Midnight Thief

by Livia Blackburne

What was she supposed to do? Bow? Curtsy? Beg for mercy?

  Leyus looked her over with a careful eye, and Kyra immediately felt her guard go up. Something in his manner reminded her of James. He had the same air of power, the look of someone who was used to being obeyed. “You call yourself Kyra? Pashla says you know nothing of us.”

  “I grew up amongst humans.” It felt strange, talking of humans as if they were a separate group.

  “What did James want with you?”

  Kyra repeated what she had told Pashla earlier, hoping that any quaver in her voice would be interpreted as nervousness instead of deception. She stuck to the truth up to the point where James commanded her to kill Malikel. Then she told the story as if the disagreement had happened right before James tried to kill her.

  Pashla stepped in front of Kyra. “Our blood runs strong in her. You can’t see it because she’s injured, but you can smell it clearly in her blood.”

  “Let me see.” Leyus held out his hand.

  Pashla nudged her toward him. “Let him smell your blood.”

  “What?”

  Pashla motioned with her hand toward her mouth. “Draw blood, like I did to show you.”

  Kyra stared dumbly at her palm. Choking down raw meat was one thing, but this…Her hand refused to move any closer to her mouth.

  Pashla exhaled in frustration and grabbed Kyra’s arm, clamping her teeth down before Kyra had a chance to react. Kyra flinched, but she felt only a pinch. When Pashla released her arm, a small patch of skin was broken and a drop of blood pooled on top. With one last exasperated look, Pashla offered Kyra’s arm to Leyus. He pulled her closer and held her arm beneath his nose the way a nobleman might sample fine wine.

  “Half human,” he finally said. “Can you change?”

  “I’ve never done so.”

  “We can try after her injuries heal,” said Pashla.

  Leyus regarded her closely. “It’s unusual to find a halfblood so far from any clan. Are you sure you remember nothing of where you came from?”

  She wished people would stop asking her that. “I’ve always been in the city, amongst humans.”

  “Her injuries are severe,” said Pashla. “She must stay at least until she heals enough to travel.”

  “In these times, it may not be wise to harbor a halfblood,” said Leyus.

  A chill went up Kyra’s spine as she looked from Leyus, to Pashla, and back to Leyus. If it wasn’t wise to harbor a halfblood, what was the alternative? She doubted it involved sending her off with a basket of food and well-wishes.

  “She’s under our care now,” Pashla said. “I found her and brought her here on your orders.”

  Pashla switched to their own language as Kyra studied their faces, trying desperately to read their conversation. It was madness to escape death just to be executed here, but she was too weak to run. After a few more exchanges, Leyus put up a hand.

  “You’ve made your case. We will keep her with us until her injuries heal,” he said.

  “This is madness!” shouted a man from the crowd. Everyone turned to find the new speaker.

  “You speak out of turn, Brona,” said Leyus.

  The challenger, a young man with a striking mane of silver hair, pushed his way forward to the center of the circle. He threw Kyra a look so hostile she had to fight the urge to back away. “I speak because it’s important,” he said. “The girl’s human blood makes her untrustworthy, especially since she was raised amongst them. She’ll betray us first chance she gets.”

  Leyus, Brona, and Pashla stared at one another over Kyra’s head, completely ignoring her presence as they discussed her fate. “She’s too injured even to leave the camp,” said Leyus. “She’s unlikely to betray us in this condition.”

  “We only have the halfblood’s word for that,” said Brona.

  “And Pashla’s.”

  “And that’s just as worthless,” said Brona. “We all know her past. Pashla pretends to be a member of the clan, but she’s still a stray at heart. She thinks nothing of the clan’s welfare.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd, which Brona seemed to acknowledge with satisfaction. Kyra took a half step back.

  “Those are strong words, Brona,” said Leyus.

  “I stand by them,” he said. “For the good of the clan.”

  Leyus turned slowly to Pashla. “Do you have anything to say?”

  Pashla’s jaw was clenched in anger and she stared Brona down as she spoke. “I serve the clan.”

  “Your lies convince no one, foundling,” spat Brona.

  “Enough!” said Leyus. “I don’t believe the halfblood is a threat to us right now.”

  “I disagree,” said Brona, “and if you won’t do anything about this, I claim my right to Challenge Pashla on this question.”

  Leyus narrowed his eyes. “Are you doing this for the clan, Brona, or for your personal grievances?”

  “My loyalty is to the clan. Always.”

  Leyus looked at him long and hard. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “You may Challenge. Pashla, do you accept?”

  “This is not the best time,” said Pashla.

  “I will decide what time is right,” said Leyus. “Do you accept?”

  Pashla’s eyes snapped with fury. “If I must.”

  She untied her belt in a routine quickly becoming familiar to Kyra. Again, her body was shifting, changing. Brona moved to the other side of the circle, slowly assuming the shape of a silver cat. The crowd stepped back, widening the ring as Kyra struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Kyra gasped as firm arms gripped her from behind and pulled her backward, wrenching her wounded middle. A Demon Rider she didn’t recognize stared down at her. She pulled away, but his grip stayed tight.

  “Watch her until this is settled,” Leyus said to him.

  Her guard was already leaving bruises on her arms. A Challenge, Brona had called it. Did this mean they would decide her fate based on who won? Kyra gritted her teeth and twisted, fighting her guard’s hold, but she might as well have wrestled a tree.

  She cast about for a way to escape, but the scene before her soon drew her attention. A few times at Forge she’d seen gamblers stage dogfights for sport. She sensed the same bloodlust now, the raw aggression between the combatants and the crowd’s expectation for a good show. The air was tense with excitement as the two cats circled each other, punctuating their movements with low snarls and growls. Unlike the dogfights, however, the demon cats gave a clear impression of intelligence and restraint. There would be no rush to destruction here.

  There was a collective gasp as Brona made the first swipe. Pashla reared up on her hind legs to avoid his claws. The fight began in earnest, a confusion of limbs, fur, and snapping teeth. Brona was larger, but Pashla was faster, and neither had the clear advantage.

  Suddenly, Pashla charged. Brona roared as Pashla’s teeth sank into his shoulder and both cats went rolling backward, colliding hard with a tree. A murmur went up as the two cats staggered apart. A new energy ran through the crowd. The circle seemed to press in closer to the two fighters, though Kyra didn’t see anyone move.

  “First blood,” someone whispered.

  And Kyra smelled it too. The musky fragrance teased at her nostrils, awakening an ominously familiar hunger in her that cut through her fear. With a start, she recognized it as the same bloodlust from her dreams—the dreams that had started after her first kill.

  The crowd’s energy roused her from her shock. Pashla moved aside to reveal a deep gash in Brona’s shoulder. When the silver cat turned to face her, he moved with a pronounced limp. Pashla shook herself and lunged again, attacking with renewed fury. Brona fought back, hissing and blocking, opening his own gashes in Pashla’s paws and flank, but he was weaker now. Pashla seemed to feed off the crowd’s excitement, advancing with unrelenting focus. It was over in a few moments. Pashla sank her teeth into Brona’s neck and held on until he stopped convulsing and lay still.

  A bloodcurdling scream split t
he air and a woman hurtled into the circle, pushing Pashla aside and throwing her arms around Brona’s neck. She was followed by several others. Kyra stared, transfixed by their grief, until she realized that everyone else was ignoring them. A Demon Rider woman picked up Pashla’s tunic and ran to her, holding it out as Pashla shifted back. Pashla’s blood-smeared arms shook as she retied her belt, and her face was lined with exhaustion as she met Leyus’s eye. The clan leader inclined his head and grasped her hand.

  “Well fought, Pashla,” he said. “The clan will abide by this decision. The halfblood stays with us until she heals.”

  T H I R T Y - T H R E E

  As tension from the fight faded away, pain from Kyra’s wounds came rushing back. Demon Riders surrounded Pashla, completely blocking the clanswoman from view. Kyra watched them, swaying side to side as her balance left her, wondering if the Makvani had forgotten her in the excitement. From Leyus’s pronouncement, she gathered that she was safe, but beyond that, she was lost. Another clanswoman took Kyra’s arm and she stifled a scream.

  “Come,” said the clanswoman. “I will take you back.”

  “But Pashla—”

  “She will see you when she’s ready.”

  Kyra was too exhausted to resist. The clanswoman escorted her back, and Kyra spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep. The forest was quiet during the afternoon, but as it grew dark, Kyra couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Occasionally, between layers of cricket chirps and cicada calls, she thought she heard footsteps. When she closed her eyes, she saw snapping teeth and flying fur.

  Halfway through the night, Kyra awoke to a racket she couldn’t ignore. Something was crashing through the underbrush. She scrambled unsteadily to her feet, gasping at a jolt of pain through her middle as a doe lurched into view, falling to its knees a stone’s throw from Kyra’s shelter. Before Kyra could react, a demon cat burst through the trees, knocking the deer over with a massive paw and closing its jaws around its throat. The doe kicked at the air and fell lifeless.

  Kyra edged out of her shelter, shocked by the brutal kill, yet drawn to the raw display of strength. The demon cat paid her no heed as it tore into the deer’s flank, ripping away chunks of flesh. There were more crashing sounds, both from the ground and the trees above her, as other demon cats arrived. The other cats watched from a distance, amber eyes reflecting the moonlight, tails swishing in anticipation. Finally, the first cat raised its head, shook itself, and loped away. One by one, the others took their turn, each tearing off a chunk of meat or limb. As in the Challenge, Kyra was once again struck by the strange coexistence of brutality and intelligence. The cats followed some sequence that Kyra could not understand. Once or twice, a cat approached the kill only to be chased away with a warning growl. It was frightening. Horrifying. Yet she found herself moving closer.

  Another growl stopped her—not the short growl to warn others away from the kill, but a deep-throated snarl that froze Kyra in her tracks. A light-colored cat with brown stripes across its legs turned from the deer and advanced on Kyra. A few other demon cats jumped between the two of them, only to move away when the striped cat bared its teeth. Kyra stumbled back, mind spinning. Hadn’t Leyus ruled that she was to be spared? But the cat came closer, its eyes narrowed in rage.

  An arm reached out from behind her and thrust her aside. Pashla—in human form—pushed herself in front of Kyra.

  “Leave her be. You’ll honor the Challenge.”

  The striped cat bared its fangs and moved to step around the clanswoman. Pashla narrowed her eyes and hissed—as if she were still in her fur. The beast was twice her size and could have gutted her with a swipe of its paw, but Pashla exuded an authority that somehow evened the scales. Other demon cats moved in, forming a protective wall between the two of them. For a long, tense moment, nobody moved. Kyra held her breath, not daring to do anything lest she push the fragile standoff in the wrong direction. Finally, the striped cat turned and disappeared into the trees. Pashla’s shoulders relaxed, and the other cats directed their attention to what was left of the deer carcass. The clanswoman put an arm around Kyra and guided her back to the shelter.

  “That was Brona’s widow,” Pashla said. “She blames you for his death.” The clanswoman might as well have been telling her that it would be a warm day. Kyra found that she was shaking.

  “You’d be wise to stay away from the others when they are in cat form,” said Pashla as Kyra lowered herself to the ground. “At least until those who mourn Brona have a chance to get over their grief.”

  “Only when they’re in cat form?”

  “Leyus wants you alive, and the clan will obey. But it’s hard to control our impulses when we’re in our fur. Instincts and emotions take over. That’s why some of us take human form during the raids, to keep the others from going too far. I don’t think Brona’s widow, as much as she hates you, would attack you if she were in her skin.”

  Hard to control our impulses. Just like the felbeasts of legend. This was the blood that ran through Kyra’s veins? “Mayhap I’ll avoid her completely, just to be safe.”

  Pashla gave a small smile, and Kyra suddenly noticed the stiffness with which the clanswoman held herself. Fresh scars crisscrossed the Demon Rider’s arms and neck, angry lines in the moonlight.

  “You’ve defended me twice now, at risk to yourself.” Kyra was unable to keep the question out of her voice.

  Pashla waved away her words. “You became my ward when I saved you. I wouldn’t nurse you to life just to hand you over to die. And you should not feel responsible for what happened. The question of your fate was important, but it only went to Challenge because Brona wanted to get rid of me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Challenge,” said Pashla, “is a right of anyone with Makvani blood. The humans you lived with have a layered society. Those born poor are doomed to subservience. It’s different with us. Not all our clan members have equal status, but no matter what rank we hold in the clan, we can always petition the clan leader for our right to Challenge. It’s a fight to the death, and the clan honors the outcome.”

  Pashla paused, fingering one of her new scars. “The Challenge is sacred, but some will bend it to their purposes. Brona and I had long been enemies for…various reasons. The Challenge was a way to get me out of the way, or at least dishonor me if I refused to fight.”

  “So you could have refused. You didn’t have to risk your life for me.”

  Pashla shrugged, her face serene in the moonlight. “Dying in Challenge is an honorable death. And Brona had always been overconfident.”

  Over the next few days, Kyra started noticing patterns. Late morning and early afternoon were quiet, and the clan woke when the sun set. As Kyra became more attuned to signs of their presence, she glimpsed them moving through the trees at night and in the early mornings, though they never came close. She asked Pashla why the others never approached her.

  “They watch, but they are wary,” she said. “In time, they will come.”

  One evening, two young clanswomen wandered within view of her shelter. Kyra watched them from where she rested, eyes half closed in the semi-drowsy state that still overtook her waking hours. To her surprise, they didn’t disappear back into the trees, but came closer. They looked about her age. One clanswoman was tall with large eyes and wispy brown hair that curled around a slender neck. The other was smaller, with pale, almost white skin that contrasted with her straight black hair. The two approached cautiously but deliberately. Like Pashla, they moved with Makvani grace, although they didn’t have Pashla’s air of quiet confidence. Kyra finally roused herself and climbed to her feet.

  “You are Kyra, the halfblood,” said the taller one.

  “I am,” Kyra said warily.

  “I am Mela, and this is Adele.”

  For a moment, they stood without speaking. “We brought you some berries,” Adele finally said. She took a handful out of a pouch around her neck and he
ld them out.

  The two of them didn’t look hostile, and Kyra opened her hands, letting Adele dump the berries into her palms. She paused, completely at a loss about Makvani etiquette. “Would you like to join me?” she finally asked.

  The clanswomen nodded, and they settled down on the floor of Kyra’s shelter. Kyra carefully placed a berry into her mouth. It was good—plump, sweet, and a little tart. She let the juices pool under her tongue, hesitant to swallow, but then decided her companions had easier ways to harm her than to give her bad berries.

  Mela straightened and looked Kyra in the eye. The sun had almost completely set, but like other Makvani, she seemed unfazed by talking in the dark. “Did you really grow up amongst the humans?” she asked.

  The questions both relieved Kyra and put her on her guard. It seemed that these two were simply curious, but Kyra didn’t know what was safe to share. “I had no idea I was anything but human,” she said.

  Mela leaned forward eagerly, her earlier caution falling to the wayside. “What are they like?”

  “I—I don’t know. I guess I’ve nothing to compare them to.”

  “How do humans live so closely packed all the time?” asked Mela. “I would go mad.”

  Kyra realized that she’d never seen the Makvani gathered together for long periods of time. They’d come together for the clan gathering and the deer kill, but otherwise, Kyra never saw more than two or three together at once. “Don’t the Makvani live in groups?”

  “Yes, but not piled on top of each other like humans.” Mela shrugged. “It keeps the peace. Though I suppose it’s good for us that the humans are so closely packed. It makes for easier hunting.”

  Kyra felt bile rise in her throat. “Do you…hunt the humans?”

  Adele shook her head. “Just their livestock, though it’s a different matter if they get in our way. It would be strange, hunting them, since they look so much like us.”

  “Do you ever trade for their livestock?”

  Both clanswomen looked curiously at her. “You have strange ideas, halfblood,” Mela said. “Should we bring clover to the bees for their honey?”