Cloras nodded. “You’ll be a Snake-Eye, lass. Do you know what that means?”
Nemya nodded. Everyone knew who the Snake-Eyes were: They never ventured far from their holes, and vowed to protect the royal family. They were the last line of defense against invaders—which sounded gallant, but in actuality it meant that they rarely saw battle.
Typically, the most decrepit men and women made up the regiment, and they were usually assigned to stationary positions far removed from any strategic battle lines.
As she turned and wandered away, her badge in hand, Nemya smirked to herself, then glanced down to hide her look under her hood.
So, I’ll be a guardswoman—a Snake-Eye in the nest? She scoffed. Little do these men know how venomous my bite really is . . .
Chapter Two
While the war between the Sefyr and Geread Kingdoms raged outside Sefyr proper, tearing up the countryside, wreaking havoc on the outlying villages and towns, and wafting a near-constant, choking swirl of ash-grey smoke into the air, the Royal City itself was rather peaceful and quiet.
By sundown, most of the citizens retreated to their homes, worried about the drunken riffraff, the thieves and ne’er-do-wells stalking the dark streets.
One such ne’er-do-well stood like a statue in a shadowy alcove, underneath a dark awning, watching ahead intently. He stared over at the most northern gate of Sefyr Castle. It was not actually a proper gate, but rather a lonely off-shoot entrance that was rarely used and rarely inhabited.
Basically located at the outskirts of the city, the northern gate was not a portcullis with a grooved inset and vertically-closing gate—impossibly impregnable—but rather an old, iron-wrought affair that branched out into a long-running barrier wall in either direction. It was like a long-forgotten supply line entrance.
Leading up to the northern entrance of Sefyr Castle was more likely to get you spotted by a roaming patrolman than even waltzing through the gate itself, as roving bands of guardsmen were a normal sight in the city.
But Stecker had already sneaked past those roving guards, as he was wont to do. The man was stealthy—built slender and wiry like a snake in truth—and now he stood a mere stone’s throw from the gate itself.
Stecker didn’t charge, however, or run headlong into that simple-looking gate. No, he simply watched, his eyes skittering back and forth along the fence that stretched in either direction as far as his eyes could see, into the gloomy darkness beyond.
For a brief moment, the gate was completely unguarded—or at least it appeared to be. But Stecker had been investigating this location for a week now, ever since news had gotten back to him about a certain friend’s assignment.
His arms were crossed over his thin chest, his breathing shallow and quiet. He wore loose-fitting black garb and dark cloths wrapped around his daggers to muffle any clanging. His footfalls were like a feather on the river’s surface.
He was alert, with only the whites of his eyes showing from underneath that shadowy alcove. To see him, one would’ve needed to know precisely where he was standing, under the building’s awning, and even then it would’ve been nigh impossible to make out his features in the darkness.
At the changing of the guard, two figures slowly emerged from behind the gate, their silhouettes offset by the bright moon overhead, casting overlong shadows into the black city before him.
Stecker’s throat caught in his chest, his heart freezing. His eyes widened as the two figures came better into focus. He still couldn’t see their faces, but he knew their body types well enough—at least the body type of one guard in particular.
Without further delay, Stecker spun around and disappeared deeper into the nook where he stood. He pressed himself against a colonnade that helped to hold up the structure, then wrapped himself round it and scurried up its face.
When he reached the lip of the building’s gable, he flung himself over the edge, onto the rooftop.
Now he was in his happy place—skirting along the rooftops of Sefyr City in the dark, launching himself from pitch to pitch, tiptoeing over makeshift bridges and clotheslines that stretched from window to window. The rooftops of the city were for the undesirables to convene—a bazaar for the darkest members of society—and Stecker was considered as much.
The only problem, he knew, was that it was also home to even more dangerous undesirables than himself, and that made his heart quicken as he roamed along the roofs.
But it was time. The signal had been spotted, the night was still young, and the city was fast asleep.
It is time to make our move, at long last . . .
THE HEFTY TEAT BROTHEL was teeming with activity on this night, as it was on all nights. Men who wanted to escape from their wives, to be with their mistresses; lonely saps who had nothing better to do; destitute peasants who spent all their hard-earned coin to satiate their desires—these were the local residents of the Teat.
It was a revolving door of the worst of humanity, with each man and woman seeking out the best that humanity had to offer, in the form of warm, wet holes.
Bare-breasted women glided from table to table, sitting on laps with pitched tents, nestling up next to strong-armed men, cooing sweet nothings into the ears of every drunkard they could wrap their arms around.
The front door of the establishment was constantly opening with new arriving patrons, then slamming shut to keep in the warm stench of sex, booze, and sweat.
Oftentimes, the downstairs lobby itself—more of a tavern for mingling and drinking than it was for sex work—became a messy, slick epicenter of wailing women and groaning men, as the room broke into a fitful orgy of epic proportions.
But most of the time, the lobby was kept clear of such depraved acts. It was meant to be a place of trade—a bargaining hub for booze and salacious activities. Then the patrons would escape with their designated partner—or partners—up the steps that led to the dingy rooms, which were sold at an hourly rate.
It was rare that anyone stayed the entire night at the Hefty Teat, but it wasn’t unheard of. Even the most famous, richest men came into the brothel at times, masquerading as someone lesser, in order to partake in the festivities. Those particular people came here because they would be spotted and recognized at their own upper-class brothels and whorehouses, and gossip spread in Sefyr City like wildfire.
While at the Teat, everyone was a mystery, which was just the way the owners liked it.
It was in one such hourly-rented room where a group of men and one woman stood, huddled over a table as they stared down at a map of the city, each one of them positioned in their own lazy way.
The single window to the room was open on the wall opposite the closed, locked door, allowing a pleasant breeze to waft in.
The man at the head of the table stood with his palms down, leaning over, a stern look on his grizzled old face. Worry-lines and deep wrinkles creased his gray-bearded features.
He puffed his cheeks out, then blew out exasperatedly. “We’ll give it another few minutes, gents and slits, before we disperse,” he said, his voice gruff and deep.
“It’s been hours since sundown, Alb,” the huge woman standing beside him at the table said. She was the largest occupant in the room, bulky and tall, with muscled calves and biceps bulging from beneath her tight tunic. Her big breasts looked more like toned boulders on her chest, heaving in and out as she breathed impatiently. She wore braids that drooped over either shoulder, and her face was just as powerful and strong as the rest of her impressive body.
The giant woman had one hand clutched around a half-full bottle of rum, which she now tilted up to her mouth and pulled three long drags from.
“I know, Sala, but we’ll give him a little more time,” said the old man named Alberus—Alb for short. He had a slightly concerned look on his face as he watched the woman imbibe, because he didn’t know how much longer he could contain her before she became unwieldy and unbalanced. The woman drank like a fish, and she had no concept of pace, or
an understanding of the word “overindulging.”
“He’s out longer than usual,” said a man from the corner of the room. All eyes turned to him, to survey his delicate features, his concerned face, and his flamboyant garb. He wore clothes of burgundy and red, baggy silks that he couldn’t afford. He lay splayed across the only bed in the room, his legs crossed at the knees while he stared up at the roof. Besides his bright wardrobe, he was a small, cherubic-faced man. “Do you think he was caught?”
“Never, Fil,” said the final man in the room. He was also large, barrel-chested like Sala, but not quite as tall or imposing, somehow. He was, grudgingly admittedly to the rest of the band of misfits, an exceedingly handsome man, with a chiseled face and near-constant expression of indifference, an unimpressed cast to his face that drove everyone else mad. “That man is a veritable weasel in the night,” he continued. He caressed his clean-shaven chin, striking a philosophical pose. “Or a bat. Yes, he’s a veritable bat at—”
“Bats are noisy, Dered the Dunce,” Fil said from the bed, his voice nasally. “I’d say he’s more like a snake. Yes . . . a sexy python that glides over the landscape unseen, almost insubstantial to the rest of us.” The man giggled at his statement.
Sala snorted, shaking her head. “Well, I’ve seen the man’s trousers to his knees, and I can say a snake is—”
“Enough,” Alberus said, raising a palm, asserting his authority over the crew. “If he doesn’t show soon, Dered and Sala, I’ll send you out looking for him.”
“Oh, he’ll show, Father Alb,” Fil said, waving a bored hand in the air.
“What makes you so sure, Filtray?”
“Because he always does.”
At that moment, a gust of wind blew into the room, whipping up the edges of the map on the table. All eyes moved to the window—with the exception of the man lying on the bed—to see a dark figure swing in from seemingly nowhere, his feet landing effortlessly on the wooden floor with hardly a thud as his hands launched from the upper windowsill.
The man stood for two seconds in the same spot, surveying the surprised eyes on him, then flung back his dark hood to show his ruffled black hair.
“See?” Fil said.
The dumbfounded looks on the faces of the three slowly faded.
“Stecker,” Alberus said, standing to his full height, which was to Sala’s chin, making him a tall man himself, “you never cease to make an entrance, son.”
“The front door was unlocked, you know,” Dered drawled, rolling his eyes.
“But then we wouldn’t have gotten to see his impressive landing,” Filtray said, giggling again.
“Impressive to you, maybe, you dandy runt,” Dered snapped, eyes narrowing.
“As you can see, Steck,” Sala said, waving her sloshing rum bottle at the two men, “the boys are fighting like schoolgirls, as usual. We’re all impatient to hear the same old news we’ve heard everyday for the past week. I, myself, am getting drunk.” At that, she took another pull from the bottle, then belched. “As I’ve been doing everyday for the past week.”
Only Alberus was still looking at Stecker now, at the expression on his face. Seeing that expression, the old man’s own eyes grew large in his head. “What is it, Steck? You look like you’ve just seen a bloody apparition.”
Stecker nodded once, clearing his throat. He flung his cloak aside and walked up to the table, then pointed down on the felt map with a hard, continuous poke. “I have. It’s time, gang.”
Even the lazy, flamboyant man named Filtray perked up at that, lifting his head from the pillow on the bed. He craned his neck and frowned. “It’s time?”
Stecker nodded again. “I have seen a bloody apparition, Alb.”
“Is it her?”
“It is.”
Alberus grunted. He looked down at the map, which was a detailed scene of Sefyr City proper, and saw where Stecker’s finger was pointing. “The north gate, then.”
“Ah, that clever bitch,” Sala said, burping into the air once more. Dered’s face twisted into a grimace as the stale stench reached his nose, but Sala simply smiled coyly at him, then blew him a kiss. His neck muscles flexed.
“Right where we hoped she’d be,” Alberus added. “She never disappoints, lads. And lass.”
“Yes, boss, we all know she’s your favorite child,” Filtray said, rolling his eyes as he hopped up from the bed and stood. He swayed for a moment, then joined the other four at the table.
Together, they were five misfits, and they’d been worried about their sixth member for weeks now. None of the four underlings were actually Alberus’ blood children, as far as they knew, but he had taken each one of them in during their most dire need.
Because of that, they were a family. Inseparable. Driven to arguments and squabbling like any family. They all swore themselves under the flag of Alberus Solver, their patriarch.
They called themselves the Solver Siblinghood.
Together, there wasn’t a single seedy task or underbelly job they couldn’t complete.
As a “siblinghood,” they didn’t like to consider themselves a gang, or a band of thieves. But to all outward appearances, that’s exactly what they were.
But they were a family, in truth, connected by a deep understanding of one another, and Alberus considered them his children. He’d watched each one grow up into the men and women they were today, and he loved them like offspring. That’s why he’d been a nervous wreck for the past few weeks, as they’d been missing a link in the chain.
Though they partook in dastardly, questionable jobs, he didn’t think of his children any lesser because of it. He was the director of those jobs, to begin with.
And this was the biggest job of their lives.
“Gather round, fiends, and let’s discuss this,” Alberus said, looking at each younger face in turn, around the table. “The time for jokes and foolishness is over. Understood?”
They all nodded, leaning forward to examine the map.
“Stecker, tell us what we’re looking at.”
The curly-headed man cleared his throat. “Nemya has gotten herself consigned to the Royal Army and managed to secure a position along one of the castle’s gates. It’s at the loneliest, least inhabited gate, too, alongside another guardsman.”
“I’m assuming Alb had something to do with that posting?” Dered said, raising an eyebrow. The larger man stared over at his old father figure, then Stecker.
“Quiet,” Alberus replied. “Let Stecker speak.”
“Right,” Stecker continued. He made a line over the map. “Here’s the route we’ll take, avoiding roaming patrols as we go. If we’re discovered, we split up and make our way back here, foregoing the mission for a later day.”
“What!” Sala spat, spittle flying from her lips. “But we’ve worked—blech—so hard on this plan!”
“Shut it, you big ogre,” Stecker said, shaking his head. “We’ll resume another time. Nemya isn’t going anywhere, as far as I could tell. She’ll be at that posting for weeks.”
“Patrol will be heightened if we’re spotted, Sal,” Filtray said, nodding along. “Unless you want the big bag guardsmen of the Royal Sefyr Army to capture you and have their way with you.”
Sala shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like the worst way to pass the night. Better than spending it with you hogs—”
Stecker loudly cleared his throat again, shutting them up and drawing attention back to himself. “Our hope is that we aren’t discovered, buffoons. Now, I’ve seen that the fence-wall surrounding the gate isn’t too high. Maybe two man-lengths. So, we won’t actually pass through the gate, because that might give way to suspicion.
“No,” Stecker continued, running his finger along the map. “We’ll pass over the fence. Here.”
“And the man Nemya is positioned with, at the gate?” Alberus said. They’d gone over this a thousand times, but he wanted everything in proper order. This wasn’t a job that they could fuck up—it could easily lead to all of th
eir deaths.
Stecker shrugged, looking up from the map. “She will distract him, creating a diversion for us, and then give us the signal to pass.”
“How will she distract him?” Dered asked.
“I’m . . . not sure,” Stecker said, scratching his chin.
“I have an idea how she’ll do it,” Filtray said with a giggle. He blushed, but shook his head, not wanting to let out his secret. “She told me in secrecy, because she likes me more than the rest of you frogs.”
“Shh. Quiet, little tadpole,” Sala said, wobbling away from the table. “You haven’t seen her in weeks, just like us. And besides, she’d rather befriend a tree trunk than your sorry ass. You’re such a gossy gossip queen.” She took a drink from her bottle.
“Easy on the rum, kid,” Alberus said.
“I’m fine. Blech.” She sat down on the bed and swayed in place.
“Is that all, Steck?” Alberus asked, turning back to the apparent delegated ringleader of this operation.
The man shrugged. “Once we’re given the signal by our Lady in Waiting, we’ll have a man inside to let us inside the castle, right?”
Alberus nodded. “I have that covered.”
“Then I guess that’s all, boss.”
“Good.” Alberus slammed a fist on the table, giving a smirk and a stern eye to all of the concerned faces, even to the oblivious face of Sala on the bed.
“Well then, Solvers, are you ready?”
They all nodded in unison.
“Then let’s go steal us a princess.”
Chapter Three
Princess Catera Sefyr paced back and forth in her lavish chambers, nervously biting her bottom lip while she stared at the floor. There was so much on her mind, she simply couldn’t stay still.
The summer days had become long, and she put on a good face in the royal court of her stepfather and mother, but once the sun settled beneath the horizon, dark thoughts always came to her mind. She became lost in an avalanche of depression, and the worst part of it all was that she felt she had no recourse—there was nothing she could do to change her circumstances.
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