Westkings Heist: The Complete Series

by Beth Alvarez

  “I didn't say the opal,” he whispered when they were isolated again.

  Her shoulders hitched up toward her ears in an exaggerated shrug. “So?”

  “I'm going to steal the crown.”

  Chapter 2

  Tahl missed the rooftops.

  Out of the entirety of Orrad, the rooftops were where he felt most at home. They had been his refuge, his domain, the one place he felt wholly free.

  Yet he'd only just begun to venture back to them. The weeks immediately after the Ghost's first strike, even the rooftops had been swarmed by guards. He supposed he only had himself to blame. The roof was how he'd gotten into not just the Queen's Museum, but the bank, too. The bank's broken roof tiles and dislodged planks had been unavoidable. He simply hadn't had time to put them back. Even if he had, the tiles were still broken, and that would have given away his point of entry eventually.

  The thatching underneath him was more prickly than he'd expected. Tahl shifted to ease his discomfort, but it just resulted in him being poked somewhere else. His return to the rooftops should have been triumphant, a part of the Ghost's grand return.

  Instead, he lounged against the crude cobblestone chimney of a farmer's cottage, half a mile from Orrad's walls.

  “Aye, I think that did it,” the farmer called from the ground below. “I don't see anything, anymore.”

  Tahl nodded and inched his way toward the edge. “If it starts leaking again, I'll take another look.” He fought the urge to bound off the eaves and tumble in the thick grasses below. He swung down instead, relatively sedate, to drop to the ground with a quiet thump.

  “Much appreciated, lad.” The farmer grinned as he scratched his beard. “Where'd you learn to climb like that, anyway? Might mistake you for a squirrel with all that scurrying.”

  “My parents took me to see a circus when I was young. I wanted to be one of the acrobats.” Tahl spread his arms and pretended to walk a tightrope. His feet followed the furrow in the ground where the rain fell off the roof.

  The farmer laughed. “I've no doubt you could, lad. No circuses anymore, though. Not since...” He trailed off and shut his mouth, as if he'd said something he shouldn't.

  Tahl cocked his head. “Since what?”

  “Ah, a lot's changed in these past few months. I'm sure you've noticed, lad. The emperor, Brant bless him, is just taking all sorts of precautions. Tighter checks at the guard gates. More restrictions on traveling caravans and peddlers. Not just in Orrad, mind. Being outside the city like I am, I've seen more than my share of folk turned away at the gates.”

  That, Tahl hadn't heard. “He doesn't think... you know... is in the city anymore?”

  “I don't think he knows. I don't think anyone knows, and that's the problem.” The farmer shook his head sadly. “Aye, trade's better than ever, but who does that really help, lad? Never thought one man could scare an emperor so bad, but I suppose I never thought one man would have the temple out for his head.”

  A small twinge of guilt plucked at Tahl's heart.

  “Ah, but it's no matter I suppose,” the farmer said as he straightened and adjusted his broad-brimmed hat. “Things will settle. They always do.”

  “Yeah,” Tahl agreed in a murmur. He accepted his sack of vegetables and bade the farmer goodbye before he cut a path toward the forest through the grass.

  Actions were like ripples, someone once told him. He wanted to attribute the words to his mother, but he wasn't certain. It didn't matter—the phrase was relevant no matter who'd said it. The effects of actions tended to spread, and sometimes it took no more than a pebble to start them.

  His aim had been small: dethrone Bahar Eseri as guildmaster, destabilize the thieves guild, dismantle everything Lord Eseri had built. It was a petty, personal vendetta, a response to the guildmaster's snub. Tahl never considered it might spread beyond that. He meant to rebuild the guild, of course; that had been part of his initial goal. But the idea that he—he, a teenager cast out from the mage academy—could frighten Emperor Atoras himself? He'd never fathomed the ripples could reach so far.

  All the more reason his new plan was ambitious. Tahl allowed himself the smallest of smirks as he trekked into the trees.

  There were a number of small game trails that wound their way through the woods, and he had grown familiar with quite a few since he'd taken to using forest clearings as a new place to practice his magic. It was a better place to do it than on the roofs in Orrad, he admitted. There were fewer eyes and ears in the woods, and on the occasion he did cross paths with other people, it was easy to explain his presence. He always had a bag with him. Today, it was the farmer's burlap sack with a few vegetables inside. Other times, he used a satchel. But every day he ventured into the woods to practice, he spent enough time foraging for wild fruits and nuts that he had a reasonable explanation for being out there on his own.

  Today, he stuck closer to the wider trade road that meandered between the trees. The clearing he sought was far enough back in the underbrush that he didn't imagine he'd have any visitors, but he didn't want to be so far off the path that the one visitor he expected couldn't find him.

  Not long after Tahl settled at the foot of a tree to practice spinning smoke shapes from his fingertips, Niada emerged from the brambles at the clearing's edge.

  He twisted a plume of smoke into the shape of a butterfly and sent it to bat its wings around her head.

  Flustered, she slapped it away. A moment later, she slapped a mosquito, too. It left a crimson smear across her arm. “There you are.”

  “Exactly where I said I'd be,” Tahl replied. Normally, he practiced alone. Having spectators rarely worked well. Magic took a great deal of concentration, and his Gift was weak enough without distraction robbing him of his focus.

  Sniffing, she rubbed her arm and trudged across the clearing. Both her arms were covered in scratches from thorns and welts from insect bites. “How can you stand coming out here?”

  “Long sleeves help.” He paused to unroll his. “Of course, then you bear the risk of overheating.”

  “I think I'd rather stay in the city.”

  “I would, too, but until things settle down, this is best.” He flicked another smoke shape at her. This time, it resembled a sparrow.

  The smoke hit her shoulder and dissipated. She brushed at her shirt as if she'd felt it. “I think you're getting better at that.”

  “Doesn't feel like it,” Tahl muttered. “I feel like I've gotten worse. All these weeks of doing nothing, no chances to really push my limits or train like I want to?” He shook his head. “It feels like I'm wasting away.”

  “Maybe you are,” she goaded as she inched closer and pinched his arm. “I don't think you're as strong as you were.”

  He grunted and pulled away. “That just means I have to start now. Get out here every day and practice, while I get the information I need for this heist.”

  Niada's eyes glittered. “That's what I'm here for, right?” She dropped to the ground in front of him and swung a small satchel around from her back so she could dig through its contents. He really was rusty. He hadn't noticed the strap of her bag at all.

  She produced a small notebook. “I got some information from a palace guard. Not a lot, but I wrote it down. Or I tried, anyway.” A hint of color rose in her cheeks. Like most commoners, she wasn't exactly literate. Tahl had taught her as much as he could, but certain things—such as spelling and grammar—were difficult to improve without access to books. Even had he stolen a few from some haughty noble's library, it would have been too conspicuous for a young girl working as a barmaid to carry books around.

  “I'm sure it's fine,” Tahl lied. Half the time, he couldn't decipher what she'd tried to write. The trick was getting her to read her notes back to him, instead.

  Niada paged through the ratty notebook until she found what she wanted. “Here. I got a little bit about schedules, and which parts of the palace are open when. I thought maybe we could use that and go inv
estigate the castle on our own.”

  “That's better than I expected, honestly.” He cocked his head to look at the page. The scrawled letters had improved in form since he'd seen her handwriting last. A set of numbers in the corner caught his eye and he leaned down to tap the edge of the page. “What's that?”

  “The number of guards on duty during each shift.”

  Tahl released a low whistle.

  “I know,” Niada murmured.

  “Well, I can't say getting past them will be the easiest thing I've ever done, but it's not impossible. I don't think anything is.” He committed the numbers to memory. Once he had a chance to see the castle's grounds for himself, he'd be able to evaluate what they actually meant. A large number of guards could be little threat at all if there were gaps in their patrols and posts.

  She studied his face for a time while he tried to decipher her notes. “I've wanted to ask since yesterday, but I didn't want to make you mad.”

  “You are good at doing that,” Tahl mused.

  Her nose crinkled. “I'm being serious. I just wondered... I mean, I know you were somebody, back before the academy. You never said much, but you can read. Did... were you raised for something like this? Becoming a king?”

  Startled, he stared at her a moment before he let out a laugh. “What? I'm not stealing the empire, Nia! I'm stealing the crown. The literal crown, the thing on Atoras's head?”

  Her cheeks brightened. “How was I supposed to know?”

  “Because I told you? I specifically said I was going to steal the crown.”

  “And Lord Eseri wanted you to steal the world, and you ended up pulling a heist based entirely on some weird metaphor.” She raised her hands in a sign of defeat.

  “Fair,” Tahl laughed. “All right, I'll give you that one. But no. I don't want the Westkings Empire. Just the guild.”

  “Which you're going to have to rebuild from nothing,” Niada reminded him. She paged through her notebook. “I was thinking about that, too. About uniting all the thieves under your leadership. I came up with some designs.”

  His brow furrowed. “Designs?”

  “For your emblem.” She turned the notebook so she could see. A handful of simple symbols filled the page, the charcoal smudged until some were unrecognizable.

  “Lord Eseri didn't have an emblem.”

  “Lord Eseri didn't have a name,” she retorted. “You're the Ghost, Tahl. You're something special.”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  Niada frowned. “Don't you want to look at them?”

  “Not really, no.” He stepped back to give himself more space. They couldn't sit in the forest forever, and he needed to practice. “I'd rather talk about how we're going to get into the palace.”

  Her face fell. “All right.”

  Magic tingled at the tips of his fingers as he spun a handful of shapes. Wisps of smoke resembling mice scattered across the grass, darting and weaving beneath twigs and fallen leaves. “Just entering should be easy. Castles are busy places, they won't notice a few extra faces. The trick is figuring out where those faces are least likely to draw attention.”

  One of his shadow mice crawled over the top of Niada's shoe. She ignored it, staring at the notebook in her hands.

  Tahl stopped. He'd used that to pester her before; she hated the mice more than anything. “Nia?”

  “I'm listening,” she murmured.

  “Are you?”

  She nodded.

  “I'm going to need you for this one, Nia. I'm counting on you to help me work my way through the castle so I can make this happen. And I'll need you to keep gathering information, too. That could be the most important thing I need you to help me with.”

  Niada nodded again.

  His brows drew together. “You still want to be the guild's second-in-command, don't you?”

  “I do,” she said softly. She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I'll keep listening. I'll see if I can get work at some of the places the guards drink. That should help. Just...” Her fingers plucked at the edges of her notebook's open pages.

  “Just what?”

  With the greatest care, she tore the page of drawings from her notebook and folded it in half. “Just consider it, okay?” She pushed the paper into his hand and turned away. “You don't have to like it, but people need something to look up to. It gives them hope, you know?”

  Tahl blinked at her back as she retreated between the trees. Her feelings were hurt. She always sulked when that happened. A twinge of guilt tickled in his chest. He hadn't meant anything by it. They were just drawings, silly symbols that would draw too much attention.

  “Hope,” he murmured thoughtfully as he curled his fingers around the crumpled paper. Thieves were the villains. How could they give anyone hope?

  Chapter 3

  Orrad's palace was the seat of power in the Westkings. Not only the southern empire, but the entirety of the region. The two segments of land that formed the Westkings were hardly connected and easy to divide into north and south. The bridge between them was so narrow, Tahl had often wondered why they were considered the same continent. But while the northern region was ruled by a dozen or so monarchies, the south was dominated by a single ruler—Emperor Atoras.

  The southern half of the Westkings was, as far as Tahl knew, the largest empire in the known world. Judging by the palace that loomed ahead of him, Atoras knew exactly what sort of power he held. It rose from the earth with sheer, blocky walls, its windows few and far off the ground. There were no true balconies, and only a single terrace jutted out toward the courtyard. Tahl studied the building with a careful eye as he approached. He couldn't stay in one place long enough to have the view he really wanted, and only so much was visible beyond the high curtain walls that separated the fortress from the rest of the city.

  That was what it was, Tahl concluded. A fortress, rather than a palace. A monstrous thing of sharp lines and high stone that sheltered a ruthless emperor who had more to fear than anyone else in the world. It was easy to assume kings and emperors had enough power to claim safety. Few things were farther from the truth.

  The sun shifted until it became too blinding to look toward the palace. Tahl lowered his eyes to take in the guards along the curtain wall instead. The gate ahead stood wide to welcome business. Guards flanked the entrance to the tunnel that led beneath the wall to the courtyard where all manner of people scuttled about. A farrier inspected a horse's hooves beside a wagon where children helped unload baskets of summer fruit. Beyond, a man gathered broken pottery into a handcart. It was something like a second market, and Tahl had never seen a need to investigate it before. His work was done elsewhere in the city, where he rubbed elbows with commoners and occasionally robbed the rich.

  Satisfied by his first look, he continued past the gate, though he let his eyes linger like a curious stable boy might. For most, entry to the palace was something they could only dream of. For him, it was a challenge, and he'd need time to determine the best point of entry. Then he passed beyond the point where he could see inside, and the cool shadow of the curtain wall enveloped him.

  Something brushed his arm and he spun toward it, one hand over his hip, where a dagger's hilt jabbed his side beneath his shirt.

  A man in a hat tried to dart away, cementing his guilt in Tahl's mind. He all but disappeared into the crowded streets.

  Tahl's eyes narrowed. He watched that hat until it vanished and, uneasy, turned to lose himself in the crowd as well.

  Fewer people walked near the castle walls. In addition to the guards that patrolled the wall's top, a handful of men in armor walked the cobblestone roads that flanked the fortress. Climbing wouldn't be an option, but options were, for the moment, the least of Tahl's concerns. He slipped into an empty alleyway to check his pockets, silently cursing how distracted he'd let himself become. He was supposed to be the Ghost, the most fearsome thief in Orrad, if not the whole of the Westkings. He knew better than to gawk and lo
se track of his surroundings. Yet he had, and someone had gotten close—too close.

  What few coins he had remained in his pockets. Nothing had been taken. Just a brush against a pedestrian, nothing more. Now that Tahl thought of it, perhaps he'd been the one to brush up against the man in the hat, instead of it being the other way around. He'd been moving without watching where he was going. It was plausible. Yet so was the idea of the other man being a thief.

  All the more reason to bring the city under control. Tahl smiled grimly to himself as he checked his knives. They, too, were secure.

  And what if they hadn't been? He cursed himself for the uncertainty. Niada had often accused him of going soft in the past few weeks. He hated to admit she might be right. Nothing kept him on his toes quite like knowing the city's guards could take him at any second. If he wasn't thieving, there was no reason for them to give him a second glance.

  The wax that hid his scar gave him a sense of security. By now, the scar was so well healed and the fight in the Queen's Museum so far behind him that there was little chance the Emperor's Elite would remember they'd marked his face. His desire to take up the mantle of the Ghost in an official capacity was the only reason he continued to hide it. The Ghost would bear the scar; Tahl would not. His fingers drifted to the soft wax without thought and he puzzled over the texture. He'd noticed the shine, but hadn't known what to do about it. Perhaps Nia was right about the powder, too.

  A shadow moved over the mouth of the alley. Tahl straightened and when his eyes fell on the man who blocked the entrance, his jaw almost dropped open. The man in the hat stood before him, brandishing a dagger.

  “Your coin,” the man said, his voice deep and hoarse. “Now.”

  Tahl moved back a half step. “You really think you're going to get anything from robbing peasants?”

  “I said, your coin,” the stranger growled.

  With a flick of his hand, Tahl freed his knife from his belt. “Come and get it.”

  A wicked sneer twisted the man's upper lip. “Who do you think you are, boy? Don't you know who I am?”