The Twilight Thief: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Thrones of Midgard Book 1)

by J. Levi

  “So why does step-mommy-dearest want you dead?” Nova asks. The question surprises me, but the soothing sensation of his body so close to mine calms me.

  “She’s cruel,” I say because it’s true, “or maybe she’s figured out that I have magic.”

  I think back to the first time I met queen Morda. I was only a child, and I lost my mother a few weeks before. After my mother’s death, my father became an empty shell, swimming through the motions of monarchism. He didn’t remarry out of love but rather for policy. I didn’t hate him for it. I understood. Part of me appreciated it actually because it meant my mother is the only woman he could truly love. When I met Morda, she appeared kind with her delicate features and her ever-lasting smile. It wasn’t until a servant had served slightly undercooked eggs for breakfast, an honest and occasional mistake, that the new queen became a torrent. She ordered the server to be whipped. The injuries so severe it took her a year to return to the palace, and even then, she was tasked with remedial tasks. That’s the first time I saw how evil she could be, and it was merely the start.

  “Uncle Barlot and aunt Mabel are leading a rebellion against the capital,” I confess. I feel Nova shift slightly against me.

  “I know,” Nova says.

  “What?” I exacerbate. “How?”

  “I’m a thief. I make a living by knowing things.”

  “And stealing,” I quip.

  “That too,” Nova smiles. “But how do you know about aunties proclivities? You strike me as a loyalist, not an insurgent.”

  “I want to help them. The things the queen...the things my father have done is despicable. I haven’t been able to look at my father for a very long time. Aunt Mabel believes that if I’m at the forefront of the rebellion, it’ll spark a massive wave of support from the kingdom citizens.”

  “What do you think?” Nova asks, which shocks me because through everything that’s happened, even before I met Nova, no one has asked me about my opinion.

  “I think she has a point, but I don’t think it’ll work,” I confess.

  “Why?”

  “It won’t work because I’m me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, astonished.

  I sigh, struggling to say the words of doubt that swim in my mind constantly.

  “I don’t think I’ll be enough to unite the people of Edonia for a full revolt. I’m the prince, sure, but I don’t invoke passion or pride for the people. I’m untrained in combat, I’m awkward around the nobleman and courtiers, and I refuse to wed a bride,” I chide.

  “If you ask me, none of those things are exactly bad things, Cas.”

  “My name is—” I try to protest, but he nudges me, which makes me stop. I sigh and say, “How are we supposed to get back? I need to return to Laenberg.”

  “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m never stepping a fucking foot on that spider-infested desert ever again. We’ll find a way…but a different way.”

  I chuckle lightly. He does too.

  ***

  Several hours pass, but eventually, we approach the mountainous base of the volcano. The closer we get, the darker the land becomes. Now that we’re at the basin, the sky is nearly black, and it looks as though it’s night. Our captor leads us through the large, curved gates of a fortress wall. A vast city scales into the side of the mountain. The architecture resembles the dwarven keeps from the Old World I’ve read about in texts. Beyond the fortress walls are hovels with animal pens. I recognize the whiney of horses nearby, but when I catch a glimpse at the equestrian animals, I realize they’re something else. A single long, spiraled horn protrude from each of their heads, and their manes are so vibrant that they glow in the dim lighting.

  “Unicorns,” Nova mutters like he’s annoyed.

  I crane my neck toward the brim of the volcano, gauging the size of the city. It’s obviously built into tiers by elevation, large ramps, and stairways leading to the upper levels. The higher the city climbs, the more intricate and elegant the architecture seems to be—dwarven structures with elements of fae elegance elements.

  We knit through the outskirts of the city, passing makeshift merchant huts and fields of wheatgrass. Glowing orbs hover over the fields, mimicking small variations of the sun—magic, no doubt. Small fae and human children scurry about the dirt paths while kicking a leather-stitched ball. A tavern that resembles a mud shed more than a patron establishment bellows loud bursts of raucous laughter.

  The prison wagon tows along the city’s outer curve until we reach a cavernous opening. Only blazing braziers light the path. Eventually, the cavern shaft opens into a grotto lit by fire. There are humans and fae alike scattered throughout the outer walls of the cave. In the center is a lynching platform, and beside it is a large pit, nearly as large as the cathedral in Laenberg. Wooden bleachers are erected around the pit, and beyond are tents perched near a bonfire.

  Unicorns and mundane horses neigh at a nearby trough. Our captor leads his rhinoxen to them. Nova is gazing through the cage bars, studying everything. His brow is pinched. He’s calculating.

  When the cabin comes to a halt, the figure rounds the back of the cage and swipes a blade against Nova’s shoulder. Nova winces and then scowls before shouting, “What the hell was that for?”

  The figure turns to me and speaks in vylorian. I translate for Nova.

  “He says it’s Null Root toxin. It’s supposed to numb magic if you have any. Now, he’s telling you to hold up your hands so he can remove the clasps.”

  “Gladly,” Nova scolds as our captor unlocks the clasps and pulls them through the cage bars.

  Three ghastly-looking humanoid figures approach the cage. Their chests are huge even behind their leather vests. Their bellies are round and protruding, arms thicker than my head. They have tusks peaking from their bottom lips though each of theirs is different in size and shade. Their nostrils are huge under their bulbous noses. Elkkin. A fiendish type of fae. They typically do not possess magical aspects beyond garish strength, stench, and tempers.

  The shortest of the three beckons our captor to unlock the cage and he obliges. When the door swings open, Nova rushes out and tries to kick at the figure who held us captive, but he slips the moment his foot touches the mud below. The shortest elkkin slams a hammer-like mallet against Nova’s chest and growls.

  Another elkkin reaches into the cage and yanks me out by the ankle. I struggle, but it’s no use. Its grip only tightens painfully. I watch as Nova is dragged after me. They’re shouting in a language I don’t recognize.

  They take us to the pit in the center of the cavern and toss us into it. The fall is unyielding, and when I crash into the wet mud, I instantly vomit. The grotesque stench of rotting flesh and carrion is overpowering.

  Nova slams into the vile muck next to me, though he manages to maintain his stomach contents. We clamber around the slippery floor, scanning the pit. On the far end is a large iron caged door securely anchored into the mud. Beyond the iron door is a wall of black. Light fails to penetrate the cage. A snarling hiss from behind the door is hard is ignore as well as the faint glow of piss-yellow eyes.

  Fear takes over again, and I feel like I’ll faint. Nova slams his forearm against my chest to snap me out of my downward spiral of despair. I see the white roses on his forearm that blossomed earlier were now black and tarnished as if rotting. The vines have become jagged twigs like a dead tumbleweed.

  From above, the steady banter of crowds come into view as humans and fae scale the bleachers like an eager audience awaiting their entertainment to begin.

  “What do we do?” I ask, desperate for a resounding answer. I need an anchor to plaster me into the present rather than allow myself to sink into fear.

  Nova doesn’t say anything at first. He’s scanning everything and everyone. When he finally does speak, it’s a ferocious growl, almost inhuman. I forget so easily that Nova is fae, albeit an unknown variety. Animalistic deme
anor beams through in his stance and snarling grimace.

  “Stay behind me, and I’ll see this through,” his voice is powerful and final.

  Just then, the cage door on the far end of the pit begins to lift. The hissing snarl inside becomes louder as the piss-yellow eyes dart around randomly. Nova, with feline grace, springs forward and rushes towards the now half-opened cage door. A glint catches my eye, and I realize a sword sticks from the mud towards the pit’s center. Nova is going for a weapon. I feel a twinge of hope swell in my gut.

  I hear a shrill whistle from behind. It’s familiar, a tune often used in Edonia as a catcall. I turn to look and notice a figure in the audience at the edge of the pit. He nods his head beneath his hood and tosses a wood staff, splintered and frayed, into the hole, and it lands resoundingly beside me.

  I instinctively reach for the staff, dragging it from the mud. I’ve never used one in combat before, but the curved wood in my hands invokes some confidence. I turn to Nova, who’s nearly reached the sword in the mud. I feel the white pearlescent hues of my light magic skimming beneath the surface of my skin. It radiates heat from my body. I use it to focus and harness my attention, distracting myself from the fear.

  I spring after Nova, likely toward my death, but I refuse to let him fight alone.

  17

  Nova

  “We are at war, my love. The kingdom of Edonia marches south to besiege the Orgard armies. The capital has called for allies, though no one answered our call, even the monarchs of Ljosgard. They have forsaken us. We are of the same lineage, but to them, we are no different than humans. I write to you in hopes that Fate blesses the wings of my falcon to carry my message on swift winds. I leave for Fondstadt in the morning. I shall charter safe passage to Lun’nei and be with you again.

  – personal letter of Graceling Featherfoot 673 B.M.

  The muddy pit squelches as a twisted and tormented shape emerges from the cage opening. My heart strums in my chest, the thunderous beats roaring in my ears. My stomach twists like a flurry of locust swarm within my gut. Sweat trickles from my brow and temple, wetting the gooseflesh of my skin. The beast that crawls from the cage is surrealistic. The spiders in the desert caused uneasiness and chills skittering down my spine, but this monstrosity invokes pure fear.

  The creature is twice my height. Its body is long and slender, limbs twisted and bent like they’ve been mangled, and long thorns protrude from its bark-like flesh. Rotting moss and vines hang from its torso and atop it’s slouched shoulders is a giant skull, ash-white with splattered blood. Antlers made of dead branches angle outward from the monster’s skull with severed ears dangling from the branches—trophies from its kills. Behind its hollow eye sockets are six glowing piss-yellow eyes.

  It creeps toward me. Its body shifts and twitches with each step. Its sinewy hands curve into long thorned claws, red like rubies. It stalks closer, and I struggle to keep upright, dizziness threatening to ravage me.

  I attempt counting down from ten to steady my breathing and calm my nerves, which are firing like lightning in a thunder-raided sky. It doesn’t work.

  I reach a steel-hilted great sword swathed in mud and filth. I pull the heavy blade, struggling to balance the weight of the sword with trembling arms.

  Get yourself together, I scold myself.

  Cas rushes to my side, wooden staff in hand. He must have found it in the mud like my newly found sword. He looks to me, searching for direction, searching for reassurance. I can’t offer either to him as I struggle to filter through my racing thoughts. I always have a cool head in the face of danger, but I’m like a bird with clipped wings, facing off with a predator and no means to escape. I realize how dependent I am on my magic, how integral it is woven into me as if my ability to wisp is what flourishes my confidence.

  Cas’s fingers begin to glow, just subtly at first. The skin on his hands turning brighter shades of flesh.

  “Don’t,” I scold him, “Don’t let them see your magic.”

  I tilt my head toward the brutes perched on the lynching stage, never averting my gaze from the beast that stalks towards us.

  “What is it?” Cas says, his voice just noticeable above the roaring crowd.

  I recognize the creature that slinks and lurks slowly across the swampy pit. Its skull head, sunken eyes, tree branch antlers. Familiar traits, though this creature looks wild, crazy, and bloodthirsty.

  “I think it’s a croin,” I admit.

  “As in a forest spirit?”

  “Maybe...this one looks wild, dangerous. croin’s are peaceful,” I explain.

  “Where would the elkkins have captured one? We’ve seen nothing but deserts,” Cas retorts.

  “The Oakrot Forest,” I realize, remembering what the bartender in Eliond said. My mind is swimming and then, “Quick—what happens to a croin when its forest dies.”

  “What?” Cas responds, and the beast howls. It’s shrill and raspy like it’s screaming through loose dirt.

  “What the fuck happens to a croin when its forest dies,” I shout impatiently.

  “Uh, it. Oh! I think it’s—oh gods,” he clambers at whatever he’s realized and says, “it’s a cravyn.”

  Of course, it is.

  Cas continues to explain, “A cravyn is a mad spirit driven by bloodlust. It kills because it’s consumed by revenge over the loss of its forest. The only way to kill it is by fire or stabbing its heart with the wood from its own forest.”

  Both of which are in short supply.

  The cravyn falls onto his hands, its claw sinking into the filthy earth. Its skull hangs open, and its hind legs arch. It growls a bone-chilling sound. The stench of carrion on rotted flesh seeps from its tarnished fangs, and a long, grotesque tongue laps out of its mandible, flicking against its skull, much like a child licking their lips before eating cake.

  I move in front of Cas, who’s bracing himself with the wooden staff, and I can see the slight tremble in his knees, yet he’s still standing here with me rather than cowering in a corner. I’m surprised to see the bookworm standing his ground with me, but I’m more pissed than anything. I’ve worked tirelessly to keep the gods damned brat alive, it seems like I can’t take two steps without encountering something trying to kill or eat us.

  The beast lurches forward. It’s faster than I anticipate. I barely dodge its low swing as I leap to the side, dragging Cas by the forearm behind me. I thrust the great sword, struggling to grip it tight enough. The mud-soaked hilt endangers to rip it from my hand. The blade brushes against the cravyn’s shoulder, splitting its bark-skin and revealing writhing maggots beneath.

  I’m not fast enough to swing again because the monster backhands me across my face, sending me hurling back until I crash into Cas. We both fall to the ground. He helps me up, but the beast is relentless as it grabs me by the ankle and pulls me up until I’m dangling upside down. I kick and swing, trying to reach for my sword, which is currently submerged in the mud below. The cravyn snarls in my face, the putrid odor of death forces tears to swell in my eyes and an involuntary gag. Its tongue whips from its skull face and rakes against the side of my face.

  “I never kiss on the first date,” I snark and grab a fist full of cravyn tongue. It’s dry like dead vines. I yank as hard as I can. It drops me, but not without slamming its claws into my side. I yelp in the sheer pain that rivets through my body. I crash to the ground, Cas beside me instantly. The cravyn already back onto all fours heaving violently. I tumble to the side, avoiding the cravyn’s branch-infested arm that pounds into the mud. I shove Cas out of the way as I round-kick the cravyn in its gut. My foot pummels through rotted shrub, bark, and stick, revealing a skeletal spine.

  With my boot lodged too deep into his bark-skin, it grabs my leg again. With supernatural strength, it swings with momentum. It hurls me clear across the pit until I slam into the mud-caked wall. My head is aching and my vision is so blurred that I can’t tell which way is up.

 
I hear Cas grunting in the distance and then a piercing cry. I instantly sober and race to my feet. Cas is dangling in the air while the cravyn holds him by the throat, licking Cas’s face with its torn tongue. I rush through the mud, scanning the earth for anything to use as a weapon, and I find nothing. As I approach the cravyn from behind I call on the skills I learned from Leluna and throw as much of my weight into my momentum into a sideways, forward flip. As I land, I slam the backend of my heel into the neck of the beast. It hisses, releasing Cas, and falling to a knee. Only one knee, but it’s a start. Before it has time to retaliate, I run along its back until I leap forward off its shoulders. I tumble on the ground as I land, grabbing the sword embedded in mud and throw it with as much strength as I can muster.

  The greatsword lodges itself into the monster’s skull, the ivory-white bone cracking and causing insects to pour out of its eye sockets around the glowing yellow eyes. It howls turns ear-splitting, and bone-chilling. I rush to Cas’s side, who’s still on his back, and pull him to his feet and grab his staff.

  We’re running across the pit, gaining distance from the cravyn, when I hear a whistle from the crowd overhead. I scan the audience until I find a figure with a blonde beard peering through the shadow of his hood. He tilts his head downward.

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

  The stranger uses a single finger to point to his head.

  What is up with this guy? Can’t he see we’re about to die?

  “Is he trying to tell us something about the staff he gave me?” Cas asks through his panting. Staff?

  “He gave it to you?” But before Cas can answer, the cravyn barrels into our backs. We crash to the ground and a blinding pain rakes across my back as the cravyn bores its talons into my flesh. I rage within and beg my magic to come forward. I can’t risk Cas using his magic, if the elkkin’s see it, they’ll either execute him or plan something far more nefarious than going up against a cravyn.