The Smoke Thieves Series, Book 1

  Tash leaned her head back against the wall and studied Catherine. “You’re not how I thought a princess would be.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re more . . . normal.”

  “Oh well, and there I was thinking I was special,” Catherine replied, laughing.

  Just then there was a knock on the door: a soldier with a message from Tzsayn asking Catherine to come to him immediately.

  Catherine looked at Tash and said, “Maybe not so normal, to be invited to see a prince.”

  Tash shrugged again. “Is Edyon a prince too?”

  “Not exactly.” Catherine stood and Tanya smoothed her hair and helped arrange her skirt. Catherine wanted to discuss the demon smoke further with Tzsayn, perhaps have another go at getting Gravell’s release. If Tash was there, perhaps they’d make more progress. She said, “Tanya will accompany me and, Tash, you will come too.”

  “And the two soldiers outside, no doubt,” Tash said.

  “Indeed,” Catherine replied.

  In the great hall, Catherine was surprised to see several senior soldiers, including Rafyon, who looked different with his hair dyed white, though Catherine realized she was smiling to see it. Ambrose was with him, and she was smiling too that his hair was still the natural blond that she preferred. The sight of him, his armor polished brightly, made Catherine feel stronger. Across from Ambrose she spotted Edyon and March. It seemed that Prince Tzsayn was treating Edyon with the courtesy he would afford a legitimate son of Prince Thelonius. Or was it because he was Catherine’s cousin? Whatever was going on, Catherine put aside her idea of discussing Gravell: this meeting looked much more serious. Tzsayn sat on an ornate chair at the far end of the room, flanked by guards, reminding Catherine uncomfortably of her last audience with her father.

  Catherine approached and Tzsayn rose and came to her, taking her hand and escorting her to a chair to his right, where the queen would sit. He spoke quietly. “A messenger has arrived from your father. He insists that you and Ambrose are here before he speaks.”

  Catherine had an ominous feeling. If the message was for Ambrose as well as her . . . she dreaded to think of what shame or embarrassment her father might seek to create.

  “We both know the message will be bad,” continued Tzsayn. “That is why you are sitting here beside me. We are betrothed. You have my protection.” He held his hand out for her to take.

  Catherine put her hand in his and said, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  The warmth of Tzsayn’s hand was a comfort, but she felt Ambrose’s eyes on her as she took her seat beside him.

  The great doors to the hall opened and the messenger entered. However, it wasn’t just one messenger—it was five: four men carrying a huge square wooden box with another in the lead wearing the uniform of her father’s guard. His jacket arm was folded over the end of his stump.

  “It’s Viscount Lang. He fought Ambrose a few weeks ago; that’s how he lost his hand.”

  Catherine’s own hand tightened round Tzsayn’s as Lang stepped forward.

  “I am sent on behalf of King Aloysius of Brigant to agree terms for the surrender of Rossarb. King Aloysius believes that his whore of a daughter, Catherine, is with you, as is the cowardly scoundrel who constantly fawns at her heels, Sir Ambrose Norwend.” Lang made a show of looking at Catherine. “I see the whore is present.”

  Tzsayn’s face was impassive. “Princess Catherine is an honorable lady and my betrothed. Whoever insults her insults me.”

  “I stand in your hall under a flag of truce. You can kill me, if you dare. I am not afraid to say what I know to be true,” Lang sneered. “Is Norwend too cowardly to show his face?”

  “Sir Ambrose is here,” Tzsayn said, motioning Ambrose forward. If Tzsayn’s face was a picture of studied calm, Ambrose’s was a mask of fury. Rafyon stood at his shoulder, eyeing Ambrose anxiously, as if worried he might have to hold him back.

  Steady, Ambrose, Catherine thought. It’s only words.

  “Then I can deliver my message. King Aloysius has surrounded this pitiful town. He may capture it at his whim. When he does, he will have no mercy. He will kill all within its walls: men, women, children. All will die.” Lang paused. “However, His Majesty may be persuaded to be merciful. The people of Rossarb will be allowed to leave the town unharmed, including yourself, Prince Tzsayn, if you give the king something he wants.”

  “And what would that be?” Tzsayn asked.

  “The whore and the coward.”

  Catherine sucked in her breath.

  “Call the princess a whore again and I will kill you where you stand!” Ambrose shouted. His sword was half out of its scabbard as he took a step toward Lang, but Tzsayn stayed him with a sharp gesture and Rafyon was blocking his path. Trembling, Ambrose thrust his sword back into its scabbard, though he didn’t step back.

  Catherine forced herself to look calm, though her blood was burning as fiercely as Ambrose’s.

  I should have known. He wants revenge and won’t stop until he gets it.

  For her father there could never be forgiveness or reconciliation. He’d think nothing of parading his own daughter through the streets to the scaffold. But Tzsayn would never agree to such a thing.

  The silence stretched until Catherine could not help but glance sideways at the prince. His gaze was fixed on Lang.

  Was he considering it?

  Ice filled Catherine’s veins. Tzsayn was an honorable man, she was sure of it. But the safety of all the people of Rossarb was at stake. If he could hand over Catherine and Ambrose—two foreigners—to buy the safety of his people, why wouldn’t he? Her father had sold her to Pitoria as a distraction, a means for him to make war. Why should Tzsayn not sell her back to buy peace?

  After an eternity, Tzsayn stood.

  “If King Aloysius is so sure of taking Rossarb, let him try. Our walls are strong, our soldiers ready. I see this message as a confirmation that he knows his position is weak, not strong. He knows that he could attack Rossarb and fail. After all, he’s well known for failure in war, isn’t he?” Tzsayn’s voice rang out across the stone-flagged floor of the great hall. “I will not hand over my betrothed or her bodyguard to that butcher.”

  Lang stiffened. “Prince Tzsayn, we both know your reinforcements have not arrived. We have closed the road from the south. We can take Rossarb whenever we wish, but many men will die, on both sides. That can be avoided for the price of just two lives. Send them to us and no one else will be harmed. You have until midnight to deliver them.”

  Lang stepped to one side so the wooden box was in full view.

  “As a sign of his intent, King Aloysius sends you a gift.” Lang looked at Ambrose. “He knows that the coward and the whore betrayed Brigant. And he knows who helped them. Traitors and cowards are equally damned.”

  He pulled a metal bolt from the top of the box, and the sides fell with a crash to the ground.

  “Look away!” Tzsayn snapped to Catherine.

  But it was too late.

  Within the box stood a large black metal cross on a stand. It was the height of a man. Attached to the horizontal bar were a pair of human hands, one on each end. Mounted on the top was a human head. The cross was constructed so that the opening of the box disturbed the metal contraption, making the head nod and hands sway as if alive.

  The face was unrecognizable, beaten and disfigured, the lips sewn together, but the golden hair was unmistakable.

  Ambrose staggered forward and dropped to his knees. The room was silent except for a strange keening, groaning sound coming from him.

  Catherine had to look away. She wanted to forget what she’d seen. What must they have done to him before he died? Tears spilled out of her eyes. Her father had done this. How could anyone do this?

  “Who is it?” Tzsayn asked grimly.

  Catherine only just ma
naged to answer.

  “Tarquin Norwend. Ambrose’s brother.”

  AMBROSE

  ROSSARB, PITORIA

  MY BROTHER is dead.

  Murdered. Tortured. Tongue torn out, lips sewn up, hands cut off. All while he was still alive. And what else besides?

  Through his tears, Ambrose saw Lang’s smirking face. He should have killed him that day in Brigane. He lurched to his feet, but Rafyon was holding him back.

  “No, Ambrose. That’s what he wants.”

  “It’s what I want too!” And he pulled free of Rafyon.

  Lang stepped back, fumbling for his sword, but more blue-haired men blocked his path and pushed Ambrose back.

  Ambrose tore at the men, but they held him fast.

  The room was roaring with noise, but above it all Tzsayn ordered, “Get everyone out of here. And that contraption too.”

  Lang pointed at Tarquin’s mutilated body. “It took days for him to die. I had the pleasure of watching.”

  Ambrose roared in anger again, but the soldiers’ grip was unbreakable.

  Tzsayn was standing now. “Get out, Lang! And think yourself lucky I treat you with more honor than you treated that man.”

  Lang and his men retreated to the door.

  “You have until midnight,” were Lang’s parting words.

  And then they were gone and the doors were slammed shut behind them.

  Ambrose watched as they took the metal contraption and the remains of his brother away.

  “I swear I will kill them all,” he said to Rafyon. “Aloysius. Boris. Noyes. Lang. All of them.” He tore free of the soldiers holding him. “I will have my revenge.”

  “I believe you, Ambrose. But now, please, try to calm yourself.”

  But how could he be calm? His brother was dead. Who knew what Aloysius was doing to his father—left alone, two children dead and the last survivor marked as a traitor? He would take his father’s lands, take everything.

  Ambrose screamed in fury again and then sank to his knees.

  The next voice he heard was calm and quiet. Tzsayn knelt on the floor beside him.

  “I’m sorry, Ambrose. For you and for your brother. Let me assure you that I would never send you or Catherine to Aloysius. I’d not send anyone to him; he’s a monster.”

  Ambrose didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t think. He sniffed and realized his face was covered in tears.

  “Catherine tells me your brother was an honorable man.”

  Ambrose looked up at Tzsayn. “He was the best. The best brother, the best son.”

  “He helped you steal the orders for the invasion?”

  “Yes. With no thought for his own life. He only wanted to help me. And this is his reward.”

  “I’m going to summon everyone back in. I need to explain my decision not to surrender. There may be some who consider two Brigantine lives worth giving up. Will you speak too? If you’re able?”

  “I’d rather fight than speak.”

  “There will be time for that soon enough, but for the moment I need your words.”

  As the room filled again with Pitorian soldiers, Ambrose wiped his face and took some breaths to steady himself.

  Tzsayn spoke first. “Aloysius has invaded our country, killed and maimed our men, and now demands that we leave Rossarb so he can do with it as he wishes. He insults Princess Catherine, to whom I am betrothed. He insults Sir Ambrose Norwend, who saved the life of my father a few days ago and has risked much and given up much for Pitoria. And, most disgusting of all, Aloysius has tortured and executed Ambrose’s brother, who risked all and gave all to help Pitoria. I’d like Ambrose to tell you about his brother.”

  Ambrose took a few steps forward. He looked at the sea of faces and for a moment wasn’t sure he could speak. But then he thought of Tarquin’s smile and he knew what he wanted to say.

  “Tarquin Norwend was the most honorable man I’ve ever known and a man I’m proud to call my brother. He was the gentlest, kindest, and most considerate of men. With his help I discovered Aloysius’s plan to invade Pitoria, and with his help I obtained the evidence of the invasion. My brother believed Aloysius was acting dishonorably by planning to attack a peaceful neighbor. But Tarquin was always honorable, and for that he has been tortured and killed.” Ambrose turned to face Tzsayn and said, “And I will avenge my brother.”

  For the first time since the box was opened, Ambrose looked at Catherine. She was pale and dignified and holding tightly to Tzsayn’s hand. Perhaps that was as it should be. He no longer knew.

  He had no tears in his eyes now. He turned back to the room and continued, “Aloysius insulted me and his own daughter, Princess Catherine. I was a soldier in the Royal Guard, sworn to protect her. I will never break that oath; that is still my duty. But her father, whose natural duty should have been to protect her life with his own, betrayed her and sent her here so that her wedding could be a distraction for his invasion. He is a fiend and never to be trusted. And so now I add to my oath. I will protect Princess Catherine and I will do all I can to fight for Pitoria.”

  Tzsayn stood now.

  “Some of you may believe we can negotiate with Aloysius. We cannot. His behavior is monstrous. This man, this honorable man, Tarquin Norwend, a Brigantine, gave his life to help us Pitorians. And we Pitorians owe it to him to fight on. Pitoria has been invaded by a maniac. He may frighten us, horrify us, and threaten us, but if we surrender we lose more than our heads. We lose our humanity.”

  A few of the soldiers and lords shouted, “Agreed!” and “Hear! Hear!”

  “Aloysius is a maniac, but he is still only a man. A man who lost his last war. He is not indestructible. Our reinforcements will be here tomorrow, and then we take the fight to Aloysius. Until then, we double the watch. Aloysius wanted a reply by midnight tonight, and I say to him that I will not surrender my loyal friends, but will fight for every inch of my country with you, my fellow Pitorians.”

  TASH

  ROSSARB, PITORIA

  TASH HAD thought demons were scary, but men could be just as bad. The head in the box had nearly made her sick, the smell almost as awful as the sight of it. King Aloysius sounded like a madman. It was hard to imagine that someone as nice as Princess Catherine could be his daughter. Prince Tzsayn wouldn’t give Aloysius what he wanted, that was obvious. That meant the Brigantines would attack. But that also meant that perhaps she and Gravell had a chance of escaping during the chaos of the battle.

  When they got back to the princess’s rooms Tash went to the window and looked out at the Brigantine army. Their camp was the size of the Dornan trade fair twice over. If it came to a fight, Tash was pretty sure the Brigantines would win, and she had no intention of ending up with her head in a box.

  The courtyard below was abustle with preparations. Aloysius had given Tzsayn until midnight to hand Catherine and Ambrose over, and Tash couldn’t imagine he’d be the patient type. Tanya was already packing a bundle of things in case the castle fell and they had to flee.

  “If there’s an attack, what will happen to the prisoners in the cells?”

  Tanya ignored her. “We need food. I learned that from my last escape from a castle. I’ll go and get some. You stay with the princess.”

  Catherine was at the other window, her red-rimmed eyes unseeing. Tash crossed over to her. “Please, tell me: what will happen to Gravell?”

  “I don’t know, Tash.”

  “He’s a good fighter. He could help. They should release him.”

  “I’ve asked for his release before, Tash. The prince won’t trust him.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving here without him.”

  “Hopefully none of us will have to leave. The town walls are strong and the castle walls are stronger. Reinforcements will be here soon.”

  Tash huffed quietly. The princess spoke fine words,
but she was still getting ready to leave.

  As night fell, the three of them dined together. Tash had thought the princess would eat separately, but she sat with Tanya, who talked about the soldiers, but Tash now wanted to ask her own questions.

  “So, Princess Catherine, you’re still betrothed to the prince even though he’s at war with your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you seem to like him and he seems all right. I mean, he handled that whole head-on-a-wobbly-spike thing pretty well. And he’s not bad-looking, at least from one side. And he’s a prince and going to be a king, which I guess is good. So that’s all fine and dandy.”

  “Indeed,” Catherine replied, as Tanya hid her smile with her hand.

  “And Ambrose—he’s just a handsome soldier, sworn to protect you with his life.”

  Tanya went still.

  Catherine said in a too-calm voice, “He was one of my bodyguards in Brigant. All of them swear to protect their royal charges.”

  “I don’t see any of the others around here, though.”

  “There’s a reason for him being here. The invasion.” Catherine fanned her face.

  “Hmm. So you’ve known him a while?”

  “A few years.”

  “And you seem to like him too. I mean, as well as Prince Tzsayn.”

  “I’m quite capable of liking more than one person at a time. I like a lot of my men. I mean, in the sense that they’re good men; I mean, good soldiers.”

  “I guess that makes sense. You’re a princess. Why limit yourself? Have it all.”

  Tanya seemed to have a coughing fit at this.

  “That isn’t what I meant at all!” Catherine got to her feet, saying, “I could do with some air.” She went to the window and said firmly, “I care for Ambrose—he’s loyal and I trust him. But I’m betrothed to Tzsayn. It’s as simple as that.”

  “So you’re going to marry Tzsayn?”

  Catherine hesitated. “As you mentioned yourself, he’s at war with my father at the moment, so . . .”