“And why are you so eager to have us attack the city?” asked the woman.

“Our city is flawed. It’s a place where the wealthy live their lives and the poor exist to serve them. I would change that.”

“You use interesting methods to accomplish your ends.” There was a hint of amusement in the woman’s voice. “Burning the city to make it better.”

“You can’t change a river’s course with a shovel. You need an earthquake, and earthquakes have a cost. The last attack weakened their defenses. The north gate is destroyed, and the Red Shields will be busy for weeks with repairs. If we strike before they have a chance to recover, we could breach the Palace.”

“The Palace? That’s your goal?”

“The compound and the Council members who live within.”

“That will be dangerous.”

“I can make it worth your risk. The spoils from the raid should outfit you for years. Shall we say, another raid in a month?”

It took all Kyra’s strength to stay outwardly calm, keep her breathing steady so she wouldn’t give herself away. It was one thing to know that James was helping the barbarians, something else altogether to hear him negotiating with them, brushing aside the death of innocents as if they were mere inconveniences. She wanted to run into the room and tear him apart. Instead, she hugged her shoulders to suppress her sudden trembling and gathered herself to turn back. If she did what she came to do, James would cease to be a problem.

The voices faded behind her as she slipped into the study and closed the door. Kyra leaned against it for a few breaths, willing her heartbeat to steady. She could do this.

She checked her pouch for Malikel’s poisons. They would work if she had nothing better, but clearberry juice was quick and deadly, her best option for catching James by surprise. James’s poison chest was below his desk. The padlock gave way with some work. Inside, there were dozens of small vials. Kyra picked each up one by one, holding the labels to the moonlight. Vial after vial was labeled with the same blue symbol. Blueflower extract. It was a slow-acting poison, usually left on clothing. In constant contact with the victims, it would leach into their bloodstreams, weakening them until they succumbed to illness or infection. It was too slow to be of use to her. James would no doubt recognize the poison’s effect before it became life-threatening. But what was he doing with so many flasks of this? She counted ten vials, enough for over a hundred victims. Was he trying to poison the Council?