Clockwork Thief Box Set

by Katherine Bogle

  August nodded.

  She turned to Marina. “August and his crewmen will keep you safe,” she said.

  Marina looked up quickly. “What? You’re leaving?”

  “Yes.” Narra set her jaw. “I have someone to find. Once he’s gone, you’ll be safe, and I can return you to the palace. But for now, August will be your protector.”

  The princess stepped over to her and took Narra’s hands. Her fingers were warm and clammy and trembled slightly. “Are you sure?”

  “You can trust him,” Narra assured. Marina bit her thick lower lip before nodding. “I’ll return in a few hours.”

  “All right.”

  Marina met her gaze for a long moment. Uncertainty swirled in her hazel depths. Narra swallowed the lump in her throat. She tried unsuccessfully to combat the heat flowing to her cheeks. When the princess finally released her hands, she stepped away.

  It was time. Narra had a job to do.

  The Rova City Hospital occupied two blocks near Old Town. Three- stories high, the brick structure blotted out the overcast sky as she scaled the backside of the building. Stone ledges protruded from every window, of which there were many. Curtains blocked the light from most windows, but some remained ajar, letting the cold breeze inside.

  Narra heaved herself passed the first floor. Though the front side of the hospital was surrounded by a large floral courtyard, and tall oak trees, the back faced several decaying wooden homes from centuries past. No one would see her there, even in daylight. There wasn’t a reason to pass by the rear side of the complex.

  Her biceps ached as she yanked her entire body weight upward using her grappling hook. Her boots scraped the worn brick, sending bits of stones to the ground. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself onto a second-floor window ledge with an open window. Barren pale-blue walls with a simple white trim lined the empty space. The bed had been neatly made, and the privacy curtain was drawn back. She doubted anyone had occupied the room for some time at this temperature. The sweat on her back chilled.

  Narra slipped inside, catching her breath as she retracted her grappling hook into its hilt. Once the metal prongs thunked into the base, she shut the window behind her. She needed to find Asher and figure out where his son could be found. If Ezriel stayed at the Barracks, she might have to consider a different approach, but as long as she could kill him tonight, she didn’t care where he was.

  Tile squeaked beneath her boots. She froze.

  Not a sound emanated from the open door to the hall. She’d gotten lucky and chosen an area with little personnel.

  Narra went to the door and peered down the corridor. Bland white walls stood tall, several paintings staring back at her with curious eyes. Not a single nurse shuffled past. Good. If she remembered correctly, from the one time her father’s training had sent her to the hospital, the second-floor housed most of the more important patients—the best round-the-clock care, courtesy of Emperor Malek, of whom the wing was named after. Only this couldn’t be it with so few around .

  Shrugging, she stepped into the hall, making her way east to the main part of the building. She glanced in every doorway for patients, but none held the general she sought. Most slept and others stared out the window with vacant eyes.

  Irritation flashed through her, sending heat flowing through her limbs. Why had she allowed that man to accompany her into a criminal bar? If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d have made sure he remained outside where he couldn’t be recognized.

  Then again, it was fortunate he remained in the hospital. If Asher suddenly recovered, he might be able to stop her. Only now his wounds would keep him bedridden, hopefully aiding her in her mission.

  The long white corridor ended with the wing, leading her to a wider hall with carts and empty beds lining the walls, and bustling nurses clad in white.

  At the far end, a single nurse sat behind a curved desk, files piled high and a clipboard in her hands. She glanced up beneath her glasses as a black-haired woman passed by. She said something, but at this distance Narra could only hear murmurs.

  The dark-haired nurse at the desk handed the other a file. Narra narrowed her eyes. Patient files. If she could get to them, she could find out what room Asher was in.

  She glanced down either side of the hall. Most of the nurses had gone into rooms, leaving the sole nurse at the far end alone.

  Now was her chance.

  Tightening her hood over her orange hair, Narra stepped into the corridor, keeping her head down but her eyes up. The nurse had yet to notice her presence, her eyes glued to her work. Narra picked up the pace, keeping her steps light. Silent as the grave, she reached the desk without a glance from the dark-haired woman.

  But as her shadow drew near, the woman paused her writing. Narra dove into the nearest open door, plastering herself to the wall.

  The nurse clucked her tongue and stood. “I swear I heard something,” she mumbled. Narra’s heart raced and she held her breath. “Oh well.” Footsteps retreated down the far end of the hall .

  Narra glanced from her hiding spot—a storage closet filled with shelves upon shelves of medicine, needles, bandages, and other general supplies.

  The nurse was gone.

  Taking a deep breath, Narra dashed to the desk. At least forty files were piled high beside an empty square where a clipboard once laid. She flicked through the manila folders, searching the tabs for ‘Grayson’.

  She was suddenly glad her father taught her how to read. Unlike most lower-class Rovan citizens, she’d had a fairly good education for her status.

  There.

  The black script swirled Asher’s last name in nearly illegible handwriting. She plucked it from the stack and flipped open to the first page. Notes upon notes about his condition spread out over five pages, including medical history.

  Footsteps echoed down the back hall.

  Narra scanned the page as fast as she could.

  Room number three hundred and fourteen. The next floor up.

  Sighing in relief, Narra slipped the folder back into place and raced the length of the hall. A green placard marked the stairwell, and she slipped inside before the nurse could return to her desk.

  Her palms sweat and adrenaline whisked through her limbs as she leapt up the stairs. Hopefully, the third floor wasn’t busy and she could get in and out unseen.

  Nerves soured her stomach as she stopped on the landing. The thick wooden door barred her hearing. She’d have to risk opening it. Gritting her teeth, Narra took the cold metal handle and inched the slab of wood open. It didn’t creak, but squealed instead. Narra froze.

  Emperor’s ancestors .

  With an irritated growl, she opened the door enough to peek through. Murmurs emanated down both ends of the white corridor. Beautiful paintings of the Winter Peaks, the mountain range bordering Rova and the Kiznaiver Empire, were displayed prominently on a blank wall. They must have moved the luxury section of the hospital to the third floor.

  Narra scoffed. How silly to separate patients by class. Of course Emperor Malek came up with such an idea.

  She waited for several long minutes as murmuring came and went. Rovan nurses passed by each end, clipboards in hand. When the coast was finally clear, she ducked into the hall.

  Room three ten, three eleven, three twelve. Her heart sped.

  Three fourteen.

  Narra inched the door open. Only heavy breathing occupied the space. She slipped inside. A curtain separated the room in half, leaving Asher’s bed hidden. The door shut with a click behind her, and the deep breathing ceased.

  She froze, her hand remaining on the cold handle of the door.

  “Hello?” Asher’s groggy voice asked.

  She turned and skirted the curtain.

  Asher’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead. “Rheka,” he said. He truly hadn’t expected her to show up. In truth, she hadn’t planned on it either.

  “General,” she greeted.

  His wide eyes softened and he sm
iled. Shirtless and wrapped in white bandages, he still grinned at the sight of her. Asher sat up, leaning against two fluffy pillows propped at his back. At his bedside, a metal table sat with a bowl of bloody bandages. Flowers sat at the windowsill and adorned a small oak table beside a cushioned chair. The room was much prettier than the ones on the second floor. The walls remained pastel blue, though gorgeous paintings of landscapes continued from the hall into the room.

  “Have you come to see how I’m doing?”

  Narra narrowed her gaze at the teasing glint in his eyes. She wasn’t there for him, though she was happy to see him alive and recovering well. The mere sight of his bandages only reminded her how foolish he’d been—how foolish she’d been as well. Heat rose in her chest and she tried desperately to squash it before it reached her cheeks .

  “No,” she said. She didn’t elaborate.

  Asher’s amused expression disappeared, replaced with a curious one. “Then why?”

  She hesitated. Nerves crept from her stomach and into her chest. She had to ask him where his son was so she could kill him. After all they’d been through—the fights, the Dollhouse, and the pirates—Narra couldn’t help the twinge of regret she felt.

  Marina’s bruised face flashed before her eyes, and that’s all it took to bring the burn of anger back to life. She shouldn’t feel sorry for him, or his child. He was a liar, and his son, a murderer.

  “Where can I find Ezriel?” Her jaw hardened.

  “Ezriel?” His eyebrows furrowed. He sat up straight, wincing as he did so. “Why would you need to know that?”

  Her fists clenched. He wouldn’t tell her if she told him the truth. But what lie could she tell him? She had to inform his son of his injury? No, Marina had already tried that. She wanted to be sure he didn’t kill anyone while Asher was hospitalized? It made sense, but Asher would never believe it.

  Narra could lie about her name all she wanted, but she couldn’t lie about this.

  “Your son raped Princess Marina.”

  His eyes flew wide and his mouth gaped.

  She avoided his eyes. She didn’t want to see how horrified he was, for she’d already felt it once, and the cold rage that came with it.

  “No,” Asher said. “That can’t be.”

  He didn’t ask her how she knew this, or how she knew Marina for that matter. Maybe the princess had spoken with him about her at some point. She doubted it, especially with Marina’s involvement with the Revolution, and her uncle’s military position.

  Narra met his eyes. Fire burned in her chest. “It is so.”

  Asher shook his head. “No, Ezriel would never.”

  Narra stepped toward him. “Why would she lie, Grayson?”

  “I don’t know, but my son would never go that far.” He paused. “He’s sick, but he isn’t a monster.”

  “Not a monster ?” A laugh bubbled from within. “That’s what you call a murderer? He kills for fun , for no good reason. How can you defend him?”

  “He’s my son.”

  “And Marina is your niece!” she snapped.

  He looked away, fists clenched around the white wool blanket draped over his lap. “No. You’re wrong.”

  Heat burned through her chest into her throat. “You didn’t see her face, Asher!” Her voice rose to nearly a scream. She’d have the nurses running for the room, but she didn’t care. How could Asher believe the princess a liar? His son was a serial killer, yet he couldn’t believe him a rapist as well?

  Narra ground her teeth, and Asher shook his head again. “You’re wrong, Rheka.”

  “Tell me where he is.”

  “No.” He met her gaze, his eyes like steel.

  Narra snarled. “Tell me! ”

  Though his steel wavered, he shook his head. “I can’t, Rheka.”

  “Why?” She threw her hands into the air, completely exasperated.

  “I can see the murder in your eyes.” His jaw hardened. “I won’t let you kill my son.”

  Narra narrowed her eyes. Footsteps raced down the hall in time with her heartbeat. She went to the window. Cold seeped through the cracks, but nothing could tame her fire.

  “I won’t forgive this, Grayson. Not this time.” She undid the latch.

  “Rheka, wait.” The blankets hit the floor as Asher stood from his bed.

  She glanced back. He held his abdomen where Srah knows how many knives had pierced his flesh. His round eyes, wide with desperation, sought hers.

  “Please , Rheka. Don’t kill my son.”

  Narra worked her jaw back and forth. She’d already made up her mind the moment she’d seen Marina’s injured face. “I have no other choice.”

  “Yes, you do!” He reached for her sleeve. She pulled away, throwing open the window. His view faced the back of the building. It was high enough for her to swing from.

  “I won’t let him hurt her again.”

  Asher growled and stepped closer, backing her against the wall. “Don’t do this.”

  His hot breath brushed her cheeks, and his eyes glazed with fearful tears.

  “I have to.”

  The door burst open, crashing against the wall. Narra pushed Asher back. He tripped and fell to the floor. She leapt onto the windowsill, ignoring the shouts from the staff as she jumped from the third floor.

  Her grappling hook flew from her fist, catching onto an old apartment building across the narrow street. She hit the retract button. Her entire body was yanked through the air and across the street.

  She hit the roof running, fleeing Asher and the guilt welling inside her.

  N arra flew into the Den like a hurricane. Initiates yelped and leapt from her path as she stormed through the main passage. Fire flared through her chest, embers lapping at her throat. While Asher delayed her plans to avenge Marina, Ezriel was out there somewhere, doing Srah’s knows what. Killing wasn’t his only vice anymore. How could Asher not see that? If his crimes were escalating, he needed to be stopped.

  Though she’d grown up her entire life a thief, she understood justice and right from wrong. She wasn’t a heartless harpy, though Asher surely thought she was at this point.

  She shook her head; her shoulder bumping one of the Boomer initiates as she passed. Her cold glare sent the brown haired boy scurrying away faster than a steamwagon driving downhill.

  Without Asher’s help she needed information. The Guild had a lot of it, and what they didn’t know, they had the means to find. One of the commander’s was known for his collection of informants. Clint had to be around somewhere.

  Her storm took her past the weathered brick halls and open space of the Den, to the saloon cloaked in shadow. The candles of their chandelier remained unlit, a hardened pile of wax on the round table below. The next meeting had yet to be called, though she’d hoped one of the commanders would be around. The Guild rarely used the saloon for other purposes, but without the commanders present, the room remained cold and vacant.

  With an irritated growl, Narra spun on her heels. Clint had no missions today—of that she was certain. At the last meeting he’d taken only one contract that was to be fulfilled weeks from today.

  Could he be in August’s workshop? The Shadows Retreat? The armory? Narra sighed and trudged back to the Den. She moved past her fellow thieves until she reached a black iron door—the armory. Clint had a certain fascination for weapons, much like herself. Though he’d only been a thief for a decade, he had come with a long resume befitting the Guild. Years ago, the man had been a well-known assassin-for-hire, moving between Rova and the Kiznaiver Empire to kill his targets.

  He never told the other commanders why he chose to leave his wealthy position. With a bounty on his head of a million rovin, it could be that he simply didn’t want the attention anymore.

  The iron door stood slightly ajar, warm light filtering between the narrow crack. She pushed the cold metal open enough to slip inside. The door was heavy, even for her.

  One of August’s light bulb contraptions lit th
e large space, illuminating endless walls of knives of every calibre; long, short, iron, and steel. There were short swords of every kind, a multitude of holsters for easy hiding, long swords, pistols, and rifles. Each were displayed on separate walls, some locked in cases, and others free for the taking. The Guild factions shared few resources, but this was one of them.

  Among the shadows at the back of the room lurked Clint, the Commander of the Shadows. A long jewel-encrusted dagger sat between his fingers. He glanced up at her beneath a head of dark hair.

  “Rheka,” he greeted. He nodded and went back to his inspection.

  They both spent much time in the armory. It was common they shared the space and enjoyed a certain rapport. Narra enjoyed silence, and so did Clint. Neither of them said more than a few words at a time, and liked it that way. But Narra wasn’t there to play with toys or pick out her next set of weapons. She was there for information.

  “Clint,” she said. Her boots crushed bits of stone as she crossed the space.

  Sensing her mood, or her clipped tone, Clint looked up again, quirking an eyebrow.

  “I need information on Corporal Ezriel Grayson.” She stopped several feet from the tall man. Though he sat at a small table, bent over his work, he still towered in his chair.

  “Another Grayson?” Dark amusement flashed through his eyes. “What have you gotten yourself into, commander?”

  Narra narrowed her gaze. “Nothing of your concern.”

  His amusement fled, returning to cold indifference. He shrugged his wide shoulders. “What do you want to know?”

  “How to find him, where he lives, his schedule, a way to get him alone,” Narra listed. “Anything you can provide.”

  Clint gave her a level look. He didn’t give out information for free, and she knew it. She didn’t have anything to offer. “That’s a lot of information.”

  “I’ll pay you later.” She held back a growl, tapping her foot on the dirty ground. It had to be obvious she was in a hurry, but Clint had yet to set down his current project or quicken his speech. He spoke slowly, deliberately trying to infuriate her.