Midnight Thief

by Livia Blackburne

  “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.

  T W E N T Y

  As 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 ro
bes. 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

  The 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 dormit
ories, 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.”