The Empty Throne

by Cayla Kluver

  I pressed my body close to the coach, my forearms and hands soon aching from the effort to hang on as we careened around corners. Thankfully, the driver slowed the horses upon entering the wealthier neighborhoods near the river. When the pace was calm enough for me to match it on foot, I jumped to the ground, afraid my precarious position would draw stares and possibly shouts from the residents who were out and about. Fortunately, the tunic and leggings from Fi were in good enough condition that I didn’t look too terribly out of place.

  It wasn’t long before the carriage halted in front of a home similar in scale to the Governor’s mansion, and its passenger stepped out. With a quick nod to the driver, he strode up the walk to the front door and rapped upon it with a gloved hand. A moment later, he was granted entrance, and I took note of the myriad locks that were in place. This was not going to be an easy task.

  Chapter Eight

  SOMEONE WITH SPECIAL SKILLS

  Over the next few days, I watched Sandrovich’s residence from sunup to well after sundown, determining his schedule and that of his servants. To my relief, the man did not seem to have a wife or children. Wanting to be thorough, I noted the areas of the house that would be lit in the evening, and in which order they were lit. I even dared to peek in his ground-floor windows. Based on the information I gathered, I made a sketch of the probable layout of the home’s interior and where I suspected he kept his collections. At night, after the house had quieted, I’d return to the Fae-mily Home, hoping there had been word from Gwyneth, only to receive a shake of the head from Fi. Disturbed by the lack of response, I’d pace the floor of my tiny room. Had the letter been lost? Intercepted? I invented a hundred scenarios in my mind, believing Gwyneth would not have wasted any time in replying. At some point, if Nature was kind and allowed exhaustion to claim me, I’d fall into bed and sleep. If panic overtook me instead, I’d find relief in a syringe full of Cysur—despite the commitment I’d make to quit in the light of day, I’d yield when fear stalked me in the darkness.

  I spent the fourth day away from the shelter, then reentered the Home via the door in the alley. Wanting to check with Fi, I assured myself that the dining room was quiet and went to see if she was in the main entry. I halted just shy of my goal, senses on alert, for something was amiss. The fireplace crackled, providing more warmth than was needed, and the podium that Fi used as a desk was vacant. But where was the stool? My gaze swept the room, and I stiffened, for a young man whom I’d seen one too many times the moment we’d first met was sitting upon it near the window, a walking cane across his lap. He cradled a hefty book close to his nose, then squinted and held it at arm’s length, seemingly confused by the characters upon the page.

  I hesitated, deliberating, suspicion tinged with anger heating my face. He hadn’t yet seen me, so I could retreat to my room, leaving him none the wiser. A good plan if he was working for the authorities. But that didn’t seem likely, for I had granted him his freedom. Curiosity overcoming my distrust, I stepped into view.

  “What are you doing here, Spex?”

  The book snapped closed, and Spex hopped to his feet with a twirl of the cane, letting the book thud on the floor. He leaned on his unusual accessory and grinned, not much taller than the back of the stool. The Faerie spotter—and hunter, I reminded myself—looked much better than the last time I’d seen him, his hazel eyes dark rimmed with kohl, his black hair clean, his top hat free of scuff marks, and his clothing new. He was fresh, rested, no longer beaten down.

  “Interesting hair,” he said with a smirk. “And good to know you’re still as charming as a tree stump.”

  I fought the urge to throw something at him, and he reached into the inner pocket of his vest. My hand dropped at once to the knife sheathed at my hip.

  “Relax,” he drawled, withdrawing a letter. “This is for you.”

  Keeping my distance, I lifted it from his outstretched hand using thumb and forefinger, and he rolled his eyes.

  “I’m not contagious, doll.”

  “Just shut up while I look at this.”

  He shrugged, scratched his nose with his thumb, and waited for me to read the letter. I flipped it over in my hands and found myself staring at the Dementya family seal. Gwyneth. Feeling like I’d been slapped, I pressed on, hoping for a good explanation why she would use Spex for a messenger boy. The letter consisted of a single sentence.

  You wanted someone with special skills. G.

  I groaned and tossed the paper into the fireplace, wishing I had time to write back and tell her what I thought of her solution. When Shea and I had first met Spex, he was forging travel documents with Hastings, the man who had arrested Zabriel; the pair had also been abducting Fae. Only later did we come to know Spex’s involvement had been coerced by the promise it would save his imprisoned parents and sister—all convicted Fae-hunters—from the plank. But when he’d stepped out of line, his father, whose body we had found in the caverns, had been executed, and Spex had been made to watch. While this was horrific in and of itself, it didn’t make his or his family’s actions any more forgivable.

  Crossing my arms protectively, I glowered at my unexpected ally. “Did Gwyneth tell you why you’re here? And while we’re on the subject, how did she know where to find you? I thought you were long gone.”

  “After you so kindly released me, I found myself on the loose in Sheness. Also broke and friendless. Even Aunt Roxy wouldn’t have anything to do with me. You remember Opal, the bounty hunter? He was the only person likely to help me, though I wasn’t keen on renewing that partnership.”

  He paused, giving his cane a dramatic twirl.

  “I was on the brink of going back to him—to Hastings—when Gwyneth found me. She and I have a talent in common, though I’m sure that’s not news to you. Her arguments were, shall we say, convincing. She gave me a chance and a choice. And now here I am.”

  Spex drummed his fingers on the end of his cane, eyes averted. It was clear he’d given a much-shortened version of the story. Still, it was true that both he and Gwyneth were Faerie spotters, humans with the unusual ability to see magic and thus identify my people even when they were shrouded. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might have felt a connection to Spex when we’d held him prisoner at Aunt Roxy’s house, a measure that was necessary to prevent him from pointing out Zabriel to the bounty hunter. In the end, whatever Spex might be leaving out, Gwyneth would not have sent him to me if she didn’t trust him. I closed my eyes, gave my head a minute shake, and took the leap of faith.

  “Has Fi given you a room?” I asked.

  “She tried. I don’t want one.”

  He stepped toward me, glancing furtively about in the same manner I had recently adopted. The residents of the Home were starting to gather for dinner, but no one looked our way.

  “I don’t want to linger in one place for long, so let’s get to business. You need something stolen, as I understand it. I assume you know where this something is located. And I hope you had the smarts to figure out the basics of the security I’ll encounter.”

  “We’ll encounter,” I corrected, annoyed at his air of superiority.

  He stared at me for a long moment. “You’re coming along? You with the moral high horse?”

  “If you had half a brain, short stuff, you’d know my high horse has been stabled of late.”

  Though my tone was sharp, my heart ached at how honest my words were. The principles and prudence of Queen Ubiqua, which I’d always strived to emulate, seemed to have no place in my new life.

  Spex’s eyes narrowed, and I glared back twofold, worried he’d sensed the self-loathing that gnawed at me.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “But we’re doing this tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  My stomach tightened, while my mind attempted to sort through a thousand details at once. Was I ready? What if th
ings went wrong?

  I gulped. “Why the rush?”

  “Is there any reason to wait?”

  I wanted to say yes, we needed to wait—we needed to scout the place further, we needed to plan and consult, and we needed to determine the tools we should bring. But that would have been fear’s answer, for in my heart I knew there was no more reconnaissance to be done.

  “Just give me a minute to get my pack and cloak.”

  “Don’t bother, Anya—I’ve got the necessary supplies.”

  Spex spun toward the door and snatched a heavy-looking coat from one of the hooks beside it. He swung it over his shoulders, and I jerked to life, adjusting my tunic and the long knife at my hip as though that would prove I was prepared. He watched me, gripping the door handle, then cast his eyes to the floor, more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him. When he at last looked up, his expression was strangely sympathetic.

  “Anya...I know this isn’t the way you do things. Not the way you’d like to, anyhow. You just have to shut off your brain ’til it’s over. Trust me.”

  His gaze, though soft, felt piercing—he looked young and defenseless, as if he expected me to understand something. But I would not allow myself to feel sorry for him.

  “Is that how you did it?” I snapped, tight-lipped. “When you and your family hunted my people?”

  He stiffened and his eyes went cold.

  “All I ever did for my family was see sparkles and point my finger. I never saw a Fae attacked, not once.” He jerked the door open, about to storm into the street, then paused to almost belligerently add, “Never saw a Fae attacked by my family. I learned that trick with Hastings.”

  He pulled his hat down, tapped the top of it with his cane for good measure, and stalked outside. I followed, remorse slipping into my veins as easily as a shot of Cysur Naravni. At that thought, the vial and needle stored in my pack came vividly to mind, and my body shuddered and ached. I halted and the distinctive voice from the well deep inside me echoed again in my head. You’re not better than him. If he’s damned, so are you. You aren’t the world’s only victim.

  Seized by near panic, I stumbled after my partner in crime, finally breaking into a jog to catch up to him.

  “We’re headed toward the river,” I breathlessly informed him. “Rustova Hill.”

  “A house on a hill.” He chuckled, our bitter exchange apparently forgotten. He kicked the base of his cane so it popped into the air, then theatrically caught the other end. “I think I’ll enjoy robbing this place.”

  I nodded and began to describe the exterior of the two-story residence, letting go of my guilt over what we were about to do. These days, I was playing a new game, with all new rules.

  “So there’s a garden at the back?” Spex questioned after a bit.

  “Yes, with evergreen holly hedgerows lining the paths.”

  “Is it lit at night?”

  “Of course—torches at the corners and in the center.”

  “That makes it a little harder, but the back will still be our best bet.” He cast me a sideways glance, then added, “Seems you did a pretty good job of scouting the place.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve been waiting to hear from Gwyneth for four days. That’s enough time to memorize every brick.”

  He laughed, and we walked on in silence, making it to our destination without arguing, a feat I never would have thought possible. Upon our arrival, he led me up Rustova Hill until we stood at the back edge of Sandrovich’s property. There he motioned me down to my knees, and we crawled along the outside of the hedgerow until we reached the torch nearest the house. He appraised it, then removed his coat and threw it over the sconce. The fire fizzled, smoked, and died.

  “Why did you do that?” I whispered while he redonned the garment. “Won’t someone notice it’s out?”

  “Just stay down. If anybody notices, we’ll know someone’s home and awake.”

  We lapsed into silence. Every so often, Spex would check his bare wrist for a watch I could only assume he had at one time owned; then he’d lean back to squint at the position of the moon. When it had moved a reasonable distance across the semi-cloudy sky, and no one had appeared to tend the extinguished torch, he rose and hopped over the hedge to kneel inside the garden. I likewise sprang over and tapped him on the shoulder, pointing at the simple back door and the pairs of windows on either side of it.

  “The drapes are always drawn on this side of the house,” I whispered. “I think he keeps most of his items in those adjoining rooms.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then you better be everything Gwyneth promised and more.”

  “How about the door?”

  “There are three locks on the outside and perhaps a chain on the inside. Maybe an interior door, too— I saw one of those at a shop in the business district.” Spex frowned, prompting me to reveal, “The front entry is worse.”

  “Then this is going to be harder than I thought,” he grumbled, settling down in the dirt.

  Thinking he had given up without even trying, I grabbed him by the collar.

  “Haruspex, get me in that house!”

  He shoved my hands away with a grin. “You remembered my full name. Congratulations. Now relax. I’ll get you what you want, but you have to learn some patience. I don’t want anyone on the streets when we do this.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled, crushing some of the first flower buds of the season with my behind.

  “You know you’re killing this poor man’s garden, right?”

  I stared at him. “I’m here to do worse, Spex.”

  He shrugged, set his hat in his lap, and scratched his head. “So...what is it we’re about to steal?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him it was none of his business, that he was just here to do a job—for the sake of his own redemption, no less—but a frigid breeze bucked over the hillside and slipped beneath my hair, causing my teeth to chatter and goose bumps to rise on my neck. In the moment it took to recover, I changed my answer—what harm was there in him knowing? He had no connections, would get nothing out of double-crossing me. Even if he tried, his limbs were no denser than dead twigs. I could likely throw him out a window with little effort. And it would be difficult for him to help me search the parlors without knowing the object I sought.

  “A knife,” I ultimately confessed. “It was important to my cousin. The one who...”

  I couldn’t get the words to come out of my mouth. Spex, who undoubtedly knew about Pyrite’s death, looked away, and I cleared my throat.

  “It was stolen from me before I could return it to him,” I finished, voice sounding thin. “I want it back. It’s...it’s vital that I get it back.”

  With a resolute nod of his head, Spex stood and approached the house to stand beside one of the windows. I followed, excitement coursing through my veins, my breath quickening.

  “Bars,” he muttered, pointing. “Great. This place has more security than the Gov’ner’s mansion.”

  He took a step back to look up at a small arched window several feet above the door and rubbed his chin.

  “That one doesn’t look barred. Do you suppose either of us could squeeze through it?”

  “I don’t know. I also don’t know how we’d reach it.”

  “Then we’d better take a look at the front.”

  The hedgerow rustled, and Spex and I whirled about. I unsheathed my long knife, thinking it might be an animal, while he drew a pistol from somewhere inside his coat. As a small figure with curly hair tucked under a hat appeared, I put my hand on the barrel of the gun and pushed it down.

  “Frat,” I scolded. “You shouldn’t be here. How many times have I told you not to follow me!”

  “Good thing I don’t listen ’cuz it looks like ya needs me.”

 
Spex put his gun away and examined the boy, then looked up at the window.

  “He’s the right size,” he concluded, voice hushed.

  “Oh, no,” I objected, matching his volume. “We’re not putting a kid in danger.”

  “I ain’t no kid,” Frat retorted, and Spex clamped a hand over his mouth. The boy tugged free, then added more quietly, although with the same amount of attitude, “I’m a volunteer—that’s what I am.”

  My eyes traveled from Frat to Spex and back again. I couldn’t believe we were considering what we were considering.

  “How badly do you want this knife?” Spex whispered.

  “I told you. It’s vital I recover it.”

  “Then let’s quit wasting time.”

  He motioned to Frat, who obligingly walked over. Leaning close to the boy, he pointed upward. “See that window? We need to boost you up there so you can get inside. All you have to do after that is unlock the door. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Just so it’s clear, Frat,” I added. “That means you scram.”

  “I know its meanin’. How ’bout we do this thing?”

  Spex removed a small jar, a rolled sheet of parcel paper, and a tool with a wide, flat blade from the recesses of his coat, and I suddenly understood not only why he needed the garment but why it was so heavy. It was a wonder he could jump over hedges with so much weighing him down.

  Kneeling on the ground, he next removed a chain from around his neck. A ring dangled from it, and I swiped it from his hand. Ignoring his yelp of complaint, I examined it more closely. The silver band was set with a small raised diamond.

  “Where did you get this?” I demanded, no doubt a stupid question. He was a thief and a Fae-hunter, after all. His answer forestalled anything else I might have said.

  “It’s my mother’s. Her wedding ring. She gave it to me before they hauled her off to prison. Now shut up—I’ve got to explain a few things to the kid.”

  “His name’s Frat.” Considering my first meeting with the youngster and his willingness to risk his life for our sake, it seemed important to make that clear.