The Midnight Thief Continues

The Funeral Procession, Tristam's POV

Tristam could see Kyra breaking down. 

"It was a tragedy for all of us then he was killed in the storehouse raid four days ago," Tristam said, watching Kyra closely for any guilty reaction. The young assassin's face went slack at his words with what looked like horror, and sweat beaded on her brow. He went on, "He was innocently going about his duties when he was brutally murdered by-" 

Kyra's legs collapsed beneath her and Tristam jumped forward to grab her arms and keep her upright, still being careful to keep his weapons within reach. She had crumpled in on herself, breathing in short panicked breaths, her gaze fixed on the body laying on its platform as the funeral procession passed by. She blinked, seeming to come to her senses, and jerked away from his touch. Tucking her shoulders in and biting her lip, Kyra turned her back to Tristam to watch as the ragged string of mourners passed out of sight. Her shoulders shook. 

Tristam couldn't make sense of this girl- this criminal. He knew what she was: an assassin and a thief who had caused untold risk to her own city, and had probably sent countless innocents to their graves for her own ambition. Malikel had nearly joined that number. And yet... And yet she'd thrown that rock in the market place, bringing the vicious demon cat after herself rather than letting it kill him, a palace knight, everything she should have despised and feared. And though her reaction to his questioning clearly implicated her in John Doeman's murder, it wasn't the smug gloating of a seasoned killer, or the guilty squirming of one who knows they've been caught red-handed. It was true and genuine horror. Tristam didn't know if Kyra herself had killed Doeman of if she had simply stood by and let it happen, but whatever the case, she seemed truly distraught and horrified over whatever part she had taken in the crime. He couldn't reconcile this with the heartless killer he had painted her as in his mind. 

Tristam turned from his contemplation as his prisoner spoke. 

"You're not really moving me to another cell," she said, not a question. All the fight seemed to have drained out of her, leaving her limp and defeated.

"No."

Kyra studied him with those dark eyes of hers, eyes of a girl who had seen the worst this world has to offer and had never fully recovered. 

Suspicious and guarded, she asked in a faint whisper, "What do you want from me?"

Tristam was reminded of his mission. "He's not the first to die at the Guild's hands, and he won't be the last," he said softly. He turned from where he had been staring into the distance aimlessly to look back at Kyra. She would talk. She just needed the right prompting.

"Last month," he began, "two guards disappeared after an armory raid. We never found their bodies. They had families as well. Wives and children, and ailing parents." 

Tristam had spoken to these families during the investigation and knew firsthand the devastation the Guild had wreaked upon their lives. 

Kyra was squirming now, looking anywhere but at him. He was getting to her.

He continued, "The widow today, she fainted when she heard the news. The littlest one, the daughter, she still doesn't understand that he's gone. She keeps asking-"

"Stop," Kyra begged, unspeakable pain in the word. She turned to look Tristam dead in the eyes, her fists clenched and her face tense. "Grant me one favor."

He knew he had her.

Her whole body seemed to quiver as she took a deep breath. This was obviously important to her.

"What is it?" 

Tristam was curious to see what it was that this young assassin so valued. Was she going to ask for some sort of pardon or lighter sentence?

Kyra hung her head and spoke, her tone resigned, "Just outside the southwest merchant district, there's a tavern called the Drunken Dog. The cook is named Bella, and she watches two children. There is also a... frequent patron named Flick."

Was this her family? Tristam blinked, taken aback slightly. This wasn't where he'd expected her to take the conversation.

"Send someone to find them and put them under guard in the Palace. Once they're safe, " she said, defeat tinging her voice, "I'll tell you what you want to know." 

Tristam was exultant, yet still curious. How could someone coldly slaughter innocents for a living and still be capable of love?

"You want us to protect them?" he queried.

"They're under threat," Kyra responded. 

Now this was interesting. Maybe this graceful criminal wasn't as loyal to the Guild as she had first seemed. The fact that the Guild felt the need to threaten her loved ones to keep her from talking told Tristam two promising things. They didn't fully trust Kyra, meaning she would likely be more willing to talk, and she knew information about them worth killing for. His investigation into the Guild's doings may have just struck gold.

"We don't house commoners in the Palace," Tristam said, still slightly hesitant. 

Kyra's face looked panicked. "Please," she begged looking at the ground. "I give you my word. I'll answer your questions after that."

How much could an assassin's word be worth, really? Tristam eyed his peculiar prisoner as he contemplated her request. She stood boneless and defeated, eyes sill fixed somewhere near her toes, messy brown hair blocking her expression from his view. Tristam felt an unexpected stab of pity for this girl. From this conversation, one could gather that she truly was contrite over her wrongdoing, and simply resisted questioning in order to protect her loved ones from harm. 

Tristam thought of his own family back home and wondered how far he would go to protect any one of them. Still, he surprised himself as he answered, "Perhaps we can make an exception. I'll speak with Malikel."

Kyra seemed to wilt some with relief as he led her back to her cell.