# 2
Format: Paperback, 384 pages
Release Date: July 25, 2023
Publisher: Gallery / Saga Press
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy / Epic
M. J. Kuhn returns to the gritty world of heists, magic, and
deception in this high-stakes fantasy follow-up to internationally
bestselling Among Thieves perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo and V.E. Schwab.
Ryia
Cautella, a.k.a. the Butcher of Carrowwick, and her motley crew have
succeeded in the ultimate heist...with the most dire possible
consequences. A terrifyingly powerful tool has fallen into the hands of
Callum Clem, the criminal leader of the Saints, who was already one of
the most dangerous men alive. With the newfound ability to force
magic-wielding Adepts to his will, he is unstoppable.
With their
group scattered throughout the five kingdoms of Thamorr—and not all on
the same side of the fight—things seem hopeless. But can Ryia get the
gang back together for one last job? Or will chess-worthy power plays
and shifting loyalties change Thamorr as they know it?
Thick as Thieves is the installment in author M.J. Kuhn's Tales of Thamorr series. The author takes a very interesting approach
with the storyline as she weaves the plot through multiple POVs, each
taking on their own chapters, and giving you their perspectives of the
happenings throughout all of the trials. Ryia Cautella aka Butcher of Carrowwick spent 6 years running and hiding from the dangerous Guildmaster after what her father forced her to go through in his diabolical experiment.
Ryia and her crew did the unthinkable by invading the powerful Gildmaster's Island and stealing the fabled Quill that is said to have power over the Adepts. Adepts are humans born with supernatural powers, but taken from their parents before their first birthday. Evelyn, the disgrace Captain of the Needle Guard, has found herself falling for the diabolical Ryia who seems to be carrying more secrets than she is willing to tell. Secrets what will be exposed after she's captured trying to rescue none other than the betrayer himself, Tristan Beckett aka Prince Dennison Shadowwood.
The one good thing that comes from Ryia's capture, and subsequent escape, is that we meet a new character named Joslyn who looks eerily similiar to Nash. Joslyn is also a powerful pirate who gets under Ryia's skin, and forces her to accept that what her father did to her, was perhaps the best thing to happen to her since it makes her more of a scary badass which can stand up to Callum and the Guildmaster. Meanwhile, Nash, and Ivan chose to hitch their fates to Callum Clem who actually ended up with the Quill (a magic item that lets its owner control the Adepts) after Tristan's betrayal and double betrayal by Clem of another character.
Ivan, it should be told, has his own reasons for following Clem, which I won't spoil. But I will say that Ivan's motivations are from the heart, and anyone else would have walked the same path to help rescue someone who was left behind in a devilish prison where nobody ever escapes. I will say this to avoid the questions, this is very much a character driven story, and the world building takes a back seat for most of the story. I think that is okay in this instance because the key characters plus Clem, and Joslyn give the story an even deeper depth to it.
The ending is a bit on the curious side. In all honesty, it seems like a duology, but there could be more to come if the author wanted to focus on other characters in this book. Also, I am not a fan of intentionally doing bad things to primary characters for the sake of entertaining the audience. Especially after said characters just reunited with family members they have either never seen, or lost and though they would never find them again. That's just rude.
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Chapter one
RYIA“Are
you sure this is a good idea★” Evelyn Linley, ex-captain of Dresdell’s
Needle Guard, waded through the puddles in Ryia’s wake, swiping a
rain-soaked red curl out of her face.
“Of course I’m sure. When
have I ever had a bad idea★” Ryia answered, holding a hand to stop
Evelyn from looping around the next corner. She gave a sniff, checking
for the telltale stench of danger. Her Adept senses detected nothing
beyond the normal unpleasant smells that always clung to places like
this, where too many humans lived crammed together in too little space.
Ryia smirked at Evelyn’s silence as she waved them both forward. “See★ You can’t think of a single time.”
“No,”
Evelyn said, pushing her hair back once more. It was in her face again
within seconds. “The problem is that there are too many bloody examples
to choose from….”
“Ha-ha,” Ryia said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
The
fact was it didn’t really matter if their current plan was a good idea,
and they both knew it. It was the only idea they had.
A fork of
lightning split the night, throwing the wood-shingled roofs of houses,
shops, and inns into sharp relief against the rain-blurred sky. Ryia’s
lip curled. Edale. Land of mud, soot, and shitty memories. For ten long
years she had avoided the kingdom at all costs. Now she was back—though
not for long, if she had her way about it.
She and Evelyn had
arrived in the stinking city of Duskhaven three days ago. Like her most
recent home of Carrowwick, the Edalish capital was a tangled mess of
close-knit houses crowding the edge of a river, but there were some key
differences. For one, Duskhaven was about ten times the size of
Carrowwick, with the filth and stench to match. And the people here were
colder and harder than the Dresdellans—the lifeblood of Edale ran with
coal and steel instead of Dresdell’s delicate lace, and it showed. All
in all, Duskhaven was a bleak, disgusting pit of a city, filled with
dour bastards and sallow-faced wenches.
After weeks of hard
travel on the roads of Dresdell and Edale, sleeping on the wet ground
and eating gathered mushrooms and stolen bread, they had been rewarded
with a pair of cots in the foulest city of all Thamorr. All in all, it
was an awful lot of trouble to go through to rescue the son of a bitch
who had betrayed and abandoned Ryia in the lair of her lifelong enemy.
Tristan
Beckett had only been in Carrowwick about six months by the time they
had traveled to the Guildmaster’s island together, but in those six
months, he had become the closest thing to a friend she’d had in the
city. Which made the betrayal sting even more.
Bafflingly, he had
turned out to be Prince Dennison Shadowwood, heir to the throne of
Edale. In the end, he had only betrayed her to stay out of his father’s
clutches, a motivation she was uniquely positioned to understand, given
her own bastard of a father. Tristan—Dennison—had also saved her life in
the Catacombs, stopping the Kinetic pit fighter who had been hell-bent
on tearing her throat open. Saving her skin had put him back in his
father’s grasp again. So she had come to Edale to return the favor. An
eye for an eye, as it was. Or in this case, a harebrained rescue mission
for a harebrained rescue mission.
Shit, she was getting soft these days.
On
their first night in the city, she and Evelyn had learned where the
prince was being kept. A drunken guard who had stared at Evelyn a bit
too long for Ryia’s liking had been more than happy to let the
information slip, especially since it didn’t seem too secretive or
scandalous.
Prince Dennison was in his old quarters—a sprawling
set of rooms located in the western tower of the keep. The stories all
said the Shadow Keep was impregnable, but that seemed like one hell of
an exaggeration to Ryia. Sure, it was situated on an island, surrounded
by deep, murky water on all sides, and its walls were made of tall,
solid blocks of shining obsidian. But Ryia was never one to shy away
from a challenge.
The trouble would be getting Tristan—Dennison—back out.
Unless
he had grown a pair of wings or gained some serious coordination since
she had last seen him, there was no way he was going to be able to leap
from his tower to the ramparts or climb down the outer wall from there
or swim the width of the entire moat without attracting the attention of
the guards patrolling either side. They had to find a way to get him
out through the castle. Somehow Ryia doubted they were going to be able
to saunter out the front gate.
Which brought them to their current predicament.
“You really think we can trust this… this skiver★” Evelyn asked.
“I
think if you keep using words like ‘skiver,’ no one is ever going to
buy that you’re from Edale,” Ryia said, chuckling at the Dresdellan
slang. “But no. I don’t trust anyone; you know that.”
“Not even me★” Evelyn asked.
“Especially
not you, you skiver,” Ryia shot back, avoiding the question. The truth
was she trusted the ex-captain from Dresdell a hell of a lot more than
she was willing to admit. After all, she had helped Ryia escape
the Guildmaster. And Carrowwick. And helped her destroy the fabled
Quill—the secret relic that gave the Guildmaster of Thamorr the ability
to control all the branded Adept of the world. She was starting to rely
on Evelyn quite a bit, actually. Not that she’d ever say so out loud.
“Well, if you’re not planning on trusting Mr. Berman, why exactly are we out in this ruddy downpour★”
“Because we can’t get Tristan out without a boat. Berman has a boat. So we’re going to go… have a chat with him.”
After
two days of scouring every inch of the stinking hellhole that was
Duskhaven, Ryia had found a way to get Tristan—Dennison—out of the
castle. And actually, “stinking hellhole” was a pretty good description
of the exit she’d found.
The royals of Thamorr didn’t shit in
pails like the common folks of the kingdoms. They preferred to send
their waste down an elaborate system of chutes and tubes that wound
through the walls and cellars of their castles before leading outside.
Through eavesdropping on some servants in a tavern called the Jackal’s
Mug, Ryia had learned the sewer in the Shadow Keep ran underneath the
wine cellar. Observation proved that the mouth of the sewer was
positioned along the southeastern wall of the castle. With a little
luck, a boat, and the right cover, it should be possible to get in and
out without anyone being any the wiser. Another bolt of lightning
crackled through the sky. They certainly had the “cover” bit down. The
guards would have trouble seeing the ends of their own noses in this
mess. Now they just needed the other two pieces of the puzzle.
Ryia
threw a hand out, halting Evelyn in the shadow of a tavern just beside
the moat surrounding the castle. A pair of City Watch stomped by, rain
pinging off their armor as they went. Strains of string music floated
out from the tavern, a dark and powerful ballad of some sort.
Felice, even the music in Edale was dull.
“And
once we get Mr. Berman’s boat,” Evelyn said, eyeing the City Watch as
they disappeared around the next corner, “what do you suggest we do with
Mr. Berman himself★”
Just a few months ago, Ryia would have said, Easy, we slit his throat and throw him in the water. But, for better or for worse, Evelyn’s noble bullshit was rubbing off on her. “I already paid him,” she said.
Evelyn
raised one eyebrow. “And you’re naive enough to think a few silvers is
going to stop him from reporting a break-in to the castle guard★”
“You really think the man cares about his job that much★”
“No,”
Evelyn answered, “but if he cares about lining his pockets as much as I
assume he does, he’ll be very interested in collecting the coppers he’d
get as a reward for turning in a pair of criminals breaking into the
keep.”
Ryia shrugged. “Then we’ll ask him nicely to stay where he
is and keep his mouth shut.” She pulled a length of frayed rope from
her cloak pocket, holding it up in the light of the storm. “By tying him
up with this.”
Before Evelyn could argue, Ryia darted out from
the cover of the overhang. The sounds of rattling dice and murmured
voices faded away as they splashed through the puddles, running for the
lopsided hut that stood just beside the heavily guarded crest gate
separating the Rowan River from the moat. The hut looked like a candle
that had half melted on a hot day, the crumbled mortar barely holding
the stones together as they tried desperately to collapse onto the mucky
ground below. A tiny rowboat sat tethered to the side of the hut with a
thick chain and a thicker lock, tossing and rocking in the wind as the
storm raged on.
By the time they reached the door, Evelyn’s cloak
was more brown than it was black, splattered with thick, dark mud all
the way from the hem flapping at her boots to the seams underneath her
arms. She thrust both hands down, sending a wave of mud and rainwater
splashing onto Berman’s front stoop with a “yuck.” She looked at Ryia
through narrowed eyes. “Can’t you do something about this★” she asked,
waving a hand vaguely toward the sky.
“What, stop the rain★” Ryia asked, incredulous. “I’m sorry—I didn’t realize I was one of the twin goddesses.”
“Not
stop it,” Evelyn griped, wringing out the hood of her cloak. “Just keep
it off our bloody heads.” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “You
know, with your special… skills★”
She was referring to Ryia’s
Kinetic magic. Ryia snorted. “Yeah, sorry, you didn’t partner with a
true-blood Adept. You’ve only got a cheap imitation on your team.” She
tapped the hatchets slung over her shoulders, then ran her fingers over
the throwing axes on her belt. “These are the only things my particular skills have ever had any control over.”
Her
father’s axes. The very same weapons that had cut the throats of a
hundred Adept or more. Bled them dry so the sick bastard could funnel
the sickly red liquid down Ryia’s throat. The weapons that had made her
were the only thing her telekinetic magic would ever lock onto. The
objects she would have liked to have never seen again after escaping
from her father’s mansion were the only constant in her life since
leaving that burning hellhole behind. If that wasn’t one of the
goddesses’ sick jokes, Ryia didn’t know what was.
When it seemed
that Evelyn was finally satisfied with the dryness of her hood, Ryia
lifted a gloved hand to the door, giving it a resounding knock. The
thunder rumbled. The rain poured. The music in the tavern across the way
fell into a new, equally depressing-sounding tune. No one answered.
Ryia knocked again. Still there was no response.
“Are you sure this is the right hut★”
Ryia rolled her eyes. “No, you’re right, this is the house of the other poor sod whose job is to unclog the pipeways and scrub the shit off the windows.”
She
knocked again. She had come across Berman earlier that day, balancing
haphazardly on his rowboat as he scrubbed at the lower windows of the
keep with a rag tied to a stick. When he’d come back to his house, he
had found Ryia lounging on his front stoop, waiting for him. For five
silver halves, he had agreed to let her borrow his boat that night, and
for another five, he had agreed to keep his filthy, crooked-toothed
mouth shut about it. The money didn’t matter to Ryia—she had
pickpocketed it all anyway.
After another knock returned only
silence from inside, she lost her patience and shouldered the door open.
Even without her stolen Kinetic strength, it would have been easy
enough to break in. That door frame had been held together by mold and
prayers to Felice, goddess of luck.
“Whuzzat!” came a disoriented reply from inside.
Berman
was on his feet, but it was clear from his red-rimmed eyes—not to
mention the smell of the room—that until a few seconds ago, he had been
in a drunken stupor on the moldering couch beside the cold, empty
fireplace. Ryia felt the weight of the rope in her pocket. This would be
even easier than she had anticipated.
“Ah, Berman, good to see you’re ready for me,” she said, pulling her gloves from her hands one finger at a time.
“Close
the twice-damned door, would you★” he said, lunging forward and
shutting it himself. With the latch broken, it just swung right back
open. “Lettin’ in more water than the bloody Rowan, you are.”
“Sorry,”
Evelyn said, reaching forward to help him jam the door shut with the
lone chair beside the tiny dining table. Polite as ever, she was, even
when breaking into a man’s home in the middle of the night.
“What’d
you break down my fuckin’ door for★” he asked, wiping his eyes like he
was trying to rub the drunkenness away. It didn’t work.
“We made a
deal, Berman.” Ryia leaned against the wall, pulling her cloak aside to
reveal the belt of throwing axes at her hip. She then held out one
hand, palm up. “I wouldn’t go back on it if I were you.”
“Yeah,
yeah,” Berman muttered, patting his trouser pockets, then the pocket of
his sweat-stained shirt, before finally unearthing a small silver key.
“You better bring ’er back in one piece, or you’ll owe me a hell of a
lot more than ten silvers.”
“And I’d request that you keep to yourself and your ale tonight,” Evelyn said, stalking toward him. “If you get my drift.”
“If I… who in the hells are you, anyways★” Berman asked, bleary eyes focusing on her for the first time.
“The key, Berman,” Ryia prompted. “We haven’t got all night.”
“All
right, all right.” He went to put the key in her hand, then drew back
at the last second. “Don’t get yourselves caught out there, neither.
There’s more than City Watch up on those walls at night.”
He
meant Adept, of course: Kinetics and Sensers, brainwashed and trapped in
service to the king of Edale. The castle was bound to be crawling with
them.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, the key.”
Ryia scowled as
she snatched the key from Berman’s grip. For the first few days after
she and Evelyn had destroyed the Quill and fled Carrowwick, she had been
waiting to hear the news that the whole damned world was burning. That
the Adept servants had all rebelled against their masters, risen up, run
away, something. But there had been nothing. When she and Evelyn
had stopped in the city of Taravan to pick up a pair of horses, she had
finally seen why.
The Adept were no different from the way
they’d been before Ryia and Evelyn had stolen Declan Day’s ancient
device from the Guildmaster. They still plodded behind their masters,
dead-eyed as corpses, obedient as hunting hounds.
Ryia didn’t
know exactly what she had been expecting, of course. She’d known from
the start that the cursed Quill could sense all the Adept in the world,
could hunt them down in any corner of Thamorr. After watching
Tristan—Dennison—use the Quill to take control of the Adept fighter back
in the pits of the Catacombs, Ryia had thought the relic was the key to
their obedience, too… but evidently not. No, it seemed that the Adept
were bound to service by their masters’ brands. And if that were true,
then the only way to free the poor saps who were already branded would
be to go back in time.
At least the Adept serving now were the
last ones who ever would, now that the Quill was gone. She had smashed
it to bits herself up on top of the wall in Carrowwick. Had watched the
pieces float away down the Arden River and out to the Yawning Sea. But
still. The branded Adept would continue to serve their masters until the
day they died, apparently. Thousands, alive, but trapped forever in
their invisible shackles. It made everything they had done seem far too
small.
Evelyn was watching her carefully. They’d had enough
conversations about this since Taravan that she knew the ex-captain
could tell exactly what she was thinking about right now. Evelyn’s hand
brushed hers, and Ryia flinched away instinctively.
All right. Enough screwing around. She reached for her pocket, pulling out the length of rope.
“What’s this all about★” Berman asked, drawing back.
Ryia
charged forward, pushing the man down into the chair, wedging the door
shut. In three deft motions, she wound the rope around him and the back
of the chair and knotted it tightly. He would be able to break free
eventually, but definitely no time soon, and definitely not in his
current state.
Leaving Berman shouting obscenities in their wake,
she and Evelyn slipped out the back door to the tiny inlet where the
boat was tethered.
The rain continued sloshing down from the sky
in buckets, plastering Ryia’s hair to her scalp. It was still short,
barely reaching the tips of her ears. Ivan had shaved her head so she
could pose as a Kinetic pit fighter back in Carrowwick just under a
month ago. It had been so damned convenient that for a moment, Ryia had
considered keeping her hair that way. Then she had learned the branded
Adept still weren’t free. The shaved head had felt like a pair of
shackles from that point on.
Still, watching Evelyn wrestle her
own long curls back behind her shoulders as she leaned over to unchain
the rowboat, Ryia had to admit she was glad to have it shorn as close as
it was.
Lightning crackled across the sky, and in the white
flash Ryia saw it. The Shadow Keep. The Edalish castle was situated on a
hard, rocky island about the size of most of the towns they had ridden
past on their road north. The water surrounding it, now sloshing around
their boots, was a stagnant and murky brown.
The keep was framed
by thick stone walls, each corner marked with a tall tower studded with
arrow slits. A single gate stood on the northern wall, but at the moment
it opened to a stretch of disgusting water. The bridge rested alongside
the wall for now, but Ryia had seen it in motion. Its mechanics were
powered by magic, taking a team of Kinetics to raise and lower it over
the moat. Another reason it was a shame destroying the Quill hadn’t
instantly freed every branded Adept in the world. She would have liked
to see Tolliver Shadowwood swimming through that thick, shit-filled
water to get back to his castle….
In the center of the walls
stood the keep itself, a tall structure built of stone so dark it almost
looked black. It towered over the walls, jutting so high into the sky
it almost blocked the twice-damned moon. Four turrets stood from its
hard, angled roof. Evelyn eyed the western tower nervously through the
sheets of rain pouring from the clouds.
“Are you sure about this★” she asked. “There’s bound to be a ton of guards up there. Or worse.”
After
all, only Evelyn would be taking the boat tonight. Ryia would enter the
castle by a different path—one where she was less likely to leave a
trail of disgusting stains as she led Tristan—Dennison—back out.
Ryia
snorted. “Have you really forgotten how impressive I am★” She had
gotten through tighter spots than this before. She would break in and
get the king’s brat down into those sewers to meet Evelyn before
Tolliver Shadowwood and his men ever knew she was there.
For a
long second, Evelyn didn’t respond. Ryia stared determinedly at the
Shadow Keep as she felt the ex-captain’s eyes on her. “See you on the
other side,” Evelyn finally said.
“Enjoy the shit tunnel.”
“Fuck off.”
Ryia
grinned, turning to watch Evelyn hop into the boat and row toward the
castle walls. If this went sideways, the sight of the former captain
disappearing behind the curtains of heavy rain might be the last she
ever saw of her. The grin slid off Ryia’s face. She kept one eye on the
Shadow Keep as she looped around to the western edge of the moat.
“This
had better be worth it, Tristan,” she muttered, staring up at the
western tower, ringed in the shadows of a fresh lightning flash.
With that, she took a deep breath and dove into the filthy water of the Duskhaven moat.
