Thief of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 2) Read online

  * * *

  Ilanna drew in a deep breath. After the thick, stale air of the tunnels beneath the city, she welcomed the miasma of odors that filled Lower Voramis.

  The whicker of a horse greeted her. Errik stiffened, his hand dropping to his knife.

  “It’s me,” Ilanna hissed.

  Moonlight played off the worry lines in Errik’s face. “’Bout time. You got it?”

  Ilanna nodded. “It was a close thing, though.”

  Errik’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

  “They found me, almost caught me. I killed two of them.”

  “Shite!” Genuine fear twisted Errik’s features, and he fumbled at the horses’ reins. “Ilanna, we need to get out of here now. The Bloody Hand was bad enough, but the Secret Kee—”

  “Easy, Errik.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I left the priests a little present from our dear friends of the Bloody Hand.”

  Errik’s jaw dropped. “The pin? You didn’t!”

  Ilanna grinned. “Damned right I did. Anything to keep them occupied and out of Praamis, right?”

  Errik gave an incredulous shake of his head. “Watcher’s beard, Ilanna. You don’t do anything by half-measures. Next you’re going to tell me you’ve convinced the King of Voramis to take care of the Bloody Hand for us.”

  “Sorry, not this time.” She seized one of the horses’ reins. “Now tell me how we’re going to get out of here.”

  Errik shook out of his surprise and thrust a chin at the horses. “We’re going to ride slowly through the city like two normal people going about their business. We’ll have no problems with the Heresiarchs.”

  “And if the Bloody Hand finds us?”

  “We’re going to ride like the demons of old are at our heels!”

  They mounted up and turned the horses toward Voramis’ southern gate. Going through the Blackfall District—the Bloody Hand’s seat of power—to reach the eastern gate would be suicidal. That meant a trek halfway across Lower Voramis. At least they had the horses to make the journey faster.

  Errik slouched in his saddle, a scarf wrapped around his face—both to keep out the late night chill and to hide his features. Ilanna mimicked him, letting her head hang low, but kept her gaze darting around. She tensed at every alley they passed, every sound that echoed in the night. Sweat trickled down her back and soaked her clothing.

  Once, she thought she caught a glimpse of black on the city rooftops. It had to be her imagination. The Bloody Hand kept to the streets for fear of the Hunter.

  As they rounded the corner, three men stepped into the street ahead of them. One held up a hand. “’Ere now, what’s yer business so late at night?”

  A second man shone the light of an oil lantern on Errik’s face. “Where ya off to at this hour?”

  “Just getting in from the north. Malandria.” Errik spoke in an accent Ilanna had never heard before. “Visiting relatives near the Port of Voramis.” He scratched the stubble on his cheek. “We are headed in the right direction?”

  “Aye.” The first man nodded. “A few more turns down that way, and ye’ll—”

  “Oi, shut up, you idiot!” commanded the third man. He was a dark-haired man whose weasel face looked odd on such a large, hairy frame. “We’re meant to ask them questions, not the other way around.”

  The first man reddened and turned back to Errik with a scowl. “Pull down yer scarf and let me get a look at ye.”

  “My good sir!” Errik’s accent reeked of the noble class. “We are Lord and Lady Mudicas of Malandria, come all this way to visit your glorious city, and this is how we are received? Accosted and questioned like common rabble?” He gave a haughty sniff. “King Gavian shall hear of this, just you wait!”

  “The King?” The weasel-faced man laughed. “That fool’s about as useful as tits on a bear! He and his precious Heresiarchs ain’t gonna do nothin’ if we decide to pull ye down from that Watcher-damned horse and teach that pretty mouth of yers a lesson.” He hefted a club. “Now show me yer face before I have to break it.”

  Sighing, Errik reached up and slipped his hands around the back of his head. A moment later, both hands came hurtling forward. Two throwing knives glinted in the lamplight. One buried in the eye of the lantern-bearing thug. The other took the weasel-faced man in the thigh.

  Ilanna’s sword whispered free of its sheath. She thrust it into the open mouth of the last thug. The razor blade severed the tip of his tongue and sliced his cheek open to the ear. With a yelp, he dropped his club and fumbled at the loose flaps of skin.

  “Go!”

  Errik’s shout galvanized her to action. She dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and the beast leaped forward. Ilanna kicked out. Her boot slammed into the bloodstained face of the thug, snapping his head back and knocking him into a nearby horse trough.

  The clatter of the horses’ hooves tore the silence of the night. Shouts of alarm and cries of anger echoed behind them. Lanterns appeared in the alleys all around, but the streets remained empty of thugs. She clung to the horse’s back, trusting Errik to lead them out of the city.

  Fear dug sharp claws into her mind. According to both Journeyman Donneh and Graeme, Kharna’s Breath was a highly volatile liquid. Though she’d wrapped both the glass vial and the twin clay jars, she half-expected to hear the crack of glass shattering, feel the stinging burn as the acid ate through the cloth wrapping, her pouch, and her flesh.

  But her fears never materialized. A dim part of her mind questioned if she’d found the right vial. Perhaps Graeme hadn’t given her the right symbol, or she’d taken the wrong glass bottle. She pushed the worries aside. It was too late to go back now.

  The first rays of light shone over the eastern horizon as they approached the southern gate. A handful of yawning Heresiarchs worked at the capstan that opened the enormous steel and wood gates. Before the half-asleep guards thought to stop them, Errik and Ilanna had passed under the portcullis, through the gateway, and into the plains beyond.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ilanna leapt from the saddle before the horse had stopped. “Take care of them and meet me in the warehouse as soon as you can.”

  Errik nodded and kicked the horses into motion.

  Ilanna turned toward the Merchant’s District, cursing with every step. She never thought she’d miss the wooden wagon seat, but the return journey from Voramis had been harder than expected. Her training in the Aerie hadn’t included lessons on how to sit in a saddle for eight to ten hours a day. Between saddle sores, aching muscles and bones, and the biting sandstorms of the Windy Plains, their trip had taken an extra three days. That gave her just two days until the Labethian Tournament. Two days to prepare everything.

  Cutting it damned close! She forced her legs to move faster. She had to reach the warehouse and test the Secret Keepers’ mixtures. Either they worked and she’d found her way into the vault, or she’d have two days to find another solution.

  She burst through the door of the warehouse. Light streamed in from a window set high into the wall, shining on the steel vault door standing in the middle of an empty space.

  “Jarl? Darreth?” Her voice echoed off the rafters, startling a flock of nesting birds. “Allon? Ves? Joost?” Silence met her ears.

  Damn it! She stalked toward the rooms Darreth and Jarl had converted into temporary sleeping quarters. The stuffed couches remained, but no blankets or pillows. That means they’re back to sleeping in the Guild.

  She muttered a harsh curse. She didn’t have the time to waste crossing the city to the Guild, finding her crew, and returning here. We need to get working on this now, or else—

  “Ilanna?”

  Ilanna whirled. Joost stood at the entrance of the warehouse, a bottle of wine and a roasted chicken in his hands.

  Veslund bumbled in behind his comrade. “Hey, Joost, did ye know that—?” He stopped short at sight of Ilanna. “Ye’re back?”

  “Damned right I am!” Ilanna strode over and snatched the
wine from Joost’s hands.

  “Hey, that’s—”

  Ilanna popped the cork and emptied half the bottle’s contents before the Fox could stop her. She passed the wine back to Joost and ripped a drumstick free. “Haven’t eaten more than trail rations in the last week.” She bit into the chicken, not caring that it burned her tongue and dripped grease down her chin. “Now, I need you to bring Jarl and Darreth here as quick as you can. And Allon, if you run into him.”

  Veslund nodded, but Joost looked ready to protest. Ilanna didn’t give him a chance. “As soon as you deliver the message to Jarl and Darreth, go buy as much food and wine as you can get for this.” She flipped a golden imperial to the lanky Fox. “And hurry! The Labethian Tournament is just two days away.” She gave Joost a sweet smile and plucked the chicken and wine bottle from his hands. “I’ll take those. Don’t want anything slowing you down.”

  Joost shook his head. Veslund gave a wry smile. “Aye, I told ye she’d come back, didn’t I, Joost?” He held out a hand. “That’ll be a half-drake.”

  Scowling, Joost handed over the coin.

  Ilanna tsked. “You ought to have learned by now, Joost. Never bet against me.”

  * * *

  Ilanna leapt to her feet as the door to the warehouse swung open an hour later. A very flushed and sweaty Darreth rushed toward her. “You’re back.”

  Ilanna grinned. “Surprised?”

  Darreth gave her a crooked grin. “Yes.” He drew out a cloth and dabbed at the perspiration streaming down his forehead. “Calling your chances of survival slim is somewhat like saying the Black Spire is ‘a big building’. But I’ll admit I’m glad to see you beat the odds.”

  “Damned right! Now get over here and help me test this out.”

  She turned to her hastily constructed work bench. A section of Odarian steel roughly as long and wide as her arms sat on a pair of saw horses she’d dragged out of a dusty corner.

  Ilanna produced the glass bottle and held it up for the Scorpion to see. “Kharna’s Breath.”

  Darreth rubbed his hands together, an eager light glinting in his eyes. “It looks so innocent, but not even I have any idea of its true power.” A frown pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Not a whole lot of it, is there?”

  Ilanna grimaced. The bottle was as round and tall as her little finger. In her hurry to flee the Temple of Whispers, she hadn’t thought to grab a second one. “It’s what we’ve got to work with. So we’re going to have to make it work.”

  Darreth inclined his head.

  Ilanna held out the bottle. “Want to do the honors?”

  Desire, excitement, and curiosity lit up Darreth’s eyes. “Are you certain?”

  Ilanna returned his smile. This was why she’d chosen him from all the others in House Scorpion. Just as she sought to push the bounds of her abilities as a thief, Darreth sought the new and marvelous in his own way. He’d bent to the puzzles and problems she’d presented with as much determination and gusto as she had. He lived for a challenge of the mind, just as she lived for a challenge to her skill.

  The bottle was made entirely of glass—the only thing that could resist the acid, Graeme had explained. The hands that had crafted it could only belong to a master craftsman. Not a drop of liquid seeped between the walls of the lid and the outer rim of the bottle. After a moment of tugging, Darreth snorted and twisted the lid to unscrew it.

  Darreth met her eyes and gave her an eager grin. “Here we go!”

  With a steady hand, he tilted the bottle to allow a single drop of the liquid to fall onto the plate of Odarian steel. Acting on instinct, Ilanna stepped out of range of whatever reaction the acid would have with the metal. Nothing happened. The acid sat on the piece of metal like a drop of rain on a leaf.

  Horror whirled in Ilanna’s thoughts. Had she gotten the wrong bottle? Had Graeme sent her to the wrong section? Her heart sank. The trip to Voramis had been nothing but an enormous waste of—

  “It’s working!”

  Darreth’s breathy whisper snapped her back to the moment. The single droplet of acid had begun to bubble. Steam rose from the plate of steel, carrying a noxious odor that stung Ilanna’s nose and made her eyes water. Covering her mouth with her cloak, she retreated a few paces to watch from a safe distance.

  Darreth, however, moved closer to the steel plate. He squinted at the reaction, his face close to the steel in defiance of the smoke and stench. “Marvelous!” His laughter—a high-pitched sound like a donkey braying—rang out in the warehouse.

  The steel smoked for a full minute more. Finally, the last of the acid sizzled, and the final drop of melted metal dripped to the stone floor.

  She met Darreth’s gaze. “Watcher’s teeth, it works!” Triumph rang in her voice.

  “So it does.” Darreth stared at the glass bottle in his hand. “I’d’ve said it was impossible had I not seen it with my own eyes.”

  Ilanna eyed the fingernail-sized hole in the steel plate. “All that from one drop! Think we’ve got enough to do the job?”

  Darreth frowned. “It’ll take me some time to figure out how much acid you’ll need to melt through the door’s outer plate and the steel locking mechanism. I’ll need to run a few tests.”

  “You’ve got until tomorrow afternoon.”

  The Scorpion thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think I can make it. But I’ll probably need to test Derelana’s Lance as well.” His eyes darted to the clay jars.

  Ilanna grinned. Darreth’s eager expression reminded her of the way Kodyn’s face lit up whenever she visited. The memory of her son’s smile sent a pang of sorrow through her. She ached to go home, even for just a few minutes, but she had too many things to do before tomorrow night and nowhere near enough time to do them. She’d have to wait until she finished the job.

  Just three more days, she told herself. Three more days until I can hold Kodyn once more. Ria’s face appeared in her mind, sending warmth rushing to her stomach. The thought of seeing the dark-skinned girl held a different sort of appeal.

  “Ilanna?”

  “What?” Her eyes regained focus. “What did you say?”

  “Derelana’s Lance? The test?” He frowned. “If you’re too tired, I can do this alone.”

  Ilanna sighed and rubbed her eyes. The journey from Voramis had taken a toll on her mind and body. She’d nearly fallen asleep waiting for Darreth to arrive. But she didn’t have time to stop. She could rest later.

  “No, let’s do this.” Drawing her belt knife, she cut the ring of wax around the clay jars’ wooden lids.

  Darreth set the lids carefully aside and peered into the jars. He held out a hand for her knife. “May I?” Using the tip, he scooped a small portion of red powder from the first jar and grey powder from the second. “You might want to stand back for this one, too.”

  Ilanna took a step back as he mixed the two powders together. “D’you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  “As much as anyone.” Darreth didn’t look up from his work. “Journeyman Donneh and I did some research of our own while you were away. I don’t have all the facts, but I think this mixture should work.” He met her eyes now and gave her a wry grin. “Good thing you’ve got enough for me to experiment with.”

  Ilanna quirked an eyebrow. The clay jars were smaller than her fists and only three-quarters filled with powder.

  Darreth finished his mixing and produced an alchemical firestriker. “Now, if I’ve got this right, I simply apply a bit of fire and—” He jerked back as the powder flared to life. Ilanna’s eyes widened at the pillar of fire reaching toward the roof. Waves of heat rolled over Ilanna, and she had to take another step back to avoid the sparks spat forth by the blaze.

  “Welcome back, ’Lanna.”

  “Jarl!” Ilanna spun, a smile broadening her face at the sight of the huge Hawk. “Damn, but you’ve been busy.”

  “You’ve no idea.” Jarl wiped a muddy hand across his even muddier forehead. “We got a problem.”
<
br />   Ilanna rolled her eyes. “Of course we do.” The moment things started to look up, something always went wrong.

  Jarl peered over her head. “Busy?”

  “Darreth’s playing with his new toys. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  The Hawk’s face tightened. “It’s bad. We’ve hit granite. Can’t get through.”

  Elation and frustration mingled in Ilanna’s gut. On the one hand, the presence of granite meant Jarl and his team had located the foundation of the vault. According to Master Lorilain, the steel room would require a foundation of slate or granite to support the weight. The map of Lord Auslan’s mansion had proven accurate. Yet granite was among the hardest stones on Einan. Stonemasons specialized in techniques for cutting and shaping the stone, so difficult it was to manage. No way a team of Grubbers could get through a solid layer of it.

  “Keeper’s teeth.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Have you made any progress at all?”

  Jarl shook his head. “Been working all day and barely scratched it.”

  Ilanna’s shoulders slumped. She muttered a string of curses. She’d done the impossible to pull off the job: broken into the hidden vaults of the Reckoners, dodged the Bloody Hand, even stolen from the Secret Keepers. Yet she had no clever solution to deal with a solid slab of stone. The look in Jarl’s eyes spoke volumes. He knew they wouldn’t reach it in time.

  “Uh, Ilanna, I think you’d better take a look at this.”

  “Not now, Darreth. I need to think.”

  “Ilanna.” The Scorpion’s voice grew more insistent. “You’ll really want to see this.”

  With a huff, Ilanna whirled and stalked over to the Scorpion. “What?”

  Darreth stabbed a finger at the floor. “Look!”

  Ilanna crouched. Shock washed away all trace of frustration and anger. “Sweet Mistress!”

  The alchemical mixture lived up to its name. It was as if the hand of Derelana herself had driven a fiery lance into the floor. Cracks spread from a hole scorched deep into the stone. Ilanna lifted a shattered piece of masonry, only to have it crumble in her fingers.