Clockwork Thief Box Set

by Katherine Bogle

  Erik’s gaze met hers over the heads of the dozens who flowed inside. His brows cinched together. He thought Ezriel’s fate cruel—obnoxious. Erik had never been cruel. He’d never been able to do what he had to. He couldn’t kill his father, and he couldn’t kill Ezriel either. Though their evils were on different levels, Erik didn’t see it that way. He saw injustice without a trial. He saw punishment without law.

  Narra averted her gaze. It was too late now.

  August joined her on the platform that held Narra’s throne. The murmurs of the other thieves hushed as he raised a hand.

  “A death of a thousand cuts is a ritual from the early days of the Thieves Guild,” he began. His fingers trembled on his gold-plated cane. “It has been passed down through the ages, a mode of extermination only used on the worst of the worst. Though it has been used in the past to end the lives of those who’ve committed terrible acts against the Guild—from a thief killing a commander, to stealing contracts from the fold—we also use it for justice.” Whispers of agreement sprung through the crowd. August tilted his chin up and he faced Ezriel. “Today we will get justice for our fallen initiates. May Lady Death have mercy on your soul.”

  The shing of daggers being drawn from their sheathes echoed in the hollow space. Her heart raced. She rose to her feet at August’s side.

  “Give it all you have,” she said. The tears welling behind her eyes finally dissipated, leaving her with the heat of her internal fire. “But I get the kill.”

  August nodded solemnly. “Let us begin.”

  Claudia stepped forward first, her twin daggers brandished. Ezriel’s jacket had been removed, leaving him in a simple button up shirt. She tore it open, buttons flying in every direction. Holding her daggers in an X, she smirked at the boy.

  “This is for Damien.” The knives sliced through his skin like butter. His cry filled the sudden quiet in the saloon. Blood welled in the deep cuts, dripping down his bare chest.

  August stepped off the platform and joined the other commanders surrounding the corporal. Klaus went next, his short sword in hand. He glared at Ezriel for a long moment before lowering his blade to the corporal’s cheek. The sharp edge pressed in, and Ezriel groaned through his teeth as Klaus drew his blade down the man’s cheekbone.

  Narra stepped down from her throne and left the saloon. Groans of agony followed her steps, each cry deeper than the next. She closed her eyes against the sound.

  This is what he deserves , her father whispered.

  Her eyes flashed open. He was right. Narra emerged in the Den, empty with all the thieves in the saloon. Two curved stone benches sat at the center of the space. Though typically occupied upon her entry, they were open for the taking. She took a seat, the smooth stone was cold even through her clothes.

  Ezriel screamed.

  Narra rolled her shoulders and clasped her hands together, resting her elbows on her knees. His death would take a long time. It wouldn’t be a swift end. She’d wait for her kill. She’d list his crimes, force his confession, and then end his life.

  His would be the fourth death on her hands.

  It wasn’t likely to be the last.

  Hours rolled by, groans turning to screams, screams turning to pleas for mercy. Erik joined her not long after she’d went to the Den. He sat beside her, silent as death. Though his presence was typically comforting, his warmth was a constant reminder of his disapproval.

  The irritation only fueled her fire.

  When Clint finally came for her, she rose without a word. Erik didn’t follow. His shoulders stiffened, and his gaze didn’t leave the floor .

  Narra followed the Commander of the Shadows back to the saloon.

  Shadows shielded the faces of the Guild members. Blood splattered their clothes. They parted around her like the sea, forming a path to a blood soaked man she hardly recognized. His head lolled forward, his eyes closed. Long cuts sliced every visible piece of skin. Dark lines in his clothes marked those she couldn’t see.

  He deserved this , she reminded herself.

  “Corporal Ezriel Grayson,” she said.

  His eyelids fluttered open to reveal the same brown gaze she’d come to know from his father. At least he was awake for her to reap his soul.

  “You’ve murdered only Srah knows how many. You’ve raped, killed, and placed the blame on everyone but yourself.” Narra paused. She drew a long black dagger from her belt. “Of those, thirteen were Thieves .” Her breath rushed out, hot on her tongue. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  His brown eyes met hers, startling in color against the bright red of his blood. He smiled. Her heart leapt into her throat to join the burning. The black dagger trembled against his exposed throat.

  “You’re a monster,” she whispered. His smile grew.

  “You’re about to kill me,” he croaked. “What does that make you?”

  Narra’s jaw hardened. She leaned back. Her dagger slid from his neck to point at his chest. The untamed embers of her heart flared. “Lady Death’s hand.”

  His smile dropped.

  What answer had he been expecting?

  “Confess your crimes before the gods and maybe they’ll show you mercy.” Narra pressed the tip of her dagger into his flesh.

  Ezriel’s lips pulled back in a snarl. His breath hissed out. “What gods ?”

  “It doesn’t matter. If justice is real, then you’ll rot in the circles of hell.”

  He scoffed.

  She pushed the blade deeper. Dark red gushed between the crimson. She wouldn’t go deep enough to kill—not until he confessed what he’d done.

  “All right,” he snapped. “I killed your thieves.”

  Narra didn’t withdraw her blade. “And?”

  “Three corporals, a maid, a few street urchins.” He took a deep breath. “A few thugs, maybe a gangbanger or two.” She twisted the point of her dagger. “That’s all! I swear!”

  He tilted his head back to the ceiling, his eyes tightly shut.

  “And the woman you raped?” Her knuckles went white on the hilt of her blade.

  Ezriel shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  A burst of fire flared inside her. She withdrew her blade in one quick motion. Before he could gasp in relief, she plunged it into his hand. The corporal screamed and flailed, kicking uselessly with his feet. His restraints wouldn’t let him go anywhere.

  “Bitch! ” he shouted.

  Narra leaned closer. “Confess.”

  He growled, glaring into her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Her fire sent red across her vision. She snarled and yanked the blade away, only to slice it in one quick motion across his throat.

  Blood spurted from his neck. He choked, red gushing between his lips. Narra stepped back. Ezriel gagged loudly, the only sound in the still saloon. He fought for air until the blood slowed and his eyes rolled up into his head. His shoulders shook and spasmed. Then he stilled. His head lolled back and the tension drained from his body.

  He was dead. Really, and truly dead.

  Narra had been death’s hand after all.

  Her dagger clattered to the floor, loud in the quiet. She stepped away. Every part of her became heavy. Her limbs sagged. Her heat turned cold. She spun slowly for the door. The thieves parted for her, creating a single path to the door.

  Cold spread through her chest and into her lungs. It corrupted her muscles and her bones. Everything was heavy. She trudged from the saloon and back into the Den .

  Erik looked up as she entered. He stood, the stone of his expression turning to concern. His brows pulled together and he rushed to her side.

  Her body crumpled beneath her. Erik caught her before she hit the floor, his arms the only thing holding her aloft. She closed her eyes and laid her head against his warm chest.

  “Narra,” he whispered.

  She buried her face against his cloak. Her chest felt empty. Hollow.

  “It’
s done,” she said.

  Erik nodded slowly.

  “Why would he lie about Marina when he confessed to the rest?” Her fingers clutched his cloak. They trembled, completely numb. What was happening to her?

  “I don’t know.”

  Erik straightened, bringing her with him. He hoisted her arm over his shoulders and gripped her waist to keep her steady.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” she murmured.

  “I know.”

  Narra found her feet, just barely. Her leaden legs braced against the ground as Erik towed her across the Den to the southern passage. Even the smell of the sewer couldn’t break the nothing inside her. She worked with Erik as best she could, one foot in front of the other.

  He led the way to the stairs, helping her up as the feeling gradually returned to her legs. They made it to Alden’s loft—still vacant of her uncle. Without prompting, she collapsed on the red upholstered sofa. The velvet was soft against her cheek. Comforting.

  Erik wrapped a furry white blanket around her shoulders and slid to the floor at her feet. He leaned his back against the couch and rested his elbow on his bent knee.

  I don’t know what you’re talking about .

  Ezriel’s words echoed in her head. Why would he lie in his final moments? He knew he would die. He told her his crimes, his kills, even the ones she hadn’t known. Yet, when confronted with the reality of Marina, he said nothing .

  Narra buried her face in the soft fur. Fog descended on her brain, leaving her eyelids heavy and her mind distant. She’d never know why he’d lied, because she’d killed him. The fourth person she’d ever ended. Would he be the last?

  No. She’d proven to herself that she’d kill in the defense of those she loved and those she cared for. Ezriel wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t be the last.

  Maybe Narra was more than just the hand of death. Maybe Ashra had cursed her to this fate.

  T he fog lifted with the sun, clearing Narra’s conscience of her misdeeds.

  A loud bang broke the quiet. Erik cursed, grumbling obscenities as he bounced on one foot, yanking his boot onto the other.

  Warm afternoon light spilled through the small circular window at the top of the wall, just beneath the arch of the roof. Narra blinked slowly, the haze of sleep clinging to her brain. She couldn’t remember her dreams, but snippets of blood flashed before her eyes. Red dashed her blade.

  Ezriel.

  She’d killed him.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she called for the darkness again. She wanted rest, time away from the real world. She wasn’t ready to mourn the Guild’s children, or decipher the corporal’s final words. With Ezriel dead, she’d truly repaid her debt to Marina. But in doing so, she ended the life of Asher’s son. Her heart ached. Why did she care? Why did guilt claw at her heart? She’d done the right thing in ending Ezriel’s existence, but Asher had asked her not to. He’d begged her to spare his son .

  And she’d killed him.

  Another bang interrupted her thoughts. Her eyes flashed open.

  Erik stared at her with a guilty grin. “Apologies,” he said.

  Narra sighed and flung the warm fur from her shoulders. Chill air brushed her skin. She shivered. It’d be a cold start to the day.

  “It’s late,” she said. Though it had been a long night, they’d slept through the entire morning. The sun had to be high in the sky to filter through the top window. Did Asher know his son was dead yet? She rubbed warmth into her arms.

  “It is,” Erik agreed.

  She should be the one to tell the general. She owed him that. Her feet froze against the oak floor. It’d break his heart, but at least it’d come from her.

  “I have to go.” She stood.

  “You just woke up.” Erik leveled her an irritated look.

  “I have things to do.”

  “You have no contracts, no meetings, and no friends besides me to engage with.” He raised an eyebrow. “Where could you possibly be going?”

  “To deliver some news.” Narra fetched her discarded cloak from the floor. It lay in a crumpled heap, the black fabric wrinkled from top to bottom. She narrowed her eyes at the cloth. Of course .

  Erik paused. Concern creased his brow. “To whom?”

  She clipped the cloak to her shoulders and smoothed her hair. “Ezriel’s father.”

  “The general?” Erik gaped. “Why?”

  Narra headed for the stairs. She didn’t need to explain herself to Erik or to anyone. Her boots beat the stairs loudly as she descended. Erik followed.

  “Narra!” he snapped.

  She rounded the corner and passed through the dining room doors. “It’s my duty.”

  “Your duty ?” Erik grabbed her wrist and spun her to face him. “Narra, you don’t owe that man a thing . Your duty is to the Guild. They need you right now. ”

  Narra yanked her wrist from his grasp. “No. They don’t.” She turned from her friend and fled her uncle’s bar.

  Infiltrating the hospital a second time was much simpler. She leapt up the stairwell, her daggers clicking against the metal clasps of her belt. One flight. Two. She reached the top floor. Her heart raced, not from exertion, but for the words she had to say—the ones she couldn’t quite form on the way across the city.

  His son is dead. You killed him.

  She shook her head clear of her father’s voice. No, she had to be more tactful than that. She wouldn’t mention the extermination, or the death of a thousand cuts. Her fingers paused above the metal handle. Inches from the main hall, murmurs of nurses and patients filtered through the door.

  How did one tell a man his son was dead?

  Narra took a deep breath. She’d find the words. She just had to get to the general first.

  Footsteps receded down the hall. The click of heels followed. She waited several moments before peeking beyond the door. No one. The hall was empty.

  She wished this time had been more difficult. Any delay would be appreciated, just to avoid Asher for a few more minutes.

  She dashed into the hall.

  Room three hundred and one, three hundred and two… the numbers blended together until she reached Asher’s room. The door remained shut. No murmurs came from within. She stepped inside.

  Her stomach sank. The door closed with a soft click.

  “Hello?”

  She bit her lip. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this, not now. Narra spun to the door. Ezriel’s blood was too fresh on her hands. He’d see it. He’d know she killed his son. He’d know her anger drove her to it.

  “Rheka? ”

  Ancestors .

  Narra hesitated at the door handle. She had to do this. Slowly, she turned.

  “General,” she said. Her breath quivered as she exhaled.

  She clenched her fists and steeled herself. She could do this. She had no other choice. Narra stepped around the privacy curtain.

  Asher’s torso remained bandaged, though he wore a thin, long-sleeved cotton button-up. The small black buttons remained undone.

  He scanned her face. Her jaw hardened.

  Your son is dead , she tried to say. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come out. It had to be done . He was a murderer .

  Asher’s brown eyes widened. His face paled and his mouth fell open.

  “My son,” he whispered. He knew.

  “Asher.” She stepped forward.

  He placed his face in his hands, obscuring his look of horror. His shoulders shook and a sob broke the quiet between them.

  She shouldn’t have come. She should have let him find out on his own. She was his son’s murderer, and yet she stood before him trying to be… what? A friend? Her eyebrows pulled together. Her fingers twitched at her sides. Narra wanted to comfort him. But why? She hardly knew him, but he’d forced his presence upon her long enough that she’d grown accustomed to his company. She shook her head.

  What had she done?

  “Asher,” she repeated.

  “I
asked you not to kill my son!” he shouted. His voice broke and his body trembled. “It’s the one thing I asked of you.”

  Narra stepped back.

  An excuse flew to her lips. He was a murderer. He deserved it. But he was Asher’s son, and he had a right to grieve his fallen kin.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. Narra retreated into the hall.

  The door clicked behind her.

  Asher’s sobs broke the quiet of the hospital. She leaned her back against the door and tilted her head to rest upon it. She squeezed her eyes shut against the forming tears .

  He deserved it , her father’s voice whispered. Or was it her own? She could hardly tell anymore. Where did her father’s voice end and hers begin? She wanted Ezriel dead, so she’d killed him. But was it the right thing to do? Did she care if it was or not?

  Narra shook her head.

  “Narra?”

  She jumped and spun toward the voice.

  Marina stood by the entrance to the stairwell. Her long black gown hugged her curves and complimented her bronze skin nicely. But the purple bruises did not.

  Narra gasped. “Marina.”

  Marina’s stunned expression fell and tears spilled down her cheeks. Narra closed the space between them, taking the princess’s hand and pulling her into the stairwell. Though no nurses had occupied the halls, she’d prefer not to have her presence known.

  The princess collapsed into her arms, her knees buckling. Narra held her up, Marina’s fur hood tickling Narra’s cheeks as she cried into her cloak.

  Ezriel was dead, but the princess had shown up with more bruises.

  What was going on? Who had done this to her? Anger tightened her throat. As one villain fell, another arose from the ashes. What did she have to do to keep this woman safe?

  Marina’s sobs quieted as Narra stroked her silky curls. The princess wiped her cheeks and gazed up at the thief. Bloodshot eyes met hers.

  “How did this happen?” Narra asked.

  The princess shook her head, her fingers trembling against Narra’s chest. “My father,” her voice caught and she shook. “He’s always been harder on me than my sisters.” Her fingers wrapped around Narra’s cloak. “He knows I’ve been sneaking out. When I wouldn’t tell him where, he—” A sob broke her words.