There was no conversation as the three of them made their way to Kyra’s chamber. They took a back route and Kyra kept her cloak low over her face, but she couldn’t help thinking how silly it was to continue hiding when she had been out in the open so long. When they reached the healer’s wing, Tristam unlocked the door to Kyra’s room. “I’ll be out here,” he said.

The patient room was strangely tranquil, an oasis of quiet that didn’t fit the night’s events. It was also too clean for someone as soiled with dirt and ash as she was. Avoiding the furniture, Kyra collapsed on the floor against the wall, and Flick settled down beside her. They were silent for a long time.

“It’s all my fault,” she finally said.

Flick turned to face her. “You don’t know that.”

“Of all the places they could have started a fire, they chose that neighborhood.”

“If not our section, they would have burned another. The Demon Riders did this, and James. Not you.”

“You don’t understand. James couldn’t have done this without me.”

There was pause as Flick digested her words. “What?”

Kyra closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. For a moment, she was tempted to keep that part of the story to herself. But the guilt was slowly killing her. She had to tell someone—someone who wouldn’t view it from a purely tactical standpoint like Tristam or Malikel. “I was the one who gave James run of the Palace. I unlocked the armory so the Guild could steal armor for the barbarians. I copied the trade and guard schedules that the Demon Riders used to time their raids. The barbarian attacks—they were successful because of me.”

Her voice wavered and she stopped. Flick shook his head, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean? You got supplies for the Demon Riders? Helped them? Did you know?”

“No. I mean”—Kyra stumbled over her words—“I didn’t know why I was doing the jobs. There were some hints, but James said I was imagining things, and I wasn’t sure—”

“There were some hints?” Flick raised his voice, incredulous. “You thought you might be helping the Demon Riders, but you just kept going?”

“It wasn’t that simple, I—”

“You did what, Kyra?” He was angry now, grief and shock lending a terrible force to his words. “You just ignored the signs? That was always your problem. You fix your eyes on whatever new challenge you fancy, and it doesn’t matter what I say, what other folk say, or even what you see with your own eyes. You just keep going, and it doesn’t matter what gets destroyed along the way.”

His accusations rang true, and Kyra cowered under the brunt of his tirade. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes burning. “I was wrong.”