“King Torace Contrus is alive, Journ.” He spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the rest of the shipmates. At least fifteen people were watching him. “Everyone. Our king is still alive!” He produced the royal ring and held it up high into the sunlight, so everyone could see its dignified reflection. “He gave this ring to me himself, in the Sefyr Castle jailhouse.”
“Why did he not escape with you, then?” Journigan asked.
“Yeah! Why’d he not flee the boot?” another sailor echoed. A grumble of affirming cries followed.
“His legs don’t work. And he knew the danger that he’d put us all in if his escape was discovered. I am not an important person, everyone, but you know who that is downstairs. All of you!”
“You’re shagging the princess!” a man yelled, drawing out laughter from his mates.
“Tha’s pretty important, aye!”
“Aye!”
More laughter.
Stecker smiled, his face flushing. “And would you fight for that woman downstairs? Would you fight for the true heir to the kingdom? Would you take your kingdom back?” He swept his hand out toward the ship blockade in the distance. “We could remove those damned ships from the horizon once and for all, get you all back to work.”
Journigan growled, seeing how his friend was riling up his crew. “Goddammit, Stecker . . .”
“We’s too few!”
“Just humble pirates—that’s us!”
“Fight for Princess Catera, and you fight for your freedom. Don’t worry about our numbers, I have a plan . . .”
“Ya always has a plan, mate,” Journigan groaned. “I’m just not sure this one won’t lead to alls our deaths!”
Stecker smirked at the captain, then winked at him. “You leave the improvisation to me, old friend. It’s what I’m good at.”
He pocketed the royal ring and fled down the gangplank off the ship. Everyone watched him go, murmuring to one another, and it was a long time until Journigan managed to get them back to their sailorly duties . . .
“I BELIEVE HIM,” ALBERUS bellowed.
Dered, Nemya, Sala, Filtray—they all spun their heads to give their leader a shocked look. Alb sat on a table near the back of the Sleepy Ox, perched like a destitute king, with the four other Siblinghood members circled around him as if playing as bodyguards.
Stecker stood near the front door, arms crossed.
“Why?” Dered asked Alberus. “After all he’s done!”
“He saved your raggedy hide,” Sala snorted.
“Yeah! He’s still one of us!” Filtray added excitedly. All eyes turned to him, and he blushed and turned away ashamedly. “Okay . . . maybe that was too far.”
“What’s in it for us?” Nemya asked, glowering at Stecker.
“Liberty,” he said, nodding. He produced the royal ring from his pocket—it had worked so far to turn the tide to his favor . . . so he’d keep trying to exploit it. “The end of the Sefyr-Geread war, perhaps. Easier routes for the Siblinghood . . . less trouble breathing down our necks.”
Alberus grunted. “What is it you want from us, Stecker?”
“A diversion. The . . . biggest diversion you can think of.”
“And where will this ‘diversion’ culminate?”
Stecker flashed a smile. “Sefyr Castle, of course. We can always retreat back into the city if the heat is too powerful—scatter and all that.”
“We’ll do what we can, Steck.” Alberus nodded solemnly. “I think we still have a few favors to call upon in this wretched city . . .”
IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE there was chaos in the streets. Long-hidden flags and armaments adorning the tree-and-shield crest of the Contrus family were gathered free from dusty attics, cleaned off and blowing in the afternoon breeze once more.
Many citizens—the poorest of the lot—had gone on too long watching a war they didn’t believe in destroy their city, killing their sons, husbands, daughters, and wives. All they needed was a good reason to revolt, someone to believe in, and they’d found it in the circulating rumor that Torace Contrus still lived—and that his eldest daughter was on the side of the peasantry. Like an angry swarm of bees, they gathered, ready to sting.
The would revolt against their monarch . . . if it meant putting a monarch of their own choosing back on the throne.
Royal Army guards hurried from district to district, trying to keep some semblance of law and order. But the swell of rebellion was rising, all on the face of a small golden ring that looked aged beyond belief, and the word of a single man.
Stecker’s “army” had no centralized leader, which was problematic, but once he gathered Catera and put her at the forefront—so the people had a reason to fight, a leader to fight for—he thought things would quickly hone into practiced ranks.
Many of the rebels were former soldiers themselves, too old or uninterested to fight in this most recent squabble with the Gereads. It made no sense to many of them that King Sefyr wanted the land of their once most-favored ally.
The tide of friendliness between Sefyr and Geread had turned ugly quickly, with Cartherus’ need for constant conquest, and it soured many citizens’ opinions of the pudgy Protector of the Realm.
And thus, on the barest of sparks, a rebellion was born. Within hours, it had people marching outside of their houses, running amok in the city streets.
Stecker made his way back to the docks, to the Wolfpack, and when he gained the gangplank, he looked into the morose face of Captain Journigan and smiled. “If we can somehow snag the other princess from the castle—Ocena—then we might have some actual bargaining power, Journ. We could have a full-fledged revolt on our hands!”
Journigan’s grim features didn’t change at that proclamation.
Slowly, Stecker’s face sank. “W-What is it?”
“She’s gone, Steck.”
The thief’s eyes bulged. “What?!”
“She fled the ship shortly after you left, and told me to tell you . . . not to follow her.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
The captain shook his head. In truth, he didn’t need to be told—it was obvious by Catera’s response from earlier.
She was going to the castle. Alone.
The gods only knew what she was planning on doing there, but Stecker had a feeling it had something to do with her sister.
Yes, Princess Ocena . . . the key to all of this, perhaps? It’s that princess in the castle that we’ve been forgetting about—that everyone has forgotten about!
“Journigan, can you increase the pace of this thing?”
“Wha’ thing?”
“Everything! The rebellion—get it moving faster! We need to provide a distraction for Princess Catera. If we lose her, we’re finished!”
The captain grunted. He put a hand on Stecker’s shoulder, then pointed westward, at a moored ship about two stone’s throws away. “Ya see that ship, old friend?”
Stecker nodded. The ship seemed peaceful—no one on it, but why would there be when no one was setting sail, due to the blockade? It looked like a cargo ship of some kind, perhaps merchants or traders—maybe even a royal ship belonging to the navy—
A tick. Then an explosion, as the sails of the ship furled with roaring flames, instantly covering the entire boat in orange and red embers. Detritus flew from the ship in a mushroom cloud of destruction.
Journigan broke into a coughing fit of wild laughter, bellowing, slapping Stecker hard across the back. “Not anymore ya don’t see it!” he crooned, then nearly doubled over from his rumbling.
Stecker’s eyes widened. A wave of heat swept out and washed over him. Looking past the destroyed, exploded ship, Stecker saw that the ten or so navy ships forming the blockade were closing in on the destruction, rowing toward it with haste.
“Y-You’ve . . . brought the barricade to us?”
Journigan nodded sagely. “And in the chaos of it, we’ll make our escape, lad. But not before we help bring this city to its knees.”
Stecker gulped and nodded at the crazed, wild man. He looked out at the city from the deck of the ship, and saw smoke rising in random locations. People were looting already, destroying their own town with the news that Torace Contrus was still alive, and they demanded to see him.
Somewhat distraught, Stecker stumbled off the ship.
“Where’s you going, boy?” Journigan called out. “Better not be to see the princess . . .”
Stecker scratched the back of his head, then gestured out at the city. “Someone has to give this madness some sort of leadership, Captain! Some purpose!”
STECKER COULDN’T BELIEVE how wild things had become in so short a time. He’d had no idea that the city townsfolk had been like a powder keg, needing just the slightest nudge to explode.
Guards were beginning to muster near the castle gates, forming into uniform ranks to set out and squash the uprising before it could truly begin.
So far, there hadn’t been any reported deaths, but that would change soon enough, Stecker knew.
Even so, he could stop his mind from returning to the princess in the castle . . . Princess Ocena.
His mind working to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, it seemed that everything was coming together all at once. It was worrying.
She . . . helped us. Yes, she must have, Stecker thought. When he’d told Alberus that there was something about their relationship—Alb’s and Ocena’s—that he couldn’t put his finger on. Well, it was becoming apparent now.
How did we break into the castle so easily in the first place, when we took Catera? Where had all the guards been, then? There were but a few roaming the lonely halls . . .
And then breaking out of that jailhouse! It coulnd’t have been any easier for me and Dered to escape! Who recalled those soldiers?
Someone close to royalty has been helping us along the way. There’s no way this can all be chalked up to luck . . .
No . . . and the fact that Alberus’ son was going to marry Ocena. Rinzos was going to be a prince!
Stecker found himself staring out at a sea of faces, all congregated in front of the Sleepy Ox. They had blank looks, while the maddened chaos of an uprooted city was blaring on all sides.
Alberus came up to Stecker and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m passing on leadership of this motley crew, Stecker, to you. Seems you got this thing all figured out, aye?” He chuckled and wandered into the bar. “Report to me with the happenings, yes? I’m too old for this shit, and our commissioner ought to know . . .”
. . . All figured out, aye? . . .
Who would benefit most from Catera being away from the castle? If you look at it pessimistically like that . . .
. . . Our commissioner ought to know . . .
Alberus keeps mentioning the higher-ups. Who does he have a connection with, in the castle, that could plan this sort of thing?
Ocena!
His throat caught in his chest.
There is no clandestine council or anything like that . . . no “higher-ups” who commissioned us to take Catera . . .
It’s been Ocena the entire time! She’s the commissioner for the kidnapping of her own sister! She must be!
This has been a plot at the upper rungs of royalty the entire time!
Stecker wasn’t sure how he came to the conclusion, but in his heart, he knew he was correct. Cartherus would have no reason, yet, to see Catera gone. Until he had an heir, he was stuck with her . . .
And Yira, the queen, she would never harm her own daughters.
But why would Ocena? It made no sense . . .
No, I’ve met the girl, seen the glow on her rosy face . . . She would never do something wicked or evil toward her sister.
She loves Catera!
“Troop, gather up!” Stecker found himself shouting at his subordinates. He had nearly a hundred people staring at him in a half-circle, and there were many other pockets of citizens all over the city in similar situations. Many of them only had pitchforks or hoes, and hardly anyone had a lick of armor.
“We march on the castle, people! We must protect the princess—the heir! She is headed there now!”
Stecker swung his arm forward and heard the resounding cheers from the people. They were all aboard.
And only the gods knew where this crazy carriage ride would end.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ocena sighed, then unraveled the letter that had been delivered to her in secret through one of Larmel’s correspondents—the one she’d kept hidden from the king before bringing a large contingent of Royal guards with her on a pointless shopping expedition . . .
She read the letter again:
My men are trapped in your dungeons, madam. If you wish for Catera to be safe, I implore you to help them escape, by any means necessary.
Your loyal friend, Alberus Solver
The princess sniffled, reading that surname over and over again. The father of Rinzos Solver, her former lover who was taken away from her, ripped from her arms during their attempted escape . . . it incited emotions in her that she hadn’t known in too long.
Outside her chambers, she heard the rumbling of boots running down the hallways, their motions shaking the very walls of the castle.
It was madness outside, she knew. She bore part of the responsibility of the citizens’ revolt, but it couldn’t be helped.
She put a hand on her belly, feeling the slight swell. Her pregnancy was hardly showing, and yet, it had changed her entire outlook on life. Perspectives had shifted, and she found a new reason to live.
Despite all the chaos happening outside the castle, outside her control, she knew she had changed . . . in a very short time.
Something inside the young princess had been ignited, and she couldn’t go back to the person she was before . . .
STECKER STARED IN HORROR at the gathering of Royal Army soldiers near the gates of the castle. His contingent of rebels funneled out from the alleyways and roads, raising their makeshift weapons high, voicing their disapproval at their king.
They were undermanned and sorely outclassed, Stecker saw, but the peasants would fight with a passion that the troops of the Royal Army couldn’t muster.
In the distance, on top of the small hill where the castle sat, Stecker saw a man atop a steed flying by his soldiers, sword raised. Commander Infew, giving his men their final orders before they charged down that hill and crashed into the insolent peasants below them—beneath them.
Before the soldiers could completely muster into ranks, Stecker knew he had to act. He punched forward with his long dagger raised high over his head, ordering his men to charge.
“Break when I tell you!” he demanded, his voice hoarse as he tried to yell above the din of the uprising around him. “And give them fury wrought from the Four Hellish Seas itself!”
Men cheered, screamed in unison.
Doors to buildings closed, the men and women who wanted no part of this rebellion huddling inside in relative safety.
And on top of that hill, peering out, the eye of the Sefyr Kingdom was locked firmly in place on the gathered men below . . .
Which meant the eye inside the castle was all but blind to anything else happening around it . . .
AT THE DOCKS, CAPTAIN Journigan unsheathed his cutlass and roared commands at his men. “Unmoor the ship from these damned docks and get us into the water, fools!”
Cannonfire went off in a smoke-filled explosion, the catapulting strike landing harmlessly in the water, splashing near an incoming Royal Army ship.
The ship bore its own cannons and wheeled around, circling to expose its flank, and the cannons that hung off the gunwales.
Journigan’s eyes widened. “Take cover!” he growled, just as the ship jerked and made its way out into the wide river.
A staccato eruption of smoke filled the sky as three, four, five cannonballs soared into the air straight for them.
Journigan watched those deadly balls arc in the sky, then cascade down toward
them. Many of them splashed in the water, creating huge waves that only helped the Wolfpack make its escape.
But one cannonball tore into the side of the ship and shot wood and sparks into the air like a fountain. A man screamed, his legs taken out from beneath him, the lower half of his body tumbling a stone’s throw away to the other side of the ship.
The captain’s men rowed with renewed effort as the massive explosion rocked their ship. The hull creaked in protest, then made for the water.
They were bobbing in the water parallel to the docks, and soon they would be free from it. The captain knew he had a decision to make, because once they were in the open water, they would be on their own . . .
He noticed that the only other recourse was to flee the ship and take to the city on land. Let the Royal Army have this boat and live to fight another day.
Journigan wasn’t one for giving up, but even he knew when he was outmatched and outgunned. Another few rows of cannonfires from the incoming ships and his galley would sink.
And they couldn’t outrun the corsairs headed for them . . .
Growling, he raised his cutlass high. “Give ‘em one more blast from below the belt, boys!”
His ship’s responding explosion of cannonfire was pitiful compared to the full manpower of the Royal Army navy. Three ships were closing in fast, moving to encircle the Wolfpack and bring it down in a crescendo of firepower.
Looking both left and right, sweating from underneath his wide-brimmed hat, the captain glanced at the docks and the enemy soldiers gathered there, egging them on.
He roared, then pointed his cutlass at the armored men. “Abandon ship!” he shouted, frightening his crew with the sudden command. “Make for the docks and get yer asses into the city! We can’t outrun these fuckers!”
All at once, the rowers, the men manning the cannons, the sailors running, trying to pickup the detritus left from the cannonfire, trying to find their dismembered body parts . . . they all headed for the railing of the ship.
Journigan was the first one off, leaping from the railing and then jumping a man’s height over the dark waters below, into the waiting arms of the Royal Army soldiers . . .
Princess of Thieves Page 29
