Daughter of Dusk

by Blackburne, Livia

  Kyra stood in a dark and mercifully empty entryway. A stone corridor stretched out ahead, with solid wooden doors lining each side. The first floor consisted of interrogation cells and a few holding cells. Though there were no guards in her immediate line of sight, she could hear boots echoing not far away. She hurried for the stairway down.

  As Kyra moved into the lower levels, the smell of mold and human waste became stronger, and the silence was broken by the occasional shout or moan. Progress was slow. Several times, she had to dive into a niche or perch atop a doorframe to evade a passing Red Shield. But she did work her way little by little until she stood in front of James’s cell. She doubted that he would be unbound, but she readied her dagger just in case. Her key worked on the first try.

  Her first glimpse of James knocked her back several steps. Kyra had expected to hate him. She’d steeled herself for memories of Bella and of her own near death at his hands. Those images did come back, but she also saw James as he was now, and it left her speechless.

  He was shackled to the wall by short chains that connected to rings around his wrists. He wore the same tunic and trousers that he had been captured in, though now they were soiled and torn. James’s face was covered with bruises and cuts, as was what exposed skin Kyra could see. His white-blond hair was matted with what looked like blood.

  He hung from his chains with his face cast down, and at first Kyra thought he was asleep. But then he slowly raised his head. His eyes were still the same cold, clear blue as they had always been.

  “I wondered when you’d come,” he said.

  She had nothing to say. James watched her, and there was a hint of an amused smile on his lips. “Surprised at the sight of me? The Council spares no expense in welcoming its guests.”

  Kyra didn’t know why the marks of torture on James affected her so much. She had certainly known what the Palace did to criminals, though her own treatment while imprisoned had been nothing compared to this. Was it because she had cooperated early on? Or was it because the knights of Forge still held too much to their chivalrous notions to torture a young woman?

  Kyra took a few steps closer to James, though not within his reach. He was still a dangerous man, and she had the scars to prove it. But she wanted a better look at him. Now that she had gotten over the shock of his appearance, she could see that James’s imprisonment hadn’t taken the glint of intelligence out of his eyes—nor had it broken him, she suspected. Kyra felt her old wariness return.

  “Did they torture you for information about the Guild?” she asked.

  “Did you come down simply to check on my well-being?” he asked. His eyes flickered over her dark clothing. “Why do I get the feeling that Malikel doesn’t know you came to see me?”

  Yes, James was still definitely all there.

  “I don’t have to answer to you anymore,” Kyra said.

  James actually laughed, though the laugh ended in a cough. “And yet, you’re here. No, Kyra. If you’ve gone to this much trouble to speak to me, you want something from me. And unless you plan to add your own cuts to those your masters have decorated me with, then I’ll have something from you in return. Starting with the real reason why you came.”

  Funny. Kyra had planned this break-in perfectly, from fashioning the keys to getting past the door guards. But here in this cell, her plans came up short. As she’d lain awake plotting, she’d known that she wanted to talk to James. But now she didn’t have the words.

  “You’ve not given me away,” she said.

  “Of course.” James’s eyes refocused on her face. “Your…surprising identity. Did you know what you were before the Demon Riders took you?”

  Kyra didn’t answer.

  “I’ll wager you didn’t. You didn’t have their bloodlust. And you still don’t.”

  “You tried once to tell Malikel about me.” She had only barely convinced Malikel that James was lying.

  “And you want to know why I didn’t continue to try,” he finished for her. “It was a mistake on my part even to attempt the first time, and I should thank you for not letting me succeed. It might have turned them against you, but it would have gained me nothing more than short-lived satisfaction. Information is power in my trade, Kyra. I hold on to it until it gains me something.”

  “If you think you can blackmail me into letting you go,” said Kyra, “you’re wrong. I knew when I turned you in that I’d risk getting found out.”

  “And I believe you,” he said calmly. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To satisfy your curiosity about your good luck?”

  It wasn’t. Yet Kyra was reluctant to give the reason James was waiting for, to admit that there might have been some truth to his words all along. The wallhuggers aren’t your friends. James wasn’t either, but she would hear him out.

  She rubbed her forearms, trying to scrub the dungeon’s stink from her skin. “A lass was beaten by three noblemen.” She couldn’t bring herself to say Idalee. “Lord Agan’s sons.”

  James leaned his head against the wall and stretched his arms within the confines of his chains. “They’ve been a problem for a while now.” Kyra supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he knew their reputation. James had long maintained informants in the Palace, and she suspected she only knew a tiny fraction of what he had done as leader of the Assassins Guild. “And then what happened?” he asked.

  “The magistrate pardoned them,” she said, her fury returning as she spoke. “There was a courtyard full of witnesses, yet the magistrate said there wasn’t enough evidence for a trial.” She paused. “It’s wrong.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  Kyra didn’t answer, and there was clear understanding in James’s eyes at her silence.

  “You think I’m evil,” James finally said. “You cringe at the fact that I’d spill the blood of innocents to take down my enemies. But what you’ve refused to understand, and what you’re resisting even now, is that there’s no other way. The powerful do not let go of their positions so easily. Change doesn’t occur without blood.”

  Blood. James had made sure there was plenty of that. “I won’t become like you,” said Kyra. “Burning down half the city to save it marks you just as guilty as the wallhuggers.”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  To that, she had no answer.

  James shifted his position. Pain flashed across his face, and it was a few more moments before he could speak again. “I didn’t start out trying to destroy the city,” he said. “I don’t take pleasure in the pain of others.”

  In that, at least, Kyra believed him. There were some in the Guild who enjoyed violence—Bacchus, for one. Kyra had seen it on the few jobs they’d taken together. He’d smiled as he beat his victims, and it had frightened Kyra to the core. James was different. He was ruthless, and he tolerated people like Bacchus, but everything he did, he did for a reason.

  “After Thalia died,” he said, “I took possession of the Guild. It took me a year to weed out those who weren’t loyal to me. I solidified my control, and then I considered what I wanted to do. For a long time, the Guild had become another tool of the wallhuggers. I put an end to that and thought, Why not go further? Who was it, after all, who decreed that the fatpurses should keep their positions? Why should they dictate how we live and how we die?”

  “And that was when you started infiltrating the Palace,” said Kyra.

  “The wallhuggers don’t pay attention to their servants nearly as well as they should. I learned much about the upper levels of Forge simply with careful bribes.”

  He’d learned much, but there had still been things he couldn’t get to, like secret documents, trade schedules, and guard assignments. For that, he’d needed a thief who could get deep into the compound. He’d needed Kyra.

  James continued. “At first I thought I would only go after the bad ones. The first wallhugger I targeted was named Hamel. He was the lowest kind of worm, and few people considered his death a loss to Forge. Yet folk
suffered nonetheless when I killed him. Those who’d been in his employ went hungry that winter, and the political gaps left by Hamel’s death were soon filled by another.”

  “Willem,” Kyra guessed.

  “He was already Head Councilman at the time, but he gained allies as those who’d looked to Hamel were cast afloat.” James’s gaze swept across the cell, as if he were viewing the myriad connections that held Forge together. “My point is, corruption in the city’s not like a scab to be torn away. It’s a tumor, spread throughout the body, and it grows back when you excise it. You can’t remove a cancer without digging out healthy flesh.”

  “But what’s the cost?” said Kyra. “What’s the point of destroying the cancer if the body dies as well?”

  “What’s the point of having a body if it’s riddled with disease?”

  Kyra shook her head to dispel the headache that was starting to take root. “You can’t mean that. You don’t really want to raze the city to the ground.”

  “And you don’t really believe me capable of obliterating the city.” He locked his eyes on hers. “It’s pointless to talk in extremes, because none of it will actually happen. But no matter how far we range with our philosophical fancies, the hard truth remains. You hold a blade now, Kyra, as does everyone who possesses power in this city. And every time you wield this blade, you must decide how deeply you wish to cut.”

  S E V E N

  Tristam was in his quarters, getting changed after his morning rounds when someone knocked on his door. A servant of Malikel’s bowed when Tristam answered.

  “Sir Willem has called an emergency Council meeting at the tenth hour to discuss several Demon Rider attacks that occurred this morning. Your presence is required.”

  Demon Rider attacks? He immediately feared the worst. “Were the attacks at Brancel?” Henril. Lorne.

  “No, milord. Sir Malikel requires your presence because of your expertise with the Demon Riders, not because of any connection to Brancel. You are to observe the meeting and be prepared to answer questions if called on.”

  For a moment, he was selfishly relieved, though the attacks in question must have been bad if they warranted an emergency Council meeting. “I’ll be there.”

  The clock had chimed half past nine a short while ago, so he didn’t have long. Tristam changed out of his plain tunic into more appropriate court finery—an embroidered silk tunic with breeches and soft leather boots—and headed out the door.

  The Council Room antechamber was a large room in its own right, lined with smooth black marble decorated with gold accents. A crowd had already gathered in anticipation of the meeting. Tristam saw no sign of Malikel, but Kyra came through the door soon after he arrived. She wore a gown of wine-colored linen to accommodate the Council’s dress expectations, though she no doubt still had at least one dagger strapped to her leg underneath. He knew she chose her dresses based on their sturdiness and how easily she could climb in them if needed. Her gaze drifted around the room, not quite focusing on anything, and Tristam had to call her name twice to get her attention. That was almost unheard of. Kyra was nothing if not alert.

  She raised tired eyes to him as he approached. “Ho, Tristam.”

  “Are you all right?”

  There was the slightest pause before she answered. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  He might have questioned her further, but a herald announced the beginning of the meeting, and the crowd filed through the double doors. On the far side of the main room was a raised platform where the full Council sat in two semicircular rows of tables. Observing benches lined the floor between the door and the Council seats, and Kyra and Tristam settled near the back with other observers of low rank.

  Willem called the meeting to order, and a scribe took the stage. “Two farms and the guesthouse of one manor were attacked in the predawn hours. Two deaths have been reported thus far, and several more were injured.”

  Concerned murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Three attacks in one morning was alarming indeed. Tristam thought back to the day he and his friend Jack had stumbled upon a farm in the midst of a raid. He still remembered the chaos, the fleeing people, the panicked bleats and bays of livestock. Jack had died that day at the hands of the Demon Rider Pashla and her companion.

  The scribe finished speaking, and Willem took the stage. “This is the biggest threat that has faced the city since our war with Edlan twenty years ago.” Willem was a convincing speaker when he wanted to be. He spoke with authority, punctuating his points with bold sweeps of his hand. “And our Defense Minister does nothing. The Demon Riders sleep safely in our forest and pillage our fields at their pleasure. What can possibly be your justification for this, Malikel?”

  “The Demon Rider threat must be met with caution,” said Malikel from his seat. His voice was level, though Tristam could sense anger just beneath. “I’ve explained this to the Council many times. The Demon Riders are not a threat like Parna or Edlan that we should simply throw our soldiers at them. They refuse to face us in open battle. They know the forest ­better than we do, and they’re better at disappearing into its depths. Without a sound strategy, sending our soldiers to meet them would result in far more casualties than we currently suffer.”

  “You argue for a good strategy,” said Willem. “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “Our best course of action is to focus on defending our vulnerable farms and manors while we prepare our soldiers with new weapons and tactics. The Palace smithies are forging new spears as we speak, and our soldiers are learning new formations for forest combat. We secure our farms first. Then we start driving the Demon Riders back and establishing larger and larger defensible boundaries.”

  “And how long before we’d be rid of the barbarians?”

  “We’re already training private guard forces around Forge. The majority of our farms could be much better defended within a year.”

  “The majority, you say. But the barbarians would still plague our people.”

  “If you have a counter proposal,” said Malikel, his voice tight with impatience, “let’s hear it.”

  Willem straightened and slowly swept his eyes across the Council. “As Head Councilman, I’m not usually involved in directly planning the city defense, but in trying times, when demands outweigh what our Defense Minister is able to handle, I’m forced to take a more direct approach. I propose a systematic sweep of the forest with our soldiers.”

  Tristam frowned. That was a horrible idea. Willem should have known better.

  “That’s preposterous,” said Malikel, rising to his feet. “We do not have nearly enough men to do this. It would be sending them to their deaths, one battalion at a time.”

  “You’re right, Malikel, that as it stands we do not have enough troops to mount such an attack. But the laws of Forge give the Council authority to expand our defense forces from within the city during times of need.”

  Tristam’s head snapped up at these words. Willem couldn’t possibly mean…

  “Are you suggesting conscripting soldiers from the city population?” said Malikel.

  “Indeed, I am,” said Willem. “Circumstances are dire enough.”

  “Dire enough to send untrained citizens to their deaths? Willem, the current raids are alarming, but even with the uptick in attacks, we still count the weekly casualties with one hand. If we take your strategy and go on an offensive with untrained and underarmed peasants, we could lose hundreds, if not more.”

  “What kind of city are we?” Willem’s voice rang through the hall. “Did Forge become the great city it is by shrinking into the corner at the first sign of an enemy? By hiding like a mouse? Last month, our Defense Minister assured us the Demon Riders were a diminishing threat. Last night, we were called out of our beds by reports of not one, not two, but three attacks. What will next month bring? The only way to protect ourselves is to remove the threat now. Our neighboring cities have already taken steps to fight the barbarians. Edlan’s
people do not suffer the shame of sitting by while their farms are ravaged. Do we of Forge continue to be meek, or do we step up and show our strength?”

  Kyra shifted uncomfortably. Tristam gave her hand a quick squeeze and received a grateful smile in response. Kyra hated the farm raids as much as anyone, but it was hard for her to hear people talk of Demon Riders as monsters and barbarians, to be reminded what kind of reaction she’d get if her secret was revealed.

  Back on the platform, Willem raised his voice. “Answer me one question, Malikel. If we sweep the forest with the numbers I propose, given what you know about these clans, will we succeed in driving them out?”

  There was a long silence as all eyes settled on Malikel. The Defense Minister stood with one hand on his table, staring down at it as if he meant to crush it by thought alone. “We have a reasonable chance at success,” he said slowly. “But our casualties will be many times theirs, and the citizens of Forge would be bearing a burden that should rightly fall to the military.”

  “Let the Council decide where the burden should fall,” said Willem. “I call for a vote.”

  Tristam leaned forward, his eyes fixated on the Council as Willem called each Councilman in turn to speak his vote. As the numbers fell evenly on each side, the air in the room became increasingly tense. When the last Council member gave his choice, Willem nodded. “The final tally is eleven for, eight against, and one abstain,” he said. “The measure is passed.”

  Tristam stayed motionless as the scope of what had just happened sank in. When Willem formally ended the meeting, the room filled with the sounds of a hundred different conversations. He glanced at the stage to see Malikel in forceful dialogue with one of the Councilmen who had voted in support of Willem.

  The crowd filed out, and Tristam waited with Kyra in the courtyard for Malikel. Servants were already running from the Council building, foregoing the pathways and running directly over the snow in their haste to carry their masters’ messages. Councilmen and courtiers split off into groups, some huddled in quiet conversation, others shouting. When Malikel finally appeared, he was angrier than Tristam had ever seen him. Tristam got the impression that anyone in his way would have simply been knocked down.