by C. A. McHugh
“Who are they?” Ceryst demanded.
“Do you question my judgement?” Master Binnius countered.
“I did before, and you know what happened.”
A tense pause filled the room, leaving Aerrin to wonder what Ceryst was referring to.
Unblinking, Ceryst stared down the headmaster. “I would feel better if I had names.”
“And if you are captured and tortured by the Raven Bringer, would you be able to withhold them?” Master Binnius cast a meaningful glance to Raimel, who immediately looked away. “Lest you forget what the Raven Bringer is capable of, ask your friend what he suffered at his hands. No, I think it best to reveal as little as possible about my allies. All you need to know is that I trust them not only with my own life, but the king’s as well.”
Something about Master Binnius’s explanation made Aerrin’s gut squirm with doubt. He felt like he was little more than a puppet whose strings were being pulled by the master mage, when it should be the other way around. He was the king. “And if I demanded to know those names?” he asked in challenge.
“Then I would regretfully have to withhold them. The chance of infiltrating the Raven Bringer’s ranks will be greater if their identities and loyalties remain concealed. As I said before, I have no desire to squander any life unnecessarily.” Master Binnius rose from his chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to the Academy and ensure all the measures are in place before your return.”
Before Aerrin had a chance to dismiss him, the master mage teleported to another destination, leaving only a few blue sparks of magic where he once stood.
A growl of frustration rose into Aerrin’s throat, and he kicked the chair he’d toppled earlier. “Does he actually think we’re going to play along without answers?”
“I don’t like it any more than you do.” Ceryst placed a hand on Aerrin’s shoulder. The unexpected gesture of solidarity lifted some of Aerrin’s angst.
“Well, unlike you two idiots, I see where he’s coming from.” Raimel paced in front of the door with a nervous twitch. “No one alive knows the Raven Bringer better than I do. I for one don’t want to be caught in the same predicament as before, thank you very much. Nor would I wish it on anyone else on our side.”
Despite the objections his mind offered, Aerrin’s curiosity got the better of him. He shrugged off Ceryst’s hand and moved in front of Raimel to corner him. “What can you tell me about him, then?”
The shadowed sobriety in the man’s brown eyes contrasted with the sherry-induced ruddiness in his cheeks. “I have no desire to give you nightmares, Your Majesty.”
Something in his answer sent chills coursing down Aerrin’s spine. But he swallowed past his fear and forced himself to say, “One day, you’ll have to tell me.”
“I pray not.” Raimel’s previously carefree demeanor was gone, the gravity of his words hinting that he’d seen things that would turn a man’s hair white with fright. He shifted to Ceryst. “Think what you will about the old man’s ways, but he didn’t become the headmaster of the Academy nor the Grand Master of the Mage’s Guild for no reason. He’s powerful, but it’s also his wiles that have kept him alive this long and gotten him to where he is today. This isn’t some whim he’s decided to act upon, nor a power game. He’s thought long and hard about this course of action, including putting himself in the Raven Bringer’s mindset. I understand his reasons, and even if you don’t, I hope that you have enough sense to trust him.”
Ceryst pressed his lips together in a stern line, but after a moment, he nodded in agreement.
Aerrin wished he had the knight’s conviction. Instead, he resented the secrecy, especially when it was under the guise of his “protection.” If he was going to be an effective king, he needed to know all the facts, even the ones that would turn his blood to ice. But for now, he’d have to go along with the plan. “Fine, but I don’t necessarily agree with Master Binnius’s tactics.”
“Spoken like a true king,” Raimel quipped, and some of the merriment returned to his eyes. “It sounds like we’ve all been assigned our parts. No use lingering here and letting our quarry get the upper hand on us.” He crossed the study to the hidden door that led to one of the secret passages inside the palace. “Are you coming, Lone Wolf?”
“In a minute,” Ceryst replied over his shoulder before focusing on Aerrin. “In the past, my place was always at my king’s side. I resent that Master Binnius seems to think I’m unfit to resume my duty. Nevertheless, like Raimel said, I have to trust his motives. But know I’ll be there for you if you ever need me. I assume they’ve taught you how to send letters using magic?”
Aerrin nodded. It was one of the more useful spells he’d learned so far, allowing him to respond to the kingdom’s problems and issue orders much faster than relying on couriers. But the spell was tricky, and he had the tendency to send his messages to the wrong place if he didn’t concentrate properly.
The corner of Ceryst’s mouth rose. “I can tell from the look on your face you’ve run into a few challenges with magic. Don’t worry—your father did, too. But if your need is urgent, I have no doubt your message will reach me. And when it does, I’ll have no problem making sure this lazy, no-good oaf proves his worth.”
“I heard that,” Raimel said from inside the secret passage. “Don’t be surprised if you wake up one morning covered in purple spots.”
The other corner of the knight’s mouth rose to form a full smile. “You see what I’ve had to put up with all these years? But there’s one thing I agree with Raimel on, and that’s stay close to Master Binnius. The old man is your best defense against the Raven Bringer.”
Aerrin longed to ask Ceryst about the one time Ceryst trusted Master Binnius and things went wrong. Before he could, Ceryst gave Aerrin one more pat on the shoulder and followed Raimel into the dark tunnel.
The door closed behind them, leaving Aerrin alone and plagued with too many unanswered questions. Once he was back at the Academy, he planned to fully pick the headmaster’s mind.
And if he didn’t get the answers he sought, he might have to seek them alone.
Chapter 3
There were some places that no matter how dark and seedy they appeared at first, they still carried the essence of home. Sure, the place might be full of ruthless thugs that would sooner gut a stranger than look at him. And don’t forget the thieves that would pick one’s pockets clean. And the musty air perfumed by piss and puke and the gods know what else that contributed to the foul fragrance of human existence. Yet beneath the hard and threatening outer shell, there was a sense of comradery. A place where bands of underhanded brothers congregated. And even though one’s neighbor might sooner stab a man in the back than defend him, they all came from the same common ground and would defend it from outsiders.
Such was The Painted Lady to Raimel.
From the moment he stepped inside, the warm fuzzies from his childhood resurfaced. Yes, there had been his whore of a mother who would bed three to four men a night to pay for the day’s bread and beer. And he didn’t even want to start remembering the man who’d sired him. But the slight nod of acknowledgement from Gareth behind the bar told him he was welcome here, that he belonged here.
Unlike most places in the kingdom, he realized with a bitter twang.
At least he’d managed to convince Ceryst not to come along. The gruff knight was many things—big, powerful, intimidating, pissy—but he definitely did not belong in a place like The Painted Lady. The tavern in the heart of Dromore’s shantytown would dissolve into a riot if someone so much as caught a whiff of Ceryst’s noble nature.
Nope, places like this were better suited for deviants like Raimel. And once he explained that to his best friend, it only took a stun spell or two to get the knight to agree to stay behind.
He scanned the room for the next sign. After the assassination attempt on King Aerrin, he’d put in a request for an audience with the King of Thieves. If anyone knew anything about the shady, underha
nded dealings of the city, it was the man who ruled over the most unsavory characters to grace the streets. Or, in the case of Dromore, the labyrinth of abandoned mine shafts underneath them. Weeks had ticked by in silence, until, finally, a few hours ago, some urchin pressed a broken coin into Raimel’s palm.
The sign he’d been granted an audience with the King of Thieves.
He tried to shake off the unease that came from the idea that he’d lost all control of the situation from here out. He was at the mercy of the king, and even though he hoped the audience would help him enlist the ally he needed, he could just as easily end up missing a few body parts in the process, especially since he hadn’t precisely adhered to the code.
When his initial scan of The Painted Lady turned up empty, he made his way across the tavern to the one person who might hold the answer.
“Good evening, Gareth,” he said as he leaned on the bar. “What’s new?”
The old man merely gave him a gap-toothed smile just before a beefy arm clamped around Raimel’s waist from behind. Someone tugged him along like a ragdoll, which was easy enough to do since the lack of consistent meals had made Raimel’s already thin frame even lighter than usual.
This was where having Ceryst’s muscle would’ve been helpful.
He let his limbs fall loose while he called on his wits to get himself out of yet another mess. “If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked.”
A grunt rumbled through his captor’s chest as he hustled them through the mostly empty tables to the hidden staircase in the back.
Raimel craned his head and recognized the brute as one of the king’s bodyguards. “Oh, Jasper, I thought that was you. Like the new scar.”
The next grunt carried a note of irritation.
Okay, time to shut up and see where this goes.
He didn’t have to wait long. Jasper made his way through the underground tunnels and tossed him through an open door into a dimly lit room. Stars danced along the corners of his vision, and pain bloomed along different parts of his body as he skidded across the surprisingly immaculate floor.
At least they took the time to sweep, he thought with a rueful grin before clutching his newly bruised ribs and rising to his knees as the door slammed shut behind him.
“Hello, Raimel,” a low and decidedly unexpected feminine voice said from the shadowed chair in the corner.
The hairs on his arms rose in warning. This was not the royal audience he’d been expecting.
One good thing that came from inheriting his father’s nature was that the dark didn’t bother him. In fact, his sight was keener in low light than in the bright sun. But after a run-in with the Raven Bringer’s new female accomplice just before the assassination attempt last month, he didn’t hesitate to cast a spell to detect the woman’s aura.
A faint violet glow pulsed around her, and he released a sigh of semi-relief. No black or red aura. No traces of death or demonic magic.
But that still didn’t help him relax, especially since she’d hidden her face under a hooded cloak.
“Hate to disappoint you, sweets, but I’m kind of here on official business, so if you were looking for the best wall-banging sex of your life—”
She cut him off with a throaty laugh and drew back her hood. A long, brown braid draped over her shoulder, but he immediately recognized the sharp gray eyes that she’d inherited from her father.
Shit! Princess Katriona, daughter of the King of Thieves and a force to reckoned with in her own right.
Raimel lowered his head and scrambled for an apology. “Princess Kat, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” He peeked and took a second glance at her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in that awkward, gangly stage of adolescence. The woman standing before him was powerful, confident, and wielding a very sinister looking knife. Her brown leather jerkin clung to her feminine curves, and he counted at least four other weapons accessorizing it before he gave up. “You’ve, um, filled out a bit.”
She gave him another laugh and lit all the candles in the room with a snap of her fingers.
Raimel winced. Kat had more than grown into an adult. She’d also grown into her magical abilities, which didn’t bode well for him.
But after a few seconds passed without any torture spells, he finally got the nerve to stand.
She watched him with an amused smile. “You haven’t come by to pay your respects to my father.”
“I’ve, um, been kind of preoccupied with other things.” Mainly chasing down demons and trying to figure out A) how the Raven Bringer came back to power, and B) how to keep the sick son of a bitch out of his head. He’d received several taunting messages from the asshole since his last meeting with Aerrin, each one sending him down a dead trail when he tried to discover where the messages might be originating from.
“We’ve noticed you and your friend are keeping busy.”
A curse flew from his mouth. He should’ve known that he couldn’t escape the watchful eye of the King of Thieves and his thousands of subjects. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“We understand.” She sheathed her dagger and poured a glass of wine from the bottle on the table next to her. “That was quite an interesting cauldron lighting ceremony last month.”
He took the drink she offered him and drained it. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Enlighten me.”
He stared at the ruby drops clinging to the inside of the glass. “I would, but um, I believe this is something I’d rather discuss with your father directly.”
“Too bad.” She poured a glass for herself but didn’t drink.
Suspicion crawled up his spine, followed by a silent curse. He should’ve known better than to accept a drink from someone like Kat without checking it for poisons, truth serums, and other unpleasant things.
This time, her laugh carried more levity. “You should see the look on your face. What’s the matter? Scared I’m going to kill you?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Please. As if I’d want to kill someone of your…unique talents.”
He set the glass aside, wishing alcohol would warm the chill in his blood. As far as he knew, only two people in Elgeus knew his true origins—Ceryst and Master Binnius. But the way Kat talked, it hinted that she might know more than she let on. “I’m retired from that business.”
“What a shame.” She set her glass down and pulled her dagger back out, twirling its point into the table. “I could only assume that you wanted to meet with my father to ask a favor of him, and we both know the rules about that.”
Any time a thief needed a favor, he was expected to pay a tribute. Such was the code of thieves. And Raimel had managed to gain the good graces of the King of Thieves through his ability to slip into places most humans couldn’t. It was how he’d kept food in his stomach and a roof over his head over the years.
At least until fifteen years ago, when Master Binnius managed to pair him up with the most uptight, honor-adhering disgraced knight in the kingdom.
“Please, Princess Kat, I need to speak with your father. It’s an urgent matter that requires a great deal of discretion.”
Yeah, no one wanted to know the Raven Bringer was back. If word got out, it would send the general population into the state of fear the bastard wanted, and Raimel refused to play into that trap.
“Then you’ll have to tell me since I’m the one he sent in his stead.”
He gave her his best attempt at a side-eye. Kat was maybe nineteen or twenty. Hardly old enough to be handling her father’s affairs. “He trusts you that much?”
“I’ve more than earned it.” She flicked her fingers, and the candles dimmed. “Last chance, Raimel.”
He wasn’t stupid enough to let this opportunity slip from his grasp. He’d been granted a royal audience, and even though it wasn’t with the king himself, he refused to squander his one and only chance to bring the Kingdom of Thieves to his side. But first, he needed to see h
ow much information he could pull from the princess without revealing everything he knew.
He held out his glass for a refill. “Have you noticed anything unusual about the city lately?”
“Define unusual,” she replied as she poured him more wine.
Of course she’d engage in mind games with him. She’d learned from the best—her father. “You know—shadows, brimstone, et cetera.”
“Are you talking about demons?”
“Maybe.” He took a sip to gage her reaction.
She blinked several times—a mark of confusion, perhaps—before hardening her expression. “My father does not deal with such things.”
“Considering how your mother met her untimely end, I can understand why.” When the Raven Bringer was in full power, he’d tried to bring the King of Thieves to his side. When the king refused, he’d kidnapped, tortured, and killed Kat’s mother, strewing her remains all over the city at the places where the thieves congregated.
Kat met his gaze, and a glimmer of fear flickered in her gray eyes. “He’s dead.”
“That’s what we were all led to believe, but these keep popping up around the city.” He tossed her a metal amulet bearing the image of a raven plucking the eyes out of a skull.
The Raven Bringer’s mark.
A faint tremor rippled along her hands as she studied it. Even the Princess of Thieves had the common sense to fear what it stood for. “How do you know about this? And more important, how did we miss it?”
“He resurfaced last month.” Raimel decided to leave out the part where a demon had been sent to assassinate King Aerrin at the summer solstice ceremony. He and Ceryst had managed to save the young king’s life that time, but since then, they’d spent weeks chasing dead ends and cold trails. “Not many people know, which was why I wanted your father’s discretion.”
She let the amulet slip from her fingers and chugged the glass of wine she’d been neglecting. After she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the power returned to her voice. “Tell me what you know.”
“Just that, Your Highness. I keep running into his minions, and I was hoping you might know something that would help lead me back to their source.”
