It was shrewd of Malikel to bring up The Drunken Dog. The memory of its loss was still sharp, and even the thought of Bella awakened a fierce desire for revenge. But on the other hand, did she really want to help the Palace consolidate its power? She thought again of the rent collection, of corrupt Red Shields and nobles. Kyra swallowed and hoped she wouldn’t regret what she was about to say.

“I want pay equal to the knights’. I’ll live outside the Palace, and I take no vows. If the job is fair, I’ll carry it out, but I’ll be beholden to no one.”

“You ask too much, girl,” said Willem. He took a step toward her, and Kyra stepped back, hand curling for her knife.

“Stay back. If you don’t like my offer, then find someone else who can do what I do.”

Willem’s eyes flashed, and for a moment Kyra thought he might attack her. She tensed, ready to run, but the councilman slowly and deliberately relaxed his posture, though his gaze was not friendly.

“Very well,” he said. “We will accept your terms.”

Tristam thought he’d been prepared for his arrest and punishment. He’d suspected that the squires at the guardhouse would have orders to bring him in, and that he’d be confined to his quarters upon his return. In the hours he’d spent before turning himself in, wandering the forest as Kyra slept, Tristam had made peace with what was to come.

But it was one thing to know what was coming, and another to march past the knowing glances of his peers at the Palace—men who’d served with him and under his command. There were whispers just out of earshot, though he heard bits and pieces. Disgraced…Disobedient…Promising young knight…All the more shocking…

“I won’t be able to shield you from the consequences of your actions,” was all Malikel had said. And when Tristam revealed that Martin was dead, his commander had just acknowledged it with a sad nod.

Now confined to his room, all Tristam could do was wait. He paced the length of his quarters, futilely wishing that someone would tell him what was happening outside. Guards brought him meals, but they didn’t even look him in the eye, much less tell him news of Kyra. He had plenty of time to think over their last conversation, remembering how she’d felt in his arms—firm muscle over a delicate frame—seeing the trust in her eyes. Things had seemed so simple out in the forest.

On the second day of Tristam’s imprisonment, Councilman Willem arrived unannounced. He came alone and closed the door behind him.

“Sit down,” Willem commanded.

Tristam carefully lowered himself into a chair. The councilman remained standing, staring down at him like a schoolmaster berating a pupil.