Child of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 1)

by Andy Peloquin

  Blood seeped warm and wet down Ilanna’s back. She tried to ignore the fire in her shoulder, but it joined the rest of the sensations flooding her protesting body. Crimson trickled from her fingertips and knuckles, slickened her grip. The knots in her back and calves had passed bearable long ago. All feeling had fled her arms and legs. Her mouth and throat begged for water. The straps of the gloves, boots, and satchel had worn away at her skin until blood streamed from dozens of tiny friction wounds. Every part of her hurt. For a moment, the desire to abandon the climb threatened to overwhelm her. It would be so easy to…

  No! She clenched her jaw. I’ve come this far. I can’t back down now.

  She risked a glance upward, trying to spot the tip of the Black Spire. Nothing but darkness and twinkling stars met her gaze. She hung there, hundreds of paces above the ground, with only steel spikes and leather straps holding her in place. She wanted to scream, to shout, to sob in frustration. She wished she could see something, anything, that would tell her how much longer this torment would last. How much farther did she have to climb?

  I have to keep going. The words rang hollow in her tired mind. She had nothing left. How many more hours would she spend trapped up here? Why had she been so foolish as to believe she could succeed where so many others had failed?

  The stone seemed to hum beneath her hands. An icy wind blew across her face. The breeze whispered, tempting her to let go, surrender to its grasp. It would bear her weight. She wouldn’t feel a thing. From the look in Journeymen Tyman’s eyes, Ethen would join her in the Long Keeper’s arms soon enough.

  “No!” She pushed the thought aside. I can’t give in.

  Denber’s words rang in her mind. “Do the impossible. For him.”

  She would do it. Not for herself, not for Denber, and certainly not for the Night Guild. She would do it for Ethen. If she defeated the impossible, maybe he could, too. He has to live!

  One agonizing step at a time, Ilanna crawled up the Black Spire. She held Ethen’s face in her mind’s eye. Not as she’d seen him last—broken, bloodied, and dying—but as he was in the garden. Handsome, smiling, eyes clear and bright. She would reach the top for him.

  Her hand struck something hard. Numb with fatigue and cold, her mind failed to grasp the significance of the contact. It was just one more annoying obstacle to prevent her from reaching the top. But when she touched it again, she realized what it was. Metal? Bars, anchored in the wall of the Black Spire.

  She wrapped nerveless fingers around the bars and tugged. They held firm. She scrabbled with her left hand, grasping at the metal shafts. Tugging her boot spikes free of the wall, she pulled her legs up and wrapped them around the iron. She locked her feet and dangled there, hundreds of paces above the city of Praamis.

  Blood rushed through arms and forearms that had gone numb long ago and, with the return of sensation, came a torrent of pain. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out, but a single whimper escaped her lips. Her fingers had frozen into claws; she doubted they would ever return to normal. She wanted to cut off her hands if it meant an end to her suffering.

  Slowly, the pain receded to a dull ache. Forearms screaming, she forced her fingers to close around the bars and pulled herself up. She slipped a shoulder between the bars, but that was as far as she got. They were too close together to allow her to squeeze through.

  She tried again and hissed at the agony lancing into her shoulder. The satchel! That was the problem. But finally, with the bars to support her weight, she could do something about it.

  She tugged at the strap, but dried blood had crusted it to her shirt and skin. Every effort to pull it free sent a stab of pain through her shoulder. She gritted her teeth. Pain or not, she had to get it off. Taking a deep breath, she pulled hard. Fire raced down her back as the strap pulled free, ripping away skin. She bit back on a cry and tugged the satchel over her head. With frantic movements, she wedged it inside the bars. She couldn’t risk it falling now.

  She managed to squeeze her head and shoulders through the bars, but her ribs caught.

  “Keeper’s teeth!” She pushed and pulled, trying to force her body into the tight space. Cloth ripped and skin tore, but she managed to crawl through the unyielding iron bars. Fire raced up her chest and back. Her fingers probed the fresh injury. Tender skin showed her where the bars had sliced away layers of her flesh. Her clothes were a mess—stained with blood, reeking of sweat, and shredded.

  But she’d done it. She’d survived the climb, at least this part. Her legs dangled between the iron bars. She leaned on the window; the glass felt cool on her burning back.

  She drank in the breathtaking view of the city of Praamis. Pinpricks of light meandered through the formless mass of blackness below. The only sound this high up came from the icy wind whipping across her face. She shivered and clutched her torn clothing tighter.

  No wonder no one has entered the Black Spire and returned to tell the tale! She eyed the iron bars. They would stop any thief from entering—any normal-sized thief, that is. Ilanna’s small frame had made it possible for her to slip through…barely.

  What now? Her mind raced. I could light the beamer and slip down the outside of the tower. That would be enough to prove I made the climb.

  She had completed her Undertaking. She could return and take her place as a full-fledged member of the Night Guild. But she wasn’t satisfied, not yet. She hadn’t come all this way just to leave so soon. She didn’t need to enter the Black Spire, but that didn’t matter. She would break in and steal something anyway. No one since Master Gold had done it; all considered it impossible. But not her.

  After this, no one will ever doubt me again. This will prove, once and for all, that I truly am the best of House Hawk!

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ignoring the stabbing ache in her legs, Ilanna crouched on the iron bars and twisted around to peer into the window. Darkness filled the room. She felt along the outer edges of the window frame. Stone and glass met her touch. No locks or latches here. None were needed; she was the only thief small enough to slip through the bars.

  Carefully, Ilanna drew her lockpick set. Her fingertips brushed the tools nestled in the folds of dark cloth. She drew out a tool Denber had insisted she include—just in case, he’d said. Good thing I listened.

  The steel knife shone bright in the starlight. She gripped the tool tight, afraid of dropping it; the tiny diamonds set into the head cost a fortune. The knife sliced a thin crack into the glass. She sketched a rough circle, tracing over her lines a few times to ensure a proper cut. Her cut was uneven and jagged, but she didn’t care. She only needed the hole to be large enough for her to slip in and out. The window, a single pace across and almost two paces high, would give her plenty of space.

  Slipping the knife back into the lockpick set, Ilanna took a deep breath. Now for the moment of truth. She tapped her elbow against the glass. Nothing happened. She tried again, harder. The window shattered and shards of glass tinkled on the floor inside.

  She eyed the hole. It was smaller than she had thought. She could still fit through, barely. Should I cut more? She shook off the thought. What if someone heard me? The Duke’s guards could be climbing the tower at that very moment.

  She had no time to waste. It would have to do.

  Drawing her quickfire globes, she pressed them together and held them aloft. The red and blue light played tricks with her eyes, casting eerie shadows in the room. She studied the small room, searching for traps. Something about a section of floor tile drew her attention. They were slightly raised from the rest of the floor, but even with the tiles around them. Too neat to be an imperfection, too imperfect for precise craftsmanship.

  The section of tile stretched from the window to the doorway at the far end of the room and two paces in either direction. Almost as if it was designed to stop someone from entering or exiting this way.

  Ilanna slipped the black rope from the satchel. Securing one end around the iron bars, she lowered
herself through the window and crawled spider-like down the wall. She hung a hand’s breadth above the floor, scarcely daring to breathe.

  What appeared to be one section of uneven flooring was actually two. Two separate rows of tiles, with a slim line—no wider than her foot—running down the middle. She didn’t dare press the raised flooring. No doubt it triggered some trap or alarm.

  Every muscle taut, Ilanna placed a foot gingerly on the center row of tile, hoping to encounter solid flooring. She half-expected to hear the dreaded click. Nothing came. She rested her full weight on the floor. Silence.

  She forced herself to breathe deep. Holding her breath would only reduce her coordination and balance. One step forward, then two. No click. Ilanna wavered, gasping as she tried to catch her balance. Years of training kicked in.

  A familiar, soothing voice spoke in her mind. “Bend your knees a little, lift your head, shoulders back, and hold your arms out.” Ilanna moved in time with the remembered words, following their instructions. “Find an object in the near distance, something for you to focus on, and look only there. Keep your eyes fixed on it, lift your foot high, and step. And step. And step.” No hesitation, no fear; only Mama’s voice to guide her.

  A memory played in Ilanna’s mind. She and Mama were in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, tending to the plants. Mama brushed aside a hair and kissed her forehead.

  A soft smile touched Ilanna’s lips. “Thank you, Mama.”

  Memories of the garden brought back thoughts of Ethen, shattering Ilanna’s calm. Her stomach twisted in knots and nervous tension filled every muscle. What if she got caught? What would happen to Ethen? Would they let him die, or would they continue to care for him? She couldn’t get caught! She couldn’t leave him—

  The quickfire globes sputtered and died. Panic overwhelmed her. I have to get out of here! I have to escape before the Duke catches me. Her heart thundered, setting her hands twitching. She reached the open doorway and leapt through to the empty chamber beyond. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. How silly she’d been to think she could do the impossible! She was just a foolish girl.

  “No!” The single word came out in a harsh whisper, deafening in the silent tower. She gritted her teeth to push back the panic. I can do this. I am doing this! She stood in the Black Spire, a feat considered impossible. She couldn’t leave, not yet. For Ethen.

  Ilanna drew the beamer from her satchel and lit it. The soft multi-colored lights of the lamp soothed her. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, then another. Holding the lamp high, she studied the room beyond. She could see no traps, but instinct warned her of danger. She crouched, letting the lamplight play along the floor. A fine silver wire stretched across the room. A tripwire. Heart thundering, Ilanna stepped over it.

  Something clicked beneath her foot. Her stomach bottomed out. Realization of the Duke’s plan slammed into her. The bars on the window would deter anyone from entering. Should a thief somehow get past the bars, as she had, the visible traps would lull them into a false sense of security. The invisible trap she’d just triggered was the ultimate fail-safe.

  Somewhere below her, a massive bell shattered the silence. A steel grate dropped into place at the far end of the room. Acting on instinct, Ilanna leapt forward, just in time. Thick bars slammed into the spot where she’d stood a heartbeat earlier. Heart thundering, she threw herself against the bars. They held firm, unyielding and unmoving.

  She was trapped!

  Damn it! Her mind raced, and her eyes darted around. Think, Ilanna, think. How would she get out of this? By all appearances, she had no way out.

  Her gaze fell on something in a darkened alcove beside the doorway. She shined the beamer light onto the object. Horror and terror coursed through her, and she leapt backward with a shriek. A corpse lay sprawled in the shadows. Hair and flesh had rotted away long ago, leaving only white bone and a grinning skull. Tattered shreds of a brown cloak hung on its frame, bearing the insignia of a hawk. She covered her face with her cloak to block out the pungent odor of decay.

  Bloody hell! Dust and cobwebs covered the corpse; it had clearly lain there for a long time. Why leave it there? Why not move it?

  Her mind flashed back to Denber’s lecture on Duke Elodon Phonnis. “The Duke has publicly stated that the Black Spire is impregnable. To this day, he has never been proven wrong. This has allowed him to make a fortune installing traps, alarms, and other safety systems in the homes of the richest nobles in Praamis—even as far away as Voramis.”

  He takes pride in his reputation. He believes his systems to be infallible. She stared at the skeletal remains and a chill ran down her spine. The Duke had left the body there as a message. He knew the challenge his tower presented and he relished the opportunity to prove himself a match for any thief. This entire room—the only accessible room in the tower—had been constructed as a death trap.

  But a man who would leave a corpse on display wouldn’t be satisfied with simply executing them in the public square. He would delight in starving his victims to death, and they would die knowing they had failed to defeat him. Worst of all, he would taunt them with their failure. He would offer them an impossible way out.

  Heart sinking, Ilanna searched every nook and cranny of the room, looking for anything out of place, anything that didn’t belong. She discarded the notion immediately. He wouldn’t make it that easy. Her years of experience had taught her to measure a man by the traps he set for thieves. A clever thief could find even the most secret of latches and levers. Duke Elodon Phonnis would make it impossible to escape. No, the way out will be somewhere just out of reach.

  She squeezed her face between the bars, trying to get a clear view of the space beyond. An alchemical lamp filled the small room with soft light, illuminating a particular section of wall. There, in plain view, was a small square of solid gold.

  That’s it. It has to be. The lamp had been positioned precisely to shine on that spot. The gold would immediately arrest the attention of a greedy thief. It lay well out of reach, but well within eyesight. It was the perfect taunt. A pressure plate, perhaps?

  Ilanna’s hand toyed with the handle of her dagger. Her expert eye gauged the length of the room. At least forty or fifty paces across. If I throw it just right, it could trip the release. If she had Jarl’s strength, perhaps. The gilded plate was less than a handspan across and she’d never excelled at throwing knives.

  The alarm bell tolled out, filling the city of Praamis with the reverberating echo of her failure. The lever taunted her. It lay out of reach—so close, yet so far.

  She bit back a curse. What can I do? A terrible image played in her mind’s eye. She dangled from a hangman’s noose, kicking and struggling as Duke Phonnis watched on. If I don’t find a way out now, that could very well be my fate. She would join all of the other Hawks foolhardy enough to make the attempt. Denber had warned her, Master Hawk had warned her, even Master Gold had warned her. Why had she been so foolish as to think she could succeed?

  She fell to her knees, shoulders slumped in defeat. A stab of sorrow flashed through her—not for her fate, but at the thought of never seeing Ethen again. She wouldn’t be there to greet him if—no, when—he awoke. They would never spend time in the garden. She would never prove herself better with a sling.

  The sling!

  She leapt to her feet, fumbling at the leather thong on her belt. She drew a smooth, round lead ball from the small purse she’d carried since Ethen had taught her the sling. Without hesitation, she dropped the ball into the sling’s pouch, whirled it around her head, and cast.

  Her heart sank as the ball skittered on the stone floor. Harder! She slipped another into the pouch, spun the thong, and released. This time, the lead ball cracked off the wall an arm’s length away from the pressure plate. So close!

  Taking a deep breath, Ilanna drew and cast again. The ball collided with a corner of the gilded plate, chipping away at the gold. She squinted into the torchlight. She eyed her target. It
had moved, she was sure of it. Just a little more…

  She hurled two more lead balls in quick succession. One struck her target, but the other flew wide. Ilanna ground her teeth in frustration. She ran her fingers over the three pellets remaining in the pouch. Come on, Ilanna. You can do this!

  Her next ball flew true. The pressure plate shuddered beneath the impact. It was so close to the wall; she could almost taste her freedom. I just have to hit it once more and I’ll be free!

  Confidence growing, she dropped the next lead ball into the pouch and let it fly. The moment it left the sling, her heart stopped. The cast was off. The projectile collided with the alchemical lamp, shattering it. The light slowly fluttered and winked out of existence.

  No! She threw herself against the bars, squinting into the darkness. Acid daggers twisted in her stomach. She couldn’t see her target. Without the light, she had little hope of hitting the lever. Her prison remained securely in place. She’d failed.

  The alchemical light flickered, gasping out its last moment of existence. For a single heartbeat, Ilanna saw the gilded cube, as clear as could be. She fixed the memory in her mind even as her fingers went through the motion of slipping her last ball into the sling’s pouch. Her arms seemed to move of their own accord, whirling the leather thong in circles and releasing. She didn’t dare watch, but couldn’t look away. Dread turned her blood to ice. She listened for the clack of metal striking stone.

  Instead, she heard a tink. Elation coursed through her veins. I did it! She turned, blood rushing in her ears, her mind racing. Was it enough? Had she managed to trip the release? The darkness hid it from view; she had no way to be certain. She stared at the bars, willing them to move. For a terrifying heartbeat, nothing happened. The toll of the bell faded and an ominous silence filled the room.

  With the slow grinding of levers, the bars rattled up into their housings. The doorways—both forward and backward—stood clear. She gasped in shock and relief. She’d done it. I’m free!