The Royal Thief

Chapter One: The Thief and the Assassin

Nemia hurled the knife at my stomach.

For a moment, the entire world narrowed down to that single sliver of steel hurtling towards me. The background blurred as sun glinted off the rippled blue blade. My lungs drew a breath of hot, sandy air and I threw myself to the ground, hearing the air ripping on the razor-sharp edge as it zipped over my head. I was already moving again; I ripped a dagger from its sheath as I tumbled to the side and shot it back at her. It was already in the air when I heard her knife sink into the wooden wall with a shunk. I couldn't afford to look and see where it had hit and didn't bother to wait and see if my dagger would sink into Nemia's chest. Taking advantage of what I thought was my lead, I yanked out my last belt dagger and snapped it back, then forward, slicing the air open as it flew.

She deflected the first with the metal plates hidden beneath her sleeves and yanked the second right out of the air, sending it back my way. I cursed and whirled to the left, my hair spooling out of its plaited coil and whipping in the wind. Once again, everything seemed to slow for a half-second; I saw the reflection of my own hazel eyes in the polished blade as it passed.

Then the world sped up to real time. I whipped a wickedly sharp knife from my sleeve and spun to throw it but there was another dagger streaking for my face and it was all I could do to throw myself against the wall and duck-- then I started to pull back my arm and aim but she was no longer a safe distance away.

She crashed into me, both of us hitting the ground. Pain shot through my hip as I hit the hard, dusty ground with a crack of bone and I gasped. My dagger was knocked out of my hand and I brought my arm up to block her knife. Our arms locked together.

I pulled a blade from my boot and thrust it at her side but it didn't bite into her skin. Too fast, she rolled away. I launched myself at her, trying to gain the offensive, but she kicked her foot into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. I hit the ground again and then her knee was digging into my stomach and my lungs were on fire, and she held me down and pressed a dagger to my throat.

"You suck at close-contact."

I drew a deep breath, chest heaving. I could feel individual beads of sweat on my neck, the dust coating my damp skin. "And this is news?"

"No," she sighed, and I had to smile. I didn't really suck-- at least by my own standards-- but by Nemia's standards... well, that wasn't a fair assessment.

She shifted, cat-like, to her feet and replaced her dagger in her hip sheath. Silhouetted against the blinding-blue sky she was all graceful limbs folding in on each other. Everything about her was stark and striking, black hair clipped short and harsh against pale skin, features straight and narrow. That was how she got you, I would joke-- you never thought someone like her could become invisible, but if she didn't want you to see her coming, you wouldn't. I'd like that gift. I thought I would use it more than she would.

She pulled her first dagger out of the wall with one yank and slipped it into her boot, its blade flashing against the dull leather. I watched as she retrieved the rest of her weapons, scattered around the practice arena-- an area of dusty, boot-worn ground pounded hard as rock, formed by one wooden wall and a low fence in the center of the training yards. I knew I should get up and do the same but it was so hot. I could swear the sun was melting through my skin, dust stuck to my sweaty back and my hair stuck to my face. I groaned and closed my eyes. The insides of my eyelids were red from the sunlight.

A shadow fell across my face. "Is this how you're spending your training time?"

I opened one eye, resentful, and looked up at Joshua. "For your information, I just spent two hours being pounded into the ground by Nemia."