deathless;

ATTN: This is a rework of Dreaming in Silver and Gold without the fanfiction elements. Everything that will be written will be my own creation. The beginning will be different, and then some chapters will be the same as disag. So, if you're a fan of that, you should like this. <3

“From the first breath of death, the crown was forged, so that the god who carried endings would never forget beginning.” - Fragment of an old temple litany.

The first thing Lysette stole that evening was a name. Names were useful, especially in noble houses where cataloging bloodlines was practically a pastime. A name could open a door, earn a kiss on the hand, or a whispered invitation. A name could become a mask of its own. 

Tonight, she wore Lady Mariel of Lapeira. She stole Lady Mariel’s invitation from a courier three days earlier. No one in the ballroom seemed to know the woman well enough to question Lysette, which made her perfect. She descended the grand staircase in a midnight blue silk ballgown. The pearls sewn into the bodice caught the candlelight and twinkled like stars in the night sky. The fitted bodice cinched her waist tightly, contrasting with the overwhelming, bell-shaped volume of silk skirts. The dress was elegant but light enough for her to run if she needed to. 

Diamond pins held her hair back loosely at the crown of her head. Several strands had escaped to frame her face and brush the curve of her jaw. Beneath the mask, her features looked soft. She had a full mouth trained into a polite smile, sharp cheekbones warmed by candlelight, and watchful silver eyes that missed little. Her mask for the ball was the same deep blue as her dress. Silver thread and pearls adorned the edge of the mask, giving the garment an air of richness.

She stood beneath a ceiling painted with angels and gods in fading gold leaf. Around her, the guests twirled in a blur of silk and jewels. Noblewomen drifted past in masks shaped like swans and foxes while the noblemen wore gilded antlers, silver moons, or snarling wolves. She even saw angel halos made of wire and glass. The whole room smelled of roses and perfume.

Lysette hated how beautiful it was. Wealth could make rot look holy if there were enough perfume and candles.

Across the ballroom, Ladro was losing at cards with the grace of a man who had never worried about coin in his life. He had chosen something more dramatic for his attire. The velvet coat he wore featured embroidered silver birds that flashed in the candlelight whenever he tossed his hair or reached across the table. Beneath it, he wore a deep-red waistcoat of velvet and satin. His black hair fell to his shoulders in loose curls that framed his smirking mouth. He had a half-dishevelled look of someone who had just left a lover’s room. Emerald drop earrings swung against his jaw whenever he talked. The stones caught the candlelight in sharp green flashes. His mask covered only the upper half of his face. Its intricate design resembled a raven’s wings taking flight. He lounged at the gaming table with one boot crossed over the other and laughed too loudly at a Countess’s joke. Lysette caught his eye through the shifting crowd. He winked, and she fought the urge to groan and roll her eyes.

“Lady Mariel,” the man beside her sounded impatient. Lord Evander Vey, the host of the night, stared at her with barely contained outrage. 

She gave the man an easy smile and patted his arm sympathetically. “Forgive me, I was just admiring the room. The architecture is so lovely.”

His face softened into one of pride. “Do you love it? My grandfather had a taste for history. Luxury is boring unless there is a story behind it.”

“Oh, really?” She showed nothing but open, honest interest on her face. “What object in your collection has the richest history?”

She watched as Lord Vey scratched his chin in thought while his other hand absentmindedly went to the sash tied at his waist. A beautiful jeweled sword was hanging off the fabric, but that was not what drew Lysette’s attention. She noticed that he fingered a ring of keys next to the sword. There were three brass, two silver, and one that was as black as onyx. 

There it was. 

There was no mistaking that that was the key that Daevrin sent her and Ladro to steal. Suddenly, the small orchestra at the front of the room settled into its seats and began to play. Lysette could’ve collapsed in thanks at the sound. This was going to be too easy. Lord Vey bowed deeply to her and extended his hand. “May I have the honor of your first dance, Lady Mariel?”

She took it. Luckily, she knew this dance. Ladro had been painstakingly teaching her dancing and etiquette for the past two months in preparation for this night. She eyed the guards at the edge of the dancefloor as he guided her through their waltz. She counted eight of them around the massive ballroom, but had no doubt more lurked throughout the house. 

Lord Vey gave a soft, satisfied laugh. "An object in my collection that has the richest history? You ask dangerous questions, my Lady. Some items are rich in blood, others are rich in age, and then some are rich in the number of fools that died in the pursuit of it."

His eyes flickered toward the gallery doors at the back of the ballroom.

"There is a journal in my possession. It's an ugly little thing, half-burned and salt-stained. Most people would walk right past it in favor of the gilded angel's feathers I have in my collection. It belonged to a priest from a temple that never officially existed."

Lysette tilted her head. "And unofficially?"

Lord Vey leaned into her and smiled wolfishly. "And unofficially, it is believed to belong to the Lord of Death."

His hand rested at her waist. His other hand held hers, wet and clammy. They parted for a moment to promenade across the dance floor, and she got a closer look at the ring of keys. It was fastened to the sash by a delicate gold chain. Of course, Lord Vey wouldn’t have something stronger holding the keys because who would dare to rob him in his own home? Ignorant man. She smiled sweetly as they came back together and continued their dance. She stepped closer to him than the dance required, and she watched as his gaze slid to her mouth. That was all she needed. Her hand traveled lightly down the sleeve of his elegant coat before coming back up to rest at the back of his neck. 

“Your mask suits you.” Lord Vey said softly. She knew he was going for a sultry tone, but it came across as unsure. 

“Does it?”

“Yes, it brings out the silver in your eyes.”

She smiled at the flattery before purposefully stepping on the man's toes. Her hand flew to his waist as she righted herself. The slip was small enough to be mistaken for her catching her balance, and the man steadied her, his arm tightening around the curve of her ribs. The keys slid into her palm, and when she pulled away from him, she pulled lightly. Delightedly, the chain snapped, and the keys slid into her palm. She waited a heartbeat to see if he would notice and took in a deep breath. She knew the movement would push her breasts up and watched as Lord Vey looked down at her chest. He looked like he was about to say something when a shout was heard from the card table. 

"My Lord," Ladro said across the ballroom. His voice was just loud enough to carry over the sound of music and revelry. "I believe your cousin is cheating."

The crowd went silent, and all eyes flicked to the card table. Lord Vey turned from Lysette briefly to glare at Ladro. When he looked back at her, he seemed unsure whether he wanted to pursue her or the disturbance at his soirée. Another man at the card table shot to his feet. That must've been the cousin.

"You'd better see to your guests," she peered up at Lord Vey through her lashes. He was fixated on her face, and she very carefully slipped the ring of keys into her glove.

He straightened, resigned to walk away from her, ever the host. As he began the walk to the card table, she saw his shoulders stiffen. Ladro was in for it. She made eye contact with him and saw him whisper something to the Countess next to him. The lady giggled into her fan, and she saw the Lord's cousin turn bright red. If Ladro made it out of here tonight without getting punched, it would be a miracle.

Lysette strolled to the edge of the dance floor and spied the room lazily. She passed a servant with a tray of champagne and nodded kindly to the man. He pressed a glass of the sparkling liquid into her palm, and she brought it to her lips to sip.

Lysette lingered near the edge of the ballroom, champagne glass balanced lightly between her fingers. She had no intention of drinking anymore tonight; she had to keep a clear head. The music resumed after only a brief moment. The Lords and Ladies in attendance were surprisingly good at pretending that nothing else was happening in the ballroom. Across the room, Lord Vey was attempting to separate his furious cousin from Ladro.

Ladro looked delighted.

Lysette set her champagne glass down on a passing tray. Her reflection flashed at her from the mirrored walls surrounding her. Lady Mariel looked calm and rich. Lysette felt like neither. She adjusted her gloves and drifted toward the gallery doors that Lord Vey had glanced at during their dance.

You see, the trick to stealing wasn't speed; it was belonging. Servants hurried because they were busy and needed. Guards hurried because something was wrong. Nobles wandered wherever they pleased. So Lysette wandered. The gallery stretched beyond the ballroom like the throat of some yawning beast. Marble statues lined both walls, and candlelight gleamed against the flashing mirrors. Portraits of long-dead Veys stared down at her from their gilded frames with varying degrees of disappointment.

Beyond the hallway, two enormous glass doors stood waiting. She could see the various displays that Lord Vey had collected over the years. Most of it was junk; bleached swan feathers dipped in gold and passed off as angel feathers, weapons with no significance, and books that told skewed histories of the gods. There was one item, though, that stood out amongst the fakes. This item was very real and valuable. Lord Vey was right when he said it was the most interesting thing in his collection. She could just see the journal in a narrow glass case towards the back of the gallery.

Lysette glanced over her shoulder down the hallway and was glad to see that it was still empty. She slid the ring of keys out of her glove and tried one of the brass ones in the doors. A mechanical click sounded in the empty air, and she waited a minute to see if anything would happen. There was no shouting or sound of footsteps, so she ducked into the gallery and locked the door behind her.

The sound of the ballroom and revelry disappeared. Not muffled but completely silent. Through the glass, she could still see the distant movement of servants crossing the gallery hall, but she could hear nothing. Not the orchestra. Not the conversation. The room had been silenced.

The gallery was larger than it appeared from the outside. Glass cases were arranged under pools of candlelight. She examined a jeweled dagger as she passed it and fought a laugh at the obviously fake rubies decorating the hilt. How embarrassing for Lord Vey. How anyone believed these relics were real was beyond her.

The journal waited patiently in the back of the gallery for her. It was a remarkably ugly thing. It was small enough to fit comfortably in one hand; the book was bound in dark leather stiffened by water and age. A corner had been burned away, leaving the remaining leather curled and blackened. The pages were swollen unevenly from water damage, and several had been sewn back into the binding with thick black thread.

There was no title, only a symbol pressed into the thick leather, a crown resting around a closed eye. Lysette stared at it, and something unpleasant crawled up the back of her neck. She had seen enough temples and tombs to know when an object wanted to be left alone. Her palms began to sweat as she thought about touching the book. Unfortunately, Daevrin was paying her to ignore that instinct. Lysette crouched beside the case.

"Let's see what you're hiding."

She removed her gloves and tucked them into the neckline of her dress. Lysette pressed two fingers to the marble floor. She closed her eyes, and the world changed color. Magic was never invisible to those who knew where to look. It lingered in stone and in blood. It lingered in objects touched by the gods.

Lysette hooked her fingers against the fabric of reality and pulled. Threads appeared. Thin strands of magic spread throughout the room. Some were golden threads of divine sorcery. Others were silver threads of infernal glamour. And then there were the threads of deepest purple. Those belonged to humans fortunate enough to be blessed with their own magic. They stretched between objects and the walls, twisted through the marble floor, and disappeared into the ceiling.

Lysette studied them carefully. One thread wrapped around the doors, the silencing spell. Another wrapped around a golden chalice, a preservation spell. Several objects carried traces of old magic, nothing that seemed dangerous. Her eyes drifted to the journal. Nothing.

"No wards?" Lysette whispered in disbelief. That seemed unlikely. Lord Vey was an idiot, but even idiots occasionally hired competent people. She searched once more, but the case remained clean. She took a deep breath and released the spell. The magical threads vanished from sight, and Lysette looked at her surroundings.

She closed her eyes to gather her courage and lifted the glass case. The eye on the journal flashed open a dilated pupil fixated on her. Fire exploded from the case. Lysette threw herself backwards as flames raced across the marble. Her shoulder struck the floor hard enough to send pain shooting down her arm. Fire curled around the book, orange flames climbed the leather and tore across the pages.

"No. No. No!" Lysette scrambled to her feet and thrust her arm into the burning case. She begged the flames to quiet. "Stop."

They ignored her. Wonderful. Lysette seized the fabric of the flames, willing her power to soothe and quiet. She imagined her magic was a spring rain washing over the journal. It didn't work. This fire had teeth. It bit into her power, tearing itself loose from her hold. She grappled with the fabric of the flames. It began to crawl across the floor toward her skirts. Heat struck her face, and Lysette gasped as a rune shimmered to life on the journal.

"Damn it."

The rune flashed, and the flames surged. She extended her arcana out and began to force it underneath the rune. It was hungry, and it needed something to consume. So Lysette gave it something. She reached toward the nearest display, the gilded angel feathers.

"Sorry." She whispered to the tacky things.

Her magic caught the threads of the preservation spell surrounding the feathers, and she pulled. The power tore loose, and Lysette shoved the remainder of the aura toward the hungry flames. The feathers collapsed into ash, and she didn't hesitate. She dug beneath the magic of the rune and tore. The rune screamed out in protest, not literally, but she could feel the arcana of the rune tearing apart. A thin, horrible sound blasted through the gallery, and Lysette was thankful for that silence spell on the doors.

The fire vanished, and darkness fell upon her. She remained on her knees, her breath coming in quick pants. Smoke curled from the front of her dress, and the scent of burnt silk filled her nostrils. She glared at the journal. It was still intact and seemed to be mocking her. A breathless laugh left her lips as she pushed to her feet. Her hands shook as she reached for the journal, and her fingers grazed the leather. It was cold, impossibly cold. Before she could think, she grabbed the wretched thing and hugged it to her chest.

Suddenly, she heard muted voices. They were approaching, and Lysette's gaze drifted towards the glass doors. Two shadows danced across the hallway outside, and Lysette sighed. Weariness seeped into the marrow of her bones, and she wished that she were somewhere safe and warm. The handle to the doors shook, and Lysette looked down at herself. Her sleeves were burned, smoke still curled up from the front of her gown, the ruined angel feathers lay in a pile of ash, and she was holding a stolen journal against her chest.

It was time to go.

She picked up the gaudy jeweled chalice and threw it against the closest window. The weight of it shattered the glass, and Liz shielded her eyes from the force of it. The sound of the door handles rattling sent adrenaline pulsing through her veins. The air surrounding her crackled, and she danced on the balls of her feet, willing herself to make a run for it. Her magic could save her from a fall from this height. It would probably cost her a broken bone or two, but she would survive. Her courage wrapped around her like a shield, and she threw herself out of the broken window. Just as she was about to clear the stone ledge outside the window, something caught her arm. Her body jerked, and pain shot up her shoulder and wrenched her wrist. She almost dropped the journal but held onto it fast.

Ladro was hanging off the ledge above her, wearing fighting leathers and a self-satisfied grin. She couldn't see it because he was wearing his thief's hood and mask, but she knew he was grinning. Somehow, he had had time to change. He had caught her wrist as she had flung herself out of the window and saved her from plummeting into the bushes and her magic below.

"It's about damn time." She ground the words out through clenched teeth as he began to haul her up onto the ledge next to him.

"Don't gripe at me," Ladro sounded scandalized at the thought. "My job was to be a distraction and to get you out of there. As far as I'm concerned, Liz, my job is done."

"You almost caused a duel in the ballroom!"

Ladro waved his hand in front of his face dismissively, "And it worked, didn't it?"

He reached down with one of his daggers and shortened the skirt of her dress. "Get ready to run, there's 2 guards at the door, one around the corner, and two making rounds every ten minutes."

Lysette blinked. "You counted patrols?"

Ladro stood to his feet and balanced on the cornice fixed to the wall. "Daevrin said if I didn't contribute, he'd stop paying me."

"That doesn't sound like Daevrin."

"No," Ladro sighed. "But he sounded convincing at the time."

Despite herself, Lysette smiled. Ladro hopped from the ledge and landed on one of the balconies below them. The night was dry and humid, and Lysette was thankful that it wasn't raining. She leapt from the wall and stumbled as her feet hit the balcony. Ladro grabbed Lysette by the shoulders and shoved her against the wall. She opened her mouth to protest, but he covered it with his palm.

Footsteps moved across the floor above them. Ladro held a finger to his lips, and Lysette glared at him before she bit his palm. He jerked his hand away and shook it out.

"You little-"

The balcony doors above them flung open, and it was her turn to cover Ladro's mouth. Light spilled across the stone and obscured them further into the shadows. The sound of boots scraping against broken glass filled the silence around them. Ladro slowly removed her hand from his mouth.

"Someone was in the gallery. Alert Lord Vey." The voice of a guard drifted down to them.

"You bite," Ladro whispered.

"You deserved it." Lysette hissed back.

A guard leaned over the balcony above them, and they both froze. Lysette could feel Ladro's fingers digging into her wrist. The guard looked down at them, and Ladro swore loudly.

"They're here!" A guard exclaimed.

They jumped without thinking, and Lysette's stomach dropped. They fell past another row of windows, and Ladro released her wrist. He caught the stone railing of the balcony below them. His body slammed against the wall, but Lysette continued falling.

"Ladro!"

His other hand shot out, and he caught the back of her dress. The fabric tightened painfully beneath her arms. For one horrifying moment, Lyesette hung three stories above the gardens by the remains of a very expensive gown. There was a ripping sound, and Lysette looked up, terrified.

"Ladro." She said. A hint of uneasiness was beginning to creep into her voice.

"I hear it." Ladro bit back.

"Ladro!"

"I'm thinking!"

The fabric of her train tore, and Lysette began to tumble through the air. She threw out her arms, and she could feel the magic burst from her. The air beneath her thickened and swelled. Not enough to stop her, but enough to slow her down. She crashed through the branches of a hedge. Leaves exploded around her, and she hit the ground. Hard. For several seconds, she stared at the sky. Luckily, enough of her dress was still intact to cover her. That was one small blessing. Ladro landed beside her on his feet.

Of course he did.

He looked down at her and lowered his mask. He was smirking down at her, and she wanted to punch the stupid smug grin off his face.

"Comfortable?" He chuckled.

"I hate you," she said through clenched teeth.

"You say that frequently."

"There they are!" The shouts of guards could be heard above them, and Lysette groaned.

"Just help me up so we can get out of here!"

Ladro helped her to her feet, and she winced in pain. A bell began ringing from somewhere inside the estate, and Ladro swore.

"It's time to go!" Ladro grabbed her arm and began to run as lights flickered on inside the windows behind them.

Lysette barely managed to keep hold of the journal as he dragged her through the gardens. Behind them, doors flew open, and guards spilled onto the terraces. They ran as fast as they could, and soon they reached a garden wall. It was nearly twice Lysette's height. Ladro didn't slow down. He stepped onto a stone bench, planted one foot against the wall, and caught the top. He pulled himself over in one single swoop.

"Ladro!" she hissed into the darkness and saw his head appear over the wall. "Some of us weren't raised climbing out of noblewomen's windows."

"You should try it sometime."

A shout came from behind her, and Lysette turned in time to see three guards running toward her. Their swords were drawn, and she swallowed thickly.

"Move out of the way," she said to Ladro.

She thrust both hands forward, and power surged through her. The pebbles beneath her feet began to rattle and rise into the air. Purple threads twisted up her arms and neck, and she dug down into her mana. She seized the space between herself and the top of the wall and pulled. The world lurched, and Lysette vanished. She reappeared above the wall and collided with Ladro.

They crashed into the alley across the street, and for several seconds neither of them moved as they righted themselves. Then Ladro groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. "We have horses two streets over; we need to get out of here."

"You brought horses?" Lysette asked in disbelief.

"I planned ahead."

For just a moment, Lysette stared at him like he had grown two heads. "Who are you and what have you done with Ladro?"

"I'm someone who Daevrin threatened to stop paying, remember? Come on!"

They took off at a sprint and began to navigate their way through the narrow streets. The wealthy district was quieter than the rest of the city. Carriages stood abandoned outside grand houses and streetlamps burned behind glass. Their footsteps echoed against the stone as they made their way towards the poorer districts and the thief's hideout.