Martin gave a resigned shrug. “They’ve always favored the landlords. My uncle lost his smithy last year when he broke his arm.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sure the magistrate had his reasons.” Martin spoke with his usual pleasant tone, but avoided looking Tristam in the eye. It was a sober reminder that even though he and Martin got on well, they were still from different worlds. There were things the shieldman would never be completely open about to Tristam.

“How are the interrogations going?” asked Martin. Tristam couldn’t tell if the young shieldman was changing the subject on purpose. “There’s all kind of stories flying around about the assassin lass. Can she really kill a man by batting her eyelashes?”

Tristam raised an eyebrow. “Is that really what they’re saying now?”

Martin’s smile was unrepentant. “There are better stories than that one, though mayhap inappropriate to repeat.”

Tristam decided he didn’t want to know. The last thing he needed was to have the barrack’s bawdy tales in his head when he was actually questioning Kyra. “The interrogations are…interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated. “She saved my life, you know.”

For once, Martin was startled into silence. “What?” he finally said.

“This was before we captured her. The day the Demon Riders attacked the city, I broke my spear, and a cat cornered me. The beast would have killed me, but Kyra threw a rock and lured it away. I looked for her, but I didn’t see her again until I captured her.”

Martin whistled. “I’ll wager she regrets that move now.”

Tristam gave a wry chuckle. “She said as much, when I brought that up. I don’t know what to make of her. You saw us fighting that night. She would have sliced me in two if I’d let her. Kyra’s dangerous, and I can’t let myself forget that. But…”

“She in’t exactly the vicious criminal we thought we were chasing?”

That wasn’t a bad way to put it.

They were interrupted by a servant entering the records room. “Sir Tristam. Councilman Willem requests your presence.”

“Willem?” From across the table, Martin opened his eyes wide.

“Yes, sir. In his study.”

“Mayhap he wants to give you a promotion,” Martin said as Tristam gathered his things.

Somehow, Tristam doubted it.

Willem’s study was lavishly decorated. The antechamber was covered wall to wall with intricate tapestries, and the furniture was hard oak, decorated with gold leaf. Willem sat at a large desk in the inner room and motioned for Tristam to have a seat.

“I want to congratulate you on your successful interrogation,” Willem said. “It was very clever, holding the funeral where the prisoner could see it. I admit I was skeptical about your age and experience when Malikel put you in charge of the prisoner, but you have proved me wrong.”