Daughter of Dusk (13 page)

Pashla watched her. After the third time, she simply said, “Do not be afraid.”

Kyra nodded and closed her eyes again. This time she didn’t stop.

It was just as she remembered. The spreading warmth in her limbs, the sense of melting and growing, her fur forcing itself through her skin and making her arms tingle. She threw off her cloak as
her limbs stretched and her muscles thickened. Her vision darkened for a moment, and when it returned, everything was clear. So very clear.

Pashla stood in front of her, still in her skin. The clanswoman held herself with her muscles relaxed and her hands down by her sides. While Kyra’s previous transformation had been in the
heat of battle, this time her feral instinct was muted. She could still feel its presence, a constant readiness for a fight that hovered in the back of her mind. But she was far more interested in
the world around her. The wind, so bitingly cold a few moments before, now blew ripples in her fur and raised a tickling sensation along her back. She bent down to smell the wildflowers. The scents
were heady, almost too strong. And such vivid colors. Kyra sneezed, then stepped around Pashla. The snow’s coolness seeped through the tough pads of her feet.

Behind her, Pashla spoke. Kyra ignored her, but Pashla persisted, and Kyra finally took the effort to pay more attention. She found she could make sense of her words if she tried hard enough.
Pashla was telling her that she’d done well.

A new scent reached her nostrils. Unlike Pashla’s words, the meaning of this new smell was immediately clear. There was a deer upwind, just a short sprint away.

“Kyra, stay here.”

Kyra shook off the command like water from her fur and started off toward the scent.

“No, Kyra.” A hand on her flank, and a firmer command this time. Kyra spun around and slashed at Pashla, who jumped back, stumbling. As Pashla regained her balance, Kyra whipped
around and sprinted toward her prey. She dove into the trees at the edge of the meadow, jumping over rocks and dodging branches. The scent was as clear to her as a path she could follow. Ahead of
her, she caught a glimpse of the deer and smelled its alarm. Birds took flight at her approach, wing beats like drums against the air, their warning calls sharp and bold. Kyra ran faster.

Something heavy landed on her back and knocked her paws out from under her. The weight was so strong, so sudden, that Kyra realized it must have fallen from a tree. Kyra writhed and twisted to
face this new attacker, striking out with her claws. Her opponent kept out of her way and opened cuts on Kyra’s forelimbs with her teeth. It stung, and the pain infuriated her.

The deer was getting away. She could hear its light hoofbeats fading, and she roared with frustration. Her attacker—Pashla, it was Pashla, Kyra realized—was strong, and Kyra
couldn’t get the best of her. She tired, and it gradually became clear to Kyra that they shouldn’t be fighting at all. She stopped moving and let Pashla pin her to the ground.

As Kyra’s breath slowed and her blood cooled, she felt the sense of her fur waning. She let herself melt back into her skin.

Pashla, her own form still shifting, pulled Kyra to her feet. “Get dressed before you freeze.”

It was a cold run back to her clothes. Kyra wrapped her cloak around herself to block the wind, then reached with stiff fingers for her trousers and tunic.

Pashla joined her. “You need control. But it was not too bad.”

“I’m sorry I slashed at you.”

“If I’m slow enough to let some young cub touch me, then I deserve it.”

Kyra finished dressing and rubbed the heat back into her limbs.

“I almost envy you,” said Pashla after a while.

“Me?”

“You know the ways of the humans, and now you’re learning ours.”

Her hands were starting to regain some warmth. “I’m surprised you’d want to learn about the humans.”

“I’ve no interest in being human. But it would be useful to know how to move in their world. With your mixed blood, you’re able to blend in anywhere.”

Kyra remembered that Pashla had been the liaison between James and the Makvani, back when the clan had been allied with the Guild. It made sense that Pashla would value advantages like this.
Though Kyra didn’t exactly see herself as being able to blend in anywhere. On the contrary, half the Palace thought her a criminal, the Demon Riders didn’t want her in the forest, and
even the gutter rats didn’t trust her anymore. It was a fine line, she thought, between being able to blend in everywhere and nowhere.

Kyra left the forest a short while later. And though she had failed in her mission, Kyra felt hopeful. She’d spoken to Pashla again, and the clanswoman had forgiven her.
Perhaps it was selfish of her to be relieved when the city was still under threat, but Kyra couldn’t help feeling that a weight had come off her shoulders.

There remained plenty of energy in the city when she returned. Kyra skirted past the busy streets and squares toward home, avoiding the crowds that still loitered in the public spaces. Lettie
was not home yet—Tristam had taken her to see Idalee that morning—but Flick sat waiting at their table. Kyra hadn’t bothered to give him an extra key; he just picked the lock when
he so desired. But it was rare to see him waiting at their place when no one was there.

“Flick,” said Kyra. “You’re here early.”

He wasn’t smiling as he tossed a sheet of parchment on the table. Kyra slid it closer and picked it up. Her stomach dropped.

“A notice of conscription already?” she asked.

“Looks like I’m a lucky member of the early units,” said Flick.

Kyra took the parchment and turned it over, as if she could find something in the back that would mark it false. Her stomach churned. Suddenly, her inability to speak to Leyus today seemed a
much graver failure. “Of all the folk in the city, what are the chances they would pick you?”

Flick’s voice was humorless when he responded. “That’s what I wondered myself. I don’t suppose you’ve offended anyone in the Palace recently?”

Kyra was tempted to crumple the parchment in her hands. “I can’t believe Willem would do this.”

“You’ve got enemies in high places, Kyra.”

Kyra had seen soldiers die at the hands of the Makvani before. The thought of Flick—jovial, charming Flick—facing off with the barbarians was unbearable. Kyra racked her mind for any
way to change this. “Your father. Can he do anything?”

“He wouldn’t even acknowledge my dying ma’s existence, much less mine. He won’t do anything on my behalf.”

“I’m so sorry, Flick,” Kyra said. She meant every word. “I’ll speak with Malikel as soon as I can.”

It was becoming an all-too-familiar routine, sitting in Malikel’s study and filtering through the truth for what she could reveal. Kyra wasn’t a natural liar. Flick
could spin fifteen different tales to twenty different people and keep the details straight, all the while maintaining a face that convinced the most skeptical of listeners that he was the soul of
earnestness. It was different for Kyra. She found it hard to keep track of the lies as they piled on top of each other. Plus Malikel wasn’t exactly the best audience for someone engaging in
selective truth-telling. The Defense Minister listened carefully—very carefully—to anyone who spoke to him, from fellow Councilmen to lowly serving maids.

“Pashla found me after I was in the forest awhile,” she said. “She wouldn’t let me speak to Leyus, but I did learn that a new clan’s crossed the mountains and that
the leaders of the clan are very close with Leyus.”

Malikel leaned forward. “A new clan? Did you get any sense of their numbers?”

“I saw only the two leaders.”

“Judging from the uptick in attacks though, we can assume they are numerous. Did you speak with Pashla about anything else?”

“No,” she lied. Then Kyra gathered her courage. “Sir, there was one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I understand that a few early units have been conscripted already
for Willem’s forest sweep.”

Malikel indicated his desk. It was covered with maps and diagrams of Forge and its surrounding forest, some with symbols representing soldiers in battle formations. “I will be training the
new units myself. Hopefully, these early groups will give us a better overall strategy when we bring in the rest of the new conscripts.”

“Were the new units chosen at random?” Kyra asked.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Flick, my good friend, was conscripted yesterday.”

Malikel had reached out to take hold of a map, but upon hearing Kyra’s words, he drew his hand back again and fixed a keen gaze on Kyra. “And you suspect that it wasn’t an
accident.”

“Aye, sir.”

Malikel folded his hands in front of him. He didn’t speak for a while, and his face darkened with every passing moment of silence. Just when Kyra was wondering if he’d ever speak
again, he did. “I’ll be honest. There are many ways an official could influence who was chosen. And many ways an official could then cover his tracks.”

“Is there anything that can be done? I’m not asking for special treatment for Flick,” she hurriedly added. “It’s just that, if someone had picked him on purpose to
get at me…”

“Willem, you mean,” said Malikel. “We can speak plainly in this study.”

“After what happened with the Agan brothers, he warned me not to overstep my bounds. He might be sending me a warning.”

The Defense Minister raised his hand. “Or it could be chance—I’m not saying it is, but you don’t have any proof. If it was indeed Willem, it was a clever move on his
part. I’ve built my entire career on fighting corruption. If I were to specially excuse one of the conscripted soldiers, it would undermine my entire position.” He raised a hand again
before Kyra could object. “That’s not to say I cannot help you at all. But I would need proof that Willem had something to do with Faxon’s original conscription.” Malikel
used Flick’s real name, which he had learned when the Palace had sheltered him from the Assassins Guild.

“Proof?” Kyra echoed. How could she get proof?

“I’ll have some of my men investigate,” said Malikel. “And you would do well to avoid attracting any more of Willem’s attention in the meantime. I know you might be
tempted to take this matter into your own hands, but any misstep on your part could make things worse for your friend.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She wasn’t sure if Malikel really believed she’d sit back while Flick’s life was at risk, but she saw no use in arguing.

It took her a moment to realize that Malikel was looking intently at her. “Kyra,” he said, and there was something in his voice that demanded attention.

Kyra snapped to attention. Had her previous response been too flippant?

“There are several skills that a good Defense Minister needs on a regular basis. One is an ability to judge the truth and see through anything that obfuscates it. When facts have been kept
from me, it’s almost always better if the one who’s been hiding these things reveals them first.” Kyra had the distinct impression that they were no longer talking about Flick.
“I’m charged with upholding the law, but I also don’t consider the law a rigid thing. Character comes into account, as do the specific circumstances. We can’t always control
our past.”

“I don’t understand, sir.” Who knew what the expression on her face was right now?

“I cannot have someone under me who only entrusts me with partial information. I understand it is hard to throw your fate in with the Palace when there are so many people, like Willem, who
may not look on you as their equal. But those people will always exist. In the end, you must make a decision. Either you decide that you can accomplish something for this city and you commit fully
to the job. Or you leave.”

“Leave the Palace?”

“Leave the city,” Malikel said.

Her mouth had gone completely dry. He knew about her bloodlines, or at least suspected. Kyra licked her lips in a failed attempt to get some moisture on them. “Can I ask a question,
sir?” she said.

“You may.”

“Why don’t you return to Minadel? You could be respected there, live a normal life without folk looking at you sideways because you’re a foreigner.”

Another man might have thought her question a deflection, but Malikel seemed to take it in stride.

“I was a common mercenary in Minadel. I would have amounted to nothing there. It was here in Forge where fate smiled on me. That was why I stayed at first, though you are correct that if I
were to leave now, the Minadan court would welcome my expertise and experience.” He turned to look at a map on the wall, his gaze lingering on his old homeland. “But I have unfinished
work in Forge. There are times when I want to wring the necks of my colleagues at the Council, but minds are slowly changing.”

“If I may speak plainly, sir, hundreds of folk might lose their lives in the forest before minds in the Palace are finished changing.”

“If one wants to live under the rule of law, one must accept both the good and the bad. I don’t pretend to have perfect solutions, but think on what I’ve said. About
everything.” Malikel turned his attention back to the parchment on his desk. “You may go.”

It took a moment for Kyra to realize that she’d been dismissed. She managed a stately walk down the rest of the corridor, but once she got to the staircase, her nerves won out and she
bolted down.

Outside, the Palace staff went about their business as usual. A contingent of Red Shields marched past on their way to replace the gate guards. A nobleman strolled behind them, dictating
thoughts to a courtier who scribbled them down on a slate. Kyra slowed and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail. Maybe she should tell Malikel the truth of what she was.
He was a fair man, and she trusted him to look beyond her bloodlines to what she’d done for Forge. But the thing was, her actions hadn’t exactly been impeccable. Would they be enough to
deem her not a threat? And even if Malikel himself decided he trusted her, the Council was something different altogether. There was no way they would be able to look past what she was.

It was with immense relief that Kyra spotted Tristam crossing the courtyard. She ran to him, desperately needing to talk this over. Kyra started to say his name, but the expression on his face
gave her pause. Tristam stopped in his tracks, and Kyra would have sworn that he looked guilty. Belatedly, Kyra noticed the strange path he took. He hadn’t been heading to the building that
housed Malikel’s study. Instead, he’d been walking toward one of the smaller administrative structures. And he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, he was once again in full court
finery.