Thief of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 2) Page 4

  “Ilanna!” The sound drifted toward her.

  She spun, searching for the source, and caught sight of Willem racing across the rooftops. He moved with a wild recklessness that surpassed his usual temerity. She stifled a cry as he stumbled, but he caught himself and charged toward her. Something about him reeked of urgency.

  She sprinted toward him. “What’s wrong, Lem?”

  Fear filled his wide eyes and horror turned his face pale. “I-It’s Denber and Werrin!”

  Chapter Five

  “Citizens of Praamis, I stand before you as Chief Justiciar, servant of the Watcher.” Duke Elodon Phonnis’ words rang out across the hushed crowd filling Watcher’s Square. The Royal Palace rose behind him, a solid bulwark that lent authority to his voice. “For generations, the line of Keadanis has endeavored to keep the peace in our fair city. King Ohilmos, first of his name, has toiled day and night to guarantee the safety, prosperity, and well-being of each and every one of you.”

  The Duke’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward. “But there are those who would defy our King, the anointed of Kiro, the Master.” He swept an arm to the side. “Behold the enemies of justice and peace!”

  Heart lurching, Ilanna’s gaze followed the pointing finger. Two Journeymen—one wearing the white of House Hound, the other clad in Fox orange—stood with hands bound behind their backs. Beside them, Werrin coughed and spat blood. A dark bruise spread across his right side and he winced with each breath. Denber fared worst of all. Blood trickled from his split lip and his right eye had swollen closed. His clothing hung in tatters. He rested his weight on his left leg; a gash in his right thigh oozed crimson.

  Nooses hung above the Journeymen’s heads.

  “These four stand accused of the heinous crime of entering Lord Morrin’s home while he slept. I have here proof of their murderous intention.” He held Denber and Werrin’s daggers aloft.

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Ilanna clenched her jaw and gripped Willem’s hand tighter.

  “There is no greater threat to a man’s life and livelihood than these men. Imagine, if you will, the horror of being roused from sound slumber to find a vicious cutthroat in your home, your place of refuge! Our King has promised you safety, yet these men betray it for the promise of gold.” He slammed a fist on the wooden railing. “Such a violation will not stand! The King’s justice—nay, the Watcher’s justice—will be carried out.”

  Ilanna tensed at the cries of “Justice!” The chant swelled to a roar as hundreds of throats joined in. Dread pierced her like a knife to the gut. No! Not Denber.

  Duke Phonnis held up his hands and the crowd quieted. “The Watcher is the god of vengeance, and there are none more deserving of punishment than these. Yet he is also a god of justice and, as such, he has given us a way to put the guilt or innocence of these men to the test. Behold, the Field of Mercy.”

  The crowd cheered as the Duke thrust a finger at an empty field on the far side of Watcher’s Square. He turned to the four prisoners. “You have defied the laws of Praamis, spurned your King’s offer of peace. Thus, you are condemned to face the judgment of the Long Keeper himself. But you are given a choice: the noose, or the Watcher’s justice. Which do you choose?”

  Willem went rigid and Ilanna squeezed his hand with all her strength. “Don’t do anything stupid!” she hissed.

  He met her gaze. Fire raged in his eyes. The same inferno blazed in her gut, but she had to be rational. Forty guards stood between the crowd and the hanging platform. She couldn’t let Lem throw his life away in the vain hope of saving Werrin or Denber.

  The Duke stood before the Fox. “What is your choice?”

  The Fox spoke in a quiet voice. “The noose.”

  The crowd groaned, but Duke Phonnis held up his hand and moved down the line. “What is your choice?”

  “I choose…” The Hound’s voice cracked. “…the Field of Mercy.”

  A delighted roar swelled in the square.

  “I’ll take my chances with the Field of Mercy,” Werrin said before the Duke could ask him. Confidence filled his eyes and he spat blood at the Duke’s feet.

  Duke Phonnis didn’t flinch. “So be it.” He came to stand before Denber. “What say you? How do you choose to greet the Long Keeper?”

  Denber straightened, wincing. He met the Duke’s gaze and spoke in a clear, strong voice. “The noose.”

  Ilanna’s heart sank. In the Field of Mercy, he had a chance. Why, Denber?

  “You say you offer mercy.” Denber’s harsh laughter carried through the square. “But it is nothing more than a mockery.” His face hardened in defiance. “I will face the Keeper with both eyes open, not drowning in mud.”

  The Duke gave a solemn nod and turned to the crowd. “The condemned have chosen. Let the Watcher’s justice be carried out.”

  A squad of Praamian Guards marched up the steps and seized Werrin and the Hound’s arms. The crowd cheered as the olive-clad guards dragged the two thieves through the square toward the Field of Mercy. Rotten fruit pelted Werrin, and the Hound sagged as a rock struck his head.

  “Peace!” Duke Phonnis cried. “Peace, good people of Praamis. They will face the justice of the gods, not ours.”

  Willem jerked forward as Werrin passed within a few paces. Ilanna wrapped her arms around his throat and pulled him back. “Don’t do it, Lem! Don’t get yourself killed, too.”

  Willem fought for a moment then sagged in her arms. She clung to him—as much to restrain him as to anchor herself in the midst of this insanity.

  The Praamian Guards shoved Werrin and the Hound into the Field of Mercy. Werrin spat blood at one, and the man backhanded him with a mailed fist. Werrin staggered but caught himself.

  Duke Phonnis’ voice rang out behind her. “Let the Watcher’s justice be served.”

  The Praamian Guard prodded Werrin and the Hound with their spears. Snarling curses, Werrin started across the expanse. The Hound moved off to the right.

  “Reach the far side of the Field and the Watcher has judged you not guilty.”

  The Field of Mercy stretched a hundred paces to the right and left, but only forty across. Such a short distance over such innocuous-looking terrain, yet everyone in Praamis knew the truth.

  The Hound met the Watcher’s justice first. The earth cracked beneath his foot and he sank to his knee. He struggled to break free but the ground devoured him with a relentless inevitability. The cheering of the crowd soon drowned out his cries.

  Ilanna’s gut twisted as she watched Werrin. He moved at a steady pace, placing his feet with caution. They’d spent years learning to read the surfaces of the Praamian rooftops. If anyone had a chance, it was—

  She sucked in a breath as Werrin’s heel sank into a depression in the earth. The Hawk leaped backward just as the ground caved beneath him. Mud swirled and clutched at his toes. He cast a glance over his shoulder. His face had gone pale and the wild light of desperation filled his eyes.

  Willem gripped her hand with bone-crushing strength. He held his breath, his eyes never leaving Werrin.

  Come on, Werrin! You can do this. A dozen paces and he’d be free.

  Werrin moved more slowly now. A palpable tension hung thick over the Watcher’s Square as the crowd watched the Hawk. Gasps rose from a few throats as he evaded another patch of hidden mud.

  Dread knotted Ilanna’s gut in the heartbeat before Werrin took his next step. The patch of grass he stepped on looked too thin, too spindly to be growing on solid ground. Her breath caught in her throat as he sank to his thigh in the mud. Werrin struggled and twisted, spreading out his weight to stop the quicksand from dragging him under. But the Hawk fought the earth itself. He had no hope of winning.

  Ilanna’s blood pounded in her ears. She couldn’t watch it yet couldn’t look away. He sank with a terrifying slowness. Fingers of mud crawled up his hips, his torso, his chest, working up to his shoulders and neck. Panic twisted his features as he battled the inexorable. Yet he refused to cry out.
Even as the ground swallowed him whole, he summoned the strength for one last defiant shout.

  A deafening roar swelled from the crowd as Werrin’s hair disappeared beneath the mud. Her hand ached from Willem’s grip, but she didn’t release him. Ice seeped into her veins as she turned back to the platform where Denber stood. His eyes remained fixed on the Field of Mercy, and his face had grown hard, grim. Beside him, the Fox wept.

  Duke Phonnis spoke with a solemn voice and a sorrowful expression. “The Watcher’s justice has been served. They now stand before the Long Keeper.”

  At his gesture, two Praamian Guards brought buckets onto the stage and placed them before Denber and the Fox.

  “These two have chosen the noose. But before their sentence is carried out, I would speak to their comrades hiding among you.”

  His hand dropped to the sword of the Chief Justiciar on his belt. “To any of you vermin who are watching—and make no mistake, there are those among you who strive against peace—let this message ring clear: we will no longer abide lawlessness. For too long, criminals have filled our city with their poison, bringing death, despair, and misery to the innocent, hard-working citizens of Praamis. That ends this day.”

  He surveyed the crowd, then continued. “No longer will we tolerate the thieves and murderers that fill our city. I, Duke Elodon Phonnis, Chief Justiciar, servant of the Watcher, give you my pledge: I will eradicate this plague that rots our fair Praamis from within. There will be no quarter given, no leniency.” He thrust a finger toward Denber and the Fox. “As with these, so it shall be with every one of the lawless scum who would flout the laws of our King. This I swear.”

  The Duke’s gaze swept the crowd. For a moment, his eyes seemed to rest on her, piercing to her very core.

  “You know who you are. You know what you have done.” His face hardened. “You will not escape me. You will not escape justice. I will find you.”

  She pressed her lips tight against a scream of anger and sorrow. Beside her, Willem trembled with rage. Hopelessness washed over her, rendered her immobile, as the Praamian Guards prodded Denber and the Fox forward.

  The Fox climbed onto the overturned bucket and a guard draped a noose over his head. Denber tried to step up but sagged as his right leg gave out. He coughed, spraying blood. Two guards lifted him from the ground and supported his weight on the bucket. Two more olive-clad soldiers hung weighted belts around their ankles.

  Ilanna understood. Denber wouldn’t manage five steps across the Field of Mercy. He’d chosen to die with dignity. Despite the weakness in his legs and the visible agony etched on his face, he held his head high as the noose encircled his throat. His eyes met hers and a smile tugged on his split lips.

  Duke Phonnis’ voice echoed as if from a vast distance. “Let the Watcher’s justice be served.”

  She held Denber’s eyes for a heartbeat. The guards kicked the bucket from beneath him.

  He jerked as the rope tightened. His eyes went wide, his tongue protruding from his mouth. Ilanna’s horror grew with every frantic spasm. Minutes ticked by, and the crowd murmured as the condemned men gasped for breath. Their faces reddened and turned purple as the ropes starved their bodies of oxygen.

  Ilanna couldn’t tear her eyes from the swinging figure. The swollen, twisted features familiar yet so alien. All that remained of the man who had trained her, befriended her, tried his best to protect her.

  With horrible, agonizing slowness, the twitching of Denber’s legs stilled.

  Chapter Six

  The liquor burned Ilanna’s throat and gut but she swallowed and took another long pull. The foul reek of the alcohol brought back stomach-twisting memories of her father. Right now, she welcomed them; anything to get the agonized face of her friend out of her thoughts.

  She’d watched him die a hundred times in her mind. She didn’t dare close her eyes for fear of seeing Denber again: silent, gasping for breath, legs jerking as he kicked his last. His unseeing stare when life finally faded from his eyes.

  No tears came. She hadn’t cried since Ethen, not even when the torment of birthing Kodyn had stolen her senses. She felt hollow and could find no way to fill the void.

  Death followed her like a shadow. She’d lost too many people. Her mother and baby Rose, stolen by illness before her seventh nameday. Bert, killed in an accident she’d caused. Ethen, murdered by Sabat. No one had heard from Prynn in two years. The Night Guild had sent Hounds to track his whereabouts in vain. They counted him dead.

  And now Denber and Werrin.

  The loss of Werrin hit Willem hardest. He hadn’t spoken a word since the Watcher’s Square. He’d lain in his bed for hours, silent as Denber’s corpse, eyes unseeing, the only sign of life the rise and fall of his chest. Had she lost him, too?

  She took another pull at the liquor. Damn you, Denber! The glass bottle trembled in her fingers. She wanted to hurl it against the wall, wanted to hurl herself against the wall if it gave her an escape from the nightmare of her reality. A reality without the one person in the Guild who had genuinely cared for her.

  Denber had been the first person to greet her in House Hawk. He’d stood up to Conn for her, encouraged her in her training, taken her under his wing. The Night Guild hadn’t broken his spirit, hadn’t stolen his easy smile and friendly, open manner. After Ethen’s death, he’d been a quiet presence, solid as the stone walls around her. He never spoke a word but the worry in his eyes had shown his concern for her.

  She’d hated that concern, resented him for it. She was Ilanna of House Hawk; she needed no one. Sabat’s death proved to all that she could fight her own battles.

  Yet the day she discovered her pregnancy, she’d turned to Denber for help. He’d come up with the audacious plan to hide her child from the Night Guild. He’d convinced Master Hawk to grant permission to work a job in Voramis—a job that would keep her out of the city for the months when her pregnancy grew too noticeable to hide.

  But he hadn’t stopped at that. He’d borne the burden of her debts to the Guild when she couldn’t steal. While she lay in bed recovering from childbirth, he’d run himself ragged stealing enough to cover for her. Despite his protests, she had repaid him twice over—Journeyman Bryden held a small fortune in Denber’s name. But she could never repay him for keeping her secret. Especially now.

  For four years, she’d kept him at arm’s length. The knowledge of her debt to him stood like an insurmountable barrier. She’d feared he would use her secret against her and had never been comfortable around him since.

  She’d also resented his efforts to protect her from the Night Guild; he saw her as weak, so he tried to shield her. Sabat had proven that belief correct. She had been weak. Yet her vengeance on the Bloodbear had shown her the truth: she could be strong and self-sufficient. She didn’t need protection and she’d damn well make sure everyone knew it, even if that meant pushing away the only person she could truly consider a “friend” in the Guild. The wall she’d built between them kept them apart. She would never have a chance to tear down that wall now. She would never have her friend back.

  So she drank. She understood her father now. The liquor didn’t erase the pain but numbed it, made it easier to forget. Forget the horrible, choking, gagging sound, the spike of fear driven into her gut at the sight of Denber’s corpse twisting in the wind.

  A click sounded behind her. She whirled, drawing her dagger. The room spun and she staggered.

  “Ilanna!”

  She caught herself on the stone wall. “I’m fine,” she growled.

  Concern furrowed Allon’s brow. “I can see that.” He wrinkled his nose at the liquor bottle. “Smell of that stuff makes it perfectly clear how ‘fine’ you are.” His eyes darted to her dagger. “Want to put that thing away?”

  Ilanna slipped the blade into its sheath on the third try. She collapsed onto the bed, not even feeling the thunk of her head hitting the wall. “What d’you want?” She glared at him. “S’not really a good time for me right
now.”

  Allon sat on the bed beside her. “I didn’t come for that.” He gripped her hand. “I came to check on you. It’s not easy to lose friends.”

  Ilanna sneered. “I don’t need friends!” The liquor made her head whirl, her movements clumsy. The last thing she wanted was for anyone—especially Allon—to see her in her current state. “Leave me alone.”

  “I’m not leaving, Ilanna.” He pried the bottle from her fingers. “Not while you’re trying to drown your pain in drink.”

  “What do you care?” She pushed him away. “You’re a Hound! They meant nothing to you.”

  “Fair.” He shrugged. “But my House lost a Journeyman today, too. And he’s not the first one we’ve lost. Duke Phonnis has increased his efforts to suppress the Night Guild ever since the Black Spire.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

  The Duke’s words swam through her drink-benumbed mind. “You know who you are. You know what you have done. You will not escape me. You will not escape justice. I will find you.”

  Duke Phonnis knew the Night Guild had breached the Black Spire and this was his response. He’d have his vengeance—if not on her, the thief who had humiliated him, he would make her friends suffer. If only he knew how close the blow had struck.

  Worst of all, she could do nothing to stop it. He disguised retribution as carrying out the law. The Chief Justiciar of Praamis, highest authority after King Ohilmos, retaliated by killing her friends before her eyes. The Field of Mercy made a mockery of the “Watcher’s justice”, as he called it. No one had ever survived the crossing.

  The Duke had declared war on the Night Guild, declared war on her when he took her friends. She would not let it stand.

  “You’ve got that look, Ilanna.” Allon’s eyebrows drew together. “The one where someone dies.”

  Ilanna balled a fist. “You’re damned right. I’m going to make him pay. I’m going to kill the Duke.”