Midnight Thief (18 page)

“No. I mean”—Kyra stumbled over her words—“I didn’t know why I was doing the jobs. There were some hints, but James said I was imagining things, and I wasn’t sure—”

“There were some hints?” Flick raised his voice, incredulous. “You thought you might be helping the Demon Riders, but you just kept going?”

“It wasn’t that simple, I—”

“You did what, Kyra?” He was angry now, grief and shock lending a terrible force to his words. “You just ignored the signs? That was always your problem. You fix your eyes on whatever new challenge you fancy, and it doesn’t matter what I say, what other folk say, or even what you see with your own eyes. You just keep going, and it doesn’t matter what gets destroyed along the way.”

His accusations rang true, and Kyra cowered under the brunt of his tirade. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes burning. “I was wrong.”

“Tell that to Bella.” His voice was raw from tears and smoke. Without looking at her, he stood and walked toward the door.

“Flick, don’t go.”

He didn’t, but he didn’t turn around either. Kyra watched him from where she huddled, taking in the curve of his shoulders, his hands as they clenched into fists and unclenched again. She had never seen him so angry.

Kyra retreated into her misery, turning both Flick’s accusations and her own self-recriminations over in her head. She couldn’t lose both him and Bella in one night. For a long time, the only sound in the room was Flick’s breathing.

Finally, he straightened and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kyra.” He didn’t look at her as he turned toward the door. “It’s just too much to take right now.”

She didn’t call after him to stay.

T W E N T Y - S E V E N

K
yra stared at the map in front of her, seeing nothing but refusing to look up. Beside her, Malikel, Tristam, and Martin bent over the parchment, eyes focused on Flick as he recounted the fire for them. Kyra, for her part, avoided looking at Flick as carefully as he avoided looking at her, though she snuck some glances when he wasn’t paying attention. Her jovial friend had aged in the past few days. His face was gaunt, and there were deep circles under his eyes.

“The fires started around midnight,” said Flick. “We smelled smoke and saw the kitchen burning. At first, we thought it was just The Drunken Dog, but then the fire got out of hand and we ran outside. The entire street was in flames.”

“Any idea who started the fires?” asked Malikel. He’d rushed back to Forge upon receiving news of the attack and was now beginning his investigation in earnest.

Flick shot him a disgusted look. “That’s your job to know, in’t it?”

“You’ll address the Minister of Defense with respect,” snapped Tristam.

Martin half successfully hid a long-suffering sigh behind his hands. He caught Kyra looking and grinned. Kyra managed a small smile back, wishing she could laugh about the constant friction between Flick and Tristam as easily as Martin did. Instead, it just wore her down.

“We’re working toward the same goals, Faxon,” said Malikel. “The quicker we can piece together what happened, the quicker we can punish those responsible.”

“My name is Flick.” No one responded. “I didn’t see anyone, but some folks at the market saw masked men with torches.”

“That fits with the Guild,” said Tristam.

Who had started the fire? Alex? Shea? Bacchus? Kyra imagined Rand dressed in black and gripping a torch, a carrot-colored curl peeking out from under his mask. She saw Bella’s pale, ashen face.

“When did the Demon Riders come in?”

“I don’t know. A couple hours after the fire started? Everyone was distracted.”

“Did you see any Riders?” interjected Malikel. “Or just cats?”

“Just cats,” said Flick.

“As did I,” added Tristam. “When Kyra and I arrived.”

“Where were the Riders?” asked Malikel. “Kyra, you saw them heading to the city from the forest. Kyra, are you paying attention?”

Kyra snapped out of her reflections, flinching at Malikel’s tone. “Mostly Riders going toward Forge,” she said. “There were a few cats, but just a handful.”

There was a pause as everyone thought this over. “We still don’t know nearly enough about the Demon Riders,” said Malikel.

“Kyra might be able to learn more if we go back into the forest,” said Tristam.

“Yes,” said Malikel. “Continue those trips. But we need to strike at the Assassins Guild as well. We can’t afford merely to observe them anymore. Another attack like this would destroy the city.”

The map blurred before her, and Kyra rubbed her eyes. Perhaps James had started the fire, put a torch to The Drunken Dog himself.

“A full attack on the Guildhouse, then?” Tristam was saying.

“Let’s think about this,” Malikel said. “We want to capture members for questioning and search the place for clues about their relationship with the Demon Riders. Kyra, we need your help to plan this.”

“It won’t work,” she said.

The table fell silent. “Do you care to elaborate?” said Tristam.

“I’ve seen these men work,” said Kyra. “They’re dangerous. As well trained or better than any of your knights, and they don’t bother with honor or chivalry. You’d need to outnumber them to pull it off, but you send that many soldiers, they’ll see you coming. At best, they’ll be gone before you step foot on the grounds; at worst, you’ll walk into a trap.”

“A smaller strike party, then,” said Tristam. “We capture who and what we can and retreat.”

“You’d be sending them to die.”

Tristam glared at her, his patience also wearing thin in the exhausting days since the fire. “Will you just shoot down suggestions? We could use some ideas.”

Kyra opened her mouth to speak, but found that she couldn’t. Bella’s face swam in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I can’t do this.”

She bolted before anyone could stop her, running up stairs and around corners before finally collapsing in a dead end. It was all too much. Bella was not cold in her grave, yet they expected her to put it all aside and go after the Guild.

Footsteps sounded. Flick’s familiar form rounded the corner.

“I must be a bad thief if you found me so easy,” she said.

“You always run upward when you’re upset.” He sat down beside her. “And you favor right turns. You’re lucky they didn’t sound the alarm.”

She’d forgotten about that. “I still have one more dose of antidote. I can’t run.”

Flick looked like he was mulling over his words. “I suppose we have enough troubles already that we don’t need to be tossing blame at each other,” he said.

A weight lifted off of her at those words. Kyra looked at him, and the forgiveness in his eyes made her want to burst into tears again. “No, you were right. I should’ve listened to you. I’m…sorry.” The words felt woefully inadequate. “I was stupid. It was just maps and trade schedules at first, and I wanted to prove myself. It’s no excuse.”

Again, they sat in silence. Through the window, Kyra could hear the murmurs of refugees in the Palace courtyard.

Finally, Flick spoke again. “How much do you remember from your gutter-rat days?”

“Not much,” she said dully.

“Do you remember back before you were climbing buildings? You weren’t that great at it when we met.”

“No.” She was in no mood to reminisce. “I guess I didn’t have any reason to be.”

“But once you started, you loved it. Every time I saw you, you’d scamper up something higher and more dangerous. I was plumb sure you’d be dead within the year. You did have your falls. There’s probably still some merchants who’ve not forgiven you for destroying their stalls with your antics.”

Kyra smiled despite herself. Flick put his arm over her shoulders, and she let him pull her close, leaning her head on his shoulder as she had when they’d kept warm together as children. “It’s strange,” Flick continued. “It’s not like you’re the only lass to make mistakes. We all did. You just manage to do it in a grander fashion. Maybe it’s because you climb so much higher than the rest of us.”

Kyra chuckled bitterly. “So I’m more gifted than your usual gutter rat—I ruin other people’s lives, not just my own. James told me to let go of my delusions of moral superiority. Maybe he’s right.”

“Do you really believe that, Kyra?”

“I don’t know.”

Flick sighed. “Kyra, think about it. If James really believed you were like him, would he have gone to the trouble of threatening you or hiring someone to kill you? He’s scared of you, Kyra. He might have tricked you into helping him once, but you’re a danger to him. He knows you’re not his puppet anymore.”

Kyra felt a rush of blood to her face as she considered Flick’s words. James had lied to her and tried to turn her into something she wasn’t. And now he’d taken Bella. Even if she didn’t know anything else about herself, Kyra knew that Flick was right. She wasn’t James’s puppet anymore.

She jumped to her feet. “Let’s go back.”

Martin was in the corridor when Kyra and Flick came back downstairs. “Are they still in there?” Kyra asked.

“They’re still planning. Sir Malikel’s not happy though. I’d apologize real quick. And sincerely too.”

Tristam and Malikel were deep in conversation when she returned, and it took a moment for them to acknowledge her entrance.

“I’m sorry,” she said before either of them could react. “That won’t happen again.”

Malikel gave her a long, measured look. “Make sure it doesn’t.”

“I have an idea,” she said. “For attacking the Guild.”

The councilman waited for her to continue.

“Don’t send an invasion,” said Kyra. “Just send one person. Me.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Flick turn his head and stare at her.

Tristam raised an eyebrow. “An army won’t work, and a strike party won’t work, so you intend to single-handedly invade their building and bring back prisoners?”

“Everything the Assassins Guild does hangs on James,” she said, ignoring Tristam’s sarcasm and avoiding Flick’s eyes. “He’s got a good crew, but he’s the core. He makes all the plans, and it’s his determination that holds it all together. If we kill James—if
I
kill James—there’s no clear person to take his place. It would cripple the Guild.”

“Kyra.” Flick’s voice was tinged with panic. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.” She ignored him.

“You may be right about James,” said Malikel. “The Assassins Guild fell out of power a century ago, and it wasn’t until recently that it reemerged, perhaps because of James’s leadership. But how do you propose to kill him, Kyra? Can you outfight him?”

“No,” said Kyra, remembering her humiliating practice match with James. “But there’s other ways. James wanted me to poison you. Why not do the same to him?”

“The Palace doesn’t keep clearberry juice,” said Malikel. “We can offer you other poisons, though they aren’t ideal.”

“Just give me what you have,” said Kyra. “I might also use the Guild’s stores. James keeps his poison in a chest in his study.”

“It’s especially dangerous for you to go in there, Kyra,” said Tristam. “After the fire, they probably know you’re alive. And they know your tactics better than anyone.”

“Just as I know the Guild better than any of your men,” said Kyra. The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. “I’m the only one with any chance of cracking the Guildhouse. No one else here can do this.”

“Do what?” said Flick. “Any one of us is perfectly capable of getting killed by the Assassins
G
uild.”

Kyra sighed and looked at Flick, hardening herself to the worry in his eyes. “What else would I do, Flick? Wait around for them to kill me? I in’t doing this out of some misplaced sense of guilt. I’m doing this because it’s the only thing that will work.”

Tristam cleared his throat. “I think she’s right, Flick,” he said reluctantly. “Tactically speaking, Kyra’s our best hope for infiltrating the Guild.” Tristam ignored Flick’s glare and looked at Kyra. “It will be dangerous though.”

“We could watch the perimeter,” said Martin. “Keep soldiers and dogs.” Kyra shot him a grateful look.

“You have my permission, if you’re willing, Kyra,” said Malikel. “If you’re successful, it could be enough to earn you a pardon from the Council. What do you need from us to do this?”

“I want my last dose of antidote. If I do this, it’s my choice and you’ll trust me to come back without your leash.”

“Yes, Willem filled me in on his…arrangement with your antidote while I was away.” There was an edge to Malikel’s voice that Kyra had never heard before, and she glanced at him. The official was not looking at her, but instead he seemed lost in his own thoughts. “You’ll receive your antidote.” He looked at her and regained his usual steady demeanor. “What else do you need? Do you have a concrete strategy?”

Kyra bit her lip. “I have a plan, but I’ll need help.”

The title of “Best Tavern” was a point of much debate amongst the thirstier members of Forge’s population. The Drunken Dog had been one of the top contenders before the fire. A few other names also popped up regularly, including the Scorned Maiden, a raucous establishment in the northeast quarter. Kyra had visited a few times and found the patrons too rowdy for her taste. But others refused to get their ale anywhere else. One such devotee was Bacchus.

He was there tonight. If he followed his usual routine, he would come out sometime around midnight, hopefully drunk. As Kyra waited from a nearby rooftop, she once again rehearsed the plan in her mind. The neighborhood was quiet, with gently sloping rooftops all at the same height. It would be easy to trail him from above until he was alone. Periodically, Kyra reached into her belt pouch and fingered a damp cloth inside.

It was a slow evening at the tavern, and people started leaving soon after the dinner hour. They came out in small groups, clutching their cloaks against the wind and bidding each other good-bye in loud voices before walking or lurching home.

Finally, Bacchus emerged. He had one arm around a serving girl, who giggled as he planted a wet kiss on her lips. She playfully slapped him away before retreating into the dining room. Bacchus stood for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to follow her. He must have elected against it, because he fastened his cloak and started down the street. Kyra had expected him to be more on his guard, but he walked alone and his stride was slightly unsteady. Perhaps this meant the Guild didn’t think she was alive. Or perhaps Bacchus’s opinion of her was so low that he couldn’t be bothered to be careful.

She trailed above and behind him, keeping her footfalls soft on the wooden shingles. As he turned into more secluded alleyways, she ran ahead, silently lowering herself down to a ledge just above his height. As he came closer, she reached into her pouch, took out the cloth, and held it tightly in her fist.

Focus.

Kyra jumped the moment he passed underneath. She landed on his back. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she scrambled to wrap her arms around his neck. Bacchus grunted and collapsed, first to his knees, and then—with a little help from Kyra—flat on his face.

Even drunk and taken by surprise, Bacchus had good reflexes. He lay stunned for a split second, and then reached for his knife. Kyra straddled the assassin and pinned his arms with her knees. She pulled his head back and flung the damp cloth over his face, drawing it tight. He rolled over and she rolled with him, clamping her legs around his waist and keeping a hold on the cloth as her back hit the pavement. As Ilona had promised, the herb mixture worked quickly. Kyra hung on for a precarious few moments, then the assassin went limp. She kept the cloth over his nose and mouth for thirty more breaths before she crawled out from under him.

A shadow moved at the entry to the alleyway, and she jumped, only to breathe a sigh of relief when she recognized Flick’s head of thick curls.