Kyra didn’t know exactly where she was, but the city was roughly to the west, and hopefully she would be able to find a road along the way. She pointed herself away from the morning sun. The forest was changing for winter. She was surrounded by yellow-orange leaves, and some trees already sported naked branches. Her nerves carried her the first quarter hour, but then doubts began to surface. The Makvani, however dangerous they were, were the only link to her past. She still had so many questions and so much to learn. Would she ever get another chance? And once she got to Forge, what would she tell them about her time in the forest? Could she betray the Makvani, betray Pashla, after they had saved her life?
“Kyra, what are you doing?” Kyra jumped as Pashla stepped out through the trees. Had the clanswoman been at the gathering? Perhaps the Makvani were watching her more closely than she’d thought. Kyra forced herself to relax and smile, even as she took a frantic inventory of how she looked. She only had a little fruit on her, an amount that was more suitable for a short walk than for a multiple-day journey to the city. The blanket was more suspect, but she had it thrown around her shoulders like a cloak.
“I was feeling strong and decided to go for a walk, although I might have been too optimistic.” She put a hand to her bandaged middle.
Pashla’s face instantly clouded over with concern. “Are you unwell? I can help you back.”
“That would be good.” And it wasn’t even a lie. Her wound was throbbing and her limbs were weak. Even with Pashla’s help, she was exhausted by the time she made it back to the shelter. She’d been a fool to think she could make it all the way back by herself. She would give herself another week to heal. It should still be enough time, she hoped.
Yet as Kyra collapsed and drifted off into sleep, reflecting over her failure to escape, she had to admit that part of her felt relieved.
It wasn’t that Kyra’s senses got sharper. It was more that she finally learned to use them. Pashla taught her to be aware of every detail—the faint scent of a crushed leaf, a telltale snap of a twig, the scratch of tiny claws. But it was more than just paying attention. As a thief, Kyra was used to being alert, ready to hide at the smallest sign of a guard. Now she learned to approach the world as predator, not prey. Rather than reacting, she searched, and the world came to her in more vivid detail than she’d ever thought possible.
She looked forward to her walks with Pashla and the kittens. Every day was a new challenge and a chance to learn. Kyra stopped Pashla during one early morning walk, raising her finger in warning as she sampled the wind. The scent was familiar; Pashla had pointed it out to her just a couple of days ago.
“Geese somewhere close,” she told Pashla. “Probably flying through for the winter.”
“Very good,” Pashla said.
Kyra allowed herself a small smile as she shifted her attention to the ground before her. Leaves covered the dirt, decorating the forest floor with red-and-yellow piles that shifted in the wind. It all looked normal—except for one mound of leaves that moved too much. Kyra froze in her steps and pointed. Pashla nodded slightly and gestured to Libena, who was also staring at the pile. At Pashla’s signal, Libena approached and waited, one paw off the ground. Kyra saw the rabbit dart out just as Libena attacked. The kitten’s teeth closed around the rabbit’s neck.
Pashla said something in their language, which Kyra understood to be praise and a suggestion that they take a break. They settled on the ground, and Pashla handed Kyra a plum. It was a welcome change from the steady diet of raw meat, and Kyra ate slowly, savoring the sweet juices as she watched the kittens tear into their catch.
“Tell me,” Pashla asked Kyra, “do the humans really not suspect our shape-shifting?”
Talk of humans made her uneasy, reminding her that she was running out of time. “There are stories. Rumors of shape-shifters beyond the Aerins that some people believe, but no one has suspected it of you yet. At least, I haven’t heard anything.”
Pashla nodded thoughtfully. “We are most vulnerable when we change, so we don’t do it in front of our enemies. The humans always find out eventually, but it is easier when they think the cats are mere beasts.”
“Does James know?”
“James is an interesting one. If he fears us, he doesn’t show it, but I don’t think he has guessed yet. He approached us soon after we came to these forests. Back then, we were raiding farms in the countryside and the occasional trade caravan, but he wanted us to come closer to the city. He offered us supplies and access to trade schedules if we’d help him. It works to our advantage. The armor he traded us has been very helpful.”
The detachment with which Pashla spoke about the city raids was unsettling. “Why do you fight the humans?”
Pashla gave her a curious look. “You think like them.”
It was the same response she had gotten from Adele and Mela—not flat-out disagreement, but puzzlement, as if the idea were so bizarre that it didn’t even brook consideration. Kyra waited for Pashla to explain, but she didn’t.
“Pashla,” Kyra finally said, “you never told me why the clan came here in the first place. Why are you wandering?”
“It’s a long story, going back to when I was very young. Our people lived on the western side of the Aerin Mountains, in lush forests with good hunting. About twenty years ago, there was a war with a human clan. They poisoned our land and forced us to leave. At first, we stayed on the western side of the Aerins, in the unsullied parts, but there was not enough space. Our own clans started fighting each other. Leyus was young compared to the other clan leaders, so he led us across the mountains in search of better forests.”
“What you mean, ‘poisoned the land’?”
“That is a story better told by others, after you become more settled with the clan.”
Another question nagged at Kyra. “If all the Makvani are from across the mountains, how did I get here?”
Pashla chewed her fruit thoughtfully. “It’s a mystery. You must have come from the west somehow. None of the Makvani tribes came here before us, and we have not been here two years.”
“But all I remember is Forge. How could I have traveled so far if I was too young to remember?”
“The only humans who travel such long distances are the Far Rangers. Perhaps you could find them after you heal. Traders have long memories.”
“Do you know the traders?”
Pashla shook her head. “No. We do not deal with them. Though before we started roaming, we traded in humans.”
“Traded in humans?”
Pashla gave Kyra a sidelong glance. “Humans are funny creatures. They think nothing of raising and keeping horses or dogs, but they complain when others do the same to them.”
The plum juice suddenly tasted sour in Kyra’s mouth. “You were slavers,” she said.
“As were the humans who bought our goods. Does this bother you?”
Kyra gripped the leftover plum pit. The edge dug into her palm. “Slavery is a harsh fate.”
“The world is not an easy place, Kyra. We all do what we must. If you have any doubts, do not speak of them to the others. It would not reflect well on you.” Pashla stood, dusting herself off. “How are your injuries? If I hunt, can you keep up with me?”
It was a purposeful change of subject. “I can’t sprint,” said Kyra, “but I can follow you.”
“Are the geese still there?” Pashla asked.
“Aye,” Kyra said after a pause.
“Well done. I’ll go after one now. Try to keep up.”
Pashla handed Kyra her clothes and her pouch before changing shape. Once in cat form, she started upwind toward the geese. Kyra tucked Pashla’s things under her arm and gathered the kittens to follow, but then Pashla stopped and turned around, running back toward Kyra and then past her, speeding up as she went. Despite Kyra’s best efforts to keep up, Pashla disappeared into the forest, only to reappear a few moments later as she scaled a particularly tall tree. In a flash, she jumped from that tree
to another, then another, before she dove toward the ground.
Kyra heard a scream—a man’s scream—and sped up, weaving through the trees as quickly as her healing body would allow. She heard a scuffle, growling, and more screams. Kyra burst through the foliage to see Pashla, still in cat form, dragging a man by the arm through the dirt. Next to them, another man lay on the ground, bleeding from a head wound. She couldn’t see his face, but he looked to be a guard from the Palace. Kyra stood there, frozen in indecision, until another movement distracted her. The first man, the one whose arm was still between Pashla’s teeth, raised his head and looked directly at her.
It was Tristam.
T H I R T Y - F I V E
Kyra! For a moment, the elation of recognition cleared Tristam’s head of pain. But then, they locked eyes. Horror flashed across her face, and then panic. It was unmistakably her. But why was she healthy? And free?
The demon cat tightened its jaws, and once again Tristam couldn’t think about anything except the pain. He heard Kyra shouting in the background. The forest was overrun by a chorus of snarls and snapping branches. Another demon cat landed in a shower of leaves. Martin moaned.
No, not Martin. Tristam gritted his teeth and twisted his head. His companion was covered in blood. More demon cats arrived, followed by their Riders. Suddenly, the cat released his arm, and Tristam fell face-first onto the dirt. There was a shadow as the cat stepped over him and walked into the trees.
“Did you see this?” a man asked.
Tristam spat sand out of his mouth.
“No.” Kyra was speaking to them as peers, not as a prisoner. “I only caught up to Pashla after it happened.”
Another woman spoke. “They were sneaking around. I took them by surprise.” Tristam raised his head. It was the Demon Rider woman who’d killed Jack. Raw hatred ran through him.
“Was there anyone else with them?” asked the man.
“I don’t think so, Leyus,” the woman answered. “But James is after this one.” The woman jerked her thumb toward Tristam. “He’s the same knight I caught spying last time. You will recognize him from James’s portraits.”
“You’re right,” said Leyus. “Kyra, did James ever speak of him?” Leyus asked.
“James never told us much of anything,”
What now? Was Kyra still working for James? He struggled to think of another explanation, any explanation, of what he was hearing.
The one called Leyus turned his attention to Tristam.
“What were you doing in the forest?”
Tristam raised himself onto one elbow and lifted his face toward the Demon Riders. “Regular patrols.” Dust from the ground coated his throat and made his voice hoarse.
“You are not in a position to lie to me, knight.”
A cat swiped at Tristam with its paw, knocking him sideways and ripping a trail in his tunic. The blow knocked the breath out of him, and he couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to.
“How is the other one?” asked Leyus.
Tristam saw some movement from Martin’s direction. He clenched his fists as Martin first groaned and then screamed.
“Useless.” Leyus’s voice dripped with disgust. “Are there others out there?”
Tristam stared stone-faced at the ground and steeled himself for another blow. None came.
“So James is looking for the knight?” said Leyus. “What about the Red Shield?”
“We have no use for him,” said Pashla.
“What are you going to do with them?” Kyra asked. Her voice was high-pitched, bordering on hysteria.
“That is not your concern. Leave us,” the man said. Tristam looked up to see someone pull Kyra out of sight.
“Deal with the Red Shield.”
Almost before Leyus finished speaking, a cat grabbed Martin by the arm and dragged him toward the trees. Tristam felt the blood drain from his face as Martin’s screams grew worse. The cries echoed through Tristam’s head, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It was a horrible relief when Martin finally quieted.
“Take the knight and watch him,” said Leyus, looking this time at Tristam. “We will hand him over to James when he comes.”
Martin’s screams were impossible to ignore. Kyra longed to clamp her hands over her ears, but Pashla gripped her arm in an unforgiving hold. Then his screams stopped, and Kyra went limp, unable to face what had happened.
“Will you kill Tristam, too?”
“That is Leyus’s decision,” said Pashla. She pulled Kyra farther away from the crowd.
“You can’t,” Kyra said.
“Why? What is he to you?”
Kyra wrested her arm away and pivoted to run. She made it five steps before Pashla tackled her to the ground. Kyra kicked and struggled, yelling incoherent insults, but the clanswoman was more than her match.
“Kyra, listen to me.”
Kyra made a few more halfhearted attempts before she succumbed to exhaustion.
“I know this is hard, Kyra. You grew up with humans,” said Pashla, “but you have to let it go. Sometimes, a few humans have to be sacrificed for the good of the clan.”
Kyra choked and spit. “How can you just say that?”
“Think about it, Kyra. There is always some sacrifice. What about the meat we eat every day? The animals had to sacrifice their lives. This is no different.”
“You keep talking about humans as if they were something else,” said Kyra. “But I’m half human. Have you forgotten that?”
There was a long pause.
“Yes, I have,” Pashla said quietly. “And you need to as well. For better or worse, you are with the clan now, Kyra, and you must live under its laws. Consider your human self dead by James’s hand. If you want a second chance at life, you have to take it as a daughter of the Makvani.”
T H I R T Y - S I X
Tristam struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. Don’t think about Martin. You’re a knight, Tristam. Act like one.
They searched him for weapons and confiscated the knife in his boot. Leyus dragged him up by his collar and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Look at me.” The Demon Rider shook Tristam until he raised his head. “James wants you alive. This will be easier for both of us if you do not struggle.”
A Demon Rider tore off Tristam’s tunic. They bandaged his shoulder wound, bound Tristam’s hands in front of him, and pushed him against a tree. Rough bark dug into his back as Leyus tied him to the trunk, then walked in a slow circle to inspect his knots. A few times, he pulled the bindings tighter, and Tristam gritted his teeth as the ropes dug into his arms.
“Rest well, knight,” Leyus said.
Leaving one cat to guard him, the Demon Riders retreated into the forest. Tristam waited until he was sure they were gone. Then he slumped against his ropes, closing his eyes as a wave of grief washed over him. For a long time, he stood there, fighting despair. Martin was dead, and he was captured—all for a girl, who for all appearances didn’t need rescuing. The image of her, uninjured and unbound amongst the Demon Riders, flashed again through his mind. What an idiot he’d been.
Around him, the forest was empty, with no sign of the Demon Riders except for the one cat that guarded him. There was something about the beast that made Tristam’s hair stand on end. The cat watched him through intelligent eyes, and when it circled Tristam, he swore it was examining the rope for weaknesses. It was more than a well-trained pet.
Midway through the night, a Demon Rider brought him raw meat and allowed him to relieve himself before tying him up again. Tristam only managed to choke down a single piece of meat, but it didn’t take him long to realize he should have forced himself to eat more. By morning, his throat was parched and his stomach ached with hunger. He pulled against his ropes in the vain hope that they had loosened during the night, but they didn’t budge. All the while, his feline guard watched his efforts through half-closed eyes.
The sun climbed overhead, passing the halfway mark and sucking any
remaining moisture from his skin. Some time in midafternoon, his guard suddenly sprang to its feet, staring into the forest at a shape that took Tristam longer to make out.
It was Kyra.
She approached slowly, with a bag in one hand and a flask in the other. She was dressed in the same leather tunic the other Demon Riders had worn. Her cheeks were flushed from the crisp breeze, and she maintained an aura of forced calm. The cat growled in warning and blocked her way.
“I’m bringing water and food. Leyus wants me to talk to him,” she said, addressing the cat as if it were a man. It didn’t budge.
“I won’t untie him.”
The cat moved aside, still watching her movements carefully. It made Tristam uneasy, how human these cats were.
“Are you thirsty?” Kyra asked.
He nodded, mouth too dry to speak.
She lifted the flask halfway. “I’m going to have to feed you.”
Her obvious discomfort wasn’t a good sign. If she had been scared or defeated, he might have held out some hope of a misunderstanding. But instead, she looked ashamed.
She lifted the flask to his lips and slowly let it pour into his mouth. It was easily the most refreshing drink he’d had in his life. For a moment, he was grateful despite her betrayal. When he’d had enough, Kyra put the flask down.
“The meat’s hard to get used to,” she said quietly. “I brought some berries.”
“You’re in better shape than I expected.” He made no effort to mask the bitterness in his voice.
Her eyes flickered briefly to his before she busied herself with sorting the berries. “A lot has happened,” she said.
“Is that all you’re going to tell me?” He struggled to control his anger. “The last I heard, you were being carried into the forest by Demon Riders.”
“Why did you come this far in?” she asked.
“To rescue you. Martin and I have been coming out here against Palace orders.”
Midnight Thief Page 25
