Little Sparrow

By Brooke Ewen

How far would you go to protect the ones you love?

In this epic tale of magic, love, and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brooke Ewen
• Release date: Apr 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645625318

Book preview

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Chapter one

Sitting in a crowded tavern full of middle-class nobles and off duty workers, I gripped my tankard of ale. My gaze swept across the room, observing the patrons as they socialised and drank to their heart’s content. Every time an ale maid passed, they’d dip into their seemingly endless coin pouches to order another round of refreshments.

Their pouches were not as endless as the ones hoarded by the highest standing lords and ladies of Kendelen, but I’d be hard pressed to find such prestige in a place like this, and that suited me just fine. In my stained britches, dirty boots, and dark cloak, I’d draw too much attention in the type of establishments the upper class frequented.

This tavern, with its dim lighting, nondescript walls, and private booths, catered to those with more than enough coin for me to have a fruitful night. With a mix of workmen drinking away their days, lesser noblewomen seeking to escape from the frills and expectancies, and lesser noblemen favouring frivolity of a more relaxed kind, this place, these patrons; I could work with.

From my carefully chosen vantage point at a shadowy corner table, I could assess the entire room. I would remain undisturbed, provided I continued to order tankards of ale that I discreetly spilt on the already sticky floor as I scouted for my next target.

The usual options presented themselves; the vain ladies in wait, hoping to snag themselves a husband if they wore enough kohl on their eyelids and wiggled their hips seductively enough, and the arrogant nobleman here to gamble their ‘hard-earned’ coin away. That is, if you considered being born into the right household, hard work.

There were a few city guards, whom I usually avoided. Not because I doubted my skill, but on the off chance one of them was a Parapure. It wasn’t unusual for the magically gifted half-bloods to become soldiers or guards. In fact, it was expected.

There were the wealthy patrons that were well connected and always carried sizeable sums of coin on them, and lastly, were the middle-class workers; bookkeepers, hunters, medicae, and so on. The type of professions that made enough coin to fit in at a place like this but were never treated as equal to the nobility. Despite my attire, I blended in well enough with the middle-class workers.

I hid a smirk as a provocatively dressed woman sidled up to a group of noblemen. The men were already silently contending with each other for the dominant role of the group. She clearly knew what she was doing and had already singled out the likely leader among them. It was always entertaining to watch the game unfold. Both the man and the woman subtly sized each other up, whilst acting as if they weren’t simply calculating how much they stood to gain from the other.

The woman proved quite the distraction for most of the men, even some women, as she swaggered past. I took that as my cue to begin. Weaving my way through the establishment, my hand slipped in and out from pocket to pouch, pouch to purse, in a solo dance of underhanded stealth. The patrons were none the wiser. They never were.

After a successful evening, I was on my way out when a nobleman also appeared to be exiting the tavern, stumbling from a little too much ale. His cropped blonde hair was flawlessly styled, and his clothing was of the finest material available in Taros, telling me he was considerably wealthy. Unusual for someone of his affluence to visit a place such as this. That alone was tempting enough for any thief on a good day, but when the two capital guards swaggered out behind him, I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to see what sort of protection the people of Kendelen’s taxes bought them.

The act itself was easily accomplished. Like the rest of the clueless patrons I’d successfully stolen from tonight, the blonde nobleman was none the wiser. The guards, however, just so happened to be glancing my way as I slowly lifted the man’s coin pouch from his pocket.

YOU THERE! STOP! The first burly guard called after me, followed by a string of curses when he realised I was ignoring his demand.

Unable to stop the small smile that graced my lips, I took off down the cobblestoned alley, mindful of the two men now taking chase. I’d needed that last mark, every coin counted when it came to buying our freedom, but I could have lifted it without drawing their attention. Perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps it was stupidity, but I never liked to go too long without testing our city’s defences. After all, these were the guards I’d have to outrun or outsmart if they ever caught me for real.

So here I was, sprinting through the backstreets of Kendelen with two of the city’s finest on my tail. You would think they’d have better things to do than take pursuit of an Impure thief so late at night.

To my surprise, losing them took a few more turns than I’d care to admit, along with some of the acrobatic manoeuvres Butcher had ensured I could do in my sleep. Still, they soon lost my trail. Perched atop one of the spacious houses that resided on this side of the river, I watched them grumble and turn back before I deemed it safe to return home unfollowed. They’d clearly increased their training since I’d last had to escape one of them. Perhaps the newly appointed captain of the guard I’d heard talk of had something to do with it. Supposedly the youngest ever appointed to the honoured position. I made a mental note to find out more about the man as I navigated my way through the streets, unhurried now that I wasn’t running for my life.

By this time of night, the streets were quiet, save for the occasional drunkard wandering home from their local tavern. I slowed as I crossed the Sepa Bridge, which acted as a clear divide between the slums of the capital and the higher classes. I stopped, leaning on the railing and looking out across the river. It was always so peaceful in the dark, lit only by the moon high above and the reflection of the castle’s watchtowers.

Those towers were lit every night without fail. Once, a necessity. Used during The Great War to communicate with other watch points and cities. Now, nothing but an outdated tradition. Letting out a sigh, I pulled back and made my way to our ramshackle hut, if you could even call it that.

When I entered, Sierra was, unsurprisingly, waiting up for me, still seated in her rolling chair. A thick wooden seat atop a four-wheeled frame made up the contraption known, for short, as a roller. It helped her move about without someone having to carry her. If we were wealthy, we could hire servants and a lectica to carry her around or purchase one of the more skillfully designed rollers that could handle rougher terrain.

Her shoulder length, jet black hair was loose to prepare for bed, in contrast to my long, muddy brown waves. Given my occupation, I should really cut it, but I’d never been able to. Our hair was not the only difference between us. We had similar facial features, like our noses and mouths, but Sierra’s eyes were a crystalline blue, whereas mine were an emerald green. Her skin was paler than mine, but I attributed that to the fact that she spent less time in the sun than I did.

Giving her a guilty grin, I plopped myself down at the table.

You’re up late, I said cheerfully.

You know I worry, she mumbled. I really did.

Sierra made sure I never forgot how much she cared. She didn’t approve of the methods I used to keep us fed and sheltered, but knew I had little choice in the matter. She just didn’t want me to get hurt. We were all we had.

You have nothing to worry about. Besides, it is temporary. Just until we can earn enough coin to get to Reya. Then we can start over. I explained for what felt like the thousandth time.

Despite her constant worrying, despite our differences, I loved my sister with all I had. She rolled her eyes, as she always did when I mentioned Reya, the kingdom named after the Goddess of Healing, Lereya, and home to the Gifted Healeti. They could heal almost any ailment and injury.

Usually, she was the calm, sweet, level-headed one, and I was the stubborn, wild one. On this topic, however, she was stubborn as an ox, unwilling to fathom the idea of us successfully travelling to the land of the Healeti, where they could mend Sierra’s legs and she could walk again. We could start over. She would be free from that divinity damned roller, and I would be free from The Butcher.

She finally sighed, shaking her head. We should get some sleep. Camilla said to meet her at first light.

Of course she did. I groaned. Divinities forbid we meet at a normal hour and I actually get a lie-in.

Camilla was my boss of sorts. Well, that might be too loose a term. Camilla runs the Kendelen Circus, having inherited it after her husband unexpectedly passed. She’d managed to build it into an attraction people travelled across the continent to see. She was also The Butcher, the biggest crime lord in the capital, with ties to every city in our kingdom, Taros, and even some of the other kingdoms. Lastly, she was our legal guardian. Well, she was no longer mine, but unfortunately Sierra was still ‘under her care.’

She’d taken us in when we’d lost our parents. Not exactly a motherly figure, but she had given us a roof over our heads when no one else would. Sierra was only three years old when both our parents died in a house fire. I was six. That fire was responsible for Sierra’s inability to walk. A burning wooden beam had broken her legs in several places, crushing her. With no other family, we’d become orphans; one crippled, and one way too mouthy for her own good.

Only the wealthiest families could afford to send their children to school, so the orphans like us, and even the children of poorer families, only had two options. Find someone to teach you their trade, in the hopes of one day being taken on as an apprentice, or steal the resources you needed to survive. Camilla stood nothing to gain by sending us to the streamlined schools, so she offered us shelter and food in exchange for child labour and her own special kind of training. I’d become her spy, her thief, having taken to it quickly. It helped that very few had suspected a six-year-old girl of any foul play. Sierra was her bookkeeper, having excelled in literacy and mathematics even from a young age. I’d often find her with her head in a book, much to my chagrin.

At least by night, that’s what we did. By day, we were a part of her crew. I was ‘The Masked Flyer’, an aerial-acrobatic act that would fly through the air, completing all kinds of stunts. Masked, of course. We couldn’t risk my identity being exposed if anyone ever caught me spying and traced that back to the circus. Meanwhile, Sierra managed Camilla’s finances. Both the on and off the books kind.

It’s not that I wasn’t grateful for Camilla’s generosity, however, said generosity only went so far. She gave us only what we needed to survive. She paid us for our work, but only the bare minimum. Just enough to pay her for the food and shelter she provided now that we were older. Even if we tried to leave and work for someone else, most people in the slums knew better than to cross her. No one would hire us for fear of incurring her wrath, leaving us with little chance of getting out from under her thumb, especially with Sierra still under the age of twenty.

Personally, I think twenty is far too old to not be considered an adult, especially when you’ve been looking out for yourself since the age of six, but Pures ran the continent, so they made the rules. Aging much slower than us lowly Impures, and living for far longer, Pures aren’t considered fully mature until the age of twenty. Something to do with their magic causes their aging to slow once they hit twenty, which apparently means the rest of us non-gifted mortals have to follow the same rules.

One more year, and we would be free to leave, which is why my pick-pocketing had gotten more reckless as of late. We needed the extra coin, and I wasn’t yet willing to stoop to other methods of attaining what we needed.

I shuddered, thinking of the girls I’d seen at some of the establishments Camilla invested in. They were often too young, barely past their first blood, and while they pasted on pretty smiles for the grotesque men paying for their services, their eyes had lost their light. I prayed neither Sierra nor I ever lost ours.

Shaking my head at my spiralling thoughts, I helped Sierra to her cot and placed her roller beside it, turning off the lantern, and getting into my own cot. I really should have slept, like Sierra suggested, but it was always nights like these that sleep eluded me. When my mind wandered and entertained crazy ideas of what our life could be like if I ever got us out.

There was an entire world out there to see, entire kingdoms. Six, to be exact, and that’s just on this continent; Deorum. Each one is ruled by a Gifted Pure.

A large portion of Deorum’s population still worshipped the Divinities, usually those involved with the Deos Credentes. An equally sized portion of people no longer revered the divine beings that had not been seen since The Great War, however, everyone certainly believed they’d once walked among us. There was no other explanation for the magic bestowed upon the soldiers that fought on the front lines to free mortals from enslavement four thousand years ago.

The descendants of those soldiers, including the current royals of the six kingdoms, possess unique abilities; Giftings, granted by the Divinities that fought alongside the mortals. Our kingdom’s namesake, Taros; Goddess of Justice herself, granted the ancestors of our current ruling family magic that came to be known as the Kineti Gifting. The Navarre family has remained in power and governed our kingdom for hundreds of years. Our king, Hadrian Navarre, is a powerful Kineti. Specifically, a Teleki, with the ability to move objects with his mind.

The six Giftings; Kineti, Incrementi, Virbi, Animi, Healeti, and Elementi, tell us which God or Goddess granted the magic that now runs through the veins of the Pure, and that Gifting, determines their Specialty; the specific power they possess.

I have never seen King Hadrian in action, but it is said to leave you in awe of his raw power. His son, Prince Valor, takes after him, having inherited his father’s magic, while his daughter, Princess Calliope, inherited her mothers. Queen Odette was an Incrementi.

For unknown reasons, when two Pures procreate, their children can only ever inherit one parent’s Gifting. Probably nature’s way of preventing any one person from having too much power. Because of that, outside of politically arranged marriages, the royal Pures rarely wed other royal lines in order to maintain their specific Gifting's legacy. Instead, opting for a marriage between themselves and a higher noble Pure who shares the same Gifting, but descends from a different bloodline.

No one knows for sure know why the specific families that we now call the monarchs of Deorum were chosen to rule, especially as so many soldiers fought on the front lines, from so many bloodlines. All of whom were given Giftings, during what is now known as The Blessing, becoming the first ever Pures.

It’s most commonly assumed that not long after receiving their new abilities, the soldiers turned on each other, seeking more power. The royals we now serve today are most likely descended from the families that came out triumphant all those centuries ago. The victors divided the continent and named each territory after the God or Goddess of their new Gifting.

There is very little recorded of anything before The Blessing. Despite this, plenty still pray to the old Divinities, even though no one has heard even a whisper from a single one in the four thousand years since they disappeared. I, for one, believe the Divinities still live, but if they are still watching, I don’t believe they particularly care what we do, and are therefore not a reliable source of comfort.

All of these unique Giftings and different lands, just waiting to be explored. We will go to the Healeti of Reya first. Sierra was too young to remember being able to walk and has long since lost hope of ever experiencing it, but I haven’t. I want her to have the best life possible. So, we will start there, then maybe we will go to Terra, where Turfs worked the earth. Sierra would love that. It didn’t matter to me where we went. All that mattered was that Sierra was happy, and we were free. I would do whatever I had to, sacrifice whatever I had to, so I could at least give her that. After she is healed, we can go wherever we want, see whatever we want, and be whoever we want. No more stealing.

I dreamt of faraway lands that night, like most other nights these days, faraway lands and a better life for both of us.

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Chapter two

I awoke the next morning, leaving breakfast for Sierra on her bedside table as quietly as I could. Dressed in a plain tunic, I pulled my cloak over my head to protect myself from the early morning chill and left without disturbing her.

Butcher was seated in a lavish chair that matched the rest of her study’s aesthetic; dark woods, decadent furnishings, and extravagant displays of wealth. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a formal-looking bun and her signature pearls adorned her neck. She wore heavy kohl eyeliner and a deep red lip stain. How she always appeared so elegant before the sun had even finished rising was beyond me.

I stopped in front of her desk, silently waiting as she took her time finishing whatever document she was probably not at all that interested in. Butcher knew the value of silence and the power one could wield with it. She finally looked up and nodded for me to sit.

I have a new assignment for you, Adira. A big one. I ignored the small trickle of unease that always accompanied those words when they came from her.

Big assignments usually involved crossing more lines than I was comfortable with and the stakes were often high. They’d been getting higher and higher as of late.

What kind of assignment? I queried. She watched me akin to how I imagined a hawk watched its prey. I knew that look. Whatever this assignment was, it was important to her. Very important. Usually not a good sign for me.

It’s no secret that you are my preferred asset for these types of jobs, Adira. After all, I ensured you had the best training possible, at my own expense. Yes, she had, whether I’d wanted it or not. She never let me forget it either. There’s a reason I was known in certain circles as ‘The Shadow of Kendelen.’ I had a very vast and unique skill set. I spoke multiple languages, was highly trained in stealth, espionage, poisons, and more. I was expected to be in perfect shape, physically capable of outrunning or outmanoeuvring the best this city offered. Butcher had forced me to study politics, war, history, and all the other boring stuff that Sierra loved learning about.

I’d been poked, prodded, and pushed until my instructors had honed me into the perfect spy. There was only one area in which I was lacking. They forbade me from learning to fight. Something about it being unbecoming of a lady. I suspected it had more to do with the fact that if I’d had that weapon in my arsenal, I’d have found a way to use it against Butcher or my tutors. She couldn’t leave her best asset entirely defenceless, though. So, they taught me the art of archery, along with some defensive manoeuvres. Always focusing on escaping, not overcoming. I had to be faster and smarter because if it came down to a physical fight, I would always lose. Which is also why they’d trained me to withstand torture.

If anyone caught me, she couldn’t very well have me revealing her secrets. From a young age, I'd been exposed to every form of torture they could put me through without killing me. Butcher delighted in overseeing these particular lessons herself. They taught me to withstand physical pain and to keep my mouth shut.

Throughout all that training, though, I was always forbidden from learning any steel weapons or offensive combat. Making it in my best interest to be the best at what I did and under no circumstances get caught. I’d attempted to learn some basic hand to hand combat on my own, but my technique had left much to be desired without a tutor.

I would never forget the time I’d begged one of the older orphan boys, Terieus, to teach me some manoeuvres. I finally won him over, and we began meeting three times a week to train. Butcher eventually found out, as she always did, and the very next day, the royal guards arrested the boy for treason. He was never seen again, and I’d never dared ask anyone else to help me.

Which is why, she continued, pulling me back from my drifting thoughts, You’re the only person I trust with this.

What is the assignment, Butcher?

She smiled that predatory smile of hers, the one that only appeared when the pay-out was sizeable.

You will be on a need-to-know basis. Right now, all you need to know is that a powerful person has an interest in the royal court’s current comings and goings. They have paid handsomely to have someone infiltrate the King’s court and report back. I blinked. Infiltrate the King’s court? Was she mad? Had she been inhaling too much of the pungent rosewater fragrance she seemed to bathe in? It would be considered treason if I were caught. The punishment for which was execution. No trial, and no jury. If I were captured, or worse, Sierra would be stuck here. She couldn’t work like I could. She was valuable, but she could never make enough coin to leave on her own. I couldn’t risk it.

I’m honoured you would trust me with such an assignment, Mistress, I said carefully, using her preferred title, but I must politely decline. The stakes are too high.

She frowned at my response. They are only high if you get caught, which you will not.

It’s the royal court? They strung the last spy who tried to get into that place up at the castle gates without their head. I can’t do that to Sierra. I’m sorry. She stared at me for a minute before taking a deep breath and speaking again, landing a blow I hadn’t seen coming.

I know you’ve been pocketing extra coin, Adira. I know you plan to take your sister to The Sana. The Sana was the most renowned institute in Reya, where only the best Healeti and even medicae, Impure but highly skilled healers, honed their craft. I stiffened. I had been so careful to hide it from her, but I should have known she would eventually find out.

Butcher— She held up a hand to silence whatever excuse I was about to come up with.

This assignment would give you the means to do so. You would have enough coin to get her to Reya, and then some. I took a shallow breath.

This was why Butcher was the best at what she did. She was ruthless when it came to discovering your deepest desires, the lengths you’d be willing to go to for them, and finally, a way to exploit that for her own gain. I wondered how long she’d known about my plans. How long she’d waited for the right time to use it against me. At the rate I was going, it would take another year at least to garner the kind of coin we’d need to get to the Healeti, but this? To risk my life and Sierra’s?

I appreciate that, Mistress. I really do, but I still can’t do it. I will find the money some other way. I can’t risk it. I’m sorry. She looked like she might curse me to Heknos himself, God of the Underworld; Infernis, but as quickly as it had appeared, the anger vanished from her face, and she nodded calmly at me.

Very well. As disappointed as I am with your initial response, you may take some time to reconsider. I will send for you again soon.

Alright. I conceded. But my answer will remain the same.

She waved her hand like a queen dismissing a servant. Yes, yes, just consider it, child. Don’t make hasty decisions. I taught you better. Think it over. I know you will make the right choice. Her tone, her threat, was clear.

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, so I nodded and rose from my chair, exiting the room. Only once I was a block away did I let myself loose a breath. Infiltrate the divinity damned royal court? I shook my head. It was absurd. I’d be lying if I said the asking price wasn’t tempting, but no matter how well it paid, it was a fool’s errand.

My meeting with Butcher had run shorter than expected, so I spent the remainder of the morning meandering through the markets, exploring the different vendors and their wares. When I spotted the robed men and women in the centre of the square, I made sure to give them a wide berth. Those unfortunate enough to make eye contact, or simply stray too close to the Deos Credentes disciples, would be accosted with talk of prayer, devotion, and how benevolent the divinities were. The Divine Believers were the second pillar of Taros, and a majority of the continent. Most kingdoms had their own sect of believers, that essentially governed alongside the ruling families. Even the royals had little sway over the Credentes, being that they were supposedly ‘holier-than-though’ worshippers of the divinities and are therefore above mortal restraints. I didn’t particularly feel like being converted today, or any day really, so I avoided them.

I ended up spending a little of the extra coin I’d made last night to purchase a small rose pendant for Sierra. She loved flowers, and though I knew I should save the money, I could never resist getting her small things here and there to brighten her day.

For the most part, Sierra was a happy, incredibly intelligent, and sweet girl, but I noticed the way she sometimes struggled to smile, when she’d grow distant. Those days broke my heart. That was happening more often as she got older and really longed for the things she couldn’t do in that damned roller. She certainly didn’t need fixing, but if it were possible to reduce those smile-less days, and give her the ability to walk like the rest of us? I’d do everything I could to make that happen. She deserved that much.

She reminded me of my mother, at least what few memories I could recall of her. Gentle and warm. Sierra was too little to remember much about our parents. Including the way our mother lit up the room when she entered. I remembered people naturally gravitating toward her. Sierra had the same magnetic effect on people, but she always seemed completely oblivious, assuming people stared because of the roller. I knew that wasn’t the case. She just had that thing, that warmth our mother had. Me? I imagined I was a lot like my father, as helpless to Sierra’s gentle charm as he was to my mother’s. I also remembered the way he would look at her, like she completely enamoured him, as if he might blink and she would disappear.

I had long since forgotten what my parents did for work. I remembered my mother being home with us a lot though, and I liked to picture my father as something brave, such as a huntsman. He was the loud to my mother’s quiet. He was the troublemaker, always making us laugh until our stomachs ached, while mother chided us, hiding her own laugh behind her apron. Thinking of them stirred up mixed feelings. Happiness at the warm memories, pangs of loss, and a dull sorrow that they weren’t here to raise Sierra right. I was no doubt messing up the whole parenting thing.

A hand attempting to slip into my pocket interrupted the morbid turn my thoughts were taking. I gripped the culprit’s wrist, yanking it out roughly as I spun, coming face-to-face with the wincing blue eyes of Raphael Morrighan.

Ow! He grunted as I rolled my eyes, dropping his wrist.

One of these days, you’re going to lose that hand. I grumbled. He rubbed his wrist, grinning at me sheepishly. His blonde curly hair falling across his eyes before he tucked it back behind his ear.

That’s why I need you to practice on Adi.

Groaning, I turned and kept walking. Unfortunately, he had no trouble matching my strides with his long legs.

What have I told you about calling me that?

Hmmm, let’s see. He held up a hand and started ticking off an invisible list on his fingers. Stop calling me that, you weasel! Call me that again, Morrighan, and you’ll regret it. He put a hand to his chest and dramatically sighed as he imitated my voice, Raaaafffff.

I couldn’t help the small smile that appeared as I shook my head at his horrible impression. Nothing better to do today than practice your pick-pocketing?

We can’t all be as good at it as you. He grinned and slung a casual arm around my shoulder. Old man Jotters gave me the day off.

Raphael was an orphan, like me. He would have been in the same boat as me too, still in debt to Butcher, if not for an old blacksmith who’d lost his only son and needed someone to take over his business one day. Jotters had offered to take Raf on as his apprentice. Butcher had agreed and sold him for a much lower price than she’d normally consider.

Since then, he’d been living the life all orphans dreamed of. He was probably one of my only genuine friends, aside from Sierra. It’s difficult to make many friends when you’re a spy and they arrested the last person you befriended for treason, never to be seen again. Trust didn’t exactly come easily. So Raf was it. A friend and occasionally more.

We had an unspoken understanding. I don’t think either of us planned for it to happen the way it did, but one night a little over a year ago, after one too many ales and a bad day, we’d stumbled back to his loft, and I hadn’t left until the sun had risen. We’d agreed it was just to relieve stress and find a bit of pleasure when one of us needed it.

No love, no interfering with our friendship, and both of us had other partners over the years. Raf more so than me, but mostly because I had higher standards than he did. He was a shameless flirt when given the opportunity. It was easy with Raf. In another life, we may have fallen in love. Childhood sweethearts, they’d have called us.

If things had been different, if I didn’t have Sierra to think of, if Butcher wasn’t set on keeping me under her thumb as long as she could, it would have been possible to picture that future with him. However, that was not the hand the divinities had dealt for me or him. We knew eventually we would say goodbye for the last time, so we made use of the time we had.

He nudged me gently. Earth to, Adi. Am I that boring?

As a general rule? Yes. I grinned. If you’re not busy, I have a bit of time before I need to set up for today’s show? I bit my lip when I met his eyes, a movement he tracked and immediately honed in on.

He smiled and silently escorted me to his loft, where I let him distract me from today’s problems, and even tomorrow’s. Just for a while. It wouldn’t last, but it was enough.

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Crouched on the rooftop of one of the old slum houses, I was still pissed at Butcher’s ludicrous offer. I was good, but I wasn’t that good. I may as well sign my execution warrant if I agreed to take on that job. Movement from the building across from me drew my attention away from my thoughts and back to the task at hand. It had been a week since she had offered me the job and she’d been frosty ever since. Giving me the worst assignments, and keeping me busy, away from the circus and Sierra.

My current assignment was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack. Butcher suspected one of her informants had been flipped and was feeding her dodgy information. She believed a rival crime lord had paid them off. One that had been slowly growing bolder, encroaching on her turf. She couldn’t prove it though and was concerned there could be more than one rat in her crew. So, she’d tasked me with the lovely job of tailing each of her informants until she was satisfied they weren’t betraying her.

Informants were paid handsomely for their information and their ability to evade watchful eyes. After all, their income relied on them being seen as reputable sources, with intel difficult to obtain. If the information they provided was common knowledge or easily gained, it wouldn’t be very valuable. This made my job of tailing the sneaky, and often slimy, men a frustrating inconvenience.

The man I found myself squatted on the roof to watch was finally on the move. He glanced around the street cautiously. I lowered myself so I was flush with the roof. Once he’d deemed it clear, he scurried off down the path, keeping to the shadows. I smiled a little, pulling my neck gaiter up and obscuring the bottom half of my face before following him.

It was easy to track him from this high up, despite the darkness and his evasive skills, thanks to how close together the houses in this area of the city were. We were in the slums, after all. Overpopulation issues had forced the Impure residents to build their houses within close proximity of each other and were often two stories high if people could afford it, housing multiple generations of the same family.

The man scurried on, moving quickly and quietly. I frowned as he crossed the Sepa Bridge, entering into noble territory. Having run out of rooftops, I climbed down and followed on foot. I raised my hood to be on the safe side, waiting for him to cross completely before pursuing. Noblemen were occasionally known to hire informants from this side of the bridge. Usually, to dig up nefarious dirt on their fellow Lords and Ladies. House politics never ceased to amaze me. If I had the wealth and privilege these nobles possessed, I certainly wouldn’t waste my time secretly fighting with each other.

The man I’d been following went by the name Trench. Something to do with the supposed difficulty of obtaining the information he coveted. As far as I knew, he rarely did business across the bridge, nor did he associate with any of the nobles. Yet, here he was, coming to a stop at what appeared to be a dressmaker’s shop. I ducked into an alley as Trench paused and glanced around again before knocking lightly on the door. I peeked around the corner to see a small, plump woman poke her head out. When she saw Trench, she hurried him inside and locked the door.

I left the safety of the alley and snuck around the side, checking for any unlocked windows or doors. No luck. I huffed quietly, glancing up and grinning as I spotted the chimney. This building likely doubled up as a shop downstairs, living quarters upstairs. I scaled the wall using a drainpipe, making my way across the roof before carefully climbing into the chimney. Luckily, this one was wide enough for me to fit into. Light came in to view as I inched closer to the fireplace’s opening. Thankfully, the air tonight was warm. It was unlikely they’d light it, so I stopped just above and listened.

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Chapter three

Well? A woman’s voice questioned. Did you do it?

Yes, my lady. As requested, I passed along the information you gave me. I recognised the second voice as Trench’s.

A shadow moved came into view as someone moved closer to the fireplace, and I tensed.

Good. That’ll teach that Butcher Bitch.

I raised my eyebrows. Few knew that the infamous ‘Butcher’ was a woman. Camilla’s alias was necessary for obvious reasons; maintaining her anonymity and keeping her personal affairs separate from her criminal ones. It was also beneficial if people didn’t know she was a woman. People took you a lot more seriously when they thought you were a man.

Taros was more progressive than some other kingdoms, but it still had its issues. In the criminal world especially, to be as successful as she was, you had to demand respect. Men are handed respect simply for being born male, but women have to prove themselves tenfold to garner even a smidgen of the respect instinctively given to a man of lesser skill and value.

So Camilla took up the masculine alias The Butcher. Coined thanks to her inclination for removing the tongues, and various other body parts, of those she mistrusts or those that betray her. She calls it muting. Very few knew Butcher’s true identity, and almost all that do are muted. That this woman knew The Butcher’s gender was interesting.

There is still the matter of payment, my lady? Trench said, ignoring her comment.

The woman scoffed, and the shadow disappeared from sight. It had been her standing in front of the fireplace then.

Yes, yes. The telltale sound of a coin pouch being placed in someone’s hand reached me even from here. You’ll get the rest when she has learned her lesson. No one beds my husband and gets away with it.

My eyes widened slightly, and it was an effort not to laugh. Butcher had slept with this woman’s husband, and she had gone to all these lengths just to get back at her? Divinities.

Trench cleared his throat. Do you have any further information for me?

Tell her a new shipment of weapons for the royal guard is being delivered tomorrow morning at dawn. No doubt she won’t pass up the opportunity to steal such a large cache.

Is your information verified? He asked carefully.

The woman was quiet for a moment, no doubt glaring at Trench for having the audacity to question her, if the awkward shuffling of feet was any indication.

Of course. The shipment is very real, and the security is dismal. However, if the royal guards receive a tip that someone is preparing to steal their arms and secretly beef up their security, well, that’s just the risk one takes in this business. The smile in her voice was clear. You may go. Let me know when you have passed on the intel.

His footsteps faded, making their way downstairs. The woman followed, shutting the door behind them. I waited a few moments to make sure she didn’t return, before carefully dropping to the ground in a crouch and climbing out of the fireplace. I was in a feminine-looking study, decorated with finer ornaments and soft pastel colours. Carefully dusting myself off first, rather than trail soot through the room, I glanced around. I needed to find out who this woman was, better yet, who her husband was. I walked over to the desk, searching the draws and ledgers. Everything related to the dress shop downstairs. Nothing personal. There had to be another study or room where they kept their personal notations.

I tiptoed to the door as I heard footsteps ascending the stairs. Cursing under my breath, I quickly pressed myself against the wall beside the door. The woman opened the door and walked in, muttering something to herself about a ‘wretched whore’ and ‘getting what’s coming to her’ as she made her way to the desk, I watched her feet closely, timing my own steps towards the door with hers. Her footfalls masked the sound of mine as I ducked out of the room and into the dim hallway.

Creeping down the hall, I stopped in front of the closest door and listened. I couldn’t hear anything, so I carefully tried the knob, easing the door open to find a bedroom. I slipped inside, closing the door just as silently as I had opened it. Rifling quickly through the draws and checking under the bed, I kept an ear out for approaching steps. I frowned as I surveyed the room, finding nothing of use. Onto the next one, then.

The next room was more promising. It was a whiskey room. If a man was to do business from his home, it would be in a room such as this. I picked up the first document on the desk and skimmed the words. There was a signature at the bottom. Quentin Lenture.

It was an effort not to scrunch the paper up in my hand as I recognised the name. Lenture was the very crime lord Butcher suspected of flipping her informants. She would have known exactly who he was when she entered his bed. It also explained why there was very little documentation here for me to find. Lenture was a pro. He knew how to hide information. He most likely kept ledgers away from his home and personal life. What kind of goose chase was she sending me on?

The click of a door handle told me I was about to have company. I swiftly put the document back in its exact place before hurrying to the window, stepping onto the ledge, and shuffling to the side, out of view.

Footsteps approached, and large hands rested on the windowsill. I held my breath as Quentin Lenture himself looked out at his city view. I waited for what felt like an age before he closed the window and turned away. I breathed out, closing my eyes for a second before looking down. There were thugs circling the building now. They must have arrived with Mr. Lenture, but thanks to the darkness, and the unlikelihood of someone being precariously perched on their boss’s windowsill, they hadn’t glanced up yet.

I reached into my cloak pocket and checked my supplies. Let’s hope there’s only two of them. I placed a small dart into a thin, hollow piece of wood and raised it to my lips. I waited until there was only one thug in sight, about halfway along this stretch of wall, before I took aim.

I blew into the dart-stick, hitting my mark right in the neck. He cursed as his hand flew up, but by the time he reached his neck, he was already hitting the ground. He’d have a headache tomorrow, but other than that, the darts were nonlethal. Nothing more than a potent sleeping elixir. I was grateful this building’s exterior was made of old, sturdy bricks that had aged and chipped, making it easier for me to climb down and hurry past the fallen guard. Peering round the corner, I could see two more men. Probably at least one more on the other side. Dammit.

I looked back at the unconscious thug before assessing my surroundings. The neighbouring wall was too smooth to scale and there was too big of a gap between this building and the surrounding ones for me to climb back up and jump to safety. It wouldn’t be long before the other guards circled around or noticed their friend was missing.

Groaning quietly, I pressed up against the building, using the shadows as best I could. I removed my cloak and pulled my neck gaiter up a little higher before letting out a sharp whistle. Sure enough, one of the thugs from the front came to investigate. He got a few strides around the corner before he spotted his sleeping friend. I raised the dart-stick again, waiting until just after he’d called out in alarm.

He quickly joined his companion on the ground. His cry had alerted the remaining thug and I once again pressed against the wall, right where it met the corner. This time, as the third man rounded the corner, I threw my cloak at him, wrapping it around his face and neck, moving behind him, and shoving him forward with a kick. He stumbled, keeping his footing until he tripped over something solid; his fellow thug.

The curses he let out had me chuckling silently as I took off down the street. I was in the clear as I moved toward an alley, until a solid iron ball smashed into the wall beside me, narrowly missing my face. I snapped my head in the direction it had come from, finding a man standing there with three iron pellets about the size of coins floating around him. A damned Kineti. This time it was me cursing as the pellet that had embedded into the wall shot back toward the man, joining the other three in their rotations.

I took off down the narrow alley, all too aware of the iron pellets shooting towards me. I hadn’t expected Lenture to have any Gifted guards. At least the likelihood of this one being Pure was low. None of the Gifted would sully themselves with grunt work for an Impure gang boss.

He must be a Parapure, or Para; a half-breed that inherited some power from whichever parent had been a Pure Kineti. Kineti could either move objects with their minds, those were known as Teleki, like the king, or communicate within minds, Telepi. Paras always inherited a weaker version of their parents’ Gifting. So thankfully, this Teleki most likely couldn’t move just any objects with his mind, but he could apparently move iron ones. I bent backwards, my hands almost touching the ground, as a pellet shot over me, before looping around and shooting back toward me. From my upside-down position, I saw the other three coming from the opposite direction. Shit.

Timing was everything, so I waited until the pellets were only a few yards away before I let my hands make contact with the ground, placing me in a bend back position. I quickly raised my left leg and then my right, spreading them apart and timing my split perfectly, so the pellets flew past. Three smashed into the wall in front of me while the fourth collided with the Teleki’s abdomen.

He grunted, not having expected me to dodge his attack, barely having time to stop his own iron pellet from smashing through him. My legs continued moving, and I completed the kickover, now standing with my back to him once more. A few lights came on, having been disturbed by the smashing brick. I smiled, spinning to face the Para Teleki and sprinted towards him. His eyes widened, clearly not expecting that either.

He braced himself, confident he could overpower me. He would have, if I’d actually attacked. Instead, I jumped to his right, pushing off a stack of crates and propelling myself to the left in a diagonal direction, briefly brushing against him as I twisted so I could push off the alley wall. I repeated this motion, moving upwards, leaping back and forth between the walls until I reached the rooftop. My legs strained, but I ignored their protests, quickly pulling myself up and risking a glance back at the man.

He was staring up at me in shock, having recollected his pellets and preparing to attack again. He couldn’t launch them at me if he couldn’t see me, so I simply raised my hand to my forehead and saluted him, before moving away from the edge and out of sight. I heard him take off, no doubt trying to get up to the roof himself and pursue, but I’d have disappeared into the darkness by the time he found a way up, along with his coin pouch.

After returning to Butcher’s and filling her in, she had been unsurprised. Turns out, she had planned the entire thing for two reasons. The first was to gather genuine intel on Lenture’s movements and the potential threat that his gang posed to our dealings. The second was just a ‘punishment’ for my attitude lately. She had slept with Mr. Lenture and ensured his wife Taniya found out, knowing how petty she could be. Then she’d set up the perfect opportunity for her to ‘discover’ that Trench was one of our informants and pay him off.

Now she had an angry wife feeding us information that actually revealed a lot more about Lenture’s business dealings than Taniya knew. If I wasn’t so annoyed at having wasted my week, I’d be impressed.

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Aw come on Adi, cheer up. Raf nudged my shoulder from his spot next to me, atop a hill overlooking the city, as we waited for the sun to rise.

I rolled my eyes. Easy for you to say. You got out Raf.

True, but soon you’ll have enough coin to get out, too. I’ve been saving. If we combine what we have, you may even have enough now. His voice was serious when he said it, and I knew he really would give me everything he had, if it meant getting us out. I sighed, having had this conversation with him too many times.

Raf, I won’t take your money. You need that for yourself. Sierra and I will find another way to make up the extra coin.

But–

Shh. No buts. You’re missing the sunrise. I nodded toward the horizon, to where the sun was just peeking its head up. He rolled his eyes but followed my line of sight.

One day you’ll let me help you, Adira Nightfell. One day.

I smiled a little. Keep dreaming buddy.

Oh, I will, he said, grabbing me and pulling me on top of him, also, who are you calling buddy? He arched an eyebrow, ignoring the stray blonde curls that fell across his forehead.

I groaned. Again, you’re missing it.

He just smiled, not taking his eyes off of mine. No, I’m not.

I swallowed. Up here in this spot of ours, where we’d never run into anyone else, it was easy to imagine a life with him. One where we lived far from here and didn’t have anyone to answer to. One where I could let myself love Raf the way he deserved to be loved. But that wasn’t my life, it wasn’t our life. So, I averted my eyes.

I have to get to the docks. The shipment should be unloaded by now, and I want to see the show.

I felt him chuckle softly beneath me before reaching up and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Alright.

He rolled us over so he was on top. I gasped slightly, looking back at him. He smirked, placing a kiss on my forehead. Standing up, he offered me his hand. The rising sun created an outline of gold around the goofy orphan boy that had somehow grown into a man. As I took his hand, allowing him to pull me up, it made him appear ethereal and beautiful, as if blessed by Solissia herself, Goddess of the Sun. We walked arm in arm down the hill before parting ways. Him to go open the workshop for old Jotters, me to watch the chaos that was about to unfold down at the docks.

Taniya had, in fact, been telling the truth. The royal guard was expecting a shipment of weapons. Butcher, not being one to back down from a challenge, despite the tip off and heightened security, had lifted the weapons before the ship had reached the docks. She’d had Tolemas head up the operation. With crews on smaller boats, they’d snuck onto the larger vessel, just long enough for them to swap out the crates and hightail it out of there.

There was a reason Butcher had the monopoly on crime in Kendelen. She ran her criminal empire from the heart of the city’s underground, known as The Cavum. Home to Kendelen’s most infamous fights, black market products, shady business deals, and criminals themselves. She had a tight-knit, talented crew. They were loyal, despite the fact that almost none of them had seen their boss’s face. Some for fear of getting muted, some out of respect for The Butcher’s brutality, and others simply for the coin. I was unfortunately among the select few that had seen her face and was unwillingly a member of her inner circle.

I hadn’t been involved in the theft, but I still had a job to do today. I could spare a few minutes to watch the entertainment unfold, though. Thanks to Taniya’s tip off, guards were swarming the docks and the market square. The night vendors were packing up as the dawn vendors opened shop. Taniya had set up a stall with a perfect view of the loading dock.

I smiled to myself as I meandered through the square, monitoring the guards, and pretending to browse the wares on offer as I lifted a few coins and trinkets from the oblivious market goers. They were loading the crates onto wagons for transport back to the castle, when a street urchin tapped the guard overseeing the operation on the shoulder. He muttered something to the guard before scurrying off. He stiffened and called out for the men carrying the crate closest to him to halt. They did so, like the obedient dogs they were.

The guard walked over, instructing someone to bring him a pry bar. Prying open the crate, he found no weapons, but it wasn’t empty either.

Inside each crate were a handful of dresses. Their maker easily identifiable by the same emblem she had proudly displayed on her market stall a few yards away. Within minutes, Taniya was being shackled and led back to the castle for further investigation, despite her protests and cries of outrage.

Almost feeling bad for the woman, I left the markets and headed to Quentin Lenture’s official place of business. Not the dressmaker shop, but a warehouse building. I didn’t go through the front door, instead sneaking past the hired thugs, through the back cargo entrance, and up to his office. He really needed to fire his security.

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Chapter four

By the time Quentin entered the room, I had my cloak on, hood up, and neck gaiter secured. I didn’t turn from the window as he closed the door.

Who the Hek are you? He said, in a noble accent that wasn’t as polished as he thought. Street intonation was hard to disguise if you knew what to listen for.

Someone with a message, I said, still not turning around.

A message from who?

In about sixty seconds, one of your men will come to inform you that the royal guard has arrested your wife. I finally turned to meet his eyes.

He laughed. Arrested? Nonsense. I simply smiled and waited. He frowned as the awkward silence stretched out. Listen— a knock on the door interrupted him. He let out a frustrated sigh before opening it, careful not to expose his back to me. If only the men I was sent to deal with knew the infamous Shadow of Kendelen posed no physical threat to them. What?

It’s your wife, boss. She’s been arrested by the royal guard and taken into custody. They say she swapped out their weapons shipment for… dresses.

Lenture tensed slightly before closing the door and turning to face me again. "You’re her, aren’t you? The Butcher’s Shadow?"

I shrugged. "I prefer The Shadow of Kendelen. Has a bit more flair, you know?"

His brow furrowed. What does she want?

You know what she wants.

Be reasonable. He argued. There’s enough room for both of us.

I reached into my pocket. He flinched, no doubt fearing I had a concealed weapon. It always amused me to see men of his size and reputation cower in the face of a twenty-two-year-old woman in a cloak. Butcher really had done a brilliant job associating my alias with fear and mystery. He relaxed when he noted it was simply a rolled-up piece of paper.

Sign this, agreeing to give The Butcher sixty percent of any income you make on their territory, and perhaps we can make something work.

He scoffed. Forty percent? You’re mad. She’s mad.

That’s the deal. A generous one at that. Accept, and your wife’s name will be cleared.

He hesitated. I can find another wife.

I smiled. Reject the generous offer, and not only will they try your wife for treason, but her link to you will be revealed and your business exposed. You have two hours to sign and drop it off at the location noted on the back.

He practically growled. I don’t take kindly to threats.

I placed the scroll down onto a table nearby before I stepped up onto the windowsill, glancing back at him over my shoulder.

It’s no threat, Mr. Lenture. It’s an assurance. With that, I glanced down and smiled. I leapt from the building, landing in a horse-drawn hay wagon that promptly rode off down the street, as Quentin Lenture watched from his window. Despite my gaiter, I blew him a kiss as I rounded the corner. If he were smart enough, to his credit, I believed he was, then he’d immediately search the room to see if I had taken or disturbed anything else.

When he did, he’d find a small, round object. A pure, unmarked, black coin. My calling card, so to speak. Most didn’t know my face, but as my reputation had grown and the nickname ‘Shadow of Kendelen’ had been conceived, Butcher decided she could benefit from the notoriety. Hence the black coins. It was now widely known that they were a message from me and, in turn, The Butcher. If she wanted it to be clear who was responsible, I was to leave a coin.

We came to a