The Smoke Thieves Series, Book 1

by Sally Green

“That’s impossible!”

  The physician’s exclamation pulled everyone’s attention back to March. The terrible wound was already sealed and bloodless.

  The young woman took her hand from the prince’s and moved forward to March’s side.

  “It’s . . . it’s healed.”

  “Yes.” Edyon felt himself smile.

  The physician bent forward to inspect March’s skin. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It heals bruises as well, if you have a bath with it.” Edyon laughed at the memory. He needed to control himself, but he was too happy. “I’m sorry. Using it this way does make you a little light-headed!”

  “Oh, now I get it! That’ll explain my ankle!” Tash said. “I’ve never smoked it, or had a bath with it. But I hurt my ankle when we caught that demon and put the bottle near the swelling. The next morning my ankle was better. I thought it was odd, and thought that maybe my ankle hadn’t been so badly hurt after all. But I remember feeling good the next day.”

  Edyon had almost forgotten Tash was there. He laughed again. “The last time I had a bath was when I met Tash.”

  “Yes. Imagine if that hadn’t happened. We’d be happily eating pies in Dornan right now,” Tash said, and folded her arms. “And the smoke would be with me.”

  Edyon wasn’t sure where he’d be. The room was spinning and he could hardly think, but March was healing—that was all that mattered. And he felt so good. He went to Tash to hug her. He wanted to hug everyone. He pulled Tash to him and lifted her up.

  “Ow, don’t be so rough!”

  “Sorry.” Edyon remembered he had fought the sheriff’s man back in Dornan, and he gently put Tash down and said to the prince, “You’ve got to be careful with this stuff. It makes you stronger too. Watch this.” And to demonstrate he went to a heavy wooden chair in the corner of the room and lifted it above his head, but the prince didn’t look that impressed and Edyon felt foolish and embarrassed and also a little annoyed. Why didn’t anyone ever take him seriously? And he smashed the chair down as hard as he could. It shattered against the flagstone floor with an ear-splitting crash, cracking the flagstone too.

  Silence filled the room.

  Edyon laughed. “Well, it was the ugliest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. Though I do feel the need to sit down.” And he sank to the floor.

  “Did you see that?” exclaimed Tzsayn to the physician. “He smashed that chair like it was nothing.” He bent over the flagstone, tracing the crack in it with his fingertip.

  The physician was bent over the flagstone too. “It heals and it gives strength! I’ve not read or heard of this before. Is it only the purple smoke that does this?” He turned to Edyon, but Edyon just shrugged.

  Tash said, “I think so. It’s from the younger demons, the purple ones.”

  “And how long does the strength last?” the physician asked.

  No one replied. Edyon thought about his harpoon throwing; he’d certainly lost his strength by then. He said, “A day? Something like that. Not forever anyway.”

  The young woman said, “But still long enough to fight a battle. The smoke would be a great asset to an army, I imagine.”

  The prince said, “Giving great strength for the fight and instantly healing their wounds after. Ready to repeat the next day. That army would indeed be formidable.” He looked at Edyon. “Assuming the soldiers don’t collapse and fall asleep.”

  “Perhaps it must be taken in small doses? Who knows—we’ve still much to learn about it! But this has to be what my father is after,” the young woman replied. “And that’s why his army is only big enough to hold the north of Pitoria. He’s not here to conquer the whole kingdom—he only needs access to the Northern Plateau. He’s come for the purple smoke.”

  AMBROSE

  ROSSARB, PITORIA

  AMBROSE, TZSAYN, Catherine, and Tash had left Edyon with March and gone to the courtyard of the castle.

  “I’d like to test the smoke,” Tzsayn said.

  Ambrose smiled. “That’s a year’s hard labor, Your Highness.”

  Tzsayn grinned back. “Actually, I was thinking you should try it. First see if it’ll heal a cut. Then we’ll test your strength.”

  Ambrose didn’t hesitate. He took his dagger and made a cut across the pad of his thumb. Tzsayn passed him the bottle and Ambrose let out a wisp of smoke that he sucked into his mouth. He put his mouth over the cut.

  He was soon feeling light-headed; the smoke was alive, swirling around in his mouth and into his mind. When he breathed the smoke out, he watched it rise up and swirl away into the sky.

  “Rather disappointing, if you don’t mind me saying, Sir Ambrose.” Tzsayn was peering at the cut, which was still bleeding.

  “Would you like to try?” Ambrose offered the bottle back to Tzsayn. He did the same exercise, and his cut too failed to heal.

  “Well, it worked on Edyon, March, and Tash. Let me try,” suggested Catherine.

  “No!” said Tzsayn and Ambrose simultaneously, before they turned to glare at each other.

  “I think I should. I understand now. Lady Anne’s message was “demon smoke’ and “boy.’”

  Tzsayn said, “Catherine, whatever you’re thinking, you’re not a boy.”

  “Neither are you. You’re a man. Edyon and March are younger than you and Ambrose, and it worked on them. And it worked on Tash too. So I think boy or girl doesn’t matter, but age does. Now give me the dagger and let me try.”

  Ambrose reluctantly held out his dagger and Catherine took it and gently nicked the tip of her thumb, then took the smoke and inhaled some. Ambrose and Tzsayn were both silent as she held her lips over her thumb. They were all still for a long moment, then Catherine breathed out and the smoke rose away. She peered at her finger, then held out her hand. The wound was gone.

  “I could feel it! It was moving as if the smoke was seeking out the cut.” Catherine laughed. “And I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

  “But do you feel stronger?” Tzsayn asked.

  Catherine shrugged. Then she laughed again. “I’ve always wanted Ambrose to teach me swordplay. Perhaps now is the right time to try it.”

  Ambrose smiled and glanced at Tzsayn, saying, “The side effects of this drug are certainly revealing.”

  “She may have the strength to best you, Sir Ambrose. That would certainly be an interesting side effect.”

  Ambrose remembered the boys at Fielding besting him. It surely had something to do with the smoke. “Perhaps I can teach you to throw a spear, Catherine.”

  Tzsayn raised his eyebrows but summoned a soldier, taking his spear.

  Catherine clapped her hands excitedly. “Wonderful!”

  Tzsayn handed the spear to Catherine, but he seemed more than happy to show her himself how to throw. Ambrose watched as Tzsayn moved each of her fingers to hold the spear firmly, and then showed her how to stand, and then, more slowly than ever, with his arm supporting her, how to hold her arm back and throw.

  Catherine was smiling and laughing occasionally and Ambrose paced around, wishing he’d just taken a spear himself. She had wanted him to teach her the sword.

  Finally she was ready and Tzsayn stepped away from her. But Catherine said, “Ambrose should throw first. Then I’ll see if I can match him.”

  Another spear was brought, and they moved to the far side of the courtyard. Ambrose threw the spear toward the far wall with all his strength. It struck the cobbles just in front of the wall.

  “Not bad. Nice technique,” Tzsayn said. “Let’s see if the lady can beat you.”

  Ambrose took a deep breath and managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

  But then he was amazed. Catherine threw. Her technique was not perfect at all and the spear wobbled in the air, landing harmlessly tail first, but she had matched the distance that he had thrown—almost e
xactly, in fact.

  Catherine laughed and clapped her hands. “With practice I think I could get it over the wall.”

  “My turn!” Tash shouted.

  Catherine, Tzsayn, and Ambrose turned to see Tash holding the bottle of smoke. “Gravell told me I shouldn’t ever inhale this stuff, but, well, the princess has . . . and anyway it’s just this once.” And she inhaled the smoke, held it in, and then breathed out a long stream of it. She picked up the spear, twirled it in her hand, banged its base on the paving, took a few steps, and launched it.

  Ambrose gaped. Tash’s technique was good, but that could not account for the distance. The spear flew high across the courtyard and was still rising as it sailed over the battlements, thankfully to land harmlessly in the river or possibly even beyond it.

  Catherine grinned. “I think the ladies have won the tournament.”

  Ambrose said, “And I think I know my sister’s full message.” He looked at Catherine. “There were hundreds of boys at Fielding, all training to fight.”

  Catherine said it: ““Demon smoke,’ “boy,’ “army.’”

  Ambrose added, “Though it appears the smoke works on boys and girls.”

  “My father would never have girls in his army. But it seems that the younger the boy or girl, the better the effects of the smoke. It doesn’t work on you, on grown men, at all.”

  Ambrose thought back to the boys on the beach at Fielding. “Yes, the boys I saw ranged from twelve to fifteen or sixteen at the most. They clearly had great strength and speed but were developing technique. And with demon smoke they’d be more than a match for any army. They could take Calidor. And possibly Pitoria too.”

  MARCH

  ROSSARB, PITORIA

  MARCH AWOKE to the touch of something cold on his back. He tensed, waiting for the bite of the hook, but instead a familiar warm, soothing tickle began to spread across his skin.

  “Don’t move!” Edyon’s voice. “You’ve got a few cuts here that I missed this morning. I’m using a cup to hold the smoke. Seeing if it works better.”

  “And?”

  “Hard to tell.” March felt soft fingertips stroke his back, then Edyon said, “But I prefer the old-fashioned method.” And he pressed his lips against March’s skin.

  When March woke again, it was to the sound of Edyon’s voice, saying, “He’s sleeping now, but much better, Your Highness, thank you.”

  Your Highness? Was there another prince in the room?

  March lifted his head a fraction from his blankets to see a petite and delicate, fair-skinned and fair-haired young woman dressed fashionably in the palest of gray silks, standing with a man dressed in a blue leather jacket. That had to be Prince Tzsayn. March rested his head back, closed his eyes, and listened.

  “And I have to thank you,” said Tzsayn. “By bringing us the smoke, you’ve helped uncover the truth behind this invasion. However, the reason I’m here now is to properly introduce you to Princess Catherine, formerly of Brigant, now of Pitoria.”

  “Oh. I mean, I’m honored, Your Highness.”

  “And I’m honored and pleased to meet you . . . cousin.” The princess’s voice was light and musical. “Circumstances were rather . . . unusual earlier, so we couldn’t be introduced then.”

  Edyon gave an embarrassed cough. “Yes, my apologies, I was a little worse for the effects of the smoke.”

  “You weren’t the only one! But it seems you are recovered now.”

  “Yes, thank you. Though I feel foolish, even without the smoke. I’m not really used to this. I’ve only just discovered who my father is. March was sent to take me back to him.”

  “I’d like to hear about your life and your journey. It certainly sounds eventful.”

  “And, from what I understand, I can say the same for you. Or can I? I’m not even sure what I can say to a princess.”

  At that, the prince said, “And I’d like to hear from March. I wonder how his wounds feel. They’re certainly looking better.”

  March thought back to the man who’d hit him and cut him, his stupid questions and ridiculous accusations. He remembered hanging from the ceiling. He remembered the hook. That man was working for this prince.

  He opened his eyes.

  “I’m feeling better,” he said. “Though, if I see the bastard who did this to me, I’ll gladly sink a metal hook into his chest.”

  The prince nodded. “Then I’ll make sure your paths don’t cross again.”

  It was that simple for a prince. But, March realized, nothing was truly simple.

  The princess looked at March and smiled graciously. She was very beautiful. “March. We’ll let you recover in peace. Edyon, I hope we can talk more soon.”

  After they’d gone, March watched Edyon plump up the pillows on his bed. Edyon had saved his life on the plateau and risked his own to do so. And then, somehow, he had saved him again. They were brothers now, but still that didn’t feel right. Edyon had held his hand in the cells. Touched him gently, more gently than he’d thought possible. Put his lips to his skin.

  And March had liked it.

  Edyon was sitting cross-legged on a small bed in the corner of the room, inspecting his chain and the ring it contained.

  “Thank goodness they found this. It’s what convinced them we weren’t spies.”

  March scoffed. “Common sense would have told them that in the first place.”

  “History shows that in times of war, sense of any kind is thin on the ground.”

  “And did the princess tell you how the war is going?”

  “I genuinely forgot to ask, but there aren’t many cheerful faces around here.” He smiled at March. “Except for mine. You’re alive, I’m alive, we’re not in a cold cell.” He picked up an apple. “We have food, clean clothes.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m naked under here.”

  Edyon raised an eyebrow. “I know. Who do you think undressed you? We may all be killed tomorrow, but at least we can enjoy today.” He bit into the apple.

  “Well, I’d like some clothes. If Rossarb is going to be overrun by Brigantines, I can at least run away with my dignity intact.”

  Edyon threw him some trousers and held up Holywell’s silver necklace. “I got them to bring this as well.” And he went to March and fastened it round his neck.

  It was funny how quickly things changed. Three weeks ago, when he’d arrived in Pitoria, March had hated Edyon, even though they had never met. Two weeks ago he’d found him foolish, naive, and frivolous. Now . . . he wasn’t sure what he felt for Edyon, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t betray him to Aloysius. Edyon did not deserve that fate.

  March and Holywell had tricked Edyon into leaving his home and his mother. Brought him to this town surrounded by danger. If they survived, March knew what he had to do: he had to help Edyon get to Calidor, even though March could never go with him. So March had a choice: to tell Edyon the truth and leave him, or tell him a lie and leave him.

  No, nothing was simple. But he knew he should tell the truth. He wanted Edyon to be a true prince, and for that there should be no lies.

  CATHERINE

  ROSSARB, PITORIA

  The sign for “traitor” is a vertical palm with all four fingers bent closed at the second joint, while the thumb stands out.

  Signing, G. Grassman

  TASH WAS sitting on the floor, playing a game of drafts with Tanya. Catherine had been trying to learn as much as possible about demons now it seemed certain her father was planning to use their smoke. But how was he going to find them? How many demons were there? Were they easy to hunt? Catherine had asked Tash these things, but she had just shrugged and said, “If Gravell was free like me I’m sure he could tell you all this. It’s because of our smoke that you’ve found out about the boy army.”

  Catherine knew she’d done well to get Tash released a
nd didn’t hold out much hope of doing the same for Gravell, so she was continuing the slow process of befriending Tash, hoping that the odd piece of information might be revealed.

  “So you don’t remember your parents?”

  “I remember being starving and being beaten.”

  “And Gravell doesn’t starve you or beat you?”

  “He swears at me. Probably less than I do at him, though.”

  “So would you say you were equals? I was told the women in Pitoria are more liberated than in Brigant.”

  “Yeah. I’m completely liberated.” Then she mock-muttered to herself, “Wish I was liberated from this shitting castle.”

  “And I hear that some women here in Pitoria own property and have their own businesses. Is that what you want?”

  Tash shrugged and moved her draft. “I suppose. I tried the pie business once. But I prefer demon hunting. With Gravell I have a good life. Money. Travel. Inns with beds better than in here. Baths. Plenty of food. I don’t want for more.”

  “That’s what you spend your money on? Or does Gravell pay for all those things?”

  “Gravell pays mostly.”

  “Ah, not so liberated then.”

  “I work equal to him. I do all the dangerous stuff. I draw the demon out. I’m the bait.” Tash shut up abruptly, then said, “I’m losing this game with all this chatter.”

  “What are demons like?”

  Tash hesitated. “Big, fast, and red.”

  “Red or purple?”

  “Mostly red. I think it’s the younger ones that are purple. They look like humans, but it’s hard to say how old they are. Anyway they’re all sort of beautiful.”

  “Beautiful! I thought they’d be terrifying.”

  “Oh, they’re that too.” Tash shrugged. “If you had one coming after you, you’d not be thinking much about how beautiful it was. You’d be concentrating on running. Finding the best path back to Gravell. Luring the demon is serious. It’s life or death. Not a game.”

  Catherine nodded. “I was in my first battle two days ago. I know what you mean about concentrating. I was focused on my horse and myself and the route ahead.”