Daughter of Dusk

by Blackburne, Livia

  Lettie had climbed up onto one of the chairs. “A fatpurse pushed me in the market,” she said, cringing at Idalee’s warning glance. “Idalee yelled at him, and he knocked the basket out of her hand.”

  Kyra looked to Flick in alarm. His mouth tightened in a grim line, and he shook his head. Idalee had always been fiercely protective of her sister.

  “Lettie, did the fatpurse hurt you?” said Flick. He used the low, steady tone he always did when trying to stay calm.

  Lettie shook her head, and Flick looked her up and down, silently verifying her answer. Then he leaned against the fireplace mantel so Idalee would have to look at him, even if it was only out of the corner of her eye. “You’re lucky it was only the bread that came to harm,” he said.

  Idalee put down one clean loaf and picked up the next. “It in’t fair,” she said to the bread.

  Of course it wasn’t fair. Kyra’s own pulse was rising at the thought of any wallhuggers laying hands on either Idalee or Lettie. But acknowledging the injustice wouldn’t keep Idalee safe the next time some nobleman offended her. “Idalee, you can’t go testing your luck with the wallhuggers,” she said. “If they do something you don’t like, you walk away. They’re dangerous and unpredictable.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when Kyra remembered that Tristam was standing quietly at the edge of the room. She shot a mortified glance in his direction. “I mean, not all—”

  “No offense taken,” Tristam said before she could finish. He pushed away from the wall, his gaze keen. “Idalee, do you know the name of the man who pushed Lettie?”

  Idalee finally stopped attacking the bread, and her eyes were slightly hopeful when she raised them to Tristam. “No. Could you do something, if I did?”

  “There are no laws against pushing, I’m afraid,” he said gently. “But I would have liked to know.” He glanced out the window. “It’s about time we go. Kyra, are you ready?”

  “Almost.” Kyra ran back to her trunk and finally fished out her daggers. “Everything all right over here?” she asked as she tucked them into her boots.

  “We’ll be fine,” said Flick.

  She supposed they would have to be. “Take care, then,” she said, and followed Tristam out the door.

  Forge was laid out in rough concentric circles with the Palace at its center. The nobility lived in the ring just outside the Palace wall, hence their nickname “wallhuggers.” Wealthy merchants, including Kyra’s new landlady, lived in the ring outside that. As Kyra and Tristam set out from her quarters, they headed farther away from the Palace, toward the beggars’ circle.

  Kyra tried again to apologize for her comment about dangerous wallhuggers, but Tristam waved her words aside.

  “It just means that you’re comfortable enough around me to speak freely. I’m glad of it.”

  He’d thrown a cloak over his livery to disguise his affiliation with the Palace, and the two of them strolled down the street like any other couple. A silk vendor waved a gold scarf to get Kyra’s attention. “It will bring out the warm tones of your skin, lovely lady.” When she ignored him, the silk vendor turned his efforts to Tristam. “Young Lord, get your lady a scarf to match her beauty.”

  Kyra chuckled. The merchant’s honeyed words would have been more convincing if he hadn’t said the same thing to every other person walking down the street.

  The silk merchant’s voice echoed after them. “You’re a feisty pair of young lovers. I can tell that you adore each other.”

  Kyra’s laugh trailed off, and she took an involuntary glance at Tristam. The street vendor’s words rattled in her mind. Feisty? She supposed she’d been called that before. Young? That was certainly true. But lovers?

  Six weeks ago, after they’d been released by the Makvani, the two of them had shared a kiss. It didn’t take much effort at all to conjure the memory of his arms around her that night, or the tingle on her skin as they’d leaned their faces close. But that had been one moment in the forest, when they didn’t know what the future held. Now they were back in the city, and things felt less clear. Tristam was the son of a noble house, and she was a pardoned criminal. How could a stolen kiss in the forest stand against that? After weeks of working together under Malikel, they were comfortable with each other, even flirted on occasion. But things remained…uncertain.

  As they continued walking, the lively trappings of the merchant circle gave way to the blackened walls of the fire-burned district, the part of the city that had been destroyed in the Demon Rider raid orchestrated by James. The streets were lined with charred frames. A few of the ruins had been torn down, and some of the poor had set up tents and lean-tos in the burnt-out buildings. The air still smelled faintly of charcoal, and though the ash was gone, Kyra couldn’t shake the impression that breathing too deeply would clog her nose with blackened dust.

  “It doesn’t look much different from before, does it?” said Kyra. “There’s been some rebuilding near the merchant sector, but not down here.”

  “The landlords are likely waiting for the city to clean it up,” said Tristam. “The first person to rebuild has to also clean the wells and unclog the gutters. Nobody wants to do that.”

  “It would only take a crew of Red Shields a couple weeks to clean everything,” said Kyra.

  “That sounds about right,” said Tristam. Neither mentioned the obvious, that the Council hadn’t seen fit to use its soldiers this way.

  Their path didn’t take them directly by the ruins of The Drunken Dog, for which Kyra was grateful. Her friend Bella, who had been like a mother to her, had died after the fire overtook the tavern, and Kyra didn’t want to dwell on the loss today. She sped up her steps as they neared the vicinity of her old home and didn’t stop until it was far behind her. Tristam kept pace with her and didn’t comment.

  Finally, they came to a place where the houses stood intact, though they were still marked by smoke. The beggars along the street became more numerous, and soon Kyra and Tristam neared a corner where she recognized other Palace men. All of them, like Tristam, wore plain cloaks to hide their Palace livery. In addition to Kyra and Tristam, there were three Red Shields and Sir Rollan, a knight new to Malikel’s command. He’d been transferred after Malikel dismissed another knight for taking bribes while on gate duty. The Defense Minister was one of the few who actually enforced honesty in his men—most other commanders simply overlooked such infractions.

  Rollan nodded a greeting as they approached. He was a big man with messy yellow hair, about ten years older than Tristam. “That’s all of us. Kyra, give us an update.”

  The men gathered around. “Ashley’s a low-ranking member of the Guild,” said Kyra. “If he keeps his patterns from earlier this week, he should be home. He’s a good fighter, so be careful.”

  It had taken Kyra considerable time to track him down. After the Palace pardoned Kyra’s crimes, she’d agreed to help Malikel track down the rest of the Guild and bring them to justice. The first assassin, a taciturn man named Jason, had been easy to capture. But as word of Jason’s imprisonment had spread, the rest of the Guild went underground. Kyra found nothing for weeks, until finally she’d run across rumors of Ashley hiding in an old house in the beggars’ sector.

  “Kyra, scout the house,” said Rollan. “Brancel, go help her.”

  Kyra kept her head low as she and Tristam set off down the street. The streets here were narrow and dirty, with the upper stories hanging over the lower ones and blocking the light. She could sense the handful of loiterers and beggars on the street giving them suspicious looks. The Palace folk stood out here despite their efforts to blend in. Their clothes were too nice, and they carried themselves too straight. Well, it was too late to do anything about that. She quickened her steps and turned into an empty alleyway.

  “You’ll be climbing up here?” Tristam asked quietly.

  Kyra nodded, pleased that Tristam knew her habits well enough to anticipate her movements. “Give me a boost?”

  He c
hecked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then joined his hands to form a step for her.

  She pushed off him and pulled herself over the edge of the roof. The old wooden shingles felt as if they’d come apart if she bent them hard enough, and she was glad she had gloves to protect her from splinters. “Thank you. You’re a decent stepladder.”

  “You know,” came his voice from below, “in some circles I’m known for my combat skills and quick strategic mind.”

  “And here I thought it was your pretty face,” she said under her breath.

  Kyra looked down from the roof to find Tristam’s mouth quirked in a mischievous smile. “You think so?”

  Their gazes met for a moment, and the flutter in Kyra’s stomach was not at all convenient for running a mission. She scowled and traced the line of the rooftop with her gaze. “I’m off, then.”

  This entire street was lined with cheaply constructed boarding-houses, favored by landlords who often rented out each room to a different family. Kyra had to use a soft step and watch her way carefully so she wouldn’t tread on any rotten tiles. There was far more creaking and shifting underneath her feet than she would have liked.

  The assassin, Ashley, lived in an attic apartment. These rooms had windows that protruded out of the roof under slanted eaves, and Kyra counted them as she climbed over each one, finally stopping at the fifth. Though the shutters were closed, there was a thin gap where they met. When Kyra put her eye to the crack, she could make out a man sitting on the floor, doing some work with his hands. She had only seen Ashley once or twice during her time at the Guild, but it was definitely him.

  Her target found, Kyra crept to the very edge of the roof. About ten people walked the streets below. Though they all could have seen Kyra easily in the afternoon sun, Tristam was the only one looking up. His eyes met hers, and then he walked casually away.

  Her message delivered, Kyra went back to the window and waited, straining her ears for any sound from within—hard to do because the street noise below was louder. She thought she heard a faint knock—not loud enough to be someone at Ashley’s door, though it could have been Rollan’s men knocking on the building’s main entrance. She risked another peek inside and saw Ashley pause in his work and inch his way toward the door. He held a dagger in his hand. Kyra drew her own blade but stayed put. Her orders were to wait by this window in case he tried to escape.

  The door to Ashley’s room crashed open and Rollan’s men rushed in. The clashing of blades scraped Kyra’s ears. A man screamed in pain, and Ashley pushed past the Red Shields out the door as Rollan yelled a command to follow him. Kyra squinted through the crack, trying to see who’d been hurt, but there was too much going on. She jostled the latch. When it wouldn’t budge, she stepped back and aimed a kick at the window. The flimsy shutters gave way, and she swung herself into the room.

  It was empty. The door was flung open. A Red Shield named Daly sat in the corridor outside while his comrade, a skinny young Red Shield named Fitz, bound a bandage around his thigh. Judging from the amount of blood, the wound looked deep.

  “He needs a healer,” said Fitz as Kyra came closer. Kyra crouched next to them, relieved that the injured man hadn’t been Tristam, then feeling guilty for thinking it. Together, she and Fitz helped Daly to his feet. They had just started hobbling toward the staircase when Tristam and Rollan came running back up.

  Rollan shook his head when Kyra caught his eye. “Gone. He went out a trapdoor.”

  Kyra sagged under Daly’s weight. All that time tracking the assassin down, and he was out of reach again.

  Rollan’s brows knitted together as he took in Daly’s condition, and he motioned for Tristam to take Kyra’s place. “Back to the Palace. Everyone.”

  Rollan made the decision to continue hiding their livery as they helped Daly back to the Palace. There was no need to broadcast weakness on the Palace’s part. The party did get its share of curious looks as it marched, but nobody stopped the group, and nobody asked any questions. Rollan dismissed Kyra when they reached the Palace gate.

  “We’ll have to consult with Malikel about the next step,” the knight said. “But he’ll be busy entertaining the Edlan and Parna delegations for the next week. He may not be ready to deal with the Guild until after they’re gone.”

  As the others entered the Palace, Kyra gratefully headed back home. Idalee was probably cooking dinner by now, and Kyra wanted to be in a place where she didn’t have to hide her frustration. The merchant sector was starting to empty out for the evening. A wide avenue lined with shops had only a handful of people walking through. Kyra had just turned down a smaller street toward home when a wire looped around her neck.

  A garrote.

  Kyra almost didn’t react in time. Another moment of hesitation, and the noose would have closed. As it was, she fell back into her attacker and managed to snake her arm between the wire and her neck so the metal dug into the wool of her tunic instead of the exposed skin of her throat. She ducked and grabbed the knife from her boot with her free hand, twisting around so her blade touched her opponent’s stomach just as his grazed her throat.

  Bacchus, James’s second in command, wore a frightening grin as their eyes met. His wire was still tight around her arm, and his knife held steady at her neck. But he didn’t press his attack.

  “You’ve gotten quicker,” he said. There was no trace of fear in his expression. Now that James was imprisoned, he was probably the highest-ranking man in the Assassins Guild. Kyra wondered what the Guild had been doing under his leadership.

  “Put your blade away, Bacchus. It’d be a pity if we both died tonight,” said Kyra. While Bacchus looked calm enough to have been taking an evening walk, every muscle in Kyra’s body was taut. Her arm was going numb.

  He snorted. “Why don’t you withdraw yours?”

  “Because my word means something, and yours doesn’t,” she said through gritted teeth. What would happen if she changed shape now? It had worked with James, but Bacchus could just as easily stab her while she was distracted.

  To her surprise, Bacchus laughed and stepped back. He loosened his grip on her arm, and she flung the garrote to the ground. Kyra kept a firm grip on her blade and scanned the street around her. The few people who had been around before had all fled.

  “If you’re trying to scare me into stopping my work with the Palace, it won’t work.”

  Bacchus spat on the ground. “You snagged one of our lowest-ranking men and failed at snagging another. I in’t losing any sleep.” Kyra couldn’t tell if he was bluffing. “I didn’t come to kill you,” he added. “I bring a message.” Kyra eyed the garrote on the ground, and he shrugged. “James said to leave you alive. He didn’t say how alive.”

  James? Kyra couldn’t help looking around. “Where is he?”

  “Where you left him,” he said. “But he’s got a message for you.”

  “How did he get word to you if he’s still in the dungeon?”

  The assassin gave Kyra a look that conveyed just how stupid it was for Kyra to expect an answer to that question.

  “He tells you to think carefully about what you’re doing against the Guild. You think you’re helping the city by cooperating with the Palace, but the wallhuggers aren’t your friends. They never will be.”

  The last time Kyra and James had talked at length, he’d warned her that the Palace would betray her. Was he still trying to sway her to his side? Was he confident enough of her capitulation that he would show his hand like this?

  “And James claims to be my friend?” she asked.

  Bacchus’s eyes glittered over his ebony beard. “Trust me, lass. He doesn’t want you for a friend. But he wants you to go talk to him when you finally see clearly.”

  “I’ve no interest in seeing him,” said Kyra. “He’s in the dungeon, where he belongs. I won’t fall prey to his schemes again.”

  Bacchus didn’t seem surprised by her answer. He spun his blade in his hand and contemplated her
thoughtfully. “You still living with the two girls?”

  Idalee and Lettie. If he wasn’t threatening them outright, he was smugly reminding her of the time James had blackmailed Kyra by threatening her friends. Hot rage ran through her. “I swear, Bacchus,” she said. “If you ever so much as hint a threat toward my family again, I will kill James and track you down. You can’t keep me out of your hideaways if I want to get to you.” It was surprising how easily those words came out.

  He laughed at that. “You’ve changed, lass, and I see I touched a sore spot. Don’t worry. Your friends are safe for now. James’s message is simply a request. The rest is up to you.” He looked her over. “You don’t look like one of them demon beasts.”

  Kyra went cold. James had told Bacchus. Why hadn’t he told the Palace?

  “Get away from me,” Kyra said.

  Bacchus gave a mocking bow and walked away.

  T H R E E

  Tristam let out a groan as he eased the helmet off his head. At least it wasn’t summer, when the leather trapped the sun’s heat in a miasma of oil and sweat. But even in the winter, he hated how the helmet pinched his temples. The icy breeze blew through his damp hair as he stood outside the guard armory after his morning shift, standing in line behind his fellow Red Shields to hang up his gear. Each Red Shield had his own armor and basic uniform, but the overcoat that marked on-duty guards was shared, as were the ceremonial shields and helmet covers.

  “I could use a flagon right now,” said a man from inside.

  “Aye, me too,” said another. “Though I’ve a craving for a good fine wine. My cousin gifted me a bottle last fall, and I still taste it in my dreams.”

  “You’re turning into a right proper fatpurse.” The man raised his voice in a snooty imitation of the other. “‘I’d prefer me a fine wine.’” He cut off abruptly amidst muttered warnings to hush, and a few men in front of Tristam looked nervously in his direction. He ignored their stares and entered to put away his own equipment.

  “Good day, all,” he said after he finished, and left. The room remained silent behind him as he walked out the door.