Midnight Thief (13 page)

T W E N T Y

A
s Kyra’s captor stared at her face, the world resolved into details—his eyes, wide with shock and recognition, the insignia on his tunic that marked him as a knight, and the circle of guards that killed any remaining hope of escape. A chill wind blew across her forehead, still damp with sweat. Kyra shivered. When was the last time someone had seen her face on a job? She might as well have been naked.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Bella and the girls, eating lunch while the assassins watched. The image fueled her strength and she twisted in the knight’s grasp, freeing a leg and thrusting her knee into his abdomen. He grunted and she scrambled out from under him.

Then the guards closed in. Two sets of hands seized her and hauled her to her feet. Pain shot through her shoulder as someone shackled her wrists behind her. She cried out and kicked her heel into the shin of the guard behind her. He swore and loosened his grip, but didn’t let go. Then another Red Shield drew a dagger and pressed the point to her throat, daring her to move again. She didn’t.

The knight who’d captured her stood and dusted himself off, still breathing hard from the struggle. His jaw was set in anger, but his eyes were uncertain. Kyra stared back at him. Did he recognize that she’d rescued him in the marketplace? Would he be grateful?

He signaled to the guards. “Take her to the interrogation room. Careful, she’s vicious.”

The world went dark as someone threw a hood over her head. Rough hands patted her down and tore away her belt pouch. Someone shoved her from behind, barking a command to move, and Kyra stumbled forward to keep from falling on her face. The hood was stifling and there wasn’t enough air. They marched her down a cobblestone path, then into a building and down a flight of stairs. There they finally pulled the hood from her face and she gulped in a fresh breath.

She had never been inside an interrogation room before. The stone-walled chamber was bare except for a table and four chairs. There were no windows; the only light came from a single flickering oil lamp. Her guards led her past the table and pushed her into a chair. The clank of her shackles echoed through the room as a guard fastened Kyra’s chains to a ring on the floor. Then most of the soldiers left, leaving two to watch her.

What were they going to do to her? Every inch of her body ached, and the guards watched her every move. One sneered at her, lips curled in disgust as if she were a rodent. If only they hadn’t taken her lock picks…She could hear James taunting her:
This is what happens when you help the enemy. Mayhap the knight will give you a dungeon cell with a window, in gratitude for saving him.

Footsteps and voices filtered in from the corridor, and Kyra sat up straight. Two men came in. One she recognized as the young knight who had captured her—Sir Tristam, the guards had called him. He’d rinsed his face and changed into a fresh tunic, and Kyra was suddenly aware of the layer of dirt covering her from head to toe.

The second man was older and wore official’s robes. With a start, she recognized Malikel. Awake now, he had a commanding presence she hadn’t seen earlier. She should have killed him when she’d had the chance. A twist of her wrist, a few drops was all it would have taken.
Do you think Malikel or any of his soldiers would think twice about killing you? You’re nothing to them. Street scum to be ignored, played with, or abused.

“Your name?” asked Malikel.

She couldn’t have responded if she had wanted to. If she opened her mouth, she would fall apart.

“Your name,” he repeated. The guard beside her raised his arm. Kyra flinched and looked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malikel shake his head.

“This will be a long day if you refuse to answer even that simple question,” he said. “If I were you, I’d save my battles for later.”

“Kyra.” Her voice was dry and cracked.

Tristam leaned over the table. “I recognize you.” He spoke softly. “You were in the northwest quadrant the day of the attack. You threw a rock.”

“Little good that did me,” Kyra whispered. The shackles dug into her wrists. She tried to adjust her arms, and pain shot through her shoulder again. “I should have let you die.”

Belatedly, she realized she should have played along, tried to gain his sympathy. But it was too late. Tristam’s face hardened, and he pushed back from the table. “What were you doing in the Palace?” he asked roughly.

“There’s coin in the Palace. I need to eat.”

“You weren’t here for a simple burglary. I needn’t explain to you why that’s a ridiculous notion.”

She forced herself to look him in the eye. “If you know so much, why don’t you tell me why I’m here?”

“You work for the Assassins Guild.”

Kyra fought to keep her expression neutral as her stomach plummeted.

“I’ve never heard of a woman involved with them before, so you must be ambitious. Ruthless.” He watched her carefully, as if he were trying to see through her eyes and glean the thoughts behind them. “You must have had to work twice as hard to get where you are. How many people did you kill to get them to accept you?”

Ambitious? Ruthless? Had he
ever
, even once, had to worry about his next meal or where he would sleep? Had he ever watched assassins stalk his family? “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she hissed. She didn’t realize she had stood up until a guard pushed her back down. She sat, trembling, mouth clenched shut.

Malikel put a hand on Tristam’s arm, gently pushing the young knight back. “You’re right, Kyra. We don’t know very much about you,” said the older man. “But you’re not helping yourself by staying silent. I don’t know how strong your ties were to the Guild, but they’re outside the walls, and we have you right here. I would think hard about your allegiances.”

The perverse irony of the situation struck her. What would her interrogators think if they knew how much she hated James right now? But the assassin’s threats were too fresh in her mind, and Kyra wasn’t naïve enough to think the Palace would show her any mercy if they knew the truth. Time. She needed time to think.

“We’ll give you some time to think things over,” said Malikel. Kyra almost jumped. Had she said that last thought out loud? The official turned toward the guards. “Take her to a cell. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

T W E N T Y - O N E

T
he girl squirmed in Bacchus’s grasp, her face smeared with tears and dirt. The two stood in a thick mist. Menacing shadows moved in the fog around them.

Bacchus grinned as he took out his knife. “Which finger do we take off first?”

Kyra turned to see James beside her, arms characteristically crossed over his chest as he watched Bacchus with approval.

“She’s weak,” the head assassin observed. “Not like you, Kyra. Children are entertaining from time to time, and useful. The key is knowing when they need to die.”

Kyra found that she agreed. The girl did seem rather pathetic. As if to agree with her, the shapes in the mist moved closer.

“Bacchus,” called James. “Let her do it.”

Kyra felt her excitement build as she closed in. This would prove once and for all that she belonged with the Guild, with James. From the mists, Kyra heard growls of approval. Teeth flashed in anticipation.

Lettie didn’t struggle when Kyra raised the knife for the kill. Instead, she looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

She woke to complete darkness and the smell of urine, mold, and moss. Her cell had no windows, and she had no idea what time it was. Kyra lay curled on her side, listening to the sound of her own ragged breathing. The hard stone bruised her hip, but she knew everything would hurt more if she tried to stand.

She couldn’t erase the images from her dream. Had it been Lettie the whole time or just at the end? She would never hurt Lettie in real life. Or would she? The scene was too vivid, the bloodlust too strong. Perhaps she was going mad. Or maybe James was right, and the assassin inside her was just waiting to come out.

Footsteps sounded outside her door. She barely had time to sit up before lantern light flooded the cell. Kyra cast a hand over her eyes. The guards surrounded and shackled her in a well-practiced routine, hooding her again before marching her out. Her muscles protested at the abrupt start, but she doubted her escorts would slow at her request.

Tristam waited in the interrogation room, arms crossed, as her guards shackled her into place across from him. This time, she took a closer look at the knight. He was tall, with a broad chest, muscular shoulders. While he didn’t have Malikel’s commanding presence, there was a sense of focus about him. He really wanted something, and Kyra had a feeling it involved her.

“Are you ready to talk?” His voice was cold, with no trace of the uncertainty from the day before.

Bacchus’s voice echoed in Kyra’s head, teasing her like the lamp’s dancing flames.
Which finger do we take off first?
Was that what they’d do to Lettie if she said anything?

When she didn’t respond, Tristam spoke again. “We don’t have time for games. If I get nothing from you today, we’ll deliver you to the torture chamber.”

Kyra’s breath caught despite herself. He was serious about the torture.

“Your compound is secure, but it’s got its weaknesses,” she said. “I can show you where they are.”

Tristam’s jaw tightened. “I said no games.”

“I in’t playing games.”

Tristam scrutinized Kyra in the dim light. “You’re offering me a small amount of information to avoid telling me what I really want to know.”

She had to be careful. The knight might be hostile, but he was not slow. “It’s useful information,” she countered, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. “Easy to check, and you don’t have to lift a finger to get it out of me. If you’re not satisfied, I’ll be here for more chats.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Fine,” he finally said. “What can you tell me?”

Kyra grabbed at the first detail that came to mind. “The windows aren’t secure. The glass windows in the outer compound have locks that can be picked. The shutters in the high windows of the inner compound as well.”

“We already know that. Do better.”

Kyra put a hand to her temple. The chamber’s musty air was giving her a headache. “It’d be easier if I had a map of the compound.”

The corner of his mouth crept up. “Your memory will have to do.”

Did he really think she would benefit from a map? She’d bet a month’s wages that she knew the compound better than he. “Give me a blank parchment, then, and a piece of charcoal.”

Tristam looked skeptical, but signaled a guard to fetch the supplies. Kyra spread the parchment in front of her, touched the charcoal down, and pulled up her mental map. It made her feel more secure, having something to focus on that she knew well.

“This is the inner compound wall,” she said, sketching a rough outline of the buildings on the north side. “The meeting rooms, the dormitories, and these storage sheds are secure. But the library’s not.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tristam’s fist clench. It bothered him to hear about his precious Palace being compromised. If she were wise, she would tread carefully. But she was angry, and there was some comfort in showing the wallhuggers their failings. Kyra’s strokes grew bolder as she traced out the compound’s gigantic library. “The north door has a weak lock. You’ll want to replace it. Especially ’cause once you get into the library, you can climb out the second-floor window, and it’s simple to skirt around the outside to the record rooms.”

By the time she finished speaking, Tristam had regained his composure. He summoned a guard. “Have the locksmith look at the north door of the library. Tell me what he says.” The knight turned back to Kyra, his expression wavering between annoyance and reluctant acknowledgment that she might be useful. “What more can you tell me?”

She closed her eyes, recalling the different paths that she took, the gates with broken locks, and the pathways with fewer patrols. Occasionally, Tristam asked for more details, and every so often he sent off some notes for verification. He became less hostile as each of her tips checked out. Lunch was brought to them at midday, and he pushed the tray toward her.

“Eat.” He paused. “You’ve done well,” he said grudgingly.

The chicken thigh she dug into was no match for Bella’s hearty cooking. “Have I earned myself anything?”

“A morning’s reprieve.”

The afternoon continued similarly. All her tips came back verified, as she knew they would. But she was running out of things to tell him. She started to slow, to hesitate as she sifted between her most hard-won secrets, and she could tell from the way Tristam watched her that he noticed.

“How did you get through the kennel?” Tristam asked late in the afternoon.

Kyra opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. “What do you mean?”

“How did you get through the kennel when you raided the Palace storehouse? That’s the only way you could have gotten a group of men that far in.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Her expression of stubborn innocence fooled neither of them.

Tristam stared at her for a long moment. Then he looked to the door, and Kyra saw guards waiting, ready to lead her out.

“No need to blindfold her,” Tristam told them. “She already knows her way around.”

The guards escorted her out the door but turned her away from her cell, instead leading her out of the building. Tristam followed, walking slightly behind her. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’re transferring you to another location,” said Tristam. The ominous announcement was balanced by Kyra’s relief at being taken outside. It was late afternoon, and the air and sunlight felt fresh on her face. For someone who so often worked at night, she was surprised at how much she had missed the sun. Ahead, Kyra saw a crowd of people walking toward them.

“Move off the path,” Tristam said. “We’ll let them go by.” Her guards led her a distance off and they waited by a cluster of bushes.

It was a somber crowd, dressed in grays and blacks. Few spoke, and they progressed at a slow, solemn pace.

“A funeral.” Tristam’s soft voice sounded right beside her. “For a loyal servant of the Palace. He served here fifteen years, up until his death.”

A woman led the party. Quite a bit older than Kyra, but her face was still smooth and her hair not yet gray. The woman was not crying, although her face showed the effort it took to maintain control. She kept herself together, Kyra guessed, for the five children walking beside her. They ranged from Lettie’s age to almost her own. Unlike their mother, the children wept openly. As Kyra studied their features, a suspicion began to form.

“He was a good man, a devoted father,” Tristam continued. Kyra looked at him out of the corner of her eye. There was something odd about his voice. He watched her intently as he continued talking.

“It was a tragedy for all of us when he was killed in the storehouse raid four days ago.”

Tristam continued talking, but Kyra didn’t hear him. She was fixated now on the pallbearers, and the body that lay upon the platform they carried. The body was covered, but her imagination supplied the details. How could it not? She would never forget his face, the panic in his eyes as she held the knife to his throat, his strangled cry, the way his body slowly went limp.

Tristam’s fingers dug into her arm and she winced at the pain. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t attacking her, but holding her up. She took a breath and willed her legs to do their job. His grip loosened as she steadied. Her gaze returned to the widow and five children, and she stared after them as they turned a corner. If they had seen her, they showed no sign of knowing who she was. She hoped they’d never find out.

Kyra slumped as the tail of the procession disappeared. “You’re not really moving me to another cell,” she said.

“No.”

She would have expected Tristam to look more pleased with himself. He had obviously brought her to the courtyard expecting some reaction, and she had given one that implicated her as clearly as if she had written
ASSASSIN
on her forehead. There was some satisfaction in his eyes, but beyond that, he looked…curious.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“He’s not the first to die at the Guild’s hands. And he won’t be the last.”

Kyra snuck another look at the knight’s face. He spoke softly. The curiosity was still there, but now his words had the probing focus of a hound who’d scented blood.

“Last month, two guards disappeared after an armory raid. We never found their bodies. They had families as well. Wives and children, and ailing parents.”

She knew what he was doing now. If she’d been untied, Kyra would have clawed at his face and clamped her hands over his mouth.

“The widow today, she fainted when she heard the news. The littlest one, the daughter,” he continued. “She still doesn’t understand that he’s gone. She keeps asking—”

“Stop,” she said.

He waited.

“Grant me one favor.” Her fists were clenched, and she shook with the effort of maintaining what was left of her composure.

“What is it?”

Kyra hung her head, all fight drained out of her. The man she killed deserved justice. Kyra had been a fool to think she could escape it. Even if she kept it from the Palace, her crime would haunt her nightmares. “Just outside the southwest merchant district, there’s a tavern called The Drunken Dog. The cook is named Bella, and she watches two children. There is also a…frequent patron named Flick. Send someone to find them and put them under guard in the Palace. Once they’re safe, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“You want us to protect them?”

“They’re under threat.”

Tristam hesitated. “We don’t house commoners in the Palace.”

Would he refuse her? She’d already said too much, and there was no way to take it back. “Please.” It cost her to beg, and she couldn’t look him in the eye. “I give you my word I’ll answer your questions after that.”

She kept her eyes on the ground. Tristam said nothing, and Kyra was aware of the guards watching them. Somehow she’d stumbled into a pit she couldn’t escape. She just regretted dragging Flick, Bella, Idalee, and Lettie with her.

When the knight finally spoke, he was uncertain, as if surprised at his own words. “Perhaps we can make an exception. I’ll speak with Malikel.”