Empress of Rogues

by Carrie Summers

  “No room for failure tonight, okay?” Myrrh says as the carriage creaks into motion again, Nyx, in his servant’s livery, having urged the horses forward. Behind the carriage’s cab, Warrell and Resh stand on a wooden platform in a pair of matched uniforms the organization keeps around for posing as private security. Occasionally, one of them shifts and causes the carriage to rock. Other than Silver, Carver is the only person missing from the group. Him, she sent into Rat Town to try to start assessing the Haven situation—and to start tracking down Toad.

  “I got that part,” Hawk says. “It’s the questions about how we’re supposed to manage this whole thing that I’m not so clear on.”

  Ivy nods in agreement. “I don’t understand why we’re supposed to just go with whatever you say. I mean, we’re supposed to be the parents here, right?”

  Hawk’s brow furrows. “Parents?”

  Myrrh smirks. She hasn’t had time to tell him that part. “Yes, Papa. And we’re here, all the way down from the Inner Kingdoms, Wayren to be precise. My brother has a new trade deal under negotiation to bring our barley down the Ost and into the Port Cities where they have a fascination with grains we consider to be humble food for the peasants. It seems they consider them exotic.”

  “I see.”

  Ivy threads her hand between Hawk’s arm and ribs, wrapping gloved fingers around his bicep. Hawk stiffens, his thief’s mask shattering. He glances sideways at the other thief, a deep blush in his cheeks.

  “I do hope our son has found an advantageous situation, don’t you darling?” she says. “I’ve heard the chaos in the city has caused havoc in the trade markets.”

  Myrrh can’t help the smile on her lips as she watches Hawk try to master his flustered reaction. All of a sudden, she remembers a night in Rikson’s Roost, back when she and Hawk and Ivy were freelancers. She noticed Hawk’s attention captured by something across the room, an informal dice game where it appeared that the wagers were for who would buy the next round. Hawk gave up dicing many years ago, and Myrrh remembers having concluded that he was fighting the longing to rescue the honor of the poor suckers who’d been lured into funding a particular woman’s evening. But now, Myrrh wonders if that longing was for Ivy’s company instead.

  “Of course, after we get across the bridge into Maire’s Quarter, our story is going to change. You’re still my parents, of course, but you’ll need to follow my lead when I figure out the rest.”

  The carriage sways, the wheels on the right side squeaking as the horse team pulls it into a turn. That means they’ve driven onto the bridge. A moment later, the cab lurches, and Myrrh’s head dips forward as they stop. She brushes aside the curtain and leans to peer out as one of the two patrolling guards slips through the wall of Shields and approaches, hand on the butt of his cudgel.

  “Fourth Bridge is closed after dusk.”

  The carriage leans to the side then springs up as Warrell and Resh climb off the platform in the rear and move to stand near Myrrh’s door. She holds the curtain open long enough to make eye contact and nod. She’s ready.

  “Merchant Occela has pressing business within the Quarter. His son is already inside, having made arrangements for his arrival and accommodations. We were due just after midday, but the carriage became mired north of the city. The horses we obtained in Previt were unsound, the mare lame and scarcely able to pull, while the gelding’s mouth was hardened against the bit. Needless to say, we’ll be sending men to—”

  “Bridge is closed. No exceptions.”

  “Govan,” Myrrh says, cracking the carriage door. She picks up a stack of paper—sales receipts she grabbed from the dress boutique, and steps from the cab onto the runner. Warrell, feigning shock, hurries over and offers an arm.

  “Miss Occela, it’s unseemly for you to expose yourself to such weather and company. Please remain inside while the guardsman and I sort this out.”

  “I’m sure the man just needs to see our papers,” she says, turning a bright smile on the guard. She looks him up and down as if impressed. “I’m glad to see that the city is taking such pains to protect the security of respectable people. I’m certain we’ll be safe inside the Quarter with such diligent guardsmen on watch.”

  He puffs his chest just slightly, but shakes his head. “Apologies, Mistress.”

  “Miss.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Miss, not Mistress. I’m as of yet unwed and not yet introduced to society. My parents feel I am still too innocent for suitors, that I might find myself under the sway of someone unscrupulous. What do you think, sire?”

  He screws his eyes shut in a hard blink, then shakes his head. “I—I’m sure I can’t comment on that, Miss.”

  Myrrh sighs and pouts her lower lip briefly. “Well, regardless, I do hope they’ll introduce me soon. I would truly love to experience Ostgard’s famed soirees on one of these trips, even if I am still too shy for dancing or unchaperoned conversation with a…man.” Her eyes widen. From within the carriage, she hears Ivy trying to shush Hawk, who is probably trying not to laugh.

  “What’s going on up there?” someone shouts from farther along the bridge. A moment later, the other patrolling guard slips through the row of sentries and approaches.

  The first guard clears his throat. “I was just explaining to these people that the bridge is closed at night until a new Maire can be chosen and order can be restored.”

  Myrrh tries to put a vacant look in her eyes as the newcomer approaches. “But I just don’t understand how there can be any harm in letting across three travelers who have journeyed all the way from the Inner Kingdoms. It’s truly not our fault that the stable master in—where were we when we obtained those awful horses, Govan?”

  “Previt, Miss.”

  “Right, in Previt. Truly, he was a cruel and disgusting man, selling us the use of such beasts that couldn’t even pull the carriage through mud no deeper than Govan’s ankle.”

  The second guard clears his throat. “Whether the Previt stable master delayed your arrival or not, the orders from the council are strict. Perhaps you can find temporary accommodations in East Fifth that would suit your station, Mistress.”

  “Miss,” she says.

  “Pardon?”

  “Our companion here is not yet wed, Prost,” the first guard quickly says, “but we should leave it at that to avoid getting distracted from the topic at hand.”

  Myrrh lets out a heavy sigh and looks over the shoulders of the men toward the lights of Maire’s Quarter as if imagining all the balls she’s not allowed to attend. After a moment, she turns her gaze back to the guards, focusing on the newcomer since he appears to be the squad leader.

  “But we visited the Ostgard consul at Lederford, you see, and she forced us to remain in the township for three whole days while drafting and approving our entry papers. You may never have been to Lederford—I don’t see why anyone would go there except to receive Ostgard papers—but it’s a positively horrid place. My mattress was stuffed with straw beneath just a thin layer of wool, and I could smell it while I was attempting to sleep. It was like bedding down in a stable really.”

  The guards are starting to look faintly panicked. Given their occupation as Shields—any guardsmen who could claim a respectable tally of wits were previously snapped up by the Scythe for her handpicked force—Myrrh guesses they’re no geniuses themselves. But it’s clearly still a challenge for them to know how to respond to someone so blatantly empty-headed.

  A look of dismay passes between them.

  “Miss Occela, perhaps we should heed the suggestion and set ourselves toward this East Fifth for the night,” Warrell says in a gentle tone that suggests he doesn’t wish to upset a young woman with such delicate sensibilities.

  “Oh, nonsense, Govan,” she says, slapping him lightly on the shoulder as if this is all a big joke. “Here,” she says sharply, brandishing the papers and fluttering them in front of the lead guard’s face. “Proof
that we’re an upstanding family. We present no danger to the good citizens of Ostgard.”

  “Unless her condition is catching,” Myrrh hears a woman say from within the row of Shields barring the way. “Do you think stupidity is contagious?”

  The lead guard makes as if to gently turn her hand away, and that’s when Myrrh strikes. In the commotion of flapping papers and moving arms, she raises her other hand and catches the man’s eye with a wave of her fingers before she works them through the cantrip. Unlike other times when she’s tried the trick—even with Ivy, who she did manage to misdirect into performing simple tasks—Myrrh feels the charm take hold. It’s as if a faint thread suddenly binds the man to her, invisible and pulling his eyes to her face.

  “You know,” she says in a low voice, “it might just be easier to let the carriage through. We have the papers. It’s much more difficult to back a carriage off a bridge than to pull it forward. And anyway, what harm could three merchants from the Inner Kingdom do when half the city is forced to hide in their homes due to lawlessness.”

  The other guard is just staring at her as if astonished anyone could be so oblivious to what she’s been told. Blinking and smiling, she flutters the papers at him, too, and uses the movement to cover another use of the cantrip.

  “And speaking of lawlessness, what if we’re waylaid while trying to find accommodations outside the Quarter? My brother is expecting us. It’s already arranged. Just think of the damage to Ostgard’s reputation if foreign traders aren’t allowed to seek shelter in lodgings they’ve already arranged and paid for?”

  Both men wear conflicted looks. Behind them, the row of guards shifts as if impatient that this has gone on so long. One, a woman—probably the source of the comment about Myrrh’s “condition”—has a hand on her blade. A good length of steel shows where she’s pulled it from the sheath.

  “Perhaps it would help if we swear not to mention that we were allowed passage across the bridge after dark. It doesn’t appear that anyone is paying particular attention to the comings and goings at this hour.”

  The leader of the guard taps a finger against his chin. “You know, I wasn’t convinced at first, but now that you mention it, it would probably be safer for you to enter now than seek shelter elsewhere.”

  The other nods. “Isn’t the purpose of the closure and curfew to keep our upper-class citizens safe?”

  “Exactly,” the first says, brightening at the excuse.

  “Then it’s settled,” Myrrh says brightly. “I’ll just walk with you two across the bridge so that you can point out the most interesting features of your fair city.” She hands off the papers to Warrell, then lays a hand on the guard’s shoulder, keeping his attention in case she needs to renew the cantrip.

  With a faintly bewildered look, the guard captain turns to the row of Shields. “Make way for Merchant Occela’s carriage,” he barks. “And hold the defense until I return. I’ll be gathering a guard force to escort the good merchant’s family all the way to their accommodations within the Quarter. It would not do to have respectable visitors to our city vulnerable to harassment by criminals at this late hour.”

  Myrrh’s heart sinks as she meets Warrell’s eyes. Sixes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I BELIEVE WE should consider this a case of being too persuasive,” Resh mutters as he and Warrell head toward the platform on the rear of the carriage. “Permission to cross the bridge is one thing. An armed escort quite another.”

  Myrrh stops at the carriage door and clears her throat, reminding one of the men to return and open her door for her. “I’ll work it out,” she says into Warrell’s ear as she steps onto the running board.

  They traversed the bridge without incident, Myrrh making vapid conversation with the guard while keeping a hand ready to refresh the cantrip, but once they entered Maire’s Quarter, the man insisted that she relax inside her carriage for the remainder of the journey to her accommodations.

  “Miss Occela,” the guard says just before she climbs in.

  “Yes?”

  “In order to provide escort to your quarters, I’ll need to know where we’re destined. When we reach the guardhouse a block into the district, I’ll collect men to help with your protection, and I’ll send a runner ahead to make sure the route is clear of trouble.”

  Sixes. And of course, Myrrh has no address in mind. The only cross streets she knows are the location of the residence Glint leased under his disguise as Merchant Giller. If there’s a worse location to give as a destination, she’s not sure she could conceive of it, seeing as Merchant Giller was just arrested for allegedly assassinating the city’s leader. The building will be watched. Might as well climb onto a dais in the central square and announce herself as the wanted accomplice in the killing.

  Unfortunately, she has to say something, so she rattles off Glint’s address and hopes the guard isn’t familiar with the private residences of the city’s merchants. She doesn’t plan to be under guard by the time they arrive anyway.

  “Needless to say, we’ll want to take care of our escort before we reach our destination,” she says after shutting the carriage door to muffle her voice.

  Ivy snorts. “I assume you have a plan?”

  “Not just yet, but I’m working on it,” she responds while moving into a crouch between the bench seats.

  Ordinarily, the slow pace of the carriage would make her antsy, but right now she’s glad for the sedate clop of the horses’ hooves against the slate paving in the Quarter. The carriage is surprisingly comfortable, riding on well-tuned springs. As Myrrh shuffles back and forth in her crouch, patting the floorboards, she does notice that it seems to sway as if slightly top-heavy. But that’s a minor complaint.

  “So, Myrrh,” Hawk says as she explores the joining of the floorboards near the right wall, and then the panels on the wall itself. “That gesture you made…”

  Something in his tone makes Myrrh look up from her explorations. “Yes?”

  “Can you tell me its origin?” Still, his voice seems rather tense, as if he’s hiding something.

  “Maybe you should tell me what’s worrying you, Hawk. We’ve never been ones for secrets, unless it involves a prime stash of loot, right?”

  He nods, shoulders slumping. “I would tell you if I could, honestly. But the truth is I can’t say what bothers me. There is much I don’t know from my time…away.”

  Myrrh’s eyebrows draw together. “From the time your soul was separated from your body?”

  Hawk nods. “Right. I have the sense that I spent time in some sort of void, and I know from your account that the faint link between my spirit and body formed a sort of gateway that allowed the Death Cloak passage into the world.”

  “That’s more or less it,” Myrrh says with a nod. “Rattle claimed that the trinkets with Skorry’s sign had been used by the Nightblades for years as protection against Death Cloak attacks, but I can’t say that it worked. That’s the only connection I can see with the cantrip—according to the Nightblades, the charm effects caused by the cantrips are gifts from Skorry as well.”

  Hawk blinks as if trying to sort through his words. “I wish I could better describe what I experienced when you made the motion. The best I can say is that I remember a feeling of being used when I was in the void and the Death Cloak found passage through my body. I felt a similar thing when I saw you work that charm. I know Nab’s been at it with the same trick, fooling bakers who don’t give him enough free sweets. But I never experienced that deeper sensation until now.”

  When he speaks, Myrrh can’t help thinking about the Mouth and Silver and their talk of Skorry’s jealousy. Maybe there was truth in their words, and maybe they meant well in offering to initiate Nab. Well, maybe that’s part of the story, but it can’t be the full explanation. Myrrh is certain that Silver has an ulterior motive for offering to have the boy taught. Regardless, Hawk has given her more to think about regarding this so-called initia
tion.

  Just as soon as this operation is over.

  The carriage hits a bump, and the jolt sends her flying toward the opposite side of the cab. As she scrambles to her feet to keep her balance, her toe catches on what seems to be a loose floorboard. Hurrying, Myrrh searches with her fingers until she finds the crack.

  “Here,” she says quickly. “Help me lift.”

  ***

  By the time the carriage draws to halt at what Myrrh assumes is the guard post, they’ve managed to work three of the floorboards loose. With Hawk and Ivy holding her feet in case she slips, Myrrh turns upside down and sticks her head through the hole in the floor to get a good look at the situation. Between the spokes of the carriage wheel, she spots the guard walking toward the building, shoulders set. Outside the post itself, four guards keep watch. The front door is ajar, and warm light falls through the crack. Other than at the guard post, there doesn’t appear to be anyone out and about in this part of town. At this hour, the residents of Maire’s Quarter have probably headed toward the center of the district to be seen strolling the avenues, browsing high-end boutiques, and dining in the expensive establishments lining the main thoroughfare.

  At the entrance to the building, the lead guard snaps his fingers, barks an order, and points to the carriage. Two of the guards leave their posts and trot over, hands on weapons. One nods a greeting toward the front of the carriage where Nyx holds the reins, and then they take up station near the front wheels, feet planted firmly. Myrrh grimaces. So much for the idea that they wait until the lead guard goes inside, then make a run for it. Even if she and Ivy and Hawk could slip out the bottom of the carriage, grabbing Warrell and Resh before the rest of the guards emerge from the post, they’d be abandoning Nyx to deal with the Shield escort alone.

  She struggles upright, chewing her lip and freeing her ankles from her friends’ grasps. Pulling aside the curtain, she peers forward at the new guard standing sentry near the front of the carriage. “All right. Diversion time. I’ll get ahead of our path and get it set up. You guys stay here and run when it happens.”