Midnight Thief (12 page)

E I G H T E E N

K
yra didn’t know how long she stayed in her room after James left, replaying the conversation in her head. She was a fool, many times over—for joining the Guild, for trusting James, for thinking that she could get involved, and that she could leave.

James was wrong. There were steps she wasn’t willing to take. The kill had been an accident. She wasn’t an assassin, and she wouldn’t kill a Council member. She couldn’t.

But James was more than capable of carrying out his threats.

The thought brought Kyra to her feet, and she barreled downstairs two steps at a time, images of the girls bound and captive flashing through her mind. Kyra burst into the kitchen to find Idalee grinding peppercorns with Bella.

Bella raised her head. “Kyra?”

“Where’s Flick?” Kyra asked. She surreptitiously scanned the room, shrinking under Bella’s worried eye. The kitchen looked normal. Stew bubbled on the stove. Everything was in its place. No assassins hidden under the cabinets.

“He went to the wool district,” said Bella. “Do you need him?” The cook put down her pestle and moved toward her. Kyra took a half step back. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell Bella what had happened. Maybe it would be all right.

“Just tell him I’m looking for him,” Kyra said roughly. She fled into the dining room before her resolve could crumble any further.

The midday crowd hadn’t come in yet, and she settled into a booth, hugging her knees. That’s when she noticed two slightly familiar men in the corner. Both wore cloaks that hid their faces, but when she looked in their direction, one pulled his hood back and winked at her. The signal jolted through her. Kyra jumped up and headed for the kitchen, only to back up as Idalee came in with a platter of shepherd’s pie. Kyra watched with rising dread as the cloaked men thanked Idalee and slipped her a coin. The unsuspecting girl returned to the kitchen, and Kyra settled herself back into the booth. She wasn’t going to leave Idalee alone with those two.

The men bent over their meals, for all appearances engrossed in their own conversation. Kyra rubbed her temples and tried to concentrate. She had to get everybody out of the tavern, away from the assassins. Perhaps if they escaped out the back? And she needed to find some way to get word to Flick.

By the time Bella came to set the table for lunch, Kyra had a rudimentary plan. She could get one of Flick’s friends to start a fight in the dining room to distract the cloaked men. She’d grab everyone, sneak out the back, and find a hiding place close by until they could get out of the city. As Bella, Idalee, and Lettie joined her at the table, Kyra glanced out the window. Her gaze settled on a familiar face, and she gasped. Across the street, behind the constant stream of people and carts, stood Shea from the Guild.

“What are you looking at, Kyra?” asked Bella.

“Nothing,” Kyra said. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

She kept quiet for the rest of the meal, trying not to choke on the food that she shoved mechanically into her mouth. Thankfully, Idalee was in a talkative mood, and Kyra kept quiet. There were too many eyes, and Kyra didn’t dare give the assassins any reason to suspect she was trying to warn the others. After lunch, Kyra noticed more Guild members, some outside the tavern and others mixed in with the dining room crowd. With each discovery, her plans for escape unraveled further. She and Flick were no match for multiple assassins, and a simple barroom fight wouldn’t be enough to distract them all. Perhaps she could create a stronger diversion? She ran through a list of possibilities. A fire was too dangerous. Multiple fights, perhaps?

As dinnertime approached, Brendel set up in his corner and began to play. He sang, first of Evelyne’s passionate love with the felbeast, their brief but beautiful time together. Kyra wanted to throw her spoon across the room and cover her ears. In the real world, beasts didn’t turn into men. Instead, it was the other way around.

Flick finally returned after the evening meal. He had a neatly dressed girl on his arm—the wool merchant’s daughter.

“Flick!” It was such a relief to see him.

“Kyra.” He gestured to the girl, who was looking around the tavern with wide eyes. “This is Gabrielle. You were looking for me?”

Kyra took a quick glance toward her watchers. One of them met her eyes and shook his head. Kyra swallowed hard. “I just had a question,” she lied. “I’ve figured it out.”

Flick cocked his head, watching Kyra carefully. “You sure?”

“Aye.”

A flash of confusion crossed his face, and he took a step closer. “Look Kyra, I know we—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted. “Headache, that’s all.”

She grabbed what was left of her dinner and fled upstairs. In the silence of her room, Kyra urged herself to think. Even if she was able to escape with Bella and the girls, where would they go? The Guild had eyes all over Forge. Would they have to run to another city? Live in the woods? Maybe James was right. What had Malikel or anyone in the Palace ever done for her? Why was she risking so much to spare a nobleman who wouldn’t give her a second thought?

There was a sharp rap on her door. Kyra drew a breath and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her dagger, holding it ready at her side as she inched the door open. The hooded man, the one who had winked at her, stood in her doorway. His eyes flickered to her weapon.

“Be across the Palace wall in an hour,” he said, and walked away.

Kyra closed the door again and buried her face in her hands, the weight in her chest threatening to choke her. It was no longer safe to stay at the inn. Fingers shaking, she changed into dark clothes. To her belt, she tied the bottle of clearberry juice. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed a mask and stuffed it into her pocket. She would feel safer tonight with her face covered.

She left through the dining room, walking by the hooded men and meeting their eyes briefly as she passed. As she opened the door, they gathered their things to follow. The assassins trailed her by half a block on her way to the Palace, though they didn’t follow her over the wall. When she was far enough in, Kyra climbed onto a high ledge. She sat down and hugged her knees, digging her nails into her forearms as she willed herself to think out her options.

There were certainly still assassins at the inn, and it was too late to get everyone to safety. What if she turned herself in? Could the Palace offer protection? Kyra felt sick at the prospect of arrest and trial. An association of this magnitude with the Assassins Guild would certainly mean death, especially now that she had innocent blood on her hands. And could she even trust the Palace? Or would they just torture her for information and leave her friends to the Guild’s mercy?

Kyra reached to her belt and untied the vial, letting the shape blur before her. No matter what she did, someone would die tonight. Malikel was a knight who’d accepted the risk of death when he pledged his allegiance to the city. Bella and the girls, they were just innocent bystanders, victims of—of what? Kyra’s own stupidity. Everyone had warned her against the Guild, but she’d been caught up by the lure of challenge, of security, by her own fascination with James. The clues had been there, but she’d ignored them.

Bella would tell her not to go through with the job, even if by killing Malikel she’d be saving four others. But Bella hadn’t seen the assassins’ eyes that morning as they followed Idalee around The Drunken Dog. She hadn’t heard the chill in James’s voice when he delivered his threat. Kyra retied the vial to her belt. Blanking her mind to the dread and self-loathing that threatened to overwhelm her, she continued farther into the Palace.

The living quarters were deep inside the compound. Several times, Kyra had to double back to avoid guards, but eventually, she was perched outside the topmost windows, ready to enter. The shutters made a high squeaking sound as Kyra pried them open, and she stopped, heart skipping a beat. She peered through the opening. No one was inside. Kyra waited for her pulse to calm and tried again. The shutters didn’t make any more noise when she pushed them wider, but there was no way Kyra could risk a noise like that again. She would have to leave them slightly ajar.

Sooner than she expected, Kyra found herself in front of a pair of solid oak doors, reaching for her lock picks. The lock yielded all too quickly to her efforts. It was so easy now, to enter the Palace and do what she wished. James had molded her well.

The room was plain for a wallhugger’s. A man breathed lightly on a sturdy four-poster bed. Other than a woven rug on the floor, there was little decoration. Kyra stayed away from the bed, skirting along the edge of the rug. It would be easier to do this if she didn’t see Malikel’s face. Instead, she focused on the herbs. If she took tea every morning, where would she keep it? The chest at the foot of his bed contained only weapons, but a quick search of his dresser turned up a pouch of dried leaves.

Her hands were clumsy as she untied the pouch. All she had to do was put a few drops in there and leave. Maybe he wouldn’t take a large dose. Perhaps the healers would save him in time. She just needed to convince James that she had tried. Again, she forced her mind blank. Leather thongs gave way to her slow fingers and she laid the open pouch on top of the dresser. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before reaching for the vial’s cap.

She couldn’t do this.

Kyra’s hands shook so badly that she’d spill the contents of the vial if she opened it. Spots swam before her eyes. She took a step back, clutching her stomach. But if she couldn’t go through with the kill, what could she do?

Malikel shifted in the bed, and Kyra dove to the floor, digging her fingers into the thick rug. Cursing herself for letting her guard down, she crawled through a back doorway, slipping through just as he sat up.

She huddled behind the open door. Perhaps he would go back to sleep. For a moment, there was silence, and then she heard footsteps. A dim light flickered through the doorway, and only then did Kyra realize her mistake.

She had left his herbs on top of the dresser.

Kyra froze as she heard a knock on the double oak doors, barely breathing as Malikel answered. She heard what must have been Malikel’s greeting, and a younger man answered. The voices grew louder as they stepped back inside. It would be just a matter of time before they discovered her.

She cast around for an escape route. With the candlelight from the next room, she saw that she was in a sitting room off the main chamber. There was a window here, but to get to it she’d have to run past the open doorway. Peering through the crack of the door, Kyra caught a glimpse of the men as they paced the room. She had to time her escape for a moment they both faced away.

N I N E T E E N

T
he shutter on the high window was slightly ajar. It was pitch dark outside, and no light shone through the tiny crevice. But there definitely was a crack, and a feeling of coolness—not quite a breeze—that seeped into the corridor and cut through the hallway’s musty air.

Tristam rubbed his eyes. His newest theory about the Assassins Guild was making him paranoid. Not every open window was left by a spy. Most likely the maids had opened the shutter to air out the corridor and forgotten to close it. He shook his head and continued toward his quarters, only to stop a few steps later. How often was it, really, that the maids opened these windows? He circled back.

As Tristam passed by Malikel’s room, he saw a faint light under the door. Again, he stopped, unable to shake the feeling that something was off. Had the light been there a few moments ago? Tristam bent his head and listened. He heard some footsteps through the door and knocked quietly. The doorknob turned, and Malikel peered out.

“Tristam.” The older man was still wearing his dressing gown and had the disoriented expression of someone who had just woken up. “What brings you by at this late hour?”

Tristam paused, somewhat embarrassed to share his vague suspicions. “I don’t really know. Something didn’t feel right. Why are you awake?”

Malikel gave a quick, focused nod. “A noise may have awoken me.” He motioned Tristam in. “As you said, something didn’t feel right.”

Tristam entered Malikel’s quarters, scanning the area for anything out of place. The fire was out, but that was to be expected at this hour. “One of the high windows was open in the hallway,” he told Malikel. “It’s a small thing, but—” He stopped short. “Do you usually leave your herbs out like that?”

Malikel picked up the herbs off his dresser. “No,” he said, his face drawn. “I keep them in the drawer, and certainly not open like this.”

There was a sound from the sitting room, like wood scraping on wood. Tristam reached for the dagger at his belt and fought the urge to swear when he realized he didn’t have it.

“Tristam.” Malikel took two short swords from a chest and handed one to Tristam. Tristam nodded his thanks and inched toward the door, barely breathing. He could see nothing unusual through the open doorway. Checking to make sure Malikel was behind him, he readied his weapon and stepped in.

The room was empty, but one set of shutters was half open.

Forgetting caution, Tristam crossed the room in three strides and leaned out the window, squinting into the darkness. There was a hint of movement to his left. As soon as he turned his head, the movement stopped. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and the figure of a man resolved itself on the ledge. The stranger was covered from head to toe in black, which made him almost invisible at that height with no torchlight to illuminate him. Sudden elation swept through Tristam, tinged with panic. It was him. The spy he’d been seeking, and he was
not
going to get away.

Tristam drew his head closer to the wall. He didn’t like exposing any part of himself to this figure, but he didn’t dare let him out of sight.

“You’re surrounded by guards,” he called. The figure didn’t move. “Stay where you are. If you try to escape, you won’t make it out alive.”

There was a pause, and the intruder slowly turned his head toward Tristam. Despite the darkness, Tristam had the impression that their eyes met. Then the masked figure turned and ran.

Tristam pounded his leg in frustration and shouted out the window for guards. If he’d had any doubt about whether this was the mysterious intruder he’d been seeking, it disappeared as soon as he saw the man run. The figure, seemingly oblivious to the great height, moved with a grace that he wouldn’t have thought possible. He ran along a ledge less than a foot wide, ducking under overhangs and barely grazing the surface with his feet. When the intruder reached the edge of one building, he jumped to the next and kept going until an arrow glanced off the wall in front of him. He stopped and surveyed the gathering crowd below, shifting his weight from foot to foot as more guards gathered with bows trained in his direction.

“I want him captured alive,” Tristam shouted before racing downstairs and outside.

When he burst through the door, the courtyard was in chaos. The man was gone and Red Shields were rushing into the building. Tristam grabbed the nearest soldier and demanded to know what had happened.

“He went into one of the windows.”

Tristam started to follow the guard inside, but stopped himself. There were plenty of people searching the building; one extra person wouldn’t help. He needed a better plan. If he were the intruder, where would he go?

The obvious answer was back outside to the ledges. That was where no one could follow him, and where he could best stay hidden. And unless the intruder was prepared to spend days hiding amongst the Palace buildings, he would try to get out of the compound before dawn.

What was the most direct path, if one were traveling from ledge to ledge toward the compound wall? If the spy headed south, the buildings led straight to the perimeter. Perhaps he could head him off there. There were a lot of “ifs” in that line of reasoning, but he couldn’t think of a better plan. He detained guards as they ran past.

“We can intercept the intruder at the compound wall,” he told them. “I want men stationed along the length to watch for his escape.” Tristam dealt out assignments as quickly as he could. Once the guards were on their way, he too ran south.

The intruder was fast, but he’d have to slow down at the wall. It didn’t matter how fleet-footed he was—the buildings were too far away for anyone to jump. Once he got there, he’d have to come down to ground level, and he’d have to pause to throw a grappling hook.

Tristam slowed to a stop at the edge of the inner compound. Pathways and grass lined the inside of the wall. The area was usually lit by only a few torches, but guards had come by and added more. With the extra light, it would be hard for anyone to pass undetected. Tristam found a sheltered spot with a wide view and settled down. Only then did he notice how knotted his muscles were, the tight clench of his stomach. This was their first real lead in months. They couldn’t let him escape, not now.

In his mind, he saw the masked figure again. What kind of man did it take, to so coolly and methodically slip through the Palace defenses? To betray his own city to bloodthirsty beasts? It was frightening to realize that the assassin had been inside Malikel’s room while the official slept. His commander was far from helpless, but still…Was this person the secret behind the Assassins Guild’s recent rise?

As he waited, his breathing slowed and heat faded from his veins. He rubbed his arms and stomped his legs to stay warm. It would do no good to see the criminal only to trip over limbs cramped from the cold.

A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision. Tristam strained his eyes toward the movement. A masked figure stood close to the wall, huddled against the stone and doing something with his hands. Tristam’s breath caught, and he scanned the area for backup. The closest guards wouldn’t hear him unless he shouted. It was better to catch the intruder by surprise.

The man stepped back from the wall and swung his rope to cast it over. Tristam started toward him. He didn’t make any noticeable sound, but the dark figure froze and looked straight at him. So much for surprise. Tristam yelled for guards, hollering like a madman as he launched himself at his quarry. The intruder hesitated a split second before backing up again, lobbing his grappling hook over the wall with a practiced motion. Tristam quickened his pace.

The assassin tugged on the rope and started climbing, and Tristam felt a moment of panic. If the intruder reached the top and took the rope, he’d escape again, and letting him go unpunished was not an option. Tristam sucked air into his burning lungs, gathering himself for one last burst of speed. He didn’t slow as he neared the wall, but jumped instead, grabbing for the man’s leg. The unforgiving stone knocked the breath out of him, but his hands closed around an ankle, and they both fell to the ground. The intruder landed on top of him with a yell.

There was something about that voice, but in the ensuing struggle Tristam didn’t give it much thought. A knife flickered above him and he jerked his head to the side, bridging his hips up and throwing his opponent over. It was surprisingly easy. The stranger was smaller than he had expected, and in a wrestling match, Tristam had the clear advantage. The force of the throw slammed the intruder’s knife hand against the ground, and Tristam took the opportunity to strike his wrist. The knife fell out of the man’s limp fingers and Tristam pushed it out of his reach. Tristam pinned his opponent to the ground and held him by sheer weight, ruthlessly crushing his movements as reinforcements arrived. He finally had him. The man who had eluded him all this time. And he would give Tristam answers.

His captive’s eyes rolled to the side, taking in the gathering guards. Finally, either from fatigue or acceptance of the odds, he stopped struggling. Once Tristam was no longer fighting for his life, details from the chase and the fight started to fit themselves together. The realization came gradually, settling in as the excitement faded away. It was a crazy notion, but now, with no knife to distract him and being in such close contact with his adversary, there was no denying the evidence. Gingerly lifting one hand, he grabbed the stranger’s mask and peeled it off.

A cascade of tangled brown hair fell out as a familiar and unmistakably feminine face stared up at him.