The Thief With Wings - Prologue

Alleys. By Ongredost’s beard, I hate the alleys that weave throughout the city. With day breaking soon, I’ll never find my way back to the meeting place in time. Then the guard’s will take her away from me forever.

I wheeze and pant. The taste of blood poisons my gums. My palms find my knees and I'm doubled over. Blue flashes scatter across my closed eyelids as I psych myself up to run again.

After five or six strides, I stop again. I’m vomiting.

Dawn’s rosy fingers creep from the horizon. Gnawing at the inside of my cheek is all I can do to not stop running. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.

The guards have gone crooked. When the King was in charge, we were better off. There was law and order, especially from the officers of the peace. But now things have changed. No one has any moral obligations. All that matters to the guards is the jingle of a coin purse.

The sun is moments away from rising when I turn the corner and find the meeting place hidden at the end of Scorpion Alley.

“Kyra!” I shout. I’m surprised by the roar that escapes my chest.

She’s bound and gagged. There’s nothing but a muffled response. The author of her chains pulls tightly and her head lifts. My love is choked to silence. By the emerging light I can see tears clouding her eyes.

I run forward with all my might and throw myself down before the captain of the guards.

“Here,” I stammer and hold up a satchel. “This is what you want.”

The captain rips the satchel from my hands. He draws it open to find the Nyx plant. He raises the shrub up to examine it in a ray of sunshine that has splashed into this corner of the alley.

“Don’t,” I scream, attempting to rise to my feet. The guard behind me forces me the ground and garrotes me with his halberd.

It’s too late. The roots and tendrils are singed and seared by the sunlight. The creamy orange petals and verdant leaves wither and fade into soot.

The captain flexes his fingers and palm. The dying plant drops to the ground. It crumbles to dust. He sneers and kicks me in the forehead. The oak of the halberd presses into my throat hard as I recoil.

The last thing I see before I black out is Kyra’s darkened figure being dragged away down the alley. The sun has risen and the blackened figures are burned into my sight.