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

by J. Levi

  “I understand the dire situation you find yourself in after receiving such news. However, I must ask that you divulge me in a request by the king,” queen Morda says.

  “The king?”

  “Yes. With the deaths of duchess Mabel and your cousin, the city of Laenberg is in shambles. It needs a new mistress to maintain the principality.”

  The duchess’s dead body isn’t even cold yet, and she’s already trying to replace her. But then it dawns on me. The other night, when I overheard her conversation through her enchanted mirror, the queen said, “I have plans.” She planned this conspiracy, no doubt. Retaliation for the Prince’s recruitment. Queen Morda assassinates the duchess and lord Montares, the rebellion’s benefactor and replaces them with someone she can control. It’s so obvious that I almost want to commit myself to ten lashings just for overlooking it. How stupid I have been. So caught up in my pursuit to find Nymueh, I’ve overlooked everything right before my eyes.

  I cringe at the thought of Vaneeda obtaining any semblance of power. She’s already egotistical as it is. Make her the Lady of Laenberg, and the gods will only know what will happen.

  “With that said, the king has summoned ecclesiastics from Laenberg. They’ll arrive within a fortnight to commune your coronation. It’ll be regal, grand, and a lot of ceremonial intricacies, but bear with it.”

  “Coronation?” lady Vaneeda asks.

  “Yes, you’ll be anointed with the title of Lady of Laenberg,” The queen replies.

  I can practically hear lady Vaneeda screaming gleefully in her mind.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” lady Vaneeda says facetiously.

  “Of course, you can, and you will. The king has approved the coronation, which reminds me,” the queen shifts in her seat until she pulls a small velvet box from another chair and slides it across the round table. Vaneeda wastes no time opening the box and revealing a sophisticated piece of silver. An elegant chain of silver links, leaves, and silver edge roses encircling a blue gemstone. The silver clasp is littered with pure white diamonds. No doubt they’re mined from Daoi mines in the Southwest near the Fionheart Vale pass.

  Vaneeda gasps as her greedy fingers trace the eloquent piece of jewelry.

  “Consider this a coronation gift,” queen Morda says, but Vaneeda is too speechless to respond.

  Their conversation slips back into a dim lull of casual topics. I fidget where I stand, literally counting the seconds in my mind until their lunch is finished. Eventually, they say their goodbyes, and we’re escorted back to lady Vaneeda’s private chambers. I suffer through her monologue of perpetual self-importance and egotistical ambivalence.

  Eventually, I help the snob through her nighttime routine. Once she’s tucked in bed, I slip from her chamber and weave through the tunnels underneath the palace. I wait at the sewer opening, unsure if someone is coming.

  I’m about to abandon all patience and lead back into the darkness of tunnels when I hear the soft whistle call. I whistle back the proper response, and a figure slowly approaches.

  Gail removes her hood. Her face is scraped, a black eye, and a slight limp in her step.

  “Gods, I’d hate to see the other guy,” I say to her once she’s close enough.

  Gail manages a slight grin before wincing in pain.

  “Not much left to see.”

  I grin in return. “What happened?”

  “City guard is making a sweep through the city. Managed to comb through the Heath Borough warehouse district. We were slightly blindsided, but minimal casualties—for us, at least.”

  “I didn’t know if someone would show tonight for an update. Figured everyone would be out of the city by now.”

  “We’re leaving now. I’ll leave an agent behind. They’re stashed in an underground safe house. She’ll be checking in tomorrow.”

  “Can’t wait,” I say sarcastically. “Lord Montares and duchess Mabel are dead.”

  Gail doesn’t conceal her utter shock, a slip of her cool mask.

  “Are you for certain?” she asks in disbelief.

  “Heard it from the queen’s lips herself. She invited lady Vaneeda to lunch today. Guess what? Laenberg has a new lady, and I’ve spent enough time around her to know she’s fucking terrible. Want me to take care of her?” I ask, hopeful Gail gives me permission, but she doesn’t. She’s silent, solemn.

  “Last chance to get out,” Gail finally musters.

  I smile softly because she knows very well. I have no intentions of leaving yet.

  “Not without Nymueh.”

  She nods and turns to leave.

  I don’t say anything else because there isn’t anything to say. I turn back to the darkness of tunnels and navigate through the black.

  I spent the last few nights memorizing the intricate maze of dungeons and shafts and stairways from the archaic schematics. I’ve doubled over the areas I’ve already managed to search, and now I’m sauntering deeper into the underground labyrinth. I have a runic stone, similar to the one Gymlette used in his office back at the safehouse, though this one emits a much softer light. I’m surprised there’s little guard presence in the dungeon system.

  I use my illusion magic to render myself invisible as I pass the occasional sleeping guard incase the wake up or prisoners who might cry for help. I pause at each cell, studying the scarce prisoners in search of Nymueh with no luck. I realize that some of the prisoners resemble the missing posters I’ve managed to gander in the city streets.

  I’ve finally found the incriminating evidence I need, but the revelation feels bitter.

  Eventually, I reach the dungeon’s far end, where I know it ends from the blueprints. The narrow hall is empty, not a guard or prisoner to be seen. I glide down a final set of stairs and reach an iron door, bolted shut. I routinely pull the pins from my hair and get to work on the deadbolts. This takes me longer than I’d like to admit, but I eventually make it through to the other side. The final passageway of prison cells is empty as well, caked in dust and mildew and webs, though the floor appears well worn with boot prints in the dust. I don’t bother searching the cells and turn to leave.

  That’s when I hear it, a deep, malevolent sound. It’s guttural and vicious. I slowly turn, gazing down the darkened hall. The runic stone in hand barely pierces the wall of black near the far end. I begrudgingly tiptoe through the dank shaft. When I reach the end, I realize the back wall is unnatural. Rather than the stone texture of the dungeon depths, it’s a smooth black wall, with no evidence of stone. Only the faintest shimmer of texture is discernible from the light of my glow stone. I slowly lift a hand to the wall, hesitating just before my fingertips graze the darkness. I expect a definite impact, but instead, my hand passes through the wall. I startle, yanking my hand back, clutched against my chest. I inspect it, ensuring I’m not injured.

  Magic, it has to be.

  I slip my hand back through the black void, this time with my confidence. I wave through the blackness. It’s cold against my skin like the snow that falls in the Rhenstadt fjords.

  I extend my arm, gauging how deep the void goes, but I don’t feel anything but cold. I look over my shoulder, inspecting the only exit I have to escape through.

  “You better be in here,” I say under my breath, and I step into the wall of darkness, ignorant to what awaits me on the other side.

  15

  Nova

  “…our efforts have proven victorious. We’ve bested the fiendish creatures by the will of the gods. Our battle nearly turned for the worse until the gods blessed us with a group of knights who bore the twin falcon’s crest. We drink in their honor and virtue.…”

  – excerpt from General Braigidr’s report on the Battle of South Crown, Seventy Winter War 684 B.M.

  After we finish our desert shine, we thank the bartender. I offer her a silver coin, a functional currency in Edonia, but she eyes it like a foreign object. She bites down on the metallic coin, sniffs it, and even lic
ks it before saying, “Never seen designs like this. Just where are you boys from, anyway?”

  “West,” I blurt out before the Prince says anything incriminating. She shrugs and bids us farewell as we leave the tavern.

  The sky is dark, stars littering the blackened sky. The absence of cricket tunes and owl screeches sets an eerie mood—the abrasive hum of cicadas reverberates through the town.

  I lead The Prince away from the dwellings, passing by merchant booths and hovels. Occasionally, I slip inside empty shops, pilfering supplies; water skins, a hunting knife, a burlap satchel, crusted bread, and another cloak for Cas.

  “Do you have to steal everything that you see?” The Prince whispers but sounds closer to a whine more than anything.

  “No,” I reply.

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “Because I can.”

  The Prince leaves me to my looting in silence as he casually meanders after me like he’s bored out of his mind. It isn’t until we’re out of earshot of the tavern that I break the silence by saying, “I hope you know where we are because I still have no clue.”

  “The Dion Mountains,” he says as if I should understand.

  “I recognize the name, but I don’t know what that means,” I retort.

  “The Dion Mountains, also known as the South Crown Ridge of Edonia,” he quips, a smug expression. I’m sure his tutors must love him. Then it dawns on me.

  “You mean the South Crown Ridge?” I hope I misheard him.

  “Great, we’re not even in Edonia. We’re in fucking Orgard,” I sneer.

  Orgard is a neighboring kingdom, separated by the South Crown Ridge. The Seventy Winter War that waged between the realms severed all ties and communion between the domains. Basically, we’re in enemy territory.

  “The bartender said the mountains are to the North,” I say. “I wonder if the Hjornholm tunnels are really closed off or not. Maybe we can find a way through and back into Edonia.”

  Cas looks to me, hopeful and optimistic. I gloat at his reaction. What the fuck, I’m gloating? I look to the sky, studying the constellations. The Sighing Siren to the West, the Highland Hammer to the East, and to the North proudly shimmering against a black canvas is the Thela’s Theorbo, a beacon in the night.

  “Get your hands off me,” a feminine voice cries around the corner.

  This would be the part in a fable where the hero runs towards the cries for help to save the day. I am no fucking hero, so I turn and walk in the opposite direction. However, Cas—the prince—takes it upon himself to stick his royal nose in somebody else’s business. He hastens down the alleyway and out of sight.

  “Fuck,” I say aloud and chase after him.

  When I round the corner, I am not surprised to see a damsel in distress below Cas, who is now engaged in a physical confrontation with a hooded figure.

  The damsel looks up at me, dread in her eyes. I notice she’s human and younger than Cas and me. The blue hooded figure before Cas is tall, very tall. His eyes, nose bridge, and high cheekbones resemble burned tree bark, and his eyes glisten like the pearlescent sheen of a nocturnal predator.

  The figure shouts something at Cas in a language I don’t understand, but Cas shouts back. It takes a moment to realize he’s speaking the same language and not just spitting out random syllables.

  I guess he really does speak four languages.

  I clear my throat, drawing both of their attention. “Is there a problem?”

  Cas hesitates for a moment, and his features become stern.

  “He claims this girl is his property, and I’m trying to explain to him how people are not possessions.”

  Oh boy, does princey-poo not understand the concept of slavery? Before I can remedy the situation, the young girl runs off into the night. The hooded figure moves to chase after her, but Cas shoves him. The stranger unsheathes a dagger, and I move instantly, kicking his feet out from under him and round kick the back of my heel into his face, knocking him unconscious.

  Cas runs off after the girl, and I follow. I watch as the human girl is ushered into a bunker on the side of a clay hovel. An older man offers a few words in their foreign tongue. He recedes into the bunker before closing the wooden doors behind. Cas sighs lightly and translates, “He said ‘thank you’.”

  “Nothing to say ‘thank you’ for,” I mutter.

  “You saved her life!”

  “No—I saved your life. She’s just a byproduct.”

  “Whatever,” Cas pouts.

  “C’mon, we need to move before your friend back there decides to wake up and try to stab you again.” Without reluctance or protest, Cas follows after me closely. We stop at the water well in the town center to fill the water skins I pocketed before entering the Oakrot Forest. Shortly after we venture into the dead forest, Cas resorts to making his fingers glow, illuminating the earth below him. I keep forgetting my sight has enhanced, among other things.

  “Are we going to talk about it?” I say nonchalantly.

  “About what?” He says tersely.

  “About you traipsing away to play hero to a damsel in distress, who happens to be a slave to a man I’ve now knocked unconscious and probably have inspired into a frenzy of revenge,” I say, bemused. Cas doesn’t respond, because of course, he doesn’t, why would he? I’ll bet he believes he’s done nothing wrong. In the world of books and fantasies, his perception of the world is askew thanks to the safety and privilege of his royal fortress.

  Well, he’s in for a rude awakening out here in the real world.

  ***

  Several hours into the night, we breach a gilded tree line and face a barren plain. Far beyond into the horizon, a faint outline of the mountains.

  “We can camp here tonight,” I start, staring at the sky and searching for the creeping hues of twilight hinting at approaching dawn. The sky is still dark, nearly black with a gray haze. The moon and stars hidden like a veiled bride. “We need some rest.”

  Cas doesn’t reply, which is fine. He nestles against a fallen tree trunk, and I do the same. I pull the waterskins and crusted bread from the satchel and share our insipid meal in silence. The cicadas finally lull into a breezy wisp in the distance.

  Over the craggly dirt, sinister clicking sounds reverberate. I lean forward into the sound. Cas doesn’t hear it while he silently gnaws on his bread, chasing it down with large gulps of water.

  “Do you hear that?” I ask, even though I’m sure he can’t.

  Cas leans outward from the log, scanning the darkness, tilting his head to chase whatever ominous sounds I can hear. They become louder a few heartbeats later. Cas’s eyes shoot to mine. The glow in his hands starts to flicker. I reach over, placing a firm grip on his forearm to anchor him. Heat radiates between Cas’s skin and my fingertips. I pull my hand away as if held over a flame.

  “Snuff out the light,” I say, a command but not unkind.

  Cas obliges, the glow fades, and we succumb to darkness.

  “What is it?” He whispers, his voice falters slightly.

  I feel the roses on my arm blossom vibrantly from little buds. The vines relax, tension from their thorns easing against my skin. The magic feels warm against my forearm.

  I reach over blinding and place my hand back on Cas’s forearm, and the prince shivers beneath my touch. The clicking sound fades into nothing but what replaces it is an uncomfortable silence. Not even the sound of wind against sand or bristling trees. The only sound is my own heavy breathing and the faint chatter of Cas’s teeth. I can imagine Ricon’s voice giving me grief, he’s going to freeze to death, you twat.

  I stand, nudging him away from the tree, and he reluctantly scoots forward, unaware of what I’m doing. When he allows enough space between him and the tree, I settle down against the tree and pull him into me, his back firmly pressed against my chest.

  “What are you doing?” He exclaims. I hush him as I drag his cloak over his shoulders, draping
his front. I pull mine forward, acting like a shield from the brisk air. I breathe into his neck, the heat of my breath against his skin. He shivers.

  “You aren’t used to the elements. You’ll put your body in shock if you get too cold. This way, we’ll both stay warm,” I explain because I think he needs logic to process. I’ve only known him for a day now, but I understand the prince is driven by details.

  The clicking comes and goes throughout the night. Cas is fast asleep before long, but I fight the urge to sleep. The ominous sound sends chills sliding down my spine. The truth resoundingly at the back of my mind. It’s the sound of a predator, and we’re likely its prey.

  Sometime later, I stir from a groggy stupor. I must have dozed off because a sudden click and snap forces me fully awake, my body faltering a moment until I realize Cas is still pressed firmly against me, and I’ve startled him awake by accident.

  “Do you hear that?” he whispers. My face is still pressed against his neck, and I nod softly so he can feel it.

  Deep into the never ending darkness, hues of violet and blue cascade across the sky as the ashen overcast is thin enough for starlight to pierce.

  Before us, a few hundred paces away, a light-bluish glow dances. I blink several times, afraid it’s a trick of the eye. The glow gracefully illuminates a small portion of the desert floor as it sways back and forth slowly.

  “Do you see that?” Cas whispers. I nod again, wishing he’d stop speaking. My heart pounds within my chest, my ears twitch at the clicks and clacks spreading across the dead earth. My eyes burn as they strain into focus but fail to pierce the darkness.

  Cas slips from my embrace, clambering from the ground, and then he rushes forward, chasing the glowing light.

  “Get back here,” I hiss.

  The careening ticks and snaps reverberate against the desert floor, and several more glowing lights appear, all of them swaying back and forth. I rush to my feet, joints cracking and straining at the awkward position I slept in. I chase after Cas, who’s already several paces ahead of me.