Daughter of Dusk

by Blackburne, Livia

  In the ensuing silence, Kyra found herself wishing again that the clanswoman wasn’t so hard to read. Finally Pashla gave the slightest of nods. “I’ll bring you to Leyus, though he will not be happy with me.”

  Kyra celebrated a brief moment of triumph before she remembered Flick, Idalee, and Lettie. “I should see my friends safely out of the forest first.”

  “Bring them,” said Pashla. “There are those in the clan who are curious to see more of the humans.”

  Curious? Kyra wasn’t about to risk her family’s life to satisfy some Makvani’s curiosity.

  Her hesitation must have shown, because Pashla spoke again, exasperated this time. “We are not barbarians,” she said. “We do not hunt humans for sport. They will be under my protection.”

  “We’ll come,” said Idalee. When Kyra looked at her, she shrugged. “Every time we try to go somewhere safer, it just gets worse. At least Pashla says she’ll protect us.”

  Kyra looked to Flick and then Lettie, who nodded in turn. “So be it,” Kyra said.

  Pashla set off without further comment, leading them through the trees. As they walked, Adele unclasped Flick’s cloak and handed it wordlessly back to him.

  “You don’t get cold?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  Kyra bit back a grin as she watched Flick waver between his usual inclination to insist she keep it and his suspicion that Adele would kill him if he argued. He took back the cloak.

  After a while, Pashla asked them to wait while she and Adele changed shape. Once in her fur, Pashla threw her head skyward and roared. There was a distant roar in response. Pashla’s ears perked toward the sound, and she loped off in that direction. Adele was a slender shadow next to her, almost flowing over the snow. Kyra noticed the black cat’s eyes going often to Flick as they traveled, and Kyra surreptitiously inserted herself between the two of them. Pashla might have promised to watch over him, but a few extra precautions wouldn’t hurt.

  Eventually, Kyra spotted shapes through the trees. She recognized Leyus by his height and commanding posture. In the light of day, he was less frightening, though no more approachable. The clan leader stood talking to Havel and Zora, the Demon Riders who had come upon Kyra in the field. There were others scattered throughout the trees in their skin and their fur—fewer than twenty total, but that wasn’t surprising. The Makvani came together only when necessary. Adele sniffed the air as they approached, then left them to join the others.

  Kyra looked to see how her friends were holding up. Lettie held tightly to Idalee’s hand, staring unabashedly at the Demon Riders. Idalee’s jaw was set in a stubborn line, and Flick stayed protectively close to the two girls, one arm loosely resting on each of their shoulders. Around them, the Makvani started to notice the humans. They didn’t approach, but they certainly looked, and whispered to each other.

  “You’d better be right about us being under your protection,” Kyra muttered to Pashla. She thought she saw Pashla’s ears twitch in response.

  Leyus’s mouth tightened in displeasure when Kyra came closer. He turned to Pashla. “Why did you bring her here?”

  “I’m here with a message from Forge,” Kyra said as Pashla regained her human form. “I’m sure you’ve seen troops in the forest already. They’re just the first step of preparation for a forest offensive meant to hunt all your people down, and it will surely result in unnecessary deaths on both sides. The Defense Minister asks you to consider negotiating peace.”

  “I’ve seen one of these so-called units in the forest,” said Leyus. “We have nothing to fear from them.”

  Flick’s group hadn’t impressed Kyra either, though the unit this morning had looked more formidable. “You’re right that many of them are untrained,” she said. “But they outnumber you by far, and eventually they’ll overwhelm you with their numbers.”

  Something registered in the back of her mind, and Kyra took a closer look at two demon cats lounging beneath a nearby tree. One beast was lying down, and Kyra saw that blood matted its fur. The other was licking the injured cat’s shoulder, cleaning the wound as Pashla had done before for Kyra.

  “How did that cat get injured?” asked Kyra.

  Leyus followed her gaze. “That is none of your concern.”

  “He was wounded by humans, wasn’t he?” said Kyra, plunging ahead. “Though the humans were weak, their spear struck true.”

  “Enough.” The edge in Leyus’s voice was sufficient to make Kyra stop. “The soldiers present no danger, and your city insults us with their quality.” Leyus turned to Pashla. “Take them back to where they came from.”

  Pashla bowed, running three fingers down the front of her throat. Before Kyra could say anything more, Leyus and his two companions disappeared into the trees.

  “Leyus has spoken,” said Pashla.

  “But—” Kyra began. The clanswoman silenced her with a glance. Kyra swallowed her words and followed. The others fell into step behind her.

  The injured demon cat growled as they passed. Kyra thought it was growling at them but then realized that its ire was directed toward the beast tending its wound. Adele was with them. She’d changed back into her skin, and she called Pashla’s name, followed by a string of words Kyra could not understand. Pashla circled back and nudged the standing demon cat aside so she could crouch next to the injured one.

  “The muscle is torn, but it will heal,” said Pashla. “Just keep cleaning her wound.”

  Flick reached into his belt pouch. “I have herbs,” he said. “To help with the bleeding and the pain.” He held a handful of dried moss out to the clanswomen. Adele eyed the herbs but didn’t take them until Pashla nodded her reassurance. The younger clanswoman moved as if to apply the herbs to the wound but hesitated.

  Flick spoke hesitantly. “I was taught to crumble some onto the wound and use the rest to press it in.” He scooted closer but stopped when Adele jerked away. “Sorry,” he said.

  Adele handed the moss back to him. “You apply it,” she said.

  Flick caught Kyra’s eye. She shrugged, unsure how to advise him. It seemed unwise to refuse, but tending to a wounded demon cat definitely carried its own risks. Flick drew a long breath, then did as Adele asked, crumbling the moss over the wound and then carefully, very carefully, pressing the moss to the demon cat’s shoulder. Kyra slumped with relief when the creature didn’t bite Flick’s hand off. Flick signaled for Adele to replace his hands with hers, then sat back on his heels.

  An older Demon Rider pointed to Lettie and asked Pashla a question. Kyra took a protective half step toward the girl.

  “He says she looks like Libena,” Pashla said, and gestured toward a very young demon cat in the shadows. Kyra recognized Libena’s yellow fur and large eyes and spotted Libena’s younger brother Ziben behind her. She’d met these two the last time she’d been with the Makvani.

  The kittens stared at Lettie, who stared right back at them. Slowly, Libena crept closer until she stood just a few steps in front of Lettie. The kitten’s head came to the same height as the girl’s. Kyra watched them carefully, ready at any moment to snatch Lettie back. Libena sniffed at the air, while Lettie continued to stand completely still. Kyra found herself holding her breath. Strangely, it reminded her of the time she’d given Lettie a handful of grain and let her stand in the square for birds to land on her.

  Suddenly, the demon kitten whirled around and ran back into the trees. Her brother followed quickly behind.

  Pashla watched all this quietly and then signaled for Flick to stand up. “Let us go,” she said. “I’ll see you safely out of the forest.”

  F O U R T E E N

  The magistrate had a way of keeping one eye on Tristam as he wrote, nailing him with a suspicious gaze even as he simultaneously made notes on his desk. It was all Tristam could do to maintain his act under this unnerving scrutiny. He was fortunate, at least, that he was being questioned in the magistrate’s study rather than the interrogation rooms, and that for the pa
st week he’d been under house arrest instead of in the Palace dungeons.

  The magistrate stopped writing and lifted his parchment up to read, careful of the drying ink. This particular official wasn’t one of Willem’s lapdogs, though he wasn’t overly sympathetic to Malikel’s cause either. “I have your official statement, Tristam,” he said. “You admit to working alongside Kyra of Forge, but you maintain that you had no knowledge of her identity as a Demon Rider until the night of Sir Santon’s murder. Furthermore, you have no knowledge of her current whereabouts. Do you swear to this?”

  “I do.”

  It was clear from the way the men around Tristam exchanged disgusted looks that they didn’t believe him—not the magistrate, with his piercing gaze; not the Red Shields by the door, placed there “for his safety”; and certainly not Head Councilman Willem, watching the proceedings from his spot against the wall. But they had no evidence against him and more important targets to go after. The magistrate raised a questioning glance to Willem. “If Your Grace finds no problem with my report, I will declare him free to go.”

  Willem drummed long fingers on the table. “Your report is satisfactory, but I’ll have a private word with Tristam before he’s released.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.” The magistrate addressed Tristam. “You will resume your normal Red Shield duties after your release. Any special tasks you’ve been undertaking for the Defense Minister are, of course, suspended until we are sure of his role in this matter.”

  The magistrate gathered his things and left, followed by the Red Shield guards. The door clicked shut behind them, and Tristam didn’t move as he waited for Willem to speak.

  Willem fixed a stern gaze on Tristam. “I won’t keep you long. I know you’ve never been fond of me or my policies.” He brushed away Tristam’s clumsy attempt at contradicting him. “I simply want to suggest you keep an open mind. You must realize by now that your commander is accused of some very serious lapses in judgment.”

  Lapses that perhaps could have been avoided had Tristam and Kyra been more forthright about what she was. Something twisted in Tristam’s stomach. Had they been wrong to keep the secret from Malikel?

  “What direction do you see for Forge?” asked Willem. “Do you share Malikel’s goals, giving handouts to the poor, fighting their battles for them? Your father and your brothers patrol your family manor every day at great personal risk. Why shouldn’t the common people help defend the lands?”

  Tristam gave grudging credit to Willem for bringing up his family. The thought of losing Henril or anyone else was hard even to consider. “We believe it our duty, Your Grace, to take those risks.”

  Willem gave a hard smile. “That’s admirable, but have you ever considered that it might be an empty endeavor? Truth is, we could clear out the Palace treasury and sacrifice all our lives to serve the needy, yet the poor will still remain. Malikel caters to the tenderhearted, but he picks a fight he can’t win. Meanwhile, he takes resources from initiatives that could make real change. Forge could be great. We could make Forge a city to be remembered in the history books, and everyone within it would prosper.”

  Everyone, or simply those in a position to benefit directly? Tristam didn’t voice his thoughts.

  Willem picked up the parchment from the table. “You may go, but I hope you’ll think on what I said. How much will you sacrifice for those who may not deserve it?”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Right before Tristam reached the door, Willem spoke again. “That’s a nasty bruise you have on your jaw, Tristam.”

  Tristam paused, his hand hovering above the doorknob. The spot on his chin where Kyra had struck him was still tender to the touch. “It’s getting better,” he said.

  “It’s a rare sort of creature who would cause such harm to a supposed friend.”

  Tristam left without replying. He half expected the soldiers outside the door to tackle him, but they only watched him pass.

  The courtyard outside resembled a market more than the Palace grounds. Throngs of citizens lined up in front of harried scribes to enlist in Willem’s new army, pushing past one another in their impatience to get through the wait. They were a far cry from the disciplined Red Shields who usually lined up within these walls. Conscripting new soldiers had caused problems in the Palace, and the difficulties didn’t just stem from the recruits themselves. Word was that the record-keeping was sloppy as well. Several groups of citizens had already been called back because harried scribes had misplaced their records. The Palace simply wasn’t equipped to handle an influx of so many new soldiers at one time.

  Tristam hunched his shoulders and threaded through jostling bodies. The noise faded as he left the crowd behind, and he finally gathered his thoughts. He’d been cleared of suspicion. That in itself was a minor miracle. Unfortunately, that almost certainly meant that Malikel was taking most of the blame on himself. Tristam wondered again at the Defense Minister’s reaction upon finding Santon’s body. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Malikel hadn’t been surprised to learn Kyra’s identity. The Defense Minister had suspected something about Kyra, but for some reason, he hadn’t taken action. Now he would pay the price.

  When Tristam got to his chambers, he found that the guards posted there for the past week were already gone. He closed his door, walked into the middle of his room, and surveyed the silent furniture around him. What now?

  His breastplate hung on a rack against the wall, polished to Malikel’s exacting standards. He could see his face reflected on its surface, and he leaned closer to examine the bruise on his chin. There was a scab on his lip where it had split from Kyra’s blow. He saw her again in his mind’s eye—confused, horrified, and covered in Santon’s blood. Where had she gone? Was she safe? If only he had some way to contact her.

  Everything had happened so fast that night. He’d known Kyra’s bloodlines and what the Makvani were capable of, but Tristam never expected to find Kyra changed in the Palace courtyard, or see her standing above Santon’s corpse. What had driven her to this?

  Someone knocked on the door, and Tristam answered to find a servant in the corridor holding a stack of parchments. The servant was an older man whose build suggested a life spent indoors rather than in the fields. “Sir Willem has requested that your armor and equipment be inventoried, in light of the new recruits,” the man said.

  Now Tristam recognized him. The man was part of Willem’s personal staff. “Are all the Red Shields having their equipment inventoried, or just me?” he asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice. After hearing Willem’s speech about Forge and its future, Tristam had thought the Head Councilman was trying to earn Tristam’s trust. This seemed a step in the opposite direction.

  “Only those that His Grace has listed,” the man said in a maddeningly neutral voice. “May I come in? I’m instructed not to touch or take anything at this point, just to take note of any equipment that might belong to the Palace.”

  Tristam didn’t really have the leeway to be difficult right now. He surreptitiously checked the dagger at his belt as his unwelcome guest came to stand in front of Tristam’s sword and armor.

  “The weapons and equipment are my own,” Tristam said, aware that he sounded like a petulant child.

  The manservant nodded. “And livery. How many sets do you have?”

  “I surrendered anything marking me a knight when they stripped me of my rank.” His frustration was rising with every passing moment. “I have two Red Shield tunics that I wear on duty.”

  The manservant nodded and jotted something down on his parchment. “We may have to take one of those.” Finally, he raised his head and looked around. “That will be all. Thank you. My name is Orvin of Forge, if you have further need of me.”

  He let himself out the door, and Tristam closed it none too lightly behind him. When he turned back around, he noticed a piece of parchment on the table. Had the servant left it there? Tristam unfolded it to find
words inside.

  I have a message for Kyra, was all it said.

  Tristam read the note two or three times. A message for Kyra from Willem’s household? If this was a trap, then they were woefully misled. Tristam had no idea where Kyra was, whether she’d fled to the forest or other cities, or somehow found a place to hide within the city walls.

  Or could the man be sincere? Not all of Willem’s servants were personally loyal to the Councilman. Tristam took two quick steps to his door and pulled it ajar, remembering at the last minute not to throw it open in his eagerness. He peered outside, hoping for another glimpse of Orvin, but the man was long gone.

  F I F T E E N

  Flick hated the idea of leaving Kyra by herself, but after the near miss with Adele, it was clear that the forest wasn’t safe for him and the younger girls. So when the flat stone near Mercie’s window turned to signal an all clear, he took Idalee and ­Lettie back to the old woman’s house. Kyra set up camp in a cave nearby with a small stash of food and supplies from Mercie, and Flick left her there with a promise to return soon.

  Mercie ran a tight ship. Flick, Idalee, and Lettie posed as grandchildren of a friend of hers who’d come upon hard times. They had chores every day, but the workload was reasonable. After a few days, Mercie went into the city and brought back news, along with a note on a piece of parchment.

  “It was left for you at your old home,” she said, handing it to Flick.

  The message was actually for Kyra. It looked like she’d been using Flick’s address without telling him again. Flick didn’t mind, though the vagueness of the wording piqued his curiosity. The next day, he packed up some bread and dried meat, and set off into the forest.

  He walked quickly, not eager to spend any more time out here than he needed to. Kyra hadn’t wanted him to come to the forest at all, but she was such a consummate city lass, and Flick worried about her having enough to eat. He supposed she could have hunted, but she hadn’t seemed very eager to change shape.