Midnight Thief

by Livia Blackburne

  Roars filled the air—the other two demon cats had noticed the fight. The largest one clamped its jaws around the injured beast to drag it away, while the other, a sleek tawny-yellow creature, advanced on Tristam. The young knight pulled on his reins, guiding Lady back and desperately hoping that reinforcements would come soon.

  The beast sprang. Tristam threw himself sideways to avoid its claws as Lady screamed and bucked. He hit the ground hard, first bruising his shoulder and then cracking his head on the cobblestones. Spots swam in front of his eyes, and he scrambled out of range of Lady’s hooves. The cat sidestepped his steed and bared its teeth.

  Tristam heard a shout from behind the demon cat. A rock glanced off the beast’s shoulder, and the creature turned to see its new attacker. Tristam put his hand to his head, wincing at the pain as he tried to see around the beast. A slender girl, olive-skinned and dressed in trousers and a tunic, was yelling and waving her arms. Was she crazy? He opened his mouth to command her off the street, but his voice came out as a croak. Before he could draw another breath, the girl had run around the corner with the demon cat in pursuit. Tristam staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the hammers pounding at his brain. He grabbed the rock the girl had thrown and limped after them.

  There was no sign of either the girl or the cat. Had they turned down another street? He gathered himself to follow, when a man shouted in a language Tristam didn’t know. Another cat came into sight, this one pure white, with a rider on its back. The Demon Rider was a man this time, with muscular arms and long black hair that hung to his waist. There was something inhuman about the way the barbarian watched him. Was that anger in his eyes? Disdain? Tristam met his eyes, fury in his own gaze as they stared each other down. The white cat growled deep in its throat, but the Demon Rider shook his head and spoke a command. Both cat and rider turned away, and Tristam slumped against the wall. Then he looked closer at their retreating figures, and his breath hissed out in disbelief.

  The rock bounced harmlessly off the demon cat’s flank. The beast turned away from the injured knight and watched the stone roll away. Then it locked its eyes on her.

  Kyra spun on her heel and ran.

  She stumbled as she turned the corner, stubbing her toe on something hard, but Kyra forced herself to keep going. Behind her, the cat’s growls grew louder. What had possessed her to help that knight?

  A windowsill caught her eye, and she scrambled for improvised hand-and footholds to climb as quickly as she could. With every step, Kyra expected to feel claws on her shins, tearing into her flesh. When she cleared the first story, she finally chanced a look down. The cat wasn’t there, and Kyra kept climbing. Only when she’d pulled herself onto the roof did she catch a glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision. She scrambled back as the demon cat launched itself off a tree, landing softly on padded feet right where Kyra had been standing.

  She should have remembered that cats could climb trees.

  It came at her now, like a kitten pursuing a bird, only so much bigger. Kyra desperately looked around. She couldn’t get back down, not with the cat right there. Her only choice was to run.

  Kyra sprinted across the rooftop, jumping over steps and praying that she wouldn’t step on any weak shingles. She could feel the massive cat chasing, could sense its heavy paw pads as it bounded after her. Kyra reached a gap in the rooftops and leaped. As her feet touched the next roof, a weight pushed her forward. There was a slashing pain as something sharp cut her shoulder blade. She landed hard on her forearms, curling herself into a ball as claws raked her shin and slid off.

  She lay there, stunned, but nothing happened. Finally, she twisted her head to see. The cat stood a pace away, delicately sniffing at her injured leg. It made a guttural sound and slowly licked her shin with a rough tongue.

  The wet touch shook Kyra out of her stupor and she pushed herself to standing, stumbling onward only to collapse again at the pain from her injured leg. She sat back up, facing the cat and doing her best to scoot away. The demon cat stormed toward her and knocked her down, bending its head down to hers. Kyra closed her eyes and turned her head. She felt the animal’s hot breath on her face and resigned herself to the worst. Then the breaths receded, and the pressure on her chest released. Kyra opened her eyes to see the demon cat several strides away, looking at her intently through amber-slitted eyes. Then it turned and bounded off.

  T H I R T E E N

  Kyra winced as the cold cloth touched her shoulder.

  “Hold still,” Rand growled. “It’s just a scratch.”

  She tried her best not to move, but it stung. “Any others hurt?” she asked as he rinsed his washcloth.

  “None from the Guild. Everyone else was smart enough to stay out of the way. You’re lucky the Red Shields arrived before that beast did you any true harm.”

  Kyra wondered what Rand’s reaction would be if he knew that she’d put herself in harm’s way in order to help a nobleman. And not just any nobleman—the knight who’d overseen the herbalist’s rent collection. Kyra wasn’t sure herself why she’d done it, though it gave her some perverse satisfaction to think that the wallhugger owed her his life. For all his expensive weapons and training, he’d be dead if it weren’t for a city girl with a rock. And soon she’d take back those herbs he’d wrested from the storekeeper.

  “Any news from the southwest district?” she asked.

  “Alex was down there. Said the barbarians didn’t make it that far. Your friends at the Dog are likely fine.”

  Could be, but she was eager to get back and see for herself.

  “How is she?”

  Kyra looked up to see James, arms crossed as he appraised her condition. She had wound a sheet around herself for modesty as Rand tended her back, and she pulled it more tightly around herself.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Will she be able to climb?” James asked Rand.

  “She’ll heal up well enough. The scratches aren’t deep.”

  James bent over her, pushing her lightly forward to look at her back.

  “I’ll take over,” he said, waving Rand away. Rand raised his eyebrows but gathered his things and left.

  Kyra leaned forward and studied the floor, oddly aware of James’s movements as he stepped behind her. There was a rustle of clothing as he sat down, and the sound of the washcloth being wrung. James didn’t use any less pressure than Rand, but his touch was quicker, more precise, and less painful.

  “You should have been more careful,” he said after a while.

  “I know.” Kyra shook her head. “Just panicked, I guess.” She drew a sharp breath as James touched a particularly sore spot.

  “Easy.” He laid his hand at the base of her neck and squeezed gently. Kyra slowly let her breath out, and James continued cleaning.

  “Just stay out of the way. You should know how to do that.” He dabbed the area dry. “Hold your arm out.” James took her wrist between his fingers and guided her arm to the side, pressing a bandage to her shoulder and expertly wrapping it with a long cloth. “We’ll have to move back the raid a week or two. Keep your shoulder clean. Change the bandages every day, and come back when you can move normally again.” He stood up to leave.

  “James—” Kyra called before he moved out of earshot. He stopped.

  She drew a breath and spoke before she lost her nerve. “The armor we took from the armory raid…I was trying to remember what style it was.”

  “We took several different kinds.” His face gave nothing away.

  “But most of it was leather, wasn’t it? With metal studs.”

  James gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s a common type of armor. Why do you ask?”

  Kyra blinked rapidly, once again seeing the Demon Rider in the marketplace, clad in his oddly familiar leather armor. “No reason,” she said. “I just like to remember what I take.”

  “We took many sets of armor that night. I’d have to check the records to get the specifics. Any other questions?” />
  She flushed red, unsure as to whether she imagined his mocking tone. “No, that’s it.”

  “Good. Come back when you’re ready.”

  “They had armor this time. Leather-studded armor.” Tristam leaned over Malikel’s desk, emphasizing his assertion with a firmly planted palm.

  “You’re sure it’s from the armory raid?” asked Malikel.

  “I spoke to Nels. It matches his description of what went missing. It’s just too much of a coincidence. They must be getting help from the Assassins Guild.”

  “And now you’re thinking…”

  “Maybe they had help avoiding the patrols.”

  Malikel nodded his agreement. “Go check. I’ll join you in a couple of hours.”

  Tristam rubbed the bruise on the back of his head as he walked to the archive room. The Palace healer had lectured Tristam about facing enemies without reinforcements, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was probably right. Tristam owed his life to that girl who’d thrown the stone at the demon cat. He’d combed the streets after the attack, hoping to thank her, or at least find out if she’d survived. But there had been no sign of her.

  The archive room was empty, and Tristam went straight for the far cabinet, pulling out the parchment on which he’d recorded the barbarian raids since the first farm attack. He had a feeling he was close to the answers he needed about the Demon Riders. He just needed to look in the right place.

  He slid his fingers down the left side of the paper, scanning the dates, looking for any clue, any hint of a connection. The attacks were spaced out unevenly but had averaged about one or two per week for the past four months. The barbarians’ first engagement with Palace troops had been in May, when he and Jack had stumbled across that fateful farm raid. Over time, encounters had trickled off, and in the past three weeks, they had evaded troops completely.

  In addition to the attack logs, there were patrol schedules, some of which he had helped draw out. They were set only a few days in advance and purposely changed from week to week. Tristam laid the patrol schedules on the table next to the attack logs. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be any pattern between patrols and attacks. But then…He stopped and checked the last four attacks. They all occurred in regions for which there had been no patrol assigned that day.

  Tristam jumped as the door opened and Malikel walked in. “Did you find anything?” the older man asked.

  He related his findings. “The pattern only holds for the past four attacks, so I can’t be sure. But it’s suspicious.”

  Malikel lowered himself into a chair, face grim. “You realize what this would mean, if what you say is true?”

  Tristam nodded, fighting a rising dread. Patrol schedules were a closely guarded secret, set a few days beforehand and known only to a select few. This was far more serious than a low-level servant informing on daily activities. If the barbarians had known the patrol schedules, then the Assassins Guild’s reach was much, much, deeper. “It could still be a coincidence,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

  Malikel shook his head. “It isn’t. Think about the way the attacks have changed recently. How their targets have changed.”

  “The trade caravans.” The realization killed any remaining hope he had of being wrong. “The barbarians are focusing on trade caravans because they now have their schedules.” Schedules that were again known only to select Palace officials.

  “We need to know everyone who is privy to this information,” said Malikel.

  Tristam nodded. “I will compile a list of all knights and officials who are informed of the patrol schedules. We can start questioning people tomorrow.”

  F O U R T E E N

  “Kyra, Flick, look!” Idalee stood with a bowl in her right hand. Behind it, she had stacked two plates along the length of her arm. Now the girl was taking careful steps around the kitchen, hovering her other hand over the dishes to keep them from falling.

  Flick applauded. “You’ll be helping out in the dining room in no time.” Idalee beamed and continued her slow circle.

  Kyra forced a short smile and tried not to think about paying for broken dishes. She turned back to the kettle where Lettie’s herbs were boiling. “I think this is the last batch she’ll need,” she said to Flick. “She’s hardly had trouble lately.”

  “Moving here has been good for her.” He reached for an empty bowl and held it steady as Kyra poured water into it.

  “Idalee, you’re going to break them!” Kyra snapped. The girl, who had been adding yet another plate to her load, jumped and very nearly proved Kyra right. Luckily, she held on long enough to dump the dishes onto a table. The plates clattered but stayed intact.

  “Whoa, Kyra!” warned Flick. Kyra turned back and lifted the kettle spout just as boiling water overflowed the bowl.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, reaching for a rag. From the corner of her eye, she saw Idalee give her a puzzled look and leave the kitchen.

  Flick looked askance at Kyra. “You all right? You’ve not been yourself since the attack.”

  “I know.” She avoided his eyes. “I’m just having a hard time forgetting the demon cats.”

  “You sure that’s the only thing?”

  Kyra glanced around the kitchen. There was no one else there, and the sound of stew boiling muffled the voices in the next room. She hated admitting she was wrong, but…

  “How do you decide what’s too much?” Kyra asked.

  “Too much?”

  Kyra started to elaborate but stopped, wondering how much she could reveal.

  “What are they having you do, Kyra?” Now Flick sounded worried.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “I mean…I’ve not done anything myself.”

  “But you’re bothered by what they do.”

  “I suppose. They’re…I don’t know. Some things…right now they scare me, but I worry I’ll get used to seeing it.”

  “Worried you’ll turn into them?”

  Kyra nodded uncertainly.

  To Flick’s credit, he let the moment pass without reminding her that he’d warned her of that very possibility. Instead, he was silent as he stirred the bowl. “I have seen folk change over time. Some of the lads spent too much time around the wrong people. They got used to it too, and either got in trouble or turned into someone they didn’t want to be.”

  “And it’s not just that,” said Kyra. “What if the jobs are helping them do something I don’t want to help with?” She wondered if that made any sense, but Flick nodded.

  “They don’t tell you the reason for your jobs.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t figure James out. What if I’m actually helping them bring down the city or something?”

  Flick laughed. “That would be impressive indeed.” Kyra kept her mouth shut about the demon cats and the armor.

  “Look, Kyra, you know how I feel about them. If something doesn’t feel right, you should get out.” Kyra held a flask steady as Flick filled it.

  “It’s not that easy. Some of the jobs are worth it. I feel like I’m making things better.” She wanted to say more—how good it felt to live without money worries, how nice it was to be taking care of people rather than leaning on Bella and Flick, but she couldn’t find the right words. And were those her only reasons? An image of James flashed through her mind, and she ignored the sudden tightness in her stomach.

  “And I don’t know anything for sure,” she finished lamely.

  Flick sighed. “I in’t really the one to go to for moral dilemmas, Kyra. Bella’s better at that.”

  “Bella didn’t even like it when I was just stealing.”

  “Bella’s a good woman, and surprisingly understanding.”

  Kyra twisted the cap onto the flask, closing it tight. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Flick looked up. “You’re not reporting to the Guild this week, are you?”

  “No, James told me to rest.”

  “Me and the lads are raiding a house in t
he northeast quadrant tonight. We could use a good cracker.”

  “One of the big houses?” She perked up despite herself. It had been a long time since she’d run anything with Flick, and she missed those trips.

  “You in?”

  Kyra straightened, an enthusiastic reply on her tongue, when her motion pulled at the scabs on her back. “Oh,” she said, “my shoulder.”

  “That’s all right, you won’t have to climb. It’s an easy job. It’d just be fun to have you in the crew.”

  True, if she didn’t climb, her shoulder would probably be fine. “But if something happened, and I reopen the wound…”

  “Nothing will happen. It’s an easy crack. One guard, no dogs.”

  He was probably right. But on the off chance that he was wrong…James had delayed the raid once already because of her shoulder. She bit her lip.

  A muscle tightened on Flick’s jaw, and his smile disappeared. “Forget I asked.”

  Kyra jumped, startled at how his tone had changed. “No, it’s all right. I can—”

  “It’s fine, Kyra. Really,” Flick’s voice was tight, his words clipped. “We have enough men. No need to risk your shoulder.” He stood up. “I should go check my ropes.” He left the room before Kyra could say anything more.

  When Kyra returned to her room that night, she heard whimpering from Lettie and Idalee’s quarters. She knocked lightly on the door, then peeked inside when the whimpering didn’t stop. Through the darkness, Kyra could see Lettie turning and kicking on the bed.

  “Lettie?” Kyra whispered, and moved closer. The girl continued to flail about, but was obviously sound asleep.

  Kyra glanced to the other side of the bed, surprised that the older girl wasn’t comforting her sister, only to see that no one was there. She sat down and stroked Lettie’s hair, whispering comforting words much as Bella used to. The child opened a sleepy eye and closed it again. Her breathing steadied, and she relaxed.