Daughter of Dusk (23 page)

Her heart skipped a beat at the word “mother.” The one person she’d forbidden herself from thinking about because she’d seemed so out of reach. “Who is my
mother?” She was light-headed with the eagerness to know. And there was a second question, one that frightened her with its possibilities. “Is she alive?”

Craigson let out a long breath, looking down as if having a hard time picking the right words, and Kyra feared the worst.

“The answer to your second question is that I don’t know,” he finally said. “She was alive the last time I crossed the Aerins a decade ago, but we lost touch after I
stopped traveling. But let’s start from the beginning. You were born in a desert village called Mayel, about as far from here as you can get. Your mother’s name was Maikana.”

“Maikana,” Kyra repeated, sampling the syllables. “It sounds like a different language.”

“It is, but the leaders of her village speak our language too. They call it the trader tongue.” Craigson paused again. “Your own name is actually Kayara,” he said gently.
“Though it’s not hard to see why it might have turned to Kyra over the years.”

She felt an irrational panic rising in her chest. For some reason, that revelation knocked her off balance more than even the mention of her mother. All these years as an orphan, she’d had
at least her name. With effort, Kyra fought the panic back down.

“What was my ma like?”

“She was a strong woman. A leader of her people, and she loved her village dearly.” Craigson looked at Kyra, and suddenly chuckled. “I hear you’re quite a
climber.”

“Climber?” It was such a random thing to say. “I do climb walls when I need to. I’m a thief.” She felt surprisingly ashamed at that admission, now that Craigson had
just told her how respectable her mother was, but Craigson didn’t react to the revelation at all.

“If you ever cross the Aerins and see your mother’s village, you’ll see why it amuses me. They are all well-practiced climbers. You look a great deal like her
people—small, slight of form. And your face is the spitting image of your aunt.” He braced a hand on his knee. “Maikana bore you and raised you for two years, but there was a
drought that you couldn’t weather. She put you in my care until the rains came again. I wasn’t planning to take you across the Aerins, but your father somehow got word that I had
you.”

“My father. He was Makvani?”

“Your mother was human. Your father was a member of a Makvani slaver clan that attacked your mother’s village.”

Pashla had told her before about the Makvani’s history as slave traders. But if her father had been a slaver who’d attacked her mother’s village…It raised a horrifying
implication. “Did he…force my mother…”

Craigson furrowed his brow. “To be honest, I don’t know what happened between your parents. She never spoke of the specifics, and I never asked. I know that things were not simple
between them and that it didn’t end well. Maikana didn’t want him to know about you, but somehow he found out. We crossed the mountains when we learned he was seeking you, but he and
his companions pursued us. We managed to evade them for a while because we knew this land better, but they caught up to us near Forge. I stowed you in what I thought was a safe place and led them
away.” Here, Craigson paused and eyed a spot on the ground in front of him with distaste. “They left me for dead, but some travelers found me. It took me two days to get coherent, and
several more until I could go search for you. And by then…” He spread his hands. “You were gone. Along with the rest of my caravan. I figured they’d taken you, or that
you’d died.” Kyra was surprised to hear a slight tremor in Craigson’s voice. The trader seemed so gruff.

“And my da. Do you know what happened to him?”

“Aye, I kept track of his whereabouts, and I made sure to avoid him and his clan. He crossed back over the Aerins, and after a while it got too dangerous for me to travel, so I found a
quiet place outside Edlan and settled down. I didn’t hear of him for many years, though there was news of fighting among the Makvani and rumors that some clans were searching out new lands.
So it wasn’t a surprise to me when I heard he’d come back, this time with his entire clan. He must know by now that I’m here. I’m sure he keeps an eye on
travelers.”

It took Kyra a moment to realize the implications of Craigson’s words, but when they sank in, she found it hard to breathe. Thus far, only two clans had come across the Aerins, and
she’d met both their leaders. Could it be…

“Who is my father?” This time, her eagerness was mixed with dread.

Craigson hesitated then, and that space between two breaths felt like an hour. But then he met her eyes. “Your father is the leader of the first clan that came over the mountains. His name
is Leyus.”

E I G H T E E N

T
he door to James’s cell opened. He could tell from the footsteps that two Red Shields had entered, and he didn’t spend any strength to
look. The Palace interrogator preferred working after dark, and the guards often came for James at this hour, the second watch of the night.

“It’s a dangerous line they’re walking, bringing him in so often when they want to keep him alive,” said one.

“Our job is to obey orders, not ask questions. He asleep?”

The first guard put a hand under James’s chin and lifted. James returned his gaze with half-closed eyes.

“Naw, he’s awake. But we might have to carry him.” They spoke with a careless air. As the once famed leader of the Assassins Guild had sickened like any other prisoner, the
guards gradually lost their caution around him. James did his best to encourage this. It made what he had to do just a little easier.

James slumped against the chains, letting his body fall heavy. He flexed his fingers just slightly, feeling for the strength in his arms, and then did the same for his torso and legs. He
didn’t have much left in him. It would have to be quick.

The guard’s key clicked to unlock the shackles around one of his wrists, and then the other. James crumpled to the ground and landed on his knees, bending so that his body blocked his
right arm from the guards’ view. The faint outline of the blade was visible beneath the top layer of bandages. He coughed and used the spasms to hide his movements as he ripped those layers
loose. A small blade with no handle dropped into his hand, and James gripped it, careful not to cut himself on the satisfyingly sharp edge. The guard swore and hauled James to his feet.

Now.

James brought the blade up, threading it between the guard’s arms and slicing it across his neck. He didn’t stop to check his work but turned to the other guard, who stumbled back in
alarm. James closed the distance between them, thrust his elbow into the guard’s ribs, and slit the man’s throat as he fell forward. The whole thing happened in the span of two
heartbeats. Neither guard had made a sound.

He stumbled then, and reached for the wall as a wave of nausea overtook him. That burst of speed had cost him. When he could move again, he examined the two guards on the ground. One man was
much bigger than he, but the other had a similar build to James. He knelt and removed this guard’s tunic. It was slick with blood, but thankfully, Red Shield livery was crimson, and it was
dark. He also took the guard’s sword and dagger.

He caught two other guards unawares on the ground floor of the dungeon. He’d hoped to walk right past them, but the prison guard force was small, and they knew each other by name. Another
of Malikel’s precautions, most likely. The first guard, he dispatched cleanly. The second called for help and opened a gash in James’s thigh before James was able to drive a dagger
through his stomach. As the man fell to the ground, James heard answering shouts. The door at the end of the corridor flew open, and two Red Shields appeared. James pivoted to run but stopped when
another guard came up the stairs at the opposite end. They had him hemmed in.

James put his back against the wall and turned so he could see the men coming at him from either side. His initial flood of energy from the escape was ebbing away. Still, better to die fighting
than wasting away under the interrogator’s care. He eyed the lone guard between him and the stairs and willed one last bit of strength.

The door burst open again and two men with covered faces ran in. Two glints of metal flew through the air, and James flattened himself against the wall. There was a thud, a clink of metal on
stone, and a gurgling gasp. The Red Shield closest to the door pitched forward, a knife buried in his back. His comrade pressed one hand firmly to his side as he turned to face the new threat, only
to be run through as he raised his blade.

As the third Red Shield struggled to make sense of the scene, James attacked. He feinted to the left, then stepped in to close the distance. Pain lanced through his leg—he’d
forgotten about that. As he collapsed, a knife flew over his head and grazed the Red Shield’s arm. The soldier grunted, and James brought his knife up into the man’s gut. The man fell.
James heard footsteps behind him and turned just as one of the masked men came up close. A carrot-colored lock of hair had escaped the man’s mask.

James smiled.

Rand peeled off his mask and offered James a hand up, which he accepted with a muffled groan. Bacchus, also unmasked now, looked James up and down. They were standing close to a torch, and its
light was bright enough to illuminate James’s many cuts and bruises.

Bacchus shrugged. “You were always too fond of that pretty face of yours.”

Rand spat on the ground. “Never mind his face. We’ve got to bind that leg.”

Bacchus was already cutting strips from a Red Shield’s livery. As he wrapped it around James’s wound, James noticed that Bacchus favored his left arm. “You’re
wounded,” he said.

“So are you,” Bacchus retorted.

James looked at Rand. “And you?”

“A few scratches and bruises,” said Rand as he retrieved the daggers he and Bacchus had thrown. “We couldn’t get past the guards all quiet like your thief lass, so
we’d best get out soon.” He wiped off his dagger and tucked it into his belt. James noticed that both Rand and Bacchus had swords as well, though they hadn’t drawn them in the
cramped corridor. He didn’t bother to ask whether any others from the Guild had come. Loyalties didn’t run very deep in an organization like his, not when the Guildleader’s
position seemed so close to opening up again.

Bacchus pulled back to inspect James’s newly bound leg. “You able to put weight on it?”

“I’ll live.”

Rand pulled James’s arm over his shoulder, and they made for the exit.

Once outside, they ran. Or tried to. James’s time in the prison had taken its toll, and his injured leg threatened to give way. Shouts came from the direction of the prison, followed by
more shouts and the ringing of bells. Bacchus gestured toward a building that was partially sheltered by bushes, and they ducked into its shadow. Rand leaned against the wall, alert but breathing
heavily. Bacchus held his blade at the ready and peered around the corner, back toward the prison.

“You’re trailing blood,” he said to James when he turned back. “Hard to see in the dark, but someone will spot it soon enough.”

Rand tore a strip from his tunic and handed it to James, who pressed it firmly to his leg. They all went still as three Red Shields ran down the path in front of them. At first it seemed they
would pass without noticing what hid in the shadows, but then the last soldier slowed and squinted in their direction. “Wait,” he called to his comrades. “I think there’s
someone—”

The soldier’s words choked off as Bacchus’s dagger buried itself in his stomach. Before the man hit the ground, Bacchus and Rand had drawn their swords and charged. James moved to
follow and bit back a curse as he fell against the wall. When he looked up again, the two remaining Red Shields lay on the ground. Wordlessly, Rand and Bacchus dragged the bodies into the bushes.
There was a fresh cut across Rand’s chest.

“It in’t deep,” said Rand when he saw James looking at it. “Stings like a banshee’s scream though.”

“You shouldn’t have come to break me out,” said James calmly. The three ducked farther out of sight.

Bacchus snorted. “And let the wallhuggers win? Not while I draw breath.” Nobody mentioned that, at this point, it wasn’t very clear how much longer any of them would be drawing
breath.

“What do you think?” said Rand. “West wall?”

James thought over their options for escaping. Two sets of walls stood between them and freedom. They would either have to fight their way through two guarded gates or find some way to scale the
walls. But now that the alarm had been sounded, guards were lighting torches and patrolling the perimeter. He tested his injured leg again and suppressed a grunt as pain lanced through his thigh.
It would take him a while to climb in this condition. Rand and Bacchus had a decent chance of getting out if luck was on their side. With James in tow though, their odds became much more dire.

“I’ve got news that I couldn’t entrust to a messenger,” Bacchus said suddenly. “I followed up on the hunch you had about that lass. You were right about
her—what she knows and what she can prove.”