Tristam spoke again. “And now you’re working for the very people you once thought to bring down.”
Kyra glanced sideways at him. “Are you doubting my loyalties now?”
He gave a faint smile. “Do I think you’ll do anything to harm the city? No. Nor would I hesitate to entrust you with my life. But I do wonder sometimes if you regret joining the Palace.”
Tristam owed her his life several times over, and she him. So she believed Tristam when he said he trusted her, and she took her time thinking his question over. When Kyra had been in the Assassins Guild, she’d feared that she was slowly becoming something she hated, that the horror of taking someone’s life would fade into normalcy. What about now? She was glad she no longer had to follow James’s orders, but was the Palace changing her in subtle ways as well?
“You do look lovely, you know.” Tristam’s words startled her out of her reverie. “I’m so used to seeing you in trousers.”
She knew instinctively that he’d changed the subject on purpose, to give her permission not to answer right away. Kyra was grateful. “I prefer trousers. Certainly can’t run anywhere in this dress,” she said. “But you don’t have to stand by the wall with me all night. Feel free to go charm the Edlan ladies.”
Tristam pantomimed taking a lady’s hand. “Good evening, fair lady. I’m Tristam, recently stripped of my rank. Would you like to dance?”
“They might find the idea of a disgraced knight romantic, if you frame it right.”
Tristam nodded slowly in mock consideration. “You might have a point. But I’m too tired for courtly conversation.” He paused. “Actually, the reaction to my disgrace has been much more complex than I expected. The richer and more influential families, the ones that used to view me as a promising match—they stay far away from me. But the slightly less respectable houses, their daughters seem to be paying me more attention. It’s as if they think an alliance with Brancel is now within reach.”
An alliance with Brancel. Kyra hadn’t meant to steer the conversation to Tristam’s marital prospects, and she regretted it now. Thankfully, a servant came by just then to offer them some lamb meatballs. Tristam took one, but Kyra declined.
“They’ll be at this all night,” said Tristam after the servants bore the tray away.
“What?”
He gestured toward the ballroom. Dancers twirled in pairs in front of the musicians, weaving patterns between and around each other that were hypnotizing to watch. “The dancers. It’s amazing how they can keep it up for so long. Hours and hours of this, with only champagne and delicately frosted cakes to fuel their exertions.”
“It all looks unnecessarily complicated,” said Kyra. “How does anyone remember all the steps?”
“I would have thought you’d like dancing.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re not exactly someone who trips over her feet.”
She turned her head to hide a smile. “I do like some dancing.” There had been a few dancing girls at The Drunken Dog. Kyra had never bothered to learn what they did, mostly because she hated how the tavern’s men leered at them. But once in a while on a festival day, someone would start up a circle dance in the dining room. Kyra had loved those. The steps were simple, and there was plenty of laughing and clapping and cheering. This Palace dancing was completely different though. The elegance of it intimidated Kyra, the feeling that everything had to be done exactly right.
“It looks complicated,” said Tristam. “But really, the patterns make sense after a while.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “This one, the valsa, you don’t even have to learn any patterns—the gentleman chooses the steps and guides the lady through it. They say a good leader should be able to teach his partner to dance without speaking.”
“Are you a good leader?” Kyra supposed Tristam must have been trained in these social graces at some point in his upbringing.
A smile touched his lips. “I’m decent.”
Before Kyra could react, Tristam moved toward her, ringing her waist with one hand and taking her hand in the other. Without warning, he lifted her onto her toes and pivoted them both around until they stood at the edge of the dance floor. Kyra was speechless for a moment, then, seeing the sparkle in his eye, punched him in the chest.
“I could have stabbed you for that.”
“Words, words, words. Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to catch you if you trip.”
Maybe it was the pure absurdity of the situation, but the misgivings that had been weighing Kyra down all night dissipated. Kyra laughed and let him guide her through the steps. He kept them on the edge of the ballroom, out of the crowds. This was a stately dance, with tambour and bells keeping the rhythm as a trio of cornets trumpeted a dignified melody. Though Tristam had downplayed the dance’s complexity, Kyra still found it a great challenge to keep up. It was only after the first few repetitions, after she started getting the hang of when she was to twirl and when she was to curtsy, that Kyra became more aware of his hand on her waist, the confident strength with which he led her. The frame of the dance was firm, and their bodies were separated by a good distance. But there was an energy between them, and Kyra wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be farther from him or closer.
“I must be making a mess of things,” she said.
“Not at all. You’re doing great.” He spoke calmly, his eyes intent on her face. In the strict confines of the dance, Kyra had no choice but to look back at him. Kyra found her mouth suddenly dry. It was hard sometimes to tell the difference between happiness and dread.
The dance floor was getting more crowded, and though Tristam kept them to the edges, more couples twirled around them. The occasional whiff of perfume wafted by, layered over the mustier backdrop of bodies in motion. Kyra stumbled just slightly when she noticed Tristam’s brother Henril looking at them, his brow furrowed. But it was the sight of Willem dancing nearby that brought her to a complete stop. He was partnered with an older Edlan noblewoman, well coiffed and tastefully adorned with a headdress of three peacock feathers, and he paused as well to address them.
“By all means, keep dancing,” said Willem. “It’s not often done to bring one’s mistress onto the dance floor, but given your situation, I’ll let it pass.” With that, Willem led his partner away.
Kyra stood rooted to the floor. She knew that the Councilman’s words shouldn’t bother her. Her opinion of him was as low as his opinion of her, but she still found herself flushing hot with shame.
“Kyra,” Tristam began.
She shouldn’t react to this. It was exactly what would bring Willem satisfaction. But then she noticed Willem’s mistress standing on the side, one delicate hand to her throat as she watched them with interest. And Kyra finally admitted to herself why the girl upset her so much. She was a living reminder of a future that could very well be Kyra’s, if she allowed things to continue with Tristam.
“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Kyra said. “This was a mistake.” She didn’t just mean the dance, and she could see that Tristam understood.
She ran for the ballroom door, and Tristam chased after her. “Kyra, wait. Talk to me, at least.”
Perhaps that was one thing to be thankful for. Now that Willem had laid it on the table, Kyra was finally able to say the words. She ducked into a side corridor, where the ballroom’s music faded enough to ease her frazzled mind. “Willem is right. I could never be more than a mistress to you.”
He drew back as if she’d slapped him. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Using you as a diversion to throw away?”
Kyra started to speak and then stopped. “No. I mean, I don’t think you’re like—” She’d almost mentioned Flick’s father, but that secret wasn’t Kyra’s to share. “But I know how things work. You’re the son of a noble house. You have your duties to your family, and they don’t involve anyone like me. Thing is, Willem doesn’t even know the whole truth. He thinks I’m just a commoner and a pardoned criminal. He doesn’t even know
”—she looked around, then lowered her voice—“the rest.” That she was a monster, bound by blood to the barbarians who were terrorizing their city.
Tristam opened his mouth again, and she knew from the set of his shoulders that he was going to argue.
“Please, Tristam,” she interrupted. “Just be honest with me. You were just talking about the lesser noble houses of Forge as if they were a step down from Brancel. I come from the gutter, Tristam. If an alliance with Brancel is a reach for them, how could you think anything possible between you and me?”
His shoulders fell at her words, and regret washed over his features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken so flippantly,” he said.
Kyra gave a sad smile. “Whether or not you spoke flippantly, you spoke the truth. We both know that.”
He fell silent. A few times, his mouth worked as if he were going to say something but decided against it. From the ballroom, a flute started trilling a quick tune over an accompaniment of viols. “So is this it, then? We’re just going to be comrades-in-arms?”
Kyra swallowed hard. Part of her had still hoped he would disagree. “It’s better to stop this now before anyone gets hurt, in’t it?”
He chuckled wryly and looked to the mirrored ceiling. “Of course. Before anyone gets hurt. Shall I escort you back to the ballroom?”
Kyra backed away. “No, I’ll leave now. Malikel’s got no more need for me this evening.”
Tristam studied her expression, his eyes scanning over her features like so many times before, but this time without his usual warmth. He bowed, his face the perfect mask of courtly politeness. “Have a pleasant evening.”
Kyra watched him return to the ballroom. Then she fled, walking as quickly as her dress would allow as the viols and flutes slowly faded into the distance.
F I V E
It took Idalee and Lettie about five seconds to realize that things at the Palace had gone poorly, and only a few more to understand that Kyra wouldn’t be talking about it. They asked questions, and when Kyra refused to answer, the questions changed into significant glances behind her back. This continued for a few days, but after a while, even Kyra had to admit she was being difficult. She couldn’t mope over Tristam forever.
She needed a distraction, and once again, the question of her origins came to mind. Now would be a good time to track down her past. Malikel was busy entertaining the foreign guests, and she had the leisure time to find Far Rangers who might know more about the Demon Riders.
Kyra had seen traders around before, though they were an insular bunch. There was a large market not far from the beggars’ sector, and it seemed as good a place as any to find one. So when Flick suggested the four of them visit the city’s gutter rats with a trip to the market afterward, Kyra agreed.
She should have suspected something when Idalee made a vague exclamation about a street juggler and pulled Lettie to walk ahead. But Kyra was too distracted by her own thoughts and thus was caught unawares when Flick cleared his throat.
“So,” he said. “We couldn’t help but notice you’ve been a mite morose lately.”
Kyra almost laughed at how easily they’d maneuvered her in. “They decided you’re the best person to get me talking?”
Flick flashed his most disarming smile. “I’m the most persuasive.”
Kyra kicked a pebble. It rolled forward a few paces and bounced off the skirts of a serving woman in front of her. “Sorry,” she mumbled when the woman shot a glare over her shoulder.
Flick tried again. “I’ve not seen Tristam around since the ball.”
Actually, Tristam’s absence was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t as if the nobleman came by all that often. But as much as she hated to admit it, Flick was right that this was about Tristam. She really was predictable. But then, so was Flick.
“It in’t what you think, Flick.”
“And what’s it that I think?”
She threw up her hands. “Tristam’s not thrown me aside. I’m not quietly mourning my broken heart.”
Both Flick and Kyra stopped to make way for a passing cart. He had the grace to look slightly sheepish as they continued. “You know me well, I’ll give you that. But I refuse to believe that there’s nothing wrong. You’ve been acting strange for days.”
Kyra glanced in the direction of the Palace. From this distance, she could see the Forge flag, a rearing horse on a red background. Flick was going to keep badgering her until she told him.
“I cut things off with Tristam. Or rather, I stopped anything before it started.” It was easiest to get the words out quickly.
“That’s…a surprise,” said Flick after a moment.
“So you’ve no need to worry,” said Kyra. “I know how the world works. I’m not a fool.”
“Are you all right?” asked Flick.
“I’ll be fine.” And she would be. After a few more days.
Flick stuffed his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve nothing to say against Tristam as far as wallhuggers go. It’s just that—”
“I know, Flick,” said Kyra. “Can we talk about something else?”
They were getting close to the beggars’ sector, and Flick fell silent. Much of this neighborhood had burned down in the recent fire, though some of Kyra’s old haunts had survived. The courtyard where Kyra had met Idalee and Lettie was untouched, the same dusty dirt square surrounded by run-down buildings, though it was crowded with more beggars since residents of the burned-out southwest quadrant had moved in. The entire area felt more dangerous these days, but Kyra still spied children climbing out of makeshift lean-tos, preparing themselves for a day of wandering the market. Idalee and Lettie were already talking with a street girl who’d been a friend of theirs.
It was a strange feeling, coming back these days. Kyra used to fret constantly over food and money—those worries had made up the bulk of her early existence. Now her material needs were no issue at all, thanks to the Palace. And though she had no desire to go back to the way things were, she couldn’t help feeling a bit of guilt.
One of the boys spotted Kyra and ran to her.
“Ho, Kyra. Ho, Flick.” Ollie was a few years older than Idalee and growing a little taller each time Kyra saw him. He’d been on the streets for years now, ever since his parents were thrown in prison for unpaid debts.
“Ollie, where’d you get that hat?” asked Kyra. It was a floppy, round style that Kyra often saw at the Palace, bright blue silk with a tassel hanging off the edge.
The boy grinned. “I found it.”
“Found it?” asked Flick, one eyebrow raised.
Ollie’s smile faded slightly.
“Nipped it off a fatpurse, did you?” Kyra asked.
Ollie shifted uncomfortably. “It was just in fun,” he said.
Kyra couldn’t believe the boy’s stupidity. “You know better than that,” she said. The lecture would have been more impressive if she’d been able to talk down at him, but Ollie was as tall as she was these days. “You want to nip something, you go for coin, food, or something you can sell. Fetching a useless trinket like that and parading it around will get you nothing but a beating.”
The boy avoided her eyes. A crowd of children had gathered to watch, and he glared at them, daring anyone to make a comment.
Ollie straightened. “I see your clothes are mighty nice these days, Kyra. How do you get them? By kissing the wallhuggers’ feet?”
There were a couple of gasps from around the circle, and Kyra herself drew back. She hadn’t expected that. Out of the corner of her eye, Kyra saw Idalee stop talking and glance in her direction.
“What did you say?” Kyra said.
“It’s what you’re good at now, in’t it?” said the boy. “Must be nice to eat off the Palace tables.”
She had an urge to box the boy’s ears. Except, again, he weighed more than she did, and his words rang a little too close to the truth. Flick squeezed her shoulder, the usual voic
e of restraint. She took a deep breath and told herself that the boy was just trying to salvage his pride. She stepped back from him and addressed the crowd.
“I brought coin this morning for folk who need it. If any of you want my help, you look me in the eye and you take the coin from my hand. If you don’t like what I do with the Palace, you’re free to stay back.” She opened her bag. “Anyone?”
It didn’t take them long to start coming. One by one, the children stepped around Ollie and took a copper from her. When almost all the children had received a coin, Kyra looked at Ollie again. He approached her grudgingly—not too proud to refuse money, though he’d stubbornly refused to take off his hat.
“Just be careful,” she said as she pressed a coin into his hand. He mumbled something and left.
Kyra rubbed the bridge of her nose as Idalee and Lettie rejoined them. Idalee folded her coin pouch with studied care, and Lettie looked back and forth at everyone’s faces, eyes wide.
“He didn’t mean what he said,” said Flick as they made their way to the market.
“Aye, he did,” said Kyra. To be honest, she should have expected it sooner. Kyra had noticed a change in the children the past few times she’d come. The newer ones especially, the ones who didn’t know her as well, looked upon her with suspicion. They took her money, but they kept their distance. It couldn’t be helped, she supposed. She was there passing out bags of Palace coin. And as far as they knew, everything from the Palace was suspect.
“Do they say the same things to you, Idalee?” she asked.
“A few, but it in’t so bad,” said Idalee. “I’m not always spending time with the wallhuggers like—” She stopped.
“It’s fine. You can say it. I’m the only one who spends all my time with wallhuggers,” said Kyra. Ollie’s comment still rankled. “Everybody thinks that’s a problem. Either I’ve sold my self-respect for money, or I’m a love-struck victim waiting to be chewed up and spat out. Does everyone really think that badly of my judgment?”
Flick winced at her words. “It’s not a matter of judgment, Kyra,” he said. “My ma was a woman of good judgment.” He broke off abruptly. “Sorry. We’re done with that topic now. I promise.” Flick squeezed her shoulder apologetically. “I’m going to go track down a locksmith for some tools. Good luck with your traders.” He disappeared into the crowd.
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