Read Thief of Cahraman a Retelling of Aladdin by Lucy Tempest

  Thief of Cahraman

Fairytales of Folkshore: Book One

Lucy Storm

THIEF OF CAHRAMAN – A RETELLING OF ALADDIN

Copyright © 2018 by Lucy Storm

Cover Art Copyright © 2018 Lucy Tempest

Editors: Mary Novak, Jennifer Jansen

First edition published in 2018 past Folkshore Press

ISBN: 978-one-949554-02-1

All rights reserved.

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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved to a higher place, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, stored in, or introduced into a database or retrieval organisation, in whatever form, or by any ways, without the prior written permission of both the copyright possessor and the above publisher of this book.

Disclaimer

The characters and events portrayed in this volume are fictitious. Any similarity to existent persons, living or dead, is coincidental and non intended by the author.

For my Female parent and Grandmother

And then to the rolling Heav'due north itself I cried,

Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide

Her fiddling Children stumbling in the Nighttime?"

And—"A blind understanding!" Heav'n replied.

The Rubaiyat, Omar Khayyam

Contents

Introduction

Map

Affiliate 1

Chapter 2

Affiliate 3

Chapter 4

Affiliate 5

Chapter half-dozen

Affiliate 7

Affiliate viii

Chapter nine

Chapter x

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Affiliate 14

Chapter 15

Chapter xvi

Affiliate 17

Affiliate eighteen

Affiliate 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Affiliate 23

Chapter 24

Affiliate 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Note from the Author

Pronunciation Guide

Nigh the Author

Introduction

Welcome to the magical world of Folkshore!

Fairytales of Folkshore is a series of interconnected fairytale retellings with unique twists on much-loved, enduring themes. It starts with the Cahraman Trilogy, a gender-swapped reimagining of Aladdin.

Join each heroine on emotional, thrilling adventures full of magic, mystery, friendship and romance where truthful love is found in the nigh unexpected places and the fates of kingdoms hang in the balance.

Among the retellings will be:

Beauty & the Beast, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Hades & Persephone, The Trivial Mermaid, Snowfall White…and more!

Map

Affiliate One

The good function about roaming this far northward in Ericura was that whenever I stole anything, its disappearance was blamed on the fairies.

At least, information technology was good for household items and wash-line wearing apparel. Or whatever food I picked up from orchards and fields equally I passed through towns. Annihilation bigger required a more sinister existence to pin the arraign on.

Missing livestock, children and men were blamed on the Horned God. Not that I would ever need to use him as a scapegoat. My thieving was mostly for necessities. Only sometimes, I robbed those the gods weren't bothering to punish themselves. Like Lady Dufreyne, the target of today's heist.

Equally the married woman of the resident merchant-lord of Aubenaire, Ericura'due south northernmost town, she lived in his mansion which was perched on a loma bordered by a stone wall that deterred both predators and thieves.

Not much could deter me. Especially when I was focused on vengeance.

My intended penalization withal, would backlash if I got caught. If the wheels scraping upwards the stone trail belonged to an inhabitant of the Dufreyne mansion, and I was found hanging from their second-floor window with a sack full of loot on my back, in that location would be no blaming the fairies. My efforts to serve justice with my sticky fingers would cease in existence turned over to the Horned God myself.

I shuddered at the thought, the buzz of apprehension that unfurled within me almost costing me my precarious hold on the windowsill.

Gritting my teeth, I steadied my grip, clinging to the thought that my stake-out of the Dufreyne mansion had been meticulous, that it couldn't be any of them.

I knew Lord Dufreyne himself wasn't around today. I had served him many times since I'd settled here in midwinter, the last time being yesterday, when he'd stopped past the tavern to get drunk before leaving to trade. He'd knocked back mug later mug of warm mead while slurring nonsensical rants about his tardily wife, his daughter, his new wife and her daughters. His drunken storytelling was always coherent compared to my usual patrons' ramblings, and along with failed bar fights, remained the most entertainment I had at work.

In contrast, nearly of my aggravation came from serving his new wife. She lived upwardly to the common view of evil rich women, who believed themselves above uncouth peasants, equating themselves with royalty. And though I had never seen a real royal in my travels from the very south to the very north of Ericura, I doubted any could exist as bad every bit her.

But what had done it for me hadn't been the many times she'd treated me, and the other tavern staff, like dirt. I was used to hard people. Information technology had been last week when she'd barged into the tavern, claiming that a packet was supposed to be delivered in that location. When Miss Etheline had said that nosotros weren't responsible for deliveries also our own, Lady Dufreyne had gone on a rampage. She'd knocked everything off the bar and flipped tables, demolishing half of the tavern's crockery and glassware while thundering accusations at the states of stealing it.

To meridian information technology all off, when Bonnie had tried to placate her equally she'd stormed out—with more patience and politeness than I could have mustered—she'd pushed her aside for her troubles, knocking her downwardly into a puddle. Bonnie's dress and volume had both been ruined.

When the parcel had arrived a half-day later, Lady Dufreyne had fabricated no apologies to any of us, nor had she offered to pay for the items she'd ruined.

I wasn't the type to allow injustices slide, and since she'd already accused me of stealing from her, I might every bit well brand good on that claim and supplant the things she'd destroyed myself.

Now, here I was hanging out of a window, weighed down by what I stole from her dwelling house. Besides the bulging coin pouch I'd constitute forgotten or hidden nether a bed, I'd taken two large volumes from the mansion library, two pairs of heavy leather boots, many yards of silk, and a gilded, pearl-encrusted jewelry box. I'd wager none of the residents truly needed these things, and might non fifty-fifty miss them. But they would fill the losses Bonnie and Miss Etheline had suffered many times over. If I got abroad with stealing them.

The scrape of rough wheels on gravel was growing louder, closer, pushing the panicked immediacy to the forefront of my listen. I tried pulling myself back upwardly and into the cluttered bedroom of either Aneira or Darla. Only it was a futile and sweaty-handed struggle confronting the wooden sill. I had to climb downwardly every bit rapidly equally I could without free-falling into the bushes.

A girl'southward voice joined the sound of crunching, getting closer upwards the trail faster than I could shut the window without trapping my climbing rope's hook.

"But why would I need to clean the fireplace?" complained the girl, though with a lot less displeasure and a lot more than defeat than my complaints unremarkably carried. "It's almost summertime and I've already cleaned it three times terminal month. I breathed in so much soot, and we aren't even using information technology—"

She stopped abruptly, and and so did the crunching

noise - what I now realized was that of a cycle. A harsher vocalisation cutting her off, indistinct similar information technology was traveling further away from her. I resisted the urge to pause and eavesdrop, and tightened my agree on my rope to hop further down the side of the house.

A precipitous sound of frustration from the daughter shocked me into missing my basis on the wall. I slid down violently, drying my sweaty palms with an intense rope-burn down every bit I held on for dear life. Merely my dropping weight knocked the hook off the sill and sent me crashing down the remaining feet.

I bounced off the thorny bushes and hit the backyard with a chest-rattling thump, the air escaping my lungs with a choked, throat-searing cough. It wasn't my worst fall withal, but it had been a long while since I needed to scale walls, and longer still since I was at take a chance of being caught.

Hissing from the flaring hurting of my burnt hands, I gathered and tucked the rope into my woolen coat before scrambling up and climbing over the border wall. I landed just in time to find Ornella Dufreyne rolling up on her rickety bicycle, bags weighing down its handlebars, towing an ancient cart full of firewood.

Ella started at the sight of me, coming to complete stop. With her crystal-clear infant blues for once void of their usual heartache, a dislocated frown pinched her shine brows while devious locks of strawberry-blonde hair threatened to unfurl her messy bun.

"Adelaide?"

Despite living in Aubenaire for nearly two seasons–the longest I'd ever stayed in any town I'd roamed through–we'd barely spoken in the few times I'd seen her, always rushing. Finding me across town and at her habitation must be inexplicable to her.

I croaky an awkward grinning and casually leaned confronting the wall, hoping that she couldn't hear the jewelry box and coin pouch rattling in my haversack. "Hey, Ella."

Her pout deepened as she stepped off her bicycle. "What are yous doing hither?"

"Oh, I was just looking for you," I said, chop-chop filing through all the tried and true excuses I'd used over the years. "You haven't come past the tavern in ages, so I figured the best way to talk to you was to stop by your identify."

"Why? What do you want from me?" She hunched slightly, whatever curiosity she had becoming suspicion that was edged with fear.

I knew that feeling all too well, merely I had never been on the receiving end of it. Which made me wonder; what did she feel inside this big, beautiful home that I had on the streets?

Information technology made me desire to clean out that house even more than, sell everything downwards to the curtain rods and paint, and then go inform the sheriff nearly how bad I suspected Ella's situation was. And my suspicions were very rarely wrong.

Those instincts had been honed during my years of roaming. For more v now, I'd hopped from boondocks to town, skipping each one the moment I attracted too much attending. Living out of my haversack, stealing food and other things I needed, and squatting in abandoned houses was amend than whatsoever 'domicile' the constabulary would have placed me in. Girls with no families suffered ii fates in Ericura; either condign a godswife in a temple, or being contracted to work for women similar Lady Dufreyne, who treated their maids like slaves.

From what I gathered, though she wasn't an orphan, Ella was being treated like one.

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring grin. "Bonnie and I take been wanting to invite you over for tea, just yous never appear in places nosotros frequent. So, here I am."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Bonnie had talked about inviting Ella over. While Ella and her vicious stepsisters were barred from mingling with the rest of the town. Aneira and Darla only attended events set up by their mother and her fellow idle rich. From my stake out, I knew when the girls returned from schoolhouse, when they went to events and how often their mother was with them. Ella, who seemed to exist permit out but to run errands, was never included in their lavish activities.

I'd been banking on their regular mid-day absences today. It was just my luck that Ella had returned earlier than usual.

Ella, now less frigid, picked up some of her shopping bags. "Why would yous want to accept tea with me?"

That response was word for give-and-take what I'd said to Bonnie the first time she'd invited me over. Ella probably had no friends. I didn't either until recently, merely that had been because I couldn't afford to make any friends. Not when I was always going to leave them.

I adjusted my haversack and shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"

She hunched a bit further, crimper herself protectively around the pocketbook of produce she held, hiding half her face in the leaves of celery stalks. "I don't know."

I advanced to take the remainder of the bags off her bicycle, and was met with a slight flinch and a tightening hug effectually the one she held. As subtle as it was, her reaction set my encephalon on fire. I didn't merely want to take her stepmother's beloved jewels abroad now; I wanted to feed them to her.

I moved away gently, giving her space. After a long moment, Ella seemed to determine I wasn't about to pull any tricks or run off with her groceries, and led the way within the firm.

On my fashion in, I fabricated a big show of taking in the loftier ceilings and the décor, but to give the impression that I had never seen this house before.

I cleared my withal-burning throat to get her attending. "And so, tomorrow's the blaze."

She fix her numberless on the spacious kitchen'due south marble counter. "That it is."

"You coming? Mr. Fairborn helped build most of the wicker figures," I gushed, trying to smother the pain my raw palms felt holding the shopping bags, every bit I set them down. "Bonnie and I are finishing our masks this evening."

"That'southward not bad, Adelaide," she said quietly, busying herself with the groceries.

"So, you lot'll come over? You can brand your own mask."

"No, I don't think I can…"

"Yes, yous tin."

She snuck a glance at the sitting room behind me. I followed her gaze, found the cement-and-stone fireplace. Why indeed would they need information technology cleaned when it was late spring?

This had to be piffling penalty, an excuse to keep Ella busy while her step-family ran effectually going to events and parties. Her mousy demeanor and fearful behavior were no doubt borne out of Lady Dufreyne's capricious temper. Then some other idea struck me.

Because the baseless fury she'd unleashed on the tavern, what would her stepmother do to her if she found a whole box of expensive jewelry missing?

I couldn't bear to imagine. Which meant one thing.

I had to return the box!

At that place was no use in punishing her stepmother if it would lead to Ella being tortured. Helping her escape would exist improve. I just had to get her away from here first.

"Come to tea with u.s., please."

"But I accept to clean the fireplace—"

I shook my head. "No, no, you lot really don't. It can wait."

"But—"

"If information technology can be my day-off from muck-piece of work I even go paid for, then it tin can exist your twenty-four hours-off likewise," I insisted. "If today is impossible, then meet up with Bonnie while I'one thousand at piece of work tomorrow. Y'all 2 can come up choice me up for the bonfire."

She barely blinked, seemingly stunned speechless, the pinch between her slim brows back in full strength. "Just I—I never…" She stopped, eyes darting effectually, conflicted. Then she finally exhaled. "Oh, alright. I guess an hour or 2 wouldn't hurt."

A thrill of relief ran through me equally I started edging away from her, heading out of the kitchen. "Not bad! Can I apply your bathroom?"

"I—I guess and then, but don't use the one in Madame's bedroom."

Madame. Her stepmother had her addressing her as Madame. A servant in her own home.

Putting my acrimony on concur, I immediately shot up the stairs and back into her stepmother'southward bedroom, placing the box back backside her boudoir's giant oval mirror. I also tossed the coin pouch back beneath one of the girls' beds. Only I was keeping the silk, boots, and books for Bonnie and Mr. Fairborn. These I was sure none of them would miss.

I made sure to affluent the toilet befo

re skipping dorsum down the carpeted staircase, backpack and guilt both much lighter.

I rushed by the kitchen, waving on my way towards the door. "Don't forget to go run into Bonnie almost the tavern by noon!"

"Just–"

"See you later!" I yelled equally I ducked out the door and broke into a run.

Breezing past the houses that surrounded the manor, I left the richer district of boondocks. I shortcut my way to the east by hopping the brick-and-mortar fences that divided cottages facing the crop fields, barreling downward the dusty road that snaked downhill into the town square. Once on paved rock, I ran downwards towards the end of boondocks, where the houses of business organization owners sat virtually the greenery.

My destination loomed on the horizon of the uphill road as I slowed my run to walk up the slope, panting loudly, my natural language drier than the dusty soles of my worn leather boots, and a sew together cutting into my side like a butcher had simply dug his cleaver in it. Bothered and ragged every bit I felt from the events of the final half-60 minutes, the sight of the Fairborn firm at the end of the road soothed all my aches similar a healing lotion.

The Fairborn'due south guest room was the latest spot I'd been staying, and the outset place where I had actively lived rather than squatted, in years. Not long later on I had met Bonnie, she had offered—no, insisted that I come to stay with them. I had hesitated at first because never once had anyone offered me help without expecting a slap-up deal in return. Just over ii weeks of regularly visiting my work and inviting me over, she'd worn me downwards, her consistent goodwill worming its fashion into my center and reassuring me that she was telling the truth when she said she wanted nothing more than my company and for me to give the house some warmth. She hadn't aimed to harbor me in the servant's quarters or employ me as one. Both she and her begetter had me living openly amongst them, like I was family.

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