Queen of Thieves Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  The door closed. Her heart plummeted and a lump formed in her throat. It had been nothing more than a breeze kicked up by the opening door.

  "It's time, Ilanna."

  She shook her head. "No, Denber. Not yet. Not until—"

  "Yes, Ilanna, now. If you don't go now, you'll have to wait a whole month until the new moon. You'll fail in your Undertaking."

  She whirled, eyes flashing. "So what? What do I care about some stupid test? With Ethen like this…" Her voice cracked.

  Denber placed a hand on her shoulder. "What would he want you to do? What would he say?"

  A tear spilled down her cheek. She dashed it away. "Damn you, Denber! You can't expect me to—"

  "What choice do you have, Ilanna? Sit here and pine away in the hopes he'll wake up or get out there and make him proud? Do the impossible. For him."

  Ilanna forced her fingers to unclench. Ethen's hand slipped free, falling limply to the bed beside him. He looked so peaceful, so calm. He was so handsome beneath the bruises and lacerations.

  She leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips. "I'll be back, Ethen."

  She followed Denber from the room, casting one final glance at the unmoving Scorpion. In the heartbeat before the door clanged shut, she almost thought a smile tickled at the corners of his mouth.

  I'll do it. I will do the impossible. She would conquer the Black Spire or die trying. And she would do it for him.

  Chapter Forty

  Ilanna crouched in the shadows of a towering oak, studying the gardens surrounding the Black Spire. Stars twinkled in the moonless sky. A gentle breeze rustled the trees, carrying the scents of flowers and fresh-trimmed grass.

  She'd made the crawl through the hidden tunnel with ease, and thick trees had provided cover. She stared across the open expanse of lawn and the paved stone walkway cutting through the sea of green. If I remember correctly, any moment there will be a—

  A lantern bobbed in the darkness, accompanied by the tromp, tromp of booted feet. Ilanna threw herself to the soft earth, face down. Blood rushed in her ears and her pulse quickened. Her breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to take a deep breath, then another. She counted the echoing footsteps.

  Six guards in this patrol. Two more than normal. For some reason, Duke Phonnis had increased security in his property. If they're guarding the tower more carefully, there's a chance I'll be spotted while climbing. Can't have that.

  She clenched her fists to stop her hands trembling—from excitement as much as fear. This was supposed to be the easy part, but already she felt exhausted. The nervous tension filling every muscle in her body didn't help.

  The lantern disappeared with the patrol and Ilanna climbed to her feet. Her soft leather boots made no sound on the soft grass. The laborious weeks Errik and Garrill had spent teaching her how to walk silently paid off. She made less noise than the wind whispering through the garden.

  The sweet scent of roses reached her. Ilanna swallowed hard. The fragrance reminded her of Ethen. They'd spent hours in their garden together, tending the flowers. Now the garden lay in ruins and Ethen lay in bed, broken…dying. Tears blurred her vision. She dashed the moisture away. No time for that now. Have to focus.

  Ilanna ducked beneath the shadow of an overhanging willow as another patrol passed. She waited in breathless silence. This should be the last one for a while. She should have enough time to reach the base of the Black Spire and start the climb well before the guards returned. I have to move quickly.

  After what seemed an eternity, the patrol passed out of sight around a bend in the path. Ilanna's stomach ceased its churning. Almost there! Heart thundering, she made the final dash across open ground and slid into the protective shadow of the trees ringing the base of the Black Spire.

  Excitement coursed through her. She'd made it. She glanced up at the moonless sky. How long had it taken her to reach the base of the tower? An hour, maybe more. She had entered the Duke's gardens just after nightfall. She had perhaps six hours to climb the tower, break through the Spire's defenses, find something to steal, and descend. It's going to be a close thing.

  Ilanna's eyes traveled up the looming pillar of darkness. The black stone tower no longer taunted her. Instead, it seemed to pulse in time with her nervous energy, as if in anticipation of her attempt. With a grin, she stepped up to the tower and started to climb.

  * * *

  Ilanna bit down on a frustrated curse. She wished for some way to anchor herself to the Black Spire. After an arduous hour of climbing, she needed rest. Her shoulders, arms, and legs ached from her interminable effort.

  She dug the steel studs into a crack in the masonry and hung there, letting the gloves and boot spikes bear her weight. She risked a glance behind her. The treetops of Duke Elodon Phonnis' garden ended a dozen paces below. She'd climbed roughly thirty or forty paces. At this pace, she would reach the top of the Black Spire in three hours. But could she last that long? The burning in her arms and legs increased with every labored heartbeat. Her neck ached from craning upward in search of handholds.

  I have no choice. I have to make it! She'd spent a year training for the attempt. Denber had given her months, teaching her everything she needed to know to make the climb. Errik and Garrill, too. If I fail, they fail, too. I won't let them down.

  The moment of respite had dulled the throbbing in her limbs and sensation had returned to her fingers.

  Enough rest. I've got a tower to climb!

  * * *

  Twisted hell! Gasping in terror, Ilanna hung by one hand. She didn't dare move for fear of dislodging the glove spike. If it slipped loose, she would plummet more than a hundred paces to the garden below. She pictured herself crashing through the branches of the trees, her body crushed by the impact. Not even the soft grass would save her.

  Slowly, careful not to shift her weight, she slipped the spikes of her left glove into a crack in the masonry. The steel spike grated against stone, but it held. Next, her right foot. A soft chink, chink of metal on rock, and the boot held. Finally, her left foot. She dug it as far into the crack as she dared. She let out a deep, shuddering breath. The spike held.

  That was too bloody close! Ilanna clung to the rock, fear setting her nerves ablaze. Every muscle ached, but the brush with death set adrenaline rushing through her. A jolt of energy coursed in her veins and the pain in her spine and muscles retreated to a dull ache.

  She tried to ignore the growing fire in her shoulder. Not for the first time, she contemplated discarding the heavy satchel. She didn't dare adjust it, no matter how much the strap dug into her shoulder. Even a slight shift in her balance could dislodge the spikes.

  She weighed her choices. If she got rid of the rope, she could make the rest of the climb without the excess weight. But that would force her to descend through the interior of the tower. She couldn't climb back down the way she had come. She would be too exhausted to survive a descent.

  It was no choice at all. Her only way out of this alive was rappelling down the side of the tower. To do that, she needed the rope.

  Halfway there. A long way to go, but she was halfway there. A snort of desperate, terrified laughter burst from her throat. She swallowed the sound, but she couldn't help feeling giddy. She'd come so close to taking a final dive and yet here she remained. The Black Spire hadn't defeated her yet.

  * * *

  Blood seeped warm and wet down Ilanna's back. She tried to ignore the fire in her shoulder, but it joined the rest of the sensations flooding her protesting body. Crimson trickled from her fingertips and knuckles, slickened her grip. The knots in her back and calves had passed bearable long ago. All feeling had fled her arms and legs. Her mouth and throat begged for water. The straps of the gloves, boots, and satchel had worn away at her skin until blood streamed from dozens of tiny friction wounds. Every part of her hurt. For a moment, the desire to abandon the climb threatened to overwhelm her. It would be so easy to…

  No! She clenched her jaw. I've com
e this far. I can't back down now.

  She risked a glance upward, trying to spot the tip of the Black Spire. Nothing but darkness and twinkling stars met her gaze. She hung there, hundreds of paces above the ground, with only steel spikes and leather straps holding her in place. She wanted to scream, to shout, to sob in frustration. She wished she could see something, anything, that would tell her how much longer this torment would last. How much farther did she have to climb?

  I have to keep going. The words rang hollow in her tired mind. She had nothing left. How many more hours would she spend trapped up here? Why had she been so foolish as to believe she could succeed where so many others had failed?

  The stone seemed to hum beneath her hands. An icy wind blew across her face. The breeze whispered, tempting her to let go, surrender to its grasp. It would bear her weight. She wouldn't feel a thing. From the look in Journeymen Tyman's eyes, Ethen would join her in the Long Keeper's arms soon enough.

  "No!" She pushed the thought aside. I can't give in.

  Denber's words rang in her mind. "Do the impossible. For him."

  She would do it. Not for herself, not for Denber, and certainly not for the Night Guild. She would do it for Ethen. If she defeated the impossible, maybe he could, too. He has to live!

  One agonizing step at a time, Ilanna crawled up the Black Spire. She held Ethen's face in her mind's eye. Not as she'd seen him last—broken, bloodied, and dying—but as he was in the garden. Handsome, smiling, eyes clear and bright. She would reach the top for him.

  Her hand struck something hard. Numb with fatigue and cold, her mind failed to grasp the significance of the contact. It was just one more annoying obstacle to prevent her from reaching the top. But when she touched it again, she realized what it was. Metal? Bars, anchored in the wall of the Black Spire.

  She wrapped nerveless fingers around the bars and tugged. They held firm. She scrabbled with her left hand, grasping at the metal shafts. Tugging her boot spikes free of the wall, she pulled her legs up and wrapped them around the iron. She locked her feet and dangled there, hundreds of paces above the city of Praamis.

  Blood rushed through arms and forearms that had gone numb long ago and, with the return of sensation, came a torrent of pain. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out, but a single whimper escaped her lips. Her fingers had frozen into claws; she doubted they would ever return to normal. She wanted to cut off her hands if it meant an end to her suffering.

  Slowly, the pain receded to a dull ache. Forearms screaming, she forced her fingers to close around the bars and pulled herself up. She slipped a shoulder between the bars, but that was as far as she got. They were too close together to allow her to squeeze through.

  She tried again and hissed at the agony lancing into her shoulder. The satchel! That was the problem. But finally, with the bars to support her weight, she could do something about it.

  She tugged at the strap, but dried blood had crusted it to her shirt and skin. Every effort to pull it free sent a stab of pain through her shoulder. She gritted her teeth. Pain or not, she had to get it off. Taking a deep breath, she pulled hard. Fire raced down her back as the strap pulled free, ripping away skin. She bit back on a cry and tugged the satchel over her head. With frantic movements, she wedged it inside the bars. She couldn't risk it falling now.

  She managed to squeeze her head and shoulders through the bars, but her ribs caught.

  "Keeper's teeth!" She pushed and pulled, trying to force her body into the tight space. Cloth ripped and skin tore, but she managed to crawl through the unyielding iron bars. Fire raced up her chest and back. Her fingers probed the fresh injury. Tender skin showed her where the bars had sliced away layers of her flesh. Her clothes were a mess—stained with blood, reeking of sweat, and shredded.

  But she'd done it. She'd survived the climb, at least this part. Her legs dangled between the iron bars. She leaned on the window; the glass felt cool on her burning back.

  She drank in the breathtaking view of the city of Praamis. Pinpricks of light meandered through the formless mass of blackness below. The only sound this high up came from the icy wind whipping across her face. She shivered and clutched her torn clothing tighter.

  No wonder no one has entered the Black Spire and returned to tell the tale! She eyed the iron bars. They would stop any thief from entering—any normal-sized thief, that is. Ilanna's small frame had made it possible for her to slip through…barely.

  What now? Her mind raced. I could light the beamer and slip down the outside of the tower. That would be enough to prove I made the climb.

  She had completed her Undertaking. She could return and take her place as a full-fledged member of the Night Guild. But she wasn't satisfied, not yet. She hadn't come all this way just to leave so soon. She didn't need to enter the Black Spire, but that didn't matter. She would break in and steal something anyway. No one since Master Gold had done it; all considered it impossible. But not her.

  After this, no one will ever doubt me again. This will prove, once and for all, that I truly am the best of House Hawk!

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ignoring the stabbing ache in her legs, Ilanna crouched on the iron bars and twisted around to peer into the window. Darkness filled the room. She felt along the outer edges of the window frame. Stone and glass met her touch. No locks or latches here. None were needed; she was the only thief small enough to slip through the bars.

  Carefully, Ilanna drew her lockpick set. Her fingertips brushed the tools nestled in the folds of dark cloth. She drew out a tool Denber had insisted she include—just in case, he'd said. Good thing I listened.

  The steel knife shone bright in the starlight. She gripped the tool tight, afraid of dropping it; the tiny diamonds set into the head cost a fortune. The knife sliced a thin crack into the glass. She sketched a rough circle, tracing over her lines a few times to ensure a proper cut. Her cut was uneven and jagged, but she didn't care. She only needed the hole to be large enough for her to slip in and out. The window, a single pace across and almost two paces high, would give her plenty of space.

  Slipping the knife back into the lockpick set, Ilanna took a deep breath. Now for the moment of truth. She tapped her elbow against the glass. Nothing happened. She tried again, harder. The window shattered and shards of glass tinkled on the floor inside.

  She eyed the hole. It was smaller than she had thought. She could still fit through, barely. Should I cut more? She shook off the thought. What if someone heard me? The Duke's guards could be climbing the tower at that very moment.

  She had no time to waste. It would have to do.

  Drawing her quickfire globes, she pressed them together and held them aloft. The red and blue light played tricks with her eyes, casting eerie shadows in the room. She studied the small room, searching for traps. Something about a section of floor tile drew her attention. They were slightly raised from the rest of the floor, but even with the tiles around them. Too neat to be an imperfection, too imperfect for precise craftsmanship.

  The section of tile stretched from the window to the doorway at the far end of the room and two paces in either direction. Almost as if it was designed to stop someone from entering or exiting this way.

  Ilanna slipped the black rope from the satchel. Securing one end around the iron bars, she lowered herself through the window and crawled spider-like down the wall. She hung a hand's breadth above the floor, scarcely daring to breathe.

  What appeared to be one section of uneven flooring was actually two. Two separate rows of tiles, with a slim line—no wider than her foot—running down the middle. She didn't dare press the raised flooring. No doubt it triggered some trap or alarm.

  Every muscle taut, Ilanna placed a foot gingerly on the center row of tile, hoping to encounter solid flooring. She half-expected to hear the dreaded click. Nothing came. She rested her full weight on the floor. Silence.

  She forced herself to breathe deep. Holding her breath would only reduce her coordination and b
alance. One step forward, then two. No click. Ilanna wavered, gasping as she tried to catch her balance. Years of training kicked in.

  A familiar, soothing voice spoke in her mind. "Bend your knees a little, lift your head, shoulders back, and hold your arms out." Ilanna moved in time with the remembered words, following their instructions. "Find an object in the near distance, something for you to focus on, and look only there. Keep your eyes fixed on it, lift your foot high, and step. And step. And step." No hesitation, no fear; only Mama's voice to guide her.

  A memory played in Ilanna's mind. She and Mama were in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, tending to the plants. Mama brushed aside a hair and kissed her forehead.

  A soft smile touched Ilanna's lips. "Thank you, Mama."

  Memories of the garden brought back thoughts of Ethen, shattering Ilanna's calm. Her stomach twisted in knots and nervous tension filled every muscle. What if she got caught? What would happen to Ethen? Would they let him die, or would they continue to care for him? She couldn't get caught! She couldn't leave him—

  The quickfire globes sputtered and died. Panic overwhelmed her. I have to get out of here! I have to escape before the Duke catches me. Her heart thundered, setting her hands twitching. She reached the open doorway and leapt through to the empty chamber beyond. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. How silly she'd been to think she could do the impossible! She was just a foolish girl.

  "No!" The single word came out in a harsh whisper, deafening in the silent tower. She gritted her teeth to push back the panic. I can do this. I am doing this! She stood in the Black Spire, a feat considered impossible. She couldn't leave, not yet. For Ethen.

  Ilanna drew the beamer from her satchel and lit it. The soft multi-colored lights of the lamp soothed her. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, then another. Holding the lamp high, she studied the room beyond. She could see no traps, but instinct warned her of danger. She crouched, letting the lamplight play along the floor. A fine silver wire stretched across the room. A tripwire. Heart thundering, Ilanna stepped over it.