Thief in the Castle: Stars and Bones, #1

Chapter One

Not just any thief could sneak into Bradburn Castle, but Juniper Thimble wasn’t just any thief. She crouched on the ugly weathered head of a stone gargoyle, one of hundreds that lined the parapets and towers. The gargoyles were an ancient tradition meant to keep assassins and thieves just like her from slipping into the castle undetected. In her experience, gargoyles did little more than provide handholds for climbing an otherwise lackluster stone wall.

Down below, the Royal Guard made rounds in the front garden, patrolling from the grand stairs to the front gates, faces unyielding and blank. The flickering torchlight lit the curved double-headed ax on each bronze breastplate: the symbol of Bradburn and, for the past one thousand years, of the Kingdom of Duvane.

One set of guards reached the steps of the castle and turned. They started back toward the castle gates as the second pair of guards made their way toward the stairs.

Juniper smiled to herself. Neither of them had even glanced up to where she crouched. Of course, in her dark thieving clothes, there wouldn’t be anything to see. Her midnight blue scarf covered her mouth, nose, and hair, leaving only her eyes visible. Juniper glanced sideways at Amery, her partner for the night, who perched on an equally ugly and useless gargoyle a few feet away. Her onyx eyes glittered. For all the talk of how well trained the Royal Guard was, the two of them had gotten surprisingly far without trouble.

Tonight, they would become the best thieves in Duvane’s capital city of Rusdasin. They weren’t stealing just any old jewels. No, they were going to steal the king’s crown. Tomorrow, every thief in the Undercity would be raging with jealousy.

Moving in mirrored silence, Juniper and Amery scaled the castle. The rough, weathered gray stone provided plenty of handholds. Juniper avoided looking down; she’d never been afraid of heights, but the thought of falling often left her with an uneasy stomach.

Juniper and Amery had taken turns memorizing guard rotations, doors and windows, the routine of the servants, and the layout of the castle. They had spent weeks planning the heist, secretly, as per the advice of Maddox Hawk, their guild master. He’d chosen this night because according to a source he wouldn’t disclose, the wards surrounding the castle would be down. For a skilled thief, the impregnable stronghold would be briefly vulnerable. He knew Juniper and Amery would get the job done, which was why he entrusted the secret heist to them. It would throw their names into history; it would solidify Maddox’s name in the Undercity.

Sneaking through the castle itself would be impossible with the Royal Guard and an army of servants and staff. However, Bradburn Castle had a number of rooftop courtyards; the courtyard to which Juniper and Amery climbed led straight into the Royal Chambers.

By the time Juniper and Amery neared the top of the tower, Juniper’s arms and thighs burned from the climb. She bit down on a swear when Amery reached the tower’s edge a fingertip before she did.

The two thieves hung at the edge of the courtyard, bodies pressed against the stone, listening.

…says something else is happening tonight, said a rough-voiced guard. But I don’t know. I half think the man’s gone senile.

I overheard the captain talking about something like that, but as soon as I came around the corner, he hushed up.

What do you think they’re doing at this hour?

Gods only know, and it’s not our business. I’d rather stand out here than have to worry about the prattling of the rich.

The other guard grumbled in agreement.

Juniper met Amery’s stare. Her onyx eyes returned Juniper’s confusion. What was happening tonight?

With her hands starting to cramp, Juniper risked a peek over the edge. Both guards had their backs to her. Cigar smoke puffed out in time with slow breaths, easing toward the sky on the gentle night breeze. Unlike the patrolling guards, they did not wear bronze armor; instead, they wore the black and gold doublet of the Royal Guard.

Juniper hoisted herself over the stone railing and into the courtyard. The mossy ground softened her silent landing. Amery landed swiftly beside her, barely a shadow in the shade of the trellises choked with morning glory, towering lavender, and thorny aloe. Unlike the front gardens, this courtyard had been dimmed of light, save for a single lantern on the ground beside the guards.

The doors at the far end of the courtyard were dark. Unwatched.

Juniper and Amery moved like twin hands; in less than a few seconds and a few unison jabs to the neck, both guards fell backward into their waiting arms, unconscious.

Unconscious, as Maddox had requested, although why, Juniper didn’t understand. He’d never had a problem with casualties before.

They laid the guards softly on their backs. They had a couple hours before they would wake, and five hours until the next rotation, to slip into the Royal Chambers, find and steal the crown, and get out before anyone noticed.

Amery made it to the darkened doors first and tested the handle. Unlocked. The courtyard doors opened silently into a dark lounge; the pitiful light from the lantern didn’t stretch far over the threshold. The cold hearth gave the lounge a haunted feel. It smelled vaguely of butterscotch. A book lay open on the coffee table. A golden bookmark had been set on the open page. Someone had been in this room. Recently enough for their scent to linger.

On the far side of the lounge was a set of grand wooden doors with elaborate brass handles. Those doors would take them into the Royal Chambers. According to Maddox, the Royal Chambers took up as much space as a city block, despite there being only three Bradburns currently inhabiting them. Once, each of the fifteen bedrooms had been in use, when the king took more than one wife. Luckily, the current King Bradburn had taken only one.

Amery pressed her ear to the seam of the doors, listening. A beat passed. Amery turned the handle and gently pushed one door open—she kept her knees bent, ready to jump at the sound of creaky hinges. The doors made no sound, and she slithered into the corridor. Juniper crept after her. Where the lounge had been cozy, the corridor felt cold with all gray stone.

Torches burned in iron brackets, illuminating the portraits that lined the walls, the suits of polished armor, and the decorative side tables and hutches. Before her, a gold, crimson, and black tapestry hung. The golden thread wove in and out of the red and black, creating an elaborate curved double-sided ax.

The corridor was empty. No guards stood watch. On either end.

Strange. Not unheard of, but strange.

That tiny voice that dwelled somewhere in the back of her mind whispered: What’s happening tonight?

Juniper pushed the thought down and focused on the goal. The crown. No time to be paranoid. She started one way down the corridor and Amery, the other; they parted ways without a glance. There were two ways into the royal jewel room where the crown slept.

Two ways.

Two thieves.

Twice the luck.

Twice the risk of failure, but Juniper pushed that thought down too.

Juniper eased through the shadows of the corridor, wary of where the thicker shadows gathered, of the circles of light cast by each torch. The light glinted off the portrait frames and the suits of armor—the armor dated from different periods of Duvane’s history, redesigned by each king. When the light hit the armor just right, it flickered like an incoming blade, and Juniper jumped more than once. She cursed herself silently each time.

Despite that, she found herself in awe. Bradburn Castle had the charm of the ancient world with its curved stone arches, coiled iron brackets, and white marble pillars, of when dragons flew free in the skies and the southern forests were full of singing trees and fairies. A thousand years had passed since the Great War that had taken with it the old magic, and the magical creatures that had once thrived had dwindled into nonexistence. Juniper had never seen a dragon or heard a singing tree, but this castle made her want to believe such things might still exist out there in the far corners of the world, untouched by man’s war.

She kept her ears and eyes open for any footsteps, sighs, or any other such humanly sounds, but only silence pressed in against her, making each of her footfalls sound like thunder. Where were the bustling servants attending to all the hearths, the gathering dust, the polishing of the armor? Where were the guards? Where were the mice? She did not believe for a moment that a castle this large hadn’t a swarm of mice.

It’s nighttime, she told herself as she crept past a grand set of mahogany doors. She paused and listened. No sound. Not even the calm breathing of sleep. Not even the scurry of mice. She continued toward her goal. The crown.

She crept toward the intersection of two corridors. Then, the silence shattered with the opening of a door. Juniper froze where she crouched. Footsteps sounded—armored footsteps.

She slunk underneath a dainty wooden table. Across the corridor, a sour-mouthed woman with silver hair stared at her from a rosewood frame. Her eyes seemed oddly downcast as if the portrait indeed looked at Juniper.

Nonsense. A trick of the paint.

Still, she stole her glance away from the woman’s dark eyes.

The footsteps came closer, closer, closer, but no one appeared from the corridor. They halted. Juniper forced her breath in and out in even, calm beats. Then, the footsteps retreated, each footfall sounding farther away. Juniper dared not move until those footsteps faded completely with the opening and closing of another door. She slid out from the shadow, and without looking up at the sour old woman’s portrait, she continued down the corridor.

According to the plans Maddox had acquired, a left turn at the end of this corridor, then through a set of doors, and then she would be standing in the queen’s dressing room, which would then lead her into the royal jewel room. To the crown. Amery would be making her entrance through the king’s dressing room on the other side.

Juniper crept to the end of the corridor and to the mahogany doors of the dressing room. No guards. She pressed her ear to the seam. Nothing.

Again, that voice in the back of her mind whispered, No guards?

Focus. The crown.

Juniper slid her gloved fingers around the elaborate brass handle and pulled. The door eased open, the mechanism sighed, and she slipped into the queen’s dressing room, into near-total darkness. She eased the door closed behind her, shutting out what little light she had from the corridor.

It didn’t matter. Juniper had always had good night eyes. She blinked a few times, and the dark hues of the room lightened. The pure black became shades of deep purple, midnight blue, and charcoal. She could see the outline of the room and the shadowy furniture inside it. Most of it centered around a large flat stepping stool. A pedestal. With plenty of cushiony seating for the ladies in waiting while the queen marveled over her clothes.

Instead of portraits, the walls held shelves. Shoes. Jewelry. Hanging or folded shirts, tunics, and underthings. Dresses. Dresses. And more dresses. In every color and style. With belts, sashes, scarves, and all manner of useless accessories. The movable racks of clothes hugged the sides of the room and gave the eeriest impression that she tiptoed through a room lined with people.

Why did the castle have to be so creepy?

Juniper slid through the shadow of two circular racks of shoes in all shapes and colors and styles. How could one woman possibly wear so many shoes? Juniper had two pairs of shoes, both plain all-purpose boots. One pair in black, the other in brown. What purpose did pointed toes and sharp heels serve other than to mar the human foot? Juniper eyed the sharp heel of a sleek snake-like boot. It looked more like the tooth of a long-dead beast than footwear.

Maybe that’s why women wore them. One of those heels would go through an eyeball like a knife.

She tiptoed through the dark dressing room and to the doors that would take her into the jewel room. Juniper felt a jolt through her spine, a prick of success. She listened at the seam, heard nothing, not even Amery’s cat-like footsteps, and let herself into the jewel room.

Shelves covered each wall, lined with ancient precious stones, tiaras, bracelets, scepters, and all manner of royal jewelry and ceremonial dress. In the dark, they did not glitter or gleam; they appeared nothing more than common river stones. Her prize slept along the far wall, set upon a white marble pillar, resting atop a velvet cushion.

The king’s crown.

Worn by every Bradburn king since the founding of Duvane nearly one thousand years ago, when King Lenden Bradburn had it forged from the gold he had plundered from the empire before. The crown was a masterwork of gold, encrusted with flawless rubies, diamonds, and pearls.

Juniper crept up the small dais, fingers itching to feel the cool metal, to see the look on Maddox’s face when she strolled into his office with the king’s crown on her head. She could almost feel the weight of it.

Her fingers hovered over the crown.

A shadow slithered—something hard knocked into her chest, sending her sprawling to the floor. She struggled to stand, but something cold and putrid-smelling pressed against her nose and mouth. Hands grabbed her shoulders, her legs—pinning her; she had no choice but to breathe in the horrible odor.

Movement slowed. The room darkened. She barely saw her attackers, shadows among shadows.

Then, darkness swallowed her whole.

Chapter Two

Juniper had a vague sense of movement that stretched through her entire body like thorns in her bloodstream. She felt pain, felt the stiffness in her bones, but her groggy state refused to let her worry about it. When she finally came to, she found herself lying on a hard bedroll in a small dark room with four walls of cold gray stone and a matching ceiling. To her dismay, a single door of tight iron bars was the only break in the stone.

Prison—no, a dungeon. Bradburn’s dungeon.

Caught. How had she gotten caught?

She couldn’t move. Each breath took effort. Her head throbbed. Her fingers felt like limp river weeds. The rest of her body hadn’t fared any better. Whatever knock-out drug they’d given her had done a marvelous job.

She lifted her limp fingers and wobbly arms to her sides, to her daggers. Gone. All of them. They had disarmed her. And by the cold, dank air touching her neck, ears, and cheeks, they had taken her scarf too. She wiggled on the bedroll to make sure they hadn’t completely stripped her. She kept the basics of her clothes: tight dark pants, close-fitted tunic, dark jacket, and…bare feet? They’d taken her boots. She liked those boots.

Luckily, she had been out of it during their search of her. She shivered at the thought of hands wandering freely, searching.

Armor clanked outside the cell. A tough male voice said, This one’s awake.

She strained her neck and shoulders to see the speaker. A royal guard stood at her door. The torchlight flickering behind him cast his face into shadow. He wore a doublet, not armor.

A second pair of footsteps sounded in the stone hall, then several more behind it. Two royal guards appeared beside the first. A man appeared in the doorway, his skin bronze and his dark hair streaked gray at the temples. The other guards gazed at him with silent respect, and he looked down at her like something rotten that had washed up on a riverbank.

Captain Sandpiper of the Royal Guard.

Lucky her.

Open this door, barked the captain. One of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the gate with a heavy metal clack. The captain stepped into the cell and rested his gloved hand on the pommel of his blade. One move, thief, and your head rolls. Now get up.

Juniper struggled to move on her limp bones. One move… She could barely move at all! She grunted and gasped, her muscles stretching too far and not enough, and managed to push herself onto her elbows. Gods…everything hurt. What had they given her?

The captain huffed. A few short footsteps, and then a guard appeared at her side. Strong gloved hands gripped her upper arm and yanked her to her feet so fast that the cell twisted sideways. She went limp. The guard dropped her. She hit the bedroll on her knees, doubled over, and emptied the pitiful contents of her stomach on the stone floor.

The captain grunted in disgust. A hand fastened around her arm again, but this time, the guard lifted her slower. He tugged her toward the cell door. Her feet barely listened, and she wobbled with each step. The hay-strewn floor bit into her freezing feet.

The captain barked into the corridor, Get someone in here to clean this up.

Juniper wanted to retort that the vomit wasn’t entirely her fault, but she hadn’t the strength to speak. The taste of bile made her feel like vomiting again. She clamped her mouth shut and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her dark tunic. The stone between her pale feet swayed; she shut her eyes tight.

A pair of cold manacles clamped onto her wrists.

Juniper’s eyes shot open at the sudden weight. The captain turned the key, yanked it out, and it vanished into the inside breast pocket of his black and gold jacket. Another guard held the chain attached to her manacles and gave it a sharp tug. She fell forward and careened toward the opposite wall. She twisted; her shoulder took the brunt of the impact instead of her face. Pain flared from her shoulder.

The captain drawled, Don’t hurt her too much.

Juniper seethed at the captain, who looked nothing but amused. When she got out, she’d kill him first. She didn’t need her daggers to snap a neck. His amusement faded, and a scowl twisted his lips downward. Daring her to try.

They started a slow procession through the dank dungeons. The guard holding her chain took the lead, two walked on either side of her, and the captain walked a step behind.

She could have easily taken out four guards with her weapons. She might have been able to without her weapons, but with her head pounding and her stomach feeling queasy, she didn’t stand a chance. Any sudden movement on her part would likely earn her a sword to the throat or through the heart.

The narrow halls of the dungeon had barely enough torchlight to see by. They must have been far below the castle. She didn’t hear any other prisoners, and she doubted Bradburn’s dungeons to be so empty. No, they’d taken her somewhere special, somewhere away from the common street scum and riffraff. She supposed she should feel honored, but the spike of pride didn’t ease the tremor of panic.

Walking gave her back some balance—a small consolation. The cold of the floor penetrated her feet, sinking into her bones. The numbing started at her toes and moved slowly toward her ankles. Not that it mattered. They surely walked her to her execution, either a blade through the heart, a beheading, or the gallows. That knowledge pulled her heart into her groin while simultaneously pushing it into her throat.

Their procession continued down empty halls, up narrow stairs, then down a hall slightly better lit than the others. At the end of the hall was a simple wooden door. The guard leading their procession paused before it and stepped aside.

The captain knocked once, waited a beat, then knocked again. He said to the door, We’ve retrieved the prisoner.

Enter. The deep male voice that spoke came out clear and heavy, a command given by a man used to being obeyed.

A lock slid back on the other side of the door.

The captain entered first. The guard holding her chain entered next and yanked her after. The room was not very big and had no windows. It looked more like a large cell than anything: dank, dreary, and forbidding. On the other side of the room sat three men at a rough wooden table. Another stood to the side.

Juniper recognized the man sitting in the middle at once. King Bentley Bradburn.

She swallowed, throat suddenly tight.

The king stood. Even without his royal regalia, the king had a commanding presence. He wore a gray tunic, dark pants, and a thick leather sword belt. He carried a real sword, one whose pommel had been well-used, not some cheap decoration like the nobles wore. From his past as a general, he knew how to use that sword. His dark blond hair was streaked with gray; he wore his crown.

To the king’s left sat a silver-haired old man in dark purple robes—the color of a master mage as declared by the Marca, the Order’s school for mages. Mason Hobbs, the court magician of Duvane. His gaunt, severe face and piercing eyes made Juniper feel as though he could see right through her.

To the king’s right sat Adrian Bradburn, the Crown Prince of Duvane. He shared his father’s dark blond hair. Unlike his father, Adrian did not command the room. He sat back in his chair, almost bored. Even with his bored expression, Adrian was easily one of the most handsome men Juniper had ever seen.

Adrian’s gaze met hers. He looked at her with a strange curiosity that sent a shiver down her back. A cat eyeing a mouse.

She shifted her attention to the fourth man, a tan young man standing near the wall. He wore silver armor, like the knights, but no seal of the Order adorned the breastplate. Not a knight—a squire. A knight-in-training. His dark eyes met hers briefly. The hand on his sword twitched.

What happened to the other one? King Bradburn gestured toward Juniper. You mentioned two thieves.

The second narrowly escaped, answered the captain. He gave the king a slight bow of his head.

King Bradburn’s gaze bore into Juniper’s. I see.

The other one. It took Juniper a moment to realize they spoke about Amery. The other thief. She’d escaped, according to the captain. Without the crown.

King Bradburn studied Juniper a long moment, his hazel eyes—like his son’s—weighing thoughts in his head. Calculating. No one spoke. The only sounds came from their breathing, shifting clothing and armor, the flicker of the torches, and the infinite dripping of water somewhere in the dungeons.

The king maneuvered around the wooden table, his footsteps sure, his hands folded behind his back. He stopped halfway between the table and Juniper.

Finally, the king said, This one will do.

The court magician stood and stepped around the table with grace that defied his old age. He reached into his flowing purple robes and pulled out a parchment scroll.

Her panic flared at the sight of the scroll. Her shoulders tensed, and the guard holding her arm squeezed.

She managed to ask, Do for what?

No one answered her. The king watched with indifference—another trait his son inherited—as the court magician glided toward her, his purple robes flowing like they had been stitched together with magic thread. Of course, given his position and notoriety, they might have been. The court magician came to a halt in front of her, along with a subtle metallic scent. Magic. Her heart skipped a beat. Juniper leaned away from the old man, but the guard behind her held her firmly.

What sort of botched execution was this? Why not display her death at the public gallows? The City Watch would drink for a week, knowing that Juniper Thimble had finally been put down.

The king settled his icy indifference on Juniper. He stood at least a head taller than her, still built from his warrior’s prime, and with him looking down his nose at her, she found it hard not to feel insignificant.

The king took a step closer. Every guard had a hand on a blade. Waiting.

I have need of someone with your particular skill set, said the king, his words carefully chosen. Juniper Thimble.

Addressed by the king himself. She steeled her shoulders, trying not to let the trembling in her bones show. But her voice betrayed her, shaking as she said, The king knows my name.

All of Rusdasin knows your name, thief, the king said sternly. His voice bore the ferocity and calmness of a commander. Larceny, murder, forgery. The list of your crimes is longer than most in my dungeons. For all you’ve done, you deserve no less than an execution. Rusdasin deserves your execution. A twinkle appeared in his eye, and Juniper felt a chill run down her spine. However, this need not turn into one, Thimble.

The way he said her name, like a question, irked her.

You have two choices before you. King Bradburn stepped closer.

The captain tensed. The hand around his sword adjusted for an easy killing blow. The guard clenched her arm tighter. The squire on the far side of the room took a stance beside Prince Adrian, who watched the scene unfold before him with mild interest.

The king continued, You can return to the dungeons as a prisoner slated for execution, or… The king paused to let that choice sink in.

Or? Juniper croaked. What did he want from a criminal? To hunt down some other criminal? To be a rat for the Undercity? To feed him information?

Or, King Bradburn said, a grim smile tugging on his lips. You can spend your sentence as a servant to the crown.

She chuckled halfheartedly. Saw that one coming. Doing what? Hunting down your enemies for you? Or would it be something less extensive like polishing silver and warming beds? I’ll warn you, Majesty, I’d be better at the first option, she said shakily.

For a brief moment, the king’s lips twisted upward, then his face resumed his grim-as-death frown, and he said, Something much more dire, I’m afraid.

Though her gut twisted, she forced a smile onto her chapped lips. And what shall I be doing that is more important than bed warming?

Prince Adrian chuckled. His beautiful face stretched into a smile, and his hazel eyes glittered at Juniper. He cast a sideways glance at the squire, who scowled.

The king’s gaze slid to the scroll in the court magician’s hands.

Juniper took a better look at that scroll. The old, thick paper had veins of pale gold running throughout the fibers. She’d seen that type of scroll in the Undercity’s markets, in the stalls in front of the Marca and in the homes of the wealthy and distrusting. A magical contract.

King Bradburn frowned. If I tell you, and you refuse, then you will not leave this room alive. It is a matter of utmost secrecy.

That explained why so few people had accompanied the king into the pits of the dungeons.

She swallowed, but it felt as though her throat had closed. Though she tried to stand tall, a tremor weakened her knees. If she didn’t agree, she’d be killed. If she refused, she’d be killed. It didn’t matter what she chose—the king had forced her to choose between the magical contract and her death.

The king’s dark brows came together. Not confusion. Worry.

She nodded. In a small voice, she said, Okay.

King Bradburn considered her, and at last, he said, Someone is threatening the life of my son.

Juniper’s gaze drifted to Adrian. He made no move to confirm or deny. Is that not what the Royal Guard is for? she asked.

The captain huffed.

Adrian is the only heir to the Bradburn line. Should he die, the entire lineage will end with him. I am too old to sire another heir. The king’s frown deepened. I need someone to protect my son in ways that the guard cannot. In ways that no one will be able to detect. In exchange for your life, I am offering you the role as his royal protector.

Chapter Three

Juniper blinked. Once. Twice. She imagined herself strutting a step behind the prince in the black and gold of the Royal Guard, armed to the teeth.

What could I do that the guards can’t? Juniper glanced at the captain. He didn’t look happy about this arrangement at all. The court magician looked even more dire. The silence in the room thickened. Her thoughts returned to the magical contract in the court magician’s hands. Unless all of this secrecy… You think the threat is coming from within your own castle.

King Bradburn stiffened. He glared down at her with a mixture of relief and distaste. Smarter than she looks.

Indeed, drawled the captain.

I received an education. Juniper held her shoulders straighter. Dumb thieves never lived long.

King Bradburn and the captain exchanged a skeptical look.

Your Majesty? The court magician held up the scroll. We need to be finished here before dawn, or our absences will be noticed.

The king nodded. Yes. Proceed.

The court magician released the scroll, but it did not fall. With his hand instructing it, the scroll magically unraveled. She eyed the contract; the words were punctuated with archaic dots, slashes, and strange symbols. It radiated magic. Powerful magic. She could feel it prickle against her skin. A faint scent of metal, like freshly polished silver, tickled her nose.

The court magician clamped a bony hand around her fingers and lifted her hand. She panicked and pulled against him.

You will be magically bound to the prince, explained the court magician. To prevent any unsavory ideas on your part.

Her hand shook without her consent, but she did not release it to the court magician. His hands didn’t tug on her, although she suspected he could if he wanted to.

They wouldn’t force her hand, she realized. They were giving her the option.

I will not ask you more than once, Juniper Thimble, said the king. The captain unsheathed his sword. "Sign the