Daughter of Dusk (38 page)

“I know,” she said. The idea didn’t sit well with her, but if she was to lead the raid, she would have to fight as the others did.

She and Pashla returned to her crew and made plans to meet again after the moon set. When the rest of the group left, Pashla stayed behind.

“You’re not leaving?” asked Kyra.

“I think it’s best if you’re not alone,” said Pashla.

She was grateful for Pashla’s company, though the two of them didn’t say much. Pashla seemed lost in her own thoughts while Kyra sat against a tree and scribbled diagrams on the
ground with a stick. She couldn’t stay still and got up frequently to pace.

“Something worries you,” said Pashla.

Kyra took a moment to choose her words. “People will die in these raids,” she said. “Both ours and theirs.”

“Is it really so bad a thing to die in battle?” said Pashla. “There’s a saying amongst our people: ‘It is better to die honorably and render yourself immortal than
live to old age and fade to dust.’”

“It in’t quite the same,” said Kyra. “You joined the fight because you think it’s worth fighting. But most of the soldiers in this war fight under orders. Some
might truly care for the cause, but others serve because it’s the best way to feed their families, and still others were conscripted. So many lives stand to be lost, and it’s all for
the ambitions of a few.” And there was more. It was becoming clear to Kyra that there would be no turning back from this. If she changed shape and fell on the caravan with the others, there
would be no Tristam this time to keep her in line. She would take pleasure in the slaughter. She would lose herself in the act of war, and the men in the caravan would die gruesome, painful
deaths.

Pashla laid a hand on her arm. “We have all agreed to follow you. If you’ve changed your mind about attacking the Edlan troops, then we don’t have to continue on with our
plans.”

It was tempting, but Kyra shook her head. “No, we continue with the plan. I don’t see any better way. I do love Forge, and if we hand it over to Willem, more people will be hurt in
the long run. More people will go hungry, or lack for medicine…”

Kyra stopped short when she realized that the words coming out of her mouth were not her own.
Did the fire take more than what the Palace would have taken eventually? Lives lost when folk
can’t buy medicine and food. Homes lost because the fatpurses forever grab for more.
James had been talking about his Demon Rider raid, the one that killed Bella. Kyra had confronted him
in a rage, unable to understand how he could have done something that took so many lives.
Oh, James, if you could see me now.
Here she was a few months later, in the forest among her
fellow Makvani, orchestrating an attack of her own and justifying it with his words.

Something crunched in the snow around her. Perhaps Kyra was becoming attuned to her kin, because she immediately knew that another Demon Rider had come. Still, it was Pashla who recognized the
newcomer first.

“Leyus,” she said, and bowed as he came out.

There was something about the clan leader. Wherever he went, he gave the impression that the territory belonged to him and everybody was there at his will. Kyra wondered what kind of greeting
she would have given him if she had been raised as his daughter. Was there a different bow?

“I will have a word with Kyra,” Leyus said.

“Of course,” Pashla said, and retreated.

In the past, being left alone with Leyus would have frightened Kyra, but knowing the truth made her bold. Kyra found that she no longer feared Leyus. Nor did she worry about losing his good
opinion. He’d already made it clear that she didn’t have it.

Leyus took his time before speaking, gazing down at her like a potter searching a vessel for flaws. “You’re planning to raid the army caravan tonight,” Leyus said.

“Aye,” she said. It was hard not to fidget under his scrutiny. What was Leyus doing here? “It seemed the best way to hurt the Edlan troops.”

He walked a slow arc in the snow in front of her, gazing into the forest beyond. “Had you been raised in a clan, as my heir, I would have trained you to lead your people into
battle.”

Your people.
What would it have been like to grow up as the daughter of a Makvani clan leader? She imagined herself hunting beside Pashla, learning to fight in preparation for her first
Challenge. Would she have been friends with Adele? Would she look upon humans as lower beings and despise that part of herself?

“But I wasn’t raised your heir, was I?” She’d grown up in the gutter, about as far from leading a desert village or a Makvani clan as she could get. “And I only
have eleven fighters to lead into battle.”

“Do you pity yourself, that I did not give you more help? A true leader would not rely on the charity of others.”

And here it was again, another reminder that she didn’t measure up. “And I suppose you’d rather have me kill all the Edlan soldiers with my bare hands,” Kyra said
bitterly. “Or was I supposed to have inspired more of your people to follow me?”

“I’d rather have you know yourself and your own strengths, and to act with purpose. That is the first lesson I would have taught you, had I raised you.” There was no
sentimentality in Leyus’s voice, just his direct and unflinching words. Anger stirred in Kyra’s chest. Would it kill him to express even some scrap of regard for her? Some minuscule
hint of happiness to have discovered the daughter he’d lost?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to learn your lessons,” she said. She kept her voice low and cold so it wouldn’t quaver. “But I will do my best with the things
I’ve learned in the life I’ve had. I must ask you to leave now, as we have many preparations to make.”

“To have command of eleven of your kin is no small thing. Use your power wisely.”

He left her then, and as soon as he was out of sight, Kyra took her frustrations out on a nearby tree, kicking and pummeling it with her fists. What she really wanted to do was scream, but she
retained at least the presence of mind to remain quiet. Her shoes were soft leather and the tree was sturdy, so all she managed to do was bruise her toes and send shooting pains up her elbow. At
some point during her tantrum, Pashla came to stand next to her and quietly watched until Kyra was still again.

“If this is what it’s like to have a father,” said Kyra under her breath, “I’d rather go back to being an orphan.”

“He does wish you to succeed, Kyra,” Pashla said. “He would not have come to speak to you if he did not care.”

Pashla’s voice was as calm and smooth as a healer’s balm, yet Kyra resisted her words. “If he wanted me to succeed, he could have given me more help. Instead, he lists my
failures and gives me useless advice.”

“To know your strengths and act with purpose is not useless advice,” Pashla said. So she’d been eavesdropping.

“I know my strengths, and they’re nothing like what I need to see this through. I’m a thief. I climb rooftops, I slip into windows, and I steal things.” Her voice got
louder as she spoke. “I’ve no idea how to lead fighters into battle, and with this coming raid, I feel like I’m running headlong toward the edge of a precipice.”

“Then perhaps our plan is the wrong one,” Pashla said.

Pashla’s words surprised her. Kyra supposed she’d expected the clanswoman to be in favor of a raid and nothing else.

“You think so?” Kyra asked. “But what else is there?”

“I don’t know. You are not like us.”

Well, that was one thing the two of them could agree upon. Kyra sank down into the snow and leaned back against a tree, paying no heed to the cold seeping into her trousers or the rough bark
pulling at her hair. She stayed like that for a long while, eyes closed, simply trying to hold on to what sanity she had left. Then she sat bolt upright.

“What is it?” asked Pashla.

“I have an idea,” said Kyra. It had come to her suddenly, but as soon as it came to mind, she knew it was the right one. It would be dangerous, but it was something she could attempt
with a clear conscience. Perhaps Flick was right. Whatever she was, whatever hidden pasts she discovered, in the end she would always be the thief girl that he met on the streets so long ago.

Kyra turned to Pashla. “Cancel the raid. I’ve a new plan.” Leyus would probably tell her that her decision was driven by fear of what she was, but it wasn’t fear that
motivated her this time. It was confidence—in what she was, and more importantly, in knowing what she wanted to be. “I’m going into the enemy camp,” she said. “And
I’m doing it in my skin.”

T H I R T Y

F
lick didn’t like the idea, of course. He never liked anything that placed Kyra in danger, and this would be far riskier than a caravan
raid.

“You know, you don’t always have to pick the most foolhardy way forward,” he told her.

“But if it works, it could end it all before it begins,” said Kyra.

The plan was simple. The easiest way to control an army was to control its leaders, and the leaders currently resided in a large tent at the center of Edlan’s encampment. If someone were
to, say, steal the leaders and turn them over to Forge, then Edlan’s army would have newfound motivation to retreat.

Of course, an army encampment was perhaps the very definition of “well guarded.” Kyra was fairly confident she could get in. She wasn’t nearly as confident that she could get
back out, but she had to try. They had so much to gain if she succeeded.

She risked a trip back into the city and relayed her plan to Tristam and Malikel. “If all goes well, I’ll deliver Willem to your gates tomorrow night. My Demon Riders will be waiting
outside the camp to guard my initial retreat, and I’ll need troops from Forge stationed by the city to guard the final stretch. If things do not go to plan…” She paused here and
avoided Tristam’s eyes. “All the Demon Riders with me are dedicated to this task. They can carry out raids on the Edlan supply caravans even if I can’t help them.”

“I will have a unit by the gates ready to come to your defense,” said Malikel.

“Thank you.” She finally looked at Tristam then. She could see the effort it took for him not to object to her plan, and his struggle tugged at her chest. Kyra swallowed and met his
gaze. “This is war. We do what we must.”

She left before her resolve could weaken further.

Kyra tried her best to get plenty of rest the next day, though her nerves didn’t allow her to sleep for very long. When she could no longer stay still, she paced the ground in front of her
cave. She’d just about churned the snow into mud when Adele and Pashla appeared.

“We will go with you tonight,” said Pashla.

Kyra’s initial reaction was to refuse. “I can’t in good conscience make you run a mission in your skin.”

“We have stake in this as well,” said Adele.

“You can’t subdue both Alvred and Willem by yourself,” said Pashla. “And your plan does work better with us in our skin.”

Once she gave up trying to dissuade them, Kyra had to admit that they were right.

They set out late that night, after the moon had set. Kyra had Pashla and Adele darken their clothes with mud to blend in. Then they walked silently to the forest edge, where they could see the
campfires of the Edlan army. Kyra looked back to check that the other two were still with her, then set off on a slow jog toward the camp. The women fell easily behind her—Kyra’s own
stealth, after all, was a legacy of their blood. But though the clanswomen were quiet, they still looked to her as they neared the edge of the encampment. As Kyra watched the guards go by, waiting
for an opening, she sensed that her companions couldn’t read the intention in a sentry’s footsteps or predict where he would look next. The clanswomen didn’t have Kyra’s
lifelong experience breaking into guarded places, but they watched her carefully, and Kyra led the way into the camp, trailed by two impossibly graceful shadows.

The ground of the camp was muddy and wet; all the snow had long been trampled away. The muck was slick in some places, while others times it sucked at their shoes. The three of them passed
campfires at regular intervals, all burning low. Kyra steered clear of the occasional groggy soldier who got up to feed the flames.

The center of command was a large tent near the physical center of the camp. Kyra could see its shadow looming in the dim moonlight. Little by little, from one patch of darkness to the next,
they made their way closer. There was a sentry at the tent flap standing next to one of the few torches around. Kyra motioned to Pashla. They approached him from opposite sides, skirting along the
edges of the tent until they stood just outside the light cast by the torch. Kyra could barely see Pashla’s form as the clanswoman bent down, picked a rock off the ground, and let it drop.
The sentry turned toward the sound, alert but not alarmed. Kyra ran while his back was turned and brought the hilt of her dagger down on the back of his head. He grunted, and Kyra snaked her arms
under his armpits as he crumpled to the ground. Adele rushed in to help drag the body out of the torchlight. The sentry had a partner, who circled around from the other side of the tent. When he
saw Kyra and Adele, he drew breath to shout but pitched forward before any sound left his mouth. Pashla bear-hugged him from behind and eased him to the ground.