The Twilight Thief: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Thrones of Midgard Book 1) Page 8

  It takes a moment for the brief rush of panic to subside. I hate the water, terrified of it.

  “Why did you do that? Take me back! I need answers!” The prince shouts after crashing to the cabin floor. He stands, though his legs buckle from the gentle rock of harbor waves.

  I reactively slam an elbow into his gut, grab the back of his neck, and shove his face into the small bunk in the cabin. I hover over him, applying as much bodyweight into my hold as I can. The prince is stronger than he looks as he struggles underneath me.

  “You need to calm the fuck down, now,” I growl.

  “You can’t treat a prince like this,” he scolds.

  “I don’t fucking care if you’re Banne’s left testicle. You are going to get us both killed if you don’t keep your voice down.”

  I hold him in place for a few heartbeats until I’m sure he’s received the message. I ease my grip and step back. The prince crawls onto the bunk and wraps his arms around his knees, tucked tight against his chest. He’s barefoot. Fuck, I didn’t even notice before.

  “You took off your shoes?”

  The prince looks down as if noticing it for the first time he’s barefoot. “There was blood on them,” he says after a few moments.

  I rummage through a cubby space until I pull out a pair of deck slippers and toss them at his side.

  “Put those on,” I command.

  “I’m not putting those on my feet.”

  “I swear, every time you open your mouth, you make it so much easier to despise you.” I snarl.

  “Likewise”

  I sigh aloud, a long breathy gust of air forcing raspberries from my lips. The cutter softly tilts back and forth as the harbor waves lull against the hull.

  “We can’t stay here,” I say softly.

  “Where are we?”

  “My cutter in the Richtenfel harbor. It’s the first place I thought of that doesn’t have a mirror,” I confide.

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Not sure if you’ve noticed by now, but he seems to travel by mirrors. It’s how he emerged from my ensuite. I have a large mirror above the sink.”

  “What do we do?” He asks.

  “We find a way to keep him out of my fucking mirrors,” I say, a bite of anger on my tongue.

  “How?” He asks again. He asks a lot of fucking questions.

  “I know a guy,” I say, offering a hand. He takes it hesitantly. Before his fingers fully grasp mine, my magic flurries and pull us into the void, wisping away from my cutter docked in the harbor.

  8

  Leluna

  “A blade never lies, and a tongue cuts deep.”

  – Order of Assassins dictum 22 B.A. (Before Arrival)

  The castle halls sing a peaceful harmony as the crickets fine-tune their song and a screecher owl calls in from the gardens. Flickering lanterns cast shadows against the embossed wallpaper and decadently tiled floor, complementing the faint evidence of gold trim engraved into novel furniture at the occasional catch of light. The expertly painted murals and masterpieces sleep in the shadows while perched on the walls. A sliver of the waxing crescent in the sky offers enough light to expose the violet, black, and blue hues. Twilight.

  I smile fondly thinking of my friend Nova, who obsessively proclaims that twilight is the perfect time for mischief.

  Weeks undercover as the handmaiden to lady Vaneeda has been trying. Perhaps servitude to that bitch should be a lesson at the Order in cruel ways of torment and torture. I’ll remind myself to bring it up during the next Guild meeting.

  The twat sent me on a fool’s errand to procure a charcuterie board. Who the fuck says charcuterie? It’s a gods damn cheese board. I rifled through the kitchens. After receiving the reluctant help of a squarish kitchen wench, I delivered the requested snack board, only to be dismissed.

  “On second thought, I remembered the last time I had cheese. Take that away. Now, off with you,” she shooed me from her chambers. I begrudgingly excused myself from her presence before I pulled the very sharp hairpin from my hair bun and shoved it into her eyes.

  It wasn’t difficult to assume my position as the lady’s handmaiden. After a convincing threat, her previous maid excused herself from her position in the middle of the night, and I casually took her place. The first morning I appeared for duty, Vaneeda gave me a thorough and judging examination before asking, “Where is the other girl?”

  “She has fallen ill, m’lady. To keep m’lady healthy, I have been positioned to replace her,” I offer, in a facetiously sheepish voice.

  She shrugged and began barking orders immediately. Narcissists and egocentrics tend to believe whatever you tell them as long as you iterate how important they are. It’s disgustingly easy to fool them.

  I traipse through the halls, my slippers silent against the tiled floor. I usually spend the evenings investigating the studies, the libraries, and even the carrier coop for undisposed messages—any inkling about the city disappearances and the crown’s knowledge. I’m frustrated as I turn up with nothing through every possible lead. It’s the same story for weeks now. I hate feeling like I’m just sitting on my hands, waiting for something to fall into my lap.

  This is why I’m sneaking through the castle halls in the dead of night. I memorized the schematics that Kael delivered last night. I weave through the garden, ducking into the shadows cascaded by the crescent moon above. The servant halls have several sections. The royal quarters have their own private system. Access is secured by lock and key, but that hasn’t stopped me before. I leave the courtyard through a corridor that scales up a long, grander staircase until I reach a small doorway tucked in a corner, out of sight. I kneel before the door, pulling my pins from my hair, and get to work on the lock. Thanks to the lessons of my thieving friend Nova, I manage to unlatch the bolt with ease. I slip into the royal servant passageways and silently trail through the maze of corridors.

  Nymueh had been stationed as a chambermaid to the queen. Unlike the handmaiden, the chambermaid is usually unseen. They tidy the rooms, replenish toiletries, freshen the linens, decorate the rooms with fresh flowers, all of which performed while the queen is outside her chambers.

  I know the wicked wench has done something to Nymueh. I don’t believe in coincidences. If the answer seems obvious, it’s because it is.

  Why couldn’t she volunteer to infiltrate a nobleman’s estate? The grand manors of expensive glamour huddled close against the palace, a neighborhood of eloquence and garish taste. There is plenty of high-ranking nobility and army commanders enthralled in the noble square.

  A sour twist in my gut tells me her reasons for infiltrating the queen’s inner circle are because she knows my personal vendetta. Nymueh has always been obnoxiously loyal like this. “My call is your call,” she’d tell me.

  “If you aren’t dead when I find you, I’ll kill you myself,” I mutter under my breath.

  The halls are empty, which I expected, but it still feels too easy. If I were a queen, I’d have guards posted at every possible entrance to my private chambers, including the servant’s hall. Then again, that may be my overly paranoid assassin training.

  Still, I feel uneasy as I easily slip through the hallways and up the stairwells. I’m due to report to Kael tomorrow night, so I need to find something. Maybe if I uncover valuable intel, I can use it as leverage to convince the assholes in charge to get me those dungeon schematics.

  I reach the final hallway leading to the queen’s chamber. The walls are decorated with embroidered tapestries. The checkered floor is marble-like tile, and the eloquent wainscoting on the walls is noxious. The chamber door appears to be heavy oak with hand-carved angelic fae cherubs. Ironic how she initiates the purge which slaughters fae in the hundreds of thousands, but the fae carvings are still safe and sound here in this garish hallway. I’m repulsed by the opulent display of wealth in the halls only utilized by the staff, no less.

  I graze my fi
ngers over the carved faces and wince at the smooth texture of wood. Even her gods’ damn servant door is softer than my own skin.

  I hold my breath as I slowly lift the door lever. The silent mechanics in the door latch is well oiled. Small blessings, I tell myself. I urge as much willpower into my heartbeat to steady itself, the pounding and adrenaline in my ears are nearly deafening. As I pull the door open, I use both hands to control the slow movement until only a small sliver of light cascades from the doorframe. I squint against the light, adjusting from the darkness of servant halls to the abrasive brightness of the chamber.

  The hearth is ablaze, a sizable tower of logs stacked deliberately for a long, slow burn. Several candles throughout the chamber are also lit, gleaming their amber glow against the ostentatious furniture.

  Queen Morda enters the chamber from a doorway artistically decorated in painted gold vines and butter-yellow daisies. She wears a sheer robe, barely opaque. Literally, nothing is left to the imagination as I gawk at her physique.

  Are you fucking kidding me? Evil people shouldn’t be so fucking attractive. There should be a karmic rule in the universe. The sheer violet of translucent cloth shimmers against the queen’s perky breasts as the rest of the robe sashays against her perfect curves.

  I hate her even more for being beautiful.

  In her hand, the queen sweeps a silver comb through her intensely black locks of wavy hair. She’s humming a tune, one that I don’t recognize as she strolls through her chamber. I feel sweat perpetrate from my palms as she steps closer to the door I’m hidden behind.

  There she is, the dastardly fiend who’s responsible for my parents’ deaths. It would be so easy, so glorious, to sink my blades into her skin. Oh, the sounds of her screams and gurgled cries would be music to my ears. I would make it last, relishing in her torment.

  That escalated quickly. I scold myself.

  The queen glides through her chamber until she reaches her vanity, sitting in a gold-leaf painted armchair. She sets the silver comb down and begins to unclasp the silver chain that delicately hangs a black stone pendant above her perfect cleavage.

  She drapes the unfastened pendant onto a gold carved tree full of jewelry on her vanity top. Immediately, her body begins to shimmer like a reflection on a pond’s surface, disturbed by rippling waves. The ripples cascade across her skin, changing her skin tone into pale pasty white, her hair lengthens, and the black darkens, if that’s even possible.

  I use a free hand to rub my eyes, still in disbelief by what I’m witnessing. Queen Morda’s body is now slender, with fewer curves. Her languid limbs are boney, and the Queen’s perfect breasts are smaller, deflated.

  There really is karma, I find myself wistfully thinking.

  The queen peers into the vanity mirror. Her eyes are now black, even the whites. Her ears are long with pointed tips.

  The queen is fae.

  The revelation leaves me breathless. Blinding rage swells within me like a hurricane of turmoil, pain, loss, and blood. I reach for the blade neatly tucked underneath my apron. The rough wooden hilt vibrating against my palm, the sheen of metal glistens in the sliver of amber light leaking from the doorway.

  I sink into a torrent of rage. Rumors exploited the queen’s sinister manipulation used to puppet king Gilderoy. The Purge of Arcana came by his command, but the birth of genocide originated from her. The truth of this didn’t come easily either. Dozens of guildmates were discovered and executed for treason.

  The hypocrisy is uncanny, unbelievable. The tyrant responsible for so many deaths of fae and those sympathetic is fae herself.

  As I’m about to pull the door wider, to slip inside so I can watch the decrepit life drain from the bitch’s eyes, the queen begins to hum louder as she slides a blade against her wrist. I stop, shock and curiosity taking control.

  The queen slowly and intricately paints runic symbols on the mirror, still humming her creepy tune. The mirror begins to shimmer and ripple, and the surface darkens until it’s solid black. The queen’s reflection is no longer visible. A swirl of dark mist and ice swirl within the mirror. It reminds me of watching a blizzard billow outside a window during a winter storm in the Rhenstadt Fjords.

  The warm air that gently flowed from the room turns frigid. The candles throughout the chamber immediately extinguish, though the hearth still burns. The flames have tamed into a lull, barely emanating enough light to see the queen’s face.

  “Have you taken care of him?” Queen Morda’s voice is like velvet, smooth and precise.

  For a brief moment, a shrill panic swells in my chest at the thought that she is talking to me, fully aware of my presence, until I can hear the faint chorus of whispers pillaging the chamber from the mirror. Gooseflesh spreads across my skin as the blood in my veins turns ice cold.

  “What do you mean complication?” Morda’s voice is quipped, “I did not entrust this task to you for there to be complications. Kill him and frame the lord and duchess. Is that too hard of a request?”

  Kill him and frame the rebellion? Does she mean the prince? My breath hitches while recalling Kael’s update, the prince is missing.

  “Impossible. No one in this realm should possess that kind of magic,” she snipes. I can’t see her face clearly but I can hear the distaste in her voice.

  “Insufferable creatures. Track them, find them, and do not report back to me unless the prince is dead. As for the other one, bind him with this,” she says as she pulls a black garnet stone from a lockbox on her vanity top. She tosses it into the mirror of swirling black smoke, it disappears into nothing.

  “Bring the boy to me. Volduin will want to know how a child of Midheim came to possess chaos magic. Oh, and one more thing,” the queen coos. “Send the hounds to Laenberg and pay the duchess a visit. I have plans for a replacement. We’ll snuff out their insufferable resistance from the inside.”

  The queen shifts in her armchair, her eyes pinned and brow furrowed as she glares directly at me. No, not me. At the door. I refuse to panic. Sudden movement will give me away.

  I summon my magic from deep within my soul. It’s a small well of finite power, scarce in potential but easily pliable. I’ve used it every day of my life since it first manifested. I immerse myself in the raw energy of static. The pearlescent hues of refracted light spread across my skin.

  The queen launches from her chair, snatching her black pendant from the vanity, refastening it to her neck. Her shape swiftly returns to its human form.

  Just as the queen reaches the servant’s door, I command my willpower to cast me in illusion. When the door swings open fully, I’m no longer visible, the illusion making me invisible.

  The queen glares into the hallways, viciously searching for a perpetrator. She takes a step forward. I take an equal step back. The illusion does well to hide my image, though it does little to mask any sounds I make. I hold my breath, fearing she’ll hear the exhale as I slowly tiptoe backward. My slippers are soft and soundless against the marbled floor.

  One foot after the next, slow and steady, I move down the hallway. The queen stands rigid as if she’s waiting for something. I don’t care to find out what that is. I round the corner, slipping out of her line of sight just as my illusion wavers. I don’t stop there, for fear the queen decides to trail into the hallway and explore.

  A heartbeat later, I hear a harsh sigh and the sound of the door latch softly catching. I slip out of my magic’s hold, the illusion fading into the air. My hand is placed firmly over my mouth as I release the breath still swelling in my chest.

  Before I let the crash of adrenaline overtake my common sense, I flee from the servant halls, still trying to understand what I just witnessed and what it all means.

  ***

  Under the palace in the tunnels, I wait patiently for Kael to arrive. It’s been an entire day since I witnessed the queen reveal her true form and the one-sided conversation she had with someone. I’ve replayed last night’s ev
ents repetitively, trying to make sense of it all. It’s impossibly torturous to endure, especially since I’m bound to continue my servitude to lady Vaneeda and her incessant rants. At one point during today’s luncheon, I seriously considered ripping the fork from her fingers and stabbing it into my own ears just so that I’d never have to hear her voice again.

  I really need to kill something.

  Kael appears nearly an hour later, far later than our regularly scheduled meetings.

  “What fucking took you so long?” I snark.

  “The city guard patrols are more relentless. The king issued a curfew today. Advancing through the city is arduous at the moment.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me,” I snap.

  “Spending too much time around the courtiers, Leluna? You’re starting to sound like them,” he chides.

  I really, really need to kill something.

  “You need to warn the lord and duchess. Tonight,” I add.

  “Elaborate,” Kael says, slipping into his usual placid demeanor.

  “I paid our queen a little visit last night,” I say, sounding casual. Kael’s calm mask slips, and his brows furrow accusingly.

  “Your visit wouldn’t have anything to do with the abrupt curfew embarked within the city limits, would it?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. So much happened, so fast. It’s tough to recall,” I say nonchalantly. I’m building up the hype because I want something from Kael. Assassin Guild training delved deep into the powers of manipulation. Kael is my newest victim.

  “Report, Leluna.” His tone tight, losing his patience.

  Perfect.

  “I will, once I get what I need. The schematics for the dungeons,” I bargain. I know it’s petty. The information I have is crucial to the rebellion, but Nymueh is somewhere in this gods’ forsaken place. I’ll do what I need to get her out.

  “Leluna Dahahl.”

  Oh damn, he’s using my full name now.