Renise's breath stopped in her throat as she turned. Across her father's empty seat, her mother was drooping in her chair, her eyes half-lidded. A dribble ran down the edge of her lips. Amber. Then … silver.
Renise didn't understand. But she didn't need to.
She moved, her chair crashing to the floor as she pushed it aside and crawled over the empty chair to reach her mother's side. Her mind became a blank as she heard the castellan's voice calling for the apothecary. For the guards. His hoarse call to arms was answered by a dozen swords drawn in unison.
Frenzied shouts sounded throughout the hall as the soldiers commanded the assembled smugglers to the walls But there were no cries of panic. No dismay.
Not until the first soldiers began to fall.
Shouts turned to coughing and wheezing. Nearing Renise an her mother, the apothecary dropped to his knees before he reached us, a dart in the back of his neck. Behind him, a smuggler silently swept over him, the cup in his hand replaced with a glittering knife.
The servants screamed and made for the door.
They rushed at it, discovered it to be barred, then pounded their fists as struggling could be heard on the other side. The apothecary's hands burned golden, magic pooling around his fingers even as he lay benumbed on the ground. The knife landed between his shoulder blades. A burst of paralysing thunder swept across him, and then the golden fire burned cold.
All around Renise, panicked cries sounded from the guards. Weapons fell from their hands as two, three or more smugglers rounded at speed on the unprepared soldiers. Daggers planted against exposed necks, others threatening to plunge into underarms and through legs. The guards kneeled over their fallen weapons, denied a chance to strike back as shock and fear pooled in their eyes.
Renise could not spare them more than a glance.
She held up her mother as she threatened to tip over, calling to keep her fluttering eyes open. A murmur answered, pupils hazy as Renise smelled the … what was it? A sickly sweet aroma, so powerful that Renise choked on the scent. Was it poison? But this wasn't how she knew it to be. There was no gurgling of blood or gasping of air. It was as though her mother was simply …
Falling asleep.
A slumbering draught.
A favoured weapon of the Thieves Guild before they robbed their victims bare.
But how?
They were supposed to have been all but destroyed. And this … this was no concoction to deprive a sleeping person of their possessions. The smell was … it was beyond overpowering. It was potent. Far too much. It may as well be poison.
Renise cried out, her words blurred against the backdrop of betrayal. She wiped the thin silver liquid as it seeped from her mother's lips, but more kept coming.
Renise looked over to her father, her pleas lost in the pandemonium. She saw him kneeling with his hands labouring to remain gripped around his hilt. His eyes were almost closed, as if he could no longer focus.
As if he could no longer stay awake.
Even so, the Smuggler King still saw. His eyes glanced over at the castellan falling with as many darts in his back as there were in his front. The loyal man's sword clattered to the floor, blood staining the tip as a cloaked figure hobbled away, clutching at a face which now boasted one less nose.
Renise tore her eyes away. She focused her strength on desperately keeping her mother from drooping. To stay upright. To stay awake.
Still, the silver liquid ran down her chin in a fine line.
The sweet substance had long settled in her throat, running fast through her veins and her lungs. But there was no spluttering. No gasping. No instinct to fight as a bewitching sleep overtook her. She was still and fragile. For an eternal moment, her eyes looked at Renise before her body relaxed.
The Smuggler Queen's eyes gently closed. And then her lips broke into a slumbering smile.
Renise stared at the pale skin marked by a line of silver. It was almost indiscernible. She bent down and hovered her ear over her mother's lips, feeling the soft breathing before she turned back to her father.
A dozen smugglers had broken past the tables. Daggers left hidden pockets as they circled him with greed in their dark eyes. They watched the silver sword and waited. Then they abruptly stepped away as the man holding it rose from his knees.
Renise could almost hear her father's legs creaking, the movement stilted and painful. That hateful line of silver also marked his chin. Still, the smugglers moved back, offering a cautious berth as he lifted his sword from the ground.
The Smuggler King took a step forward, then pierced the floor ahead of him, using his weapon as a walking stick.
He forced his footsteps with the weight of the world on him, and yet Renise could not leave her mother's side. She couldn't. Instead, she desperately shook her, begging her to waken once more.
The Smuggler King's sword struck the ground. Ignoring the vultures that circled him, he kneeled with untold strength beside the castellan and placed a hand atop the man's neck. Once more, he raised himself and lifted his sword, then wearily carried his legs to the far table. Towards his daughter and his wife.
Renise clenched her teeth with each step he took. As her father neared, he reached out a hand across the table, slowing to a crawl as his sword fell from his grasp.
He clasped his hand around Renise's as he fell to one knee.
It was wrong. It was all wrong. Renise felt the familiar warmth, the gentleness, but not the strength. As her father's hand loosened around hers, she grabbed hold with all the grip she had and tried to speak.
Only a gasping choke came out, containing all the burning anguish the young woman had to convey. And so her father spoke first.
“Live … And punch faces ...”
Renise carried on holding her father's hand long after he tired himself on those last words. The man remained where he was, kneeling before his family as the draught finally overtook him.
Blackness enveloped Renise as she closed her eyes and forced the tears down. She forgot to breathe, with only the unquenchable bitterness she tasted in her mouth making her remember.
When her eyes opened, it was to a blurry premonition of faces being punched as she inhaled the sickly air filled with the taint of betrayal and the sobbing of servants.
They still stood, at least—and no longer needed to hurl themselves against the door, either.
It opened. Out poured the servants, all of them to the last, fleeing down the main corridor. Nobody stopped them. Not the smugglers in the hall, nor the ones stepping over the kneeling figures of the guards posted outside the door.
If the servants escaped, they would spread the word to every gutter in the city. Would that suit the gathered attendees? They had grown bold. Too bold to fear reprisals. The stillness and the apathy confirmed it.
Hating, Renise blinked enough to allow a modicum of colour and vision to enter her hateful eyes, before forcing her black gaze to those present.
There stood Sir Albert Perrot, looking hard into his emptied glass of amber. Grim, facing the window as stoicly as he faced the arrows of thieves. Baroness Marion Barischt, tossing a log into one of the dimmed hearths. Tabitha Renne, taking the opportunity to steal a bottle of their finest red. Friends. Allies. Traitors.
As the stampede of helpless witnesses fled into the night, a new set of footsteps resounded against the cold floor.
Renise turned to the door. And then she truly knew hate.
A lady. But not one of those invited.
She came at the back of a large retinue of retainers, many wielding powerful black maces. The woman's posture was straight and immaculate, her hands clasped neatly together, and her auburn locks matched with her scarlet dress. She adjusted a jewelled pin in her hair, then stepped fully into the hall.
Renise spat a curse, willing the heavens to strike this woman down and then herself afterwards as payment.
Nothing happened. And so the rage in her heart simmered. As she tightly clutched at the warm hands of her mother and father, a cold fury began to replace all she felt.
Lady Lucina Tolent, wealthiest of any noble in Reitzlake, strode into the middle of the hall. She paused to nod at the dinner fare before assessing the sight around her. Smugglers and nobility alike bowed and curtsied, the stiffness in their motion ignored as she took stock of the fallen or kneeling figures.
She counted the guards, the apothecary and the castellan, noting the paralysing darts before directing her gaze to the Smuggler King and Queen.
She looked no longer than two seconds.
Her green eyes flickered at Renise. There was scarcely a glimmer of recognition, and the young woman despised her with every fibre of her being for it. The void of emotion in those eyes infuriated her. Lady Lucina swiftly disregarded Renise's presence, then searched out a figure in the sombre audience.
Baroness Marion Barischt stepped forth, clearing her throat.
Her glass had gone, the amber wine sipped to the last drop. As she came forward, her alchemist's chain clinked around her neck, proof of how she'd survived all the attempts the Thieves Guild had made on her.
“Was the dosage correct?” asked Lady Lucina, her sharp voice breaking the stillness. “Unless that man enjoyed kneeling while drinking, it appears a mistake was made.”
Baroness Marion frowned, twisting her alchemist's chain for support. Renise would twist it harder, until her neck broke.
“The dosage … contained three times as much of the worldroot as the one given to Lady Sabilla and … well, even with the man's greater weight, he should have immediately been rendered incapable of movement.”
“A mistake, then. Lord Damien is not merely three times the average man. He bested the Dancing Rat and his schemes. You insult him.”
“As you say, Lady Lucina.”
“And why is there so much wine everywhere?” Lady Lucina stepped over a puddle originating from a smashed bottle. “Not even magic can save these carpets! Are you aware they were imported from the Summer Kingdoms?”
“I was not.”
“Was a dozen guards and an old man too difficult to be dispatched in a more organised manner? I notice you made ample use of the sedative darts. You are aware, I hope, of the outrageous costs involved in each one? Why does this man have six in him?”
“Battles involve bloodshed. To avoid it, as you desired, is to invite great financial cost. If you're dissatisfied with tonight's performance, I suggest you speak with Sir Albert. I believe he arranged the finer details.”
It had not been a battle. No more than these had been friends.
Renise bit her lips. She tasted the blood in her mouth. Sir Albert. The loyal knight. She could not believe it. The knife twisted inside her even more.
“I will. Where is the oaf? Where is the moron who ruined the carpets in a simple takeover?”
“Here, my lady.”
A haggard, portly man with grey hair stepped forth. His glass was still in his hand, the wine half-drunk.
Of all the faces. The schemers. The cowards with livery brighter than the wasted steel at their sides. Renise did not want to see this one the most. This knight who believed in both chivalry and betrayal.
Lady Lucina sniffed the air and frowned.
“This was a poor showing.”
The false knight bowed.
“My apologies, my lady. I endeavoured to perform as requested. I admit this is not my forte.”
“So we all see. And I accept some of the fault. Goodness knows, if it wasn't for the damnable rats, we could have snipped this in the bud without the ruined carpets.”
“There was no avoiding it, my lady. The Thieves Guild are brutal assassins and Lord Damien is the finest tactician that the Smugglers Guild possesses. We could not lose him so early.”
“Yes, well, I hope you are prepared. The Smugglers Guild require a new finest tactician for whenever our next calamity befalls us.”
“I will strive to match your expectations, my lady.”
At last, Renise stood up, but not before gently laying her mother against the back of the chair. She placed her father's hand against her mother's.
All eyes turned to Renise. Lady Lucina's frown turned to a full scowl.
In that moment, Renise considered leaping over the table, grabbing her father's sword and plunging it into her. Renise would likely die. But so would Lady Lucina. Possibly. And others, too, if the traitors beside Lady Lucina were slow to react.
The urge was overwhelming. All the better since she felt nausea threaten to take her. She could stab her, and then vomit over her too. An added bonus. But cold pragmatism stayed her hand.
There were too many, and she was no sword maiden.
Still, she looked again at the sword.
Renise wished to do it. A wild strike in anger, driven by none of the words drilled in her by those brief training sessions. She did not want finesse or technique. Not here. Not now. Only copious blood.
“What is this?” asked Lady Lucina to anyone who could answer. “I was hoping she was asleep with her eyes open. Why is this girl currently capable of wishing death on me? Another mistake? Sir Albert, this is inexcusable.”
“This was no fault of mine. Lord Oliver Lepre, he ... spilled the glass meant for her.”
Lady Lucina's eyes opened with incredulity. She crossed her arms like a mother scolding a child.
“Lord Oliver Lepre? Why is that fool here? To embarrass his dead ancestors once again? Where is he now?”
“I... I don't know, Lady Lucina. He must have fled during the battle.”
“Then at least he isn't a complete fool.”
Lady Lucina sighed. She turned her attention to Renise instead. The young woman continued calculating the distance between them.
“Lady Renise, dear, allow me to—”
“I will punch your face,” she replied. “Slowly.”
The deep silence returned, now disturbed again by the crackling of the hearth fires set by Baroness Marion. Renise flicked her gaze across the room, willing herself to sketch the shadowed faces of all those present into her mind. If the abyss wouldn't take them, then she would.
“You see?” said Lady Lucina. “This is what happens when you don't plan for mishaps. Now we have a girl who will no doubt behead us with her nails if given the chance.”
“I expect she intends to behead us with her father's sword, my lady. You'd do well to step away.”
Again, Renise tasted the blood in her mouth. The false knight knew. But she wasn't hiding it. She didn't want to. Every part of her wished to seize what measure of immediate retribution she could.
But she couldn't.
Live. She had to live. Her mother and father. They could still yet be saved. And so she considered her options after surveying the hall.
The encirclement was weighted towards blocking any path towards the nobles. And that included the main door. But there were other paths and other exits, not all of them known.
Lady Lucina wouldn't move. But her guards would. Renise didn't know what stayed their hand from gutting her on the spot. But she'd been marked for that slumbering poison for a reason. Perhaps a Smuggler Princess was above their pay. Murdering royalty of the underworld was a matter for the nobility of the underworld.
Lady Lucina sighed, but not before taking a cautionary step away. Renise felt a small measure of sickly satisfaction at that.
“My sincerest regrets, Lady Renise. To sleep like babies in a crib is an ill-fitting end, particularly for those with as great a stature as those beside you. Moreover, your carpets deserved better. I apologise profusely for Sir Albert's lack of refinement in that regard.”
Sir Albert parted his mouth. Lady Lucina immediately waved any response off.
“However, I could not sanction the loss of so many of my guards in an honourable siege. You see, unlike your father, I find fighting to be tedious. Be assured that we chose a painless draught. An expensive draught. Their slumber took their senses before it took their wits. An extremely difficult concoction to fabricate when fae magic is involved. I hope you appreciate the courtesy.”
“The servants have fled. This will not go unpunished. You have struck against a fellow noble house. Crown Prince Roland will—”
“Crown Prince Roland will grit his teeth and tolerate it. Rest assured that there will be no retaliation, just as there was none when the War of the Streets threatened his rule.”
Renise tightly clenched her teeth.
“There will be justice.”
“Coin is the new justice, girl. And I happen to have quite a lot of it. But not so much that I hold no regrets for commissioning a draught of eternal slumber. I won't ask Baroness Marion to bore either of us with the details, but if it makes you feel any better, the cost was an unnecessary hardship to my treasury. Even so, the effort was the least I could do in recognition of your family's service to Reitzlake.”
Renise didn't know it was possible to laugh in this situation. Still, she came close.
Lady Lucina Tolent. She truly wished for Renise's appreciation. The young woman could hear it. The effort she went through to betray them in a dignified manner. The cost.
Renise wanted to laugh. Truly.
Instead, her fists shook as she bemoaned not having spent enough time dockside to know how to correctly utilise all the vile and vitriol she wanted to spew. If only the Dancing Rat had earned the last laugh. If only the Thieves Guild had triumphed in the Rat's Hold. Then a great deal of those here would no longer be present.
“You needn't have bothered,” said Renise coldly. “Eternal slumber is a poison worse than death.”
“Perhaps so. But I have no wish to making killing nobility a precedence in Reitzlake. See the lack of missing limbs? The absence of heads rolling on the floor? This is refined treachery. And when these fine ladies and gentlemen in this hall do it to me, I expect no less of a courtesy.”
Renise turned her eyes purposefully around the room. Few met her gaze. Not even Lord Harland's boy, whose hand had gripped his hilt throughout the bedlam, but had never drawn it. Poor him. On their last dance he'd stepped on her toes. Now he'd never have the chance to make amends.
Renise turned to them all, before settling on Lady Lucina.
“Rats.”
It was all she had to say.
Her condemnation rattled against a chilling wall of impassivity, but at last, she succeeded in drawing a reaction. Lady Lucina's eyes flashed. Some of those beside the windows and walls turned, the resolve on their faces hardening.
“Rats?” said Lady Lucina, her low voice speaking on behalf of them all. “We are not rats, Lady Renise. We are the Smugglers Guild, sworn in oath and promise to defend the streets we preside over. We have done that. The Thieves Guild is finished. And now our obligations turn to our next enemy.”
Lady Lucina looked pointedly at the great man kneeling on the floor.
Renise held out from glancing at her father. She didn't need to look at him anymore. Not when she had so many more memories of him yet to burn in her mind. She would find a way to wake him and her mother both.
“Why?” said Renise, voice straining with each moment she tried to make sense of this. “He is … He took to the sewers. The streets. His courage broke our foes. He was no enemy. He was a hero.”
“He was a king.”
Suddenly, the blasé in Lady Lucina's voice ceased to be. It was hard and sure as cold iron.
“The docks, tunnels and shadows of Reitzlake has no king. And any smuggler who stylises themselves as such will face a similar result to tonight. No, stop, Princess. Do not look at me like that, as if I'm some gloating villain born to take your family's life. I do not care about you, your mother or your father. I care about the guild.”
Her palms gestured towards the sleeping man before Renise. Still, her green eyes and dented brows remained steadfastly on the young woman.
“This is duty. No less and no more. I do what I must for the sake of Reitzlake. One bumbling king is quite enough. The Smugglers Guild is not some toy for a monarch to command on a whim. And pretending it is has earned your father a great number of enemies. We will not abide the tyranny of kings below the ground.”
And now Renise did laugh.
A laughter more like the shrieking of a banshee than the gentle simper of an heiress. She laughed and laughed, relishing the ache and pain that punched her gut each time she coughed out another high-pitched splutter.
Lady Lucina Tolent, whose monopoly on the city's mercantile endeavours was second to none. A woman whose personal guard could have bled victory against even the finest of knightly orders. And she still had the luxury of choosing traitors to fulfil her ambitions for her instead.
She herself was a queen in all but name.
Renise would punch her face. And maybe she'd do it with a dictionary bookmarked to the word 'hypocrisy'.
She angrily pointed to the windows. There, the city blinked below them. Lanterns lit the cobbled lanes and warm hearths kept the long nights at bay. It was no paradise. But it was a worthy home now.
“My father is no tyrant. The city flourishes because of him.”
“The city flourishes because of us. Not Lord Damien Rimeaux.”
Lady Lucina rolled her eyes. Renise had to remember that last plea before jumping to strangle her. She had to run. She had to survive.
And nobody here would help her.
They'd gone behind her family's back. All of them. These cockroaches emerging from a single dark corner. And not a single one had broken ranks to forewarn Renise.
Not one.
That hurt the most. This was the criminal underworld, free of laws. She knew that.
She just never knew it also meant free of loyalty.
“He has never commanded a soul to do what they would not. The people of Reitzlake look up to him. He has always been a good man.”
Lady Lucina's eyes did not soften. However, she did pause.
For a small moment, Renise almost wanted to believe that these people did this out of a sense of twisted duty. That there was a just reason greater than House Tolent's crowns falling into everyone's pockets.
“Yes. He has. But it was not only him I was concerned about.”
Lady Lucina motioned for her guards to come forward. Armoured figures whose maces were as black as obsidian. They weren't simply soldiers. They were executioners. And very messy ones.
Her eyes grew colder yet.
“It was you.”
Renise's breath stopped in her throat as she turned. Across her father's empty seat, her mother was drooping in her chair, her eyes half-lidded. A dribble ran down the edge of her lips. Amber. Then … silver.
Renise didn't understand. But she didn't need to.
She moved, her chair crashing to the floor as she pushed it aside and crawled over the empty chair to reach her mother's side. Her mind became a blank as she heard the castellan's voice calling for the apothecary. For the guards. His hoarse call to arms was answered by a dozen swords drawn in unison.
Frenzied shouts sounded throughout the hall as the soldiers commanded the assembled smugglers to the walls But there were no cries of panic. No dismay.
Not until the first soldiers began to fall.
Shouts turned to coughing and wheezing. Nearing Renise an her mother, the apothecary dropped to his knees before he reached us, a dart in the back of his neck. Behind him, a smuggler silently swept over him, the cup in his hand replaced with a glittering knife.
The servants screamed and made for the door.
They rushed at it, discovered it to be barred, then pounded their fists as struggling could be heard on the other side. The apothecary's hands burned golden, magic pooling around his fingers even as he lay benumbed on the ground. The knife landed between his shoulder blades. A burst of paralysing thunder swept across him, and then the golden fire burned cold.
All around Renise, panicked cries sounded from the guards. Weapons fell from their hands as two, three or more smugglers rounded at speed on the unprepared soldiers. Daggers planted against exposed necks, others threatening to plunge into underarms and through legs. The guards kneeled over their fallen weapons, denied a chance to strike back as shock and fear pooled in their eyes.
Renise could not spare them more than a glance.
She held up her mother as she threatened to tip over, calling to keep her fluttering eyes open. A murmur answered, pupils hazy as Renise smelled the … what was it? A sickly sweet aroma, so powerful that Renise choked on the scent. Was it poison? But this wasn't how she knew it to be. There was no gurgling of blood or gasping of air. It was as though her mother was simply …
Falling asleep.
A slumbering draught.
A favoured weapon of the Thieves Guild before they robbed their victims bare.
But how?
They were supposed to have been all but destroyed. And this … this was no concoction to deprive a sleeping person of their possessions. The smell was … it was beyond overpowering. It was potent. Far too much. It may as well be poison.
Renise cried out, her words blurred against the backdrop of betrayal. She wiped the thin silver liquid as it seeped from her mother's lips, but more kept coming.
Renise looked over to her father, her pleas lost in the pandemonium. She saw him kneeling with his hands labouring to remain gripped around his hilt. His eyes were almost closed, as if he could no longer focus.
As if he could no longer stay awake.
Even so, the Smuggler King still saw. His eyes glanced over at the castellan falling with as many darts in his back as there were in his front. The loyal man's sword clattered to the floor, blood staining the tip as a cloaked figure hobbled away, clutching at a face which now boasted one less nose.
Renise tore her eyes away. She focused her strength on desperately keeping her mother from drooping. To stay upright. To stay awake.
Still, the silver liquid ran down her chin in a fine line.
The sweet substance had long settled in her throat, running fast through her veins and her lungs. But there was no spluttering. No gasping. No instinct to fight as a bewitching sleep overtook her. She was still and fragile. For an eternal moment, her eyes looked at Renise before her body relaxed.
The Smuggler Queen's eyes gently closed. And then her lips broke into a slumbering smile.
Renise stared at the pale skin marked by a line of silver. It was almost indiscernible. She bent down and hovered her ear over her mother's lips, feeling the soft breathing before she turned back to her father.
A dozen smugglers had broken past the tables. Daggers left hidden pockets as they circled him with greed in their dark eyes. They watched the silver sword and waited. Then they abruptly stepped away as the man holding it rose from his knees.
Renise could almost hear her father's legs creaking, the movement stilted and painful. That hateful line of silver also marked his chin. Still, the smugglers moved back, offering a cautious berth as he lifted his sword from the ground.
The Smuggler King took a step forward, then pierced the floor ahead of him, using his weapon as a walking stick.
He forced his footsteps with the weight of the world on him, and yet Renise could not leave her mother's side. She couldn't. Instead, she desperately shook her, begging her to waken once more.
The Smuggler King's sword struck the ground. Ignoring the vultures that circled him, he kneeled with untold strength beside the castellan and placed a hand atop the man's neck. Once more, he raised himself and lifted his sword, then wearily carried his legs to the far table. Towards his daughter and his wife.
Renise clenched her teeth with each step he took. As her father neared, he reached out a hand across the table, slowing to a crawl as his sword fell from his grasp.
He clasped his hand around Renise's as he fell to one knee.
It was wrong. It was all wrong. Renise felt the familiar warmth, the gentleness, but not the strength. As her father's hand loosened around hers, she grabbed hold with all the grip she had and tried to speak.
Only a gasping choke came out, containing all the burning anguish the young woman had to convey. And so her father spoke first.
“Live … And punch faces ...”
Renise carried on holding her father's hand long after he tired himself on those last words. The man remained where he was, kneeling before his family as the draught finally overtook him.
Blackness enveloped Renise as she closed her eyes and forced the tears down. She forgot to breathe, with only the unquenchable bitterness she tasted in her mouth making her remember.
When her eyes opened, it was to a blurry premonition of faces being punched as she inhaled the sickly air filled with the taint of betrayal and the sobbing of servants.
They still stood, at least—and no longer needed to hurl themselves against the door, either.
It opened. Out poured the servants, all of them to the last, fleeing down the main corridor. Nobody stopped them. Not the smugglers in the hall, nor the ones stepping over the kneeling figures of the guards posted outside the door.
If the servants escaped, they would spread the word to every gutter in the city. Would that suit the gathered attendees? They had grown bold. Too bold to fear reprisals. The stillness and the apathy confirmed it.
Hating, Renise blinked enough to allow a modicum of colour and vision to enter her hateful eyes, before forcing her black gaze to those present.
There stood Sir Albert Perrot, looking hard into his emptied glass of amber. Grim, facing the window as stoicly as he faced the arrows of thieves. Baroness Marion Barischt, tossing a log into one of the dimmed hearths. Tabitha Renne, taking the opportunity to steal a bottle of their finest red. Friends. Allies. Traitors.
As the stampede of helpless witnesses fled into the night, a new set of footsteps resounded against the cold floor.
Renise turned to the door. And then she truly knew hate.
A lady. But not one of those invited.
She came at the back of a large retinue of retainers, many wielding powerful black maces. The woman's posture was straight and immaculate, her hands clasped neatly together, and her auburn locks matched with her scarlet dress. She adjusted a jewelled pin in her hair, then stepped fully into the hall.
Renise spat a curse, willing the heavens to strike this woman down and then herself afterwards as payment.
Nothing happened. And so the rage in her heart simmered. As she tightly clutched at the warm hands of her mother and father, a cold fury began to replace all she felt.
Lady Lucina Tolent, wealthiest of any noble in Reitzlake, strode into the middle of the hall. She paused to nod at the dinner fare before assessing the sight around her. Smugglers and nobility alike bowed and curtsied, the stiffness in their motion ignored as she took stock of the fallen or kneeling figures.
She counted the guards, the apothecary and the castellan, noting the paralysing darts before directing her gaze to the Smuggler King and Queen.
She looked no longer than two seconds.
Her green eyes flickered at Renise. There was scarcely a glimmer of recognition, and the young woman despised her with every fibre of her being for it. The void of emotion in those eyes infuriated her. Lady Lucina swiftly disregarded Renise's presence, then searched out a figure in the sombre audience.
Baroness Marion Barischt stepped forth, clearing her throat.
Her glass had gone, the amber wine sipped to the last drop. As she came forward, her alchemist's chain clinked around her neck, proof of how she'd survived all the attempts the Thieves Guild had made on her.
“Was the dosage correct?” asked Lady Lucina, her sharp voice breaking the stillness. “Unless that man enjoyed kneeling while drinking, it appears a mistake was made.”
Baroness Marion frowned, twisting her alchemist's chain for support. Renise would twist it harder, until her neck broke.
“The dosage … contained three times as much of the worldroot as the one given to Lady Sabilla and … well, even with the man's greater weight, he should have immediately been rendered incapable of movement.”
“A mistake, then. Lord Damien is not merely three times the average man. He bested the Dancing Rat and his schemes. You insult him.”
“As you say, Lady Lucina.”
“And why is there so much wine everywhere?” Lady Lucina stepped over a puddle originating from a smashed bottle. “Not even magic can save these carpets! Are you aware they were imported from the Summer Kingdoms?”
“I was not.”
“Was a dozen guards and an old man too difficult to be dispatched in a more organised manner? I notice you made ample use of the sedative darts. You are aware, I hope, of the outrageous costs involved in each one? Why does this man have six in him?”
“Battles involve bloodshed. To avoid it, as you desired, is to invite great financial cost. If you're dissatisfied with tonight's performance, I suggest you speak with Sir Albert. I believe he arranged the finer details.”
It had not been a battle. No more than these had been friends.
Renise bit her lips. She tasted the blood in her mouth. Sir Albert. The loyal knight. She could not believe it. The knife twisted inside her even more.
“I will. Where is the oaf? Where is the moron who ruined the carpets in a simple takeover?”
“Here, my lady.”
A haggard, portly man with grey hair stepped forth. His glass was still in his hand, the wine half-drunk.
Of all the faces. The schemers. The cowards with livery brighter than the wasted steel at their sides. Renise did not want to see this one the most. This knight who believed in both chivalry and betrayal.
Lady Lucina sniffed the air and frowned.
“This was a poor showing.”
The false knight bowed.
“My apologies, my lady. I endeavoured to perform as requested. I admit this is not my forte.”
“So we all see. And I accept some of the fault. Goodness knows, if it wasn't for the damnable rats, we could have snipped this in the bud without the ruined carpets.”
“There was no avoiding it, my lady. The Thieves Guild are brutal assassins and Lord Damien is the finest tactician that the Smugglers Guild possesses. We could not lose him so early.”
“Yes, well, I hope you are prepared. The Smugglers Guild require a new finest tactician for whenever our next calamity befalls us.”
“I will strive to match your expectations, my lady.”
At last, Renise stood up, but not before gently laying her mother against the back of the chair. She placed her father's hand against her mother's.
All eyes turned to Renise. Lady Lucina's frown turned to a full scowl.
In that moment, Renise considered leaping over the table, grabbing her father's sword and plunging it into her. Renise would likely die. But so would Lady Lucina. Possibly. And others, too, if the traitors beside Lady Lucina were slow to react.
The urge was overwhelming. All the better since she felt nausea threaten to take her. She could stab her, and then vomit over her too. An added bonus. But cold pragmatism stayed her hand.
There were too many, and she was no sword maiden.
Still, she looked again at the sword.
Renise wished to do it. A wild strike in anger, driven by none of the words drilled in her by those brief training sessions. She did not want finesse or technique. Not here. Not now. Only copious blood.
“What is this?” asked Lady Lucina to anyone who could answer. “I was hoping she was asleep with her eyes open. Why is this girl currently capable of wishing death on me? Another mistake? Sir Albert, this is inexcusable.”
“This was no fault of mine. Lord Oliver Lepre, he ... spilled the glass meant for her.”
Lady Lucina's eyes opened with incredulity. She crossed her arms like a mother scolding a child.
“Lord Oliver Lepre? Why is that fool here? To embarrass his dead ancestors once again? Where is he now?”
“I... I don't know, Lady Lucina. He must have fled during the battle.”
“Then at least he isn't a complete fool.”
Lady Lucina sighed. She turned her attention to Renise instead. The young woman continued calculating the distance between them.
“Lady Renise, dear, allow me to—”
“I will punch your face,” she replied. “Slowly.”
The deep silence returned, now disturbed again by the crackling of the hearth fires set by Baroness Marion. Renise flicked her gaze across the room, willing herself to sketch the shadowed faces of all those present into her mind. If the abyss wouldn't take them, then she would.
“You see?” said Lady Lucina. “This is what happens when you don't plan for mishaps. Now we have a girl who will no doubt behead us with her nails if given the chance.”
“I expect she intends to behead us with her father's sword, my lady. You'd do well to step away.”
Again, Renise tasted the blood in her mouth. The false knight knew. But she wasn't hiding it. She didn't want to. Every part of her wished to seize what measure of immediate retribution she could.
But she couldn't.
Live. She had to live. Her mother and father. They could still yet be saved. And so she considered her options after surveying the hall.
The encirclement was weighted towards blocking any path towards the nobles. And that included the main door. But there were other paths and other exits, not all of them known.
Lady Lucina wouldn't move. But her guards would. Renise didn't know what stayed their hand from gutting her on the spot. But she'd been marked for that slumbering poison for a reason. Perhaps a Smuggler Princess was above their pay. Murdering royalty of the underworld was a matter for the nobility of the underworld.
Lady Lucina sighed, but not before taking a cautionary step away. Renise felt a small measure of sickly satisfaction at that.
“My sincerest regrets, Lady Renise. To sleep like babies in a crib is an ill-fitting end, particularly for those with as great a stature as those beside you. Moreover, your carpets deserved better. I apologise profusely for Sir Albert's lack of refinement in that regard.”
Sir Albert parted his mouth. Lady Lucina immediately waved any response off.
“However, I could not sanction the loss of so many of my guards in an honourable siege. You see, unlike your father, I find fighting to be tedious. Be assured that we chose a painless draught. An expensive draught. Their slumber took their senses before it took their wits. An extremely difficult concoction to fabricate when fae magic is involved. I hope you appreciate the courtesy.”
“The servants have fled. This will not go unpunished. You have struck against a fellow noble house. Crown Prince Roland will—”
“Crown Prince Roland will grit his teeth and tolerate it. Rest assured that there will be no retaliation, just as there was none when the War of the Streets threatened his rule.”
Renise tightly clenched her teeth.
“There will be justice.”
“Coin is the new justice, girl. And I happen to have quite a lot of it. But not so much that I hold no regrets for commissioning a draught of eternal slumber. I won't ask Baroness Marion to bore either of us with the details, but if it makes you feel any better, the cost was an unnecessary hardship to my treasury. Even so, the effort was the least I could do in recognition of your family's service to Reitzlake.”
Renise didn't know it was possible to laugh in this situation. Still, she came close.
Lady Lucina Tolent. She truly wished for Renise's appreciation. The young woman could hear it. The effort she went through to betray them in a dignified manner. The cost.
Renise wanted to laugh. Truly.
Instead, her fists shook as she bemoaned not having spent enough time dockside to know how to correctly utilise all the vile and vitriol she wanted to spew. If only the Dancing Rat had earned the last laugh. If only the Thieves Guild had triumphed in the Rat's Hold. Then a great deal of those here would no longer be present.
“You needn't have bothered,” said Renise coldly. “Eternal slumber is a poison worse than death.”
“Perhaps so. But I have no wish to making killing nobility a precedence in Reitzlake. See the lack of missing limbs? The absence of heads rolling on the floor? This is refined treachery. And when these fine ladies and gentlemen in this hall do it to me, I expect no less of a courtesy.”
Renise turned her eyes purposefully around the room. Few met her gaze. Not even Lord Harland's boy, whose hand had gripped his hilt throughout the bedlam, but had never drawn it. Poor him. On their last dance he'd stepped on her toes. Now he'd never have the chance to make amends.
Renise turned to them all, before settling on Lady Lucina.
“Rats.”
It was all she had to say.
Her condemnation rattled against a chilling wall of impassivity, but at last, she succeeded in drawing a reaction. Lady Lucina's eyes flashed. Some of those beside the windows and walls turned, the resolve on their faces hardening.
“Rats?” said Lady Lucina, her low voice speaking on behalf of them all. “We are not rats, Lady Renise. We are the Smugglers Guild, sworn in oath and promise to defend the streets we preside over. We have done that. The Thieves Guild is finished. And now our obligations turn to our next enemy.”
Lady Lucina looked pointedly at the great man kneeling on the floor.
Renise held out from glancing at her father. She didn't need to look at him anymore. Not when she had so many more memories of him yet to burn in her mind. She would find a way to wake him and her mother both.
“Why?” said Renise, voice straining with each moment she tried to make sense of this. “He is … He took to the sewers. The streets. His courage broke our foes. He was no enemy. He was a hero.”
“He was a king.”
Suddenly, the blasé in Lady Lucina's voice ceased to be. It was hard and sure as cold iron.
“The docks, tunnels and shadows of Reitzlake has no king. And any smuggler who stylises themselves as such will face a similar result to tonight. No, stop, Princess. Do not look at me like that, as if I'm some gloating villain born to take your family's life. I do not care about you, your mother or your father. I care about the guild.”
Her palms gestured towards the sleeping man before Renise. Still, her green eyes and dented brows remained steadfastly on the young woman.
“This is duty. No less and no more. I do what I must for the sake of Reitzlake. One bumbling king is quite enough. The Smugglers Guild is not some toy for a monarch to command on a whim. And pretending it is has earned your father a great number of enemies. We will not abide the tyranny of kings below the ground.”
And now Renise did laugh.
A laughter more like the shrieking of a banshee than the gentle simper of an heiress. She laughed and laughed, relishing the ache and pain that punched her gut each time she coughed out another high-pitched splutter.
Lady Lucina Tolent, whose monopoly on the city's mercantile endeavours was second to none. A woman whose personal guard could have bled victory against even the finest of knightly orders. And she still had the luxury of choosing traitors to fulfil her ambitions for her instead.
She herself was a queen in all but name.
Renise would punch her face. And maybe she'd do it with a dictionary bookmarked to the word 'hypocrisy'.
She angrily pointed to the windows. There, the city blinked below them. Lanterns lit the cobbled lanes and warm hearths kept the long nights at bay. It was no paradise. But it was a worthy home now.
“My father is no tyrant. The city flourishes because of him.”
“The city flourishes because of us. Not Lord Damien Rimeaux.”
Lady Lucina rolled her eyes. Renise had to remember that last plea before jumping to strangle her. She had to run. She had to survive.
And nobody here would help her.
They'd gone behind her family's back. All of them. These cockroaches emerging from a single dark corner. And not a single one had broken ranks to forewarn Renise.
Not one.
That hurt the most. This was the criminal underworld, free of laws. She knew that.
She just never knew it also meant free of loyalty.
“He has never commanded a soul to do what they would not. The people of Reitzlake look up to him. He has always been a good man.”
Lady Lucina's eyes did not soften. However, she did pause.
For a small moment, Renise almost wanted to believe that these people did this out of a sense of twisted duty. That there was a just reason greater than House Tolent's crowns falling into everyone's pockets.
“Yes. He has. But it was not only him I was concerned about.”
Lady Lucina motioned for her guards to come forward. Armoured figures whose maces were as black as obsidian. They weren't simply soldiers. They were executioners. And very messy ones.
Her eyes grew colder yet.
“It was you.”
