Commander Infew approached Royal Advisor Rink at the hill, near the castle entrance, and said, “Perhaps we just chalk this up to a misunderstanding.”
Rink growled. “No. The rebel leaders must be brought to justice! Find them and bring them to me!”
Infew frowned at the petulant little man. “So you can throw them in the dungeons and torture them before you execute them? The same dungeons that just became compromised by escaped prisoners?”
Rink knotted his tiny fists and shook them all about, enraged. “You insolent bastard!”
Infew smirked. “What information could they possibly have for you, Rink? Or is it your perverse sense of entitlement that wants them in those dank cells? No, I think this uprising has been crushed. Enough lives have been lost.”
As the tall, straight-backed man turned around, Rink’s fury broke. He rushed the man from behind, completely weaponless.
Infew, of course, heard him coming, and spun around with a fierce backhand slap. It connected with Rink’s jaw and sent the man flying.
Dazed, Rink sat up, then nursed his pained jaw. “T-The king will hear of this, I promise you, Infew! You’ll lose your station and every ounce of power you thought you had!”
The commander shrugged. “So be it.” He flapped his gloved hand at the royal advisor, shooing the perverted worm away, then slung himself onto his horse to ride down and address his soldiers.
IN THE TUMULTUOUS HEAP of people, Stecker somehow managed to find Dered, Sala, and Filtray on the outskirts of the Town Square. He did not see Nemya, but he saw the cursed scowl on Dered’s face, the red eyes, and he needed to ask no more.
Frowning, he said, “Come on, we have a ship out of here. We’ve got to go now!”
Filtray nodded, and Sala hesitated but then followed the little dandy man. Dered did not. He pointed at Stecker and growled, “This is your fault. The rebellion—the uprising—its back has been broken with a simple shove, and it’s all your fault!”
“I-I’m sorry, Dered,” Stecker stuttered.
Dered was shaking his head. “Nemya is dead because of you!”
The huge man spun around and stormed off, before anyone could notice his trembling bottom lip. He pushed through peasants and made his way down an alley.
Stecker groaned.
“Don’t worry, Steck,” Filtray said, putting a hand on the thief’s shoulder. “He’ll go find Alberus and make sure he’s okay. He’ll get over it.”
Stecker grunted. “I just hope we see him again someday . . .”
“Where to now?” Sala asked.
Stecker took his party and made for the docks. En route there, he ran into Journigan and the rest of his men—down to less than twenty.
“Come on, ya fucking weasel!” Journigan growled before Stecker could say a thing. “We’ve been waiting for ya!”
They all followed the raging captain as he made his way back toward the docks. Soldiers had dispersed from there and were circling around like bees, trying to round up different soldiers.
On the outskirts of the docks looking in, Stecker saw that four Royal Army ships surrounded the Wolfpack and were aboard the ship, looking for men.
Journigan stepped onto the gangplank of a boat that Stecker had never seen before. All of the crew boarded while the focus of the Royal Army was on the Wolfpack and the rest of the madness going on in the city.
“What ship is this?”
“Backup boat,” Journigan grunted, manning the wheel. “Row us out into tha’ black fucking sea, mates!”
Stecker frowned.
“I call her the She-Wolf,” Journigan said to Stecker with a wide grin. “She may be smaller than the ‘Pack, but she’s no less fierce!”
The boat slowly set sail into the harbor, then gently floated past the Royal Army ships, sailing toward the horizon that had been cleared by the rebellion, and the setting sun beyond it.
“Where are we going now?” Sala asked by Stecker’s side.
They all gazed upon the city, smoke rising in various parts, the clatter of humanity still ringing out into the darkening night.
Stecker looked to Princess Catera, her sad, forlorn face, and took her hand in his. He whispered into her ear, “At least we still have each other, my love.”
She nodded once, then sniffled. She wiped at her dribbling nose with her forearm. “I vow to kill that bastard Cartherus Sefyr, for what he’s done to my sister,” she said, her voice dark and brooding. “For turning her into someone that I don’t even recognize.”
Stecker’s eyebrows raised. He’d never seen the woman speak with such vehemence—such inner rage—and it made him love her even more.
All eyes stared at the seething form of the princess in utter silence.
Stecker cleared his throat, breaking the quiet, and waved his hand in the air, gathering everyone’s attention.
“You heard the woman, seadogs! Let’s find this woman a real army!”
Everyone cheered as they left Sefyr City behind.
“And where, pray tell, old friend, do we find that?” Journigan asked, scratching the scar on his chin.
Stecker patted the man on the shoulder. He sighed. “Where else, Journ? Into the heart of our enemies, of course . . . into the Geread Kingdom!”
TO BE CONTINUED
The Author
BELLA BEAUMONT IS FROM San Diego, California, and currently lives there.
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Princess of Thieves Page 31