by Emily Goyanes
Lisbeth hadn’t always dreamed of her current profession, but she had to admit, after flirting with knights and then shamelessly pillaging their belongings for the past year, it was a rather gratifying career. Her current dilemma, however, was the strange game of cat and mouse she was caught up in with one of the king’s knights. It was starting to get in the way of successfully robbing men.
She had tried to charm the knight twice before this evening. The first time being in a large crowd at the summer market with its stalls packed in so tightly, you only had to take a single step to approach the next booth. The sun was beating down and the air was hot; Lisbeth had to repeatedly swipe beads of sweat from her hairline to feign grace. Truly, though, she was melting under the swaths of fabric she wore.
With his helmet pulled up, Lisbeth could see that the knight was handsome. His dark hair was damp and it clung to his forehead in a charming sort of way. His smile was light and easy as he nodded to passing marketgoers. If not for the large sheathed sword hanging from his belt and the dagger on the other side, Lisbeth figured it would have been simple to unravel the knot that held the heavy-looking pouch to his hip.
She wasn’t new to theft, but challenging an armed man was a feat she had yet to achieve. Lisbeth was going to go for it anyway. Batting her eyelashes typically did the job, and if it didn’t, she was very good at improvising.
Lisbeth approached the knight, fanning herself with her hand as she sauntered toward him. She hoped that her dress was billowing dramatically behind her. She slowed just enough to be noticed, just enough to be deliberate, just enough to allow her skirts to continue flowing behind her in a remarkable manner.
“Quite a warm day today, is it not?”
The knight chuckled, not bothering to hide the way he shamelessly eyed her, from her heeled boots to the top of her head. “Warm is not nearly a strong enough word to describe this blistering heat. I can feel my bones turning to sludge under all of this metal.”
An overly-exaggerated, melodic giggle escaped Lisbeth’s lips. She lifted a hand to her mouth, lashes fluttering. Her mother had once told her to never use her shapeshifting abilities for malicious intent, but she hadn’t ever said anything about using her great acting skills or her even better looks.
She let her laughter taper into a sympathetic smile and dared to step an inch closer to the knight, paying no mind to the countless pedestrians sauntering about around the market. “Sounds dreadful. How ever do you manage?”
“Duty.” He smiled brightly before letting it morph into a smirk. “And the promise of a cold cup of ale from the tavern.”
“Well,” Lisbeth said, tilting her head, her gaze sliding deliberately over the line of his jaw, “that sounds quite refreshing. Though, I would hate to keep you from your prize. I’d feel simply awful if you collapsed from heat exhaustion right here at my feet.”
She reached out to brush imaginary dust from the knight’s shoulder and watched as he stiffened slightly under her touch, but did not pull away. Always on guard, as a knight should be, but she watched him let his defenses down just a smidge for the sake of a beautiful visage. She had him right where she wanted him.
The hordes of people surrounding them grew even larger, and Lisbeth let them do some of the work for her as she shifted her weight towards the knight. Two children ran past, bumping into her elbow and sending her tilting into his side.
“Oh, my apologies,” she said, using the knight’s plate-covered arm to steady herself. Her other hand dropped lower, all practiced grace and misdirection, until her fingers found the thin ties holding his coin pouch to his belt. “It seems the whole town is conspiring to knock me about today. You would think they’d have more respect for a lady who is simply trying to stand upright.”
“Not to worry. It is my responsibility to keep the people of the town safe. Above all, I hope to keep beautiful maidens such as yourself out of danger.” He had not taken notice of her deft fingers that were quickly working the knot apart.
It was tied tightly. Of course it was. Knights were taught at least that much, but unfortunately for him, she had taught herself better.
“What brings you to the market this afternoon?”
“Ah, I have been sent to gather ingredients for this evening’s meal. Carrots, potatoes, onion, you know….” She gestured vaguely as she let her sentence fade away. A simple, yet believable lie.
“I see. I would offer to accompany you, but,” he said, gesturing to himself, “you know….”
Lisbeth smiled sweetly and leaned in, her voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret she was letting him in on. “I’m curious—is it all this metal you’re wearing that makes it difficult to move?” She paused, finally releasing the knot and pulling the pouch free. “Or are you just choosing not to?”
He laughed, broad and unguarded, and let his head fall back slightly, oblivious to the bag at his belt coming loose.
“Well,” she said, cutting him off before he could say anything else. She straightened and stepped back. “I would hate to be responsible for distracting a knight from his sacred duty.” She gave him a mock curtsy, her skirts sweeping low around her. “Try not to liquefy before sunset.”
“Wait!” the knight shouted, and he reached after her, his hand glancing lightly off her shoulder as she weaved through the marketgoers and slipped between the stalls like smoke. It felt almost too easy. Surely it wasn’t possible for the knight to be this bad at his job.
She whispered a small word under her breath. Animalia. Now in the form of a hare, she zigzagged through legs and around the posts of stalls, making a speedy escape as she left the knight spluttering after her.
***
The next time she set out into the marketplace, Lisbeth hadn’t even planned to target the knight. Her sights were set on an older gentleman who was running a stall that looked to be constructed of large sticks tied together with twine. Stringy shawls—or oversized handkerchiefs?—hung from every possible notch in the pieces of wood. The stall owner had tried his best and that’s what really mattered, even if the presentation was slightly off.
He had been so distracted, rubbing fingers over darkly shadowed undereyes as customers chirped and prattled at him. Where are the materials from? Are they ethically sourced? If I gift this to my mother who gets sores from wearing wool, will it cause a reaction?
All Lisbeth had to do was amble up to one side of the stall while his back was to her, look mildly intrigued by the garments on display (which she would never be caught dead wearing), and duck under the shabby plank of wood that separated the marketgoers from the stored wares.
She had been back there for less than a minute before the knight grabbed her wrist, his armor clanking obnoxiously as he moved under the plank. So much for subtlety.
“Is there something I can assist you with back here, my lady?” The knight’s hand remained on her arm, his grasp firm, reminding Lisbeth that with him touching her, she would not be able to shift. His thumb pressed against her pulse.
“Apologies, sir. I’ve just gotten myself a bit lost it seems. I’ll be on my way,” Lisbeth said, feigning confusion. She stepped to escape his grasp only for the knight to move directly in front of her.
“I should turn you in to the king for theft.”
“Attempted theft,” she retorted. The stall owner looked exasperated, but he had no idea what was happening behind his booth, too preoccupied with a child attempting to pull down the threads tying his large sticks together. “I was not successful, if you had not noticed. If you are going to accuse me, at least be precise about it.”
“And the last time? My coin?” He challenged her, taking a step closer so that only an inch separated their bodies from one another.
“Then why have you yet to turn me in?” The words fell from her lips slowly as she paid attention to each syllable she pronounced. Her gaze moved quickly to his mouth and then back up to his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice. If he had, he would most definitely use it against her. She smirked as he stepped back from her, but kept his hand on her wrist, to look fixedly at her. With him touching her, her incantation would not work. She would not be able to escape.
The knight sighed deeply before looking into her eyes and confessing, “Our last interaction was brief, and yet, I still found myself bewitched by your beauty. I let my guard down and I let you make a fool of me in that marketplace—let you run away with my money….” He paused, his expression leaning toward bashful.
“Callan!” A shout rang out from behind him, one of his fellow knights most likely, and he rapidly whipped his head around to look for who had called his name.
“Callan.” Lisbeth’s eyes narrowed. It was her turn to taunt him, challenge him. Her fingers brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “That’s a pretty name.”
“Thank you. I—My…mother named me?” He stared at her blankly, just as confused by his own words as Lisbeth was by them. Not what she had been expecting.
“Er…She chose well?”
A beat of silence passed between them, uncomfortable and awkward in a way that Lisbeth was not used to, before Callan’s name was shouted again. It shook him from his stupor.
“I am going to let you off with a warning, and perhaps that is against my better judgement,” Callan released her arm, leaving the spot unpleasantly cool, “but you turn me daft when you’re near me. I forget everything that I’ve learned.” His hand hovered in the space between them for a moment after letting go.
It was a truly unwise thing for him to do, but Lisbeth was not going to argue with him. She looked down at the bare part of her arm, then back at Callan for just a moment before fleeing into the woods on the quick legs of a fox. She was sure she would meet him again.
***
This evening, Lisbeth had found herself in front of the town’s tavern. The door to the main entrance continuously swung open and closed, emitting a loud crash that caused her to flinch every time it hit the wall.
The air was brisk around her. The wind had picked up not too long into her walk over, and she was thankful that she had wrapped a shawl (one that was much nicer than those sold by the man at the marketplace) around her shoulders. She pulled it tightly around her as she approached the steps to the tavern. It was one of her usual haunts, an easy place to find targets to rob.
She swore under her breath as Callan, the infamous knight, pushed his way out of the tavern and immediately swayed to the side, propping himself up on a wooden beam. Moonlight snuck in through the trees and glinted off the chainmail that he had draped over his loose tunic. He laughed at his own misstep, unbothered by his lack of decency.
Even from where she was standing, Lisbeth could see the slight red tint to his cheeks and the sloppy grin that covered his entire face. He looked relaxed, carefree. She enjoyed the sight.
“The beautiful thief,” he slurred when he caught sight of her, letting go of his wooden crutch and tripping over himself toward her. She felt a little bad that she was planning on stealing from him yet again. Only for just a second. “Join me for a drink?”
Lisbeth smiled, slow and deliberate. “You already seem to have had plenty.”
It would be unwise to take him up on the offer; she should stay at her sharpest as to not make any errors in her mission.
“A fair accusation,” Callan admitted, his eyes bright and hopeful. It was impossible to deny his handsomeness.
Laughing under her breath, she stepped past him, brushing her shoulder against his arm as she moved toward the tavern. “One drink,” she said. “If you’re buying.”
“You’re lucky I’ve got any coin left after you swiped my pouch right off of me. Please tell me you put the money to good use at the very least.” His eyebrows lifted in mock reproach, shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if bracing for her reply.
She gestured to the large stone hanging from the chain around her neck. It glittered despite the minimal light. Lisbeth let her hand linger on the stone, thumb brushing its edges playfully to show off the prize she had won with his money.
He rubbed his chin. “Well, I must say you’ve got great taste.” He paused, studying her face. His gaze grew gentle, head tilting as he attempted to read her expression. “I never learned your name.”
Telling him would not be the smartest thing to do, but he was drunk and the likelihood of him remembering this conversation tomorrow was quite low.
“It’s Lisbeth.”
He let her name roll off his tongue and grinned at her. It spread to his eyes which crinkled at the corners. It was sweet.
They stepped toward the tavern door together, but Lisbeth caught a glimpse of motion near the edge of the trees out of the corner of her eye. Half-hidden in shadow, an old woman shuffled through the tavern’s light. Her face was barely visible through the layers of rags that drowned her body, her spine bent unnaturally, her gait uneven in a way Lisbeth instantly recognized, even from a distance.
Lisbeth’s stomach tightened. She knew the crone.
Callan’s eyes followed her gaze after feeling the way her body stiffened next to his own. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Lisbeth said too quickly. She shook her head lightly, eyes darting back to map the path the crone had taken. She walked parallel to the treeline for a moment before disappearing between the trunks without a sound.
Dangerous recluse. That was how her mother had described this woman, who at one point in time walked hand in hand with her own kind. It had been said that she went insane after a bit of misuse of magic. That she had run off to hide out in the woods and lure young men into their depths. That she took their hearts as a sacrifice.
“I have to go,” Lisbeth whispered abruptly. She hadn’t intended for the words to come out so quietly. Her hand instinctively came up to her belt, double-checking that she had her daggers at the ready. As if she’d ever leave them behind.
“I’m sorry?”
“I have to go.” Louder this time.
Callan blinked. “Go where? We haven’t even—”
Lisbeth was already moving toward the trees. This woman hadn’t been spotted in years. She could steal another day. “Change of plans!” she shouted, and sprinted toward the woods.
“Wait! Lisbeth!” He lurched after her as she took off, his boots pounding against dirt and fallen leaves. He was a fool to follow her in, but she hadn’t the time to tell him that. “Please slow down!”
She kept her pace. The woods swallowed her whole.
Callan followed as best he could in his current state, swaying and unsteady, branches snagging his shirtsleeves as he stumbled after her path. He cursed loudly, crude words escaping as he tripped over a root and almost went face-first into the blanket of moss in front of him. He saved himself by rolling through the fall and continuing to run after Lisbeth.
In the split second that was taken from him, however, Lisbeth had disappeared from his sights. He paused and scanned the forest as his chest heaved.
“Fantastic,” he muttered, frustratedly placing his hands on his hips. “Absolutely wonderful.”
High above him, perched unseen in leaves so dark they could almost be mistaken for black if not for the assistance of the moon shining on and through them, Lisbeth watched. She had shifted the moment she vanished from his sight, dark fur rippling into place as she padded silently across the forest floor. In her feline form, the world around her sharpened—sounds were clearer, her sight became more focused, scents were heavy and rich.
The crone had stopped beneath an old tree, muttering to herself as she examined something in the palm of her hand.
Lisbeth climbed. She leapt from root to trunk to branch, settling just high enough that she had a better viewing angle but close enough that she could easily jump down if need be.
“Here, kitty.”
Oh, this cannot be happening, Lisbeth thought.
Below her, Callan emerged with disheveled hair, shining eyes, and dirt smeared almost artfully across his face. He was making quite the ruckus. He smiled wide at her silhouette in the trees and urged Lisbeth’s feline form forward with a gloved hand. He had immediately abandoned his chase for a cat. A cat. He looked utterly ridiculous as he grabbed onto the trunk of the tree and attempted to haul himself up.
She flattened her ears.
“Come on,” he coaxed gently, reaching up with a gloved hand. “You’ll hurt yourself up there.”
Lisbeth let out an indignant meow. As she shifted her body on the branch, leaves loosened from their branches and fell onto his form. A simple swipe of her paw sent more debris down like confetti, playful but precise.
“Agh!” he yelled in anguish, dropping down a branch and vigorously running a hand across his eyes. Grime continued to rain down on him. “Just come down from there!”
She chuckled this time, which came out as another meow. The last time they had encountered each other, Callan had let Lisbeth go. She could have found her own way out of that situation if it had come to it, but he had just let her off with a warning. The skin on her wrist burned, the memory of his hand wrapped around it.
His foot slipped from underneath him and he grabbed onto a branch to keep himself from falling. He truly had to have been enamored by her to have followed her into the woods.
Lisbeth had been so enraptured by his struggles that she almost missed the crone approaching the base of the tree from deep within the shadows. She had let the cloth covering her face fall back, revealing a nasty scar that ran from the corner of her mouth across her nose and up into her left eye. She made very little noise as she approached, her footsteps imperceptible. Had she been in human form, Lisbeth would’ve missed it.
“Pardon me, sir. Would you happen to have some coin on you? My scar—it’s been acting up and I need to purchase a salve from the apothecary. I would be willing to trade you this apple.” She held her bony hands out, the bright red fruit nestled in her palms.
Lisbeth recognized the waxy sheen to the apple immediately, and she hoped that Callan would too. He moved faster than she had seen him move before, his chainmail clinking obnoxiously as he dramatically jumped from the branches to the leaf-strewn ground. He put his arms out to balance himself, but the liquor had not yet worn off and he tumbled slightly to the side.
Fantastic, she thought. Absolutely wonderful. Callan was going to be useless in this fight.
He eyed the woman carefully before peering at the apple, no doubt recognizing its abnormal gloss. Knights were trained to recognize poison, right? His body stiffened.
“Really, Lisbeth? Even after I let you off with a warning? Even after I offered to buy you a drink? You would be so shameless as to lead me into the woods just to take my belongings again?”
Lisbeth sighed. It’s a good thing he’s pretty.
“I do not know of any Lisbeth, sir. I am but a humble peasant hoping for some kindness. Could you spare anything? It’s a pain like no other.”
Callan’s face softened as he blinked at the crone. That was all it took to fool him? How embarrassing. Lisbeth would have to up her game next time.
Approaching the woman, Callan let his guard completely down and reached into the pouch on his belt. At least he had gotten himself a new one. “My apologies, my lady. I did not mean to offend you. I will give you some coin. Take it to the apothecary near the town center. Albie’s remedies are the strongest.”
It was a good thing Lisbeth had been there because otherwise, Callan would have been utterly screwed. He was too soft, too pliable. She had known it since the first time she had batted her eyelashes at him, but it was concerning to see it happen from a source other than her beauty. Perhaps it was the alcohol’s fault.
She jumped from her perch in the tree, landing directly in front of the witch. Her body flexed upon her landing, claws pressing into the forest floor for grip, legs bent for balance. The crone’s eyes narrowed. She knew what Lisbeth was. Like recognized like.
The crone moved quickly toward Callan and Lisbeth, her long, slender fingers twitching rapidly. Callan honed in on the movement, but Lisbeth was not fooled by the distraction. Her sharp ears caught the witch’s quiet murmurs behind barely-moving lips, and she knew that she was conjuring a storm. The wind picked up around them, twisting leaves and rocks into a spiraling tornado that engulfed Callan’s entire form, leaving behind a pillar of dancing greenery.
A rough noise escaped the witch’s throat, half gurgle and half squawk, as Lisbeth shifted back into herself. Her long hair fell into her face as she reached for the two ornate daggers attached to her belt and slashed at the woman. It was enough to break her concentration and send the leaves floating back to the ground.
“Callan!” Lisbeth shouted, as she spied his hunched form on the floor. He was a crumpled heap, but she could at least see that his eyes were open and he was breathing. The wind had just been knocked out of him.
The witch turned toward Lisbeth and lunged, but Lisbeth was faster. She drew the dagger across the witch’s shoulder, cutting through the gauzy fabric she was draped in, drawing blood.
Standing slowly, Callan drew his sword and coughed, wiping dirt from his eyes with his free hand. “Of course you were the godsdamned cat.”
“It was quite humorous to watch you attempt to lure me out. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on sooner. Now, help me out here!” Lisbeth jabbed her dagger at the woman again who had begun to chant.
“I am not going to attack an elderly woman!” Callan’s posture stiffened, sword raised but held defensively and eyes wide with uncertainty.
“She is clearly not just an elderly woman! I could leave and just let her rip your heart out if you’d fancy that.” Lisbeth was astonished by the knight’s foolishness. The crone barreled toward him, and Lisbeth let her dagger fly, stopping her in her tracks.
“Well, you seem rather capable with your hands. I should just leave you to it.”
Lisbeth rolled her eyes, barely dodging a burst of burning air that singed the edge of her sleeve. “Oh yes, very gallant of you, sir knight. What would the bards sing? ‘Sir Callan, bravest of all. So brave he let the thief take the fall’?”
“They’d leave out the thief part, naturally. Makes for a catchier song.” He swung his blade to deflect another streak of the witch’s magic.
“Ha! I’ll make sure to tell the bards myself.” She ducked low, slashing across the witch’s leg. “You’d be nothing without me here to save you.”
“Nothing? I’d call myself resourceful. And extremely good-looking.”
“You forgot delusional,” Lisbeth shot back, flicking her hair from her eyes as she circled the witch, awaiting her next opportunity to strike.
Callan stepped backwards so he stood shoulder to shoulder with Lisbeth as they both fended off a large gust of wind. He mirrored her stance, angling his sword to intercept. “You tend to stare at me an awful lot for someone who thinks I’m delusional.”
“That’s because I’m contemplating which organ to aim for first when we’re done here.”
A deep frown formed on his face. “And here I thought you were starting to like me. We were just on a date!”
The witch let out another awful noise, sending forth a blast of air and jagged rocks. Lisbeth grabbed Callan’s arm, pulling him down as the squall went straight over their heads, their faces landing inches apart as they dropped to the ground.
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” she whispered, lips curling into a smirk. “That was not a date.”
“Too late,” Callan replied, grinning as he jumped to his feet and raised his sword. “I’m already imagining our first dance.”
“Please! Just end me already! I’m tired of this incessant jabbering,” the witch spat out through gritted teeth.
Lisbeth glanced at her. She had dropped to her knees, lacerations from both Lisbeth’s daggers and Callan’s sword covered her entire body, turning her into a human-sized pincushion. Blood trickled from her mouth.
Lisbeth decided not to put the witch through any more misery—daggers, swords, and bantering—and plunged both of her daggers into the woman’s chest. They ripped through fabric, skin, and bone as the crone screamed, a sound so piercing it seemed to shake the air. Her body arched violently, the pale glow in her eyes shattering into fragments of white fire.
This woman had silently terrorized the town for years, always evading capture and harm. Lisbeth couldn’t wait to return home to tell her mother of her feat.
She yanked her daggers free, chest heaving, and slipped them back into her belt, not bothering to wipe the blood from the blades. She was feeling extremely calm for the circumstances. Callan was still trying to catch his breath.
“Well,” she said dryly. “That was easy.”
“Easy?” He looked at her, stunned. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung slightly open. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that and I’m trained to fight. It was incredible.”
Lisbeth tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure that sobered you up, then?”
He laughed loudly. “I’m getting there. I think a more detailed explanation of what just happened might do the job.”
Callan could at times be as dense as granite and he lacked any grace whatsoever, but over the course of their interactions, he had proven himself to be kind-hearted. It was a characteristic that she hadn’t come across in people as frequently as she would have liked. She really ought to take a page from his book.
Maybe starting tomorrow, though, she thought as she eyed the bag that Callan had once again haphazardly tied to his belt. The coin that he had offered the crone was now tucked back inside. When would he learn?
She realized that he was still speaking and she was overwhelmed with embarrassment at her wandering mind. “It seems as though you’ve evolved, my dear Lisbeth. A thief to a savior. I think I like this occupation better than the former.” He chuckled, the sound familiar to her now.
She stepped closer allowing her hand to rest on his waist, the coolness of his chainmail sending a jolt into her palm. “Oh, do you now?”
He simply nodded, elated by her nearness. She looked at his lips. She did want to kiss him, but she also wanted to teach him a lesson. Foolish of him to trust her.
She leaned forward, her lips just barely brushing his. The bag came free more easily than she would have thought as she yanked it from his belt.
“I wouldn’t get too used to it.”
Author Bio
Emily Goyanes is a recent graduate of Emerson College’s MA in Publishing and Writing program. Originally from sunny Southern California, she now resides in Boston, Massachusetts where she spends most of her time recommending books and reorganizing shelves at an independent bookstore. The rest of her time is divided between reading, writing, or happily escaping into cozy video games.
