Queen of Thieves Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  But Duke Phonnis, Chief Justiciar of Praamis, held honor above all. Not only his own personal honor, but that of his family. He perceived the House of Keadanis' role in the formation of the Night Guild as a stain. He would do whatever he could to erase that stain. His vendetta against her had been personal, just not in the way she'd suspected.

  For decades, the Duke had used the lure of the Black Spire to goad thieves into greater excesses. He'd built a reputation as a thief-catcher, creating new and clever ways to trap the Night Guild. He had made a spectacle of each Guild death. Each was intended as a taunt. To maintain their reputation, the Guild would be forced to respond to his actions with greater and more visible excesses. Eventually, they would cross a line. The wrong person would be injured or the wrong house would be burgled, and an irate nobleman would complain to the King. Eventually, with enough complaints, King Ohilmos would be forced to act. Duke Phonnis would have the power of the Crown to eradicate the Night Guild.

  King Ohilmos had shown his pragmatic side. He tolerated the Night Guild's existence because he truly believed it served the city. He didn't know, or simply didn't care, how much it pained his brother to know his family had created the Guild. The more the King took advantage of the Guild—a valuable tool against his noblemen—the more the Duke suffered.

  The relief in the Duke's eyes spoke more eloquently than any sermon. Years spent planning and patiently waiting would come to fruition in two days when he sentenced every captured member of the Night Guild to death. He had a glimpse of what a life of freedom from the stain on his family's honor would be like. And he'd be damned if he let her mess it up.

  It didn't take a genius to make the connection between Grand Reckoner Edmynd's ledger and the Duke's private documents. The Duke had to know she had the documents in her possession. Which was why he had imprisoned her here in the Black Spire instead of placing her on trial. He wouldn't risk that the item she'd stolen from the Coin Counter's Temple could be used against the King.

  The nobility of Praamis would riot if they knew the King not only permitted the Night Guild to operate, but used their services. They would overthrow the House of Keadanis for its treachery. The document Ilanna had stolen from the Coin Counter's Temple—a document that was meant to be impossible for anyone but the Duke to access—gave her the power to turn Praamis upside down.

  "Then let us bargain," she said. "Give me my freedom, and the document will never see the light of day. You will have it in your hands by day's end."

  The Duke shook his head. "My brother would make such a deal. Perhaps even freedom for a few of your fellow Guild members as well. He, too, knows what would happen if the truth got out. But I would never trust my brother's life and rule in the hands of your kind. I will not have your actions come back to haunt him. I will do whatever I must to protect my brother." His eyes glazed over, as if at a painful memory. "He has suffered enough for one lifetime."

  Again, Ilanna's idea of the Duke crumbled in the face of that single sentence. Duke Phonnis believed in honor and the sanctity of law and order above all else. Yet he, like all men, had one flaw, one vulnerability. His was his love for his brother.

  The Duke's history as a military commander gave him a better seat for the throne of Praamis. Indeed, he would have ruled had not King Radian, his father, died while the Duke battled the barbarian hordes across the Frozen Sea. Ohilmos had assumed the crown to prevent chaos in the city. When Phonnis, then-Duke of Praamis, returned two years later, Ohilmos had established his rule. Yet it was Praamis' worst kept secret that the city's nobility would support the Duke should he ever desire the crown. Ilanna had overheard her share of debates as to why the Duke hadn't seized control from his weaker brother.

  Fraternal love…such an odd sentiment from the egocentric nobility of Praamis. The Duke's love for his brother kept him from doing anything that could weaken the King’s control over the fractious nobles. He'd had enough men to raid the Night Guild for years, but held himself in check because his King commanded it. He had worked within the system to achieve his desires, used his position as Chief Justiciar of Praamis to finally eradicate the Guild. Without harming his brother's power in the city, he would finally cleanse his family's honor.

  It also explained why the document proving the Night Guild's origin lay in the Duke's private vaults, secure in the Coin Counter's Temple, and not in the Royal Library where anyone could stumble across it. The Duke had no doubt pleaded for the King’s permission to destroy the document, yet honored his brother's wishes.

  Such an odd combination, those two. A sense of honor strong enough to drive the Duke to break an oath and betray his brother's agreement with me. A brother’s love so powerful he would sacrifice his desires for years. Ilanna shook her head, incredulous. The man before her bore no resemblance to the Duke she had built up in her mind.

  Desperation surged within her. How could she appeal to such a man? Her weapons—gold and threats of violence—would do little given her current predicament. She had only one choice.

  "You think Praamis is safe because you have captured the Night Guild?" she asked. "The Bloody Hand is still out there. They won't just leave because you killed a few of them. They'll return, this time with enough men to hold the Guild."

  The Duke gave her a cold, tight smile. "Let them come. We will be ready for them."

  Something about that made Ilanna shiver. How many men does he have in the tunnels right now? He wouldn't be content until he learned every secret of the network of passageways beneath Praamis.

  "In my years commanding the army," Duke Phonnis said, "I've learned there's only one way to defeat an enemy: hit him hard, and keep hitting him until he's dead. That's exactly what we're going to do. We'll hit the bastards so hard they'll never show their faces in Praamis again."

  "You're willing to lose more men over it?" she asked. "If you kill Rhynd and his remaining men now, the Bloody Hand will be wiped out. But if you don't drive out all the vermin, they'll multiply. Like termites in a house, you'll never get rid of them. How many more of your men will die because you're too short-sighted to realize that I'm your only hope?"

  The Duke's face darkened. "How dare you? You'd say whatever it takes to get what you want, but you care nothing for the men who fell in your Derelana-damned tunnels. You'll never have to see the faces of their wives and children, never have to hear their weeping as you tell them their husbands and fathers won't be coming home." A cloud passed over his eyes. "There's not enough coin in the world to make up for that."

  "Then let me out, and no more need die!" Desperation tinged Ilanna's voice. "I want to drive the Bloody Hand from Praamis as much as you do. They killed my son, burned him to the ground right in front of me! I want to hunt down every one of the twisted bastards and give them the punishment they deserve."

  "And that," the Duke said, punctuating his sentence with a thrust of his finger, "is exactly what makes your kind such a plague on this city. The Night Guild was initially created to protect Praamis, to curb the excesses of criminals. But it has become a twisted, perverted creation. One that places gold over human life, so bent on vengeance you forget justice. It is for this reason that you must be done away with once and for all. Even if it means I have to sentence hundreds of Praamians to death. By purging your ilk, we will be forging a better future for Praamis."

  Ilanna met the Duke's gaze. He actually believes every word he's saying. And that makes him impossible to sway. Nothing she could offer, promise, or threaten would deter him. There are none so blind as a good man who believes he is doing what is right.

  The hopelessness of her situation hit her like a blow to the gut. She couldn't talk her way out of this one, couldn't fight through the Duke and his Arbitors empty-handed, couldn't run or climb away. She was trapped in the tallest tower in Praamis, prisoner of a man who genuinely believed in the correctness of his actions.

  Her despair must have shown on her face, for the Duke gave her a satisfied nod. "It is over," he said. "There is n
othing for you to do but get comfortable. You will be here a long, long time. You will outlast your fellow criminals, but you must live with the knowledge that you are the artist of your own destruction."

  Tears burned in Ilanna's eyes. She felt suddenly tired, so very tired. She'd spent months running. Trying to earn her freedom from the Night Guild. Covering up her secrets. Stealing, torturing, and killing anyone who got in her way. Chasing down the men who had burned her life to ashes. Trying to find a way to deal with the Bloody Hand. Endless hours spent working toward…nothing. She had nothing left.

  Ilanna's shoulders slumped. "Grant me one small favor," she said, her voice quiet.

  The Duke cocked his eyebrow. "Ask. I make no promises."

  "In my pouch, there was a little metal figurine. A hawk, scorched by the fire that…" She swallowed. "The fire that took my son. Please let me have it. If nothing else, it will give me something to remember him by."

  The Duke frowned, eyes narrowed. He searched her face for any sign of deceit. Ilanna kept her expression sorrowful and desperate—an easy task, given the circumstances. He opened the door and snapped his fingers, demanding the pouch. An Arbitor stepped forward and handed it to him. The Duke rummaged for a moment before drawing out the metallic figurine.

  Anger burned within Ilanna as he thumbed the bit of scorched metal. That was hers! How dare he touch it?

  The Duke tossed the figurine to her. "Keep it." A shadow passed over his face. "For what it's worth, I am sorry for your loss."

  Again, the Duke's words caught Ilanna by surprise. She'd spent so many months hating the man for everything he'd done to her—hanging Denber, sending Werrin to the Field of Mercy, killing dozens of Journeymen. Yet the sympathy in his eyes seemed genuine.

  She slumped onto the small cot against one wall, her head thunking on hard stone. Duke Phonnis turned and pressed a pendant to an unnaturally smooth stone beside the entrance, and the door slid open. The Duke and his guards filed out without a backward glance. Ilanna's eyes fell to the figurine in her hand, her fingers tracing the contours in the metal, as the door to her prison chamber boomed shut with an echo of finality.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A moaning, whining wind ripped through Ilanna's prison chamber atop the Black Spire. The piercing sound drowned out the incessant chatter of her teeth. She huddled shivering against the stone wall. Her threadbare blanket did little to keep out the cold. Indeed, it seemed the wind drove daggers of ice through the tattered fabric and into her skin.

  Images of horror and death plagued her dreams. The dead from her past melded with those who would soon stand before the Long Keeper.

  The small, wiry Journeymen and apprentices of House Fox fell beneath the flashing blades of the Duke's Arbitors. Thousands of crossbow bolts riddled the bodies of Scorpions, Grubbers, and Hounds, pinning them to the wall like gruesome trophies on display. Serpents died, crushed beneath the heels of laughing Bloodbears. The faces of the Bloody Hand thugs contorted like demonic masks, fangs sinking into the flesh of her fellow Hawks. Again and again they died, a thousand lives snuffed out a thousand times over.

  She felt each death, knew the moment their lives ended. Too soon, she cried out, weeping. Moans and tortured screams blew all around her, carried on the howling wind.

  The corpses stared at her with accusing eyes. Ethereal murmurs filtered into her senses, whispering, Because of you. Your fault. Your guilt.

  She wanted to protest, but could not. It was because of her. They had died because she chose to bring the Duke's men into the Guild tunnels.

  The dreams worsened. One by one, familiar faces whirled before her eyes.

  Master Hawk hung from the Perch, his blood dripping into a crimson pool beneath his feet. Jarl dangled limp and silent from a hangman's rope, Denber beside him. Allon struggled to break free of an enormous hand clamped around his throat.

  Darreth died beneath the pounding of Rhynd's bloodstained fists—she felt every blow, and cried out at the pain of crushed bones and pulverized flesh. Werrin and Willem struggled against the merciless embrace of the Field of Mercy. She gasped for air, choking as the thick mud slid down her throat, dragged her into oblivion.

  Everyone she knew died, the images of horror flashing past one after another.

  She stared down into the wide-open eyes of Master Gold. The Guild Master lay unmoving beneath her, his face slack, a shrieking wind tearing from his gaping mouth. She wanted to cover her ears to block out the noise, but her arms refused to move.

  A faceless figure—the traitor, she knew—held a dagger to Errik's back. She tried in vain to cry out, to warn him. Her tongue refused to form words. Errik groaned as the blade plunged between his ribs, and Ilanna wept.

  Pillars of emerald fire consumed the world around her. Before her, just out of arm's reach, Ria and Kodyn lay in a burning bed. Their screams of torment echoed in her skull with such fury that it ripped her from sleep.

  She jerked upright, covered in sweat, every limb trembling. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She struggled to remind herself the images were nothing more than her imagination, but they seemed so real. She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear the faces of the dead from her mind.

  She struggled to a sitting position, leaning against the chilly stone wall of her towertop prison. Her throat was parched, her tongue so thick she could not form a single word. She had only the sound of her heartbeat and the shrieking wind for company.

  Ilanna clutched the lump of melted, misshapen metal to her chest. Though her fingers had long ago gone numb with the chill, she stroked the figurine, her only link to sanity. Slowly, the panic, fear, guilt, and sorrow retreated to the back of her mind—not gone, simply…away for now.

  She forced her exhausted eyelids open and stared up at the stars. Their twinkling taunted her. Fly free, little Hawk, they screamed, daring her to leap from the tower.

  Despair filled her, accompanied by an aching loneliness that overwhelmed her in the silent darkness. She had lost everything—family, friends, the Guild, even her freedom.

  End it all, the wind whispered in her ears. End the misery, the suffering.

  Everyone she knew would hang in two days' time. The Night Guild would be eradicated, and the Bloody Hand would win. Rhynd would kill Darreth, Allon, Errik, Joost, and Veslund. She would spend the rest of her life alone, trapped in the highest tower in Praamis.

  The faces of Ria and Kodyn hovered before her eyes. Join us, they seemed to say, and you'll never be alone. Tears slid down her cheeks, and sobs shook her shoulders. The sorrow poured forth from her in long, keening cries carried away by the wind. For long moments, the temptation to put an end to her suffering fought to overwhelm her. She ached to wrap her arms around her son and pull him close. To see the rare smile on Ria's face, the hint of a twinkle in her eye.

  The Duke's words echoed in her mind. "You are the artist of your own destruction."

  He was right. She had allowed her confidence in her abilities to run away with her. She should have thought beyond just her immediate plan. She should have known the Duke would use her successes against her. But her desire for freedom had blinded her. Because of that desire, she had failed. Failed to protect Kodyn and Ria. Failed to save Denber, Werrin, Willem, Prynn. Failed to keep the Bloody Hand from destroying the Night Guild. Worse, she had betrayed them all to Duke Phonnis. Hundreds of Journeymen, apprentices, and tyros would hang because of her.

  No.

  The single word rang in her mind louder than the midnight toll of the Lady's Bells. She had betrayed the Night Guild to save it. She had done everything in her power to keep the Bloody Hand at bay. She couldn't have known they would set fire to her house, would torture Prynn to death. She couldn't have stopped the Duke's men cutting the rope that sent Willem to his death, from catching Denber and Werrin.

  A thought nagged at the back of her mind. She knew Denber too well. He wouldn't have entered Lord Morrin's mansion unless he was certain he could g
et out. She'd never questioned the circumstances surrounding his capture and death, but written it off as the price of their trade. But Denber was too good to be caught.

  She bolted upright. He wouldn't have been caught, not unless someone had alerted the Duke that he would be there. Just as someone had alerted Duke Phonnis of her attempt on Lord Auslan's mansion. Once, she could call it pure, rotten luck, but twice?

  Horror sent a fresh shiver through her. Had the traitor used Denber to goad her into taking action against the Duke? They'd delivered Denber to the Arbitors knowing he was her only true friend. His death had all but guaranteed she would exact vengeance—just as she had on Sabat. The person who had sent the notes knew precisely what she had done to him.

  She'd believed the notes bore Master Gold's handwriting, but they had to have been forged, just like the other evidence found in Master Hawk's chambers. Someone had been blackmailing her for five years. That meant they—whoever they were—had to know a great deal about her. They had access to her rooms. All the evidence had pointed at Bryden, but the Hawk's actions had dispelled her theories.

  The answer hung just out of reach. Try as she might to corral her thoughts and concentrate on the identity of the traitor, the biting cold and the wailing of the wind drove her to distraction. She had to find a moment of peace to think.

  No, she had to get out of here. Jarl would die in two days. Errik, Darreth, and the others couldn't have much longer. The Duke planned to keep her locked up here for the rest of her life. If tonight was any indication, the wind and chill would drive her insane. She needed out now, before hunger and thirst weakened her. She doubted the Duke would give her more than enough food and water to keep her alive. The fatigue in her limbs and mind would only worsen with time.

  She needed to get out of here now.

  Grimacing at the pain in her numb limbs, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled toward the open window. The ground was so far below—could she make the descent without rope or climbing spikes? Not a Bloodbear's chance in a contest of intelligence. Without gloves or shoes, she would plummet to her death. She couldn't get out that way.