Daughter of Dusk (17 page)

Tristam stared at the table in front of him. “It’s complicated. I’ve already brought disgrace on my family by losing my rank as a knight. I’m unlikely to gain any
position of political influence because of that, at least in the near future. The only way I can serve my family now is through a marriage, and the Routhian household cares much less about my
disgrace than any house of Forge would. And we do need help.”

She thought she’d been upset when she first learned the news, but it was far worse to hear Tristam talk about it, to hear him actually considering it, when two months ago, they’d
held each other in the forest and kissed. He was expecting her to say something, but she couldn’t. Moment by moment, the silence between them stretched longer.

“Kyra, please say something. This is not…something that I would choose.”

He wanted her to talk to him? What could he possibly expect her to say? Kyra finally managed to clear her throat. She tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite work. “I shouldn’t
be surprised, I suppose. That’s why I broke things off in the first place, wasn’t it? I guess I’d not expected to be proved right so soon.”

She saw in Tristam’s face the precise moment her words sank in, and felt a perverse pleasure as her jab hit home. She wanted to be alone. Kyra pushed her chair back from the table.
“I should go.”

She left before he could stop her.

The sun had completely set now, and Kyra was glad for it. She didn’t want anyone to see the expression on her face as she rushed through the courtyard, making for the
Palace gates as quickly as she could. At least the grounds had calmed now from the midday frenzy, and there were fewer people walking the torch-lit pathways. Kyra kept her head down and her steps
quick. She needed to get out.

She’d just left the inner compound when someone called her name. His voice was thick with disdain, and Kyra’s stomach knotted in recognition even before her mind registered who it
was. She turned to see Lord Agan’s son Santon walking toward her, flanked by his two brothers.

“Where are you going, Kyra of Forge?” he said. There was an unnatural loudness to his voice and just the slightest hint of unsteadiness in his step. A wind blew from their direction,
and Kyra smelled wine.

Kyra cursed under her breath. Of all the times to run into these wallhuggers. The pathways around her were empty of passersby. Just her luck. Or had they waited until no one was around?
Not
tonight. I don’t need this tonight.
The mere sight of them disgusted her. Kyra backed away, though she didn’t want to move so quickly that she’d appear frightened. The
wall­huggers drew closer.

“Off to interfere with someone else’s business?” said Santon.

“Girl doesn’t know her place,” said his younger brother. Kyra thought he was the one named Douglass.

“Just like that gutter rat she played hero for,” said the third brother, Dalton.

Her eyes flicked quickly to the swords they wore at their belts. It was too bad that the unevenness in their step wasn’t more pronounced. They’d still be able to handle the swords
well enough to give her trouble. The wise thing to do would be to run away. There were plenty of places she could escape to. At least she wasn’t boxed in by crowds as she’d been the
last time, but the thought of turning tail and fleeing the cowards left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“How’s your gutter rat friend, Kyra?” Santon asked. “She healing up all right?”

Just ignore them.
These noblemen weren’t worth the trouble. The building next to her had a chimney she could scale. She could be out of their reach in a few moments. Kyra did her
best to push images of Idalee out of her mind, the fearful way the girl had scanned the Palace grounds as they’d left Ilona’s care.

“Too bad the magistrate never found the people who beat the wench,” said Santon with a savage smile. Kyra gritted her teeth. She took a firm hold on the chimney and dug her fingers
into depressions in the stone. It was icy cold, but she barely felt it.

“Gutter rat wasn’t worth the magistrate’s time,” said Dalton. “Her type’s only good for cleaning chamber pots and the occasional late-night sport.”

She froze.

“Better flip the order of that, Dalton. Imagine the stink otherwise,” said Santon.

Kyra lowered her hand and slowly turned back toward the wallhuggers. “Shut your mouths and go home,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet.

It took the noblemen a few moments to process her words. They hadn’t expected her to come back toward them. They hadn’t expected her to give them a command. And they were far too
arrogant to heed the threat that infused every one of her words. Santon stood for a moment, and then the smile slowly returned to his face. “Girl wants to play hero again.”

“If you know what’s good for you,” said Kyra, “you’ll leave right now.” There was a spark of anger in her stomach, and she nurtured it. Even as she spoke, she
was hoping they wouldn’t listen to her. She saw Idalee’s crumpled form on the ground as the wallhuggers kicked her, heard the girl’s choked cries. No, Kyra most definitely did not
want Santon and his brothers to do as they were told.

“Don’t be giving threats to those above your station, Kyra,” said Santon, closing the distance between them. “You think you’re safe because you’re on Palace
grounds? You’re nothing but a glorified gutter rat, and you’ll end up just like your friend.”

He struck her across the face then, his hand moving fast and sure. She put up an arm to block him, but Santon was strong enough that the blow still connected and knocked her halfway over. Kyra
stayed bent over, one hand to her aching jaw, waiting for the tears to clear from her eyes. There was a coppery taste in her mouth where she’d bitten her cheek. Her dagger was in her boot,
but she didn’t reach for it.

Santon grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground. Pain lanced through Kyra’s shoulder as she hit the cobblestones, and she rolled away from him. Before he could come closer, she
unfastened her cloak and pulled her tunic over her head, shivering as the icy wind blew through the thin shift she wore underneath. The small voice of restraint inside her whispered one more
warning, and she thrust it savagely into a far corner of her mind.

Santon slowed, staring at Kyra as she stepped out of her boots and onto the frigid ground. For a moment, he was uncertain, his wine-addled mind trying to make sense of her actions. Then his
smile took on a different tone. “Well, this is new. Is this how you actually managed to rise through the ranks? Maybe Sir Malikel has better judgment than we gave him credit for.”
Douglas and Dalton circled behind her. Kyra’s skin crawled, but still, she didn’t move.

Footsteps sounded from around the corner. A Red Shield, a guard on patrol, stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going from Kyra, huddled on the ground in her shift, to the brothers surrounding
her.

“Continue on your rounds,” Santon ordered. “Stay clear of this space for a while.”

In an all-too-familiar routine, the guard backed away and left. Kyra couldn’t keep the fury from her face as she stared after him.
Coward.

Santon’s lips curled, and he bent down to her level. “Don’t be so naïve,” he said. “And try to smile a little. This is better than you deserve.” He
grabbed a fistful of her collar, pulling her face close to his.

And Kyra let her anger explode.

T W E L V E

S
anton didn’t seem to realize what was happening at first. He was too close to see her clearly, and his mind was slow from drink. But soon
enough the leer on his face turned to confusion, and Kyra could tell by the exclamations behind her that his brothers had noticed something wasn’t right. Santon lost his hold on her as her
bones lengthened and her limbs stretched. She pushed him away and kicked off her trousers as her shift began to tear and rip away. Santon hit the ground with a grunt. Kyra climbed to her feet and
settled herself onto all fours.

In hindsight, it had been a mistake to wait until the wallhuggers were so close before changing. If they had been thinking clearly, they could have killed her right then and there. But
thankfully the three of them stood paralyzed even as Kyra’s vision took on that newly familiar clarity and her thoughts faded into instinct…and rage.

“What by the three cities…” Santon whispered.

Footsteps pounded behind her, growing more distant, and Kyra turned just in time to see Douglass rounding a corner. The sight of him fleeing brought an intense desire to run him down, though she
hesitated—the other two were right here. Then Santon and Dalton also turned to flee, and she no longer had to choose between staying or giving chase.

Santon was laughably slow, hardly a challenge at all. She knocked him off his feet; he rolled and jumped back up with his sword drawn. The blade glinted in the moonlight. Kyra hesitated, and
Santon took that opportunity to charge. His sword came down on her shoulder, but it felt like a bludgeon instead of a cut as the edge glanced off her fur. Kyra batted the weapon out of his
hand.

There was a shout behind her, and Kyra turned to see Dalton running at her with his sword raised. This time, she was faster. Kyra sprang to the side as he swung, and bit down on his sword arm.
He screamed, and the sound thrilled her. His blood, warm in her mouth, fueled her growing battle fury. She threw him to the ground with a quick jerk of her neck. He was a large man, but she tossed
him around as easily as if he were a child.

Pain exploded in her back leg. Kyra screamed and looked back just as Santon raised his dagger again. She kicked out with her hind legs, catching him squarely in the chest. The dagger clattered
to the ground, the clank of metal harsh in her ears. As Santon skidded across the dirt, Kyra felt a wave of disdain. She slashed at him with her claws, opening four ribbons of red along his torso.
His cry of pain brought her some satisfaction, and she moved in for the kill. His screams broke off as her jaws closed around his throat. She held on as he struggled, but that didn’t last
very long at all, and soon he fell still. It had been too easy, and her blood was still hot. Kyra let go of his throat and tore at the now lifeless body, venting her frustration. Then she
remembered there were two more. She raised her head and pricked her ears.

“Kyra!”

She heard the words as if from far away. She turned to the sound, teeth bared, but the speaker wasn’t one of the wall­huggers who had attacked her. Kyra recognized Tristam even in the
midst of her rage, and he was walking slowly toward her, speaking gently, though she couldn’t quite make sense of the words. She growled deep in her throat. Even if she didn’t want to
fight him, he was keeping her from her prey. She turned away, but he said her name again, and his voice pulled at her, calm but insistent.

He kept talking, his hands held placatingly out in front of him. Kyra backed up as he came closer, puzzled at why he was neither fighting nor running away. Slowly, her blood cooled just enough
so that Kyra understood she should change back. She gathered the heat, the feeling of her fur, and pushed it back inside, letting out a sigh as her body melted in on itself. Tristam was ready with
her clothes as her skin became smooth and she started to shiver. Her nails were covered with blood.

“Kyra?” Tristam searched her eyes as if he was afraid he wouldn’t find her there. “Kyra, what happened?”

She shook her head, trying to focus her eyes. It felt as if all the blood in her skull was pounding to get out. “Lord Agan’s sons. They came upon me while I was leaving.…We
fought…I…” She broke off as she took in the destruction around her. Dalton was on the ground, moaning and cradling his arm. Douglass was nowhere to be seen. And on the ground
behind her…

Kyra’s stomach reacted instantly to the sight. She jerked away from Tristam and retched, though there wasn’t much in her stomach. She could sense Tristam behind her, but he
didn’t touch her. As her gut stopped spasming, she wiped her mouth and forced herself to look again.

Santon’s body was barely recognizable as human. The arms and legs were splayed at awkward angles. The face was covered in blood, the neck torn open. Kyra looked away, unable to reconcile
her exultant memories, the bloodlust that still echoed in her veins, with the mangled corpse in front of her. She’d done that to Santon. She’d heard his screams and
she’d…She couldn’t think it.

Tristam grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. The fear in his eyes was very, very real. That more than anything brought her mind back.

“Kyra, listen to me.” He was looking around. Shouts echoed nearby. When he looked back at her, some of the fear was replaced by determination. “You have to go,” he said.
“Leave the Palace. Leave the city.”

Leave the city.
Just like that? But they’d had plans in place. When the Palace finally found out, Kyra was going to convince Malikel that she posed no threat. That even though she
shared blood with the Demon Riders, she wasn’t a danger.

A bloodcurdling scream rent the air. It was Dalton. He had turned over onto his side, and his eyes were fixed on Santon’s remains. A dull heaviness weighed down Kyra’s chest. How
could she think of convincing anyone that she wasn’t a danger now? Tristam was right. Fleeing was the only choice left to her.