The Thief’s Last Gamble
Odelli spent her days in the annex, living a quiet, unassuming life.
She strolled through the garden with Leona, read old books in the dusty library, and exchanged light chatter over meals—gossip about the provisions arriving from town, the weather, the latest palace rumors. To all appearances, she was simply a diligent, gentle noble guest.
“Your Highness,” Leona said brightly, beaming as she held out a small wicker basket. “Wormbella root arrived this morning! I’ll brew it into tea—it’ll ease your cold extremities.”
Odelli’s gaze settled on the herbs nestled inside the basket.
Wormbella root—costly, rare, prized for its ability to improve mana circulation and warm the body’s farthest reaches—was no ordinary herb. Its price reflected its power.
“You must have gone to great lengths to get this.”
“Hehe.”
Odelli smiled softly, then gently ruffled the girl’s hair—a gesture of affection, of quiet praise. As she did, she lifted one root from the basket and examined it closely.
The violet hue was too vivid—unnaturally sharp. Its weight felt oddly light. And at the base, where the root had been severed, the cut was clean, deliberate—too clean for natural harvesting.
“Was it delivered like this? Anything unusual? Packaging, perhaps?”
“Packaging? Oh… they used recycled paper—layered thick, tied tight. Sometimes shops do that, depending on their circumstances.”
Odelli said nothing. But inside, certainty crystallized.
So he hasn’t stopped stealing—not yet.
Perhaps greed was a blessing. If he’d sold the blood-crystal necklace and vanished without a trace, evidence would have evaporated—and justice, with it. But he was still moving. Still reaching. Still leaving footprints.
How very kind of him.
“Go rest in your room early tonight, Leona.”
“Huh? Suddenly?”
Her eyes widened, startled. Did I do something wrong?
“What if you’re needed in the middle of the night? What if Her Highness coughs? I’d have to rush ginger tea right away—”
Odelli pressed a small, wrapped candy into Leona’s palm—the kind she always carried, to soothe the bitter aftertaste of medicine.
“It’s fine for one day. I’ve already taken my dose—and I’m feeling much better.”
“Even so…”
“Go. Sleep deeply. They say tomorrow’s weather will break—I may need to go shopping.”
Leona hesitated, reluctant to leave. Perhaps it was the closeness forged over these past few days—walking side by side, sharing quiet laughter, tending to Odelli’s needs—that made parting feel like pulling loose a thread from a carefully woven tapestry. She lingered, glancing sideways, searching for reassurance.
Odelli saw it all—the fear of being dismissed, the quiet dread of falling out of favor. So she spoke again, voice tender but unwavering.
“You must not stay here tonight.”
Leona blinked, missing the gravity beneath the words, and slumped slightly, shoulders drooping.
“Instead—could you deliver this to Butler Theodore? Wait until just before he finishes his duties today. That would be best.”
Odelli selected a single wormbella root, wrapped it neatly in plain paper, and placed it in Leona’s hands.
“This?”
“He’ll understand when he sees it.”
Leona stared at the candy in her palm, then at the wrapped root, then back at Odelli—before sighing and shuffling toward the door, defeated but obedient.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Odelli rose, walked to the corner of the room, and fastened the ties of the cloak she’d prepared earlier.
That night, Butler Theodore moved down the corridor as he always did—his steps measured, his posture upright despite the weight of ledgers and documents stacked in his arms. His lower back ached; his temples throbbed faintly.
“I suppose I am growing old.”
He murmured the words to himself, already turning toward his quarters—when movement at the far end of the hall arrested him.
Beneath the flickering glow of a single oil lamp stood a small figure, motionless, waiting.
“Butler.”
His name, spoken softly—but instantly, he knew her.
“…Leona?”
She wasn’t under his direct supervision—junior staff fell to the steward-in-charge—but he remembered her distinctly. She served the Kardele princess. He’d made sure of it.
Leona approached with careful, almost reverent steps, then bowed deeply, offering something cradled in both palms.
“Her Highness asked me to deliver this to you.”
In her hands lay a slender packet—plain paper, folded with neat precision.
He unfolded it.
A single wormbella root rested inside.
“This is… the same herb you confirmed arrived this morning.”
“Yes—but now it looks strange. Already wilting, somehow…”
“Wait.”
Theodore took the root, turned it in his fingers, held it up to the lamplight. His breath slowed. His expression tightened—not with confusion, but with dawning recognition.
Then he stopped entirely.
“…This isn’t wormbella root.”
“It isn’t?”
“It’s lilpoa root. Worth barely a fifth of wormbella—and dyed purple to mimic it.”
Leona’s eyes flew wide.
She’d nearly brewed this. Served it. Given it to Odelli.
“No—how could anyone—!”
Outrage and panic tangled across her face. She swore she’d confront the merchant first thing tomorrow—demand answers, demand restitution.
But Theodore’s mind had already leapt ahead.
This wasn’t just fraud. Not to him.
If it were merely a merchant’s deception, the packaging would’ve been consistent—reused paper, yes, but uniform, careless. This root had been *selected*. Cut. Prepared. Delivered *to her*—and then *sent to him*, deliberately, precisely.
Odelli hadn’t sent a complaint.
She’d sent a signal.
A warning that something was happening in the annex—something hidden, something dangerous.
Something that required attention *now*.
“…I need to summon the Guard Captain.”
“Huh…?”
Before Leona could process the words, Theodore had already pivoted, his footsteps quickening, his silhouette dissolving into the shadows of the corridor.
A narrow alley, starved of moonlight.
Behind a crumbling wall, a shadow shifted—slow, silent, coiled with anticipation.
Zeke.
Warehouse servant. Ten-year thief.
For a decade, he’d skimmed grain, meat, herbs, metal fittings—anything unwatched, anything uncounted. It began with idle justification: *There’s surplus. No one will miss it.* But justification hardened into habit. Habit into routine. Routine into rot.
Ten years. Never caught.
That record had fed his confidence—until it became arrogance.
…Time to make one last bold move.
He’d grown bored of petty theft. The thrill had dulled. The profit, meager.
Then came the day he’d slipped into the annex—just to check inventory—and stumbled upon treasure.
A blood-crystal necklace. A ring with impossibly delicate filigree. Unfamiliar, exquisite ornaments, tucked away in a forgotten chest like discarded trinkets.
He hadn’t sold them yet—not having found a reliable fence—but he knew their worth. Knew they’d change everything.
He didn’t question why such valuables were stored in a disused wing. Didn’t care.
All that mattered was this: he’d taken them. And no one had noticed.
I saw another one that day. Hidden somewhere else.
Since then, he’d circled the annex like a vulture—waiting, watching, calculating.
But timing had betrayed him.
Just as he’d begun planning his next strike, the Kardele princess arrived—and settled in.
A pampered noblewoman playing at poverty? A royal whim? He couldn’t fathom it. Nobles were inscrutable creatures—capricious, irrational, dangerous.
He grumbled—briefly—then paused.
And realized, with a slow, chilling smile, that her presence wasn’t an obstacle.
It was an opportunity.
Why not pin it all on her?