Daughter of Dusk (18 page)

“What about you?” she asked Tristam.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll tell them you ran off.”

Tristam wasn’t a good liar either. He couldn’t quite look her in the eye, and even with her mind muddled as it was, she knew that he was wrong. Tristam was too closely associated
with her. They had to convince the Palace that he’d tried to capture Kyra, or he’d take the fall for her.

“Fight me,” she said. Even as Tristam was making sense of her words, she reached for her dagger and realized it was somewhere on the ground with her boots. She thought to go back for
it, but there was no time. Instead, she tackled him.

Kyra caught him off guard, and Tristam fell backward as she pummeled at his face. He grunted in pain—her blows landed harder than she intended.
Fight back, you idiot,
she thought,
even as she struck him again across his cheekbone. That blow split his lip, but her blood still ran hot from the kill, and it was hard to pull back.

Finally, he started to defend himself, raising his hands to block her. A flurry of blows and stinging parries passed between them, then Tristam caught one of her wrists. When she tried to pull
away, he captured the other. For a moment, they were locked together, Kyra quivering with battle rage as she leaned into him, both of them breathing in deep, painful gulps. She saw uncertainty and
resolve in his eyes, and Kyra realized she didn’t know when she would see him again.

“Go, Kyra. Now!”

When Kyra didn’t react, Tristam set his jaw, curled his legs between them, and kicked her off. He wasn’t gentle. The kick knocked the breath out of her, and she rolled over twice
before she came to a stop. Kyra coughed, then slowly pulled herself to her feet. More shouts. Three Red Shields were pointing and running toward them.

Tristam raised himself to a crouch. One of his eyes was already starting to swell. He launched himself at her again. She dodged him, grabbed her boots, and ran, pushing through the pain in her
ribs and her injured leg, hearing his footsteps behind her grow fainter even though she knew he was a faster runner than she. Kyra ducked her head and bent all her energy toward getting away.

Tristam watched Kyra disappear into the darkness. It wasn’t hard to feign shock as Red Shields swarmed around him. His jaw ached—Kyra had hit him hard. And he was
still reeling from the scene around him.

Red Shields surrounded him and pointed their swords at him. He raised his hands.

“I’m unarmed,” he said.

One soldier came closer and patted him down. Tristam winced as the Red Shield hit another spot that Kyra had bruised. She’d been half-wild when she’d changed back into her human
shape, more feral than he’d ever seen her. He saw her again, eyes flashing, a hint of a snarl still on her lips. She’d been out for blood, and it scared him more than he cared to
admit.

The Red Shield finished his search and nodded to the others, who lowered their weapons. “You were a witness to this?” asked the soldier.

“Yes.” Every limb felt heavy. His ribs complained when he drew breath to speak.

“Come with me, then,” said the Red Shield, leading him back to the scene.

Santon’s mauled corpse lay on the cobblestones. Dalton screamed incoherently, though Tristam could pick out the words “monster” and “girl.” He slumped down and
rubbed his jaw again, waiting for his mind to clear.

A crowd was gathering now, mostly nobles and guards, though a few brave servants also stopped to stare. A soldier knelt next to Dalton and called for bandages. Nobody came close to
Santon’s body.

“Make way.” The crowd parted, and Tristam’s heart skipped a beat as Malikel strode through. The Defense Minister took a long look at Santon, and then at Dalton and Tristam.
“What happened?”

“A monster,” croaked Dalton, his voice hoarse. “The girl changed into a demon cat.” He sounded delirious in his pain, and for a moment Tristam wondered if he could still
cover this up. But no, there had been a third brother who’d run.

“What’s he talking about?” Malikel directed his question at Tristam.

“There was a demon cat in the Palace, sir,” he said. “I was outside my quarters when I heard screams. I came running and saw it attacking these two and their brother.”
Actually, he hadn’t simply been outside his quarters. He’d run out after Kyra, unwilling to let the conversation end the way it had, when he’d stumbled upon that scene.

“And what is he saying about the girl?”

This was it, then. Tristam sent a silent apology to Kyra. “It was Kyra, sir. She…she’s a Demon Rider. I saw her change back into her human form after the attack.”

Malikel’s face clouded over, though he didn’t look as surprised as Tristam would have expected. “You saw this with your own eyes?”

“Yes, sir,” said Tristam.

“And you had no idea of this. No suspicions.”

Tristam hesitated. It was bad enough to lie to any commander, but this was Malikel.

“You knew nothing of this, Tristam. It caught you by surprise,” continued the Defense Minister.

Only then did he notice the way his commander looked at him, and a subtlety in Malikel’s inflection, as if he was telling Tristam something rather than asking. “Yes, sir,” he
said hesitantly. He thought he caught a glimpse of approval in Malikel’s eyes. “I tried to stop her from escaping, but I couldn’t.”

The crowd’s energy shifted again, and a new voice spoke. “A Demon Rider attack in the Palace? Do I hear this correctly?” Tristam felt the color drain from his face as Malikel
squared his shoulders. The people gathered around parted for Willem.

“You heard correctly, Willem,” Malikel said.

Willem gave a passing glance to Dalton, who was only semiconscious. “What do I hear about Kyra of Forge being one of the Demon Riders?”

“That is what the witnesses claim,” said Malikel. The Defense Minister stood with his feet braced and back straight.
He
’
s preparing to take a fall,
thought
Tristam.
There
’
s no good outcome for Malikel here.

“We had one of our enemies in our midst the entire time, working for the Ministry of Defense?” The Head Councilman spoke more loudly than he needed to, and the look in his eyes was
one of a bird of prey who had spotted a rabbit. “This is grave news indeed,” he said. “A very bad mistake for someone in your position, Malikel. I’m very sorry, but this
will have implications.”

The Head Councilman’s eyes, however, glinted in a way that didn’t look sorry at all.

Someone must have raised the alarm, because the air filled with shouts and the loud rhythms of booted feet. Kyra’s leg throbbed where Santon had cut it. It had stopped
bleeding, but her trousers kept sticking to the wound. She didn’t dare slow down. It would only get harder to escape.

She ran on instinct, too shocked to think out a coherent escape route, relying only on her reflexes to find her the safest way. She kept to the ledges as much as she could to avoid the Red
Shields swarming the footpaths. When she had to travel on the ground, she darted from shadow to shadow, more than once diving into a corner to avoid being seen.

Finally, she scrambled up the Palace wall and flung herself over the top. Once on the other side, she ran into a sheltered alleyway. It was as safe a place as any to catch her breath, and she
took in gulp after gulp of icy air.

She’d killed again.

Kyra could still see Santon’s body on the ground, the angle of his ravaged neck. The memory kept shifting. It was as if she saw the body through two sets of eyes, one that looked upon it
with relish and the other with horror. The emotions didn’t mix well, and she fought the sickening churn of her stomach. The first time she killed a man, when she’d slit a man’s
throat in a failed Assassins Guild raid, that had been an accident. But this…

A shadow crossed the alley’s entrance, and Kyra froze. It wasn’t a Red Shield. Just a man, and he continued right on down the street without stopping. But the shock reminded her of
her danger. The Palace knew where she lived. There would be Red Shields at her door within a few hours—if not Red Shields, then an angry mob, and Idalee and Lettie were at home. A fresh wave
of panic jolted through her.
What had she done?
The mob wouldn’t differentiate between Kyra and her family. She had to warn them. Kyra set off again with renewed speed, keeping to
alleyways and rooftops since she couldn’t blend in with the evening crowds when her clothing was in tatters and her face smeared with blood.

Kyra burst into her quarters to find Lettie, Idalee, and Flick playing a dice game. Flick looked up with a smile, only to have the smile freeze on his face.

Kyra froze as well, staring at the three of them with wide eyes. “We have to leave,” she said. “Now. Take everything.”

The three of them gaped at her.

“Now!” Kyra said again, louder this time. She could hear the tinge of hysteria in her voice. Giving up on them, she ran over to her chest and started pulling things out. She threw
her spare clothes onto the ground and fished out a coil of rope.

“Kyra, wait.” Flick crossed the room and took her by the arm. She let him turn her around, and he bent so their eyes were level. “What’s going on?”

She was shaking. Even with the pressure of Flick’s hands on her shoulders, the tremors came through. She swallowed. “Santon of Agan is dead,” she said finally.

“What happened?”

“He—I—” Kyra couldn’t say it. “Not now, please. We have to go. The Red Shields will be here any minute.” She took a deep breath. “They know what I
am. I changed.”

Flick’s grip on her went slack. “People saw?”

She nodded.

Flick looked down at her scattered belongings with new understanding. “I need to go get my things.” The readiness with which he accepted this only served to intensify her guilt. If
he’d yelled at her for blowing her cover and uprooting them all, she might have found the energy to defend herself. But perhaps it was better this way. They had no time to squabble.

“Meet us at the spot by the south wall,” Kyra said.

After Flick left, Kyra washed the blood off her face and changed into clean clothes. When she turned around, she saw Idalee watching her with a stricken expression.

“Idalee,” Kyra said uncertainly. “We need to pack quickly.”

The girl looked to be in a daze, but she moved to her own chest and started pulling out belongings with her non-splinted arm. Once Kyra was done with her own bags, she gathered Lettie’s
clothes. She also jumped to retrieve a stash of emergency coins that she’d hidden in a hollowed-out roof beam. Then she rushed them all out the door.

Flick stood waiting by the south wall with a bag slung over his shoulders. They’d scouted out this spot before, a stretch lined with houses that didn’t have windows on their
outward-facing sides. Kyra threw a grappling hook over the top—it clinked more loudly than she would have liked—then waited as Flick climbed up and hauled their bags after him. Idalee
was next. Kyra tied a loop for the girl to stand on, and she held tightly with her good arm while Flick pulled her up. Lettie followed, and then Kyra came last.

A wide road circled the city wall. Beyond that were houses, not crowded as densely as the houses in the city, but there were still too many people who might see them. The main road led out from
the city gates, but that was farther down the wall, and they didn’t dare follow it. Instead, they took narrow footpaths that led them between houses. There were others on these
roads—farmers returning home, women running errands. The four of them put their heads down and walked as if they belonged.

Flick pulled even with Kyra. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“The Agan brothers found me as I was leaving the compound. Started taunting me about Idalee, and then they started threatening me.”

“They attacked you?”

Had they attacked her? Flick was clearly willing to believe that it had been self-defense. And in part, it had been—once they’d laid hands on her. But she’d had a chance to
flee—she’d wanted an excuse not to. Kyra shook her head. It was hard even to think back on it. Every time she did, her battle lust crept back like a slow fog. She didn’t dare
think about what would happen if it took over.