Midnight Thief (17 page)

Tristam had a way of listening that made her feel like he really took in what she said. She’d resented it in the interrogation room, but out here, it was kind of nice.

“I suppose there
is
some comfort in having a path set out for you,” he said. “Some younger sons resent having siblings to live up to, but my brothers were good to me. I respected them and learned a good deal.” He caught her eye. “Of course, things are different now that I’ve decided not to follow in their footsteps.”

Kyra remembered what he’d said earlier about joining the road patrols, and how abruptly he’d changed the topic. She bit her lip, gauging his receptiveness. “Who’s Jack?”

Tristam’s shoulders stiffened, and he made a visible effort to relax again. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep it secret,” he said. “Jack was a friend. We came to the Palace the same year and trained together almost up until I became a knight.”

“Was?”

“He was killed in the first Demon Rider raid. I joined the city’s defense to avenge his death. I thought it would be a simple thing, but it grew more and more complicated. The Demon Riders evaded us despite our best efforts. There were people working against us, leaking our secrets to the barbarians. I hated them and vowed to capture those responsible, but even that was not what I expected.” Tristam paused. “Sometimes, when you look more closely at your enemies, they start looking less like enemies.”

Kyra realized with a jolt that he was talking about her. Tristam was still lost in his own thoughts.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said. “Though I’m not quite sure how to say it.”

“Tristam, you’ve been interrogating me for weeks. And now you can’t ask a question?”

There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes before his expression turned serious again. “When you watched the rent collection, you saw me there?”

She nodded. “You stood right by the wagon, commanding the Red Shields.”

“And when the Demon Riders attacked Forge, did you recognize me when you saw me on the streets?”

When Kyra nodded again, he fell silent, as if he were turning words around in his head. “You didn’t have to throw that rock,” he finally said. “It nearly got you killed.”

Again, she worried he was mocking her, but the only thing she saw in his eyes was curiosity and a desire to understand.

“I did hesitate,” she said. “But I guess there wasn’t much time for thinking.”

“I’m grateful,” he said, “for what you did.”

The night passed without any sign of the Demon Riders. As the sky began to lighten, Kyra refilled their water bottles at a nearby river. The spray was cold in the morning air, and Kyra took a few moments to stretch her stiff limbs. Tristam was rearranging their packs when she came back with two full water skins.

“Here,” she said, laying them down behind Tristam.

He jumped at her voice. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Come up behind me so quietly. I’d be on latrine duty for a month if my commander had seen you sneak up on me like that.”

Kyra shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.”

Tristam shook his head. “Do it again. Just walk to that tree over there.”

She humored him, strolling to the tree he had pointed out and noting with satisfaction that her footsteps were almost completely quiet, though she could hear the occasional rustle. When she came back, he was shaking his head, staring at her as if she’d grown an extra arm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I spent an entire childhood in the forest and still make more noise than you do after a day of practice.”

“Maybe you need to lose some weight.” Kyra walked back and tapped gently on his well-muscled stomach. She smiled impudently up at him, and there was a glint of grudging amusement in Tristam’s eyes as he took her hand to pull it away. He was just a second slow to let go of her. It was barely noticeable, but long enough for Kyra to go still, and to understand that their conversation last night had cracked the walls between them. It would not take much to bring them down completely.

They stepped away from each other at the same time.

“Should we break camp?” she asked. She touched the spot on her palm where his fingers had been, but let go when his eyes flickered to the movement.

Tristam let out a slow breath. “Let’s move to a different place tonight.”

They did a respectable job of pretending nothing had happened. The two of them kept a careful distance between them as they traveled, and when they spoke, it was about the trail and their mission. Kyra spent the silent periods between conversations calling herself choice names. She knew better, after James, than to make eyes at any man who held a knife over her. She’d seen enough of life to know how dangerous a nobleman could be to any city girl, much less a prisoner of the Palace.

They spoke little as they hiked, and eventually, Tristam picked a spot for their second shelter. Kyra busied herself with gathering leaves and branches, but when it came time to enter the shelter, she was reluctant to go in. She told herself it was because she was tired of cramped spaces, and not because she felt self-conscious to be in such close quarters with Tristam. She looked around. It was late summer, and the trees were lush with leaves.

“The shelter’s too cramped. I’m spending the night up there.” She pointed to a particularly dense tree.

She could tell from the look in Tristam’s eyes that he knew the real reason she didn’t want to stay close. He slowly nodded his acquiescence. “Give it a try.”

Climbing always cleared her mind, and this tree was a joy to climb. Smooth bark, well-spaced branches. It might as well have been a ladder created for her benefit. She went up a good distance and settled herself into a fork.

“Can you see me?” she shouted.

“Are you sure you’re not spawned from squirrels?”

“So you can’t?”

“You’ll be fine. Just don’t fall down.”

From the treetop, the forest looked quite different. There was much more sky and more sun, but it was actually harder to see to the front and sides because leaves blocked her view. Kyra wondered if she’d be able to see Forge if she climbed higher.

Soon the sun waned, and cricket chirps replaced birdsong. Kyra found herself tiring more quickly than she’d expected. It was still early compared with what she was used to, but she was feeling the lingering effects of the poison. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she considered tying herself into the tree.

She was awakened by the brushing of leaves across her face, first one by one, then clumps at a time as she tipped off her branch. Kyra grabbed at leaves as her eyes snapped open, sending a few handfuls to the ground before her hands closed on solid wood. She hung there for a moment, palms raw, and squinted down toward Tristam’s shelter. She couldn’t see if he had noticed or if he was even awake.

That had been a bit too close. Slowly, Kyra pulled herself back up and added sleeping in trees to the list of things she wouldn’t do again. She waited for the crickets to resume their chirping, but they didn’t. There was a rustling to her right, perhaps ten trees away, but she couldn’t get a clear view.

Kyra climbed down, lowering herself from branch to branch until her feet touched dirt. From behind the bushes, Tristam looked at her questioningly. She caught his eye but didn’t try to explain. Better to be quiet. From the ground, she couldn’t see as well, but she could still detect the rustling in the distance—a shifting of leaves that went against the wind.

She left Tristam at the base of the tree and ran toward the movement. Somehow, the forest felt safer at night. The cool air invigorated her, and whatever dangers she feared earlier seemed less threatening with the darkness to keep her safe. As she came closer, Kyra slowed and ducked behind some trees, her breathing loud in her ears as shapes resolved in front of her. There was a line of shadows hiking through the trees. They had long hair and were clad in strange wraparound tunics. The Demon Riders walked silently in single file, gracefully stepping over roots and ducking under branches. Kyra couldn’t see all of them from where she was, but there must have been at least a hundred.

A crash of foliage above Kyra made her jump. Nearby, a tree bent and swayed under an invisible weight as leaves rustled and rained down. Against the moonlight, Kyra saw a shadow: a long tail, curling and straightening in the branches.

Kyra dove back behind the tree, heart pounding wildly. Had the beast seen her? She kept absolutely still, too terrified to move. But there was no roar or shout. Kyra reminded herself to breathe and risked another look.

Now that she noticed one demon cat, she saw others. Four cats total, leaping from tree to tree in the same direction as their riders. The entire group was traveling somewhere. She trailed them, staying well behind the group and timing her movements so they were masked by the cats’ tree landings.

Kyra grew more and more alarmed as she followed them. The Demon Riders were headed toward Forge. She trailed them a little longer, hoping they would turn, but their path didn’t waver. If they really were going to the city, she needed to find Tristam. Making one last note of where they were, Kyra retraced her steps. She burst through the trees to find Tristam pacing the ground in front of his hiding place.

“They’re on the move,” she said without preamble.

“The Demon Riders?”

“They’re going to Forge. We have to get back.”

She could see his dark eyes moving as he absorbed her words. He gave a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

She dashed back in the direction from which he’d come, but she soon realized Tristam wasn’t used to running in the dark. Several times, Kyra rushed ahead, only to have to wait as Tristam caught up. Even at that pace, he was coming dangerously close to twisting an ankle. Thankfully, the demon cats left so many fallen branches in their wake that even Kyra could follow their trail.

The tracks continued to lead straight toward Forge. After a while, Kyra and Tristam ditched the trails for the main road. Kyra breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the guardhouse and hitched Lady back up to the cart.

Finally, the trees gave way to farmland. In the red glow of dawn, she could see the outlines of Forge. But it was too early for sunrise. Tristam had noticed the glow as well, and he reined Lady in. Kyra hopped out to get a better look.

“No,” Tristam whispered.

Kyra’s skin prickled as she realized his meaning. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Tristam’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. His hands clenched the reins in a death grip. In the distance, the red flickered and grew as the first plumes of smoke rolled into the sky.

T W E N T Y - S I X

T
he city streets were dark. So dark that the flames in the distance didn’t make sense. Kyra could almost pretend that it was a mistake, but as they rode farther in, past quiet houses and darkened storefronts, they heard screams and smelled smoke. They began to see people. First a few, and then more and more ran toward them, fleeing the inner city. Soon, the roads were too clogged for the cart, and they continued on foot, working their way upstream. With so many people around, Kyra couldn’t see anything beyond what was right in front of her. All she could do was follow blindly in Tristam’s wake, dodge the onslaught of people, and hope the tall knight had a better view.

Tristam turned and grabbed Kyra by the shoulders. “The fire’s in the southwest district,” he shouted.

Kyra stared at him in horror. “The Drunken Dog!”

The smoke grew thicker as they ran, burning Kyra’s eyes and coating her throat. She almost crashed into a soot-covered man supporting a hobbling woman. Nearby, a young girl stopped and doubled over, coughing uncontrollably. Palace soldiers appeared in the mix, shouting as they attempted to control a crowd that only half saw them. Kyra desperately scanned faces as she ran but recognized no one.

Kyra heard a roar behind her and spun around. A demon cat backed a terrified woman and child against a wall. The cat crouched low, tail waving in the air. A guard jumped in front of them, spear ready. The cat slashed at the guard, and he jumped aside just in time. Tristam put a hand to his sword. Kyra stopped as well, torn between helping him and finding her family. Tristam looked at her, and she knew that he’d read her thoughts, just as she knew he was trying to decide if he could trust her in the city alone. For a split second, he hesitated.

“Go check on the inn,” he said, turning his eyes to the creature. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He drew his blade and shouted a challenge. The demon cat coiled around to engage him. As Tristam and the guard faced the animal, Kyra forced herself to turn away. With no weapons, she was no help to them, and she needed to get home.

Without Tristam to clear a path for her, the crowds paid Kyra no heed. She fought her way through, collecting bruises and bumps as she jostled her way upstream toward the fire. One man barreled straight into her. He would have knocked her off her feet if she hadn’t fallen into another man, who swore at her to watch where she was going. Kyra pushed on, consumed by her need to get home. Maybe it was just a coincidence that The Drunken Dog was at the heart of the fire. Maybe.

Ahead of her, flames leaped from rooftops toward the sky. Buckets lay forgotten on the ground, the guards now desperately fighting off the invaders. In one square, a group of three demon cats and their riders faced off against a handful of soldiers. Kyra kept her head low and skirted past.

As she neared The Drunken Dog, the flames on either side of the street grew, and the smoke became so thick she had to duck low to keep from choking. Even though she stayed in the middle of the road, the heat from the fires on either side pressed down on her head and shoulders. She cast a hand over her face to block falling ashes and kept going. Finally, she passed through the heart of the blaze, and the angry flames gave way to burned-out ruins. A charred sign caught her eye and she skidded to a stop, lungs burning. Half the letters were reduced to charcoal, but the sign unmistakably belonged to the bakery a few stores past The Drunken Dog.

How could she have run right past the inn and not noticed? A voice in her head whispered a reason she didn’t want to hear. Kyra retraced her steps, unwilling to believe it, but there was no denying the sight that greeted her. Charred posts marked where the walls of the tavern used to be, surrounding a blackened floor. Fallen timbers and boards, all that was left of the second floor and roof, lay in piles on the ground. It was all destroyed: the dining room, Bella’s kitchen, everything.

Kyra clasped her hand to her mouth, silencing the cry that rose up in her throat. She rushed in, ignoring the precariously hanging timbers. Smoke made her eyes water, and splinters, still warm, threatened to puncture the leather soles of her shoes. Still, she dashed from room to room, scouring the ruins. The building was destroyed, but there were no bodies. Kyra stopped. No bodies. They might have escaped.

She ran outside and scanned the street. The Drunken Dog was so close to the center of the attack. Could anyone possibly have made it out safely? Her eyes fell on the one structure still standing: the stone market building. Shapes were visible through the windows, and they weren’t dressed like Demon Riders. Kyra dashed for the door and almost impaled herself on a sword. A Red Shield blocked her way.

“I’m looking for my family,” she said.

She must not have looked like a Demon Rider, because he moved aside. “Get in, quickly.”

The main hall smelled of sweat and fear. Murmurs and quiet sobbing muted the sounds of battle but didn’t quite drown them out. Kyra ran from one stall to the next, searching through faces. People were crowded into every corner. Finally, she glimpsed a familiar figure, his arms draped protectively around two young girls. The girls covered their ears as they huddled on the ground. All three of them had faces blackened with soot, and streaked—even Flick’s—with tears.

“Flick!” Kyra forgot about the demon cat invasion, forgot she was supposed to be dead, and barreled toward them, stopping short as they looked up and registered her face. There was a moment of shocked silence. The girls gasped. Flick stared as if he thought he’d gone mad.

“Is it really…” he said.

She nodded. Flick stared for another second before he shouted her name, voice cracking with emotion. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, holding her so tightly she thought he was going to break her ribs. Kyra squeezed her eyes tight against the tears that threatened to spill. It would be all right. She wanted to just stay here, lean against him, and forget everything. He kissed her soot-stained forehead and squeezed her again before holding her back out to look at her.

“They told us you were dead.”

“I know. I’m…” She choked on the words. Idalee and Lettie stared wide-eyed, as if unsure if she was really there. Kyra reached out and pulled them close. She shouldn’t have worked for the Guild. She should have listened to Flick, to Bella…“Where’s Bella?”

A shadow crossed Flick’s face, and Kyra froze. He looked toward a group of women bent over someone on the ground. “She was stuck in the kitchens when the fires started. We were lucky we could get her out—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. The crowd of women parted at her approach, and Kyra trembled as Bella came into view. The cook was pale beneath the soot, eyes closed as she struggled for breath. Forcing back tears, Kyra laid a hand on Bella’s arm. Bella turned at the unexpected touch, eyes fluttering open.

“Kyra? Is that you?” Her voice was hoarse and weak.

“I’m really here.” Kyra could no longer hold her tears back. “I’m so sorry, Bella.”

Bella reached up and brushed Kyra’s arm with a shaking hand. “Were those knights just fooling us?” Bella’s voice trailed off and she coughed. Kyra laid a hand on her shoulder and waited until the spasms subsided.

“We were trying to protect you. The Guild…” Kyra stopped again. Did it really matter? “I’m so sorry.”

Bella smiled. “Don’t be. You did your best.…I’m proud of you.”

Proud? If there was one thing she didn’t deserve right now, it was Bella’s approval. That had always been Bella’s mistake, to see good in Kyra that wasn’t there.

“We need to get you a healer,” Kyra said. Her voice was sharp with urgency. “We need a healer,” she called. Around her, people stared, and she realized her foolishness. If there had been a healer in the room, she would have helped Bella already. Did Kyra expect another one to walk through the door?

Bella coughed and Kyra clutched her hand. The cook’s eyes closed again, her breathing shallow and labored. Occasionally, her eyes moved in agitation beneath her eyelids. Kyra stroked Bella’s arm and face, as the cook had so often done for Kyra after her childhood nightmares. She felt a familiar pressure on her shoulder and knew without looking that it was Flick, just as she knew that the two shapes that pressed up next to her were Idalee and Lettie.

They stayed there, holding each other for comfort while Bella’s breathing grew weaker, fading from low gasps to the barest flutter. Kyra didn’t know when it actually ended. Just that at one point, Flick checked Bella’s pulse and arranged her arms in the final resting pose. Kyra let it all out then, clutching the girls as she sobbed into Idalee’s hair, leaning into Flick as he held on to all of them. Perhaps she needed to be strong for them, but she just didn’t have it in her.

Bit by bit, sunlight replaced the fire’s red glow. She was dimly aware that the soldiers’ shouting became less urgent. Eventually, she stopped hearing demon cat roars, and the market building began to empty. Kyra still didn’t move or speak, just stared at Bella’s now peaceful face and let her mind go numb.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Kyra.”

She turned with a start. It was Tristam. He looked much the worse for wear, with a bruise beneath one eye and blood splattered over his tunic. There was pity in his eyes.

“We need to go back to the Palace.”

She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to do anything but stay here, still as stone while the world crumbled around her. How many weeks ago had it been, when she’d sat in Bella’s kitchen and made foolish plans to care for her when she grew old? She’d been so naïve.

“Kyra,” Tristam tried again. She still didn’t respond, and Tristam took her arm, gently pulling her up.

Another hand closed over the knight’s wrist. “You’re not taking her,” said Flick. “Not like this. Not without any explanations.”

“Flick, no,” Kyra murmured. He was no match for an armed knight.

Tristam’s body went rigid as his eyes fell on Flick’s hand. There was anger in his face, and for a moment none of them breathed. Then Tristam exhaled, and all his strength seemed to leave him. His voice was thick with exhaustion when he spoke.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Faxon.” His use of Flick’s real name startled Kyra. “I’m bound by oath as a knight to watch Kyra and keep her under Palace custody. But even if I weren’t, it’s the safest place for her right now. The Guild has tried to kill her once. They must not know that she’s alive.”

Kyra snapped out of her stupor. “But what about them?” she asked, gesturing to Flick and the girls. “They’re not safe either.”

There was a long pause, then Tristam finally spoke. “Very well.” He turned to Flick, who was staring blankly at the smoldering ruins. “Come with us. You and the girls will be safer there. We failed once to protect you. I’d like to do better, if you’ll let me.”

It was a somber walk back, picking their way through the invasion’s aftermath. At first, Kyra attempted to shield Idalee and Lettie from the worst of the carnage, but she soon gave up. There was just so much. In bits and pieces, when the girls were out of earshot, she filled Flick in on the events since her capture.

No one challenged them upon entering the Palace. Although the fire had not breached the walls, the injured were already pouring in. A tent had been set up in the main courtyard, and healers picked their way amongst the victims.

As they stepped deeper into the compound, Flick became noticeably tense, gaze moving suspiciously in every direction. Tristam too changed from the young man who’d joked with Kyra in the forest, taking on the weight and authority of a knight of Forge. The easy camaraderie they’d shared just hours before fell away, and she was once again very aware that she was his prisoner. Tristam led Kyra and her friends to a spare room, where Idalee and Lettie collapsed almost immediately, too tired even to be distracted by the fine furniture. Kyra kissed their foreheads, and Flick tucked blankets around them. When they closed the door behind them, Kyra looked questioningly at Tristam. After roaming the city and forest unsupervised, she wasn’t sure where she was supposed to go.

“Let’s put you back in Ilona’s patient room,” Tristam said reluctantly. Kyra wondered if he also found the Palace walls stifling. “I have to keep you under guard while you’re in the Palace. Flick can stay in one of the rooms here.”

“I’d like to speak with Flick,” she said.

Tristam thought briefly, then nodded. “You can have a few moments after we get to your room.”

There was no conversation as the three of them made their way to Kyra’s chamber. They took a back route and Kyra kept her cloak low over her face, but she couldn’t help thinking how silly it was to continue hiding when she had been out in the open so long. When they reached the healer’s wing, Tristam unlocked the door to Kyra’s room. “I’ll be out here,” he said.

The patient room was strangely tranquil, an oasis of quiet that didn’t fit the night’s events. It was also too clean for someone as soiled with dirt and ash as she was. Avoiding the furniture, Kyra collapsed on the floor against the wall, and Flick settled down beside her. They were silent for a long time.

“It’s all my fault,” she finally said.

Flick turned to face her. “You don’t know that.”

“Of all the places they could have started a fire, they chose that neighborhood.”

“If not our section, they would have burned another. The Demon Riders did this, and James. Not you.”

“You don’t understand. James couldn’t have done this without me.”

There was pause as Flick digested her words. “What?”

Kyra closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. For a moment, she was tempted to keep that part of the story to herself. But the guilt was slowly killing her. She had to tell someone—someone who wouldn’t view it from a purely tactical standpoint like Tristam or Malikel. “I was the one who gave James run of the Palace. I unlocked the armory so the Guild could steal armor for the barbarians. I copied the trade and guard schedules that the Demon Riders used to time their raids. The barbarian attacks—they were successful because of me.”

Her voice wavered and she stopped. Flick shook his head, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean? You got supplies for the Demon Riders? Helped them? Did you know?”