Tristam continued talking, but Kyra didn’t hear him. She was fixated now on the pallbearers, and the body that lay upon the platform they carried. The body was covered, but her imagination supplied the details. How could it not? She would never forget his face, the panic in his eyes as she held the knife to his throat, his strangled cry, the way his body slowly went limp.

Tristam’s fingers dug into her arm and she winced at the pain. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t attacking her, but holding her up. She took a breath and willed her legs to do their job. His grip loosened as she steadied. Her gaze returned to the widow and five children, and she stared after them as they turned a corner. If they had seen her, they showed no sign of knowing who she was. She hoped they’d never find out.

Kyra slumped as the tail of the procession disappeared. “You’re not really moving me to another cell,” she said.

“No.”

She would have expected Tristam to look more pleased with himself. He had obviously brought her to the courtyard expecting some reaction, and she had given one that implicated her as clearly as if she had written ASSASSIN on her forehead. There was some satisfaction in his eyes, but beyond that, he looked…curious.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“He’s not the first to die at the Guild’s hands. And he won’t be the last.”

Kyra snuck another look at the knight’s face. He spoke softly. The curiosity was still there, but now his words had the probing focus of a hound who’d scented blood.

“Last month, two guards disappeared after an armory raid. We never found their bodies. They had families as well. Wives and children, and ailing parents.”

She knew what he was doing now. If she’d been untied, Kyra would have clawed at his face and clamped her hands over his mouth.

“The widow today, she fainted when she heard the news. The littlest one, the daughter,” he continued. “She still doesn’t understand that he’s gone. She keeps asking—”

“Stop,” she said.

He waited.

“Grant me one favor.” Her fists were clenched, and she shook with the effort of maintaining what was left of her composure.

“What is it?”

Kyra hung her head, all fight drained out of her. The man she killed deserved justice. Kyra had been a fool to think she could escape it. Even if she kept it from the Palace, her crime would haunt her nightmares. “Just outside the southwest merchant district, there’s a tavern called The Drunken Dog. The cook is named Bella, and she watches two children. There is also a…frequent patron named Flick. Send someone to find them and put them under guard in the Palace. Once they’re safe, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”