Kyra jumped at the name and scanned the room, eager to catch a glimpse of him. He stood by a bench on the opposite side of the room, and he was also flanked by two soldiers. He didn’t look hurt, and he held his head high, though his lips were pressed in a grim line.
Councilman Willem cleared his throat. “Sir Tristam of Brancel,” said Councilman Willem. “You are guilty of disobeying the Council’s orders and attempting to rescue Kyra of Forge, causing the death of a Palace soldier in the process. Do you deny these charges?”
“No, Your Grace, I do not.”
“Because of your disobedience, you will be stripped of your knighthood for one year. You will serve as a Red Shield and perform all the duties required of your new station. At the end of the year, the Council will review your behavior and make a decision as to whether to reinstate your rank.”
The slightest of shudders passed through his body, but his voice was clear when he responded. “I accept the judgment of the Council.”
“You are dismissed. I call Kyra of Forge to stand before the Council.”
Kyra threw one last look at Tristam’s back as he was led out the door.
“Kyra of Forge,” said Willem. “You are guilty of high treason and murder. Do you deny these charges?”
Her crimes were common knowledge by now and denying them would have been useless. Still, it was hard to get the words out. “I do not deny these charges,” she said.
“The penalty for these crimes is death. Do you understand this?”
“I understand.”
The councilman paused and studied her face, as if he were trying to see if his words scared her. “Your crimes are grievous, but you’ve performed a great service to the city. By capturing the assassin James, you’ve removed a grave threat. The Demon Riders still attack the countryside, but without the Guild’s encouragement, they stay away from Forge.” The councilman glanced at the documents in front of him. “In light of your service, the Council hereby revokes your death sentence.”
Kyra hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until a wave of relief swept over her. She swayed slightly on her feet. “I accept the judgment of the Council.”
“Take care you do not abuse the Council’s good faith in this matter.” The threat in his eyes belied his formal tone.
Kyra said nothing.
Willem put his documents aside. “You are dismissed.”
She let the Red Shields escort her out through the atrium, and then to the compound gates. Nobles and staff hurried about their tasks, and no one paid her any particular heed. The soldiers left her just outside the main gate. Alone in the open air, Kyra finally felt the tightness drain out of her muscles. It was hard to believe that she was actually free. She was turning toward the southwest district when she saw a familiar form waiting by the compound wall. Tristam inclined his head in greeting. His clothing was different, she noticed. He still wore a tunic of Palace red, but it lacked the knight insignia, and her heart fell. Kyra suddenly felt uncertain as she approached him. His expression was calm. Not bitter, but he looked at her as if he didn’t know what to expect. And neither did she. It was hard to know what a stolen kiss in the forest meant, after all that had happened.
“It worked,” Tristam said quietly. “I almost can’t believe it.”
She nodded. “For now. Though it will be a long time before I see a Red Shield without getting the urge to run.” She stopped. Here she was, celebrating her release, while Tristam had been punished. “I’m sorry. About your sentence.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “One year is nothing. It could have been much worse.”
She suspected he was downplaying the repercussions, but there was no point in dwelling on it. It was strange, how much difference one’s surroundings could make. When it had just been the two of them in the forest, it was easy to overlook their differences. But here, even in his guard’s tunic, Tristam looked like he belonged at the Palace. It was written all over his bearing, his refined speech. She, on the other hand, was from a different world altogether.
“So what will you do now?” he asked.
“I’ll lay low for a while. I had some coin that made it through the fire, and Flick’s found a place near his quarters where I can live with Lettie and Idalee. Malikel wants my help dealing with the Assassins Guild and the Demon Riders. I’ll work with him for now, at least until I learn more about what’s going on. He makes me nervous sometimes, but I respect him.”
“So does that mean I’ll be seeing you around?”
“Most likely.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kyra looked up at him. “Take care, then. Until next time.”
She reached for his hand to give it a squeeze. Tristam squeezed back, and then, without breaking his gaze, raised her hand to his lips. “Until then.”
Kyra smiled despite herself, suddenly shy, and took her leave. She could sense Tristam watching her as she walked, and the touch of his lips lingered on her hand well after she turned the corner. She wandered the city without thought, meandering past markets and houses and enjoying the sunlight. Eventually, she found herself in the fire-damaged district. The worst of the wreckage was cleared away by now, and the streets were cleaned of debris. The charred frame of The Drunken Dog, however, still remained. Kyra stood at the threshold for a moment, tempted to go in, but turned away.
She continued to the stone market building where they’d waited out the Demon Rider attack. In front of the building, people had set up a memorial. Stones, flowers, and parchments with names of the perished were piled by the door. Kyra crouched before the stones and tried to read off the faded parchments. She saw the name of a serving girl at The Drunken Dog, as well as the baker’s son. She grabbed a parchment that had faded almost completely away. There were no bits of charcoal nearby, so she contented herself with tracing Bella’s name out with her finger.
“I figured you’d be here,” said a familiar voice.
Kyra moved aside to make room for Flick. “I wanted to pay my respects, now that I’m free.”
“She’d be glad to see you safely back.”
“I wish she was still here.”
For a while, they stood in silence, contemplating the memorial. Finally, Flick spoke again.
“So, the cat thing,” he said. “Have you tried it since?” Flick had taken the news of Kyra’s parentage surprisingly in stride. After the initial shock, he’d told Kyra that he wasn’t that surprised. Too many years of watching Kyra do the impossible, he supposed.
Kyra shook her head. “It in’t safe with people nearby, without the clan to teach me. But even if I did have help, I don’t know if I’d want to.”
“Why?”
Kyra twisted her tunic in her hands, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “When I worked for the Guild, I was shocked by their violence. I worried they would change me, but I pushed my worries aside because it was easier. And because of that, I’ll always have innocent blood on my hands. You weren’t there at the man’s funeral, Flick. His wife, his children, their lives changed forever because I ignored my doubts.”
She drew a shaky breath and continued. “After he—after I killed him, I knew I had to leave the Guild. And when I told James, he told me not to bother. He said I wasn’t a talesinger’s heroine, that I was a former gutter rat who stole for living. I thought I’d prove him wrong by working with the Palace, but everything kept getting worse. He’d sent me to kill Malikel, but soon, I was the one volunteering to poison him. After that, the Makvani found me. The way they killed people in cold blood—it confirmed everything that James had ever thought of me. The feelings that I had when I was a cat, the bloodlust—it wasn’t pretty.”
“But you didn’t give in, did you?” asked Flick. “You captured James—alive. You saved Tristam’s life. And you’ve stopped the demon cat invasions of the city. Aye, your bloodline got you in trouble, but it was also what got you out of this mess in the end. And now that you have one foot in with the Palace, and knowing what you do about the Guild and the Demon Rider
s, I think you could do a lot of good, if you wanted to.”
Kyra grimaced and smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could. She wanted to believe him.
“Do you think Bella would have loved you any less if she knew what you were?” asked Flick.
“I suppose not. Bella loved everyone,” said Kyra.
“And Idalee and Lettie, if they knew?”
“No, they would trust me even if it wasn’t good for them.”
“And does Tristam trust you less, knowing your secret?”
“Well, I did risk my life to save him.”
“Exactly. And what about me? Do I show any signs of running for the hills?”
Kyra smiled. “I guess I’m blessed with foolish—and forgiving—friends.”
“Mayhap we’re wiser than you give us credit for.”
Flick rooted around in his belt pack. “Here,” he said, taking out a scrap of parchment and a piece of charcoal. “Use these.”
Kyra accepted them with gratitude. Taking a deep breath, she wrote Bella’s name in clear, large letters. She knelt down to place it beside the others, but drew her hand back and looked at Flick. “She said she was proud of me, you know. As she lay—” She couldn’t bring herself to say dying. “Why would she say that, after I had just ruined everything?”
“She loved you, Kyra.”
Kyra lowered her eyes. She supposed that was all she needed to know. “Would you like to place it with me?” she asked.
Flick knelt and took a corner of the parchment. Together, they tucked it between two stones. They stood without speaking for a long time, lost in their own thoughts, before finally turning for home.
A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
Every debut novel has a story behind it, and Midnight Thief is no exception. I have many, many people to thank.
Thank you to my parents, Andy and Judy King, for instilling in me a love of stories and language.
Kyra is actually a character from a story I started in high school, and there were three English teachers in particular who had a large influence on my creative writing endeavors: Kate Davis, John Gray, and Stuart Lipkowitz.
Thank you to my husband, Jeff Blackburne, for putting up with endless chatter about demon cats and for hugs through writerly mood swings.
The story would probably never have been completed without my dear friends at Courtyard Critiques, who patiently pointed out all the good and bad as I churned out those awkward early drafts: Amitha Knight, Coral Frazer, Peta Andersen, and Rachal Aronson, who were there from the beginning; and Lara Ehrlich, Jennifer Barnes, and Emily Terry, who offered astute comments on later pages.
A slew of generous beta readers helped me with the completed manuscript: Harold Hsiung, Karen Zee, Karen Ng, Kenli Okada, Bart Cleveland, Stephanie Del Tufo, Todd Thompson, Lisa Choi, Lianne Crawford, April Choi, Joseph Selby, Irene Kim, Amy Shi, Haley Alexander, Rebecca Stoll, Cami Lau, Eric Jacobson, Rachel Winter, Greg Newby, Emily Lo, and Anisha Keshavan.
Love to the ladies of the Fourteenery for laughs and hugs during the rollercoaster debut process.
A huge thank-you to my agent, Jim McCarthy, for believing in Kyra and for his constant support as Midnight Thief made its journey into the world.
And of course, thank you to my editors, Abby Ranger and Rotem Moscovich, who took my sapling manuscript and coaxed it into a full-fledged tree. Thank you as well to Laura Schreiber, Julie Moody, and the rest of the Hyperion team. It really is a dream come true.
LIVIA BLACKBURNE has a PhD in neuroscience from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where she conducted research on the neural correlates of reading. She still blogs on the intersection of writing and brain science (liviablackburne.com), and she now lives in Los Angeles with her husband. This is her debut novel.
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