Much more.
How could she not have seen them sneak it on board? She'd watched from the tower for this very reason. If the Revolution wanted more, they'd have to pay for it. In one way or another. She needed to know who supplied the contract and where to find them, and she needed to know now .
Narra spun from the burning pyre enveloping the train station, and padded across the stone roof. She flipped over the edge, the metal cooling her warm hands as she grabbed onto the metal bar below. Skipping as many steps as possible, she flew from the third floor to the ground, her heart racing with her. More cinnamon and vanilla flew up her nostrils in the alley. Slipping onto her steambike, Narra started the engine. It roared to life, its gears grinding, asking for more coal. With such a small engine, it often needed refilling. She glanced at its gauges. She'd have enough power to get where she was going. Narra hit the gas and took off into the night.
Narra slammed her boot into the wooden bar door. It flew open, crashing against the frame. Splinters of worn pine fell to the floor. She'd owe her uncle a new door, but she didn't care. Twenty sets of curious criminal eyes stared from their occupied oak tables. Tall mugs full of ale littered every surface. A bar maiden rushed by to grab a platter of empties, taking her moment of reprieve from the sexual advances of drunk men to do her job.
Flicking back her hood, she flattened the curve of her angry frown, though her blue eyes still silenced the usually rowdy crowd. A commander is always calm, assertive— Narra squashed the voice. She didn't need her father telling her to stay calm in front of all these people.
A head of long brown hair peeked up from behind the bar, a rag in one hand and half an empty bottle of whiskey in the other. Her uncle grinned and waved her over.
"Rheka!" he called, flashing his teeth.
Several sets of dark Rovan eyes glanced from her stone-like expression to her cheerful uncle. Narra's gaze slid over the men present: several new and old Thieves, a few locals, mostly gang members, and one cloaked man who's pale face she didn't recognize.
Stepping inside, Narra flicked her hair from her shoulder. She walked slowly across the bar, the patrons scurrying aside to let her through. She nodded briefly to one of the Boomer initiates—one of the boys she'd berated for blowing up that warehouse—and another thief, an older member from Claudia's Picks. He glared at her beneath a heavy brow. She stared back with cold eyes.
"Come, grab a drink, niece!" Her uncle thudded a large mug on the counter.
Narra stopped at the bar stools, her claws sinking into the polished wood. With the storm passed, the patrons resumed quiet chatter.
She met her uncle's equally blue gaze. "I swear to Ashra if you do not tell me who supplied the Revolution's contract, I will send them all to meet Lady Death myself."
Alden blanched, the color draining from his olive skin. He knew better than most that she meant her threats. This wasn't the first time a contract had gone awry.
Her uncle slowly nodded, sweat beading on his temples beside his widened eyes. His genuine smile turned forced, his lips pressing in a thin line. Narra narrowed her gaze—he was stalling.
"You know I don't know the exact person supplying every contract unless I sign them myself, Narra," he whispered. He leaned forward on the bar, idly running his rag over the already clean surface.
"Rheka ," she hissed.
Alden raised his brows. "Rheka , you're being unreasonable."
"If you didn't sign them, then I want to speak with the Guild Master now ."
His blue orbs widened further, his pupils dilating. "You know I can't—"
Narra's fist slammed against the bar with a loud thump. The chatter silenced. Calm , Narra urged herself. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and slowly unfurled her fingers.
"You are the only one that knows, and you will bring me to him." She met his gaze.
Alden shifted his jaw and scratched the back of his head. His eyes darted from his patrons—not quite as rowdy as before—to the door with the chain hanging loose, the gas lamps swaying from the ceiling, and finally at her.
Narra quirked an eyebrow. She wanted an answer.
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll see what I can do."
Unclenching her jaw, Narra nodded. She leaned away from the bar and returned her hands inside her cloak. "I owe you a door," she said.
Her uncle blinked at her in wide-eyed confusion before he laughed heartily. Narra arched a brow while he grinned from ear to ear. "This one’s on me, Rheka. Go on home, and say hi to your dad for me."
Unsure what was so funny, Narra simply agreed and headed for the door. Several sets of eyes followed her out, from the Thieves, to the other assorted criminals, and the mysterious man in the corner.
D ark brick arched on either side of the corridor, lit only by small torches that sat in ancient iron holders, blackened with wear. Almost three centuries ago, the Rovan Empire had been born and with it the Thieves Guild. While the Guild had their place amongst history's greatest conquerors, their base still remained a secret to all but its members.
Heat poured over Narra’s skin as she passed the last of the torches and emerged into the Den—a large room built beneath the city with few entrances. Most of the initiates roamed to and from joining passages, everything from piles of daggers to makeshift bombs piled high in their arms. As new recruits their commanders would have them hard at work, doing most of the grunt work no one else wanted to do.
One short Rovan boy scurried from an eastern passage, carrying stacks of scrolls high enough to reach his curly brown hair. The black insignia of the Brains faction was painted on the bicep of his tunic. Narra squeezed the apple tight before taking a bite. Sour and sweetness flooded her mouth. A tall half-Kiznai extended his boot, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows at his Rovan comrade. The boy tripped, the scrolls flying from his grasp, rolling in every direction .
Narra swallowed the first bite of her breakfast and sighed, before levelling them with a cold glare. She twisted the round green apple in her grasp, rolling it over her fingers as she approached.
The half-breed caught her glare. Though he didn't scurry away like the initiates would have, he did nudge his chortling friend. They both gave her a respectful nod before helping the Rovan boy with his scrolls. At least her infamy was good for something.
"Did you see the explosion last night?" a boy with green eyes and freckles asked.
"No, but did you hear who caused it?" his black-haired friend whispered, oblivious to the half-dozen other Thieves milling by.
"Who?"
"Quinn Reiner!"
Narra glanced up. Her father?
Freckles gasped, his eyes going wide.
"Reiner ?" He shook his head. "What was he after that was worth blowing up North Station?"
"The score of a lifetime." His black-haired friend grinned.
Narra's fists clenched. Across the thirty-foot wide brick room, they huddled near the third eastern passage that led to the Guild Saloon.
"What was it?"
"Nobody knows. No one has seen him since." Black-hair quirked both brows beneath his thick bangs. It had only been the previous night that the train was blown to smithereens, but it was odd Quinn hadn’t been seen. A Thief was always supposed to check in with a guild member after a mission. Lucky for her, she had Alden for that. "If you ask me, I think he took off with it. He's a traitor."
Narra cocked an eyebrow as she dug her nails into the apple. Juice welled in the punctures, dripping stickiness over her fingers. How dare they speak of her father this way? He was their superior, not someone to be gossiped about, even if he was a filthy drunk these days. Did they not realize she was in the room?
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. He hasn't done anything worthwhile in years. If I was him, I'd take off with it too. "
"You're right," Freckles said. "He must be a traitor."
"Novin scum." The black-haired boy spit on the ground.
Fire rose inside her. Narra gritted her teeth and pulled
back, launching the apple at the black-haired boy's head. It hit with a splat , cracking off his skull, and splitting into pieces. He wailed, reaching for his head. Tears welled in his blue eyes. Narra was on him before he could turn. Heart pounding, she grabbed his collar and pushed him into the brick wall. Freckles yelped and leapt back.
"I'll show you novin scum ," Narra snarled.
"Rheka!" he gasped.
"You speak of my father as if you know him, or anything about our Guild." She shoved him back against the wall a second time. He squeaked, caught between her angry claws and a brick wall. "You are a child . You don't deserve to be in the Guild if this is how you speak about your superiors ."
"I-I'm sorry! Please forgive me, Commander!"
"Why should I forgive a pathetic little worm like you?" Narra growled, pushing him back once more.
"P-please—"
Soft hands wrapped around her shoulders. Narra spun, throwing up a fist and releasing the black-haired boy, who fell to the ground in the process. Blue-green eyes stared at her under raised brows and wavy brown hair. Narra pulled back, her snarl dropping from her face.
"Erik," she said.
Erik smiled and gave her a look that told her to cool it. "What's going on, Rheka?"
Narra glanced at the boy crawling to his feet a few feet away. She worked her jaw back and forth, unsure if she should explain herself. Fire still flared in her chest, burning through her abdomen with angry claws. She hated that someone would question her family. She hated that he had a right to question her father. What in Srah's name was he thinking? He'd taken a contract to her mission—something expressly forbidden by the Guild Master. What was going on?
"I don't know," she admitted .
Erik turned his understanding gaze from her and onto Freckles and his friend. Both of them stared back with wide eyes, their clothes ruffled.
"You should both get going," Erik said. He gave them a small grin before shooing them off. Both boys hesitated before nodding. Their boots kicked up tiny pebbles as they ran into a western passage. "Why are you harassing the initiates?" Amusement flickered through his gaze.
Narra rolled her eyes. "I wasn't."
But had she been? Without the burn subsiding, she couldn't tell. Had she been too harsh? They were only sixteen after all.
"If you say so." Erik levelled her a doubtful look.
She paused. Warm embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Though her father was always telling her to be calm and collected, that that’s what a commander did, she had never been very good at it. Narra took a deep breath to rein back in her emotions. She always appreciated Erik, and his concern, but it wasn't in her nature to dump her worries on her best friend. Yet, who else would she ask for help?
"They called my father a traitor," she said.
"What?" Erik's smile faltered.
"They said he found the score of a lifetime and hasn't been seen since.”
"Well, did you see him this morning?"
"No." Narra shrugged. "He wasn't at home last night either. I didn't think anything of it."
"Your uncle might know something," he said.
She nodded slowly. Of course. Alden would know how her father obtained a contract, or at least where her father had gone. Narra turned back the way she'd come.
"You're going now ?" He reached for her elbow.
"Yes," was all she said, before heading back to the southern passage. Erik sighed. His boots clattered across the rocky floor, mere steps behind her—always her loud shadow. If the embers of her rage weren't still burning, she might’ve smiled, or stopped to think, or maybe even let her uncle sleep after his late night. But though the flames had ceased, the coals of her anger continued to burn hot. She needed answers now .
Narra walked the length of the corridor. Torchlight danced off the walls, dousing them both in flickering orange light. The stench of feces and rot overtook the corridor, which led to the sewer. Wrinkling her nose, she took her rag from her back pocket, covering the bottom half of her face. Soot and gunpowder filled her nostrils. Much better than the sewer.
A few turns later, they ascended a narrow set of rickety stairs that creaked beneath their feet. A single lantern lit their way. Narra climbed, Erik's boots clunking behind her. She pushed the rag back into her pocket and threw the door open.
The bar was empty: quiet and clean, chairs turned over on top of the tables and a chain drawn across the door. It reeked of alcohol, the pungent scent of lye soap drifted beneath it. Embers burned in the hearth.
"Smells like someone had a party last night." Erik grinned.
Narra nodded and passed through the swinging wooden door into the kitchen. Equally dark, only a faint light fell through the rear windows, covered mostly by shutters. Her uncle had owned this bar since she could remember. She wasn't sure if it was passed down in the family or by the Guild. Enough generations had gone by that she wasn't sure if even he knew the answer. She had spent countless days in this kitchen with Erik, her uncle, and even her father, who mostly came to drink and train her, unlike the rest of her small family. Her heart clenched. She missed the carefree winter days in this kitchen.
Though the front room was well cared for, the kitchen was covered in dirty dishes and spilled ale. Smelled like it too. Large kegs sat empty by the back door beside several bags of trash ready to go out. She shook her head, rounding the oven to head toward the stairs leading to Alden's loft.
Forgoing stealth, Narra stomped up the stairs, making her presence known. She had to wake him somehow. Erik laughed, stepping more heavily until they reached a long room, arched at the top for the roof, with a single circular window in the top half, letting in streams of golden morning light.
Snores from the loft atop a short ladder filled the hollow space, echoing off the rafters. The furnishing was sparse—a table and chairs to the right of the stairs, the loft bed in the darkest corner, a small vanity with a wash bowl, and a boxing bag filled with sand hung from a rafter in the center.
“Wake up!” she snapped, storming across the wooden room in a hurricane. “Uncle!”
“What?” The snores cut off. Alden cleared his throat, swaying to life just above the railing, his hair more tangled than a rat’s nest. “Narra? Erik?” He blinked slowly.
“We aren’t a dream, old man! Get up!” Erik grinned, fists on his hips.
Understanding slowly blossomed on her uncle’s angular face.
“What time is it?” Alden rubbed sleep from his eyes.
“Early,” Erik said.
“Get up,” Narra insisted, pacing to the wall beside the small vanity before tossing him a luxurious, thick robe of soft wolf pelt. How he afforded such things, she’d never know. He caught it, and with a heavy sigh he swept a hand through his hair. He winced, his fingers catching on tangles.
Shaking free of his plethora of fur blankets, he slipped on the robe, tying it around his waist. A hairy chest poked from beneath the folds. Glancing up at the warm morning light streaming in, he narrowed his eyes.
“What in Srah’s holy name are you two doing here at this hour?” He gaped at the window, and then back at them.
Her fists clenched.
“Initiates are calling my father ,” she snapped, still unable to believe it, “a novin traitor. No one has seen him since he took off on a contract to my mission. Where is he?”
Her uncle stared like she was the lunatic taking on the Guild’s oldest laws.
“She’s not kidding,” Erik chimed in when her uncle stared silently for a full minute.
“I have a few drinks and decide to sleep in late,” Alden huffed, climbing to his feet, tossing his blankets back before climbing over the railing, “and the entire world goes mad .” He shook his head, the mass of hair atop his skull shaking back and forth.
“Uncle,” she said. “Where is my father?”
Alden took his time shuffling to his vanity, pulling his mass of hair into a low bun, before wiping his face clean with day-old water. Drops fell from his stubbl
e, leaving dark spots down the front of his light grey robe. When he didn’t turn back around and instead reached for a bottle of shaving cream, she darted across the room.
Narra grabbed his shoulder, and swung him to face her. “Why are you avoiding this?” she snapped.
He met her gaze with a straight face. Her heart sank. He didn’t know where her father was any more than she or the damn initiates did. A snarl ripped from her throat and she stepped back, pacing across the room. The hurricane was back.
“Why is it that no one knows where Captain Reiner, one of the oldest thieves-for-hire in the Guild, could possibly be?” She swung her hands out, the back of her hand hitting the backrest of a chair. She spun, grabbed it by the seat and flung it down the stairs. It crashed, wood splintering into tiny pieces as it careened off a dozen steps. It struck the kitchen floor slowly, an array of large and small splinters raining down.
“Narra, I know you’re worried but—”
She cut Erik off. “I’m not worried about that drunk bastard.”
“Then why are you throwing Alden’s furniture across the room?” His voice was even, thoughtful; his words slow. She was being irrational.
A commander doesn’t lose their temper, Narra.
Narra took a deep breath, gripping her hair and closing her eyes as she faced away from her family. The burn was still there, powerful and all consuming. Reignited. It clouded her judgment, lying thick in her mind like fog. She smoothed her hair and uncurled her fists. Why was she so angry? Her father had disappeared before. Yet this time wasn’t like the others. He’d never disappeared without telling her he was leaving. Even if he might be an irresponsible drunk, he always let her know where he was going in case he didn’t come back. That on top of the Guild members calling him a traitor, and under the suspicious circumstances, she was inclined to believe them.
“Let’s get coffee.” Alden clapped a hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him and his large, careless grin. How was he so calm? So happy? How were either of them so relaxed?
Though her father had taught her much, he’d never taught her how to tame the angry beast inside, just that she should. Her emotions were swirling out of control and she needed to rein them back in.
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