Midnight Thief (14 page)

T W E N T Y - T W O

K
yra could smell the fear emanating from the man’s pores. She breathed deeply and smiled in pleasure. Her knife was balanced against his throat, and she felt the tension in his muscles as he stood frozen against the wall. Assassins surrounded them, watching.

She was about to make her move when the assassins dissolved into mist. The fog dropped and condensed, taking the shape of huge beasts. Giant demon cats, licking their lips in anticipation, tails snaking back and forth, eyes fixed on her victim.

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

One of the cats spoke. “We’re proud of you, daughter. This is your kill. We won’t interfere.”

If it was blood they wanted, she would give it to them. In one smooth movement, her knife traced a line across her victim’s throat. The man rolled his eyes and sank to the ground, and she dismissed his weakness with disdain. Grasping her knife, she raised it high so she could plunge it into him one more time
….

Suddenly, she was awake. James and the others faded, but the knife was still there, hovering above her body and aimed at her chest. Reflexively, she brought up her arm as it came down. The weapon cut a painful trail across her forearm and glanced off to the side. She kicked up hard. Her assailant doubled over and stumbled back. Kyra recognized the red-and-white livery of a Red Shield.

She struggled to regain her bearings. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her cell after the funeral. And now a guard was trying to kill her.

Why?

As her mind struggled to catch up, her body attempted a more defensive position. Kyra pushed herself to her feet, but standing so quickly made her vision cloud over. She braced against the wall for another attack, resigned for the worst. But instead, she heard the clang of her cell door. Her attacker’s footsteps faded. By the time her vision cleared, she was alone.

Her right forearm throbbed painfully, and she pressed the bottom of her tunic against the wound to stop the bleeding. Drawing a ragged breath, she sat down and cradled her injured arm. The building was silent, with no signs of anyone, friendly or unfriendly, passing by.

Her breathing slowed, but the horror stayed in her chest. It wasn’t just the attack. Her nightmares were getting worse, the emotions becoming more vivid each time. The violence and bloodlust clung to her, try as she might to erase them.

Kyra lifted a corner of the cloth to inspect her wound. The bleeding had not completely stopped, but it had slowed. Her hand was curled in an unnaturally tight fist. She tried to spread her fingers, but they barely twitched.

Alarmed now, Kyra tried again. Had the knife cut some tendons? That wouldn’t explain the almost painful muscle spasms that now immobilized her entire forearm. Kyra jumped to her feet. The room spun around her and she put her hand to her mouth to keep from vomiting. Spreading paralysis and nausea—she had heard of this at the Guild. No wonder her attacker had left. The poison would do the rest of his work for him.

Fighting down panic, she crossed to the cell door. If she banged on the door, would a passing guard hear? As Kyra drew breath to shout for help, she saw a faint light lining the edge of the door. In his haste to escape, the assassin hadn’t closed it properly. She tugged experimentally on the handle. The door didn’t budge, but the padlock on the other side was fastened poorly. She might be able to tease it open.

Her eyes fell on her bowl and spoon from dinner. The back of the spoon might work. She slid the handle through the opening. Although her mind was fuzzy, her hand knew what to do. The door swung open and she stumbled out into the hallway, silently thanking Flick for all those times they’d tried to outdo each other with their lock picks.

The corridor was lined with doors leading to similar cells, all closed. It was strangely quiet, and there was no sign of the man who had tried to kill her. Kyra crept up a spiral staircase at the end of the hallway, only to duck back at the red flash of a uniform. But as her heartbeat slowed, she realized that here also, it was overly quiet. There were no footsteps, no movement. She peered around the corner again. A guard lay on the ground, unnaturally still. Kyra gritted her teeth and inched closer, looking only at his belt to avoid triggering her nausea. Her hands brushed his waist as she took the key ring. His body was still warm.

If she could make her way outside, she could call for help. But did she want to? Kyra had been around the Guild long enough to recognize the effects of lizard-skin venom. It caused disorientation in the victim, but the paralysis was the most dangerous. Once it spread to her vital organs, she’d die. She had an hour at most, and only if she could find a skilled healer who knew poisons.

If a guard found her, he’d drag her back to the cell, and she’d be dead before morning. She needed someone who would recognize the symptoms and know which healer could treat her—which meant her best hope was Tristam or Malikel. It was a bizarre situation. Here she was free of her cell, and not only was she about to walk straight back to her captors, she was also desperately hoping that she would find them. Malikel lived on the fifth floor in the officials’ quarters, all the way across the courtyard. Tristam was with the younger officials on the ground floor.

She unlocked the door at the top of the stairwell, only to close it again at the sound of footsteps. When the footsteps faded, she crept through the door and into the courtyard. The cool air made her shiver more than it should have.

As she moved, images from her nightmare flashed through her mind. The smells stuck with her—the man’s fear, the overpowering scent of his blood. Or was it her own blood she was smelling? As she reached the other side of the courtyard, she finally succumbed, bending over and retching into the bushes. The noise echoed too loudly off the walls. Finally, with her half-digested dinner pooled in the dirt, her body stopped convulsing. Kyra picked herself up and pried open the door to the officials’ quarters, trying to ignore the stiffness that had now spread from her arm to her shoulder.

A rush of warm air hit Kyra’s face and she blinked rapidly. Where was Tristam’s room? She closed her eyes, trying to see the map James had given her. It had been on there. She was sure of it, but the map’s lines turned blurry in her mind. Kyra settled on her best guess. Her first knock was pathetically soft. Her second attempt made her head swim, but at least the sound carried. The door opened, and Tristam peered out, blinking in confusion. His hair was disheveled, and he was bare-chested. Shock swept over his features at seeing Kyra. His body tensed. Then his eyes flicked to her arm, taking in the wound, before settling back on her face.

“I need a healer…poisoned blade.” Talking took more breath than she was willing to spare.

He kept the door between them but reached through and placed two fingers under Kyra’s chin, tipping her face toward him. She tried to meet his gaze as he examined her eyes, but she couldn’t focus. He touched the back of his fingers lightly to her cheek. She flinched away at his icy touch.

“You’re right.” His voice was soft, but his movements now took on a new urgency. He disappeared into his room. When he reappeared, he had thrown on a loose tunic. Tristam stepped into the hallway with no hint of his prior wariness. “Can you walk?”

She nodded and hoped it was still true.

Tristam half supported and half steered her down the corridor. “Who was it?”

“A Red Shield.” She stumbled. Tristam caught her as she pitched forward. Again, he tipped her face up to the candlelight. Kyra wondered just how bad she looked.

“This isn’t working,” Tristam muttered. “You need a healer now.” He reached behind Kyra’s knees and lifted her into his arms. Kyra watched dazedly as blood from her forearm left a streak on his white tunic. In other circumstances, she might have objected to being carried like a child, but now she just let herself crumple.

Candles, doors, stones blurred by. “Do you know the poison?” he asked.

“Lizard skin.”

“What’s the antidote?”

For some reason, it struck Kyra as funny that she didn’t know. She started to chuckle but choked instead.

“Kyra?”

“I don’t…”

He laid her on a soft surface. She heard Tristam pound on a door and call for a healer. She was having trouble breathing now, her lungs expanding only a finger’s width with each breath. Between gasps, she heard a woman asking questions. Cold hands probed her wounded arm, while others raised her head and poured something into her mouth. She choked on the bitter liquid. Soon, the room and voices faded to nothing.

T W E N T Y - T H R E E

“D
o you think this is a genuine assassination attempt?” She recognized that voice, but couldn’t place it.

“Ilona says the poison is almost always lethal,” Tristam replied. “Kyra should be dead.”

“You acted quickly.”

“I’m still impressed that she found me.”

Kyra was slowly gaining control of her eyelids. At first, they fluttered uselessly, but with some effort she forced them open, only to snap them shut at the bright daylight. A moment later, she made a second attempt. This time, the light wasn’t so blinding. She was in a room, sparsely furnished except for jars of herbs stacked around her.

As the memories rushed back, Kyra took an urgent inventory of her limbs. She flexed her fingers. Stiff, but they responded. She could also curl her toes. Relief flooded through her. If she could move her fingers and toes, hopefully she could move everything in between.

“Ilona, she’s awake.”

Kyra turned her head to see Tristam and Malikel next to her bed. The movement made her skull pound, and she closed her eyes again.

“Can you understand me, Kyra?”

A woman was bending over her. Kyra moved her head in her best approximation of a nod.

“You’re very lucky to be alive. Are you thirsty?”

Her jaw felt rusted shut. “Aye,” she finally managed to say.

The world spun as Ilona helped her sit. The healer waited a few moments before holding a cup to Kyra’s mouth. The water washed over her dry lips. Some made it into her mouth, while the rest splashed onto the blankets.

Ilona turned to the two knights. “I suppose you won’t wait to speak with her.”

“We’d wait if we could,” said Malikel.

Silence hung as Ilona gathered her things. When she left, Kyra turned her head to look at the knights. It took some effort to focus on their faces. Her gaze briefly met Tristam’s. The suspicion was gone from his eyes, and Kyra realized she no longer feared him.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank Ilona. She’s the one who saved you.”

Malikel leaned toward her, speaking slowly so she could follow. “The guards last night were drugged. All of them woke a few hours later and reported in, save one, who has disappeared along with his family. He was also the one to pass around the drugged water to the rest of them. He could have acted alone, but his methods suggest the Assassins Guild.”

Tristam shook his head. “He’d been in the guard force for twenty years,” he said. “We had no reason to think…”

“Maybe they threatened him,” said Kyra.

Both men turned to look at her. “What do you mean?” asked Malikel.

“That’s what they did to me.” Kyra gasped as she followed that train of thought. “Bella, Flick, did you—”

“They’re safe,” said Tristam. “We found them after you were attacked, and they’re under guard. What do you mean, the Guild threatened you?”

She closed her eyes in relief. As long as they were safe. “I wanted to leave the Guild. James—the head—wouldn’t let me. He said he’d kill them if—” She stopped abruptly.

“He wanted you to kill Sir Malikel, didn’t he?” Tristam said.

Kyra avoided their eyes. After all the stalling and the games, it was finally out. “I had a flask of poison I was supposed to put in Malikel’s herbs. I dumped it when I couldn’t carry through.”

There was a moment of silence as the men digested this.

“How long have you been with the Guild?” asked Malikel.

“A few months.” Kyra’s speech was starting to slur. Her eyelids felt heavy.

“Why did you join them?”

“They needed someone who could get into the Palace. I needed coin. They protected me from—” She broke off, sluggishly remembering that the Red Shields who’d attacked her had been from the Palace. It was so hard to know whom to trust, what to say.

Perhaps her garbled speech masked her lapse, because Malikel didn’t acknowledge it. “Tell me one more thing,” he said. “Does the Assassins Guild have any dealings with the Demon Riders?”

Kyra’s eyes snapped open and she straightened in her bed. Nausea rose dangerously high in her throat. “You think so too? I’d suspected. There was the armor.”

Malikel leaned forward in his chair. “Do you know how they got access to trade schedules?”

And just like that, the jolt of energy left her. Trade schedules. She closed her eyes. “He got them from me. I copied the schedules and gave them to him.” The Demon Rider attacks, the raids on the trade caravans. They had been her fault.

“I think that’s enough for today,” said Malikel. “Tristam, we have much to discuss.”

Kyra expected them to call the healer back in, but instead Malikel helped her lie back down on the bed. She watched them go, reeling at what she’d learned, the truth about the Guild that she could no longer deny. But right behind that realization, a wave of exhaustion followed as her wounds caught up with her. The two collided and dragged her back into darkness.

She slept for most of the next two days. The rest was good for her body, but as Ilona weaned her off the stronger sleep herbs, Kyra’s nightmares returned. Several times a day she woke up in a cold sweat to a reality that wasn’t much better. How could she have been so blind to James’s plans?

Ilona helped her regain her strength—first helping her stand, and then to walk. When Kyra was alone, she wondered about her future. Now that everything was out in the open, she had no idea what would come next.

On the third day, Tristam and Malikel came to see her again. The councilman’s expression was stern, and he entered with a gravity that made Kyra’s stomach heavy with dread. Tristam was also more subdued than usual.

“I won’t lie to you, Kyra,” said Malikel after they’d settled down. “You’re guilty of murder and high treason. The penalty is death, and neither Tristam nor I have the authority to change that.”

A lump rose in Kyra’s throat and she turned her face away. She had known this was the case, but somehow, she had hoped…

“We can’t change your sentence,” said Malikel, “but we can delay it. If you can help us against the Assassins Guild, the Council will grant a stay of execution.”

Kyra waited until she was sure she could speak. “So either I die now, or later.”

“You do have one hope. If you help us against the Assassins Guild, we can bring your case again before the Council. They’ve been known to reduce the sentences of prisoners who served them well. In previous questioning, you’ve been loyal to the Guild. Now that they’ve tried to kill you, and you know their connection with the Demon Riders, are you still so eager to defend their secrets?”

She studied their faces, trying to gauge the truth behind Malikel’s words. “How do I know I can trust the Council?”

There was a dark humor in Malikel’s eyes. “The Council shifts to the tides of politics. If you’re looking for security there, you’ll not find it. The only thing you can be sure of is what you know of the Assassins Guild, and what they have done,” said Malikel.

At least he was being honest. Kyra tried to think, but her mind fell apart. It was a devil’s bargain.

“Can I see Flick and Bella?” she asked.

The knights exchanged a glance.

“We’ll let you see them, if you want to,” said Malikel. “But you may not. They think you’re dead.”

“They what?” Kyra grabbed her chair to keep from falling off. “What did you tell them?” Tristam reached to steady her, but she jerked away. “What did you tell them?”

“Calm down, Kyra.” Malikel’s commanding voice cut through her hysteria. “It’s for their protection. You, of all people, should know that even being under guard in the Palace doesn’t keep you safe from the Guild. If James wants to harm them, he’ll find a way. But if you’re dead, he has no reason to.”

She imagined Flick and Bella hearing the news, Bella’s hand over her mouth, Flick pounding his fist against a wall.

“How did they take it?”

Tristam looked down. “Not well, as you’d expect. But at least they’re alive.”

She shook her head, gripping the edge of her chair like a lifeline. “Flick will do something stupid if he thinks the Guild killed me. He’ll get himself killed.” Her voice rose as she spoke. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

And here already, she was falling prey to the noblemen’s machinations. Of course they would be making her decisions for her. Dictating how her life should go.

“I don’t know him like you do, Kyra,” said Tristam quietly. “But I don’t think he will. Flick knows that he’s all they have now.”

“He doesn’t
know
that. He
thinks
that because you told him I was dead.” She paused. “Who knows I’m alive?”

“Even the guards think you were killed. Only key members of the Council know you survived.”

“But we could still tell Flick and Bella. They can be trusted.”

“We will if you insist,” said Malikel, “but they’ll be watched as soon as we take them out of the compound. If they let anything slip, or act in a way that arouses suspicion…Remember, you can always tell them later, once the danger has passed. But you can’t take it back once they know.”

She glared disbelievingly at both of them. “How do I know that you even spoke to them? How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

Tristam cleared his throat. “Idalee pulled the sheets and blankets off her bed and slept on the floor because the mattress was too soft. Flick took all the radishes out of the stew before eating it.”

Kyra lowered her eyes, not wanting them to see how much Tristam’s descriptions had affected her. Neither knight made any further argument, but just sat waiting. Did they have a point? She despised herself already, but she would never forgive herself if her friends came to harm.

“Fine,” she said. “Keep it this way. And I’ll help you against the Assassins Guild, if only to keep them safe.”

Lizard-skin venom worked quickly and left the body slowly. According to Ilona, Kyra had to take doses of antidote for the next twenty days. Only when the poison was completely purged from her body would she be out of danger. Even the tiniest remnant of venom in her blood, left untreated, would gradually accumulate in her vital organs and kill her. One upside to this was that the Council deemed her less of a flight risk. Instead of keeping her in her windowless dungeon cell, she was allowed to stay locked in a room in the healer’s wing.

Ilona’s morning visits were the only part of the day Kyra looked forward to; the healer’s gentle presence somehow made her isolation more bearable. Tristam visited her in the afternoons to speak with her about the Guild. He was no longer hostile. In their conversations, he listened to what she had to say and granted her rest if she felt tired. More than once, she caught him looking at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. But the knight remained distant. She told him what he needed to know, and their interaction ended at that. Kyra missed Bella’s gentle touch, Flick’s carefree jokes and contagious smile. She wondered how Idalee and Lettie were coping with news of her death, and how long she’d have to deceive them. Tristam told her that her friends had returned to the city, and Kyra hoped they were able to settle back into their lives.

“Tell me more about your raid of the Palace storehouse,” Tristam said to her one afternoon.

“I’ve recounted everything and mapped out the route for you. What more do you want?” she asked.

“Why did you choose that particular storehouse?”

“Because the landlord didn’t need the herbs, and the merchant did.”

“What?”

Kyra looked at him. “The landlord. Who took the herbs.”

“Kyra, what are you talking about?”

He really didn’t know. “The herbs in the storehouse were taken from a shopkeeper who couldn’t make his rent. His landlord took payment out of his wares instead.”

“How do you know this?”

“I watched the rent collection. You were there.” There was a flash of recognition in his eyes, but he still looked doubtful. “Look in your records if you don’t believe me.”

Tristam gave her one last calculating look. “Maybe I will.” He jotted something down in his notes. “Tell me more about James. What’s he like?”

Kyra sighed, seeing that this line of inquiry was over. “James is a strong Guildleader,” she said. “He knows his men well, and he knows how to get folk to do what he wants. He manipulates people and uses their emotions against them.”

“Does he share his power with anyone?”

“There’s no clear second-in-command, but he’s closer to some of his crew than others. Bacchus is one of his favorites.”

“What was your relationship with James?” asked Tristam.

She had been tracing the wood-grain lines on the table and now her fingers turned white with pressure. Her eyes flew to his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you speak with him often? Did you know him well?”

From his tone, she realized it was an innocent question. Kyra swallowed.

“No,” she said. She avoided his eyes. “I didn’t know him well at all.”

What
had
her relationship been with James? She felt sick at the way she’d felt and acted, like a giddy farm girl who’d lost all sense at a suitor’s first wink. Had he really been attracted to her, or had he just been manipulating her to his ends? Her bitterness at what he’d done sat heavy in her chest, but at the same time, she couldn’t believe that it had all been a lie. James’s pride at her gradual improvement had felt real, as had the conviction in his voice when he spoke of their city. Kyra thought back to the afternoon they’d spent planning the raid. Something had happened there. She just wasn’t sure what.

Tristam had stopped writing and was watching her carefully.

“You’re not telling me everything,” he said.

“There’s nothing to tell,” she said too quickly. Kyra wished he’d stop looking at her. She, for her part, looked everywhere but at Tristam.

“You cared for him, didn’t you?” Tristam said softly, his eyes opening up with the realization. “He threatened your family to get you to kill Malikel, but that was only after things broke down between the two of you. Did he take you into his bed?”

In hindsight, it was a good thing Tristam had quick reflexes, because things didn’t end well for prisoners who hit their captors. As it was, he caught Kyra’s wrist just before her palm struck his face. For a moment, they were frozen there, Kyra shaking with fury, Tristam focused and unyielding.