When seventeen-year-old Sparrow joined the Thieves Guild she made a vow of binding loyalty to their cause. So when a mission comes along from The Circle, a group of mysterious, dangerous beings who control the Thieves Guild from the shadows, Sparrow is determined to cement her place in the guild.
What ensues is a death-defying adventure that has Sparrow and her band of thieves venturing into the heart of the forgotten city of the Deathless King. The fate of Sparrow, her companions, and Raithe, the enigmatic yet alluring assassin Sparrow is forced to join forces with during their quest, all hang in the balance as they find themselves battling ancient forces within the tombs and facing the unwavering hold of fate. Perfect for fans of Alexandra Bracken and Sabaa Tahir, this new fantasy trilogy from New York Times bestselling author Julie Kagawa will sweep readers into a bold and exciting new world, where a twisted game of destiny has far-reaching consequences.
ONE
Demon Hour was approaching.
I stood in the shade beneath a rooftop balcony, watching the citizens of Kovass scurry through the streets like ants whose nest had been poked with a stick. High overhead, Solasti, the first of the twin suns, blazed white against the cloudless blue sky. Her identical sister, Namaia, had climbed over the horizon and was closing fast. Demon Hour, when both suns stood directly overhead, twin gazes burning down like the glare of an angry goddess, happened every day. For one hour, every single afternoon in the land of Arkyennah, the air singed throats when breathed in, the sands became molten, and every hard surface was turned into a stovetop under the relentless glare of the suns. Animals fled to find shade or huddled beneath crude shelters. Merchants closed their doors and covered their stalls. Commoners went inside to nap while the wealthiest nobles lounged in private pools as servants fanned them with palm leaves. For one hour, Kovass turned into a dead city as every living creature, big and small, young and old, poor and rich, found whatever shelter or shade or dark crack they could to wait out the hellish heat of the twins.
Stepping back from the balcony, I took a deep breath, feeling the hot air fill my lungs, then let it out slowly. Across the maze of flat white stone and gray tile rooftops, Namaia crept ever higher into the sky. True Demon Hour wasn’t quite here, but the half hour that led up to it, with temperatures rising alongside panic and tension as everyone scurried to get things done, was probably the most hectic and chaotic time in Kovass.
It was also the perfect—and most awful—time to do anything you didn’t want people to see, which was why I was here, on this balcony, instead of back home in familiar territory. This safehouse was closer to my destination, and the less time I spent beneath the suns, the better.
“Is it time?”
I turned as a soft, raspy voice drifted into the room attached to the balcony. A hunched, robed figure shuffled up the stairs, leaning heavily on a cane. Shadyr raised her cowled head, and her milky, nearly pure white eyes stared right through me.
“Not yet,” I said, equally softly. “Soon, though.”
“Hmm.” She walked across the room and paused just shy of where the rays of the sun drew a line across the balcony opening. One withered hand reached out until the fingertips hit the edge of the sunlight. “Very soon, if you want to reach the Garden District just before peak Demon Hour. I hope you are dressed appropriately.”
I glanced past her head to the wall, where a cracked mirror hung above a dresser by the bed. The girl staring back at me was thin and unremarkable. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a face that was completely forgettable. Not that anyone ever saw it. My hood always stayed up, and my clothes were in light, neutral tones that the eye could easily pass over. In a city of limestone walls, bleached rooftops, and dusty, sun-scoured roads, dark clothes would be miserable and bright colors would stand out. Which, in my line of work, was the opposite of what you wanted. I was good at what I did because I blended in and became invisible.
“Of course, Shadyr,” I told her. “When am I not prepared?”
She withdrew her arm, the hand vanishing into her robes again. “Odd that you’re working alone,” she mused. “Where is Jeran? I thought the two of you were inseparable when it came to jobs.”
“Not today.” I shrugged, though she couldn’t see the motion. “Vahn was insistent that I do this one alone. It’s fine, though.” I gazed across the rooftops again, squinting in the gleaming brightness. “I don’t need Jeran. I work better solo, anyway.”
Though he wouldn’t be pleased to hear me say that. Jeran was a year older than me; tall, lanky, with dark hair and a halfway charming smile. He was good at what he did, just not as good as me, and we both knew it.
“Well, don’t get too cocky.” Shadyr patted my arm. “I remember my days with the guild, before my eyes started failing me. It was always better to have someone guarding your back to keep a watch for the patrols. Especially in the Garden District. Twice as many guards there as here.”
I snorted. “Yes, and they’ll all be under their little guard cupolas throwing dice,” I said. “Even if they do see something, I doubt they’ll go rushing out in the middle of Demon Hour to chase it down. But don’t worry.” I smiled at the old woman, knowing she would hear it in my voice. “They won’t see me. They never do.”
“You tempt Fate, little Sparrow,” Shadyr warned. “You think you can do everything alone, but that is not the way of things. I know.” She patted my arm again. “I know what the guild wants you to believe. But sometimes, you have to put your trust in something other than yourself. What do the teachings say? Our threads are all woven in the Tapestry of the World. Together, nothing can break them, but a single strand is weak and easily severed.”
I felt a chill in the small, warm room. Shadyr couldn’t know what I was doing, could she? No, of course not. I hadn’t told anyone about this job. It was just a coincidence that she had brought up the Tapestry of the World.
I stepped back and grinned. “Well, a single strand may be weak,” I said, “but it’s a lot more flexible with no other threads tangling it up and holding it back.”
She huffed at me, as if I had missed the point, and shook her head. “Namaia continues to rise,” she went on. “Are you ready?”
Quickly, I ran through a mental checklist, making sure I had everything I needed. Supple but tough leather boots for running over rooftops. Leather gloves for grasping superheated stones and metal railings. The tools of my trade, tucked safely away in hidden pockets. A pair of daggers on my hips and a concealed knife in my boot. And a waterskin to combat the fiery glare of the twins. I hadn’t forgotten anything. It was time to get on with it and see what Fate had in store for me this day.
I pulled up my white hood, hiding my features from view, then turned to Shadyr. “I’m ready.”
She nodded once. “Will you be returning here when the job is done?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll go straight back to the guild. Vahn is expecting me.”
“Very well. Tell the old desert weasel I said hello.” Shadyr smiled and shuffled back a few steps, milky eyes gazing through me into the sky. “May Fate smile upon you, little Sparrow.”
“And on you, Shadyr.”
I stepped back onto the balcony and paused just beneath the overhang, gazing out at the city. My task was difficult, but if I timed this correctly, I would reach my destination just as peak Demon Hour was upon the world. If I got it wrong . . . well, it was going to be unpleasant either way.
The air above the rooftops was already shimmering. At the balcony’s edge, I took a last breath of marginally cooler air, then hopped onto the railing and launched myself into open sky.
The heat of the twins, searing and relentless, hit me as I soared over the street, catching fleeting glimpses of the people below. No one looked up. Looking up invited the full glare of the twins upon your face. Gazes remained down, cowls, hoods, and shawls pulled low as the citizens of Kovass scurried to hide from the suns. No one saw a figure in white soar above the narrow space between the rooftops and land on the other side.
As soon as my boots hit the stones, I started to sprint. The “thieves highway” spread out before me, an endless collection of flat stone walls, tile rooftops, domed ceilings, and the occasional temple spire jutting upward toward the suns.
I paused beneath the shade of a small, covered rooftop garden to catch my breath. It was now so close to Demon Hour that the heat radiating from the stones and rooftops was almost as bad as the rays of the suns. In my tunic, I found the waterskin tucked close to my body and pulled it out. It was small, holding just a few swallows, but that would be enough to keep me going. I could probably make it to my destination and back without drinking, but in Demon Hour, I wasn’t taking chances. As Vahn always said, Almost everything can be challenged, almost every rule has a way around it. Except the twins. Do not fight them— they will win every time.
The water was lukewarm, but it still cooled my throat and moistened my lips, which had gone dry from breathing the scalding desert air. Leaning against a wooden post, I contemplated the journey still to come. The rooftop garden, with its latticed roof and sheer white curtains, provided just enough shelter for me to escape the pounding rays of the suns, but it was still unbearably hot. Sweat ran down my neck and trickled into my eyes, the burn of salt making me blink and rub a sleeve across my face.
And then, across the shimmering rooftops, I saw a figure. Dressed in light colors and a hood like me, they crouched atop a distant tower, watching the crowds below. They were so still that aside from the clothes and familiar hood, they might’ve been a statue. One of the protector beasts that adorned the walls and roofs of the temples. I stared in shock, wondering who else would be crazy enough to be out in Demon Hour. No one from the guild would risk it; I knew that for a fact. So who was this?
Another bead of sweat ran into my eye, making me squint and swipe at my face again. When I looked up, the figure was gone.
Okay. Maybe I’m seeing things. Crazy heat mirages. I guess I am the only one foolish enough to be outside right now.
Regardless, I had work to do. Peak Demon Hour was just a few minutes away, and I still had to get to my target. Tucking my waterskin beneath my clothes, I set my jaw and then slipped into the sunlight once more.
After jogging across several more rooftops, leaping the gaps between buildings, and vaulting over a few walls, I finally reached the edge of the Garden District, one of the wealthiest areas in Kovass, second only to the Palace District. It was easy to tell when you entered the neighborhood of the merchant princes. For one, the dusty, uniform colors of the streets gave way to brilliant splashes of greenery, as bushes, vines, and even flowering plants grew from carefully cultivated plots and gardens. Many of these plants were in the shade or beneath some kind of shelter that protected them from direct sunlight, but it was a staggering amount of wealth on display. The growing and caretaking of plants simply for aesthetic purposes was seen as a frivolous waste by most, but the heads of the merchant guilds had more money than they knew what to do with and flaunted their wealth every chance they had. What better way to show up your neighbor than to plant exotic bushes alongside your house and pay a king’s ransom in special soil, fertilizer, and gardeners to keep them alive? Not to mention all the water they wasted on beautiful but useless greenery.
Sometimes, the mindset of the very wealthy made no sense to me. But the suddenly lush landscape wasn’t the only sign that I had entered the Garden District.
In the very center, the enormous Temple of Fate dominated the district in all its white-stone-and-marble glory, gold-tipped spires rising into the air and catching the light of the suns. Within, the priestesses and the Ahsani—the High Priestess of Fate—counseled all the souls bound in the Weave, helping them understand their destiny and their role in the story of the world. We all had one, and whether it was big or small, earth-shattering or insignificant, our destiny, our fate, was as inevitable as time itself. When you were born, Fate determined your place in the world. King or peasant, merchant or craftsman, noble or outcast, once Fate chose your place, the only release from it was death. What you did in between, how you lived your life, would define your fate when you were reborn into your next existence.
At least, according to the teachings.
Keeping my gaze on the huge temple, I continued across the rooftops. Fate wasn’t something I gave a lot of thought to. I wasn’t a scholar or especially book-learned, and though I knew the best escape routes in the city and could pick my way through nearly any lock, the teachings could twist my brain into a jumbled mess if I thought too hard about them. There was a saying among the lower classes: If it is your fate to be a pig farmer, be the best pig farmer in the kingdom. I knew what I was good at. And I was very good at what Fate had decided for me.
Dropping into a tiny private courtyard covered with a lattice, I took a few deep breaths of shaded air. My timing was pretty much perfect. Not a soul was in the streets. No animals roamed the alleyways, the merchant princes napped in beds of cotton and silk, and the guards huddled in their domed cupolas, waiting for Solasti to move on. For the next hour, the city was essentially dead.
Which made my job only slightly easier.
From the top of one of the tallest buildings, I surveyed my target with a growing sense of dread. Not a home, not the abode of a fat merchant prince, surrounded by luxury and wealth. My target loomed before me, glimmering spires nearly scraping the clouds, almost daring the foolish to attempt the unthinkable.
The Temple of Fate itself.
My heart beat faster, even as I tried not to think about what I was doing. No one could cheat Fate. Fate knew all. There was no sneaking up on it, no pulling the wool over its eyes. It knew you were coming, and what you were going to do, before you even considered it. I was good at what I did, probably the best in the guild, but even I had my limitations. This task bordered on blasphemous. I wouldn’t even be here if not for Vahn and our strange conversation the night before.
“Hood down, Sparrow.” Vahn gestured to my head as I stepped through the door of his office. The Guildmaster stood behind his desk, lamplight throwing shadows over his weathered face. He had thick dark hair and even darker eyes. He wasn’t young, he wasn’t old, handsome, ugly, or anything. He was just Vahn. His most distinguishing features were the tiny scar on his lip and the missing third finger of his left hand.
“You know the rules,” Vahn continued. “Hoods down in my office. I want to see your eyes when I’m talking to you. Take it off.”
“Yes, sir,” I muttered, pushing my hood back. Instantly, I felt exposed, as if every eye in the room was turned on me, though it was just me and Vahn. I didn’t like taking it off, because then everyone could see me—the real me. I couldn’t hide anything. I expected that was the very reason for Vahn’s “no hood” rule when he was talking to any of us.
“Good.” The Guildmaster nodded, and a rare, faint smile quirked his scarred lip. “It’s nice to glimpse your face every once in a while. Every time I see it, it’s like you’ve gotten older.”
I grinned. “Is that why you called me in here?” I asked. “To make sure there’s not a withered old crone beneath my hood? I bet you don’t even know how old I am now.”
“Seventeen years, four months, thirteen days,” Vahn said automatically, as I’d known he would. “Not counting the weeks you weren’t with the guild, of course.” Vahn had found me as an infant in a gutted, abandoned house, with the shriveled corpse of a woman, presumably my mother, lying motionless nearby. He had taken me into the guild and trained me himself, and the guild members had adopted me as their own. From before I could remember, I had been raised among thieves, learning their ways and their secrets, until I joined the ranks as one of their best.
“I have a job for you,” Vahn continued. “A solo mission, this time. No teams—you’ll be working by yourself. I trust you’re up to the task.”
“Of course.” I perked up. In the guild, what you did—or stole—on your own time was your business. As long as you paid your dues and didn’t draw attention to yourself or the guild, you could pretty much do what you wanted. Actual jobs from the Guildmaster were a different story, and solo missions were uncommon. Depending on the size and complexity of the job, guild members normally worked in teams of two to five. Which was why I was often sent on assignments with Jeran, who had also grown up in the guild. His father had been a guild member but was caught while on a job and dragged away to prison. Jeran hadn’t seen him in years. We worked well together, though lately our missions had turned into friendly competitions to see who was better at whatever we were attempting. There had been a couple of close calls, which had resulted in a warning from Vahn to start taking our jobs seriously. I wondered if that was why I would be going solo this time.
My stomach felt sour. Vahn had never shown me any direct favoritism within the guild, treating me as a highly competent thief and never making excuses for my mistakes, but I had always been more than a simple soldier or a guild asset. I remembered his smiles, his patience when explaining how to pick a lock or move without making any noise, the nods of approval when I completed a challenging task. He had never been overly affectionate, but I knew I made him proud. Especially when I started to complete jobs even the most experienced guild members balked at.
In the past couple of years, though, he had become colder. Distant. To the point where he barely said a word to me that wasn’t mission-oriented. I didn’t understand it. Was I not performing well enough? Was he disappointed in me? Maybe I had to step up my game. I’d tried. Over the past several months, my ventures had gotten more risky, my targets more and more dangerous, as I’d attempted to show Vahn I was the best. Several times, I should have been caught, and it was a miracle that I’d made it out unnoticed, but nothing seemed to impress him. Even the other guild members had begun to whisper. I was unnaturally lucky, they said; no one could tempt Fate that often and get away with it. But Vahn only drew further and further away.
This was the first time in months that he had called me into his office alone. Whatever this job entailed, I had to do it well.
“Sparrow.” His voice sent a small shiver up my back. His eyes pierced a hole through me, as if peeling back invisible layers to find what lay beneath. “You’ve been with the guild a long time now,” Vahn continued. “I’ve raised you, taught you our ways, and over the years, I’ve watched you and your talents grow. You’ve become quite the profitable asset, and the guild is pleased.”
My heart pounded, warmth spreading through my stomach, but I couldn’t reveal how much that meant to me. So, I fell back on what I was good at. “Thanks,” I said dryly. “Being a profitable asset to the guild is all I live for.”
His lips tightened. “The sarcasm could use some paring down,” he said.
“I’ll work on that.”
He sighed. “In any case,” he went on, “there has been a request to fully appraise your skills and see exactly what you can do. This job comes directly from the Circle. As such, I don’t need to tell you how important it is.”
I straightened. The Circle referred to the ring of powerful people who essentially owned and ran the Thieves Guild. The Guildmaster reported to them, but as far as I knew, no one knew their names or had ever seen their faces. They pulled strings and gave orders from the shadows, never appearing in the open or within the guild itself. But there was no doubt that they conducted their affairs with an iron fist, and those who crossed them either fell into great misfortune, or disappeared from the city entirely.
A request from the Circle meant they had taken notice of me, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good in that they considered me an asset; talent had value in the guild, and those who were skilled were not so easily discarded. Bad because if I screwed this up, who knew what the Circle would do to me?
But the fact that this had come from the Circle, from the leaders of the guild, meant Vahn would have to see me now. I couldn’t fail this task. This was my chance to impress him once and for all, no matter how dangerous the request.
Meeting his gaze, I nodded with what I hoped was a confident grin. “Whatever the Circle needs me to do, I can do it.”
Vahn regarded me a moment more, then reached down and picked up a roll of parchment from among the various papers and coins scattered over his desk. The parchment had been sealed with red wax, though I couldn’t see the image branded into the wax from where I stood. For a few heartbeats, Vahn hesitated, staring down at the scroll, almost as if debating whether to give it to me. Finally, his jaw tightened, and he held out the parchment across the desk.
“Don’t open it here,” he said, pulling back slightly as I reached for it. “These orders are for your eyes alone. When you are finished with the letter, destroy it and speak of it to no one else. You are not to divulge or discuss its contents with anyone, not even me. Is that understood?”
I swallowed. “What are they going to ask me to do, steal the High Chancellor’s ring? From his finger?”
Vahn’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, causing his scar to go white. “Is that understood?” he repeated tightly.
“Yes,” I replied, and reached for the parchment. “Understood.”
“This is not a game, Sparrow,” he said, still not relinquishing the scroll as my fingers closed on it. “Recognition from the Circle is an honor, but they do not tolerate failure. If you fail them, both our lives could be forfeit. Because I am the one who vouched for you in the first place.” His gaze sharpened, his voice turning cold. “So be absolutely certain you understand what is at stake.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m sorry,” I said, as ice coiled around my insides. “You’re right. I’ll take this seriously.”
He finally let me take the parchment, holding my gaze as I drew it back. Glancing at the scroll, I saw the wax seal had been stamped with the emblem of a skull wearing a crown. The image was not one I had ever seen before.
A chill slid up my back.
“Go on, then,” Vahn said, jerking his chin at the door behind me. “I imagine you’ll want to read that and get started right away. Remember, not a word of this to anyone, Sparrow. The Circle are not to be trifled with.”
Clutching the scroll, I hesitated, wondering if I could still talk to him. There had been days that I had spent hours in his office, sitting on a chair while he worked, sometimes practicing my skills on different locks or containers, sometimes listening as he spoke to clients about jobs that only the guild could do. I had been immersed in guild politics and hijinks from the time I could walk, but lately, it seemed Vahn’s door was always closed to me. I wished I knew how to open it again.
Vahn studied me in silence, obviously waiting for me to leave, his eyes stony and flat. Biting my lip, I nodded, then slipped into the dimly lit halls and narrow corridors of the guild.
In the privacy of my room, I broke the wax seal and unrolled the parchment. Holding the scroll in the flickering light of a candle, I started to read.
Guildmember Sparrow,
It has been brought to our attention that you are a person of considerable talents and skill. We of the Circle wish to acquire an item, and we wish for you to procure it for us.
I rolled my eyes. Acquire. Procure. Terms of the guild. It was amusing how much effort went into dancing around the actual word, as if we were fooling anyone. We were a guild of thieves. We stole things. Simple as that.
The note went on:
The item we wish you to obtain lies at the heart of the Garden District. Guildmember Sparrow, you are to acquire, by whatever means necessary, the Tapestry of the World from the Temple of Fate. You are to present it to Guildmaster Vahn by the end of the week. If you cannot achieve this, we will consider you to have failed.
You are to speak of this to no one. You are to take no one with you. Retrieve the tapestry from the Temple of Fate, or the Guildmaster will suffer the consequences of your failure. We hope you will not disappoint us.
You have three days.
I burned the letter in a daze, my mind reeling as I watched the parchment shrivel into ashes. Steal the Tapestry of the World from the Temple of Fate? Were the members of the Circle mad? Don’t tempt Fate was a common saying throughout all the districts, from the lowest of thieves and beggars to the highest nobles. If I did this, I wasn’t going to be merely tempting Fate— I’d be spitting in her face.
But . . . if I didn’t, Vahn would be blamed for my failure. Which meant I had to succeed. I didn’t think the Circle would outright kill him; Vahn was the leader of a very tightly run guild of thieves, the only one in Kovass. It would be bad business to remove the person holding it all together. But I’d heard the stories. I knew they had killed people for less. I could not fail, which meant I had to succeed.
Besides, I mused as the last of the parchment dissolved into specks of ash, the wax dripping onto the stones like blood, this has to be some sort of test. The Circle had chosen me to attempt a heist no sane person would even think about. They were either trying to get rid of me—which made little sense, since I was one of their “most profitable” assets—or they were gauging my skills because they truly believed I was the only thief who could pull this off.
Well, if that was true, I had better prove them right.
Fateless Copyright © 2025 by Julie Kagawa. Reproduced by permission of HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved.
***
Julie Kagawa,
the New York Times bestselling author of the Iron Fey and Blood of Eden series was born in Sacramento, California. But nothing exciting really happened to her there. So, at the age of nine she and her family moved to Hawaii, which she soon discovered was inhabited by large carnivorous insects, colonies of house geckos, and frequent hurricanes. She spent much of her time in the ocean, when she wasn’t getting chased out of it by reef sharks, jellyfish, and the odd eel.
When not swimming for her life, Julie immersed herself in books, often to the chagrin of her schoolteachers, who would find she hid novels behind her Math textbooks during class. Her love of reading led her to pen some very dark and gruesome stories, complete with colored illustrations, to shock her hapless teachers. The gory tales faded with time (okay, at least the illustrations did), but the passion for writing remained, long after she graduated and was supposed to get a real job.
To pay the rent, Julie worked in different bookstores over the years, but discovered the managers frowned upon her reading the books she was supposed to be shelving. So she turned to her other passion: training animals. She worked as a professional dog trainer for several years, dodging Chihuahua bites and overly enthusiastic Labradors, until her first book sold and she stopped training to write full time.
Julie now lives in Louisville, Kentucky, where the frequency of shark attacks are at an all time low. She lives with her husband, an obnoxious cat, an Australian Shepherd who is too smart for his own good, and a hyper-active Papillion.
Steve Davidson is the publisher of Amazing Stories.
Steve has been a passionate fan of science fiction since the mid-60s, before he even knew what it was called.
