Narra bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her retort locked down. She took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m leaving.”
They both nodded and advanced down the hall. With no choice but to follow, Narra went after them. Their boots thudded along while she walked silently, glaring at their backs. She didn’t like needing an escort .
Down the stairs they went until murmurs of chatter broke through the walls, and the tell tale rumble of steamwagons passed outside.
“Goodbye,” one of the men said, his voice monotone as he ripped a door open and motioned her out. Narra didn’t waste her time glaring and simply walked through, emerging into a dim alley between a tall rundown apartment building and a warehouse. They’d gone a lot further than she’d realized yesterday morning. That or they’d taken her much farther in her unconscious state.
The door slammed behind her and a heavy lock clicked into place. What charming guards Marina kept in her employ.
Pulling her hood over her head, Narra tucked her hair back, her breath fogging the cool evening air. Alone in the trash-strewn alley, Narra glanced at the busy street. Before starting on her debt, Narra had something she had to do. Though Marina had spared her life, someone had still sentenced her to death for a crime she didn’t commit. She had to find General Asher Grayson. It was his turn to pay his debts.
Narra made it back to the Guild in one piece, fire burning in her stomach. Night had come, and with her face suddenly plastered all over the city, she couldn’t risk the trolleys. It took hours to cross Rova City on foot, dodging between alleys, avoiding Patrolmen, and sticking to the shadows. How inconvenient.
Storming through the stone passage into the Guild, puddles splashed beneath her boots. Sewer stench clung to her nostrils, only infuriating her further. Dim light turned to torches, fire burning low. She emerged in the Den, and the remaining thieves grew silent. Dark eyes watched as she walked the length of the room.
Narra didn’t blame them. If anyone turned her in they’d get a hefty bounty—fifty thousand rovin—a price certain to sway many. She hoped they’d try and take her, try to catch her off guard. She’d throw them all in the dirt. No one could take her alone, and she wasn’t in the mood to forgive.
Through the main room and the western passage she went until the thick saloon door loomed ahead. Murmurs on the other side told her a meeting was already in session. She slammed her boot into the door. It flew open, the chandelier’s candle light swaying with the hurricane.
The commanders stared wide-eyed as she entered. Whether it was the bruises on her face, her bounty, or escaped hanging, she couldn’t be sure what surprised them most. Fire continued to encompass her chest, burning her throat as she joined the others.
The wooden chair scraped across the floor as she sat. Her fingers twitched on the worn wood, desperate for activity. She suddenly wished for her revolver. It would calm her storm.
“Rheka,” August began, his voice rising higher than usual. “What in Srah’s name happened to you?”
Narra raised her gaze to meet the elderly man’s. His eyebrows furrowed and his wrinkled face caved, lines turning downward. Was this genuine concern too?
“Your face is all over the damned city!” Claudia hissed. “What were you thinking?”
“We told you not to take the contract,” Klaus said. He shrugged as he leaned back in his chair, chin up. Smug.
Narra stood, her chair toppling back. Her hands slapped against the wooden table. Silence. She didn’t need their opinions, their concern, or their anger. This was her problem to deal with.
“I need information,” she said.
“Sit down, Rheka,” August said. “Let’s talk this through.”
Her fist smashed against the wood next. “General Asher Grayson. Who is he?”
The other commanders exchanged glances with one another. Even Claudia’s angry scowl dissipated to a regular frown. They knew there was more to this story, much more. All she wanted was their information. She’d take care of the rest.
“The head General of the Emperor’s armies,” August said. He twisted his white moustache between his fingers and stared thoughtfully at the candlewax piled at the center of the table. “He’s the emperor’s half-brother, Zaneth’s bastard.”
“And?”
“He has a son,” Claudia said, shifting to face Narra. “Ezriel.”
“He’s a military boy too, isn’t he?” Graves asked.
“I believe so.” Claudia nodded.
“Lives at the Barracks too, I reckon,” Graves added. “The boy at least, around nineteen years old. His father might live there as well.”
“He has a house in the city,” Clint said, rolling his eyes and crossing a leg over the other, apparently too good for this conversation. “All military men do.”
“Where?” Narra stepped away from the table, her hands falling to her sides.
“Rheka, you aren’t thinking—” August began.
“East Gardens, near the palace.” Clint tossed his black mop of hair.
Narra nodded. Her heartbeat sped up. She could be home, and to the east side of the city by midnight without the trolleys. This couldn’t wait. She’d catch the bastard in his sleep if she had to.
“Rheka!” August stood, thumping his gut against the table. “You can’t do this.” Desperation rang in his voice. But August wasn’t her father, and she listened to no one but him. “You know who he is. They’ll never let you live for this.”
Crossing the length of the saloon, Narra stopped at the door, glancing over her shoulder at the old man. His eyes were wide, his olive skin flushed red. His fist shook against his gold-plated cane.
“They already killed me once. Let them try it a second time.” Turning from her fellow commanders, Narra left the Guild.
There was only one Grayson Manor in East Gardens. A decadent home made of stone, dark wood, and a shingled roof instead of clay tile like half of Rova City. Fountains and flowers decorated the small estate surrounding the two-story home. A tall stone fence guarded the property, slick to the touch with no divots for her to climb.
Hidden by a tall oak tree decorating the sidewalk, Narra scowled up at the home. A balcony rested against the side of it, attached to the roof of a sunroom on the first floor. All the windows were dark but one. A small candle flickered in a second floor window, but no shadows passed by. Was General Asher asleep?
With the moon high in the sky, it was long passed normal waking hours. It had taken her longer than she thought to break into her own flat. Without the keys, she had scaled the wall and broken the lock to her bedroom window with a rock, thankful she’d never reinforced it with metal bars like her father had wanted her to. Once inside, she had gathered supplies: clothes, a cloak, and weapons. With a new harness wrapping her hips and thighs, she was ready for anything. But instead of the pistol her father had given her, she had taken his, a long-nosed golden piece worth a fortune. He was dead. He wouldn’t miss it.
Slipping through the shadows, Narra timed the regular patrol rotation at twenty minutes, of which she had about five left to get inside before they passed by again. Patrol was much higher in East Gardens than the rest of the city. The rich of the rich occupied these homes, living in luxury while the rest of the city resided in squalor, and drank themselves to death.
Ever since the Century of Blood, Rova had suffered. After a hundred years of tyrannical, blood thirsty emperors, they’d finally emerged from war with Kiznaiver under a new regime. It was said Emperor Tallis had been like the kings of old: working for the people to ensure everyone was fed and well taken care of, even during the famines preceding the war. Unfortunately, Tallis’ son Zaneth hadn’t born any resemblance to his father, and passed on his horrible personality to his son, the current emperor, Malek Kolarova.
Shaking her head, she circled the property again. There. A break in the smooth stone, high enough for her to climb and still reach the top of the seven-foot stone fence. Rubbing her hands together, she reached up, feeling alon
g the foot-wide groove. Three inches of space would be enough for her toes. Mounting the fence, Narra stepped up onto the tiny ledge. The toe of her boot wedged in, hitting the wall. Her heart flipped as she balanced, reaching for the top. Her fingers wrapped around it. The perfect height.
Footsteps splashed through a nearby puddle. Her eyes widened and her heart raced. She plastered her body against the smooth stone, searching for the source of the noise.
Two Patrolmen clad in navy blue crossed the street a block up, heading toward her. Her breath caught in her throat. Though concealed in shadow, she hoped they were distracted enough not to notice her movements.
Pulling herself up, Narra swung over the wall, and fell the short distance to the ground. She didn’t have time to waste. Brambles dug in all around, catching her cloak in their long pointed tendrils. A rose bush. Emperor’s ancestors . She gritted her teeth and waited. She couldn’t make a sound, not yet.
Murmured voices drew near.
She tuned everything out but the sounds of the Patrolmen. She held her breath. Inches from her back, footsteps passed. She waited, heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her palms grew slick with sweat. Pass the property, Narra thought furiously. Her lungs burned and her throat tightened.
The soft thump of boots grew louder and then softer as the Patrolmen walked past the house. Her breath whooshed from her lungs and she sucked in air. Thank Srah.
Pulling apart the thorny branches of the bush, Narra untangled herself from its clutches before setting her sights back on her mission. Her target was close—most likely on the second floor in the room with the light.
Creeping through the shadows, Narra stuck to the wall, ducking low as she skirted a pond full of colorful orange and white fish—definitely imported. The empire didn’t have such fish in its frigid waters.
Beside the wooden balcony and sunroom, a tall trellis laced with vines occupied the wall, rising to meet the line of the roof several feet above the balcony railing. She stopped to listen. Only the chirping of crickets and the soft breeze broke the silence of the cold night.
Narra gripped the wooden slats of the trellis and shook. The vines rustled, but the trellis stayed tight against the wall. Good. She dug her fingers around the thick vines and wood, using them to heave her body up. Her boots dug into the spaces between the slats, her toes reaching the stone wall. She crawled upward, her biceps tensing with every pull. She scaled the wall; soft leaves crunching between her fingers. A few feet up she grabbed hold of the balcony’s wooden railing. She swung to the balcony, and then shimmied over the railing, flattening herself to the wooden ground.
Moonlight stole her shadows. If anyone passed, she’d be seen. She tried the brass handle of the door. It was unlocked. Foolish wealthy Rovans .
Her lips twitched in a smile. At least luck was on her side. Slipping inside, Narra closed the door gently behind her. A long corridor of wood panelling and navy wallpaper decorated the hall. Only a sparse table or two sat against it, portraits of military men hung above them. No chairs, books, photos, or otherwise personal items adorned the passage. Sticking close to the wall, Narra made her way deeper into the home. Three doors were off the main corridor and a set of stairs went down at the other end. A banister protected visitors from falling below. She made her way along the wall, pleasantly surprised by the warmth filling the home. She hadn’t noticed a chimney.
A strip of dim candlelight shone through a tiny crack. One of the doors was open. Stepping lightly, she tested each board for a creak. None did. Withdrawing a long black dagger, Narra pressed her face against the doorframe and peered in. The room was hardly lit. A strong mahogany desk sat against the right wall, a dresser of the same against the opposite. Maps and newspaper clippings adorned the red wallpaper, designed with black fleur-de-lis.
At the desk sat General Asher, slumped over, head buried in his arms. His back rose and fell slowly. Was he asleep? Her pulse sped and she ground her teeth. This was the man who’d nearly gotten her killed. And for what? She was still alive, and he was a liar. There was nothing she hated more than liars.
Narra took one last look around the room, at the window on opposite side, the curtains only half drawn, and the candle burning low beside the General. She eased the door open.
The candle’s flame flickered slightly. She stopped, glancing at the sleeping man. He didn’t move. She gave herself just enough room to squeeze through, keeping her back to the door, then the wall. Never turn your back on the enemy. Her father’s words rang in her ears.
She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. She had to remain calm. Narra circled until she stood only feet from the General. She raised her dagger and slid it around his wide shoulders, pressing the cool metal to his neck.
“Don’t move, or I’ll slit your throat,” she whispered beside his ear.
His shoulders tensed, and his breathing stopped. He was awake.
He shifted slightly, lowering his arms and raising his head. She held the blade tighter, pressing it into his flesh. Asher sighed heavily, leaving his hands splayed on the desk where she could see them. Smart move.
“I knew you would come,” he said.
Narra’s grip tightened, her knuckles white around the hilt of her dagger. Asher didn’t flinch. She waited, but he didn’t continue. Her heartbeat slowed, though her chest began to burn. Why was he being so complacent? Why not fight back or strike her? He didn’t attempt to bargain for his life, only stared at his hands.
She pulled back, spinning his chair to face her. Narra stepped back quickly, withdrawing her dagger and wielding her father’s revolver all in one swift motion. But Asher didn’t look at her, only stared at the floor. His face was cast in shadow, but she could still make out the downward curve of his lips, and the sadness in his eyes.
Did he not care if he lived or died? Narra lowered her gun slowly, keeping the safety off and the barrel pointed at the floor.
He looked up, a question in the dark depths of the eyes meeting hers. Why hadn’t she killed him already?
Why indeed .
“Why do you not care if you live or die?” Narra asked.
Asher shrugged, his military uniform rustling. The white shirt beneath was open, revealing a ragged scar across his chest.
“Why did you tell your men that I killed that soldier?”
He stared back, his expression slack, emotionless. Is this how she looked to everyone? Heartless, without a care in this world, like she didn’t care whether Ashra took her at any moment?
“Who are you protecting?” It was the only thing that made sense. Why else would he lie? Was it an accident? Could he be protecting himself? No. He was a general, a military man. He was honor bound to own up to his crimes. Who then? A twinge in her chest had her fists clenching. Her hand grew clammy around the metal of the pistol. Why was she letting this affect her? She couldn’t quiet the storm rising inside her any more than he wanted to answer her questions.
Asher shrugged.
“Who?” she growled, snapping forward, her foot slamming his chair back into the desk.
His eyes widened. Spurred by some instinct, Asher leapt up, tackling her in the process. Narra grunted as his shoulder collided with her abdomen. Air burst from her lungs as they crashed to the floor. Her pistol slid from her hand, skidding across the floor beneath the dresser. Fire burst in her chest as she sucked in a great lungful of air.
Narra slammed her fist against his cheekbone and drove her knee into his gut. He gasped and threw a hand out to catch her wrist. She heaved off the ground with her hips, pushing his heavy body off hers and twisted to her feet. Her heel smashed into his jaw. He toppled to the ground for only a second before leaping up.
Narra reached for her daggers, but he was too fast, throwing a jab at her abdomen. She twisted from his reach, driving her elbow into his spine. He cried out, his wail turning into a roar as he rounded on her, kicking her feet out from under her.
Her heart lurched as she fell to the floor, but she rolled away before h
e could pin her. Half crouching, she lunged, her turn to tackle. But her weight couldn’t keep him down .
Asher’s head cracked off the dark wooden floor and she flipped from his chest, grinding her heel into his stomach as she jumped for the dresser. She needed her weapon if she was going to stop this.
His fingers wrapped around her ankle and her chest hit the floor hard. She grunted, fury lighting her veins. Narra kicked out, her boot colliding with his head. His grip lessened and she tore her foot free.
Reaching beneath the dresser, her fingers closed on cold metal. He grabbed her ankle again, wrenching her across the floor. Narra spun in his grip, twisting onto her back. Her barrel pointed at his head, she aimed down the sight, his forehead between her crosshairs.
Asher froze.
They both breathed heavily as they stared each other down. Narra’s rage spilled over and her knuckles went white on the grip of her weapon.
A dangerous laugh bubbled from her throat. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She couldn’t believe someone dared to sentence her to death, and then resigned themselves to the same fate when she’d come to do the job. It was maddening. It made no sense.
“Do you even know who I am?” she snapped. Her fingers trembled violently. “My face is plastered across the city. I should kill you for this.”
He released her ankle, chuckling humorlessly.
“You’re one of them aren’t you?” he said. “The Thieves.”
It was Narra’s turn to laugh. “The Thieves . I might as well be the queen of those fools.”
Asher’s eyebrow quirked up as his breathing evened out. Sweat coated his face and bare chest. He shifted to his knees before climbing to his feet. Narra smoothed her expression, catching her breath as she stood, keeping him in her sight. He met her gaze, not with fear or despair, but with curiosity.
“You know, I can help you. You’re after something, I knew it the moment I saw you,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he looked over her body.
Narra stepped back, a growl at her lips. “I don’t need your help.”
Clockwork Thief Box Set Page 10