Clockwork Thief Box Set

by Katherine Bogle

  A hand closed on the back of her cloak. It snapped off, the hood ripping from her head. The hook flew from her fist with a burst of air. A soldier grabbed her hair, yanking her backward. Pain burned her scalp and she cried out.

  With a twist, she whipped her sword out. She caught a man’s chest, but he pulled back too fast for it to cut anything but his shirt.

  Narra glanced up at the man’s face, and her eyes flew wide. Her father’s face, with week old stubble and blue eyes identical to her own, stared back. Silver hair wafted around his shoulders as his lips pulled into a smirk. Horrible burns consumed half his face.

  It was impossible. Her father was dead.

  A fist collided with her cheek and she gasped. Stars raced across her vision. She dropped the grappling hook. Her palms were sweaty. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She didn’t hear their words as they pulled her back inside.

  Narra looked up, desperate to find out if what she’d seen was true, but as she scanned the faces of her assailants, none even resembled Quinn .

  The sword—her ticket to finding her father’s murderer—clattered across the stone. They threw her to the floor. Air exploded from her lungs. She rolled to her feet, only to be thrown down again.

  Whatever she’d seen, it had distracted her long enough for them to get the upper hand. She cursed herself, and cursed her father.

  Grinding her teeth, she thrust her elbow back into the nose of one man before spinning on another. Strong hands forced her back to the ground. Her chest ached from the impact.

  This wasn’t happening.

  A man sat on her back. Pain shot through her spine. He tied her arms together, rough cord burning her wrists.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  She’d lost.

  I ce water crashed against her face, awakening her with a start. Her heart sped up. What was happening? Light flashed back and forth across her blurry gaze. Her whole body ached and shivered. Rope dug into her wrists when she tried to twist her hands, but they were bound behind her back. Her arms scraped the rough wood of her chair.

  “Sit up straight!” a man snapped. His fingers dug into her shoulders with more strength than necessary. She pushed off the ground with her toes, knocking him back. He grunted as Narra twisted, lunging from the chair. A boot slammed into her stomach, throwing her back into her seat. Her head snapped back and she groaned.

  “Novin bitch,” the man she’d knocked over growled as he climbed to his feet. She blinked the water from her lashes. Blood ran down his chin. His lip swelled where he must have bitten it.

  The two men circled the small room. Harsh light illuminated the carved walls of an underground cell, or possibly an interrogation chamber. Emperor’s Ancestors , what had she gotten herself into this time?

  A knock at the thick wooden slab of a door drew their attention. Narra twisted her wrists, but the rope only burned her skin. She hissed and took a few deep breaths. She had to remain calm. She had to think. How was she going to get out?

  “Sir,” both soldiers said in unison. Their heels clacked together, their spines rigid as they bowed. A tall rugged man, with an angular jaw and deep brown eyes, stepped inside.

  “At ease,” he said. His brows scrunched together as he took her in. His eyes roamed the length of her. Was she just a piece of meat to him? Narra recognized him from his portrait. General Asher Grayson. Only he wasn’t quite as old or as formal as the picture made him out to be. His dark hair was wild, and his coat askew. Had he just rolled out of bed?

  “Is this the woman you saw kill Corporal Druine?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Narra narrowed her gaze. They had called her a killer back in the General’s study, but why? She hadn’t touched a single soldier until after the alarm had rung. Her stealth was far more promising than leaving a pile of bodies behind.

  General Grayson stepped into the harsh light, leaving his subordinates at his back. His hard gaze softened, and his rigid brow relaxed. Guilt consumed his expression.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Her jaw went slack. He was lying. But, why?

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Narra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she might regret. Instead, she stared daggers at the General. Goosebumps rose on her flesh as a chill draft licked her exposed forearms.

  “I’ll ask again.” He sighed. Holding his hands behind his back, he paced the length of the room. “Who are you, and why did you come here to kill one of my men?”

  He hesitated with every word. He knew very well she killed no one. She watched him pace, but didn’t answer. He didn’t look at her again; instead he remained rigid, spinning a silver ring on his right hand.

  “We can interrogate the prisoner, sir.” The shorthaired man with the bloodied lip stepped out of the shadows. “We’ll make her talk. ”

  Asher halted, shooting him a startled look. Her heart raced. The soldier stared her down, a wicked smirk taking over his face. If the General left her there with these two, she’d be lucky to leave this cell alive. Her heart rammed against her ribcage. Even with the chill air, sweat dripped down her spine.

  “No, that’s all right.” The General cleared his throat and righted himself. He stepped back in front of her, his wide shoulders blocking her view of the others as he leaned in to meet her gaze. “Tell us why you were here, and why you killed my soldier.”

  He held her gaze, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. He was trying to urge her to lie, to follow his lead. Narra tilted her chin up defiantly. She wouldn’t talk. She’d done nothing but try to steal a sword, and he knew it.

  After several moments of silence, the General stepped back.

  “Tell me your name,” he commanded in a deep voice.

  Narra stared back, her lips pressed in a thin line.

  Asher nodded at the soldier with the broken lip. He stepped up, grabbing her hair and yanking it back to expose her throat. Panic bubbled inside her. She bucked hard, but he only gripped tighter. Then he released her hair and slammed his fist into her cheek. She gasped—she couldn’t help it. Pain exploded through her cheekbone, and her eyes watered. She set her jaw and took a deep breath. He hit her again, same side, same place. Her head spun and she closed her eyes.

  They would not break her.

  He rammed his knuckles into her gut. Air poured from her lungs. She buckled under the explosion of pain. Be strong Narra, her father’s words whispered. The watering of her eyes spilled down her cheeks. The soldier pulled her head back, ripping strands of hair from her scalp.

  “Enough,” Asher said.

  The soldier’s delighted smirk disappeared and he released her, stepping away.

  Asher filled her line of sight. She glared with all the defiance she could muster. Hot rage burned through her entire body, chasing away the cold.

  “Why were you here tonight? Did you have another target? Why did you kill Corporal Druine?”

  Narra smiled, a laugh bubbling from within. Was this how she was going to die? The great Commander Rheka, dead at twenty-five, all because of a lie. She was a thief, not a killer. But she couldn’t tell him that. He’d already sentenced her to death.

  The General stepped back, and the soldier returned. He hit her face, her stomach, and her ribs, until her whole body ached. Her lip and nose bled, the taste of copper filling her mouth. Her entire being begged for rest, her mind drifting in and out of consciousness. Should she try to explain why she was there? Could she sell out her contractor? Would it even make a difference? It’d be treason against the Guild, but at least they’d stop hitting her.

  Another punch to the jaw sent stars flying across her vision. She toppled from her chair. The cold rock beneath her cheek soothed the welts. She breathed hard. Haze clouded her brain. She was tired. So tired.

  Gentle hands lifted her from the floor and sat her back in the chair. Her head lolled back. She just wanted to sleep. She just wanted the hitting to stop.

  Someone gripped her chin with surprisingly g
entle fingers and deep brown eyes held hers. She blinked slowly to focus through the haze covering her eyes.

  “What is your name?” Asher asked. His brows raised, his gaze flicked back and forth at the men behind him. Did he want her to suffer? Or was he simply doing his job? Who was this man to lie about her? To accuse her of being a killer?

  She blinked again until her eyes fell closed. Beautiful darkness embraced her. She fell towards it, desperate for its relief.

  “Your name.”

  Narra blinked back to life. His gaze was as desperate as she felt. She licked her lips that felt like sandpaper.

  “Q,” she said. It was the only thing that came to mind other than her true identity. Her father called her his little queen for a reason. Q for short. When she was little he’d call her princess, only young Narra took offense.

  She asked her father, “Why would I want to be a princess when I could be queen?”

  Her father laughed. It had been a long time since she’d heard him laugh. When he was done, he smiled and told her she’d be his little queen then, and never to let anyone tell her otherwise.

  General Grayson released her chin, and the memory broke away like shattered glass, throwing her back into reality. Narra sagged forward like a rag doll, barely able to keep herself sitting. With every ounce of her strength, she kept herself in that chair.

  You’re weak , her father whispered.

  Her heart clenched painfully. He was right. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was weak. She wanted it to end.

  “Take her to her cell. I’ll contact my brother. I doubt he’ll want this going to trial.” Someone trudged across the room. The creak of the door told her the General was gone.

  No trial? That was against the law. She gritted her teeth.

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier nodded, bowed, and pulled her up by her arms, his fingers digging into fresh bruises. Narra gasped and her head swam. Black dots clouded her vision. She succumbed and closed her eyes. This was madness. How could they do this to her? She’d only come to steal a sword, not kill a soldier.

  The men dragged her out, her heels scraping the wet floor.

  It seemed like only seconds had passed when they dumped her inside a cell. The rattling keys and click of the lock barred her inside. She lay still on the cold rock, her eyelids fluttering. It was over at last. Tomorrow she would die.

  But at least it was over for today.

  The rattling trolley bounced up and down over uneven cobblestone. It tossed her back and forth inside the wooden bars of her prison, creating fresh bruises to join the old. She bit back a groan at every turn, and held onto the bars to try and keep steady. The bright light of morning cut through her swollen eyes and sent spikes of pain burrowing into her skull.

  Her shackles danced with the trolley, showing everyone they passed who she really was—a criminal. There was no trial. No judge. No jury. She’d be hung without proof: justice forgotten. She was going to die, and not even for her true crimes.

  The worst part? She didn’t even know why.

  The shopping district soon passed, and the trolley slowed to a stop. Varek Square. Only days ago she’d been there with Erik, watching a group of men and women being hung. Now it was her turn. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold metal of her shackles. They cooled her warm skin.

  “Step back, criminal,” a patrolman commanded.

  Narra glanced up. She was too close to the door. She sighed and shimmied back. There wasn’t room to stand in the small enclosure. As soon as the cage door opened, they pulled her from the cart. She fell to her knees, cobblestone scrapping her leather pants. What was one more bruise when she was about to die?

  The stage was set; only one noose today, and no princesses. Two Patrolmen heaved her to her feet and pulled her behind the wooden platform.

  The crowd wasn’t quite as large today, even with the fine weather. Most were headed to work, or eating breakfast with their families this early in the morning. Workers clad in overalls, businesswomen in fine jackets, soldiers from the barracks—many stood waiting for her demise. Who was she to stall the show?

  “By the emperor’s decree, all insurgents, terrorists, and loyalists to any nation but the Rovan Empire will be hung.” A slim man at the podium cleared his throat, addressing the crowd with authority. The people grew still, silenced by the weight of the coming attraction.

  They pulled her by her elbows, nearly carrying her up the steps to the stage. She couldn’t walk. Her whole body felt heavy. She stared at the noose billowing in the gentle breeze. It waited for her; waited to take her life. She wondered what it felt like to be hung. She’d seen it often enough.

  Would she be lucky and have her neck broken, or would she struggle to breathe while the rope grew taught?

  How long would it take her to pass out?

  How long until her blood stopped pumping, her face turned purple, and her struggling ceased?

  Narra shook her head. She’d never find out what happened to her father. She’d never avenge him, or prove his innocence. She’d never see Erik, or her uncle again. She’d never sit in at a Guild meeting, train initiates, or fly over the rooftops of Rova City with her grappling hook.

  This was it.

  The Patrolmen shoved her forward. Narra scanned the crowd one last time, and started when she recognized a Guild member or two near the back of the crowd. Their cloak hoods shadowed most of their faces, but their frowns were apparent.

  A burlap sack was yanked over her head, cutting off her view of the Guild members. She was glad it wasn’t Erik or Alden. She wouldn’t want them to see her like this, to watch her die.

  Narra stumbled onto the small platform, but the officers at her back righted her before she could fall. She froze, goosebumps rushing over her skin. Something heavy tightened around her neck, a bulge pressing into the back of her skull. The rope creaked.

  This was it.

  “May Srah take you to the heavens,” one of the men whispered.

  Shivers wracked her body. Her hands shook and her knees weakened. The burlap would be the last thing she’d see. She closed her eyes. No, she had to remember them—her family—before she left this world. Her heart pounded faster. Murmurs somewhere outside her dark prison grew distant.

  Erik’s handsome face, shaggy hair, and dazzling blue-green eyes came to mind. She’d miss him, wherever she was going. He’d always helped her, cared for her, and she him. She’d never known anyone like him .

  Her uncle, a noble man who put up with her outbursts, her tantrums, and her tears. She’d miss Alden too. Where were they now? At home? The Guild? Would they look for her when she didn’t return? If the Guild was present, word of her demise would spread fast. They’d know she was dead within a couple of hours.

  The lever next to her cracked down. She felt something fly over her head as the platform fell out from under her. She gasped.

  This was it.

  Goodbye , she thought.

  Narra freefell until her boots hit stone. Pain jerked up her ankles, and she stumbled to her knees, her heart skipping. The crowd erupted. Shouts rang around her. Where was the tightening? The cracking? The noose? She reached up. Rough rope surrounded her throat and scratched her fingertips. Boots beat the worn cobblestone as she tore off the noose, throwing it hard at the ground.

  “Seize her!” the preacher at the podium bellowed.

  Narra leapt to her feet, reaching to tear off the burlap.

  Someone’s shoulder hit her chest with the weight of a freight train. She flew back, her head cracking off the street. They pushed the sack back over her head, and rough hands pulled her to her feet. Her head swam.

  “What’s happening?” she croaked, throat dry and sore.

  A man grumbled, and then they were running.

  They towed her from beneath the stage and out into the crowd. Bodies pushed against her on all sides, but strong hands drove her forward—pushing, pulling, ripping at her clothes and digging into her sore limbs.
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  Adrenaline swept through her legs. She was alive. She was alive? She was saved, freed. She ran, and ran, racing with her liberators, or captors. Whatever they may be, they saved her life.

  Could they be Guild members? Her brows furrowed. No, the two she’d seen were much too far away. But who else could it be?

  Sirens blared and screams rose in the distance. They were moving away from the chaos. Her muscles burned the further they went. How far had they run? Four blocks? Six? All sense of direction flew away as they turned, fuelled by flight and desperation for freedom.

  Someone grabbed her shackles, yanking her back. Her feet flew out from under her, tearing her shoulder from its socket. Narra cried out, her shout breaking through the whispers around her.

  “Silence!” someone hissed, clamping a rough hand over her mouth and nose.

  Her eyes watered. Pain stole any sense she had, driving black dots across her vision. She moaned, her energy draining, limbs heavy.

  “Get her up,” a female voice snapped. They pulled her by her elbows. She snapped her teeth shut over another cry. Her head spun.

  “In here,” another said.

  They pulled her arm and she howled. Her whole arm was on fire, sparks licking her chest and arm. She groaned and tripped. They held her aloft.

  The woman sighed. “Knock her out.”

  “Wait—” Narra spat.

  Something heavy came down hard on her skull. She blacked out.

  N arra’s boots scraped against the wood floor, catching on divots every few feet. Her head lolled to and fro, unable to support itself. Weak. Sore. Numb. She came back to life in a spiral of confusion. Her head drifted through waves, spun in a hurricane, and floated beneath the surface. Someone moaned.

  “She’s awake,” a man grumbled.

  Gloved hands pulled her and heavy boots stomped ahead.

  “Let’s just get her in the room,” another said. Keys and daggers rustled at their hips.

  Narra fought for the surface, pushing away the fog, swimming for air. She willed herself into consciousness, but with clarity came pain. Aches turned into burning, wrenching agony. Her eyes flashed open, but only darkness greeted her. The burlap was still light on her shoulders, concealing her head.