Daughter of Dusk (26 page)

He was being unfair. She knew this even in the midst of her confusion, but knowing that a knife had an ill-made edge didn’t make its cuts hurt any less. “You speak of my mother as if
she were some heroine. But wasn’t she your enemy? If you thought so highly of her, why are you on this side of the mountains?”

“She knew her duties, and I knew mine,” he said. “In the end, it came between us.” He looked at her again. “You’re a child of mixed fates. Our blood could
bring you strength, but instead it feeds your fear. That does not make you someone I would be proud to call my own.”

Leyus left Kyra after their conversation, disappearing into the forest without a second glance at the daughter who stared after him, gutted by his words. When it became clear
to Kyra that he wasn’t coming back, she gathered herself together and headed to her cave. She wasn’t aware of much of the rest of the journey, just that it was dark by the time she
arrived.

She longed for Flick, Idalee, and Lettie desperately that night, but of course they were safe at Mercie’s house. To make it worse, the temperature dropped and she woke up shivering
violently, her limbs stiff and her toes going numb despite the layers she’d wrapped around herself. She realized that she either had to stay active all night like her Makvani kin or find a
better way to keep warm. Her pouch of supplies with her flint inside lay enticingly within reach, but the cave had no good outlet for smoke. Of course, there was one other way she could keep warm,
one that she had thus far been avoiding….

Our blood could bring you strength, but instead it feeds your fear. That does not make you someone I would be proud to call my own.

Leyus’s words were sharp thorns, digging themselves into the tender places of her chest. Kyra peeled off her clothes with something akin to anger, throwing them against the cave wall,
hardly able to breathe as the icy air burned her skin. Soon enough though, she felt the familiar warmth of her fur forcing its way through her body. The cave around her settled into a crisper
version of itself, and the air that had felt so bitterly cold a moment before no longer touched her flesh. Kyra turned a few circles on all fours before she curled back onto the ground. Sleep came
more easily after that.

She was in her fur, still half-asleep, when she heard Flick approaching. She knew the cadence of his footsteps well enough to recognize him, and she hurriedly changed back before he arrived. She
didn’t think she would harm Flick, but she wouldn’t take the risk.

“Kyra, I’ve got news,” he said. But then he stopped when he saw her face. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt. I…” She fell silent, trying to get her thoughts in order. “Can we sit?”

“Of course.” Flick was still looking her up and down with concern as they settled themselves at the mouth of her cave. “What is it?”

It took some time for Kyra to get her thoughts together. In bits and pieces, she related everything Craigson had told her and then recounted her conversation with Leyus. Flick let out a low
whistle when she finished. “Leyus, of all people. What do you make of all this?” he asked.

Kyra took a while to answer. “I don’t really know,” she said. “I didn’t expect my first conversation with my da to go quite like that.”

Flick gave her a crooked smile. “Fathers aren’t always what we wish them to be. I should know.”

Flick’s words triggered a loosening in her chest, and she smiled back despite herself. “I suppose we’ve got something new in common, then.”

“High-ranking fathers who can’t stand the sight of us?”

Kyra couldn’t help but feel a twinge in her stomach. Leyus’s words had hurt, though they shouldn’t have. Why should she care what the leader of a clan of barbarian invaders had
to say about her? But apparently she did, when that leader was her father. “Do you think he’s right, about me living in fear of what I am?”

She was glad Flick didn’t respond right away. If he had, Kyra wouldn’t have believed him. “I do see you afraid of your Makvani blood,” he said carefully. “But I
don’t think it’s as bad a thing as he thinks. In fact, it gives me comfort that you’re afraid. It tells me that you’re still the same thief girl I met on the street years
ago. You might be able to grow claws now, but I’d still trust you to watch my back.”

She nodded, comforted slightly by his thoughts. “Though mayhap he has a point about running from my fights,” she said. “I’m out here in the forest when things are
happening in the city.”

And here, Flick’s expression darkened.

“What is it?” Kyra asked. “Are we found out?” She looked around her, half expecting to see soldiers in ambush.

Flick shook his head. “Nothing like that. It’s about James.”

“What of him? Did he escape?” She felt a shiver of fear. What would James do if he was free again?

“He did…almost,” said Flick. “They say that he somehow got ahold of a weapon and overpowered his guards. Two of his men were there to help him.”

The men were almost certainly Rand and Bacchus. But Flick had said he’d
almost
escaped. “Did they recapture him?”

“Aye, but not before they’d killed several dozen Red Shields and burned one of the Palace buildings to the ground. His two accomplices escaped, though both were gravely injured. The
Palace recaptured James alive.”

Kyra let out a sigh of relief, though she wasn’t sure if the relief was because James had been recaptured or because he was still alive. “So they have him again.” But there was
more to the story. Otherwise, Flick wouldn’t have looked so disturbed.

“They did nab him. The magistrate was furious, as was the Council, as you might expect. They’ve decided to stop trying to get information out of him and to make an example of him
instead.” Flick took a breath. “They’ve sentenced James to torture and a public execution in two days.”

A chill spread over Kyra’s skin at Flick’s words. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

“In the city square, as usual?” she finally asked.

“That’s the news.”

Kyra was familiar with the type of spectacle planned for James. The Palace reserved it for its most notorious criminals, to make an example of the very worst and warn others away. Kyra had gone
once out of curiosity, and she’d had nightmares for a solid week afterward. The criminal hadn’t been recognizable as a man by the time they’d finished with him, and he’d
screamed until he was no longer physically able to continue. She swallowed against the bile suddenly rising in her stomach.

“You’re certain of this?” she asked.

“It’s all anyone was talking about.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her. After the Demon Rider raids and the latest escape attempt, it only made sense that the Palace would choose a public and painful way for James to die. But
that didn’t stop her gut from twisting at the prospect.

“Kyra?” Flick put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look at him.

She shook herself. “Sorry.”

“What are you thinking?”

If only she knew. Her thoughts about James had always been an inscrutable mass. “I’ve every reason to hate him,” she said slowly. “But his ends were not completely
unjust.” James had done some inexcusable things. She wouldn’t romanticize him as she had before, but they’d come to some sort of understanding in that dungeon, and it didn’t
feel like the naïve infatuation she used to hold.

“I need to get back into the city,” she said.

Flick sat up. “Kyra, you can’t let one comment from Leyus push you into risking your life. He might be your father by blood, but he’s never done anything for you.”

“I in’t doing this because of Leyus. Tristam and Malikel are in trouble with the Palace on my account. I need to speak with Tristam, to see if there’s any way I can help, and
I’d like to—” She’d been about to say that she wanted to talk to James one more time. “I’d like to see if I can learn anything more about the Guild before James
dies.”

Flick shook his head, massaging the knuckles of one of his hands. “I won’t try to stop you. Never does any good.”

Was she really that hardheaded? “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He smiled at that, and tugged on a strand of her hair. “The problem is, you have a funny idea of what it means to be careful.”

T W E N T Y - O N E

G
etting back into the city wasn’t hard, but moving around without being recognized was tricky. Kyra waited until it was dark to scale the
city walls. Once inside, she kept her cloak low over her face. She weaved her way through the evening crowds, taking care not to attract anyone’s attention. Parchments with her likeness were
posted in the larger squares, and Kyra had a nervous moment when a maidservant squinted at her, trying to see beneath her cloak. Kyra affected her most unconcerned expression and walked on. No one
chased after her, and she soon found herself staring at the Palace wall.

Perhaps it was her fate to always be sneaking in. She’d had a brief period of legitimacy, when she’d walked in through the gates as if she belonged. But she’d never felt
comfortable out in the open, not like she did now. Even her fear of discovery was a thrill of excitement in her veins as she pulled herself over the ramparts and dropped to the ground.

It was still early enough in the evening for people to be about their after-dinner business—guards making their rounds, noblemen and their families out for strolls—so she climbed the
closest building to escape the torchlight below. The icy wind whipped around her, buffeting her ears. She could feel her fingers getting numb, so she broke into a run to keep warm.

She was making decent progress along the ledges until her foot slipped out from under her. Kyra gasped and splayed her limbs out wide. She landed lengthwise along the edge, one leg hanging over
empty space as she scrambled to grip the stone. Soft conversation and chatter floated up to her from below, and her heart pounded in her ears as she slowly hauled herself back to her feet.
She’d thought that the sun had melted all the ice from the buildings, but she’d obviously been wrong.

Kyra proceeded more slowly from there, testing the surfaces before she stepped and sticking to walls that faced the sun during the day. The difference between smooth granite and slick ice was
subtle but important. Finally, she stood atop the wall of the inner compound. The prison building was a barely visible shadow in the night sky. As she made her way closer, she passed the burned-out
shell of what had once been noblemen’s living quarters—Rand’s and Bacchus’s handiwork. The sight brought uncomfortable memories of The Drunken Dog, and she hurried past.
Finally, she looked down on the prison from a nearby ledge and took in the entire scene.

The building was on lockdown. Red Shields stood guard all around the building’s perimeter, with six more blocking the doors. Extra torches had been lit along the paths and hung on the
walls so that only the very top of the building was dark.

Make no mistake, Kyra. Someday I’ll call in a favor from you, and I’ll hold you to it.

Kyra thought of the Demon Rider raids that James had instigated, the fire, the injured along the street, the countless left without homes. Those people deserved justice, didn’t they?

She counted the guards again and imagined ways of getting past them. Just a game, a thief’s mind exercise, as she’d done before with hundreds of other buildings. There were too many
Red Shields up front. A diversion might take a few away, but they were probably alert for one. Maybe with some luck she could get into the prison, but getting out with a gravely wounded James would
be near impossible.

Another column of guards walked in through the gate. Kyra started to count them too but stopped. She knew in her bones that she wouldn’t be going into the prison tonight. Her debt to James
did not extend that far. When she finally admitted this to herself, Kyra wasn’t sure whether the tugging at her chest was pity, guilt, or grief for the people James had taken from her.

She stood there a while longer, until the chill made her spring into motion. There was one more place she wanted to go. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation as she approached the building
that housed Tristam’s quarters. Was he even there, or was he still being held somewhere else? His room was dark through the windows, but he might have simply been out for the evening. Kyra
found a spot where an outcropping offered some shelter from the wind. She’d been up there for about half an hour when she heard his voice down below.

It was Tristam, dressed in one of his finer embroidered tunics and a fur cloak. And with him, on his arm, was a woman. Kyra couldn’t see her very well from that height, but she could tell
that the woman was young and that the luxurious furs lining her cloak were fit for a nobleman’s daughter. The two of them stood for a while on the path outside the building until a courtier
arrived. Tristam bowed then and kissed the girl’s hand before she left with the courtier at her side.

The moment his lips touched her hand, Kyra’s chest turned to ice. She’d assumed, with all the upheaval in the Palace, that something like the marriage negotiations would have been
suspended. How naïve she’d been.