Princess of Thieves

by Bella Beaumont

  STECKER DODGED LEFT around an errant blade, then side-stepped right and plunged his dagger into the armpit of a soldier, between the soft joints of his armor. The man cried, heart struck by the cruel blade, and dropped in a heap.

  Eyes glancing over at his men, to observe how well they were doing, he noticed Dered Brich at the front of the rebel charge, roaring, swinging his longsword in wide arcs. Sala was near him, slamming her club into shields, breaking wood, breaking bones, and scaring everyone into a wide circle around the two.

  Nemya and Filtray stayed nearby each other, surrounded on one side by their own peasant friends, and the other side by a wall of armored soldiers. The smaller members of the Siblinghood fought in tandem with the peasants, not venturing too far from their enclosing embrace.

  It was stuffy, hot, and Stecker was sweating like a pig. How had he found himself here, battling for his freedom and life? How had he commanded all these people to do this?

  Was Torace Contrus’ life really that important to them? Or was it their own liberty, their own years of being sneered and put down by the nobility, that manifested itself in their anger?

  The rebels fought with passion and fury, as Stecker knew they would . . .

  But it wasn’t enough.

  The disciplined, deathly march of the soldiers closed in on them, and they had the high ground. They cut down peasants as if they were stepping on ants. Men and boys cried as blood soaked the city streets.

  They were engaged, now, and it would be difficult to disengage. Stecker saw Dered making his way for that horsed man . . . Commander Infew, who calmly sat his steed and hadn’t yet raised a blade, for his infantry did all the work for him.

  “He’s going to get himself killed,” Stecker mumbled to himself, unable to even hear his own thoughts in the fury of combat.

  They would be demolished before too long, he understood. The peasants, the revolt, it would die and in its death throes it would start a new age of tyranny.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  “Make for the Town Square!” he cried in a shrill voice, raising his bloody dagger. “We need more room to maneuver! Break ranks!”

  The people slowly backpedaled, coaxing the royal soldiers forward.

  Stecker knew that the Royal Army would follow—its hundreds of infantrymen hellbent on exposing the supple flesh of the peasants, tearing them open. They had been ordered to crush this uprising, and they would follow them to the edges of the world to do it . . .

  Which Stecker was counting on.

  He hoped he’d given Catera enough of an opening, distracting these soldiers as he did, to get into the castle and do her business, however much he disagreed with it . . .

  I hope you can bring your sister safely out of that hellhole, Catera. Gather Ocena and bring her with you, and find me . . . please . . .

  PRINCESS OCENA DRUMMED her fingers on the small table where she sat, annoyed. She felt like she should be doing something. The constant clatter of soldiers on the other side of her walls had become a hollow memory—the castle hallways were silent, now.

  All the men were outside, fighting the peasants that she could see from her window. And it looked like the soldiers were winning, as she looked on with indifference.

  Sighing, she stood up and paced her room, her hands fidgeting on her stomach like Catera always did. It was a nervous habit that they both had.

  Then the door to her room creaked open.

  And there she stood, after so many days of not seeing her, after all the tumultuous events—

  Princess Catera stood in the doorway, a worried look splayed on her face as clear as day.

  “I’m sorry, sister,” Catera began, shutting the door behind her. “This is all my fault! So many people will die because of my selfishness!”

  Ocena frowned. “What do you mean, dear sister?”

  “My arrogance knows no bounds, Cena. But I’ve come back!”

  “For what, Cat?”

  “Why, to save you, of course! To rescue you from this dark place and steal away with you and your child . . .”

  JOURNIGAN’S SWORD WORKED in a flurry, parrying incoming spears, smacking them away, and nicking at armored soldiers. His men fought beside him, valiantly, trying to break through the thin line of guards that held the docks.

  Behind them, the Wolfpack bobbed aimlessly in the water. The navy had ceased firing upon it as they saw the pirates disembark like so many insects, onto the docks. The navy corsairs had stopped firing upon the pirate galley.

  What was the point of firing on a ship full of rebels if it housed no rebels?

  Gritting his teeth, Journigan dipped from an overhand slash aimed to take his head off. It struck his wide-brimmed hat and tore it from his balding head. Enraged, he lunged at the man and tackled him, and they both went tumbling onto the hardwood docks.

  He throttled the man, sword still in one fist, then punched down and broke the man’s neck. The soldier gasped his death with wide, gray eyes.

  Journigan rolled off and prepared to stand—

  Just as a sword flashed overhead.

  He raised his sword in a desperate parry, then cringed, holding the arching sword diagonal in a prolonged hold.

  The soldier swinging down on him crumbled, blade sticking through his chest, pushing out the armor.

  A pirate’s face appeared from behind the man, smiling down as he stuck a hand down and helped up his captain.

  Journigan rose on shaky knees.

  Then the pirate aiding him yelped.

  Journigan looked up and saw he was only holding a hand and wrist, the rest of the arm struck clean off the bone. Blood sprayed out from the pirate’s flailing arm as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped from shock.

  The captain spun and slashed into the attacker’s armor, doing little damage. The soldier punched the captain in the face.

  Journigan’s knees were weak—blurriness took over as his head rocked back. He saw his men squandering on the dock floor, writhing in pain, crying out for their mothers.

  Behind him, the navy ships were closing in, and soon they’d be sandwiched with nowhere to go.

  Journigan gritted his teeth. “Through them, men!” as he shook his face back into abrupt reality. He charged forward with a mighty yell and caught the offending soldier off-guard. He bull-rushed past the man and shoved him out of the way, not even bothering to swing at him.

  The soldier howled as he was pushed into the churning waters below, and his heavy armor pulled at him. His hand roiled in the water, grasping, before his armor tugged him down to the murky depths to drown.

  Journigan was dragging his own men and kicking enemies aside. He swung his cutlass to keep them at bay, but didn’t focus his attack on any prolonged resistance.

  Then, like a wave breaking against the hull, he saw a passage clearly through the thin line of soldiers and made for it, desperately fighting for his men to give them a chance to escape into the city . . .

  DERED, EVER THE GALLANT defensemen as he was, fought for the peasants’ retreat. He and a few other suicidal soldiers battled to keep the encroaching Royal Army at bay while the rebellion retreated behind him. But his allies were getting cut down shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

  He held the enemy off in heroic fashion, and it wasn’t long before the soldiers realized they were messing with the wrong guy. This was no simple peasant—this man, tall and handsome and imposing—he must’ve been a former soldier himself. And a veteran, at that.

  He fought with rage and fury, but also with precision. His sword danced deftly between the spears and blades of his enemy, finding holes in their armor, slicing at visors, with men dropping near him like flies.

  But he was becoming surrounded.

  Stecker was pushed further and further from the tumult, the sheer wave of humanity retreating into him, and he managed to sidestep out of their way and wheel around the bunch, into an alley.

  He found himself in darkness, the waning sun overhead un
able to pierce the shadowy veil in the alley, and he ran for his life.

  Soldiers thought to pursue, but all they saw was a fleeing coward—a man leaving his own army.

  In actuality, however, once Stecker appeared from the other mouth of the alley, on the next street over, he was wheeling back to circle around the charging army.

  He headed straight for the castle—toward its northern gate, which he knew from prior experience when stealing Catera that it would be less manned and easier to enter than the others.

  Meanwhile, Dered fought valiantly, but his arms were growing tired. He glanced behind him and saw that men were successfully retreating. His strategy had earned them time.

  Looking straight ahead again, his eyes widened at an incoming spear—headed straight for his chest.

  He’d made the mistake of peering behind him for a split second, and it would cost him his life—

  A grunt. Blood sputtering.

  Dered looked down, eyes wide.

  Nemya was standing in front of him. Somehow, she had managed to dash in the way of the incoming spear, and it tore through her chest. The blood spurting had been her own, spewing out from her mouth.

  Dered’s eyes widened in unbelieved frenzy. His lower lip trembled as he watched the woman snort something in protest, then fall to her knees, then collapse on the killing field.

  “N-NOOO!” Dered cried, seeing his beloved woman sacrifice herself for him. In an instant, she was gone, the view of her fallen, quiet body engulfed by the overwhelming crowd of people around him.

  And he was being pushed back, the wave of retreating peasants becoming too much for him to shove his way through. They were bringing him with him, as if on a wave.

  He reached out, desperately trying to find the fallen form of Nemya, but he couldn’t reach her . . . couldn’t touch her . . .

  And she was getting further and further away. Soldiers marched over her as if she was nothing more than a bump in the road.

  Filtray was suddenly by Dered’s side, tears falling from his cheeks as he desperately tugged on the tall man’s arm.

  Dered was distraught, though, and wouldn’t be moved—

  Until Sala arrived from behind Dered and hoisted the big man in a bear hug, then tore him away from the horrifying spectacle.

  Together, the three remaining Solvers weaved their way into the heart of the rebel force, as they spilled out into the vast, emptied Town Square, the Sefyr soldiers following in mad pursuit.

  “NO,” PRINCESS OCENA announced. Her beautiful face was flat, devoid of emotion. Her hand rested on her belly, moving absentmindedly over it.

  Catera furrowed her thin red brow. “W-What do you mean, ‘no,’ sister?”

  “I mean, Cat, I’m not going with you.”

  Catera was struck with disbelief. Her heart sank, her adrenaline rushing, and she could hear the blood beating in her ears. It was like Ocena’s announcement had drained the very lifeblood from her. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve changed, sister. I now see that I am safer in this castle . . . by Cartherus’ side.”

  “Our stepfather is a barbarian who rapes you, Cena!”

  The younger woman shrugged nonchalantly. “Not anymore—not since I have a babe growing in my womb. Now, he protects me.”

  “F-From what? Our father is alive, Cena, don’t you understand that?! He’s crawling around in the filth underneath this very castle, locked away!” Her hand swept out to the window, where the echoes of battle and smoke still wavered, though it was drawing away from the castle. “They fight for him! They fight for us!”

  “They fight for their own warped sense of freedom, sister, and you know it. Perhaps Stepfather protects me from lies? I don’t know.”

  “You’re making no sense, Cena.” Catera was shaking her head profusely. After all this work, all this effort to sneak into the castle and rescue her sister . . .

  . . . and Cena didn’t want to go.

  “I don’t believe you,” Ocena said casually, narrowing her eyes. “About our father, about your lover, about any of it. Don’t you see? The rebels are trying to bring down our monarchy!”

  “The peasants are fighting to put Father back on the throne!”

  There was silence then, stuffy and stifling, cutting through them both as they stared at each other—Ocena near the window, Catera near the door.

  “We . . . We must help them get Father back to his rightful place atop the throne.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t deserve it,” Ocena said, frowning. “He lost it once—what makes you think he can keep it a second time? Haven’t you ever thought, Catera . . . that maybe it’s . . . our time?”

  “Don’t,” Catera scolded, thrusting a finger toward her younger sister. “We can’t abandon Father, now that he’s alive. I won’t allow it.” Tears were streaming down her face. But Ocena seemed strangely . . . emotionless.

  H-Has she been drugged? I can think of no other reason for her to act like this!

  “You must think I’m brainwashed, sister, but there’s something you don’t understand. You don’t get to make the decisions here—now that you’re gone! Do you get it?”

  Catera helplessly shook her head. Ocena was sounding scary—not like her sister at all!

  We have always been so close!

  “I ordered your kidnapping at the hands of the Solver Siblinghood, Cat. I wanted to drain the coffers of Cartherus just as they did, so that the Gereads could bring him down . . . but since that time, I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve become pregnant—”

  “And it’s twisted your mind, Cena! N-No, Cartherus has done this!”

  “No! You don’t have a say, Catera! What, you think it would be safer out there”—she pointed at the chaotic image in her window, smoke and carnage and screaming outside—“in the wide world, after I’ve lived a sheltered life all this time? Among the peasants, like you? No, Cat! I’d have a target on my back for all my life! I’d be the perfect scapegoat for a real kidnapping. And with a baby?!”

  Catera’s mouth dropped open. There was no more she could say. She didn’t know why Ocena was resisting her like this, but she had little time to still escape the castle . . . before soldiers would return and she’d be forced to stay.

  “N-No,” she found herself saying, eyes shrinking into slits. “This is about something else. I can see it on your face.”

  The first notion of fear flickered across Ocena’s fine visage. “Yes, sister, you’re still blind. Don’t you see, with you gone . . . I’m next in line? I finally have power! Recognition! Mother is washed up, but I’m young and fertile, as Cartherus says—”

  “No!”

  “—I’ll be the regent to the next heir of Sefyr! My baby, my spawn. Not yours! I’ve always lived in your shadow Catera, but not anymore.” She snorted in an ugly way. “Perhaps I’ll even kill Cartherus myself!”

  Catera was backing up now, until she smacked into the door. She felt like the walls of her sanity were closing around her.

  How has Cartherus done this to her? How has he turned my own flesh and blood against me?

  “I am safe in this castle,” Ocena said with a knowing nod, like she understood more than her elder sister ever could. “At first, I wanted you gone as a means to an end. But now . . . I just want you gone, Cat! My goal wasn’t to have you come here and try to ‘rescue’ me—whatever that means. It’s to keep you out! Once it was discovered I was pregnant, I knew that Cartherus would never ransom for you . . . not with an heir on the way and a pregnant stepdaughter.”

  Catera’s lower lip trembled.

  “I am free from your shadow at last,” Ocena said, walking toward her sister, causing Catera to flich. “I helped your friends escape the jailhouse to keep you away for longer . . . perhaps forever.” She rubbed her belly. “And now that I have this one to care for . . . I’m sorry to say, Cat, but you are . . . expendable. You aren’t needed here any longer.”

  Catera felt her mind was on the verge of breaking. The tears ha
d ceased, and now her body just racked with dry heaves. As Ocena approached, and Catera felt like she was looking into the face of a stranger, Catera flung the door open behind her.

  “No!”

  Then she fled the room, leaving Ocena alone once more.

  Catera’s receding footsteps reverberated through the halls.

  And once she was gone, Ocena sat on the edge of her bed, put her head in her hands, and wept.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Catera ran blindly through the halls, tears blurring her vision. She passed by a few confused soldiers who just gave her an odd glance before resuming to their battle plans, and she whirled by other servants of the castle.

  Then she was out of the castle. She was lost in her own thoughts, lost as to where to go, and she turned a corner—

  Right into Stecker’s arms.

  Eyes wide with fear, she wrapped herself around him. “Oh, Stecker, it’s horrible!”

  Stecker ran a hand through her hair, petting the back of her head as they embraced in the tight hug.

  The throes of battle were lessening—the cries were becoming more distant and less severe.

  Stecker had obviously realized that Catera had appeared without her sister, but there was no time to get into the details. “C-Catera, we must go! Immediately, come on!”

  He pulled her by the hand, and she followed numbly, back down into the roaring city.

  THE REBELLION BROKE up. Like a thin wall, it had been overrun by the sheer force of the Royal Army, and without a proper leader at their helm, calling the shots, maneuvering the troops, their frontline shattered.

  From the Town Square, peasants fled in every which direction—down alleys and into nooks and crannies, through streets and into windows of buildings.

  The soldiers of the Sefyr Kingdom followed with a measured approach, none of them in a hurry to continue the slaughter with their own people.