At the bottom of the box, she found a bottle of lizard-skin venom—too unstable to leave in food. And finally, a vial of clearberry. Kyra palmed it and set about looking for some way to use it, something that only James would touch. Her eyes fell onto a cup on his desk. She added three drops of poison to the water inside. Then, she poured some onto a parchment and used it to spread the juice around the cup’s edges. That would do.
A voice from the corridor made her jump. As footsteps sounded, Kyra snapped the box shut and ran to the window. It refused to budge. The steps drew closer, slowing and stopping on the other side of the door. Kyra abandoned her attempts to escape and vaulted back over the desk, ducking behind as the doorknob turned. Candlelight spilled under the desk, and she shrank back. Someone stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The silence that followed was long and thick.
“That was stupid, Kyra.” There was no mistaking the voice, dispassionate, with a cold, hard edge.
Kyra swallowed, steeled herself, and rose. James stood just inside the door. The flickering lamp cast his face in moving shadows. As Kyra stood frozen, he placed the lamp on a stand and stepped closer, reaching casually for his knife.
“It didn’t take long for you to switch your allegiance, did it?”
Cold rage, or fear, lodged in her chest. “I owe you no allegiance.”
“That so? After all I’ve taught you?”
He stepped forward. She took another step back. “What are you doing with the Demon Riders?”
“If my suspicions are right, you already heard the answer.”
So she’d made noise in the corridor. It was a bad time to make a mistake. “You’re not who I thought you were,” she said.
“No. I am who I’ve always been. It’s you who continues to be naïve. You think we can keep on with our raids, give handouts for the rest of our lives. But that wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Have you seen the fire?” she asked. “Have you counted the bodies?”
“Did the fire take more than what the Palace would have taken eventually? Lives lost when folk can’t buy medicine and food. Homes lost because the fatpurses forever grab for more.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you’re not here on behalf of the city. You’re here because the fire started at The Drunken Dog. Because you want revenge.”
Just the mention of the fire brought a wave of images—images she needed to ignore if she wanted to stay alive. She should change the topic or refuse to say anything, but she wanted—needed—to know more. “Why did you do it?” she asked.
“You almost had me fooled,” said James. “It was just a few things.…A switch in the guard schedules, something not quite right in the way they announced your death. I wasn’t sure, so I had to flush you out. I needed a fire, and this helped me choose the starting point.” He paused. “I didn’t expect it to work quite so well, so soon.”
She knew she shouldn’t have asked, but it was too late. Rage swept through her. “You killed Bella just to check if I was alive?”
“I gave you a task, and I made you a promise.” James’s face was hard as he took another step closer. “You failed at your task, and I kept my promise. You shouldn’t be surprised. Did you think I would do nothing while you led the Palace to us? Or did you think you could protect your friends by moving them to the other side of the wall? All it takes is a word from me and you’ll return tomorrow morning to find your girls dead. Killed in their sleep, if they’re lucky.”
Kyra’s knife was in her hand and out of its sheath before he finished talking. With a ragged cry, she launched herself at James, slashing wildly. There was a brief flicker of triumph on James’s face as he stepped aside, wrenching her knife arm behind her and twisting her down. She landed face-first on the ground. Two sharp kicks to the ribs knocked any remaining breath out of her. She curled onto her side, and James closed in, kicking her useless limbs out of the way as he plunged his dagger into her stomach.
She screamed, only to cut off as she choked on her own blood. The pain was unbearable, growing unimaginably worse when he twisted his knife. As she convulsed around the blade, James took her head in his arms, cradling her like a child.
“You could have gone far,” he whispered. Was that a tinge of regret in his eyes? She couldn’t see through the fog.
Suddenly, James tensed, laid her head down, and walked away, leaving Kyra gasping on the floor. She heard footsteps.
“I’m sorry for this,” James said. “This was Guild business, one of ours who betrayed us. I’ve dealt with it.”
“We would like to take her with us,” a man said.
“I can’t allow that. Even if you were able to save her, she’s a danger to us.”
“You misunderstand,” a woman’s voice interrupted. “We want the fresh body for our cats.”
There was some more discussion. Then new hands were lifting her and she cried out in pain and confusion. A pair of amber eyes looked down at her and murmured something in a strange language. All the fight left her, and Kyra lay still as the strangers carried her out of the room.
Tristam rubbed his arms, both to stay warm and to rein in his nerves as he kept his post on the roof. He had a decent vantage point from here, though no direct view of the Guildhouse.
He heard a scuffling sound and turned to see Flick climbing up the ladder.
“She’s got the keys,” said Flick. “Should be there now.”
Tristam nodded, though he kept his eye on the road. “We really should be closer to the Guild.” Kyra had been adamant that everyone stay away.
Flick snorted. “Might as well bring in trumpets to announce our presence.”
Tristam let the insult go unanswered. Kyra’s friend had been trying his patience all evening, but he had more pressing things to do than take his bait. He hunched his shoulders against the breeze and listened for signs of anything amiss.
“You likely won’t see her coming unless she wants you to,” said Flick after a while.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I’ve waited on her plenty, back before she was the Palace’s errand girl.”
Tristam shot him an annoyed look. “It was her choice to do this.”
“It was a false choice. You had her by the throat.”
Flick was wrong about that. Kyra had been forced to go into the forest—and Tristam still felt guilty when he thought of the way he’d coerced her—but this job was personal for her. Flick would have seen it too, if he hadn’t been so eager to hate the Palace. Tristam didn’t know whether Kyra wanted revenge or redemption, but she’d wanted it.
“You might not believe me,” said Tristam, “but I really don’t wish her harm. I like her.”
“Do you?” If Tristam had meant to win Flick’s trust by that comment, the warning in Flick’s voice signaled clearly that the effort had backfired.
“I mean that I respect her abilities. What she’s accomplished,” said Tristam.
Flick shot him a sideways glance. “Better be what you meant.”
Tristam gritted his teeth. “Of course it is. What do you think I am?”
“A wallhugger. Who’s used to taking what he wants and leaving others to pick up the pieces.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Tristam, and walked away.
But he couldn’t quite leave Flick’s words behind. How did he really feel about Kyra? She was like no one he’d ever met before, and he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful when she worked. Tristam once again saw her playful smile when she’d teased him about being fat. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, only that they’d both realized what shaky footing they were on. When Kyra had moved to distance herself from him, he’d let her. He was her jailer, and she was his prisoner. For the hundredth time, he told himself to remember that.
A runner appeared in the distance. Both Tristam and Flick snapped to attention, but Flick shook his head. “It’s not her. Too heavy on his feet.”
It was one of Tristam’s soldiers, running
as fast as he could. Tristam climbed down the ladder to meet him, with Flick just behind.
The man was breathing heavily. “The Demon Riders took her.”
“What? How—”
Next to Tristam, Flick started to swear.
“One of our scouts saw Demon Riders carry her away. She was alive, but there was a lot of blood.”
Dread filled his chest at those last words. “Where did you see her?”
The messenger pointed, and Tristam sprinted off in that direction. He heard Flick’s footsteps pounding behind him and sped up even faster, as if he could outrun the voice of guilt. He thought he’d been prepared for anything—but Demon Riders?
A cluster of shieldmen was waiting for him farther down. Martin was amongst them, pacing back and forth as a crowd of distraught beagles swarmed around him.
“We saw them leaving,” Martin said, shaking his head helplessly. “They lost us in the alleys. The dogs just refused to follow.”
There was a scatter of gravel behind him as Flick caught up. “What’s going on?”
Tristam started to answer, but couldn’t. In his mind, he saw Jack torn open from shoulder to hip and refused to imagine Kyra in his place. He tore his gaze from Flick and addressed Martin instead.
“They most likely headed toward the forest,” he said, paying no heed to Flick’s expletives. They couldn’t lose her. “Search the entire area. We don’t rest tonight until she’s back safe.”
T W E N T Y - N I N E
They carried her through the streets, heading quickly toward the outskirts. She made a few halfhearted attempts to struggle, but each effort sent such pain through her body that she had to stop. After a while, Kyra just lay limply, resigned to her fate. She should have been more afraid, but Kyra found she no longer cared. She was dying. She could feel it, and it didn’t matter at this point how it would finally happen. She just hoped it wouldn’t hurt any worse.
The man who carried her was tall, with long black hair, sharp cheekbones, and a strong nose. He wore the leather tunic she had seen on the other Demon Riders. Besides the occasional flash of leather and dark blond hair, she couldn’t get a good look at the woman beside him.
The sound of rustling leaves grew louder until it surrounded her on all sides. Branches passed perilously close to her face. They didn’t go very far into the forest before the woman asked a question in that strange language. The man stopped and laid Kyra carefully on the dirt.
Were the demon cats somewhere around here? She didn’t see or hear anything besides the man and woman. They were talking again, and the woman moved back a few paces. In a few graceful movements, she stepped out of her trousers and untied her tunic, letting it fall behind her.
Kyra blinked. Her eyes were failing; she couldn’t make out the woman’s features anymore. Then she realized it wasn’t her vision. The woman’s entire shape was blurring and expanding. Her torso lengthened and the skin of her body became soft with thick yellow hairs. Her face changed as well. The nose became broad and flat, eyes larger and more angular, and her teeth grew and sharpened into fangs. Soon, the woman had disappeared, and in her place stood a giant yellow wildcat. The beast shook itself and advanced toward her.
Kyra screamed and once again tried to move. This time, the sight of the creature gave her strength, and she lifted herself onto one elbow despite the searing pain in her abdomen.
“Don’t move,” the man shouted, and jumped down, pinning her shoulders with his forearm. She squirmed. A soft weight pressed on her hip—the demon cat’s paw, she realized with growing panic. She kicked vainly into the air before her strength left her and she lay, exhausted, watching with muted horror as the cat bared its teeth and lowered its head to her abdomen.
There was the sound of ripping cloth, and more pain. She shuddered, but the man’s weight on her shoulders and the cat’s on her hip held her firmly. Her stomach felt warm and wet. Was she bleeding again?
The moment of clarity faded, and her thoughts once again clouded from pain and blood loss. She was glad though, because there was no way she could survive this for much longer. It would be over before long, she told herself, and sure enough, everything soon faded.
Kyra floated in and out of nightmares. Sometimes the cat people carried her through the forest. Other times, they chased her, held her down, and fed on her entrails. At one point, someone forced her mouth open. Kyra gagged at the taste of blood and spat out what they fed her. The next time, they held broth to her lips. It scorched her tongue, but she kept it down.
Slowly, the world reassembled itself. She wasn’t dead. She hurt too much for that. And eventually her eyes stayed open. She lay in a makeshift shelter, a cloth strung between two trees. She felt cloth beneath her too, but it wasn’t thick enough to keep roots and stones from digging into her back.
Memories of the Guild came rushing back. James was planning a new raid. She needed to warn the Palace. Kyra shifted, and pain once again shot through her abdomen. She looked down to see her entire midsection wrapped in bandages. She moaned. There was a flicker of movement to her right, and a woman’s face appeared above her.
It was the same woman who had transformed into a beast. Or had Kyra just dreamed it? Kyra lay still and watched her warily. If the woman wished her harm, Kyra would not have the strength to resist.
The stranger spoke, but the words didn’t make sense. Only when she repeated herself did Kyra realize the woman was speaking the common tongue, just with a heavy accent.
“Which clan sired you?” she was asking.
“What?”
“What clan sired you?”
“What are you talking about?”
The woman stared at her. “You really don’t know? We assumed you were confused from your blood loss.” Kyra didn’t have a chance to ponder the woman’s words before she spoke again. “We can talk, but after I tend your wounds.”
Kyra couldn’t hold back a groan as the Demon Rider lifted Kyra’s torso and propped up her head and shoulders. She unraveled Kyra’s bandages with an expert touch. When the soiled cloths were piled to the side, the woman fixed her with a stern gaze.
“You’ll stay down this time? There’s no one to hold you for me.”
With one last glance at Kyra, she stepped back and untied her belt. She wore a strange tunic that wrapped around in front. The woman opened the tunic and shrugged her arms out of the sleeves. Before her clothes hit the ground, she was blurring again in the same way Kyra remembered. The woman’s body seemed to lose form like a candle in the heat before remolding itself into a new shape. A few heartbeats later, Kyra knew for certain that her nightmares had been real.
Up close, the creature was fearsome, with long, sinewy muscles that moved under dense yellow fur. Its long tail swished languidly behind it. Kyra held back a scream as the demon cat advanced. If it wanted to eat her, it would have done so already. Still, it was all she could do to stay still as one paw once again pressed down on her hip. The cat ran its tongue firmly but gently over her midsection. Kyra flinched at the sandpaper touch and the sting of saliva on her cuts.
The cat wasn’t eating her. It was cleaning her wounds.
The realization knocked any last bit of energy from Kyra. She let her head fall back and concentrated on not passing out. The beast’s tongue was forceful and rocked Kyra’s body back and forth with each stroke. Eventually, the demon cat stepped back and blurred into human form.
So the rumors about the Demon Riders were wrong. They didn’t find cats and raise them as their children, as people had whispered at The Drunken Dog. They were the cats. The Demon Riders were shape-shifters, Brendel’s felbeasts come to life. The stories had some truth to them after all.
Kyra’s mind raced as pieces fell into place. She thought back to the marketplace raid, at how intelligently the demon cats had behaved. Then there was her trip to the forest. Before the fire, she’d spied a line of Demon Riders walking to the city, but once Kyra and Tristam arrived at Forge, they’d only found cats. And Trista
m had never been able to find humans camping in these forests….
“What are you?” Kyra whispered.
Beside her, the cat woman retied her tunic. “Answer me first. Where are you from? Who sired you?”
“Who sired me?” Kyra said, shrinking away. “I’m an orphan.”
“You were raised by humans, then.”
“What?”
The cat woman stepped back again, shaking her head in disbelief. She raised her hand to her mouth and sank her teeth into her own palm. Kyra gasped. When the woman held out her hand again, it was dotted with specks of blood.
“Smell it.”
Kyra flinched away, but the woman kept her hand in front of Kyra’s face. It smelled like blood. Too much like the stuff of her nightmares for comfort. Obviously frustrated by Kyra’s blank expression, the woman scooped up Kyra’s bloody bandages and thrust them under her nose.
“Can you not tell? Even in your skin, you can smell our blood.”
Kyra noticed it then. There was a common element, a musky smell that made her think of long hunts through the forest.
No, that was just her imagination running wild. For all she knew, everybody’s blood smelled like that.
Seeing Kyra’s expression, the woman pulled back. “Our blood runs through your veins. What is your name?”
“Kyra.” The word came out through numb lips.
The woman knelt down and took Kyra’s hands. “Kyra. My name is Pashla,” she said. “I, like you, am a daughter of the Makvani.”
T H I R T Y
Kyra pulled her hand back, lightly at first, then with increasing insistence until she wrenched her hand away.
“No, you’re wrong.”
Once again, Kyra saw the demon cats chasing down their victims. She heard the wounded moaning in the street.
Pashla reached for her again, but Kyra pushed the woman away. “Stay away from me.” Kyra struggled to sit up, barely aware of Pashla’s protests and the pain arcing down her torso. Who were these monsters? Kyra gritted her teeth and tried again. She needed to leave.
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