It was the uncertainty that scared her. Not knowing how the future would look, whether she’d be able to climb or run. But Kyra also remembered that she was alive, when Pashla and two others had died for a plan that she’d proposed. It wasn’t an easy thing to forget. Every conversation with Havel reminded her of Pashla, and how the clanswoman had also nursed Kyra back to health not long ago.
Two weeks after the big battle, Kyra accepted Malikel’s invitation, and Tristam brought a cart to convey her to the Palace. It felt strange to be sitting up straight in the back of a wagon, rather than being smuggled under a blanket, as she had done so many times before. Tristam wore plain clothes as he drove, and though she got some curious looks, nobody made a noticeable commotion about recognizing her.
Once they reached the Palace though, things were different. The gate guards looked on her with thinly disguised fear, and Red Shields within sight kept their hands close to their weapons. Tristam stopped the cart near Malikel’s building and offered her an arm. Kyra did her best to walk with her chin up the rest of the way.
Malikel looked older than Kyra remembered, or perhaps it was just the circles under his eyes. Kyra thought she saw more gray in his beard as well, but that was impossible in just a few days, wasn’t it? The new Head Councilman thanked Tristam and dismissed him, then motioned for Kyra to sit down across from him at his desk.
“The city thanks you for your role in breaking the Edlan siege,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “Without your help, many more would have suffered.”
“I heard about the Council vote,” said Kyra. “I’m glad you’ve taken over Willem’s position.”
“Thank you. Though I’m guessing you’ve gathered by now that I’ve not summoned you here to exchange pleasantries.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Kyra. Had it been any other man who’d invited her back, she might have suspected a trap. But she believed Malikel honorable.
“I won’t mince words, Kyra. You’ve always been a challenge as far as our laws are concerned. You’ve committed considerable transgressions, yet at the same time, you’ve performed great services for the city. You’re responsible for the death of Santon of Agan and the assassin James. You also wounded many men, including Dalton of Agan and several Red Shields at James’s execution. The Council could not simply pardon those crimes, even with your services to the city. Perhaps if you had an other-wise blameless record, but you’ve already been pardoned for one murder, and now that the truth of your bloodlines is known…I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
Kyra bowed her head at the mention of the murder she’d already been pardoned for, the manservant she’d accidentally killed when she worked for James. Of all she’d ever done, it was the one thing Kyra wished most she could undo, and she suspected it would haunt her for the rest of her life. “Does your promise of safe passage still stand, then?”
Malikel looked her over with an appraising eye. “I assure you, I have no desire to drag you into our dungeons. Nor would I want to take the losses in soldiers and guards should I attempt to do so. My promise of safe passage is sincere.”
She waited. There was more. She knew there was more.
Malikel met her eye. “It brings me no joy to do this, but the Council has voted to exile you from Forge. You’ll be conveyed out of this city, but after this, you will only be allowed within the city’s walls under strict guard.”
It took a moment for Malikel’s words to sink in. And then she stared at him in disbelief. “You’re exiling me from Forge? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a city to exile me from.”
“I know Kyra, and I’m sorry—”