Page 4

CHAPTER 4

S asha

I pull on my black gloves, the worn synth-leather supple, molding to my fingers like a second skin. My entire body is clad in a tight-fitting suit made of the same material, giving me the appearance of a black shadow. Perfect to hide my identity, should anyone notice me. Fear knots my gut, twisting my insides like hands furrowing into the soft tissues, twisting them into a senseless mess. It makes me nauseous and jittery.

I’m not usually jittery before a theft. Then again, I’m not totally stupid. I know what I’m risking.

This is the heist to end all heists and if I mess up, there will be no second chance. No redemption, no forgiveness. If things go sideways, Sargul won’t be able to pull strings to free me.

I get caught, I die.

It’s as simple as that. But I can’t waste time thinking about the consequences. A heist is like diving into an underwater cave. I have only a short window of time to get in, locate the target, take possession of it, and get out. Too long and I risk drowning. Too fast and I risk leaving traces behind.

Everything has to be just so. It’s fine by me. No one in Tartarus is a better stealth thief than me, maybe even in the whole of Valcan. This is why Sargul isn’t too keen on letting me leave. There’s nothing I can’t steal, nowhere I can’t get in.

Being small and lithe helps, but there’s more to my art than being tiny.

I cling to the shadows as night wraps its dark fingers on Tartarus, waiting for the perfect moment to move from one dark place to another. My focus is total as I finally reach the back wall of the ambassador’s palace. It’s a brand new building, nestled on the edge of the city, with clean access to the surface that the common citizen can only dream of.

I press my back against the stone wall and close my eyes. I summon the image of my target, a small sculpture made of white, common crystal in some strange, abstract shape that vaguely resembles a mother figure holding a child. There’s no way this sculpture is worth anywhere near the price of my passage out of Valcan, but I learned a long time ago not to question Sargul’s clients. The less I know, the better it is.

I’m ready. If I’m going to do this, it’s now or never.

I glance up and down the sleeping street, making sure no one is around. There isn’t much happening in this neighborhood at this time of night, but I can’t afford to be seen.

Half the city is at the feast in honor of Ambassador Eirik, so I’m not surprised when no movement attracts my attention. The rich citizens living in this neighborhood are all gone to the celebration and will only return once all the food has been eaten, all the wine has been drunk. More important, Ambassador Eirik himself is the guest of honor, the main attraction of the event. I’m literally betting my life that he’s going to be there for the entire night. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Easy-peasy, I repeat to myself. In, out, leave no trace. I’ve done this a hundred times.

But tonight feels different. This isn’t just some rich merchant hiding a fortune under his mattress. This is a Huugwor I’m stealing from.

It doesn’t matter who he is or what he is, I repeat to myself. By the time he realizes what happened, I’ll be long gone. He’ll never find me.

Feeling a tad more confident from my own pep talk, I lift my head, my entire body flat against the stone wall, clinging to the shadow, looking up at the overhang of a long stone balcony. According to the plans Sargul gave me, this is the ambassador’s private sleeping chambers. That palace is an endless maze of rooms, too large to cover in a single sweep, so I have to rely on Sargul’s intel more than I would like. Still, I have no other choice.

Taking a few seconds to clear my head of doubt, I rehearse my plan in my mind and inhale a deep, slow breath. A moment later, my heart rate returns to its even steady pace and I have complete control over my body. At least, as much control as I’m ever going to get.

Now. Enough with the stalling.

I throw my rope over the balcony, then fasten it to the pulley system at my belt. I love my gadgets and this one is a favorite. I can hoist my weight up the rope in total silence. Within a few seconds, I climb up the railing and jump on the stone ledge of the balcony, casting a glance around the dark street to make sure no one saw me.

Reassured I was indeed unseen, I unhook the rope and stuff it in the corner. I’ll need it in a few minutes when I slip outside. Hopefully, as undetected as when I went in.

I turn around, trying to see in the darkened rooms. It takes a few precious minutes for my vision to adapt, but I can’t risk using an artificial light source. It takes only one person to send an alert.

What if the Huugwor hired security to keep his rooms safe while he’s gone? The thought shoots through my mind, but I dismiss it. Trusting others to keep them secure isn’t in the Huugwor nation’s playbook and even if it was, it wouldn’t be my first rodeo dancing around hired muscle-brains. Those big, brawny guys never see me coming.

Once my eyes adapt enough to make out the layout of the room, I slide my feet on the polished stone floor, moving with the slow confidence and absolute quiet that has made my reputation. Never hurrying, never overlooking obstacles. Just slow, steady feet and a hand that doesn’t shake under pressure.

I move from a large, sparsely furnished living room to the quiet intimacy of a bedroom, then pause. I don’t enjoy invading people’s bedrooms. It’s like crossing some unseen boundary into their private lives. Somehow, it feels worse than the actual theft.

But like or dislike, tonight is the most important heist of my life and I’m not going to allow some moral quandary to mess it up.

I glance over at the bed. It’s large, larger than any bed I’ve ever seen. Square and high, so high a small woman like me would need to jump to get in. A bed fit for a giant.

I’ve only glanced at a Huugwor from afar, but I know it’s the right word. A giant. A deadly, graceful giant.

Locate the target. Pack it up. Leave without a trace.

Those are my mantras. A thief’s words to survive by.

As I move through the Spartan room, there isn’t much to see. No pictures, no mementos, no decoration of any kind. Just a dresser filled with a few items of clothing, all the same. Black leather pants, black shirt of a material I don’t recognize. Black leather shoes, too large for any human.

Nothing else. I open and rummage through the contents of the room, worry making its way through my chest like a stubborn worm.

Where is it? It’s supposed to be in the bedroom. Unless Sargul set me up. Maybe this is his way of punishing me for leaving?

The thought isn’t helpful, but it’s there, anyway.

Then I see it. Just like that.

I walk over to the corner of the bedroom and stare at an innocuous sculpture set in a corner on a low table. It’s larger than I thought it would be, about two feet high. It looks heavy, too much for my taste, but there’s no backing out, so it’s no use whining about it. I slide my hands over the surface, inspecting the white crystal and frowning. Maybe I was too fast in thinking it wasn’t worth the price of my passage out of Valcan. This isn’t just some regular white stone carved into a fertility goddess shape. The stone is all white, but as I stare at it from an angle, a rainbow of colors shimmer, deep inside. Could this be an opal? I frown, unsure of what to think.

Then I realize it doesn’t matter. Pushing the curiosity out of my mind, I grab it by the base and pull, wanting to feel how heavy it is, but it doesn’t budge.

Fuck. It’s stuck to the base.

If it’s stuck to the flooring through that low table, then it’s going to be a real problem. I don’t have the equipment to drill into the stone and I don’t want to damage the sculpture, either. I really wish I had more to rely on than a few pages of intel with holes miles deep in it, but it’s all Sargul gave me, and I can’t go back to ask for more now. I normally research a target for weeks before performing a heist, but I had merely a day to prepare this one. That’s how badly I want to get off this sandbox planet. I swallow hard, then try to drag the table, but of course, it doesn’t budge any more than the sculpture.

Shit. What do I do now?

This is a shit-show that I can’t afford and by now, I’ve lost precious time. I start looking around nervously. Is that footsteps I heard? I pause, my heart hammering in my chest so hard it hurts.

Nothing stirs in the still, silent rooms. It must be my nerves, getting the best of me.

I get back to the sculpture, running my hands along the sides. There has to be some mechanism to release it. I’m not giving up, not so close to my goal. Nothing. It’s completely stuck. Impossible.

I’ve been here too long. This isn’t going to work.

I need to leave. The thought runs through my brain, but I know I can’t. I’m running out of time and I know it. It’s one of my rules. Following it isn’t optional.

Go in unseen. Move fast. Get out. And whatever happens, leave no clues behind. I did it for Sargul hundreds of times, but not tonight. Tonight, things aren’t what they are supposed to be.

Fuck. I need to get out of here.

In a last desperate attempt at freeing the stupid sculpture, I bend down, wanting to see underneath. Maybe there’s a mechanism somewhere on the bottom? It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m desperate now. I’m frustrated beyond words, but also, I’m realizing this heist isn’t going to happen.

I need to give up on this heist. Work another few years for Sargul, enough to save the money to leave for good.

“It won’t move for you,” a voice calls from behind, deep, low, and masculine.

I twist on my feet toward the voice to stare at an impossibly tall and square figure, backlit by the low glow of the street’s ambient light, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Blocking my way out.

Fear courses through my veins as fast as the adrenaline that floods my system.

“Have you nothing to say?” the man—if I can call him that—says, taking a single long step forward. “Not that it will help you in the slightest.”

I realize I’m frozen in place, my entire body paralyzed with terror. My limbs are made of some sort of febrile ice, ice that pours straight to my spine, chilling every single one of my nerve endings.

It’s him. It’s Ambassador Eirik. It’s the Huugwor.

Another step and the Huugwor stands just a few feet in front of me. This close, I can almost feel the power coming off him in waves. Then slowly, like in a dream about to turn into a nightmare, long spikes push from his arms and shoulders, turning his body into a weapon.

And me? I’m dead.