It took her four nights to file keys that would work, using one of Flick’s files that she’d borrowed and neglected to return. Kyra might have finished sooner, but these keys were complicated, and she wanted to be absolutely sure they were done right. Plus she had to do it when neither Flick nor Lettie was around. They wouldn’t have understood.
On the fifth night, she dressed in dark clothes and snuck out of her quarters as Lettie slept. Kyra had an odd feeling of nostalgia as she crept back into the Palace. She hadn’t scaled these walls since her capture. She supposed she could have come in through the gates, but she didn’t want any record of her having entered the compound that night. Herbuilding to building, finally muscles remembered the routine well—the angle at which to cast her grappling hook, the familiar scramble up the side of the wall, the slight slipperiness of the granite against her leather shoes. The guard schedules were different now, changed in part thanks to her, so she had to be careful not to let old routines lower her guard. She kept her eyes alert and her ears open. Her blood flowed faster as she sped up her pace. It was exhilarating.
Kyra made her way from building to building, finally slowing as the prison’s shadow loomed above her. The entrance was lit by two torches, and two guards stood on either side of the arched entryway. They never left their post, and they kept their eyes sharply trained on the path in front of them. They were attentive guards, for sure. But they hardly ever glanced upward.
Kyra checked the sky, estimating that she had about a quarter hour before the Palace clock rang out the time. She skirted to the back of the building, keeping her steps soft. She didn’t hear any guards coming, so she ran straight for the wall and clambered skyward, wrapping her fingers around bars, ledges, and outcroppings in the stonework. Four stories up, then she pulled herself onto the roof and crossed to the front.
The next step was more delicate. Carefully, Kyra worked her way back down. If she peered over her shoulder, she could see the guards standing sentry on either side of the entry archway below her. If she dislodged anything and it fell between the Red Shields, she’d have to run.
She crept her way down until she neared the circle of light created by the torches on the wall. Kyra wrapped her fingers around some solid outcroppings and thrust her toes into secure niches. Then she pressed herself flat and waited.
It wasn’t fun. The wind was freezing, and Kyra wondered whether her muscles would cramp up before the turn of the hour. Three hundred and twenty breaths later, the clock finally chimed, and Kyra sprang into action, her limbs cold but thankfully functional. She checked quickly over her shoulder to see if there were any people around besides the guards, breathing a quick word of thanks for her halfblood vision. Then, she climbed down into the circle of torchlight. As the clock finished up its hourly melody, she lowered her legs into the entryway and swung her entire body into the archway behind the guards. The chimes masked the sound of her landing. The clock started to mark the time—it was three in the morning. Kyra slipped her key into the door.
First chime.
Kyra turned the key. It rotated halfway and then caught.
Second chime.
She jiggled the key. The tumblers gave way.
Third chime.
The lock clicked open. Kyra slipped in and closed the door behind her. As the clock’s chimes faded from her ears, she let out a slow breath. She was in.
Kyra stood in a dark and mercifully empty entryway. A stone corridor stretched out ahead, with solid wooden doors lining each side. The first floor consisted of interrogation cells and a few holding cells. Though there were no guards in her immediate line of sight, she could hear boots echoing not far away. She hurried for the stairway down.