake.” Her fingers brushed over scales, warm and surprisingly soft.


    The bevrodraach flinched at first, then pressed into her touch. In one fluid movement, it leapt from the cage and onto her shoulder, its weight shockingly light. The chains binding its wings rattled softly, digging in further.


    Shouts rose from the direction of the main tent. The guard’s fall had made more noise than she’d thought, though as she looked closer, it made sense; he was an enormous man. Valera kicked the guard’s hand, then spun around, scanning for an exit. The bevrodraach nuzzled against her neck, then jerked its head toward a seam in the canvas behind them.


    Without questioning how the creature seemed to understand their situation, Valera ran to the spot and slashed the tent fabric with her knife. Cold winter air rushed in as she slipped through, the bevrodraach clinging tightly to her shoulder.


    Behind them, the shouting grew louder. “The bevrodraach! It’s gone! Search everywhere! Two hundred gold for whoever catches the thief!”


    Two hundred gold. That would bring every mercenary and desperate soul in Olka hunting for her. Valera pulled her hood back up and easily melted into the crowded market, bringing the creature into the folds of her cloak.


    Finally out of the market district, Valera snuck around the corner of an icy brick wall into an alleyway. She slid to her knees and opened up her cloak, allowing the tiny creature access to the ground. “There you go, little guy. Now fly away.”


    The miniature dragon turned its nose up at her, attempting to unfurl its bound wings. “Right.” Valera sighed, rubbing her forehead in annoyance. “I suppose I’ll have to take you back to the shop, then. C’mon now, let’s pray that Myrtle doesn’t flip his lid.” She picked it up, letting it nest in her hands.


    She hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Someone was following her. Valera adjusted her path, taking a more complicated route through narrower, less used alleys. The bevrodraach seemed to sense her tension, pressing closer against her palm. “Just a bit of trouble,” she whispered to it. “Nothing I can’t handle.”


    It wasn’t long that she had been sneaking through the shadowed alleys that she smacked straight into a person, walking the opposite direction. “Watch it, won’t you?” She hissed, rubbing her nose as she looked up at the tall man, clad completely in black assassin’s leather from head to toe.


    Her eyes widened, noticing the thick silver ring that adorned his finger, marked with the Phantom Guild’s symbol. She was right to have felt off then. The man chuckled, removing his hood to show his mop of curly white hair and a scabbed red gash down his cheek. “Do you make a habit out of being so abrasive?”


    “Good day.” Valera said, slinking away from him, her mind already plotting escape routes.


    “Actually,” he called after her, “Someone asked me to stop and question anyone I deem suspicious. There was a robbery this afternoon at the Olka Spectacular.”


    She stopped dead in her tracks. The bevrodraach shifted against her side, as if warning her. “A robbery, you say?”


    “Yes, a robbery.” Before she knew it, he was in front of her, flicking her own hood off. “And I am deeming you suspicious.”