“James told me he paid you in silver. That right?” Kyra said.
Stark fear crossed his face.
“I in’t planning on turning you in,” she said quickly, worried that she would have to grab him to keep him from bolting. “Otherwise you’d already be in the dungeons. But I’d like your help, and I can pay for it.”
The man squinted at her, trying to see beneath her cloak. “Who are you?”
Kyra supposed she didn’t look or sound like anyone from the Palace or the Guild. Marketplace shoppers brushed past them, and the shouts of vendors made it hard to hear. She jerked her head toward a nearby alleyway. “Best for both of us to be out of sight.” He hesitated to follow her, and Kyra sighed. “You and I can have this chat out here or in the alley. Your choice.” The look he gave her wasn’t kind, but he followed her to the back street. It was empty and darker than the thoroughfare. The smell of rot that always plagued alleyways near the markets was dampened by the cold. Kyra glanced around, checking to make sure there were no windows. She dropped her hood.
Fear crossed Orvin’s face again. “You’re Malikel’s woman.”
It looked like her days of anonymity were over. “I’ve sworn no oaths to Malikel, and he doesn’t know I’m here. I just want some information.”
“And if you don’t get it, will you turn me in?”
She had to think before she answered. Blackmail would have been easy, and certainly tempting, but she shook her head. “I won’t betray a city man to the wallhuggers without good reason. But I’m guessing that you’ve no love for Willem, if you’ve sold information to James before.”
His stance lost a bit of its defensive tilt. “I’ll have you know that I didn’t choose this path lightly,” he finally said. “I have seven mouths to feed, and His Grace is stingy with his wealth. You’re common-born like me. You know what it’s like to be under them. If it comes out that I’ve betrayed the Palace, my family will starve.”
“I know,” said Kyra.
He let out a resigned breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Willem’s pushing a strategy against the Demon Riders that’s almost certain to end in many deaths. I’m looking for any weakness on his part that I might be able to use against him.”
Orvin’s eyes showed clear understanding as he took in her words. “Willem’s ambitious, I’ll give him that. He has a vision of Forge as a bastion of greatness—what Parna has done, but bolstered with our greater numbers.” He indicated Kyra. “You yourself have benefited from Willem’s ambition. The Palace healers are some of the best in this part of the world, and it was Willem who invested in their training. Of course, gains made by the more refined layers of society are paid for by the masses. This Demon Rider offensive is just the latest. Glory for the city, paid for by the blood of soldiers on the ground.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “I can tell you this. Willem has been receiving private messengers late at night, about once a week. They come into the Palace past midnight, when the main gates are closed.”
“What messages do they bear?” asked Kyra.
He shook his head. “The meetings are closed, with only Willem and the messengers. I wouldn’t even have known about them had I not been paying extra attention to His Grace’s movements. But he would not receive the messengers in such secrecy if he had nothing to hide.”
She made note of his words. “One other thing. I suspect Willem might be making changes in the conscription lists. A good friend of mine was in the first conscripted unit, and it seems too much a coincidence. Do you know anything about that?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Orvin. “But I’ve heard nothing of it, though that kind of evidence would be hard to find. You’d have to track down whichever scribe he persuaded to change the lists.”
That was disappointing, but Kyra was marginally familiar with the Palace’s roster of scribes from all the time she’d spent stealing Palace records. She could look into some of the more likely suspects. “And what about at court? Does Willem have any new allies or enemies?”
“He’s never been a friend of the Defense Minister, as you surely know. The rivalry seems more pronounced lately after Malikel was voted Second to the Head Councilman last month.”
“That’s right,” said Kyra. It had happened shortly after Kyra started working for Malikel, and it meant that Malikel would become Head Councilman if something were to happen to Willem. “But Willem couldn’t possibly think that Malikel would consider foul play, would he?” said Kyra.
“No, I don’t think Willem worries about assassination. But Malikel’s been pushing a good number of controversial measures—a law was passed last week requiring landlords to wait two months before evicting a tenant. Changes like these tend to be unpopular amongst the nobility who form the core of Willem’s support. So Willem’s been attempting to undermine Malikel’s competence. He might hope, for example, that your friend’s early conscription into the army would distract you from Malikel’s assignments.”
“By making me chase scribes instead of pursuing peace with the Demon Riders?” Kyra asked, chagrined.
“Aye. And the Brancel marriage negotiations are another example. Willem’s voiced his support, and the only reason he’d do so would be to hinder Malikel.”
Brancel marriage negotiations? Orvin had brought it up in such an offhand way, as if he expected her to already know about it. She grasped for something to say that would get more details out of him. “But would Willem really undermine Forge’s war efforts just to hurt Malikel?”
Orvin shrugged. “It’ll be a bloodbath either way. A few more deaths won’t matter. And Malikel’s plenty competent. If your friend Tristam were to marry, it would take him away from Forge for the duration of the nuptial preparations. Malikel would lose Tristam’s help, but it probably wouldn’t change the overall outcome.”
Orvin kept talking, but his words became like buzzing in her ears. Marriage negotiations. For Tristam. Kyra was vaguely aware that she needed to say something, to pretend that what she’d heard was nothing new to her.
Orvin trailed off and squinted at her, and Kyra wondered if her attempt at a calm expression had worked at all. “That’s useful information,” she said. Before Orvin could speak again, she took out a bag of coins and pressed them into his hand. “I can’t pay as well as James, but I hope this will help.”
The pouch disappeared under his cloak with a smoothness that spoke of experience. “I’ll keep watching, and I’ll send word if I learn anything else,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Kyra. Somehow, she maintained her composure until Orvin had disappeared from view.
It was ironic how the conversation with Orvin had turned out. Kyra had expected to surprise him, had in fact worried that the shock would scare him away. But instead, Orvin had quickly adjusted to his circumstances, and Kyra was the one left in the alleyway, reeling at his words.
It made sense now, when she thought back to her past few days with Tristam. The endless meetings, the courtiers, his evasiveness at her questions.
Why hadn’t he told her? The reasonable part of her recognized that she had no right to be upset. She was the one who had cut things off in the first place. And yet…
Kyra dug her fingernails into her palm. Perhaps Orvin was wrong. How well could a turncoat servant be trusted? And regardless of whether the news was true or false, she couldn’t stay here and flounder. Ilona had sent word this morning that Idalee was ready to return home, and Kyra had promised to come get her.
She saw no sign of Tristam on her way to Ilona’s patient room, for which she was grateful. Idalee was already dressed and waiting for her, looking subdued but ready to go. The girl’s arm was in a sling. She was thinner than she’d been before, and her coloring was still pale, but Idalee was in far better shape than she’d been when she came in. Kyra gave the girl a careful hug.
“I’m glad you’re better,” she whispered.
“Idalee should be fine to walk home,
” said Ilona. “Just make sure she doesn’t push her body past her limits.”
Idalee’s grip on Kyra’s hand tightened as they left the herb-scented safety of Ilona’s room and made their way down the stairs. The girl faltered at the building’s main entrance.
“Are they here?” Idalee asked.
It took Kyra a moment to realize whom Idalee was talking about, and when she did, she felt like the worst friend in the world. Here she’d been preoccupied about whether she’d run into Tristam, when she really should have been making sure that Santon and his brothers were nowhere in sight for Idalee’s departure. “I didn’t notice them on the way in,” she said. “We’ll go quickly.”
The girl’s features strengthened into resolve, but her eyes remained haunted, and it tugged at Kyra’s heart. This was the girl who’d thought nothing of attacking boys twice her size in order to protect Lettie, and now she was frightened even to cross a Palace courtyard. Kyra did her best to dispel the hopeless anger building in her chest. It would do Idalee no good.
There was no sign of Lord Agan’s sons as they stepped out onto the path. “All right so far?” Kyra asked.
Idalee nodded. Since they couldn’t walk quickly, Kyra pulled Idalee to the side to let two noblewomen bundled in furs go past. When they stepped back onto the path, Idalee said, “Look there!”
Kyra’s eyes snapped to follow Idalee’s gaze, her nerves keying up as she scanned the grounds for Santon. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she saw that it was Tristam whom Idalee had seen, coming out of the same administrative structure he’d been hurrying to a few days before. By now, he’d turned to walk toward them, taking away Kyra’s initial hope that they might have passed unseen. Funny how a simple piece of information could change everything. The fine tunic that Kyra had admired before now seemed ostentatious. And the hint of guilt she thought she’d detected a few days ago now permeated every single movement he made.
“Idalee,” said Tristam. “I’m glad to see you on your feet.”
Idalee curtsied. “Ilona says I’m out of danger’s way now.”
“Are the two of you going home?” he asked.
“Malikel gave me the day to see Idalee settled,” Kyra said. “And how are you, Tristam? Still negotiating with the family in Parna?” Who is she? How much money does her family have? She wasn’t sure how good a job she did of keeping her voice neutral, but Tristam seemed too distracted to notice.
“Yes, and it’s taking a while. They’re an old family. Old money, lots of influence. They control a large private guard force.” He spoke the last part as if it pained him.
It was falling into place far more easily than Kyra wanted. The family from Parna had offered to help defend Brancel Manor. Of course they’d want something in return, like a permanent alliance with the family. Kyra felt a pang in her gut. If what Orvin said was true, then Tristam was lying to her, or at the very least deliberately hiding the truth.
She didn’t know what to do. Kyra couldn’t confront him with Idalee right there. Even if she and Tristam had been alone, Kyra didn’t know if she was ready. She gave Tristam her best attempt at a smile. “We should be getting home. I wish you progress on your negotiations.”
Unexpectedly, Tristam took her hand. “It’s good to see you, Kyra,” he said, with more fervency than those words usually warranted. “Both of you.”
Kyra stood stock-still, unable to react at first. Then she carefully extricated her hand from his. “Have a good day,” she said, and left, pulling Idalee after her.
T E N
Kyra wondered if James ever got used to the dungeon’s smell. The stink faded after the first few minutes, but it never quite disappeared. Though, as she looked at the fresh bruises on James’s face, she realized that the smell would be the least of his worries.
“Did you make contact with Orvin?” he asked.
“He told me Willem’s taking private messengers in the middle of the night. I’m going to try and find out what they’re for.” She deliberated a bit before asking her next question. “How reliable is Orvin? Had he ever jumped to false conclusions?”
“Everything from Orvin’s always been accurate,” said James. “He’s very keen on the affairs of noblemen.”
That was good for her mission, though not for the selfish part of her that still hoped Orvin was wrong about Tristam.
A guard’s footfalls sounded in the corridor, and Kyra wondered if she should go. There was nothing more that she needed from James tonight. Actually, she hadn’t needed to come see him at all, but she found herself reluctant to leave. Somehow, over the past weeks, the prison cell of her enemy had become the one place where she could speak freely. Kyra wouldn’t say she enjoyed visiting James—he still set her off balance far too easily. But James had a keen mind and an incisive tongue, and she could discuss things with him that she couldn’t discuss with anyone else.
“What do you think makes Willem the way he is?” she finally asked. “Or any of the wallhuggers who trample on the rest of the city. Are they really that different from us?”
“Power is seductive. Once you have a little, it’s easy to go after more.”
“To the point of sending hundreds of people to their deaths for political power?” Or negotiating a loveless marriage. She told herself that this wasn’t about Tristam, but thoughts of him kept intruding into her mind.
“Is it really that hard to believe? Can you honestly say you’ve not used your new position at the Palace for personal gain?”
James always had a way of stripping away her excuses. She saw herself in Malikel’s study just a few days prior, pleading with the Defense Minister to get Flick out of the early units. Of course, if Flick had been excused, someone else would have been conscripted in his stead, but that hadn’t stopped Kyra.
“What’s the point, then?” Kyra wasn’t sure if the disgust in her voice was aimed more at the wallhuggers or at herself. “What’s the point of fighting against the ones in power if others’ll just take their place? Mayhap it’s better just to live my own life and let things fall as they will.”
“That was the life you were living before I took you into the Guild. But I don’t believe you can just turn a blind eye, once you’ve seen what the world is like. I couldn’t.”
“What do you want for Forge?” Kyra asked. “Would you see the whole Palace razed to the ground?”
“Does the city truly need to make its decisions in marble-lined halls? Would we really forget how to live our lives if the Council were not there to dictate it?”
“You can’t possibly want anarchy,” said Kyra.
“There are ways to rule that don’t require the rich to step on the weak. The city’s trade guilds rule themselves adequately without wallhuggers. Parna’s people elect representatives that rule in concert with the nobles.”
“So my efforts to discredit Willem—is that goal too small for you?” she asked.
“It’s a step. Willem must go, but he cannot simply be dispatched. He’s a good enough politician that his death would make him a martyr and cement his cause. No. Willem must be disgraced before he’s brought low.”
Kyra wondered again about what kind of man James had been before. For a moment, she imagined what might have happened if she’d stayed in the Guild, if she hadn’t killed that manservant so early on, or if she hadn’t had Bella or Flick to keep her grounded. Would she have followed in James’s footsteps, becoming just slightly more ruthless, year after year? Would she have become his lover and protégé, taken up his cause?
James looked at her again, perhaps sensing the direction of her thoughts. “You and I are not very different,” he said. “Not very different at all.”
“You keep saying that,” she said. The dankness of the dungeon settled on her skin.
“I say it because it’s true.”
E L E V E N
If it hadn’t been for the whole “being sent out to fight demon cats” thing, Flick might well have enjoyed being conscripted into the
early patrol units. His fellow recruits were friendly folk—men ranging from Kyra’s age to those with young grandchildren. The Palace fed them well enough (some of the merchants complained about the food’s quality, but Flick wasn’t picky), and he learned quite a few new skills. And while Sir Malikel and his men exhibited some wallhugger snobbishness from time to time, Flick had encountered far worse.
Since his conscription, Flick reported to the Palace every day for training. Today, he and his unit congregated on the training fields. The large, flat fields were supposedly covered with grass during the summer, though the surface was now well-packed straw and dirt. While the grounds were large enough to run horses, the only people currently on it were on foot.
Malikel’s crew took turns training the new recruits. This morning, Tristam arranged them in concentric circles: Flick stood with four men in the outer circle with their spears pointed diagonally up, while three more stood in the middle with spears angled closer to vertical. Sixteen men formed two of these formations, while the remaining four members of their unit stood to the side, holding sticks with bags of straw tied to the end—stand-ins for demon cat heads.
“This is a variation of the formation our infantrymen use against cavalry charges,” Tristam said. It was interesting to finally see the wallhugger in his element. Tristam was comfortable here and competent (at least, to Flick’s untrained eye), and he seemed to genuinely want this ragtag group of soldiers to do well. “The difference, of course, between cavalry and demon cats is that cavalry don’t come at you from above. That’s why we have three men in the middle whose job is to watch the trees. You’ll have an easier time holding ranks if you brace your spears against the ground. Remember, these beasts pack a lot of force.”
“So the demon cats will oblige us by attacking only while we’re in this formation?” piped a young baker named Tommy.
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