Midnight Thief (26 page)

“You’re beautiful to watch, you know,” James continued, as if they’d been talking all along. “Your grace—it’s impossible to ignore. Even now, when we’re at each other’s throats…Did you notice the way my men looked at you? Especially after watching you break into the armory. And it wasn’t just them.” He paused. “Maybe that was the problem. As an assassin, I valued your skill. But though I knew better, my admiration grew beyond just business.”

A shudder ran through Kyra’s body, and she was grateful she couldn’t see Tristam’s reaction. A couple of months ago, such an admission from James would have enthralled her. But that was before she had killed for him. Before he’d murdered Bella.

James lunged again, and this time she ducked aside without falling. He was slower than she remembered. Last time they’d fought, he’d been impossibly fast. Was he teasing her now?

“Remember the afternoon we spent planning the raid?” James asked.

She did. And she remembered what happened afterward. She pushed the memory away and feinted to the left. James stepped aside, but again, not as quickly as she’d expected. Kyra searched his face for any sign that something might be wrong, but as always, James was a master at hiding his feelings.

“We really do have a lot in common,” said James. “We think the same way. We both enjoy the thrill of the chase, of outsmarting our enemies. Tell me you didn’t get a thrill from bringing the wallhuggers down a notch. You loved that power. I dare you to deny it.”

She wanted him to be wrong. She needed him to be.

“So you don’t deny it,” said James.

The rock Kyra stepped on tipped over and she stumbled. In a heartbeat, he was on her, blade coming down at her face. She recoiled and gasped as it glanced off her collarbone. Kyra drove her own knife up and jumped to her feet as James skipped back unscathed. Kyra kept her dagger between them, breath coming in quick gasps as she probed her collarbone with her free hand. Her fingers came away sticky, but at least she could move.

The pain snapped her out of his spell. Kyra gripped her blade, shifting her weight back and forth. If James wanted her dead, he’d have to work for it. She had no intention of being an easy kill. James must have noticed her change of focus, because he stopped speaking. They circled each other, no sound between them but their breathing and the crunch of autumn leaves.

A few more feints and parries, and she realized why James seemed slow. He hadn’t changed. But after weeks of hunting with Pashla, Kyra had. Her senses were sharper, her reflexes smoother. Kyra saw her opponent now with new eyes. What if he were not James, the assassin she feared? What if he were her prey?

The next time he attacked, Kyra was ready. She danced aside and slashed at his knife arm. Her blade cut deep, and James’s weapon fell on the rocks with a satisfying clang. Kyra grabbed his tunic and pulled him close, pressing the point of her blade to his throat.

For an instant, they were frozen there, eyes locked, so close she could feel his lungs expand with each shallow breath. Kyra felt his body tense. She could kill him. She had every right. Around her, she sensed the energy from the crowd leaning in for the kill. She willed her wrist to deliver the final stroke.

A sudden blow to her midsection knocked the breath out of her. Kyra thrust her knife forward with all her strength, but James had already moved out of the way. He clamped his hand around her wrist and twisted. Pain shot up her arm and drove her to the ground. His knee dug into her back, forcing it into an unnatural arch.

And then the world imploded.

A fog covered her vision. Heat rushed through her, melting her insides and forcing its way out through her skin in the form of tiny hairs. Her clothes stretched tight, then ripped and fell away completely. Her bones elongated. Her muscles lengthened to match. A murmur ran through the crowd, and she realized what was happening. Finally, her vision cleared and the world came back, cleaner and crisper. In front of her, James stood, staring at her with disbelief and horror.

For a moment, Kyra stood dumbfounded, unsure in her new body. She tried to step forward but didn’t know which legs moved together. Behind her, she felt what must have been her tail, snaking back and forth as she shifted her weight.

Then James turned to run, and her instincts flared. She overtook him in two bounds and coiled around. Her claws opened three slashes across his chest and one across his face. It was so easy to push him over and pin him to the ground. As she held him there, she saw her forelimb for the first time. Dark brown, the same color as her hair, with wiry muscles underneath the fur.

James’s face, crisp in her strange new vision, held an expression she had never seen on him before—eyes rolled to the side, edges of his mouth pulled back in a grimace. He was scared. She could smell his fear, mingled with the blood that seeped through his cuts. She breathed in deeply, relishing the scent. A mere swipe from her and he would fall lifeless. Around her, she sensed the clan watching. She itched to tear him open, dig into his throat, but would the others interfere? Would they protect him? Instinctively, she knew that they wouldn’t. It was her kill, and they wouldn’t intrude. Kyra unsheathed her claws.

The circle, the victim, the smell of fear and blood…

She’d been here before. There was something she needed to remember. It was hard to make sense of these memories with this bloodlust urging her toward her victim. Kyra raised her claws to strike.

Then she remembered. The dream. The raid. Once again, she felt the manservant sink to the ground as the life drained out of him. Kyra saw herself in the courtyard of the Assassins Guild, shaking with horror as she scrubbed an innocent man’s blood off her hands.

Kyra sheathed her claws just before her blow connected. James’s head smashed against a rock, and he went limp.

T H I R T Y - N I N E

K
yra staggered back, tripping over her own legs. Already, her body was melting into itself. Her fur smoothed out into skin. A chill wind brushed her, and Kyra realized she was naked. Demon Riders surrounded her and guided her limp arms into a tunic.

She was drowning in images—like the pictures from her nightmares, but so much stronger. She tried to distinguish dream from reality, cat instincts from human, but everything slipped away.

“Take care of the other two,” she heard Leyus say.

Kyra looked up to see Shea and Alex scramble onto their horses and flee into the trees. Five demon cats streaked after them. Something stirred within her. She longed to join the chase, bring the riders down and tear them to pieces. A growl stirred at the base of her throat.

“Kyra!” Pashla was shaking her, hard. “It is done. Stay with me.”

The head Demon Rider drew near, looking Kyra over carefully. “Our blood runs stronger in you than we thought,” said Leyus. Was he pleased? Angry? She turned again to follow the chase.

“You have defeated James in Challenge,” Leyus was speaking again. “We will honor your request to test the garments.”

Garments…Slowly it came back to her. She had wanted to test the garments for poison. “We need someone who knows poisons,” she said, her words and the thoughts behind them thick and unfamiliar.

They were interrupted by the sound of Tristam coughing, a dry, rasping sound. The knight was curled in on himself, spasming with each cough. He looked so weak. Puny, even.

“You don’t need a healer,” Tristam said, raising his face to Leyus. “Just check his hands.”

Leyus snapped an order and Tristam’s guards dragged him over. The young knight was staring openly at Kyra. She stared back, blinking in confusion. Was that fear in his eyes? Part of her relished it, but another rapidly returning part of her was ashamed.

“What did you say, knight?” Leyus said.

“Check his hands,” said Tristam, tearing his eyes away from Kyra. “See if they’re coated with anything.”

At Leyus’s orders, a Demon Rider inspected James’s limp hands. “They are covered with something like wax,” he said. “I can scrape it off with my fingernail.”

Tristam nodded. “The coating protects his skin from poison. James betrayed you today.”

Kyra slumped forward, exhausted, as her demon cat instincts slowly seeped away. She watched as Leyus knelt next to James, inspecting the assassin’s hands himself. He went to the basket of garments and bent down to smell them.

“You’re right.” Leyus turned to Kyra. “The clan owes you its gratitude. We do not take debts of blood lightly.”

He paused. Around them, the clan seemed to hold its breath. Kyra stayed still, unsure of what this meant.

“You are free to go, as is the knight.”

Kyra bowed her head, mind reeling. Was that it? Would they forgive her betrayal just like that? “Thank you,” she managed to say.

Leyus smiled thinly. “Don’t be too grateful. This pays our debt in full. If we meet again, we will start anew.”

The crowd dissipated, transforming one by one into cat shape and melting into the forest. They made no attempt to hide their shape-shifting from Tristam. Would they just let the knight go, knowing their secret? Tristam watched the Makvani with fascination and confusion. When he noticed her gaze, he turned toward her. Kyra turned away, remembering the fear she’d seen before and unable to face it again.

“Kyra.” It was Pashla again. “You and the knight will come with me. We will put you in the shelter tonight and escort you back tomorrow.”

Tristam dragged himself to his feet, suppressing a cough, and Kyra followed suit.

“Pashla,” said Kyra. “Your shape-shifting. Will it be all right now that…”

“Now that the human knows?” asked Pashla. Kyra winced at Pashla’s use of the term. “It’s fine. They always find out eventually. It is a hard secret to keep. If Leyus has ruled to spare his life, you need not worry about him.”

Pashla’s voice was calm, without any hint of anger. But her face was more closed to Kyra than she had ever seen. It hurt, but Kyra was too exhausted to do anything except acknowledge it. They walked the rest of the way in silence. At the shelter, Pashla tended both their wounds, although she told Tristam that her saliva wouldn’t be as effective for him. Another clanswoman came with some food, then both Makvani left, leaving Kyra and Tristam alone.

Kyra studied the ground, the trees, anything to avoid looking at him. A strong wind blew through the tent, bringing down a shower of leaves around them.

“Are you really going to make me ask for an explanation, Kyra?”

She didn’t want to talk about it,
couldn’t
talk about it without the threat of memories she wasn’t ready to relive. But she also couldn’t avoid facing him forever.

“I didn’t know,” she said miserably.

“Know what?”

“Anything.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “When the Demon Riders found me at the Guildhouse, they told me I was part Makvani.”

He was quiet, eyes cast toward the ground but focused beyond it. “And they taught you how to change into a cat.”

“Pashla thought it worth trying. But it never happened until…” She trailed off.

“Until you faced James?” he asked. He raised his eyes to her face now, and she couldn’t tell if it was dread or wonder in his eyes.

“I had no idea. I wasn’t even trying,” she said. “You don’t have to believe me.”

He paused. “I believe you. I don’t think you’d be shaking so much if you were lying.”

Kyra wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to squeeze herself still. “You fear me,” she said.

“I’d be a fool not to,” he said.

It was one thing to know it, but another altogether to hear him say it so plainly. Kyra rounded on him in fury. “I saved your life back there. You of all people—”

Tristam laid a hand on her wrist, gentle but firm. “I’m sorry, Kyra. That came out wrong. I only meant that any creature capable of what you did deserves respect. But what I saw doesn’t change the fact that you saved my life, or that you disobeyed your…people…to protect me.” He let out a long breath. “I’ve harbored doubts about you before, Kyra. First because you were in the Guild, and then when I thought you’d betrayed me to the Demon Riders. And each time, I was wrong. I’m not making the same mistake again.” He paused. “Though there might be problems ahead.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking about the Council. You’re still under a death sentence that we need to clear. It’ll be hard to prove you aren’t a threat to Forge if you’re one of them.”

Kyra closed her eyes. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we can keep this hidden.”

“James will rat me out as soon as we turn him over.”

“He might, but who would believe him?”

“Mayhap for a while, but people would start to wonder. And notice things.”

Neither of them mentioned the next logical step—that this problem would disappear if James did as well. But Kyra only contemplated it a moment before thrusting the thought aside. She’d had that opportunity already. Plus, James still had too many secrets—about the Guild, the Palace, and even the Makvani. She owed it to Bella, to the others who’d suffered in the fire, to get those secrets out of him.

Tristam exhaled. “I can send for Malikel once we’re closer to the city. He’s a skilled negotiator. If we can win him over, perhaps he can convince the Council to put you on probation.”

Probation? A prisoner again, after all she had gone through? Instead of James’s lackey, she would be the Palace’s. What other uses would Willem find for her?

“Or…” Tristam’s voice was hesitant. “You could run.”

Kyra gave him a questioning glance. Tristam looked around and lowered his voice, as if worried that Palace officials might hear him. “The Council already doesn’t trust you. If they find out what you are, I don’t know what they’ll do. I could tell them I never found you. You could flee to Parna. Start over.” There was an urgency in his words, though he spoke softly.

“You’d lie to them?” Kyra knew Tristam well enough by now to know how much this would cost him.

There was the slightest of pauses as Tristam’s eyes grew distant again. “I won’t pretend I like the idea. But I would do it.”

The idea of leaving Forge had never occurred to her, but it was certainly possible. Every city had rich houses with bad locks. But she’d be alone. A petty thief in a strange city.

“I can’t….”

“The Council might kill you, Kyra, if they knew the truth.” There was real fear in his eyes, enough to scare her into reconsidering. But she was tired of reacting, of running from every new threat. If she really could do so much, if so many people wanted her skills, why was she at everyone’s mercy?

“Tell me,” she asked. “How much is James worth to the Council?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I don’t give them James until they’ve agreed to my pardon?”

He turned a wary eye to her. “That’s a dangerous plan.”

“So is fleeing the city, or meekly turning myself in. I’ll get my pardon, and then I’ll lay low in the city. Wait and see how things play out with James.” She gave a resigned smile. “And if they really decide to come after me, I in’t exactly defenseless.”

Tristam shook his head, again looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “I still can’t believe that you’re…” He trailed off.

Kyra didn’t answer. She glimpsed shapes moving through the trees, moving on padded paws. Amber eyes blinked in and out of the darkness. And though she could see them clearly and even found them distracting, Kyra could tell from the way Tristam stared into the darkness that he saw nothing. She thought again of how it’d felt to melt into that shape, to dissolve into lean muscle and sleek fur. Kyra felt the rush of raw instinct and bloodlust, so strong that she cried out and jerked away from Tristam, convinced that it was happening again. But moments went by and she stayed in her skin. Slowly, slowly, her heartbeat slowed to normal.

“Kyra?” One of Tristam’s hands was raised hesitantly toward her.

Kyra collapsed into herself and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. “It’s so strong,” she whispered.

“It’s all right, Kyra.” Slowly, Tristam peeled Kyra’s hands from her face and held them between his own. “It’s all right.”

She let him hold her like that, taking comfort in the solidity of his touch. They sat there, heads bowed and not speaking, until the sun set.

Pashla met them the next morning, accompanied by three Demon Riders who would escort them to the city. Kyra had never seen Makvani shift for travel before, and she watched as closely as she could without staring. In the forest, the Makvani left their clothes where they shifted to retrieve later, or carried them in their mouths. This time, though, the Demon Riders folded their clothing carefully and tucked it into pouches with long straps. After they changed form, they threw the pouches over their necks with a flick of a paw and a well-practiced duck. Meanwhile, Kyra and Tristam readied James’s horse. The other two horses, and presumably their riders, had been killed.

“The knight will ride the horse,” said Pashla. “I will carry you, and the prisoner will walk. He is yours to deal with as you choose, since you defeated him.” Pashla indicated James with a flick of her head. The assassin was conscious now, bound and under guard by another Demon Rider. He shot Kyra a look of pure hatred. She turned away.

“You’ll carry me?” she asked Pashla.

Pashla nodded. “It’s unwise for you to change your shape with prey nearby. It takes time to learn control, to keep your cat instincts from overwhelming you. Dealing with the shift takes weeks of practice and guidance.”

“Guidance? Where would I get that?”

“The clan is closed to you now. We cannot help you.”

Again, spoken so unfeelingly. And again, it hurt. Kyra turned away. In the corner of her eye, she saw Pashla remove her clothes and transform. The tawny cat knelt in front of her. Kyra grabbed the loose skin at Pashla’s neck and pulled herself onto her back. Stiff fur dug into her palms.

Pashla moved differently than a horse. Her gait was smoother, for which Kyra was grateful. As they traveled, a profound sense of loss filled her. She’d made her choice. Kyra couldn’t give up her humanity to be part of the clan, but still, she wished her departure didn’t have to be so complete. Eventually, the trees thinned, and Kyra recognized the guardhouse by the road where she and Tristam had stopped on their first trip into the forest. With a soft roar, Pashla signaled them to stop and shifted into human form.

“We part ways here.” She gestured toward one of their Demon Rider escorts. “Czern will stay and help you watch the prisoner until you can put him under proper guard. Don’t underestimate this one.”

Tristam eyed James grimly. “We won’t,” he said.

Pashla nodded and then looked straight into Tristam’s eyes. “The things I have done, I did in service of the clan. I have my loyalties, as do you.”

Kyra didn’t know what she meant, but Tristam’s jaw clenched and a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. “I understand,” he said, though his tone belied his words. Kyra wondered if the two of them had a history she didn’t know.

The clanswoman turned to Kyra. Kyra swallowed, suddenly feeling a lump in her throat.

“Thank you,” she said. “For saving my life. And for teaching me to—” She fumbled for words. Between the Guild, the Palace, and the Makvani, Pashla had been the only person who hadn’t wanted to use her. The clanswoman had risked her own life for Kyra and asked nothing in return except that Kyra find a home amongst the clan. Yet this was a home in which Kyra could never belong. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

Pashla looked at her long and hard, and Kyra finally saw it—the hurt and betrayal in the woman’s eyes. The emotions she had hidden behind a mask of calm. “You’ve made your choice, then. You prefer the humans.”

“I grew up with them. It’s all I’ve known.” She wanted to continue, but stopped at the expression on Pashla’s face. She might as well have tried to explain to Pashla that she wanted to live with chickens.

The clanswoman stepped away, pulling at the belt of her tunic to change back. Kyra felt a wrenching in her chest.