Queen of Thieves Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  "Thank you." At her nod, Errik slid his sword free of the big man's gut and darted out the door. "Might be a lesson for you, though. Next time someone comes in here and asks politely, best you answer."

  The balding man fell to his knees, pressing a hand to his bleeding gut. "Curse you, poxy bitch!"

  Ilanna rolled her eyes. "Men! Can't handle a bit of pain." She fixed the crowd with a baleful glare. More than a few of the balding man's companions had found their feet. A wild light filled their eyes, and fists balled all around. One man, a thick-necked fellow covered in blue tattoos, had a knife half-drawn from a sheath on his belt.

  "Don't do anything stupid," Ilanna snapped. "Best you take your seats, and I'll be on my way." She backed toward the tavern door. "If you're thinking of following me, know I'll put a dagger through the eye of the first man I see. And trust me, the Night Guild has blades enough for the lot of you."

  At the mention of the Night Guild, anger turned to hesitation, with a touch of fear mixed in for good measure. The tattooed man's blade remained in its sheath, though he didn't take his hand from the hilt.

  The balding man's voice echoed from the door behind her. "Don't be coming back here, girl!"

  Ilanna snorted as she strode into the streets. If she never saw The Poxy Fool again, it would be too soon.

  A meaty thump sounded from around the corner, followed by a grunt of pain. When she reached the alley, she found Errik holding a scruffy man by an even scruffier collar. The Serpent brought his knee up into the man's face with a crunch. Blood sprayed and, with a half-squeak, half-grunt, the man collapsed to the muddy ground.

  "Bring him," Ilanna told Errik. "Let's take our friend Melinn someplace quiet. We're going to have a chat, he and I."

  Errik threw a hood over Melinn's head and hoisted the unconscious man onto his shoulders. Their steps led only a few hundred paces north, toward an empty warehouse she'd chosen for this very purpose. She held the rickety door open for Errik, who had to stoop with his burden to enter.

  The building was empty and long-abandoned. Sunlight spilled through a crumbled section of roof, revealing sagging walls and a floor covered with dust, debris, and dried thatch.

  "There." Ilanna pointed to the only pillar still standing.

  Errik dropped Melinn, not taking care to be gentle. The blow must have been harder than she realized, for the man didn't stir as he thumped onto the ground.

  Ilanna untied the rope from her waist and handed it to Errik. Within a minute, the unconscious man was secured to the pillar, arms trapped in the loops encircling his torso. He could struggle all he wanted—he wouldn't get out of the ropes unless she let him out.

  She scanned the warehouse, and a nearby bucket caught her attention. The water within reeked, and a slimy muck covered the wood.

  She handed the bucket to Errik and tore the hood off Melinn's head. "Wake him up."

  Errik emptied the foul contents across the unconscious man.

  Melinn jerked upright, spluttering and gasping as stinking, icy water splashed over him. "What in the--?" His eyes darted wildly about. He struggled against the ropes, but the knots held. Panic stained his features. "What's all this?"

  His gaze fell on Ilanna, then to the throwing knife she twirled in her fingers. She twisted the blade to reflect the sunlight into his eyes.

  He squinted and twisted away. "W-Who are you?"

  Ilanna didn't move, didn't speak. She fixed the man with a fierce glare and kept the dagger spinning. The movement sent pain shooting through her hands. She didn't stop; she had to keep the flesh supple while it healed, else risk reduced mobility in her fingers.

  Melinn's eyes darted between her and Errik, who leaned against the wall behind her. "Where am I?"

  "Wrong question." Ilanna spun the dagger faster, grimacing at the pain. "Try again."

  Fear danced across Melinn's face. His mouth worked, but no sound came. Finally, he stammered out, "W-Why a—?"

  "There you are. That's the right question." Ilanna smiled, but the chill of her voice matched the icy rage in her chest. Her arm flew back and forward, sending the dagger spinning through the air. Melinn screamed as a finger's length of steel pierced the meat of his bony shoulder.

  She growled. She'd aimed for his leg.

  "I have two questions for you," she said. "Answer them, or your death will be slow and painful. Speak truly, and you need fear nothing. Do you understand?"

  Blinking back tears, Melinn nodded.

  Ilanna drew in a deep breath. "You burned Old Town Market." A statement, not a question.

  Melinn's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest. Ilanna buried another throwing dagger in his other shoulder. At least this time she'd aimed for it.

  She waited until his cries died down before speaking. "The man who sold you the Serenii fire identified you. Seems you weren't bright enough to give him a false name." She tugged up his shirt sleeve, revealing a long stripe of scorched flesh. "Who knew arsonists could be so clumsy?"

  Tears streamed down Melinn's face. "If you already know, why--?"

  Ilanna's fist slammed into his gaunt jaw, snapping his head to the side. "I'm pretty sure I was the one asking questions. Now, here's what I want to know." She bent to place her face level with his. "First, why?"

  Melinn clamped his mouth shut. Ilanna tapped the knife embedded in his right shoulder. "Be warned, this dagger's right next to the muscle that moves your arm. If I push it just right…" She demonstrated, and he screamed until she eased up on the tension. "Make me do that again, and you'll walk out of here with a useless arm."

  "Keeper's bones!" the man shrieked, spitting a mixture of tears and snot.

  "There are only two reasons a man sets fire to a marketplace." She held up two fingers. "Either someone's paying him to do it, or he likes to watch things burn. Judging by the look of you, I'm guessing it's a mixture of the two."

  "If you already know all this, why the hell are you asking me?" Melinn's voice had a nervous quaver.

  "I'm not asking you why you burned down Old Town Market." She bared her teeth in a snarl and held a long, curved dagger under his nose. "I want to know why you burned down my house."

  Melinn's eyes went wide. "Now wait a minute, I didn't burn no house. That was…" His voice trailed off as he realized what he'd been about to say.

  Of course. That fire couldn't have been started by just one man. Not this one man, at least. He has to have a partner. Maybe more than one.

  "Which brings me to my second question. Who paid you to do it?" She narrowed her eyes. "Was it your partner, or someone else?"

  Melinn's face tightened at the word “partner”.

  Ilanna rolled her eyes. Sweet Mistress, he'd make the world's worst gambler.

  She ripped the dagger from his left shoulder. He shrieked and writhed in pain, but the ropes held him fast. Ilanna held the bloody dagger above his head. Blood dripped onto his forehead and slid down his face, into his eyes and mouth.

  "Tell me your partner's name," she demanded, "and this will all be over."

  "I can't!" Melinn moaned. "He'll kill me if I do."

  Ilanna shook her head. "You'll never have to worry about him again. Not when I'm done with him."

  Melinn blinked blood from his eyes and peered up at her. "You swear?"

  Ilanna nodded. "On the Watcher's name. If you give me the name of the man who hired you, I will ensure he is never a problem for you."

  Melinn hesitated. Ilanna could see the sluggish working of his mind as he weighed his options. The dagger stained with blood—his blood—a hand's breadth from his face tipped the scales.

  "Toll. His name is Toll."

  "Good," Ilanna said. "Now tell me where I can find him."

  Melinn's shoulders slumped. "I don't know. He finds me when he needs something…burned."

  Ilanna bent close, her eyes narrowing. She searched his eyes for any sign of deceit and found none. "Toll. Did he tell you why?"

  Melinn shook his head. "He just showe
d me the gold."

  Ilanna's stomach curled. With a snarl, she drove the dagger into his throat.

  The arsonist's eyes went wide. Blood pumped from the wound, spilling down his tunic and dripping onto the ground. Ilanna watched it, her fury blazing hot. The man before her had burned down Old Town Market—destroying the livelihood of hundreds of people, killing and injuring dozens—for nothing more than a few coins and the sheer pleasure of it. The world was better off without him.

  Melinn struggled one last time, giving a wet gurgling cough, and his body slumped.

  "Ilanna!" A gasp sounded behind her.

  Ilanna whirled.

  Allon stood in the open door, his eyes wide, mouth agape. His gaze darted between her bloodstained dagger and the sagging corpse beside her.

  Ilanna's fists clenched. "What in the frozen hell are you doing here? Are you following me?"

  "Can you blame me?" Allon gesticulated at Melinn's dead body. "This is insane."

  "Is it?" Ilanna stalked toward him, rage bubbling in her chest. "He's the one responsible for burning down Old Town Market."

  "And your house?" Allon asked.

  "No." Ilanna fixed him with a furious glare. "He had a partner."

  Allon's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure?"

  Ilanna nodded. "And I'm going to track him down." She made to move past him, but Allon barred her way.

  "Let me help you."

  Ilanna snarled up at him. "Why?"

  Allon flinched, but held his ground. "Because…" He ran a hand through his long hair. "Because you're hurting and I want to help." He gave her a strange look.

  Ilanna wanted to shove him aside. She could see it in his eyes: he thought she was crazy for being so angry at the loss of a house. After stealing Lady Auslan's corpse, she had enough money to buy a dozen houses far nicer and larger. But he didn't know the real reason for her rage. He didn't know what she had lost.

  "Get out of the way, Allon," she snapped. "I don't have time for this. I have someone to find." She couldn't handle the emotional baggage that came with his presence.

  "Why not let me find him? Or her," Allon added quickly. "I'm a Hound, damn it. It's what we do."

  Ilanna opened her mouth to retort, but something made her hesitate. She ought to take him up on the offer. She had no idea where to find Toll, and she couldn't risk the arsonist catching word that she was hunting him. Much as she hated to admit it, Allon was damned good at his job. If anyone could locate Toll, it would be Allon.

  "Just give me a name, Ilanna," Allon said, his tone pleading. "I'll find the person for you."

  After a long, tense moment, Ilanna sighed. "Toll. The man I'm looking for is named Toll. I've no idea where to look for him, but—"

  "Got it." He turned and headed for the door. "Give me an hour, and I'll send word here."

  "You expect me to wait around for you?" she demanded.

  Allon shrugged. "Get something to eat and drink. I'll wager it's been a while since your last meal."

  The rumbling in Ilanna's stomach reminded her she hadn't seen food all day.

  "One hour." She held up a finger.

  With a nod, Allon slipped out of the door.

  Errik appeared from a shadowy corner. "Want me to look for Toll as well?"

  Ilanna nodded. "Do it." The wider she cast the net, the greater the chance she'd catch her prey. "Whatever the cost, I'll cover it."

  She would have words with the man who had burned down her home and murdered her son and Ria.

  Chapter Five

  "Hello, there," Ilanna said as Errik ripped the canvas hood from the man's head. "Toll, I presume?"

  Fear sparked in Toll's wide eyes. "W-What is th-this?"

  "Oh, if I was you, I'd stop moving. Your situation's a tad...precarious at the moment."

  For the first time, Toll looked around. He stood atop a rickety barrel, a noose around his neck. The rope ran over a wooden ceiling beam, where it was secured to a pillar behind him. One wrong move would tip the barrel over, leaving him at the mercy of the hempen necklace.

  "Just tell me what you want!" Desperation echoed in Toll's voice. "I-I've got money. I can pay you to—"

  Ilanna drew a dagger. "Shut up." At a nod, Errik hauled on the rope, pulling it taut.

  Toll gagged at the sudden pressure on his neck. He went up on his tiptoes and sucked in a ragged breath. "Please!"

  Ilanna settled in the chair she'd placed in front of the barrel. "You're going to tell me what I want to know." Toll jerked as she gave the barrel a gentle kick. "Everything. Understood?"

  The arsonist nodded and gasped for air. "Yes!"

  "Excellent."

  Ilanna drew a dagger and twirled it in her fingers. The scorched flesh of her hands had stiffened, even with Darreth's ointment. She reddened as the weapon clattered to the floor.

  Retrieving the blade, she tapped it against her lips as she stood and walked around him. "We found Melinn. He already admitted to burning down Old Town Market."

  Toll's rodent face grew deathly pale, and he swallowed.

  "But Melinn's not your problem," Ilanna said in a hard, cold voice. "Not anymore."

  She snapped her fingers, and Errik dumped Melinn's corpse in full view of Toll. Horror twisted the man's expression. Melinn's face had gone pale in death, his mouth agape, his open eyes fixing Toll with an unseeing gaze. His blood had dried, darkened, and crusted.

  Toll's eyes snapped back to Ilanna as she pulled a chair closer and sat, resting her feet on the barrel. "Now you've me to deal with."

  "W-Who are you?" The arsonist's eyes darted to Errik, who had returned to his place in the shadows of the warehouse.

  Ilanna shook her head. "Does it really matter?"

  Sweat trickled down Toll's face. Already his legs had begun to tremble. "You can't just kill me! The Night Guild won't take kindly to—"

  "Oh, I don't think you've much to worry about where that's concerned." Ilanna held up her bracer to show him the insignia of House Hawk. "I'm certain the Night Guild won't mind me killing the bastard who burned down Old Town Market. After all, a pretty sizeable chunk of our income"—she emphasized the word—"came from the merchants and traders who passed through the marketplace."

  Toll's shoulders slumped as his desperate hope crumbled. "What do you want?" he cried. Tears mingled with the sweat trickling down his face. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Just don't kill me."

  Ilanna hopped to her feet and walked around the barrel, kicking it every second step. "I want you to tell me why you burned down Old Town Market. I want the name of the person who hired you to do it." She glanced back at Errik and spoke in a low, dangerous tone. "And I want you to tell me why you burned down my house."

  The arsonist paled further. "Your house?"

  Ilanna nodded. "That's right, you festering maggot of a coward. You went into my house and set it on fire, burning down..." She stopped herself from saying “everything I loved”, instead finishing with, "…everything I own."

  She slashed her knife across the back of his right calf. "And you're going to tell me why."

  Toll wailed, his leg quivering as he struggled to stand. "Please! I just did it for the money."

  Ilanna sliced his left calf. "Who paid you?"

  "I don't know!" The arsonist's desperate cry echoed in the warehouse. "I never saw his face."

  "How did you know it was a he?"

  "His voice. I heard his voice. He wore a dark hood, came to me at night."

  "Did he give you a name?"

  "No!" Toll drew in a ragged breath. "But his gold was Praamian."

  Ilanna sneered. "And that's all that mattered to you." Anger burned in her chest. "You didn't care that you were going to maim and kill people, deprive hard-working Praamians of their livelihood."

  "I was just trying to feed my family!" Toll broke down into sobs. "He offered me enough to buy my children food for a year."

  And you burned my child to death. Ilanna tightened her grip on her dagger. Only
the pain in her hands kept her from carving Toll to ribbons where he stood. She wanted to make him feel the torment she felt as she watched her house collapse, the agony lancing her chest at the thought of never seeing Kodyn again.

  She drew in a deep breath, tried to calm her pounding heart. Something about his words didn't make sense. "Why in the bloody hell would a Praamian want to burn down Old Town Market?" Trade goods from around Einan flowed through the marketplace. The damage would harm the city's economy.

  "He said something about a bloody hand. I didn't understand it, but—"

  "What?" Ilanna slammed her hand onto the barrel top, setting it quivering. "He said what?"

  "I-I…" Toll licked his lips. "He was rambling, didn't make sense. Said something about the bloody hand wanting me."

  "And that 'Bloody Hand' doesn't mean anything to you?"

  "No!" Toll gave a violent shake of his head. "I thought it had something to do with the Night Guild. A secret code or something. Maybe a threat that they'd kill me if I didn't do it. I had to take the job."

  Ilanna's fists clenched. Sweet Mistress. The Bloody Hand.

  The Bloody Hand had hired Toll to burn down Old Town Market. No doubt out of revenge for the men Ilanna had killed. Either they'd masqueraded as Praamians, or they had contacts in Praamis.

  "And the house?" Her blade pierced the back of his right knee. "Why did you burn down the house?"

  Toll's knees buckled and he sagged. At Ilanna's nod, Errik hauled on the rope, pulling Toll upright once more.

  "I'm not done with you," Ilanna snarled at the wheezing arsonist. "Why did you burn down the house?"

  "I don't know!" Toll gasped, his voice a hoarse croak. "The man who hired me, he showed me where he wanted the fires set. He pointed out your house and told me to make sure it burned with the market."

  Ilanna's blood ran cold. The Bloody Hand had targeted her. They'd known where she lived. But how? She'd never encountered them until her trip to Voramis. Yet somehow, they had reached Praamis the same day as her to deliver their gruesome message—the corpse of Prynn, her fellow Hawk. But she hadn't gone home after her return. So how had they known about her home?