The guard squinted his eyes as he turned, thinking he’d seen a shadow in the distance. He started cautiously walking in that direction, making sure to stay in the center of the lane, a few feet away from the cells at either side of him. He’d almost been strangled by charging prisoners who stuck their arms through the bars in the past, and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Stecker rubbed shoulders with Dered, but they didn’t say a word to one another. The smaller thief then hurried to the back of the cell, to the darkest location, and scrunched down in the corner. He was dressed in a beige criminal’s outfit, and would have loved his black cloak to pull over himself at a time like this.
The guard’s light brightened as it whisked down the hall. His steps were slow and measured, checking left and right, seeing the tired prisoners in their cells.
Dered stood in front of Stecker’s hunched over body, so when the guard walked by, he saw nothing—just the snarl and animalistic growl from Dered himself.
The guard continued on past the cell, cautiously.
Stecker jumped up and nodded to Dered. The big man slowly opened the gate.
It creaked.
The guard spun on his heels, no less than five feet past, mouth agape. That time he was sure he heard—
He was met by a perfectly aimed knuckle-punch to the throat from Dered, flattening his larynx and bursting cartilage.
The man dropped his torch and fell to the ground with a gargle. Dered caught his body before it thumped down onto the dusty pavestones.
At the other end of the room, the guard sitting against the wall snapped to attention. The light was snuffed out on the criss-cross hallway in the distance, surrounded by cells.
“Garin?” the man called out.
No reply.
Dered took the fallen guards helmet and put it on his head. He stomped on the man’s throat, making sure to finish the job. He and Stecker scurried down the hall toward the entrance.
The last thing Stecker wanted was for the man to be alarmed, leap up the steps, and sound the real alarm.
The remaining guard saw a bobbing Royal Army-issued helmet headed in his direction, with only the crest of the helm visible, raised above the bars of the cages.
“Garin, the hell was that noi—”
His heart stopped in his chest as the man turned the corner and the helmet went flying off. Dered charged the man—twenty paces away—with all the intent of a flying dragon.
The sitting guard jumped to his feet, but by then Dered was ten paces away. The guard wheeled round and jumped up the first three steps of twenty.
“Hel—”
Dered caught his feet at the sixth step, clawing out with his arms in a tackle that swept the running man’s legs out from under him. The guard’s forehead collided with the ninth step, his teeth shattering somewhere between the eighth and ninth, on the rough cobbles.
He was unconscious.
Dered dragged the man down to the floor level, rummaged through his belongings, and found the man’s short sword. He unsheathed it, speared it through the unconscious man’s neck, and then wiped off the blood on the guard’s leather sleeves.
Also during his quick pilfering, it became clear that neither of these guards had cell keys on their persons—they couldn’t open cells even if they’d wanted. That responsibility belonged to higher-ups only.
Dered hefted the sword in his hand, bouncing it around as if preparing himself for something. “Ready?” he asked, staring up the steps. “Who knows what’s on the other side of that d—”
“No, you idiot, not that way.” Stecker jerked his thumb over his shoulder and started down the hall.
Furrowing his brow, Dered followed. He was pretty sure they were in a dead-end structure, with only one way out.
Stecker counted off the cells to his right as he walked, then came to the fourth one. A decrepit, filthy young man was in the cell, eyebrows raised high.
Stecker jimmied the gate loose and then walked in. “Excuse me, good sir.”
Seeing the gate behind Stecker open, the man’s mouth fell open, revealing absolutely zero teeth. He crawled on all fours like a dog, with surprising speed, and hurried past Stecker, elbowing him out of the way. Dered slid out of the rabid man’s way and watched him go, then tripped him.
The man flattened on his stomach in a heap, smacking his face on the ground. Dered reached out and casually grabbed the whimpering man’s leg, dragging him forward.
“What’d you do that for?” Stecker asked.
“Can’t have him alerting attention up there, can we?”
“Oh. Right.” Stecker scratched his head, then searched around the dank, empty cell. He went to the back wall, to the far right corner, and kicked at a rock—a part of the wall. He did it again and again, until it came loose.
With the sound of sifting stones, he kicked it until it fell in on itself and revealed a small hole in the ground barely big enough for a man of Stecker’s size to fit through.
Stecker gave Dered behind him a wistful smile. “My old cell.”
Dered frowned. “I can’t fit through that.”
“Oh, maybe with that sword you can’t. But you’ll have to, mate. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here. Strip down if you have to.”
“My shoulders will never fit. That hole was made for a dwarf.”
“Hey. Not nice.”
Dered shrugged.
“You’d be surprised what you can fit through in times of necessity, my good man.”
“I still haven’t forgiven you, Stecker. For any of it. None of us have.”
“Noted.”
And with that, Stecker went on his hands and knees, then shimmied his way into the dark hole. Dered released the prisoner’s leg, then followed, taking off his filthy beige shirt and struggling to fit through. His shoulders scraped hard enough to draw blood, but he fit.
The prisoner with the smashed face and zero teeth just stared blankly at the two men escaping through the hole, his eyes wide.
Blinking, he said to himself, “You mean to tell me . . . that hole’s been there this whole fuckin’ time?”
THREE HOURS LATER, Stecker and Dered were walking through the rickety front door of the Sleepy Ox. It took them an exorbitant amount of time to get there because they roamed the streets slowly. First, they’d had to make a short stop to find normal clothes nearby the prison, and then they’d kept to the shadows of the town as they made their way, avoiding guards at every turn.
But there was no secondary raised alarm—their escape had not been noticed yet, due to them shutting up the two guards in the jailhouse. Or, if it had, the king was trying to save face by not announcing his embarrassment that he’d let his two most recent captives escape.
Regardless, the duo made it to the Sleepy Ox in one piece. Filtray was waiting there in a booth, and he jumped out and rushed at Stecker, throwing a wide hug around the man.
Stecker blushed as the angelic face of the young man scrunched into his chest.
“I knew you could do it, Steck!” Filtray moaned, his voice muffled by Stecker’s new shirt.
Dered frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “H-He put you up to this?” he asked Stecker.
With a nod, Stecker put Filtray at arm’s length. “Your eyes, they look . . . different.”
“Sadness and anxiety. That’s all.” Not the killing of a man in an alleyway—the feel of his cum and blood dripping down his thighs. Nope, that wasn’t the memory that haunted Filtray at all.
Stecker harrumphed. He said, “I need to speak with Alberus for a moment, boys. Alone.”
Dered sighed. “That’s fine.” He lurched toward the bar, which was relatively empty of any other patrons. “Brivar, you old goat, how goes it? Give me three of your finest ales! I could use them.”
The bartender scowled. “By all the gods, why is everyone calling me Brivar? It’s Bravis, you shithead. You’ve known me for years!”
Dered simply smiled wide and took his proferred beers, o
ne in each hand and one in front of him, then sat down on the stool.
Stecker pat Filtray on the shoulder, gave him a sad smile, and jogged up the stairs to the second level. He stormed into the third room, where Sala and Nemya were sitting in opposite corners, neither of them on the bed . . .
They both jumped up, unsheathing their respective club and sword.
“Fucking traitor,” Sala seethed.
“Got a lot of nerve showing your dirty ugly mug here,” Nemya added.
They both bent into battle stances.
Stecker scratched the back of his head. “Kill me, that’s fine. But just so you know, Dered’s downstairs. You might be able to get to him before he finishes off the three beers he just ordered, too.”
Both their eyebrows jumped up their foreheads, shocked expressions on their faces.
“B-Big boy?” Sala mumbled.
“My love?” Nemya added.
They put their weapons away away and hurried past Stecker, all but shoving him out of the way.
And Stecker was left alone with the reclined form of Alberus Solver, the leader of the gang, who propped himself up on both his elbows once the women were gone.
With a gentle smile, Alberus said, “Don’t tell the ladies I’m not as sick as they thought, ‘kay? It’s nice being pampered every once in a while.”
Stecker scoffed. “You old scoundrel.”
Alberus smiled, waving the younger man forward. “Get over here, Steck. Gods I’ve missed your stupid face. Is it true—you’ve freed Dered? How? Tell me everything!”
Stecker sat on a chair near the bed. He said, “I want to, Alb, and I shall. But first . . . I have some questions.” A serious look overtook him.
“Uh oh.”
Stecker nodded. He reached into a pocket and took out the crest-laden ring, then dropped it gently on Alberus’ bulbous belly.
The big man’s eyes popped as he picked up the item like it was a holy artifact. “H-How in the Four Hellish Seas did you come across . . .”
Stecker leaned forward conspiratorially. “Torace Contrus is alive, Alb!” he whispered harshly, spittle flying from his mouth.
Alberus was speechless, mumbling, his gray mustache twitching on his wrinkled face.
“But I have other news. Bad news, Alb.” Stecker exhaled deeply, his breath ragged as he prepared.
Alberus’ face fell apart. Somehow, he already knew what was coming, by the morose look on Stecker’s face.
“Rinzos is dead, Alb. I’m sorry. He’s not coming back. I heard it from the king’s mouth.”
“T-Torace’s?”
Stecker nodded, closing his eyes. He reached out and rested a hand on the big man’s shoulder.
Alberus stared faraway, tears filling his eyes. “Oh . . . my boy.”
“Alb,” Stecker said, trying to shake the man from his sudden stupor—his daydreamy look, like he was lost somewhere in the past. “Alb, I know about Rinzos’ relationship with Princess Ocena.”
Alberus’ face hardened, his glare shifting on Stecker. “You know nothing, lad.”
“I know that Rinzos and Ocena were going to be married. It was only a matter of time.”
His boss said nothing, but just stared at Stecker through pursed lips.
Meanwhile, Stecker had started putting the pieces together in his head, and he couldn’t stop himself from spilling everything as it came to him. His face was a mess—torn lip, blackened eye, bruised cheeks—but his brain was still sharp.
“Alb, you have a connection with Princess Ocena that I can’t place my finger on. I don’t get it. Why would you threaten to give Catera to the Gereads? Our true enemies?” Stecker seemed desperate, and he was reaching out, shaking the big man’s arm.
But Alberus wouldn’t budge. “The Gereads aren’t our enemies, dumb boy—they’re Sefyr’s enemies. And how did you know about that? Our higher-ups commissioned it, damn you. How do you know so much . . . and yet know so little at the same time?’
Stecker scoffed. “I know because I watch. Were you ordered to bargain Catera to the Geread Kingdom, or was that your own twisted idea? And—” he paused, tilting his head confusedly. “W-Wait. Know so little . . . tell me what you mean by that.”
Alberus stared straight ahead, shaking his pudgy face like a petulant child. “I won’t.”
“Tell me, damn you!” Stecker growled, rising to his feet. He clenched his hands into fists. “I’ve been through enough to deserve to know, Alb! The truth, damn you!”
Alberus growled, propping himself up higher. Thrusting a finger toward Stecker, he bellowed, “Don’t you see why Rinzos was my favorite Solver, Steck?! How can you not? Because he was my child, damn you! He was my son!”
Stecker froze. His boss was close to tears, fighting them back with every inch of his will.
Then Stecker lowered his gaze to Alb’s trembling chin. “Then your son’s marriage to Ocena . . . that would’ve made him a prince . . . and you . . . very powerful indeed.”
Alberus was taken aback, whirled out of his sorrow. “What of it?”
“Your connection with Ocena . . . you must have had one. You knew of Rinzos being with her, even if no one else did—no one in the Siblinghood. Gods, you probably fostered their relationship! For power!”
Alberus launched himself off the bed, baring teeth in a gritty roar. He sought to throttle Stecker in his sudden rage, but he tripped over himself after being bedridden for so long and flopped down onto the floor with a heavy thud.
Stecker backed up and raised his arms.
A moment later, the door burst open and Dered was the first man through. His eyes hovered down to his boss, who was just getting up. “The hell did you do to Alb?!”
His hand was falling to the hilt of his shortsword.
Stecker growled, bending his knees. He knew he couldn’t take Dered, but he also knew that the only way to get back to Catera was through him . . .
“Stop! Stop it,” Alberus groaned, rising to his knees. He breathed heavily. “Let him through, Dered. Let him pass.”
Shocked, Dered frowned. “Y-You sure, boss?”
Alberus nodded. “Get out of here, Steck, before you kill my heart . . . more than you already have.”
Stecker thrust a finger toward his former leader. “This isn’t over, Alb. I’ll find out the truth.”
With that, he crouched, swooped up the ring that had tumbled to the ground, and stormed past Dered, shouldering him out of the way. He grunted, “You’re welcome,” before leaving.
Dered wiped sloshed beer from his upper lip, then snorted. “What’d he mean by that, Alb? ‘I’ll find the truth.’ What truth?”
Alb rolled back onto the bed with a heavy moan. He waved a tired hand at Dered. “Nothing, you big oaf. It’s nothing.” He closed his eyes. “Go back downstairs and drink your beer with your harem. You . . . deserve it.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Stecker hurried back to the Wolfpack, clutching King Torace’s ring in his closed palm. When he gained the gangplank up to the ship, Captain Journigan was there to meet him, hands on his hips, a stern look on his face.
“How is she?” Stecker asked. He let the ring fall into a pocket inside his tunic.
“Anxious, blubbering,” Journigan said, giving the man a once-over glance. “She’ll be relieved to see ya, mate, even if’n ya look like a goblin shit on ya then punched ya in the maw.”
Stecker swept past the captain, nodding, heading for the stairs that led to the deckhouse.
“Stecker,” Journigan called out. The man turned. “I feel as if somethin’s ‘bout to break. Feels it in my bones. Did ya cross a line ya shouldn’t’ve?”
The thief stared at the captain for a moment, contemplating what he might mean. He gazed out at the horizon, where the blockade was set up, and it seemed to be . . . closer. Nodding, he said, “Many lines, Journ. Tell me, old friend, what would you do if you could have a clean slate?”
Journigan tilted his head, confused.
“Piracy
, blackmail, extortion, kidnapping . . . all of it erased? If you could sail the seas again without having to look over your shoulder every time your eyes opened? Without worrying about the Royal Army’s navy always on your trail?”
Journigan sputtered in disbelief. “I’d love it, ya fool boy, but it’ll never happen. As sure as Cartherus Sefyr being king—with that tyrant at the helm, it’ll never happen.”
Stecker was nodding. “Precisely.” He pointed at the captain. “I’m going to check on the princess, Captain, but when I return, I have a proposition for you. Will you listen?”
The captain grunted. “Comin’ from the only man this generation that’s ever escaped the Sefyr Castle jailhouse? Sure, Steck, I’m all ears.”
Stecker nodded and disappeared belowdeck. He rushed down the hall and threw open the little door to his small quarters.
Princess Catera was pacing near the cot. She froze when the door swung open, eyes going wide. A worried but happy look overcame her and she rushed Stecker as he closed the door behind him.
Catera flung her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Her hands moved to frame his cheeks, holding him in place as she practically shoved her tongue down his throat. Pulling back and smiling at the dazed thief, his busted lip, his blackened eye, she saw through all of it.
“I t-thought it was such a mistake letting you go,” she whispered. “Oh, Steck, I didn’t think I’d miss you so hard! I thought I’d lost you!”
Stecker smiled, back still against the door from the princess leaning on him. “I’m right here, my love, and boy do I have things to tell—”
“It can wait,” Catera cut in, her voice fraught with earnestness. She was obviously in a rush to do something. Her cheeks were high with color, nearly hiding her freckles completely. Then she dropped down suddenly, to her knees in front of Stecker, and he realized what she was in such a hurry to do.
Baffled, Stecker looked down at her bright orange locks, the length of her hair hiding her face. She was staring straight ahead at his groin, and her hands reached out tentatively.
“How did you do it? How did you escape the jail, my love?” she muttered, her voice purring. She undid his belt buckle.
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