Several factors suddenly came together. James’s words and appearance—his quickness and the aura of quiet lethality that surrounded him—brought some old stories into Kyra’s mind.
“The Assassins Guild,” she blurted.
His lips curled into a smile. “There are some in the city who call us that.”
Images flitted through Kyra’s mind. A secret band of men who exercised power in Forge’s underworld. Deadly assassins who killed with impunity. “The whispers are real, then? The Guild is back?”
“It depends on which stories you’ve heard. We’re not murderers for hire. We just do what’s needed to reach our goals.”
“And what are those?”
“As I was saying, the city favors those who are born into power. But not all in power use it well, and not all with money deserve it. We act as a…balancing force. To make sure that those born outside the Palace walls don’t get trampled by those born within.”
She snorted. “Are you trying to tell me that the Guild is some kind of talesinger’s hero? The stories can’t all be false.”
His smile was quick and tight. “In case you haven’t noticed, the Palace’s got armies at its beck and call. They need more convincing than mere words and a handshake.”
Kyra shook her head. “Your goals are too high-thinking for me. I just do what I need to get by.”
“You say that, but your actions say otherwise. Didn’t you just tell me that you only steal from the rich? But you don’t have to share our goals to help us. The benefits for you would be more immediate.”
Kyra noticed she had begun to lean away from him. Perhaps he noticed as well, because he continued. “We don’t need you as an assassin. You’re too small. I’m guessing you’re useless in a fight, despite your speed.”
Though she recoiled at the thought of killing for hire, she bristled at his dismissive tone. “Then what do you want me for?”
“The strengths you’ve built over the last eight years. We need someone who can get in the Palace without being noticed.”
“If you want me to get something for you, just hire me.”
“It can’t be job by job. You’re good, but we’ll need to train you further. You’ll need to gather information from the Palace without raising suspicions.”
“What was wrong with the way I cracked the Palace last night?”
Now he looked amused. “I apologize again. I was unclear. We know you can crack the outer Palace compound. What we need is someone who can do the same thing, but in the Fastkeep.”
Kyra let her breath out with a hiss. “That’s dangerous.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who’d worry about that. You’ll be well compensated, of course.”
“What’s the point if I’m dead?”
“Are you refusing my offer, then?”
Kyra opened her mouth to say yes, but no sound came out. Despite the insanity of what he was proposing, she was intrigued. There was no reason to completely refuse him now. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Very well,” he answered. “See Rand over there?” He gestured toward a redheaded man drinking at one of the other tables. She nodded.
“If you change your mind, tell him. He knows where to find me.”
“The Assassins Guild?” asked Flick. “I’d think assassins would be too busy killing people to be secretly running the city.”
Flick bounced Lettie higher in his arms as he and Kyra weaved between horses, people, and wagons. Lettie was weaker today, barely moving as she snuggled into Flick’s shoulder.
“He says they’re not assassins for hire,” Kyra explained again.
“What do they do, then, bake sweet buns and feed orphans?”
She’d had the same doubts, but somehow it was annoying to hear them from Flick. Kyra scowled. “You’re not a plum citizen yourself.”
He ignored her jab. “What exactly is it that James wants from you?”
“Same things I’ve been doing—raiding and fetching. He didn’t go into specifics.” She took a deep breath. “I could use the coin.”
Flick was silent for a moment. “How far behind are you?”
“I’m paid up on my lodging now with what James gave me. But I’m still going from job to job. I don’t like that.”
He frowned and shifted Lettie’s weight to his other hip. “Mayhap I could help.”
“No, you can’t. You’ve got your own money troubles. Why are you arguing so much, anyway? You’re usually the first to hatch something against the wallhuggers.”
He didn’t argue her point, but after another pause, he spoke again. “Maybe we can figure something else out. I don’t trust him.”
They stopped in front of a cottage. “This is Miranda’s house,” Flick said, freeing one arm to knock on the door.
“How do you know her?”
“She hired me and a friend once to patch up her wall.”
A small woman with silver hair and wizened hands answered.
“Flick!” Miranda beamed and reached up to give him a hug. Kyra rolled her eyes when they weren’t looking. This was typical for Flick. Gets hired to do one odd job, and on their next meeting, the woman greets him like a long-lost son. Flick was always trying to get Kyra to meet new people, and some introductions took better than others.
“This is my friend Kyra,” Flick said, lightly pushing her forward. “And this”—he patted Lettie on the head—“is our patient.” Lettie smiled shyly and clung to his chest.
The odor of dried herbs hit Kyra as she entered. She looked for the source and spotted shelves of jars along the walls, carefully labeled in precise handwriting. Some of the jars—mint, dandelion root, willow—Kyra recognized. Others looked to be from across the Aerins, which was intriguing. Not many healers could boast such rare herbs. One empty jar read SEAWEED—NYMPH GROWN. Another, labeled GRIFFIN TAIL, had a few tattered feathers at the bottom. Kyra noticed that they didn’t look anything at all like the chicken feathers the boy in the street had been selling. Meanwhile, Miranda was listening to Lettie’s breathing, looking at her tongue, and occasionally asking Kyra questions.
“Her lungs are weak,” the healer finally said. “I can give her herbs, but the best thing would just be to keep her warm.” Miranda mixed some herbs with water and started it boiling on the stove. “It will cost more than usual, I’m afraid. Medicines are scarce since the Demon Riders started raiding the countryside.”
“Demon Riders?” Flick asked. Kyra leaned in to hear better. News of the barbarians was becoming too common for comfort.
“I’ve not seen them,” said Miranda, “but I have gone out there to help the injured. The survivors talk of folk who ride on the backs of giant beasts.”
“How bad are the raids?” asked Flick.
“They come quickly, they leave quickly. They go mostly for livestock, but they’re brutal to those who resist them. It’s a horrible sight to see.” Miranda sighed. “I help those I can, but many are beyond help by the time I get there. The caravans don’t travel as often since the raids started, and they’ve raised their prices for all their goods. Rare ingredients are all but impossible to come by. I could have saved some from infection if I’d had dryad hair, but the Far Ranger caravans no longer come here. They come too far, traveling over the Aerin Mountains, to risk losing it to barbarians.”
“Dryad hair?” asked Flick. Like Kyra, he was skeptical of the fantastical stories from across the mountains.
“One of the best remedies I know,” said Miranda. “Nothing on this side—herbs, roots, animals—comes even close. But the supply has just trickled off.” Miranda removed the boiling pot and poured its contents through a cloth, straining out the leaves. “But enough of this. We’ll scare the child. Just be careful if you leave the city.” She transferred the potion into a leather flask and handed it to Kyra. “Have her breathe the fumes whenever she has trouble.”
“Come here, Lettie.” Kyra opened the flask and stuck it under the girl’s nose. The child obedien
tly took several deep breaths. “Feel any different?” Kyra asked.
Lettie nodded. “It hurts less.”
Kyra scrutinized the girl, surprised that the herbs would work so quickly. But there did seem to be a difference. The tension was gone from Lettie’s face, and she no longer winced with each breath.
“This potion should be good for a week,” Miranda said. “Would you like some herbs for more batches? It would be four coppers per measure.”
“How much would we need?” Kyra asked.
“We could try three weeks’ worth and see if she improves.”
Three weeks’ worth would be twelve coppers. Kyra did some calculations in her head. If she bought the medicine, would her money last until she found another job? It would be tight, but she could probably do it. She pulled out her coin purse and paid the healer, thanking her again as they left.
“Why don’t you go back,” Kyra told Flick as they stood outside Miranda’s house. “I’ll take Lettie straight to Idalee. I don’t want to keep them apart too long.”
“You know your way from here?”
“Well enough.”
Flick straightened, a sly grin on his face. “Well then, I might stop by the wool district on my way back.”
Kyra raised an eyebrow. “You still courting that merchant’s daughter? She’s a mite above your station, don’t you think?”
“Above my station? I’ll remind you that I am the son of a nobleman.”
“Bastard son.”
Flick raised his arms in an exaggerated stretch as he walked away. “I’m still closer to the wall than you.”
Kyra watched him go, buoyed slightly by his good spirits. Flick hadn’t seen his father since his mother died. She’d been a merchant’s daughter as well, but was thrown out by her family when they found out about her affair with Flick’s father. She managed to get by for a while as his mistress—until she became ill and the nobleman lost interest. Any mention of his father used to send Flick into low spirits, but it seemed that even deep wounds healed with time.
Kyra tied the medicine to her belt. “Want to try walking?” she asked Lettie.
Their progress was slow, but they weren’t rushed for time, and it was interesting to explore a new part of the city. These streets were quieter than the ones around The Drunken Dog, the houses more spread out. As they walked, Kyra thought over James’s offer. Flick was right. There was something unsettling about James. But still, the thought of interesting work and regular coin was tempting.
Ahead of them, the road narrowed into a footbridge. Two Red Shields stood at the bottom of the steps, and Kyra suppressed her usual instinct to run. It was unlikely that they were after her, and backing away would just draw attention to herself. One of the Red Shields, an ugly fellow with a rust-colored beard, stopped her as she and Lettie came closer. “Bridge toll. One copper.”
“Toll?” asked Kyra.
“One copper. Is it your ears or your head that’s slow?”
She knew better than to respond to his insult. “I in’t heard of any bridge tolls,” she said.
The other Red Shield, a stocky man with a wide nose, came closer. “New orders from the Palace. This past week,” he said with a smirk.
It was a farce. The Red Shields were lining their own pockets, and they didn’t care if Kyra knew. If she was wise, she’d pay the toll and be on her way. But she was low on coin already after buying the girl’s medicine.
Kyra took Lettie’s hand. “We’ll go around the other way.”
She’d taken two steps when a hand closed around her arm. “That’s against the rules, girl,” said Rust Beard. “Pay up.”
Kyra froze, forcing herself not to flinch at his grip. If she were alone, she might have been able to run for it, but not with Lettie. She fished around in her purse for a coin, trying to keep the resentment from her face as she handed it over. Rust Beard grinned as he pocketed it. His friend wandered away, seemingly satisfied, but Rust Beard scrutinized her. “Toll’s gone up,” he said. “There’s an extra charge for them that try to evade the first payment.”
He reached for her coin purse, clearly expecting no resistance, but she stepped back, jerking her purse out of his reach with one hand while she pushed Lettie behind her with the other. “Hands off, pig.”
She regretted her words as soon as she spoke. The Red Shield’s eyes narrowed, and Kyra barely had time to yell at Lettie to run before the Red Shield lunged toward Kyra, grabbing for her arm. He wasn’t as fast as he could have been, and Kyra stepped sideways, avoiding his grasp. As he stumbled, she pivoted away, scanning the streets for Lettie and feeling a rush of relief as she saw the girl disappearing into an alleyway. Before Kyra could follow, the Red Shield seized her elbow and pulled her backward. He caught her around the waist, pinning her arms. Kyra yelled and stamped down on his foot. His grip loosened, and she thrust back with her elbow. The man doubled over, and she squirmed out of his arms.
As she broke free, his friend closed in from the front and aimed a fist toward her head. Pain exploded on one side of her face and she fell hard onto the dirt. She gasped for breath, stunned and blinded. She felt a weight as one of them straddled her chest and pinned her left arm to the ground. Desperate, she jabbed at his eyes with her free hand. He swore and lifted his arm to deliver another blow. She raised her hand over her face and turned away.
There was a thud, a yell of surprise, and then the Red Shield on top of her pitched forward. Someone pulled him off her, and Kyra dragged herself onto her elbow, breath coming in painful gasps. Both her attackers lay on the ground, unconscious. Above them stood a man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Filthy Palace scum.” Her rescuer spat on the ground. He was of average height, heavyset, and wore the coarse wool tunic of a commoner. Carrot-colored hair topped a freckled face marred by a scar over one eyebrow. He turned toward her. “James told me to keep an eye on you.”
Now she remembered. This was Rand, the man James had pointed out to her at The Drunken Dog. Had he been following her? Given the circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry.
Rand walked from one Red Shield to the other, checking their pulse. “They’ll live,” he said. He offered her a hand and she took it, wincing at her new bruises as he pulled her to her feet. The side of her leg felt moist, and she looked down. As the smell of herbs reached her nostrils, her heart sank. Lettie’s potion had spilled in the fight. She grabbed for the bag of herbs at her waist. It was ripped, and there were dry leaves scattered over the ground.
“The herbs,” she breathed.
Rand was unsympathetic. “Them’s the least of your worries right now. We’ve got to go.”
Kyra knew he was right, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the herbs. They had been so expensive.
Suddenly, she remembered that Lettie was still hiding. She ran in the direction the girl had gone, shouting her name, and sighed with relief when a shape detached itself from the shadows. As Kyra ran closer, she saw Lettie shrink away in fear. Kyra raised a hand to her face. Her cheek was sticky with blood, and she realized how frightening she looked.
“It’s all right, Lettie, I’m all right,” she said, stretching her arms out. Kyra took Lettie’s hands and turned to Rand. “I’ve got to take her to her sister.”
He glanced at the child and gave a curt nod.
They proceeded in silence toward Lettie’s neighborhood. When children’s voices sounded ahead, Kyra stopped. “Lettie, can you go the rest of the way by yourself?” She didn’t want Idalee to see her in this condition. “Tell Idalee to keep you warm. I’ll come by with more herbs for you.”
Lettie nodded.
“Good. Off with you.” She pushed Lettie toward the courtyard. When she was convinced that the girl had safely rejoined the other children, Kyra sighed and allowed herself to sag.
“If you’re fixing to go around baiting Red Shields, you should carry a dagger at least,” Rand said.
“I don’t usually do this.”
�
�That’s a pity.”
She didn’t bother to answer.
With just the two of them walking, the silence was more noticeable, but she was in no mood for conversation. Only when they were almost at the tavern did Rand speak again.
“It’s James’s job to convince you to join us,” he said. “So I won’t waste my breath talking at you. But you don’t have to let the wallhuggers trample you like this. We’d teach you to fight, to take care of yourself.” They stopped at the back door of the tavern. Rand didn’t follow her to the doorstep. “Just think about it,” he said before walking away.
Kyra watched him leave, then turned back to the tavern. She put her hand on the doorknob and started to turn. It was still early in the evening. Even from out here, she could see the crowd through the window, hear the drone of conversation. People would see her come in. Word would get to Bella.
Kyra’s bruises started to throb, as if her body wanted to give a detailed report of everything that required fixing. She was suddenly angry—at the Red Shields for attacking her, at herself for letting her guard down, and at the city and everyone in it for making everything so hard. Kyra let her hand go limp, and the doorknob rebounded with a click. She stumbled back a few steps. Then she turned and ran for the street.
“Rand,” she called. He was halfway down the street already, but he stopped and turned around. Ignoring her aching muscles, Kyra jogged to catch up with him.
Kyra opened her mouth and hesitated. Flick would not like this, nor would Bella, but she pushed that thought out of her mind. “Take me to James,” she blurted before she could change her mind.
“Follow me,” Rand replied. And turning around, he led her back into the city.
F O U R
She followed him into a quiet neighborhood, with few taverns and even fewer people on the darkened streets. Rand made no allowance for her injuries, and Kyra hurried to keep up with him. Her head ached, and several times she startled at a man’s voice behind her, only to realize the speaker wasn’t even looking at her. Rand led her off the road and across an empty plot of land, finally stopping in front of an enormous wooden building. It looked like a storehouse used by trade caravans—boxlike and functional, two stories high and made of cheap wood.
Midnight Thief Page 3
