The Raven Thief: The Royal Thieves Trilogy, #1

Enya – The Beginning

THEY SAY that overcoming your past can be one of the hardest things to do. Memories can steal your passion, your happiness, even your soul, until you’re nothing more than an empty shell.

Maybe that’s why I tried so hard to forget.

One moment, you’re screaming, agonizing over the pain pulsing in your chest, clawing its way out. The next, you wake up one day, and it’s as if nothing happened. You don’t remember, and it’s bliss. The saints in all their mercy have allowed you to forget, if only for a moment, and you have peace.

But you know there’s something missing; you just can’t remember what. Sometimes, though, it’s better to remember. That way, you can forgive yourself and others for what happened. Damn, I’m so childish for even bothering to write these letters.

Maybe one day I’ll forgive myself.

Arden, Skeyya

WINTER’S ICE-COLD winds swept through the industrial capital of Arden as its citizens woke to brave the day.

Already, some poor, homeless souls were dropping from frostbite on the docks at the edge of the river cutting through the city. Their corpses sat feasted upon by dark and curious creatures that lurked within the shadows.

Inside a nearby rebel warehouse, Enya trudged up and down several rows of barrels and boxes, counting wares and tallying shipments.

She hummed along to the screeching song of a drunken sailor outside. His slurred words seeped in through the worn-out wooden exterior of the building, earning occasional chuckles from the other rebels inside, accompanied by a few of her gang members, a ragtag group of people better known as the Grims.

Brutal cold also crept through the cracks in the walls, sending a shiver down her spine and a faint breeze through her long black waves that spilled like ink over her shoulders.

She pulled her jacket tighter against her small frame, wishing that her leather boots fought off more of the chill.

Enya peered over a cracked-open crate full of ammunition, soon hearing shoes scraping against the wooden floor behind her. She saw Carson’s shadow towering over her. His husky breath brushed against her collarbone, and she froze. Whatever it was that caused butterflies to take wing in her stomach, she hated it. It made her feel weak and delicate, like a rose without thorns. But thorns were the best weapon of all. Unexpected and pointed, just like her wit.

Enya straightened and set down her clipboard on a nearby crate, one among many others. She turned, giving him a sidelong glance. He grinned back.

Is there a reason, she began, you’re invading my personal bubble? I’m pretty sure we’ve had this discussion already. Do you need another intervention?

She’d meant to sound strict, but the words came out too kind. Too gentle. A playful air enveloped them, one that only revealed itself when he was by her side. Enya didn’t know why, but his mere presence made her soften.

She hated that too.

Carson chuckled, stretching his long, tan Cardekian arms up towards the ceiling while he stepped back.

He hailed from a land across the Great Sea, one full of sand and spice. But the tattoos peeking out from under his dark coat sleeves were an indication he no longer followed his childhood religion.

He dropped his hands, jammed his fingers in between the loops of his trousers, and leaned against a wooden beam. I think we’re done. Or does the Raven have a trick up her sleeve to make more weapons and rations magically appear?

Enya reveled in the nickname she’d been given, and she owned it as best she could. The Raven. The name of the infamous gang leader that controlled the streets of the capital with a glimmer of shadows and sharp eyes. Of palace secrets gleaned from her time as a child in the king’s service, not that she remembered much after the fact.

But memories were worthless if they didn’t give her leverage over her enemies. In any case, that was neither here nor there, and she had no time to sit and dwell on the past. Not if she wanted to survive the myriad of threats levied from the royal guard and rival gangs like the Wraiths and Blood Spiders.

But when Carson said it, he was only teasing. He’d known her long before her rise to power, and he liked to remind her of that fact. Also, he liked to remind her of the fact that he was older than her despite her being in charge; her being seventeen, him being nineteen.

Give me a second, she told him.

Enya glanced around the space, taking in the endless shipments they’d either stolen or acquired through the narrow supply of funds granted by Mihaela, the official leader of the rebellion growing in Skeyya.

A few rebels and Grims stacked barrels of black powder, guns and ammo, and heavy sacks of smuggled grains and vegetables, not that there were much of those to go around. After all, the king had to take his hefty cut from the nation’s farmers in order to keep his troops on the Brasovian frontlines fed. They were currently embroiled in yet another pointless war to try and expand Skeyya’s already extensive borders. That and hefty taxation for the war efforts were enough to cripple what was once a mighty country.

But greedy kings did what was to be expected of them: steal from those they were meant to lead.

There were other warehouses and strongholds stationed around the city, but this one had been running low. They all had to keep up stock so their fight could carry on; lives depended on it.

When Enya saw that all was well and there was nothing left to jot down on her paperwork, she nodded.

Let’s go. I’m sure the other Grims are waiting for us back at the Bowman’s Pub, she said, tossing the clipboard down on a nearby crate. Striding towards the entrance, she shoved open the heavy doors, with Carson following close behind.

Winter air bit into her cheeks, stinging them and no doubt turning them a crimson hue. She stepped outside and pushed the wooden doors shut behind them.

Before them was an empty scene of ice sheets and cargo containers that had been dropped off by foreign ships. In the distance, she could hear the grinding gears and machines of a few factories, ones that wafted smog up into the sky. Based on the gray clouds above, Enya guessed either snow or icy rain would be pelting them soon. Crates and stacked wood decorated the gravelly road that led to the main streets of the capital.

I’m surprised you were able to get that thing open by yourself. Carson chuckled with a wry grin.

Enya rolled her eyes. I’m surprised you can even fit through the doorway with those big muscles of yours. She flushed beet red once she realized the implications of what she’d said.

So, you think my muscles are big. His voice was teasingly smug, and he leaned closer. She shoved him back, her embarrassment quickly shifting into anger. He stumbled into the warehouse door with a thud.

Shut up, Enya snapped, her breath frosting in the air with her biting retort just as hot.

Carson’s expression darkened. Sometimes you can be so infuriating.

A noise around the corner caught their attention. The crunching of leaves under unsteady feet. Enya’s breath caught, and her hand instinctively reached for her pistol. Carson did the same, and they nodded to each other in silent understanding. Anyone lurking too close to rebel properties could mean trouble.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

Slowly, they inched along the rickety warehouse wall. Once they’d rounded the corner to the main thoroughfare full of passing carriages, they let out identical sighs of relief.

The drunken sailor who’d kept them entertained earlier now danced awkwardly with a broomstick, humming more sea songs while he sloshed his stout all over the frozen ground. His dark clothes were soaked with alcohol.

Enya wrinkled her nose at the stench, lowering her gun.

He’s harmless. She snickered, holstering the weapon back in her belt. Carson’s lips turned back up into a smile. Come on. She signaled for them to start moving with a wave of her hand, amusement shadowing her features.

I’m sure Podge has something good cooking, Carson said, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. He frowned once he caught wind of her raised brow. What? I can practically smell the food from here.

She doubted that; they were still several blocks away from the pub. Sighing, she quickened her pace.

Besides, Podge, the Bowman’s middle-aged owner, was usually never around for much else besides delivering shipments and showing off the joint to his flavor of the week. Whoever the woman was usually stood draped in jewels, clad in dainty fabric, and laughed way too much at his jokes. She was also just as likely to only be interested in his money.

He was hopeless in romance. But Enya couldn’t deny that his culinary creations were some of the best. The thought of roasted fish, salted and buttered, made her mouth water.

There wasn’t much meat to be found on the menu besides what Podge personally butchered himself from his black-market hogs kept in his backyard; soldiers needed the meat more. Commercial livestock had been bought out by the king for over two years now. Farmers were pleased. Everyday people were not, if their growling stomachs and hollowed cheeks had anything to say.

Momentarily distracted by her thoughts, Enya nearly missed it: the silence. Something was wrong. Her eyes searched the street for any signs of trouble brewing, and an uneasy feeling knotted in her stomach.

What is it? Carson whispered, keeping pace with her as she walked, his own eyes scanning the area.

I don’t know yet.

It was suspiciously quiet, with only a few families meandering along the cobblestone road that slipped around tall shops and homes, some with horse-drawn carriages and some without. Passing gulls squawked overhead, and the wind carried with it the powerful hissing of nearby ships along the docks several blocks down.

The carriages. There were too many of them left unattended. Families would never—

Enya flung Carson back with a sudden hand to his chest once she caught the glint of a rifle atop a nearby building. Her mouth moved to form a warning, but by then, it was far too late.

Bullets rang out from behind the parked carriages and towering rooftops lining the narrow street. One tore through Carson’s jacket, grazing his shoulder. He cursed, grabbing the searing wound.

A flash of anger rippled through Enya. Her pistol was up within mere seconds. The flash of barrel almost seemed to go off in slow motion, illuminating her face and sending a bullet flying. A male scream rang out. But she didn’t have time to smile at her successful shot before someone was shoving her down with firm, calloused hands. She fell with Carson behind a merchant’s cart full of newspapers. Just in time, it seemed. Above them, a hailstorm of hot lead shredded paper and wood.

Who are these guys? Enya shouted, quickly firing back from over the cart. She yanked her hand back when a few stray bullets nicked the chapped skin atop her knuckles.

She snarled several obscenities, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood, which only added to the pain.

Enya could barely hear herself over the sounds of the blazing weapons. Bystanders screamed and shouted, scrambling to get behind cover. A few weren’t so lucky, succumbing to the blasts in a heap of spewed red and tattered clothing.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her blood ran cold. Whoever this was didn’t care about casualties.

How the hell did they find us? she hissed. Carson attempted to fire back when another volley of shots zoomed past them, forcing them back down. She swore again, her grip on her weapon tightening so hard it hurt.

Someone must have ratted! Carson yelled. He took a blind shot, keeping himself below their quickly dissipating cover.

Whoever was responsible would be shown no mercy by her Grims or the rebels. Broken fingers and pulled teeth were only a fierce whisper of what her gang was capable of.

More gunfire erupted, this time from their warehouse, the heated exchange earning screams of pain from their assailants. With a shuffle of heavy boots, Enya guessed their attackers were now ducking for cover.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

Are you guys okay? a male voice called out from the iron catwalks hanging along the second floor of the warehouse behind them. Enya turned her head up finding Brendan, who had been stocking black powder. By his side were a few other rebels and Grims. They aimed from the rafters, keeping a steady exchange of blasts.

Firing and reloading one after the other, they operated like well-oiled, deadly machines.

We’re alive enough. Who the hell is attacking us? Enya hollered back, crouching further down behind the cart.

Her pulse quickened in her ears, and her palms began to sweat. Judging by the number of bullets ricocheting off the brick walls around her and shattering nearby windows, they were heavily outnumbered. Carson peered over a few stacked newspapers, his mouth a fine line.

Brendan called down, It’s the police! He paused, his voice growing unsure. A lot of them.

Just our luck, she thought to herself, scowling in contempt. They must have been sent by the king.

King Eamon, the unfortunate ruler of Skeyya, had been looking to put the Raven’s head on a stake for months.

We took out the ones on the roof! a girl’s voice, Emer, could be heard from above.

Enya took advantage of the lull. She stood, quickly firing out two shots. Each hit their mark; one man fell out of a two-story window, and a second dropped from where he was crouched behind a carriage. She ducked back just as a torrent of return fire ripped into their cart.

The rebels above covered for her, only adding to the roar of bullets and black powder through the street.

What are our options? Carson yelled during a brief reload.

We have a load of pipe bombs and dynamite.

Enya stared at her hands for a moment, wondering what sort of damage an attack of that magnitude would have on the surrounding area. What other lives might be lost. Guilt coursed through her like a tidal wave, but she immediately turned her resolve into cool steel, unwavering and sure.

It was either they die now, or they fight their way out of this. There was no other choice.

Do it! she hollered back up to her rebels before holstering her weapon. She and Carson ducked down further, terrified for what was to come.

Enya closed her eyes and waited, covering her ears with her hands.

Shouts echoed through the street when she guessed the bombs were tossed, likely from the officers and others attempting to flee. She squeezed her lids tighter, trying to calm her tumultuous nerves.

Enya— Carson began, his mouth close to her ear, but his voice disappeared in the shockwave of several explosions.

Black powder and fire spiraled through the street, causing a cascade of rubble and dust to settle along all those unfortunate enough to bear witness to the sight. More glass shattered around them, and for a moment, Enya couldn’t hear anything, the ringing in her ears almost painful.

She coughed at the stench of ash and bone wafting through the air, waving her gloved hands in an attempt to ward off the cloud of dust filling the area.

Sound returned in the form of piercing screams.

When she glanced up from behind their cover, flames and tendrils of darkness could be seen licking at rooftops surrounding the street.

An oppressive cloud of smoke blocked her view of the enemy line. She helped Carson to his feet, and they staggered across the soot-covered stone. You alright? she asked him, rubbing her brown eyes furiously to rid them of floating debris.

She stifled another round of wheezing, her throat burning from the haze that had managed to wedge itself inside her lungs and nose. Explosives were something she dreaded using even at the best of times, but unfortunately for everyone, they were necessary today.

Better than those guys, Carson retorted with a humorless smile, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb.

She followed his callous gesture.

Dozens lay dead. The bodies that weren’t blown to bits were stiff from the impact. Blood decorated their uniforms like cruel splashes of paint.

Their war-torn section of the city was unrecognizable, disguised with fire and soot. A few undoubtedly innocent people laid among the corpses, ones who had been unable to avoid the blasts coming from both sides. Enya was sick to her stomach to witness what had unfolded before her, but desperation brewed desperation.

She had to distance herself mentally from such things if she wanted to stay sane. Not that she had time to dwell.

A surge of police barged onto the scene from a nearby alleyway, already barking orders and making threats.

Enya inhaled a long breath, catching a hold of Carson’s sleeve. They tore off down the street and into a different borough of Arden, silently begging the saints to get them out of this mess. Wind whipped through her hair, impossibly cold and unforgiving. She willed herself to be the same while they darted around horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians clad in expensive suits and frilly dresses, each scrambling as a result of the explosion.

Furtive whispers followed them, telling the tale of what must have been a terrible accident in the warehouse district.

News hadn’t spread yet, but it would.

The bustling crowds of the city filled their view when they reached the canal, one full of massive steam vessels and travelers busy finishing the day’s work, not at all bothered by the freezing temperatures and instead fretting about the lack of paper bills filling their pockets. Citizens traded in Cardekian liras and Tobuhanian yuans, shouting over each other to try and snag the best deal of the day.

Beyond the wooden docks, steel ships flew by like birds in the murky blue water, creating waves of ice and slush.

The bustling waterfront reeked of fish and coal, and Enya wrinkled her nose. The sky overhead was full of gray clouds with barely a hint of sunlight in sight.

While men unloaded cargo, Enya and Carson blew out cool breaths, and shivers climbed up their spines. 

But when she turned the corner around a stack of old boats, a firm hand snaked out to capture her wrist. Her hands ached, but she was ready to fight her way out of this mess by any means necessary. She turned her eyes up and met the foreboding eyes of an officer, one who towered easily above her.

The older man sneered, This is the little rat we’re chasing?

Enya’s brows pushed angrily together. Little rat, she repeated in her head, scoffing. Even rodents can bite.

In an instant, the officer’s other arm wielding a gun was ripped into the air by Carson’s right hand. He fired out a shot, earning startled shouts from shoppers around them. Enya grabbed the baton hanging at the man’s waist. With a swift move, she clocked the policeman right between his legs, making him drop the weapon and groan out in pain, flailing back. Another blow to his temple laid him flat on the ground, unconscious.

Enya and Carson breathed heavily, but there was no time to lose. Reinforcements would arrive soon.

No point in waiting around unless we want to take dirt naps with the wraiths, Enya snapped.

Carson shoved two onlookers out of the way and pulled her into a run. They continued their escape through crowded docks, their booted steps pressing harder against the ground the faster they ran. Their goal was the Bowman’s Pub, but at this point, anywhere but here was looking better and better. They needed to escape prying eyes and loaded guns. Needed to find cover.

A few people grunted and yelled when the duo shoved them aside, one startled merchant falling face first into a barrel of trout and salmon, sputtering at the stench. The shadows of docked ships danced along their path, as if leading the way to safety.

Merchants cursed soundly when a few of their ragged stalls toppled to the wood below their feet when the sea of hagglers jostled into their merchandise. Delicate goods such as glass and pottery shattered. Food tumbled across the ground and was snatched up by stray dogs roaming the marketplace. Saint Nida! Who’s going to fix this? one man shouted. More obscenities chased the young rebels through the docks with a vengeance.

But Enya couldn’t think about that now. She could only keep her mind focused on getting the hell out of this mess.

More authorities stumbled across the road off in the distance, shouting for the rebels to turn themselves in. A few were captured, thrown against the ground, and cuffed. Others outright gave themselves up, shouting for the Raven to keep moving.

Enya redoubled her efforts, panting hard.

She shook her head, an exasperated noise slipping from her throat. We’ll have to make for the rooftops. She pointed over to the stacked crates that would lead them on top of a butcher shop at the end of the canal’s market district. Come on!

The fight to climb the building with Carson was more crowded than she preferred. Other rebels, ranging from tall to short, from posh lady to brute pub-crawler, frantically stomped up the crates to access the rooftops.

Guards below pulled more rebels down, halting their bid for freedom before they’d even started. Their screams tore at her heart, but she couldn’t stop, not yet.

When she reached the top with Carson, they fled.

Wooden planks drawn across buildings led the way while smoke wafted up from chimneys, drawing a thick darkness into their lungs, despite them holding their breaths.

Her eyes scanned the scene, searching for an escape.

Throughout the capital, hideouts were scattered like pinpricks of light through a canvas of shadows.

Enya’s gaze landed on a large open window to her right, far ahead on the never-ending expanse of rooftops. It was the closest hideout near the warehouse, resting in what appeared on the outside to be a florist’s shop. Well, they certainly sold enough buttercups and lilies to stink up any rich man’s home, but their secret room in the back was the perfect spot to avoid police detection.

They could wait for all this to blow over while the shopkeeper brewed them nettle tea to battle the winter chill.

Without a moment of hesitation, she quickly grabbed Carson and pushed him towards the grimy, frosted window, earning a grunt of surprise. They slid through with ease, followed by several others, landing in a heap on the dusty wooden floor with a loud thud.

Enya winced from the pain searing through her still bleeding hand from the bullet graze earlier. She pushed herself to her feet and dusted herself off. Her knees were sore from the impact, but she’d survive to fight another day.

Carson stood up beside her, already ready to jump into action if needed. Well, that was fun, he said, still gasping for breath.

She nodded, still catching her own while she gazed around the room.

Wide-eyed rebels stared back, a mixture of human and faerie alike. Some with pointed ears, some without. It was like a melting pot of magick, all wrapped up in a bow of forbidden, treasonous goals. If they were caught, they’d be killed on the spot. And there was nothing evil kings hated more than treasonous fools.

Think we’re safe here? one of the rebels asked, one named Breena. A girl no more than sixteen, if Enya recalled correctly. Her round, hazel eyes stared anxiously into Enya’s.

Enya nodded. We should be— She stopped short, her brows furrowing in thought.

Carson caught the look and whispered, What is it?

I can’t help but wonder how they found us at the warehouse to begin with. That sort of thing seemed too planned out. That kind of ambush would be weeks in the making, at least.

Carson sighed. Like I said, someone must have ratted.

Who, though? It wasn’t like they didn’t know everyone that worked there. She knew all the rebels by name. Knew most of their faces better than her own. They were all united by the same hatred burning in their souls for the king.

Carson cleared his throat, distracting her. We should bandage your hand, Enya. You’re still bleeding.

She waved a dismissive hand. I’m fine. We’ll worry about that later. Right now, we need to figure out how we’ll get back to the Bowman’s Pub.

Enya, come on. Stop being so stubborn.

She glanced warily at him, taking in his glower. Finally, she let loose an exasperated sigh, fumbled to remove her glove, and held out her hand.

He took