1
EPHYRA
NO ONE IN THE SMOKE- FILLED GAMBLING HALL KNEW THAT A KILLER WALKED among them. Ephyra eyed the crowds of sailors and hustlers bellowing and brawling over tables strewn with dice, coin, and cards, their teeth and gold flashing in the dim light. None of them paid her any mind, and if she’d come here for a kill, she would have had an easy time of it.
But Ephyra wasn’t hunting for a victim tonight. She was hunting for answers.
She’d spent over a week chasing down rumors about the Thief King in every gambling hall and slyhouse in Tel Amot before finally pinning down a lead thanks to a woman who’d sold her wine at the Night Market. It wasn’t much, just a place and a name—Shara at the Laughing Jackal.
Ephyra picked her way across the sticky floor toward the bar, dodging a brawl that had broken out over cards.
“Have you seen my friend Shara?” Ephyra asked as a server drew up to the bar with an expectant look. “I’m supposed to meet her here. She been in tonight?”
The server gave her a flat look. “Do I look like a messenger to you? Order a drink or leave.”
Ephyra gritted her teeth and placed two copper virtues on the table. “Fine. Palm wine.”
The server scooped the coins off the table and disappeared into the back room. Ephyra watched him go, reaching into her bag and brushing a finger along the spine of her father’s journal. She’d spent days poring over the pages, looking for clues beyond the short letter addressed to her father on the back of a map that, presumably, showed all the places he had gone in search of Eleazar’s Chalice.
It was the same thing Ephyra was looking for now. The only thing capable of saving her sister.
She’d studied her father’s drawings and the few short lines he’d scrawled on the corners of pages. There was only one thing that stood out. Six words beneath a sketch of a handsome man’s face.
The Thief King has the key.
In the past week, she’d learned that the Thief King was a disgraced scholar of the Great Library of Nazirah who’d abandoned his studies to search for a legendary artefact called the White Shield of Pendaros. He’d realized he had a knack for hunting down treasures and legends, and styled himself the Thief King. Along with the White Shield, his crew was rumored to have stolen a whole host of other legendary artefacts—the Ruby Veil, Lyriah’s Flame-tailed Arrows, the Eye of the Desert.
But according to the note tucked into her father’s journal, not Eleazar’s Chalice.
Ephyra jumped in surprise as the server thunked down a chipped glass of wine.
He jerked his chin over Ephyra’s shoulder. “That’ll be your friend.”
The crack of breaking wood sounded, and Ephyra whipped around. Not ten feet away, a girl stood with her back to one of the card tables. A menagerie of bangles and rings clanked around her wrists, and a dark, loose braid lay coiled over her shoulder. Two men flanked her, the remains of a splintered chair scattered at their feet.
“I should have known a whiny cretin like you wasn’t good for his word,” the girl shouted. “Give me my money or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the man said, grinning. “Annoy us until we—”
The girl cracked a punch across his face. She got a fistful of his shirt and dragged him closer. “Give. Me. My. Money.”
“You’ll pay for that,” the man growled. He raised a hand and smacked it across the girl’s face. She reeled back as the other man advanced.
Ephyra cursed under her breath. Of course her lead had to be an absolute idiot. Slinging her bag across her chest, Ephyra slipped between Shara and the two men, pushing her back.
“It’s time to go home,” Ephyra said to the men.
“Who in Behezda’s name are you?” one of them growled.
“Yeah, what are you doing?” the girl demanded. “This is a negotiation!”
“I’m currently saving you from possible dismemberment,” Ephyra replied. “So I would shut up if I were you.”
“Stay out of our way.” The man moved to shove Ephyra with a meaty fist.
Ephyra twisted away and had her knife at his throat before he could so much as blink. “I suggest you stay out of my way.”
Ephyra held the man’s stunned gaze, waiting to see what he would do. If he would call what probably seemed like a bluff, or if the knife would scare him off.
Of course, the knife wasn’t what he should be afraid of. But he didn’t know that.
He held his hands up. “Fine.” He jabbed a finger at Shara. “This isn’t over.”
Ephyra waited a beat and then reached back to grab Shara’s arm, ushering her away from the men.
After a few steps, Shara suddenly shoved her into a nearby card table. It caught her hard in the hip and Ephyra stumbled to regain her footing.
“What is your problem—” Ephyra’s protest died in her throat when she took in the scene. The man she’d threatened was holding a splintered chair leg. Shara had just pushed Ephyra out of the way of his intended blow.
“Should’ve known you’d fight dirty,” Shara snarled. “Once a cheater always a cheater. You can keep the money. You’re not worth my time.”
She backed away from them, waiting until she was a good ten paces away before she turned and fled through the cardroom.
Ephyra scrambled after her, catching up to her near the back doors.
“Word of advice,” Shara said. “Never turn your back on lowlifes.”
With every step, her bracelets clinked against one another. Ephyra now also saw the polished rings on her fingers and the beaded necklaces coiled around her neck.
“Is that how your negotiations usually go?”
“You’re obviously new here,” Shara replied. “There something you want?”
Might as well cut to it. “I’m looking for the Thief King. Someone said you might be able to help.”
Shara’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Is that right?”
“Can you?”
Shara frowned. “There’s only two reasons you could be looking for the Thief King.” She raised a finger. “One, you’re searching for something.” She put up a second. “Or two, you had something stolen from you. So which is it?”
“So you do know him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you do,” Ephyra countered. “Can you take me to him?”
She appraised Ephyra, eyes scanning over her worn boots and threadbare cloak, lingering on the scar on Ephyra’s face. The scar that had been Hector Navarro’s parting gift, right before Ephyra had killed him. “That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you’re willing to pay the price.”
A chill slid down Ephyra’s spine. “What kind of price?”
“What any thief wants.”
Ephyra’s heart sank. “I don’t have much coin.”
“Not money,” Shara said. “Treasure.”
“Well, I don’t have that, either.”
“Sure you do,” Shara replied. “Everyone does. Treasure just needs to be valuable to the person giving it up.”
Ephyra thought about what she had. Her belongings were few. She couldn’t part with her father’s journal, as it might contain more undiscovered clues. She definitely didn’t want to give up her dagger. Tel Amot had already proved to be an untrustworthy city, and if she was to get out of there unscathed and without leaving any new victims of the Pale Hand, she needed something to defend herself with. That left only one option, though Ephyra’s chest clenched at the thought of parting with it.