Kyra watched him leave, then turned back to the tavern. She put her hand on the doorknob and started to turn. It was still early in the evening. Even from out here, she could see the crowd through the window, hear the drone of conversation. People would see her come in. Word would get to Bella.

Kyra’s bruises started to throb, as if her body wanted to give a detailed report of everything that required fixing. She was suddenly angry—at the Red Shields for attacking her, at herself for letting her guard down, and at the city and everyone in it for making everything so hard. Kyra let her hand go limp, and the doorknob rebounded with a click. She stumbled back a few steps. Then she turned and ran for the street.

“Rand,” she called. He was halfway down the street already, but he stopped and turned around. Ignoring her aching muscles, Kyra jogged to catch up with him.

Kyra opened her mouth and hesitated. Flick would not like this, nor would Bella, but she pushed that thought out of her mind. “Take me to James,” she blurted before she could change her mind.

“Follow me,” Rand replied. And turning around, he led her back into the city.

Four

F O U R

She followed him into a quiet neighborhood, with few taverns and even fewer people on the darkened streets. Rand made no allowance for her injuries, and Kyra hurried to keep up with him. Her head ached, and several times she startled at a man’s voice behind her, only to realize the speaker wasn’t even looking at her. Rand led her off the road and across an empty plot of land, finally stopping in front of an enormous wooden building. It looked like a storehouse used by trade caravans—boxlike and functional, two stories high and made of cheap wood.

“This is it?” she asked. She had expected something more clandestine. An underground hideout perhaps, or a chamber behind a false wall.

Rand pushed through the door, and Kyra found herself in an equally nondescript hallway. To her left, an entryway opened into a giant room stacked with boxes. A few men loitered inside, the rough type that Kyra usually avoided. Their eyes lingered on her, and Kyra hastened after Rand.

He knocked on a door at the end of the corridor.

“Come in,” said James.

His voice sent a chill down her spine. Kyra briefly wondered if she was making a mistake, but Rand motioned her in with a jerk of his head. The study they entered was sparsely furnished and immaculately clean. James sat at a wide desk facing the door. He looked at Rand and then Kyra, gaze sweeping her from head to toe. Kyra lowered her eyes, suddenly ashamed of her battered state. If James had ever found her impressive, he would be hard-pressed to keep that opinion now.

“What’s this?” James asked.

“Red Shields,” said Rand.