The Bloody Hand had hired the arsonists who burned down her house and murdered her son. They had killed Prynn, her House Master, and Jarl. They had destroyed her world. She would return the favor. She couldn't invade Voramis and kill every damned one of them, but they had made the mistake of coming to her city. She would drive the Bloody Hand out of Praamis, no matter what the cost. She had nothing left to lose.
But how? After her trial, she had little doubt what most Journeymen or apprentices would do if they spotted her. Joost and Veslund had been a heartbeat from stopping her escape. Errik wouldn't lift a finger against her, but that wouldn't stop the rest of House Serpent. At best, he could delay the inevitable. She couldn't go to him, and she certainly couldn't go to Allon. Darreth, perhaps? But the Scorpion had nothing to offer her right now.
No, for the first time in fifteen years, Ilanna was truly alone. No Three to help her survive Master Velvet's torments. No Denber, Willem, or Werrin to watch out for her. No Jarl, Errik, Allon, Darreth, Joost, or Veslund to have her back. No Master Gold to scheme with. No Master Hawk to watch out for her. No Kodyn or Ria to comfort her. She had no one.
Better this way. The thought rang painfully hollow.
She had no one to trust, but no one that could be used against her. She had no reason for fear, nothing to hide. She could be Ilanna, the legend, the greatest thief to pass through House Hawk in living memory. She would be the Ilanna that had poisoned a priest of the Apprentice and put a dagger into the eye of a Secret Keeper. The Ilanna who had watched Toll dangle from a rope, killed Melinn without hesitation. The Night Guild had created this Ilanna. And now she would save them.
But not before I find out who the traitor is. She swallowed. Or traitors.
All the facts had pointed at Bryden. Everyone in the Guild knew of her enmity for the Hawk. It hadn't been difficult to set them at odds. But he'd proven his innocence—had he been the traitor, he would have let her die. With Master Gold and the rest of the Council dead, the way was clear for the Bloody Hand to take over. She was the only obstacle to their success.
If not Bryden, then who? She had nothing to go on. Toll and Melinn, her only links to the person who had hired them, were dead. They had pointed her at Bryden, no doubt the real traitor's intention. So who did she go to now?
She slipped into the charred wreckage of her home. The walls had crumbled, the roof caved in. She picked her way through the rubble toward what had once been the fireplace. Blackened beams blocked her progress.
Dismay twisted in her gut. She needed to get to her secret cache of gold and weapons. She had nothing but her filthy undergarments, the weapons in her bracer, and the sling around her wrist. Without coin, she'd have no chance of outrunning the Night Guild. But an enormous, blackened roof beam had collapsed directly atop the chest. She heaved with all her might, but she could have tried to lift the Royal Palace for all the good it did.
She scrabbled at the beam, her movements growing more frantic with every anxious heartbeat. They would be coming for her at any moment. She had to get into that chest and get out of here.
She threw her weight against the beam, straining every muscle to move it. Nothing. Agony flared in her arms, shoulders, and back.
Damn it!
Her lungs burned and her still-healing hands throbbed painfully. Her failure added to the tightness in her chest, until the mounting pressure exploded out of her with a violent gasp of air. She slammed a fist against the beam. Again and again, she beat at the wood. When it didn't budge, she turned her rage on the other debris piled high. She smashed charred furniture and pummeled the crumbling walls. Her cudgel brought the ruins of her life down around her.
One wild blow sent a pile of ashes spraying in all directions, but she caught a glint of metal in the moonlight. She picked up the object and was about to hurl it away, when she realized what it was: a tin hawk. The fire had melted away its sharp talons and curved beak, but the widespread wings remained unblemished. It was one of the last hawk figurines she'd brought her son.
A great sob heaved up from her chest. She bit down on her lip to suppress the flow of tears, but she could no longer outrun her sorrow. She wept then, great sobs bursting from her with a force beyond her control. Collapsing against the wall, she allowed the weight of her heart to drag her to the floor. She rocked back and forth, clutching the little, tin hawk to her chest, her fists clenched so tight the figurine dug into her palms. It was nothing compared to the pain of her loss.
A burden of hopelessness settled on her shoulders. This place, her home, was filled with memories of happiness: time she'd spent reading to Kodyn while snuggled in the stuffed armchair, sharing a meal with Ria, playing in the garden. All gone, lost to her forever. Her son, her friends, her family—all taken from her.
She would never again feel the warmth of her son snuggled against her on the cool winter's night, never see Ria's rare, dazzling smile light up a room. They would never again share meals around the kitchen table or laugh at Kodyn's antics. Their deaths left her cold, empty, and alone.
And she truly was alone.
She'd always had someone to turn to—during her time as a tyro, she'd been able to count on Three; during her apprentice years, she'd had Denber, Prynn, Jarl, and the twins; as a Journeyman, she'd counted on the help of Errik, Allon, and the rest of her crew.
Now, she had nowhere to go. Master Hawk or Master Gold might have had the power to aid her, but the newly elected Masters of House Serpent and House Hound would be risking a great deal if they tried to help. She wouldn't let them throw everything away.
That only made the feelings of being alone worse. She had to figure out how to survive, how to move forward, but she couldn't see a way out. The Night Guild was hunting her. They knew her tricks, her habits, her ways of operating. They knew the secret passages of the sewer tunnels and the rooftop routes of the Hawk's Highway. They'd put out every Fox, Grubber, and Hound to watch the streets. How could she possibly get out of this alive?
To make matters worse, she knew the Night Guild had a traitor—perhaps more than one. Someone was working with the Bloody Hand. She didn't know who to trust; anyone could be working with the Voramians, and one wrong word could lead to her capture.
A fist squeezed her heart, and her chest tightened. She found it hard to draw breath. Fingers of panic thrust into her brain. It was all just too much, too overwhelming! She wanted nothing more than to hide in the ashes of what remained of her life and let the world forget about her.
The girl she'd once been—Seven the tyro or Ilanna the apprentice—might have curled up and let the problem overwhelm her. But that girl had died long ago. Journeyman Ilanna of House Hawk would not lie down and die.
The tears slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Ilanna scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, not caring that her soot-stained sleeve left black streaks on her face. Clenching her fists, she stood and climbed out of the wreckage of her home. The sorrow receded until it remained a dull ache deep in her gut.
She paused at the scorched earth that had once been her garden. Her violas and Ria's rose bush had withered before the unnatural heat of the fire.
How fitting. The fire had taken her son and her happiness. With the death of Master Hawk and the others, she felt like the bare plot of land.
Yet she moved on with determination in her step. She found herself in an impossible situation, the odds hopelessly stacked against her. But she'd done the impossible before. She'd succeeded where everyone else had failed.
Journeyman Tyman loved to say, "You eat a cow one bite at a time." Her problems were too big to conquer now, but she could start with one bite.
And she knew where to begin. A filthy, ratty face flashed before her eyes. Filch. The Guild fence had lied about the payment stubs. Either that, or he truly believed the person who delivered those items had come from her.
She swallowed the lump in her throat as she leapt over the garden wall. She had a mission: to find the traitor and bring down the Bloody Hand. That p
urpose would keep her going, give her something to focus on. She glanced down at the metal figurine in her hand. The memories of Kodyn and Ria were all she needed to drive her.
First, a visit to Filch. He would tell her what she wanted to know, even if it killed him. Plus, he'd have plenty of gold on hand. Her visit to the fence would yield more than just answers.
Chapter Thirteen
Filch, you bastard!
Ilanna crouched in the shadows of a ramshackle building, studying the enormous warehouse in which Filch the fence stored the Guild's stolen merchandise. Though the street looked clear, Ilanna had caught a glimpse of dark-cloaked figures huddled in a nearby alley. Bloody Hand or Night Guild, she couldn't tell, but she had little doubt what they'd do if they caught her.
She'd used the Hawk's Highway to cross Praamis. The darkness of the rooftop hid her from any watching eyes on the street level. As long as she traveled at night, she could get around the city. She had to be careful—Bryden could have sent the few unwounded Hawks after her, or let the Serpents or Hounds onto the rooftops. However, she could outrun anyone.
What she couldn’t do was break into a heavily-guarded building without time to study the layout and prepare beforehand. She'd discarded the idea of storming the front door. From the outside, it appeared flimsy, one gust of wind from blowing off its hinges. But Ilanna had seen the two-finger-thick deadbolts and the heavy chain Filch used to bar the door. There were no locks for her to pick—she'd need a battering ram and a small army of Bloodbears to break it down. And she doubted the Bloodbears would be inclined to help her. They'd rather bring her in and see her executed. Those pig-headed louts knew how to hold a grudge.
That meant she had to finesse a way in. Most of the time, that meant breaking through an upstairs window, a skylight, or creeping in through a balcony door. The sentries seated atop the warehouse roof made that impossible, even for her.
So what now?
Whoever had used Filch to frame her would assume she would be coming here. That meant the men guarding the warehouse had strict orders to keep an eye out for her. She couldn't go through the front door or the roof. That left just one option.
* * *
"Make a sound and you're dead." The knife Ilanna pressed against Filch's throat reinforced the menace in her voice.
Filch's eyes flew wide, but his sleep-benumbed mind understood the threat enough to keep his tongue from flapping. He wrinkled his nose. "Keeper's teeth! You reek."
"Nice to see you, too. Keep your hands where I can see them." She applied more pressure and felt under Filch's ratty pillow until she found his dagger. "I'll be taking this." She tucked the blade into her belt. "Can't have you getting any ideas of using it on me."
"Can't blame a man for defendin' himself. 'Specially when a murderer breaks into his home and threatens him in his own bed."
Ilanna snarled. "Unless you'd like me to carve out your tongue, best you keep it from wagging."
Filch shook his head. "You ain't gonna do it." He sat up, ignoring the blade against his throat.
Ilanna's eyes widened. "You don't think so?" She dragged the edge across his skin, leaving a thin red line on his neck.
He winced but held her gaze. "Guild has somethin’ they need fenced, they call me. Gives a certain power, it does."
"You mean the men outside?" Ilanna jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Not the most useful lot. Didn't stop me from getting in here."
"So you're here. Don't mean you're gonna gut me. Do that and the Guild'll be after you."
"Didn't you hear?" Ilanna bared her teeth in a snarl. "I've been convicted of stealing from the Night Guild and sentenced to the Sanction. The Guild and I aren't exactly on speaking terms."
Even in the dim light, Ilanna saw Filch's face grow pale. "What?"
"Thanks to the evidence you presented at the trial." Ilanna whipped the dagger away from his neck and punched him in the face. "Which explains my being here." She placed her face dangerously close to his. "I want to know the truth. Why did you say I brought those items to you to be fenced?"
"Because you did," he hissed.
"No." Ilanna pushed the tip of the blade into the underside of his chin. "I brought you Lord Ulimar's necklace, but not the other two."
"Then someone in your crew is lyin’ to you!" Filch protested. He licked his thin lips.
"Crew?" Ilanna narrowed her eyes. "What crew?"
Filch gave her an odd look. "Your crew. Ichol the Grubber, Shade of House Fox." He seemed surprised at her shocked expression. "They brought the loot in your name. I gave 'em a receipt and all."
Wheels turned in Ilanna's mind. "Swear you're telling the truth." She pressed her knee into the fork of Filch's legs. "Swear it!"
Filch groaned. "I swear!" He gasped when Ilanna eased up the pressure on his groin, his hands going between his legs. "I thought everythin’ was in order when they brought it. I never meant to—"
Ilanna cut him off with a pommel strike to the temple. He'd awake with a headache, a bad one, but he'd live. That was more than she could say for herself if he decided to cry out for the men hidden below. Bloody Hand or Night Guild, they wouldn't have mercy on her.
Her mind raced as she searched Filch's office for the gold she knew he kept on hand. Ichol the Grubber, Shade of House Fox. Two Journeymen she'd never shared more than three words with. Did they have a reason to hate her? Gods knew enough people in the Night Guild did.
Hatred or not, they had helped to frame her. They would answer for that.
* * *
Ilanna wrinkled her nose at the reek of sewage emanating from her clothing. She'd have to purchase a few more sets if she intended to keep using the sewers to get around Praamis. At least up here, atop the Hawk's Highway, the wind carried away most of the stink.
She lay on the edge of the rooftop and studied the figures below. Two men in the orange-trimmed robes of House Fox leaned against the wall, talking to a group of Fox apprentices. This part of the city, a few streets south of The Gardens, belonged to the Black Foxes. During her apprenticeship with House Fox, Elmar, a Red Fox, had spoken of the Black Foxes with contempt. Their lack of vigilance and sloppy approach on targets confirmed Elmar's disdain. The Black Foxes certainly didn't number among the Night Guild's most talented.
Works out nicely for me, though. Shade hadn't thought to look up once, and she'd followed him around the city for an hour. If I can just get him alone…
As if in response to her thought, the other Journeymen shouted something to the apprentices and led them from the alley. Shade stayed behind to paw through a pile of loot. He was the Adam Tiler, the thief who stayed out of sight and held on to the day's takings. That way, if any of the light-fingers got caught, they wouldn't lose their entire haul. House Fox cared more for the filched purses and goods than their apprentices. Every new Choosing delivered a fresh crop of tyros to train.
Not for the first time, Ilanna wished she'd had time to grab supplies before fleeing the Night Guild. What she wouldn't give for soft-soled boots, her gloves, and a length of the marvelous lightweight rope created specifically by House Scorpion. The coarse rope she'd pilfered from an unattended cart burned her bare hands.
Her heavy boots, purchased at the first cobbler who would open the door to her, thumped on the ground. Shade spun, scattering loot in his surprise. Ilanna already had her throwing dagger out and hurtling through the air before he moved. He yelped as the blade scraped along the side of his head.
"Next one's in your eye, Shade." He didn't need to know she'd aimed for his shoulder. The flesh on her palms still hadn't fully healed, but remained stiff and tender to the touch.
"Ilanna?" His face wrinkled in confusion. "What the hell are you doing here?" He glanced nervously over his shoulder.
"Thought I'd be halfway to the Frozen Sea by now, eh?" Ilanna snarled. "Turns out I've a few questions I need answered. And who better to ask than the Journeyman who got me sentenced to death."
Confusion muddied Shade's expression.
"What are you talking about?"
"Filch and I had a…conversation. He said you brought in something claiming it was from me."
"Wasn't it?"
Ilanna sighed. Elmar was right. Stupid doesn't take a day off with these Foxes.
"Did you get it from me?" She spoke in the voice she'd used to explain to Kodyn why he couldn't eat ten sweetmeats at a time.
"No." He shook his head. "But when he gave them to me, I just assumed you knew."
It was Ilanna's turn to be confused. "He? He who?"
Shade opened his mouth to answer, when a cry echoed behind Ilanna. She whirled to see the other Fox Journeyman rushing toward her. The thud of booted feet warned her that Shade was rushing her. Without hesitation, Ilanna threw herself to the ground and lashed out with a backward kick. Shade's knee buckled with a loud snap of bone, and he fell to the ground, shrieking.
"She's here!" The other Fox's cry rang out. "I've found Ilanna!" He charged her, arms spread wide.
Snarling, she ducked under his grasping hands and slammed an uppercut into the taller man's groin. The Fox's eyes went wide and air whooshed from his lungs. With a pitiful wheezing whimper, he collapsed.
Ilanna didn't wait for Shade's screams to bring the Fox apprentices, the Praamian Guard, or the Bloody Hand down on her. She rushed toward the rope, caught it, and clambered up the wall with speed developed through years of training.
"There she is!" The shout echoed below and behind her. Ilanna cast a glance downward. Four bull-necked men rushed into the alleyway, cudgels grasped in their thick-fingered hands. Their clothes lacked the red trim of House Bloodbear, and their brutish, heavy faces were unfamiliar. They could only belong to the Bloody Hand.
Damn it! She hadn't gotten halfway up the rope before it pulled taut in her grip. A Bloody Hand thug swung himself up behind her. He moved far more slowly than she, but the rope groaned under his weight. The anchor couldn't possibly hold them both.
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