The afternoon continued similarly. All her tips came back verified, as she knew they would. But she was running out of things to tell him. She started to slow, to hesitate as she sifted between her most hard-won secrets, and she could tell from the way Tristam watched her that he noticed.

“How did you get through the kennel?” Tristam asked late in the afternoon.

Kyra opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. “What do you mean?”

“How did you get through the kennel when you raided the Palace storehouse? That’s the only way you could have gotten a group of men that far in.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Her expression of stubborn innocence fooled neither of them.

Tristam stared at her for a long moment. Then he looked to the door, and Kyra saw guards waiting, ready to lead her out.

“No need to blindfold her,” Tristam told them. “She already knows her way around.”

The guards escorted her out the door but turned her away from her cell, instead leading her out of the building. Tristam followed, walking slightly behind her. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’re transferring you to another location,” said Tristam. The ominous announcement was balanced by Kyra’s relief at being taken outside. It was late afternoon, and the air and sunlight felt fresh on her face. For someone who so often worked at night, she was surprised at how much she had missed the sun. Ahead, Kyra saw a crowd of people walking toward them.

“Move off the path,” Tristam said. “We’ll let them go by.” Her guards led her a distance off and they waited by a cluster of bushes.

It was a somber crowd, dressed in grays and blacks. Few spoke, and they progressed at a slow, solemn pace.

“A funeral.” Tristam’s soft voice sounded right beside her. “For a loyal servant of the Palace. He served here fifteen years, up until his death.”

A woman led the party. Quite a bit older than Kyra, but her face was still smooth and her hair not yet gray. The woman was not crying, although her face showed the effort it took to maintain control. She kept herself together, Kyra guessed, for the five children walking beside her. They ranged from Lettie’s age to almost her own. Unlike their mother, the children wept openly. As Kyra studied their features, a suspicion began to form.

“He was a good man, a devoted father,” Tristam continued. Kyra looked at him out of the corner of her eye. There was something odd about his voice. He watched her intently as he continued talking.

“It was a tragedy for all of us when he was killed in the storehouse raid four days ago.”