by C. A. McHugh
He tucked both objects away, making sure both were well concealed. Between the silver and the strange jewel, he had plenty for a fellow thief to covet.
“Are you sure you want to go down there alone?” Ceryst asked beside him.
Raimel nodded. “I can’t ignore a royal summons, and I don’t have time to deal with a guest tribute.”
The knight gave him a wry smile. “One day you’ll have to explain this whole tribute thing.”
“We’ve gone over this before. I’d either have to force you to pledge allegiance to His Majesty,” he explained, noting the snort of disdain Ceryst gave at the mention of the King of Thieves, “or kill you.”
After coming too close to the latter less than a month ago in the tunnels, he didn’t want to press his luck. Master Binnius had given him the strange pale green amulet three weeks ago, claiming it had the magic to shield his mind from the Raven Bringer and his apprentices as long as Raimel wore it. And even though it seemed to be doing its job, it still made his skin crawl when he touched it. The magic was strange and foreign, almost unnatural.
But then, the same could be said about him. Maybe that was why he had such an adverse reaction to it.
As long as it kept that asshole out of his mind, he’d endure it.
He checked the contents of his pouch, just in case this turned out to be an ambush instead of an audience with the King of Thieves. Three smoke bombs. Four vials of acid strong enough to disintegrate steel blades. One healing potion. A handful of his new best friend—hykona leaves. And six vials of the potion that made his life bearable when the moon was cloaked in shadow.
Two months’ worth, he realized with a grimace. At least this batch was as good as Master Binnius had promised it would be. The prior one had been watered down, and both he and Ceryst were sporting new scars because of it.
He fastened his pouch in a way that would keep the contents safe from any pickpockets but still allow him to draw on them quickly if needed. Then he checked to make sure his twin short swords were securely sheathed against his back and concealed under the newish jerkin he’d acquired from someone’s laundry line. He followed by patting down the daggers hidden up his sleeves and in his boots to make sure they were in place and not visible to the untrained eye.
“You act like you’re walking into a trap,” Ceryst said in his usual dry manner.
“I’m not sure I’m not.”
“Care to explain?”
Raimel shook his head. The less Ceryst knew about the Kingdom of Thieves, the better. When he’d received a royal summons a few months ago, he hadn’t been this on edge. That time, the summons came in the form of a half-coin, and he’d been the one to request an audience with the king, so it was more of a relief than a threat. This time, it was a quartered coin—a marker of an urgent, you’d-better-get-your-ass-down-here-now summons. The only thing worse would be a bodyguard like Jasper giving him the sliver of eighth, which equated to getting ready to answer a summons to one’s own execution.
This summons, combined with the female apprentice he and Ceryst had already encountered in the tunnels, urged a cautious approach. Better to be prepared for a shit storm and walk away unscathed than be blindsided by trust. “Don’t look so worried, honey. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
Which elicited a swing from Ceryst’s fist, just like he’d expected.
Raimel dodged and gave his friend his best carefree grin. “Prefer to be called sweetie instead?”
“Get going before I beat that grin off your face.”
Raimel shook his head. “Jealous of my pretty face, eh? I knew it.”
“Go,” the knight growled, reaching for his broadsword.
Raimel laughed and backed away. As much as he enjoyed pushing Ceryst’s patience, he knew when to stop. Fifteen years of friendship had taught him the Knight Protector’s limits.
“But seriously, stay here until I come back.” He didn’t want to mention the alternative—him not coming back. They’d both had enough morbid thoughts to last several lifetimes.
He lowered the ward against demons and cracked open the door of his hidden chamber. A brief glimpse into the Shadow Realm told him it was clear. He eased into the dark tunnels under the city and raised the ward behind him. It took less than a second for his eyes to adjust the darkness. One small benefit of his father’s curse. Then he traced the familiar path through the underground maze.
He was no stranger to royal summonses. Before Master Binnius had forced him to walk the straight and narrow by saving Ceryst, he’d been a trusted member of the royal court as one of the king’s assassins. It was a bloody business, but in its own way, it maintained order among the criminals who populated the underground realm. The King of Thieves had welcomed him back with open arms after he’d been expelled from the Academy, and over the years, his loyalty had earned him a spot in the king’s inner circle. In his own way, the King of Thieves had been more of a father to him than the fiend that sired him.
The twists and turns became tighter, and human forms lurked in the shadows as he passed. The more guards he saw, the closer he was to the king.
At last, he arrived at what was fondly referred to as the Royal Palace. The elaborate stone building sat in the middle of a huge underground cavern that included a small lake containing several creatures that loved the taste of human flesh. Inside the palace, thick walls encased the gurgling underground spring that fed the lake to ensure the water couldn’t be poisoned at the source. Guards with loaded crossbows peered down at him from the ramparts, the sharpened steel tips of their bolts flashing under the glow of the orange torchlights. They all turned toward him as he stepped onto the wooden bridge that crossed the lake.
Raimel gulped and moved with caution over the wobbly planks. If he slipped and fell, he’d be dinner. If he showed any malice in his approach, he’d be riddled with bolts. And if he took too long, he’d risk pissing off His Majesty.
Yep, I’m screwed any way you look at it.
Thankfully, an angel came to his rescue. At least, if one could consider Princess Kat to be angel since she could pick a pocket clean in seconds and then toss a hallucinogenic powder in her victim’s face to add insult to injury. But she cried for the guards to stand down as she ran onto the bridge.
Ripples appeared in the inky waters below as something slithered under the surface. Raimel grabbed onto the rope railings and prayed they wouldn’t snap under the force of her steps. He knew he must taste awful, but he didn’t want to give whatever was down there a chance to take a nibble.
Kat stopped a few feet away from him, her gray eyes twinkling. “You look like shit.”
“Well, life will do that to you. Wait a few years, and you’ll see what I mean.” The creature under the water circled below him. He pointed to it. “And what exactly is down there?”
Kat’s grin widened, and she sauntered toward him, hips swaying in those skin-tight brown leather pants she loved to wear. Of course, the movement lost all seductive qualities as it highlighted the arsenal of knives and vials hanging from her belt. “Care to take a swim and find out?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good,” she replied with a laugh, “because I’m under strict orders to bring you directly to my father.”
Oh, shit.
Raimel glanced down one more time at the water and caught a glimpse of razor-sharp teeth protruding from the surface. Which one would be the kinder fate?
Kat turned around and jogged back toward the palace. Raimel waited to catch her rhythm and followed, making sure his own steps didn’t match hers. He was already queasy enough without the added swaying.
Once he was on solid ground, he lowered his voice and asked, “Any idea why your father wants to see me?”
She nodded and flipped her long brown braid over her shoulder. It was her sign to tell him to shut up until they were behind locked doors.
He kept his mouth shut as they moved through the palace. Despite its underground location, the air was cleane
r here than the streets far above, and he breathed it in while he had the chance. As long as he was with Princess Kat, no one would challenge his presence there. A few familiar faces acknowledged him as he passed, most of whom had still been youths when he served the king. Now they were all grown men whose service history was told by the array of weapons on their bodies and the crisscrossing scars on their skin.
They finally stopped in front of a heavy steel door guarded by six burly men, none of whom was Jasper, the king’s personal bodyguard. One of them asked for identification. Raimel obediently held up his left palm to reveal the scar snaking across it. It was the sign of the pledge he’d made decades ago to loyally serve the King of Thieves.
The thug then turned to Kat. “He’s with you?”
She looped her arm around his and cuddled up to him in a flirtatious manner. “What do you think?”
As sexy as Kat was, Raimel squirmed from her attention. He still remembered teaching her how to swipe coins when she was a toddler. He stepped out of her embrace. “No offense, Your Highness, but I like my dick and have no desire to lose it.”
She gave a dramatic sigh. “Such is the life of a princess.”
Then she waved her hand for the men to step aside, her tone all business. “We don’t want to keep my father waiting.”
The lead thug nodded and made a series of knocks on the metal door. Another series of knocks answered, and a loud creak signaled the release of the locking mechanism. The doors opened, and Kat led the way without checking to see if he followed.
This was the king’s personal set of chambers, and it rivaled anything in Aerrin’s palace above. Gold sconces made from pilfered coins held alchemical orbs that emitted a soft white light, and elaborate tapestries stolen from the best noble houses of the city lined the walls and kept the drafts at bay. The mouthwatering scents of roasting meat and freshly baked bread wafted over from the fully decked table to his left, but Raimel gave it no more than a second’s glance. To stare any longer might be considered an insult to the man at the end of the room, who was sitting on the throne made of metal and bone.
The King of Thieves was still an enigma to him, even though he’d known the man for years and had even been taken under his wing as a youth. Instead of wearing a crown, he preferred a low hood that hid most of his face in shadows. Not many of his subjects had actually seen his face, and those who had would not admit it for fear of an enemy trying to extract that information from them. The only visible feature was a half-smile that raised more questions than it answered.
Kat bowed before her father. “Told you he wouldn’t keep us waiting very long.”
The king merely nodded and turned to the six-foot-seven, three-hundred-pound lump of muscle who was his most trusted bodyguard, Jasper.
“Escort Princess Katriona out of the room.” The king’s voice was hard and gravelly, the kind that threatened certain death if one disobeyed. But it also spoke of the calculating intelligence that helped him rise to power in the first place and ensure his reign over the last three decades.
In other words, it dared anyone to cross him and live to tell the tale.
Jasper bowed and grabbed a pouting Kat by the arm, tugging her back through the door.
A ball of magic flew from the king’s hand, and the lock slipped back into place.
Raimel’s pulse quickened. He was now trapped in the room with the King of Thieves, and he still had no clue what His Majesty wanted. He dipped into the lowest bow he could muster without venturing into mocking territory. “I received your summons, Your Majesty.”
“I can see that, Raimel.” The king rose from his throne, a monstrous concoction of precious metals and the finger bones of his enemies, and wandered to the table. “Please, join me for dinner.”
Raimel’s stomach growled loudly enough for the king to hear. He was always starving, and His Majesty knew that. Another part of his father’s curse—an insatiable appetite. But despite all he ate, his body remained whip-thin. In his line of work, it was a good thing, but there were times he wished he carried enough muscle to add an extra layer of intimidation.
He approached the chair the king had indicated and studied the banquet laid out before him. Roast pork. Creamed potatoes. Fried apples. A tray of the sweet-tart brambleberry pies he loved so much. Yet, as delicious as it looked, he still had to remain on guard. Any of those delicacies could be laced with poison or other nasty things.
The king lowered his hood to reveal the same gray eyes his daughter had and a gleaming bald head. The few lines on his face hinted at his age, but vigor of his movements cancelled any notion that the king was old. “You look worried, Raimel.”
He licked his lips, and not because he was hungry. “Is there a reason I should be, Your Majesty?”
“There’s always a reason to worry about something, but the food is safe. I’ve already had it tasted,” he said, pointing to the various indentations in the dishes where the tasters had taken their bites, “and I’m serving you from my own table.”
To any normal person, that would be enough reassurance to eat without fear, but Raimel had witnessed enough sneakiness in his life to know that still didn’t mean he was safe. Hell, he could count the number of people he’d managed to poison after the food had been cleared by food tasters on both hands and toes and still need room for more digits.
The king continued to note his wariness and laughed. “Relax, boy, and eat. I’ve found no cause to harm you. You’re far too valuable to me alive, especially in light of what I wish for you to do.”
Raimel sat in the chair and waited for the king to serve himself before heaping up his own plate. He suspected the king’s request would be along the lines of his usual work. “Who do you want dead, Your Majesty?”
“The Raven Bringer, naturally.”
Raimel choked on his potatoes. “Begging your pardon, but that’s a hefty order. It might take me a while to complete that hit.”
“I can be patient.” The king took a sip of the wine in his goblet. “In the meantime, I have a different proposal for you.”
Raimel looked around the room and noted they were still very much alone. Whatever the king wished to discuss required absolute secrecy, even from his daughter. And for that reason alone, he needed to pay close attention to every word the king said. “I’m listening.”
It was his best attempt at a noncommittal response without pissing the king off.
Unfortunately, the king picked up on it. “Exercising caution?”
“As we all must.” He reflexively reached up to make sure both of his amulets hadn’t been swiped by one of his fellow subjects en route.
“Glad to see you’ve learned that lesson. There was a time when I feared your impulsive wit would get you killed.”
Raimel flashed back to his most recent encounter with the Raven Bringer two months ago. Yes, he had a sarcastic tongue, and the Raven Bringer had not been amused. “A little bit older, a little bit wiser.”
“Ceryst of Klone must be rubbing off on you. There was a time when you trusted me completely.”
“I still trust you, Your Majesty, and I’m willing to serve as I always have.”
The king set his glass aside and gestured for Raimel to continue eating while he talked. “I appreciate you bringing the Raven Bringer’s return to my attention. Had you not, I would’ve never detected the poison seeping through my own realm.”
Chills rippled along Raimel’s limbs, leaving rows of gooseflesh behind. “You mean he’s planted his servants among your subjects?”
The king nodded. “But I’ve been removing them one by one.”
As if on cue, an agonizing scream came from outside the palace, followed by the splashing of water and the shouts of a frenzied crowd. It didn’t take much imagination to picture what was happening. Raimel had seen enough public executions to know someone had just been fed to the creatures in the lake.
“I refuse to allow him to catch me off guard like he did before.” The king’s eyes harden
ed, and his words took on a ruthless tone. Fifteen years before, the Raven Bringer had kidnapped and tortured Kat’s mother, sending her back in bits and pieces all because the king refused to side with him.
“Are you worried about Kat?”
“I’m always worried about my daughter, and I’m working on a plan to ensure her safety. But in the meantime, I propose we employ the same tactic he has.”
Raimel stopped chewing on the succulent pork and resisted the urge to spit it out and run away. “A mole?”
The king nodded, continuing to stare directly at him.
Raimel swallowed his food and wiped his mouth with the (probably stolen) fine linen napkin by his plate, frantically trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t end with him lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Or worse, getting fed to the fishes. “There’s just one teensy flaw in your plan, Your Majesty. He already knows I’d rather piss on him than join his army. Been there, done that. Didn’t break before, won’t do it again.”
His response drew a chuckle from the king, much to Raimel’s relief.
“Now that’s the Raimel I know. And I know better than to send you into his den again. Besides, you’re far too useful to me to needlessly waste your life on such an ill-conceived plan.” He paused to rest his chin in his hand, providing a momentary glimpse into the fatigue that came from ruling over his realm. “No, the person I had in mind would be much easier to plant within his ranks. A comfort with dark magic. A familiarity with demons. A questionable moral code. A certain shared heritage with you that the Raven Bringer might find useful.”
Raimel dropped his fork, paralyzed when he realized who this person was. “Not Noli.”
“Indeed.” A victorious smile that teetered on sinister appeared on the king’s lips. “I think she would be perfect for the job, and I’m trusting that you will recruit her for my mission.”