Once she gave up trying to dissuade them, Kyra had to admit that they were right.
They set out late that night, after the moon had set. Kyra had Pashla and Adele darken their clothes with mud to blend in. Then they walked silently to the forest edge, where they could see the campfires of the Edlan army. Kyra looked back to check that the other two were still with her, then set off on a slow jog toward the camp. The women fell easily behind her—Kyra’s own stealth, after all, was a legacy of their blood. But though the clanswomen were quiet, they still looked to her as they neared the edge of the encampment. As Kyra watched the guards go by, waiting for an opening, she sensed that her companions couldn’t read the intention in a sentry’s footsteps or predict where he would look next. The clanswomen didn’t have Kyra’s lifelong experience breaking into guarded places, but they watched her carefully, and Kyra led the way into the camp, trailed by two impossibly graceful shadows.
The ground of the camp was muddy and wet; all the snow had long been trampled away. The muck was slick in some places, while others times it sucked at their shoes. The three of them passed campfires at regular intervals, all burning low. Kyra steered clear of the occasional groggy soldier who got up to feed the flames.
The center of command was a large tent near the physical center of the camp. Kyra could see its shadow looming in the dim moonlight. Little by little, from one patch of darkness to the next, they made their way closer. There was a sentry at the tent flap standing next to one of the few torches around. Kyra motioned to Pashla. They approached him from opposite sides, skirting along the edges of the tent until they stood just outside the light cast by the torch. Kyra could barely see Pashla’s form as the clanswoman bent down, picked a rock off the ground, and let it drop. The sentry turned toward the sound, alert but not alarmed. Kyra ran while his back was turned and brought the hilt of her dagger down on the back of his head. He grunted, and Kyra snaked her arms under his armpits as he crumpled to the ground. Adele rushed in to help drag the body out of the torchlight. The sentry had a partner, who circled around from the other side of the tent. When he saw Kyra and Adele, he drew breath to shout but pitched forward before any sound left his mouth. Pashla bear-hugged him from behind and eased him to the ground.
“Ho, what’s happening there?” came a shout from across the camp.
Sweat broke out over Kyra’s skin. “We have to get them now,” she said.
She drew her dagger and rushed into the tent. It was dark inside, and Kyra barely caught the glint of metal as a man charged at her with a blade. Kyra shouted a warning as she sidestepped his swipe. He moved with the clumsiness of someone who’d just woken. When he stumbled, Kyra saw her opening and slashed at his knife arm. He dropped the blade and clutched his arm, swearing.
Kyra pressed her knife to his throat, and for the first time, got a good look at her opponent’s face. He’d trimmed his mustache since she last saw him, but there was no mistaking Edlan’s Minister of Defense. Lord Alvred’s eyes widened in recognition as he took in her features. Around her, the scuffling died down. As Kyra’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that Pashla had Willem facedown on his bedroll, her knee on his spine and her dagger pointed at the base of his skull. Adele stood alert by the tent flap.
“Adele, rope,” said Kyra. Her heart pounded so loudly it was a wonder the entire camp couldn’t hear it.
Pashla shifted her weight so Adele could bind Willem’s wrists. The Head Councilman glared at Kyra as Adele pulled the knots tight. His gray-streaked hair was messy and tangled from the scuffle.
“Do you really expect to get out of here alive?” asked Willem.