Kyra grabbed at the first detail that came to mind. “The windows aren’t secure. The glass windows in the outer compound have locks that can be picked. The shutters in the high windows of the inner compound as well.”

“We already know that. Do better.”

Kyra put a hand to her temple. The chamber’s musty air was giving her a headache. “It’d be easier if I had a map of the compound.”

The corner of his mouth crept up. “Your memory will have to do.”

Did he really think she would benefit from a map? She’d bet a month’s wages that she knew the compound better than he. “Give me a blank parchment, then, and a piece of charcoal.”

Tristam looked skeptical, but signaled a guard to fetch the supplies. Kyra spread the parchment in front of her, touched the charcoal down, and pulled up her mental map. It made her feel more secure, having something to focus on that she knew well.

“This is the inner compound wall,” she said, sketching a rough outline of the buildings on the north side. “The meeting rooms, the dormitories, and these storage sheds are secure. But the library’s not.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tristam’s fist clench. It bothered him to hear about his precious Palace being compromised. If she were wise, she would tread carefully. But she was angry, and there was some comfort in showing the wallhuggers their failings. Kyra’s strokes grew bolder as she traced out the compound’s gigantic library. “The north door has a weak lock. You’ll want to replace it. Especially ’cause once you get into the library, you can climb out the second-floor window, and it’s simple to skirt around the outside to the record rooms.”

By the time she finished speaking, Tristam had regained his composure. He summoned a guard. “Have the locksmith look at the north door of the library. Tell me what he says.” The knight turned back to Kyra, his expression wavering between annoyance and reluctant acknowledgment that she might be useful. “What more can you tell me?”

She closed her eyes, recalling the different paths that she took, the gates with broken locks, and the pathways with fewer patrols. Occasionally, Tristam asked for more details, and every so often he sent off some notes for verification. He became less hostile as each of her tips checked out. Lunch was brought to them at midday, and he pushed the tray toward her.

“Eat.” He paused. “You’ve done well,” he said grudgingly.

The chicken thigh she dug into was no match for Bella’s hearty cooking. “Have I earned myself anything?”

“A morning’s reprieve.”