Midnight Thief

by Livia Blackburne

  “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.”

  T W E N T Y - T W O

  Kyra 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 h
er 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

  “Do 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?”