Dance of Thieves

by Mary E. Pearson

  What was she doing?

  It would not kill him. At this distance it likely wouldn’t even stun him. He was at least two hundred yards away now.

  I lost sight of the arrow in the bright sky, but then suddenly the water skin on Bahr’s back exploded with a dark liquid.

  “What the devil is that?” Griz yelled.

  A chill ran down my back as Synové grinned. I knew.

  “Blood,” she answered. “Rich, ripe antelope blood.”

  It was only seconds before a dark cloud swooped across the horizon. It skimmed the parched valley floor like a winged rider heading toward us—toward Bahr, who still raced ahead. It happened fast. He was snatched up in its claws, and in seconds it was flying over us, Bahr writhing in its grip, screaming, and then, just as fast, they were both gone, the whoosh of the racaa’s wings drowning out the last of his screams.

  Synové’s eyes narrowed, a grin still on her lips. “I guess I was wrong. He’s not alone out there after all.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  JASE

  I couldn’t say I wasn’t glad to see Bahr depart, but afterward it made me think that if the queen had half the creative fury of Synové, I was in big trouble. But the queen was supposedly bedridden, so there was at least that. I had to look for whatever bright spots I could.

  I wondered why she was confined to her bed. Had she been injured in the Great War? Rumor was that she was strong and had managed to bring down the twelve-foot, half-god Komizar. Maybe, like her brother, she had an injury she had never recovered from.

  Griz had strong words with Synové after Bahr’s departure, and she took them stoically. Apparently she had broken some rule of theirs, or maybe Griz just didn’t want to arrive at the queen’s doorstep empty-handed with every prisoner snatched from his grip. Two were already dead. I noted the other prisoners had gone silent, maybe trying to avoid drawing Synové’s attention. Last night at dinner, the only sound I heard out of them was a burp. In some ways, I was sorry that Griz had reprimanded her. I wouldn’t have minded if she pulled that stunt at least one more time—on Beaufort.

  Last night when we set camp, I had watched Kazi studying Synové, and I had wondered what she was thinking. Was she wishing she could see Zane suffer the way Bahr had? But that chance was gone. For eleven years, she had looked for him, and I had kept him out of her grasp. The right moment to tell her had never come.

  Kazi told me this morning we weren’t going to Venda, but to a place called Marabella. We’d be there today. I thought I’d have more time. I was caught off guard, and maybe that was the point—to keep the prisoners in the dark. I was sure the others still didn’t know. She said Marabella was a former Dalbretch outpost that had been converted and expanded to serve as a place of mutual rule for two kingdoms. When the Dalbretch king and the Vendan queen married, they divided their time between the two kingdoms and also the outpost halfway between them.

  Kazi was riding up ahead with Wren, Synové, Eben, and Natiya, surrounding the other prisoners. They guarded them like they were gold. I had seen the strain in her face this morning when she saddled Mije, as if she might lose them in these last hours. Ruins had become more plentiful as we traveled, and maybe that’s what contributed to the tension—there were more places for bandits to hide. I was left to ride at the end of our caravan with Griz on one side of me and a Morrighese soldier on the other. If I were picked off by bandits, I supposed it wouldn’t matter as much.

  As we rode over a rise in the landscape someone called, “There it is!” It was still a long way off, but I caught my first glimpse of Marabella. Its high, white walls gleamed in the distance, and a city sprawled around it. Natiya had told me it was the first site designated as a settlement. I guessed there was less than an hour before we reached it.

  “I need to speak to Kazi,” I said.

  Griz snorted, disinterested in my requests. “Nah.”

  “It’s important.”

  He squinted an eye. “About what?”

  “It’s between me and her, you bastard; go get her.” His eyes sparked and his fingers twitched and I knew I was about to get a mouthful of knuckles from a man three times my size and I added, “Please.”

  * * *

  Kazi rode back, her face shining with sweat, a tense crease between her brows. “What is it?” she asked. “I need to stay with the other prisoners. They’re jumpy.”

  So was she. She looked at me, waiting, impatient, and I realized what I had to say didn’t really matter anymore.

  “Jase,” she said, trying to hurry me along.

  I blurted something else out instead. “Will I get a chance to speak?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “When you stand before the queen to answer to the charges. She’ll hear you out.”

  “At her bedside? Is she dying?”

  “What?”

  “You said she was unable to travel and was confined to her bed. I thought that maybe—”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. Her physician ordered no travel. She miscarried her first child, and now she’s expecting again.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  KAZI

  Scouts had ridden ahead of us, so long before we arrived the news had spread. By the time we neared the gates of Marabella, large crowds had gathered. Soldiers lined our path to keep everyone back, but mostly the crowd was still and surprisingly silent. A deathly pall had fallen as if ghosts rode at our sides. These were not prisoners they ever expected to see. Mouths hung open. Eyes glistened. A man as big as Griz wept. They may not have recognized Beaufort and Torback, but they knew Governor Sarva and Chievdar Kardos. I watched the stunned faces fill with terror and then hatred. No doubt many had experienced loss at these men’s hands or knew someone who had. Sarva and Kardos looked straight ahead, refusing to meet their gazes.

  Beaufort began looking around, his head craning back nervously.

  “Still expecting a rescue?” I asked.

  He looked at me, and that was when I saw real terror. He’d never expected to face the queen again—at least not on her terms. He had thought his patience would pay off once more, and he would never meet his fate.

  “It’s over, Captain. No one is coming for you. This is the end of the line.”

  His face contorted as if struggling with this truth and finally his lip lifted in a snarl as he scrutinized me. He shook his head with disgust. “By worthless street trash. By a crapcake like you.”

  That’s right. By someone like me.

  A drop of sweat trickled over his half-moon scar. “It will never be over. Not now. A door has been unlocked. More like me will always come.”

  “Maybe so. But more like me will always be there to stop them.”

  He looked over his shoulder one last time, as if still hopeful, but all he saw were the Vendan crowds closing in, erasing the path behind him.

  * * *

  I clutched the jail log in my hand. As lead on the mission, it was my job to present it to the queen—the names of the prisoners we had delivered into the warden’s custody. She would address the prisoners later.

  I sat on a stone bench outside her personal chamber, waiting, my knee bouncing. I fingered the wish stalk in my pocket that I had bought from a merchant just outside the outpost walls.

  A servant opened the door, and I jumped to my feet. “The queen will see you now,” she said. I was escorted in and the servant left. The room was cool and dim. The sweet fragrance of roses hung in the air. With the curtains drawn, I didn’t see her at first.

  “Kazimyrah,” she said softly, walking toward me. She was in a dressing gown and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

  I dropped to a knee. “Your Majesty.”

  “Enough of that.” She lightly touched my arm so I would stand, then drew me into her arms. She hugged me tightly, as if she’d been worried, and I found myself hugging her back, holding her in a way I had never done before, my breaths uneven, my throat stabbing, and somewhere deep within I felt a tug, like a stitch pulling
tight, and I imagined its color to be silver. “Welcome home,” she whispered.

  When she drew away I noticed her belly. The large round bump was gone and my heart jumped. She must have seen the fear on my face.

  “No. Everything’s fine. Come.” She guided me to a cradle beside her bed.

  My chest swelled. “She—he?—is beautiful.”

  The queen smiled. “She. I can’t stop looking at her. I watch every twitch, every smile, every pout of her lip.” She leaned over and scooped the sleeping baby into her arms, kissing her forehead, then touching her tiny fingers, wonder filling her face.

  “Have you named her?” I asked.

  She nodded and her eyes glistened. “Aster,” she answered. “I named her Aster. The saving angel.” She kissed the baby again and gently laid her back in the cradle.

  “And you have made her world safer, Kazimyrah. I am indebted to you and your team. A thank-you is not nearly enough.”

  My throat squeezed. “I am honored to serve, Your Majesty.”

  “Will you ever call me Lia?”

  “Griz doesn’t approve.”

  She shook her head. “Come,” she said. “Tell me about your journey.”

  We sat on the settee beneath the window, and she poured us each a goblet of water. I presented her with the prison log, but she wanted to hear about the prisoners from me. She had already heard we had come back with more than we set out for. First I told her about the prisoners who had died en route, then Torback, and then I told her about the captain. She let out a slow breath, and I saw the relief in her face that he was finally captured. But there was also turmoil in her eyes, as if she revisited the pain he had wrought, not just upon Morrighan and Venda, but upon her family. She said she wished her father had lived long enough to see this day.

  When I told her about Governor Sarva and Chievdar Kardos, she shook her head in disbelief, shocked that they were still alive. She had known them when she was held prisoner in the Sanctum and remembered their cruel, vindictive ways.

  “Captain Illarion still thinks he’s going to get away,” I warned.

  “That doesn’t surprise me, but there’s no chance of that now,” she said. “He murdered Captain Azia, one of my husband’s best officers. Rafe will probably guard Illarion himself until he sees him hanging from a rope.”

  She assured me that all the prisoners would remain under heavy guard while they awaited trial.

  “There’s one other prisoner I need to tell you about,” I said. I dug my nails into my palms, trying to force the wobble from my throat. “This one may take a while.”

  The queen’s brows rose with interest, and she sat back on the settee, curling her feet beneath her. “I’m listening.”

  Some said it began with the stars.

  They brought a magic the world could not contain.

  No, my grandfather said, it began with the anger of men.

  However it began, we are the end. I was five when the first star struck.

  I have no memory of my family, only my grandfather, one of the most powerful men in the world, the leader of a once-great nation, scooping me into his arms and running.

  Running is all I remember.

  Years of running.

  I will never run again.

  —Greyson Ballenger, 16

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  JASE

  By the time I got to the receiving hall, I was seething. I’d been thrown in a cell and handed a bucket, and my inquiries of when I would see the queen were met with silence. Not a word. An hour of waiting and pacing passed. And then three, sunlight shifting through the tiny window of my cell. I could be here for days, weeks. I knew the game she played. I had played it with prisoners plenty of times. Let them wait and fear the worst.

  Maybe her tactic was working. Kazi said the queen would hear me out, but when? And even then, would she really listen? As far as the kingdoms were concerned, Tor’s Watch was nothing but a minor speck on the landscape. All they knew about us was what the King of Eislandia had told them, and he knew nothing. I was through upholding the terms of Paxton’s idiot great-grandfather—a whole town for a round of drinks. If I ever got out of here, I was taking back Hell’s Mouth. We would no longer be held hostage to a gambling debt or defer to a king who had no interest in the town that he didn’t bother to support. We would no longer be ignored. I felt like the voice raging in my head was my father’s. After at least four hours, I was dragged out of my cell by two burly guards who again had nothing to say to me other than shut up. They hauled me through the outpost and threw me into an empty hall to await the queen, my hands still tied behind me. But she wasn’t there.

  Twenty minutes passed. Then forty. Silence ticked by. More waiting? The elevated end of the room had two passageways on either side. I waited for someone to come, but no one did.

  “Where’s the queen?” I finally yelled. No answer. I let loose with a litany of shouts, demanding that someone come. I heard a baby cry in the distance and then footsteps. Loud, angry footsteps. The crying stopped, but a man burst through one of the passageways, his burning blue eyes landing on me. He stomped down the steps and crossed the room, grabbing my shirt, nearly jerking me off my feet. He held me close so we were eye to eye. “The queen will get here when she gets here, but if you wake my baby daughter one more time, I’ll pop your head from your shoulders. Understand?”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “A man who has had very little sleep in the past forty-eight hours. But to you I am King Jaxon.”

  The King of Dalbreck. I’d also heard rumors about him, another twelve-foot legend—one with a temper. Right now, he looked like an exhausted, crazed man. And a protective one. He let go of my shirt with a shove.

  And then I heard a shuffle. We both turned. Four soldiers filed out of the right passageway, Dalbretch officers by the look of their uniforms, and then just behind them, more officers, but these were Vendan. Griz was one of them. They lined up on the dais, facing me, long swords at their sides, and I wondered if this was going to be an impromptu execution.

  There was another shuffle of movement, this one quieter, and from the opposite passageway a woman walked out onto the dais. She held a baby in her arms. The king forgot about me and walked up the steps to meet her. His face was transformed as he looked at her, his rage replaced with tenderness. She looked at him in the same way. They gazed down together at the baby in her arms and the king kissed the queen, long and leisurely as if I wasn’t there.

  This was Queen Jezelia of Venda, the one who held my fate in her hands. She was younger than I thought she’d be, and softer and more serene than I’d expected. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. She handed the baby to the king, and he held his daughter in the crook of his arm, his knuckle rubbing her cheek.

  The queen turned to me, and in an instant her softness vanished. The dreamy eyes she had for her baby and the king had turned hard and cutting. This was a monarch who tolerated no nonsense. She stepped to the end of the dais, confident in her stride, one brow arched in irritation. “So you’re the one making all the noise.”

  “I’m the Patrei of Tor’s Watch and I demand—”

  “Correction,” she said, briskly cutting me off. “You’re my prisoner and—”

  “What do you want me to do? Bow? Because I won’t do that. My realm was centuries old before the first stone was laid in yours. Because—”

  She put her hand up in a swift stop motion and shook her head. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

  “I was told I would get a chance to speak!”

  “You will, but I get to go first, because I’m the queen, I just went through twenty hours of labor, and I’m the one wearing a sword.” She wasn’t wearing a sword, but I got her point. She may as well have been. “I was told you’re a good listener, but maybe my source is wrong.”

  A good listener?

  “Kazimyrah, is this the prisoner you told me about?”

  I startled as Kazi walked out
of the passageway. Her steps were smooth and composed. She turned to face me, her expression grim, but her eyes only looked into mine briefly before she looked away again. “Yes, Your Majesty. It’s him.”

  The queen turned back to me. “Then I expect you to listen, Patrei, because my Rahtan are never wrong.”

  I boiled inside like an overheated kettle, but I remained silent waiting for my chance to speak. She had a guard untie my hands, then repeated the charges against me, violating kingdom treaties by harboring fugitives, in addition to conspiring to dominate the kingdoms. I opened my mouth to respond, and she shut me down with a quick glare and tilt of her head.

  “However, as Kazimyrah pointed out to me, you have not signed a treaty with the Alliance of Kingdoms, because you are not a kingdom at all, nor are you even part of Eislandia, and yet you are steward of Hell’s Mouth, which is part of that kingdom, which is all a very curious and complicated arrangement. I don’t like complications. Kazimyrah explained to me how that came to pass.” She shook her head. “A word of advice, Patrei, never play cards with a monarch. They cheat.”

  The soldiers behind her rumbled in agreement, and the king grinned.

  “In addition, she has also made me aware that the King of Eislandia may have not acted in good faith, nor held up the tenets of the Alliance in finding suitable land for a settlement and in fact, may have intentionally chosen your land as a way to provoke you. This does not sit well with me. Using my citizens to settle grudges is not something I take kindly to. They have already been through untold hardships, and I will not suffer fools who bring them more. Nevertheless, I understand you rectified the situation by rebuilding the settlement at your own expense in a better location, and that you were very generous in the process.”

  I glanced at Kazi. She stood to the side of the queen, looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with me.