He rolls his eyes. “My organization. Anyway, the moment we part ways…you know my goals for Ostgard. I’ve built the first foundations of my criminal empire. We intend to own this city someday, and the people I’ve gathered around me won’t settle for anything less. And apparently, your people won’t change either.” He cups her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently over her skin. “So unless one of us wants to give up our dreams…we’re rivals now, Myrrh.”
His words sink in, dark clouds pressing over the warmth of the sun. Rivals. Vying for control of a city that’s made each of them who they are.
“I thought you weren’t into turf wars,” she says.
“No. And I don’t see you squabbling over boundaries either. I do see you building something incredible from the ruins of the Slivers syndicate though. And quite honestly, it terrifies me.”
“You, terrified?”
“Ever since I started planning and plotting, I’ve been confident I’d win in the end. The other syndicates simply aren’t a concern. We’ll move in, dry up their prospects, and their organizations will slowly and inexorably die. But you represent something different. You’re just as clever as me, just as capable, but you think differently. I won’t be able to predict you.”
It’s been so long since she slept. Myrrh’s thoughts feel sluggish. The conversation seems almost surreal. She wants to start it over when she’s got her wits about her. But Glint is saying there won’t be another chance to talk.
He’s saying good-bye.
“Will you…will the Scythe still help me free Hawk?”
“Of course, Myrrh. Of course. I’d come with you too, if I didn’t have an organization to repair.”
“It’s hard for me to grasp. You’d give me use of your most loyal soldier even though we’re enemies?”
“Not enemies.” He touches her wrist. “Never.”
“But not friends.”
“Hmm. That’s complicated. It’s not just your capabilities that terrify me, Myrrh. I’m afraid that when the time comes…maybe it will be when you and I are the last kingpins standing…I’m afraid I won’t have the strength to hurt you. Because already, part of me wants to abandon everything I’ve built so I can have another of those kisses. So…friends? I just don’t know.”
He won’t meet her eyes anymore.
Myrrh balls her fists. Not much point in dragging this out then.
“You better go,” she says. “Your people are probably pacing the streets with impatience.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’ll send the Scythe to Rikson’s Roost tomorrow morning. Say hello to Craghold for me. It is my childhood home, after all.”
She stands. “Good luck with your play for the council seat. Maybe in a few months you’ll be living in the Maire’s palace.”
“And maybe you’ll be taking control of criminal activity along the west bank of the Ost from First Bridge to Fifth.”
“Or moving on to plan my conquest of your fading empire.”
“We’ll see,” he says with a wink.
“May the best thief win then?”
She steps back to take in the sight of him looking up at her, clothing rumpled and bruises fading. He may be the most handsome man she’s ever met.
“Indeed,” he says. “May the best thief win.”
Dear Reader,
Thanks so much for reading Mistress of Thieves. I really hope you liked it! As a working writer, I am utterly dependent on my readers to spread the word about my books. Please consider leaving a review for me and other authors you enjoy. Even just a sentence helps immensely.
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Book 2 in this series, Chronicles of a Cutpurse is available now. You can find Ruler of Scoundrels here. (Read on past this page for a sneak peek).
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Heart of the Empire - Book 1 in the complete trilogy, The Broken Lands.
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--Carrie
Ruler of Scoundrels
Chapter One
STREWN ACROSS A table in The Queen’s Dice, shards of glass twinkle in the lamplight. A dark pool of blood spreads across the battered floorboards. Myrrh can’t help staring at the stain, its sticky surface marred by a single footprint. The urchin they sent to fetch her said that no one died. Just a bad knife slash to a man’s arm. Looking at the mess, she has a hard time believing that.
After a deep breath, she turns to the mistress of the house. Sapphire, a sturdy woman with a raised scar across her chin, stands behind one of her dealers, a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are hard. Uncompromising. This violence happened under Myrrh’s watch. In Ghost syndicate turf. It’s Myrrh’s responsibility.
Myrrh closes her mind to the smell of blood and hardens her jaw. “You should probably get that cleaned up before it dries.”
Sapphire narrows her eyes. “You needed to see what happened here.”
The woman’s tone is just short of defiant. Myrrh feels her nostrils flare, and she forces her hands into her pockets to show the proprietor she won’t be intimidated. She edges around the blood and steps toward a wall where a wrought-iron symbol dedicated to the Queen of Nines hangs askew. From across the room, she feels the stares of the dealers and the bartender. They’re pretending to be interested in a game of dice.
“I assure you I’m capable of understanding a report without being subjected to the grisly scene. You do realize I came into leadership of the Ghost syndicate by skill rather than chance, don’t you?”
“However you gained control of the turf isn’t my concern. The welfare of my business establishment is.”
Myrrh sighs as she turns. “Why don’t you start by telling me what happened?”
Sapphire hesitates, off-balanced by Myrrh’s sudden change of tone. After years of working with the Slivers syndicate, she’s probably more used to threats than being asked for her side of the story.
Myrrh calls across the room to the bartender. “Hey, can you get us an ale and whatever Sapphire is drinking? On me.”
He blinks as if unsure.
“Or do I need to do it myself?” Myrrh prompts.
The man’s chair squeals as he pushes back from the dice game. Returning her attention to Sapphire, Myrrh gestures toward an empty table, eyebrows raised in question. After a moment, the proprietor nods. They pull out chairs and sit in tense silence until the drinks arrive, a pewter mug with overflowing foam for Myrrh and a modest tumbler of whiskey for Sapphire. Myrrh drops a silver piece on the table, the coin settling with a click. The bartender’s practiced hand sweeps it away.
Sapphire lays two fingers on the bartender’s arm before he walks away. She flicks her eyes toward the spilled blood. “You can start on that now. Fetch Becky to help.”
The man rounds the bar and pushes through a swinging door that squeals as it opens. His gruff voice echoes in the back rooms. Meanwhile, the dealers—five in total—lean close to one another and whisper over the dicing table. One, a woman, glances at Myrrh with open curiosity while a man with slicked-back hair glares her way.
“The rest of you scat,” Sapphire calls.
They hesitate until their boss lays hands on the table and threatens to stand. With disappointed snorts, they abandon their game. More glass crunches under their feet as they file through the room to the back door. Once they’re outside, Sapphire gets up and drops the bar into place before returning to her seat.
“It’s been a decade since someone was knifed in my establishment,” she says bluntly. “I never liked Slivers’ m
ethods but I can’t argue with their results.”
Myrrh takes a swallow of her ale, sets the mug on the table with a clack. “And you blame me.”
Sapphire shrugs, allowing Myrrh to draw her own conclusions. Myrrh studies a line of foam sliding down her mug as she considers her response. Should she attempt to defend herself? Ask questions? Either option would make her look weak and inept. She decides to hold her silence.
The bartender returns, trailed by a wan-faced scullery maid—Becky, no doubt—who blanches at the sight of the blood. Ignoring her hesitation, the bartender drops a set of rags over the rapidly drying blood. He raises an eyebrow at Becky. The girl swallows and falls to her knees beside the bucket she carried into the room.
For a while, the only sounds in the room are the splash of water and the scratching of the scrub brush’s bristles. The bartender stands over the girl, monitoring her work and occasionally stepping behind the bar for more clean rags.
Finally, the proprietor of the gambling den snorts in amusement. Myrrh blinks, not sure what about the situation is funny.
“All right, you got me. I had to test your mettle, see what the new boss of Rat Town is made of. But no, I don’t blame you for what happened here. Your men performed well. Got the fight stopped before anyone got killed. And considering the situation, that was quite a feat.”
“Ghost syndicate doesn’t have a strict hierarchy,” Myrrh says.
Sapphire’s brows draw together while she runs a finger around the rim of her glass. The smell of wet wood impregnated with years of spilled liquor rises from the floor and finally starts to overpower the stench of blood.
“Not sure I follow your change of subject,” the proprietor says.
“You called me the boss of Rat Town. Said the security assigned to your establishment were ‘my men’. But the syndicate’s decisions are made by a council, not a single person.”
“Well, claim what you will. According to everyone I’ve heard tell it, there’s only one person calling the shots in your new syndicate.”
Myrrh takes another swallow of her beer and wonders if she should ask why no one’s helping poor Becky.
“But I didn’t send Wren to fetch you just so I could see your reaction,” Sapphire says.
“Wren?”
“The little orphan girl.”
Right. The urchin. “So what is this about then?”
Becky casts a nervous glance in their direction, prompting the bartender to nudge her hip with his toe. She jerks, nearly knocking into the bucket of red water. Myrrh takes a deep breath.
“In case you’re wondering,” Sapphire says, “I caught Becky here pinching coins from one of the tables. The way I see it, my patrons have a right to enjoy their gaming without being pickpocketed. Especially when the thief is lucky to have honest work under my roof. But we’ve all made mistakes at one time or another, isn’t that right, Becky?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl says as she scrubs harder.
Sapphire smirks and winks at Myrrh. “In any case, I didn’t send for you just because there was a brawl. It’s about who came looking for the fight. And why. The Queen’s Dice had a prior arrangement with the Slivers syndicate, as I’m sure you’re aware. I admit to being surprised to see Noble back here. Especially given his new…condition.”
Noble. The former leader of the Slivers syndicate. Yeah, Myrrh can see why his reappearance might cause problems.
“So it’s true?” Myrrh says. “He’s a White? I never got confirmation.”
“If by that, you mean blinded by glimmer in all but the dimmest light…eyes shining silver…. Yeah. I’d say he’s a White.”
“I expected him to turn up in Rat Town eventually,” Myrrh says. “Sorry it brought trouble to your establishment.”
Sapphire shrugs. “Long as you make it right with extra security until he’s been dealt with, we’re good.”
Myrrh keeps her face even. It was hard enough to find thieves willing to take on security gigs across the district. As former freelancers, the members of Ghost syndicate are accustomed to heists and smuggling and blackmail. Jobs with a bit of excitement and chance at surprise payouts. In comparison, the steady percentage take from gambling house profits will buy food and ale, but no one will be founding an empire on the sums.
When Slivers controlled the territory, it was simpler. Syndicate members didn’t have a choice in their assignments, and they received fixed stipends from the syndicate coffers no matter their work. But that’s not the sort of organization Myrrh founded.
“It will be hard to find the muscle unless you’re willing to contribute a larger percentage.”
Sapphire’s eyes narrow, but Myrrh holds firm. She’s pretty sure the proprietor’s spending half of what she did under Noble’s organization.
“I could increase the allowance as long as the situation is temporary,” Sapphire says after a moment.
“Then I’ll figure it out. So…I’m guessing Noble had some grievances to air.”
Sapphire snorts. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well, I didn’t expect him to hide out in the dark forever.”
“He was throwing around a lot of nasty threats. I’d be wary if I were you. Noble still has heavy support in this district. Lots of thieves and sellswords lost their livelihoods when you ousted Slivers.”
“They’re welcome to work for Ghost syndicate as long as they agree to our rules.”
“I’m not the audience you need to reach with that message,” Sapphire says.
“No, probably not.”
Sapphire traces a finger across the wood grain on the table. “The way you talk about the syndicate, I’m not surprised people call you the boss. It’s clear you make most of the decisions.”
Myrrh doesn’t respond. A cool swallow of ale slides down her throat.
“Anyway, when Noble started mentioning a bounty for your head, that’s when blades came out. I’ll give you credit. He might have support after so many years running Rat Town, but you have your own loyalists. A shift worker from the smelters took a nasty slash to the arm when he threatened one of Noble’s lackeys. That’s when your security stepped in started throwing the Slivers crew out the door.”
“How many were there?”
“Five, counting Noble.”
“Any others glimmer-blind?”
Sapphire shakes her head. “Just the kingpin. He wears a hat low over his eyes. Can’t seem to look directly at candles without pain. I’m not surprised he’s got a vendetta.”
Myrrh takes a deep breath. Maybe she should have listened to Glint and ambushed the Slivers leadership before they learned she’d slipped them a glimmer overdose and taken over their turf. But that would have meant going against her word. Sometimes, details mattered.
The reminder of Glint brings a tightness to her chest that eases when she takes another deep drink of ale. No doubt he would have good advice on how to deal with Noble’s reemergence. Probably delivered close to her ear in a low voice. She grits her teeth at the involuntary shiver that travels her spine at the thought.
She really needs to avoid distractions like that. She has a syndicate to run. Kids like Nab need her protection, especially with the city trembling in fear over the turmoil in Maire’s Quarter. Plus, she has to figure out what’s going on with Hawk. Why he came out of Craghold so…changed.
And right now, she’s got to conclude business with Sapphire and The Queen’s Dice. Ideally followed by a nice date with her pillow.
“You comfortable with my people denying Noble entry tomorrow night?” she asks.
Sapphire slugs back the last of her whiskey. “Please.”
“The guards will be here at dusk then.”
“There’s another thing,” Sapphire says.
“Oh?”
“A man. Never seen him before. He spoke to me once things quieted down.”
“What about him?”
“He said he wanted me to gi
ve you a message.”
“Another threat?”
“I don’t think so. He came from downriver. Some place called Glenhaven.”
“It’s about halfway between here and the sea.”
“If you say so,” Sapphire says with a shrug. “Anyway, he heard of Ghost syndicate and was, as he said, intrigued. He wants to talk to you.”
“Like I said earlier, anyone who wants to abide by the syndicate rules is welcome to work for us. We send word through the taverns every evening. New gigs and what they pay.”
“I think he’s looking for more than a few jobs. He asked if you would meet him here tomorrow. Around midnight.”
“If he’s interested in the syndicate, he can ask any Ghost member. I’m sure plenty of them enjoy throwing the dice at your tables.”
Sapphire presses her lips together. “If you don’t mind me saying, the man had an air about him. Seemed to be more than a common thief. I’d figure out what he’s about if I were you.”
The woman’s serious tone grabs Myrrh’s attention. She gets the sense Sapphire wouldn’t keep pressing if she didn’t feel it was important.
“In that case, no, I don’t mind you saying. And I’ll try to be here.”
Myrrh plants her palms on the table and stands. Before she can leave the table, Sapphire touches on her wrist. “Then I’ll drop you another bit of honest advice. You shouldn’t walk around Rat Town this late alone.”
Myrrh shrugs. “I’ve never had a problem.”
The silence stretches out while Myrrh works Sapphire’s words over.
“Look,” Sapphire says, “I don’t know you well enough to care one way or the other. But I do care about Rat Town. Regardless of Slivers’ flaws, they kept order around here. Don’t kid yourself into thinking Ghost syndicate would hang together without you. They’d collapse the moment you got knifed in an alley. Leaving us in a much worse situation than we had before. So if you care about anyone down here and want to see them live until next Rhemmsfest, stop being careless.”
Mistress of Thieves (Chronicles of a Cutpurse Book 1) Page 20
