The Assassin Thief (The Soul Thief Trilogy Book 1), page 1
First published in 2022 by New Dawn Publishing Pty Ltd
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Copyright © Madeline Te Whiu
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ISBN: 978-0-6454899-1-0
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For anyone battling darkness in their soul.
Selenia
She knows their time will pass, that one day, they will fade into the ashes of memory. All the Gifts they wield will become lost to legend. She wonders how skewed the story will become in time; what whispers will be shared over meals and fires about the might of the Thieves? She snorts at the name given to her kind. Far across the seas, they are given different names. Each are feared and hated in their own way. Yet that does not stop people from bowing to their greatness or paying for the use of their Gifts.
Laying back in a huge copper tub, she props her long legs up on the rim where they sit gleaming with the oils infused in the water. Steam rises in a steady curl as she trails her fingers across the surface, watching the ripples.
Tipping her head back, she sighs. She had not thought it would come to this, to these sorts of pleas and bargains to keep her people safe.
A tentative knock pulls her from her musings. A young girl peers her head around the door to let her know the guests have arrived, before scurrying away. Water sloshes to the marble floor as the woman climbs out of the bath. Wrapping a robe around herself, she pads into her bedroom.
Presentation is everything tonight; her guest will seek out any flaws she might possess. Her handmaidens carefully prepare her, creating the mask of a woman with no cracks or footholds with which to bargain. Powder and curls, glittering gems, an elegant sea-blue gown – all to hide the power in her veins; a sleight of hand to distract those who wish to destroy her and those she stands to protect.
She must appear strong and in control, but not too powerful, lest she be seen as a threat to those she hopes to charm.
Once she is ready, the servants file out in silence, leaving her staring at her reflection in the gilded mirror. She runs a critical eye over her appearance, then, satisfied with what she sees, takes a bracing breath before sweeping out of the room in a rustle of silk and winking stones. The time has come.
She lies in the darkness of her room, swamped by the massive plush bed and exhausted to the bone from her dealings over dinner. She has put her plans in place and yet she fears what is to come next. The night has pushed her Gifts to the limit and she fights the pull of sleep as she strains her ears.
The moon moves across the sky as the bells crawl by. Though she is expecting it, though she had planted the seed for it to happen at dinner, the soft click of the latch on her door makes her heart surge into her throat. Her heart begins to race and she squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden prickle of tears. She sits up as the door gently thumps closed and forces a sultry smile to her lips as she gazes at the male across her bedchamber.
He approaches without a word, his stride across the carpet lithe and predatory like that of a falkir. He stands looking down at her. When he reaches to tug back the satin, she has to fight the urge to cover herself, despite the slip clothing her. Instead, she shifts over to make space, inviting him to join her.
For a moment, her fingers twitch towards the dagger hidden between the mattress and the headboard. Her eyes dance across his features, watching for any sign that he knows what she is doing. That he knows she is indulging in the thought of driving a blade between his ribs.
Sliding her hand under the pillow, her fingers barely graze the cool steel. She can do it. Rip the dagger from its hiding place and leap on him. Slide the sharp blade across his throat, leaving behind a ruby necklace that would run down his chest and stain her sheets.
The moment stretches out, like taffy pulled too thin. Her heart thumps in her chest, so loudly she is sure her visitor can hear it. The steel is a cool caress against her fingertips.
But such luxuries would be an act of war. One she, nor her people, are prepared for. Instead, she adjusts her position, propping her arm up behind her head. The picture of prideful sensuality.
His gaze rakes over her body possessively. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt front. The look on his face makes bile rise in her throat. She forces herself to hold his gaze, keeping her mask firmly in place, as he pulls the fabric over his head and leans down toward her.
Before the War
The heavy clip of boots down the winding stone corridor precedes the guards, making Telium’s heart leap up into her throat.
Shit, shit, shit.
The stone under her fingers is cool and rough as she tries to pry it from its place in the floor. It shifts slightly under the pressure. Her pulse beats in her throat in time to the guards’ footsteps. Her wrists, bruised from the constant rubbing of her cuffs, cry at the abuse.
Her fingernails strain as she forces them into the small lip of the stone, jiggling it back and forth. Desperately trying to pull it free.
Telium swears under her breath, jaw flexing.
Her tiny, dank cell lightens in small degrees as her three captors come closer. The torchlight dances on the damp stone walls. She keeps her back turned to them, cuffed hands hidden in the shadow of her body.
Thirst rakes its claws up her throat. The noise cuts off abruptly as the guards come to a stop. The only sound is the crackling of flame.
‘Come to make sure I haven’t died?’ Telium rasps, her voice gritty from disuse.
Her starved muscles tremble from holding her crouched position. Fingers stinging from where she has scraped them raw, Telium cringes at the whisper of stone against stone as she works the small slab free.
‘Or come to make sure I haven’t escaped and come to kill you in your sleep?’
Her voice bounces strangely off the walls. She knows who stands behind her. Has watched the guards who come to check on her through the bars of her cell. The red-haired one occasionally rubs his shoulder; an old injury flaring up in the cold of the prison. The others are twins in every aspect bar their hair. One keeps it cropped close to his scalp. The other, a length of blond braid disappears under his black uniform.
The red-haired guard snorts. ‘As if you could escape here anyway.’
‘Don’t speak to her, Adam.’ That was the short-haired guard.
Telium’s brain latches onto that piece of information. Adam.
‘Shut up.’ Adam hisses, as if he too realises his friend’s mistake. ‘What can she do, anyway?’
There is the sound of boots on stone and Telium knows he has moved closer to the bars. Telium grits her teeth against the pain in her hands as she works the stone. She is very rapidly running out of time.
‘Life-Thief’s comin’ to get you.’
Telium twitches, chains around her wrists jingling. Ice-cold dread sloshes through her. For a moment, fear reaches for her, hooking its talons into her chest; freezing her in place.
Flexing her jaw, Telium shakes them off. Attacking the stone with renewed fervour, the mortar around the edge has begun to crack. She just needs a few more moments.
‘Must’a been something awful,’ that is the twin with the braid, his voice soft, ‘for the Queen to throw her most trusted assassin ’n here. Greybane ain’t exactly for swindlers and bread thieves.’
Adam hums a noncommittal response. Telium hears the whistle of his club before it bashes into the iron bars. The clang dances down the corridor before echoing back. She doesn’t flinch hearing the ire in his voice when he speaks.
‘I remember you walking around the palace, all high and mighty – the Queen’s pet. Like you really had the blood of Tenebris in you.’ A rustle of fabric and the click of his ring on the bars. ‘Yet here you are. Caged and beat. You’re just a girl.’
‘Just a girl,’ the short-haired twin repeats, his voice an octave too high. ‘And t’morrow you’ll die like one.’
Telium’s ears prick up. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Aye, an’ when that Life-Thief arrives, I bet you scream like one too.’
How could she?
‘Doesn’t sound so bad,’ Telium croaks as the mortar around the stone starts to crumble.
‘Liar. Your tune will change when your soul is being sucked from your body. Rippin’ out everything that makes you, you.’ The squeak is gone from the twin’s voice now.
‘When I get out of here,’ she breathes, loud enough for the guards to hear, ‘you’ll be the first to die.’
‘Let’s see how long that cocky facade lasts when a Life-Thief is feastin’ on every horrible moment and memory,’ Adam spits. ‘Prolonging it to make the experience as painful as possib—’
He cuts off with a sharp intake of breath that makes Telium’s pulse spike.
‘What are you doin’?’ Adam snaps, voice heavy with suspicion.
Telium doesn’t respond this time. The scrape of stone against stone is deafening in the sudden silence.
‘Hey!’ Adam’s shout is accompanied by his club cracking against the bars. ‘Turn around.’
Telium curses under her breath as the stone lifts up a finger’s-width then catches again.
‘Stop that.’ The jingle of keys and the sound of a second guard moving closer. ‘Turn around!’
A hiss of pain escapes as her nails split and crack. Telium’s pulse flutters in her throat. She doesn’t bother with stealth now as she reefs on the stone. Her manacles clatter and ring like a death bell. She hears the clunk of the cell door unlocking.
Time’s up.
‘Turn around! I swear to Tenebris I’ll bash your head in.’
As if in slow motion, Telium hears the creak of the cell door swinging open. The rasp of a blade being drawn from its scabbard from the short-haired guard. Her fingers scramble for purchase on the stone as Adam strides towards her.
It is a small cell; barely wider than her outstretched arms. The clip of his boots sounds once. Twice. Then Telium throws herself to the side. Adam’s massive club slams into the floor, missing her by a hair’s-breadth.
Flipping onto her back, Telium uses her momentum to kick out at him. Having put all his weight behind his blow, Adam is bent over and Telium’s foot catches him square in the face. The guard’s head snaps back, blood splattering the blue embroidery on his uniform.
Telium lunges forward, grasping for the stone; at the same time, Adam’s hand comes away from his face, red with blood from his split lip. Her cuffs scrape against the stone floor. Pain flares as her bare knees skid across the rough surface.
‘You little bitch.’ He lunges at her, club raised. With a final tug that pulls the skin off the ends of some fingers, Telium gets the stone loose. Ducking in close, she swings.
The stone connects with Adam’s elbow with a satisfying crunch. But the move costs her, and Telium catches part of the club on her shoulder. The blow sends her skidding across the cell floor to fetch up against the wall. Stars dance across the backs of her eyes. Pain and wet warmth bloom across her elbows from where the stone floor takes off skin. The taste of copper fills her mouth.
With a grunt, Telium pushes herself to her feet. With a speed that defies her weeks in captivity, she steps inside Adam’s reach before he can recover. Her fingers cramp around the stone as it arcs towards his head. It finds its mark with an oddly muffled thump. Like a marionette with its strings cut, Adam topples to the ground.
Telium staggers back to avoid being taken down by the man. She has barely sucked in a breath when she is forced to throw her arms up to deflect a blow from the short-haired twin. His blade slices towards her neck. Sparks jump to life as the sword connects with the granite in Telium’s hand.
The edge of the blade misses her fingers by a whisper. Telium kicks out at the inside of his knee. Despite being barefoot, the joint yields with a pop. As the man’s weight buckles, Telium grips the wrist that holds his sword. She spins in close, putting her back to his front.
Using the momentum of her turn, she pitches the stone at the second twin with the braid. The movement is hindered by the chains linking her wrists. Still, the projectile catches the man in the face just as he steps over the threshold of her cell. Blood spurts from his nose. He falls back with a muffled cry.
Completing her spin, Telium brings her elbow up and over her shoulder. Her grazed skin stings as it collides with the short-haired twin’s jaw. He staggers from the blow. Bringing her elbow down, she grips the pommel of the sword. With her other hand she reefs on the man’s wrist. Twisting it savagely until he screeches and drops the blade.
Telium twirls the sword in her grip as she turns to face him. He is cradling his wrist, doubled over the arm. His face is flushed red, eyes flashing as he looks up at her. The blood rapidly drains from his face as he spots his blade in Telium’s shackled grasp.
He throws out his good hand and staggers back a step. As if he could ward her off with sheer will alone.
‘Now let’s see who’s going to scream like a girl.’ Telium’s voice grates out of her as she stalks towards the twin. Over his shoulder, the brother has staggered to his feet. Blood runs down his neck, staining his uniform a deep purple.
He blanches as he sees Telium with a weapon. Turning on his heels, he flees. Cursing his brother, the short-haired twin throws himself at Telium in vain.
‘Always knew there was somethin’ about you,’ the remaining twin pants, ‘with your queer looks and your penchant for death.’
A blow to the temple with the pommel of the sword sends him crashing to the ground. With the air of someone picking flowers, Telium grips a fistful of blond hair. Her chains bounce and ring like church bells. Yanking his head back, she bares his throat to her steel. His life-blood paints a scarlet arc across the floor.
Her blade clatters to the ground as she takes a steadying breath. It shudders into her lungs. Grunting with the effort, she launches into a sprint after the final guard.
She can feel her lip beginning to swell from her collision with the wall. But the hurt pales in comparison to the pain shredding her heart.
Gritting her teeth, Telium forces her mind back to the present; away from the screaming echoes and blood-stained floor.
Spitting blood, Telium races through the damp corridors, fleeing the prison of the Queen she had sworn to serve with her life. Her bare feet slap the cool, grey stone, racing the rhythm of her heart as it pounds in her chest. Her breath scrapes in and out of her lungs. The once-pristine court gown she wears is now dirty and torn. Fresh blood splatters the skirts and soaks one sleeve cuff. None of it hers.
Telium’s muscles tremble as her body hangs precariously from the side of the prison. She has overestimated her strength to scale the wall from one of the few windows three storeys up.
She hisses in pain as she jams her fingers into another tiny crevice. Her nails are cracked and bloody. Her muscles twitch and spasm. Willing her mind to blankness, she struggles to distance herself from the pain in her body as she slowly, painfully, makes her way down the wall.
Easing her weight down, Telium carefully curls her toes around a slight ledge in the stone.
Then gasps as it gives way beneath her. As if in slow motion, she feels the mortar crumble out from beneath her foot. Her heart flies up into her throat as a breathless cry escapes her.
Her skin rips as her fingers scramble desperately for purchase as she skids down the wall. Green flashes in the corner of her vision seconds before she hits the ground. But it is enough for her to know she wasn’t as high as she thought.
The impact forces the air out of her lungs in a whoosh, and she rolls to save her ankles.
Years of training has her body pushing itself up before she can register her aches. She is staggering to the cover of the gardens before she manages to draw a gasping breath.
Ducking under the cover of a large hedge, Telium makes her way to the outer wall. Staying hidden between the generous greenery, she heads towards the border of the prison. Staggering like a drunkard all the while.
I have to get into the city, disappear into the streets, she thinks. I can’t fight in this condition. If I’m caught—
