Page 2 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

“For those who might not recall, Drosselmeyer is—or was—an inventor,” I say, ignoring Scriv’s annoyed expression.

“He crafted wondrous things, from machinery to weapons. But not everyone knows that he was once a Fae-Hunter himself. He used to venture into Faerie, capture its inhabitants, and steal artifacts, some of which he incorporated into his inventions. Years ago, he left the society of Fae-Hunters, and it was rumored that he sent most of what he stole back to Faerie. But he didn’t return everything, and he never stopped creating inventions.

In fact, I’m told his devices became even more strange and fantastical after that, blending science and magic together. ”

Boulder nods with renewed understanding, but Scriv only rolls his eyes. “What does any of this have to do with us?”

“Apparently Drosselmeyer has disappeared. You’ve heard me mention Wringer, my informant in South Hive?

Well, he has a cousin who worked on Drosselmeyer’s estate, in the very house itself.

He said the servants and guards have been carrying on like Drosselmeyer is still there, keeping the place tidy and operational, but about ten days ago a group of Fae showed up and cleared out the house and the workshop.

They took everything—all the treasures in his safe, all the artifacts from his secret rooms, all his inventions. ”

“Took everything where?” asks Flex.

I grin, taking my time to look at each of the Javelins in turn, reveling in my command of their attention. “Wringer’s cousin was hiding in a wardrobe during the Fae intrusion, and he heard one of them mention ‘Annordun.’”

“Never heard of it,” says Flex, but Maven’s eyes widen still more.

“It’s a legendary fortress on an island in the far north of Faerie,” she exclaims. “It was built through the joint magic of the Unseelie queen Ygraine and the Seelie king Lirannon, to house artifacts that are considered too dangerous or too valuable for any individual or kingdom to own. It’s enchanted so that no Fae may enter, except for two Stewards, each chosen respectively by the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. ”

“No Fae may enter.” I smirk. “But we’re not Fae, are we?”

A trio of rowdy revelers passes by our table. None of us speak until they’re gone. What we’re discussing is particularly sensitive, and even in a place like this, which is friendly to criminals, it’s best to be cautious.

“Let me get this straight.” Scriv clears his throat and leans forward. “You want us to use a magic portal to walk into the most notorious fortress in Faerie so we can steal Drosselmeyer’s entire collection from under the noses of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts?”

“Exactly.” I smile brightly at him. “The fortress is locked down against Fae and against powerful magic. They’re not expecting humans to break in.”

“That’s because no humans would be stupid enough to enter Faerie willingly, much less try to steal artifacts that the Fae themselves are afraid to handle,” retorts Scriv.

“Right, but we’re only after Drosselmeyer’s things.

We won’t touch the really dangerous stuff.

Even a handful of his inventions could set us all up for life.

And think about it—these could be his final works.

If he’s dead, they’re the last pieces he ever made.

Collectors will crave them. We’ll be able to name our price. ”

“If we survive,” mutters Scriv. “There’s a reason humans don’t go thieving in Faerie.

There are monsters, spells, strange landscapes, plants that can swallow you whole—not to mention the fact that all the known paths between worlds are closely monitored by the Fae themselves.

I’ve heard that they imprison or kill any humans who cross into their territory without permission. ”

“True.” I hold up the Doras álainn. “But according to my sources, this was designed by Fae-Hunters. It was created to permit stealthy passage into the Fae realm. We won’t set off alarms like we would if we used one of the better-known paths into Faerie.

Our entrance and our exit will be undetectable. ”

Scriv is chewing his lip, but I can see the excitement gleaming in his half-lidded eyes.

The others wait, caught in the tension between us. It’s a push and pull that shouldn’t exist. As the leader of the Javelins, my word on this should be final, yet they’re waiting for his approval before going along with the plan.

One of the barmaids approaches our table and begins refilling the cups. She’s a tall, stocky, large-chested woman with a mane of curly black hair. She keeps her head ducked subserviently as she pours. I stay quiet until she has stepped away to the next table, and then I continue.

“The Drosselmeyer collection will remain at Annordun until after the Midwinter’s Eve festival in Faerie.

After that, the Seelie and Unseelie representatives will be going through it, deciding what to keep in storage and what to destroy.

Which means we have a very limited window of time in which to do this. ”

“And we know nothing else about the fortress? Whether it’s guarded by anyone or anything besides the spell that keeps all other Fae out?” asks Flex.

“No idea. Maven can dig around, possibly find us some more information. But we can’t wait long. Midwinter’s Eve is two days away, both here and in Faerie. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and we can’t allow it to slip past us.”

“Two days?” Scriv snorts. “We’ve never done a heist this big that fast.”

“There are some jobs you plan for meticulously, for months,” I reply.

“And there are some where you have to jump in quickly, before someone else does, and be ready for anything. Look, we’ve pulled jobs of all kinds.

We have the skills we need for this—plus we have the Fae-Hunters’ arsenal.

We can take some of their traps with us. Maybe they’ll come in handy.”

“We were planning to sell those,” Boulder objects.

“Yes, but we’ll be investing them in a much bigger payoff. It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

“So I have two days to find information about Annordun and do my research on everything we got from the Fae-Hunters?” Maven arches an eyebrow.

“Yes.” I wince apologetically. “I’ll make sure you’re well-supplied with coffee and cake. Coffee with lots of thick cream, and that spice cake with the pink frosted flowers from Gwindie’s. Your favorite.”

Before she can reply, a man in a big apron bustles up to our table. “Strawberry buns, with Erda’s compliments on your latest triumph,” he says jovially.

We all shift our mugs aside to make room for the steaming platter.

Maven grabs a bun and sinks her teeth in.

Her pretty face is sober, contemplative.

Rather than pushing the matter, I let her process it like she needs to.

With a stern look, I let the others know to keep silent as well.

After all, we can’t succeed in this without her expertise.

Of course Maven will do it. If she has a soft spot for anything, it’s Fae lore and artifacts.

She collects books about the Fae, their magic, and their world, though I’m not sure how accurate some of her source material is.

The knowledge I’ve gained through her is the only reason I’m even considering this job.

Her tales of the Fae and their ways have entertained the Javelins on many a long winter evening.

After she has eaten two of the buns, I say softly, “Drosselmeyer probably had a lot of books about Faerie. We may find some journals or grimoires you can add to your library.”

Maven’s whole face lights up, and I know the battle is won.

“Let’s finish up here, then head back to the Hearth for some rest,” I say. “We’ll plan and prepare for the next two days. Then on Midwinter’s Eve, we strike.”

Half an hour later, we leave the pub together and walk along the Lesser Canal. It’s little more than a smooth stream, about as far across as Boulder is tall, with a cobblestone path along one side. Winters are mild in Belgate, so the canal rarely freezes over.

At intervals, stone steps lead down to the water, and tiny skiffs are moored in coves here and there.

Rows of brownstone dwellings with peaked windows rise on either side, with red winter roses blooming around their doorsteps or in their windowboxes.

Nature and the city blend seamlessly here, with the bright orange-gold of lamps gilding the branches of the trees that arch over the canal.

Even in winter, it’s the prettiest of places.

I love this city, despite the unconscionable things I do within its streets.

Belgate has been good to me over the years.

At the same time, I recognize how cruel it has been to others.

I know about the hessen dens, the dance parlors, the dice halls.

I’ve dropped coins in the cups of ragged children and gaunt women.

I’ve seen the missing fingers on the hands of those who owe money to the hessen lords—and they’re the lucky ones.

Surviving this city takes finesse. You have to know from whom you can safely steal. Much as I would like to rob some of the most powerful people in Belgate, just to teach them a lesson, I can’t risk it yet.

For now, the Javelins and I are an annoyance to the lower tiers of corruption in the city.

I choose our jobs carefully, always ensuring that we’re not taking bread from the mouths of the less fortunate.

It’s a difficult line to walk, remaining in the good graces of Belgate’s underworld while stealing from those who are part of that crooked system.

My crew seems increasingly annoyed with my moral code lately, which could be one reason why Scriv’s looser morals are appealing to them. Hopefully the daring elements of this heist in Faerie will remind my team that I can be bold, too, when the occasion calls for it.