Daughter of Dusk

by Blackburne, Livia

  “Follow me,” he said.

  Once they were in Malikel’s study with the door closed, the Councilman turned to address them.

  “Were you able to hear the proceedings?” he asked. When Kyra and Tristam indicated that they had, he continued. “Willem knew I wouldn’t support a conscription of the citizenry. A similar thing was done in Minadel. It’s how I became a soldier, and I’ve seen what happens when you throw peasants into battle with no training,” said Malikel. “But the Council is scared, as is the nobility, and I’m bound by the oaths I’ve taken to uphold the will of the Council.”

  “Is there any way to overturn this?” asked Kyra.

  “A vote this close can be brought up before the Council for reconsideration. But it can only be done once, and we cannot count on any of the other members changing their vote.”

  “What now, then?” asked Tristam.

  Malikel pushed back the sleeves of his official’s robes, though they fell right back to his wrists. “I will continue trying to sway my colleagues who voted with Willem. In the meantime, we do our best to prepare those who will be sent in. I’ll have the smithies work as fast as they can. Tristam, I want you to help me develop training drills and formations for unskilled soldiers against these beasts.”

  “Yes, sir.” He was already sifting through the possibilities. Basic spear work was essential. Any complex maneuvers would be too difficult, but perhaps some simple formations…

  “Kyra,” said Malikel.

  She straightened. “Aye?”

  “I need your help with the Demon Riders. I realize they’ve warned you to stay away, but your history with them still makes you better suited to approach them than anyone else in the city.” There was something unnerving about the way Malikel looked at Kyra, and Tristam wasn’t sure if he detected another layer of meaning behind his words. He wondered again how much the Defense Minister knew and felt a stab of guilt at deceiving him.

  Malikel continued. “I need to make one more effort to negotiate peace. They’ve not been willing to talk to us before, but perhaps, if we impress on them what lies ahead, we can avoid mutual destruction.”

  Slowly, it dawned on Tristam what Malikel was asking. “You want to send Kyra as an emissary for peace? Sir, if I may speak freely, we have no reason to think we can trust any promises made by the Demon Riders.” If Malikel had seen firsthand how the Makvani looked at humans, he would understand how naïve it was to try for peace.

  A flicker of something passed over Kyra’s face, but Malikel spoke before Tristam could give it more thought.

  “In affairs of the city,” Malikel said, “I will decide who is trustworthy.”

  Tristam bowed his head, and the Defense Minister turned again to Kyra. “Kyra, you’re not sworn to me as a soldier or an emissary. I can’t command you into the forest, given the risks. But if you are willing to go back to the forest once more, the city would be grateful.”

  Kyra met Malikel’s gaze for a moment before she looked down again. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  The Defense Minister dismissed them after that. Kyra left the compound, and Tristam worked his way through the still-buzzing courtyards back to his own quarters. To his surprise, an old courier of his father’s waited outside his building. The man bowed as Tristam approached, and Tristam’s fear for his family returned.

  “Stanley,” said Tristam. “Is all well at Brancel?”

  “Your father and brothers are well, milord, though they fight hard. I carry a message from your father.” The servant bowed again as he handed a parchment to Tristam. It was addressed in his father’s unmistakable bold script.

  “Thank you,” Tristam said, breaking the seal. The letter inside was long, and he began to read.

  Despite Kyra’s show of reluctance, she knew she’d go back to the forest. She’d been feeling the need to return, the same itch that had driven her out there the night the demon cat attacked her. Malikel’s request was just the excuse she needed.

  The city was abuzz with activity when she left the next morning. Word of the Council’s new measure had gone out. Heralds made rousing speeches against the Demon Riders in the city squares, and many citizens declared they would volunteer to fight the menace. Kyra wondered how long this excitement would last once folk started dying. Word was that a few units would be recruited and deployed immediately to test new strategies and start securing the forest, with the main offensive to happen in a month.

  Once Kyra left the city, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. There was no point in trying to find the Demon Riders herself. She couldn’t sneak up on a full-blooded demon cat. But she could go into the forest and make herself available to be found, and there was that caravan attack Jacobo the trader had mentioned, the one that had happened just above the upper waterfall. Kyra had wanted to see the place for herself before Idalee’s beating drove it from her mind.

  It took her a few hours to walk to the waterfall, and the sound of crashing waters guided her the last few steps of the way. Big blocks of ice were piled at the bottom, though water still flowed underneath. Kyra scrambled up a boulder-strewn track. There was a clearing at the top scattered with young trees, as one would expect from a campsite that had been abandoned a few years ago. Kyra’s imagination kept her jumping as she wandered. Perhaps this scrap of wood sticking out of the snow had been a wagon wheel. Or maybe that glint of metal came from a wheel sprocket. But whenever she looked closer, it turned out to be a trick of the eye.

  There were wildflowers here, tall stalks that came up to her waist with cone-shaped clusters of blue, pink, and purple blossoms. They were called forever sprays because they bloomed all year round. Their perfume evoked a memory in which she stumbled through a field of these flowers. In her memory, the flowers grew as high as her head.

  “What are you looking for?” a low woman’s voice asked from behind her.

  Kyra suppressed a shudder, and she slowly turned around.

  A middle-aged Demon Rider woman stood ten paces away, scrutinizing Kyra with a stare that could have sliced glass. She was beautiful, with large dark eyes and an arched nose, an angular face, and long black hair with the slightest hints of gray. She wore the familiar wraparound tunic and leggings of the Demon Riders, though the leather was tanned a darker color than the ones Kyra had seen. Behind her stood a Makvani man about Leyus’s age. His features were milder and less stern compared with the woman’s, and his gaze held more interest than suspicion.

  “You’re the halfblood, are you not?” demanded the woman in heavily accented speech. “The one who lets Leyus fight her battles.”

  Kyra backed away, unable to make sense of the woman’s words. The Makvani man laid a hand on the woman’s arm.

  “She doesn’t recognize you, Zora. You were in your fur.”

  The woman was the one who’d attacked her, then. The one Leyus had stopped from killing her. Kyra backed up, ready to reach for her dagger. If they tried to change, she would have an opening.

  “Why are you here?” asked Zora.

  Kyra did her best to stand tall. “I’ve got a message from the city for Leyus.”

  “I don’t mean why you are in the forest. I want to know why you are in this clearing.”

  This clearing? Why would they care why she was in this clearing?

  The man cut in. “We bear you no ill will.” Given the glare Zora shot at him, Kyra thought he should amend that to “no ill will, for now.”

  Just then, a new voice spoke from behind her. Kyra couldn’t understand the words, but she recognized the speaker, and she felt a sliver of cautious hope. She turned around.

  Pashla looked exactly the same as Kyra remembered: tawny-yellow hair spilling over her shoulders, proud bearing, and a way of looking at Kyra that made her wonder, always, what the clanswoman was thinking. Their eyes met for a moment, and Kyra breathed easier when she saw no animosity in Pashla’s gaze.

  “Zora, Havel,” Pashla said, nodding to each in turn. Then, to Kyra’s surprise, Pashla
ran one finger down the front of her neck in the Makvani bow of respect that Kyra had only ever seen Pashla give to Leyus. Zora asked Pashla a question in the Makvani tongue, which Pashla answered respectfully. Zora took another look at Kyra, then turned abruptly and left. Havel’s gaze lingered on Kyra for a moment longer before he followed Zora.

  Kyra stared after them, wondering what had happened. Pashla stood next to her, calmly watching the two Demon Riders disappear, and Kyra found she didn’t know what to say. Pashla had nursed her back to health after James almost killed her, and she’d been deeply hurt when Kyra turned her back on the clan to return to Forge. Over the past weeks, Kyra had often wished to see Pashla again, to somehow make amends, but she didn’t know where to begin.

  “Be careful with Zora and Havel. They are new to this side of the Aerins, and they do not look as kindly on humans as Leyus does.” She spoke with the same patient inflection she’d used when teaching Kyra the ways of the forest.

  Kyra fought a perverse urge to laugh. If Leyus was a shining example of human–Makvani relations, then Forge was in deep trouble indeed. But Pashla’s other words concerned her more. “What do you mean, they are new to this side of the mountains?”

  “Have you not noticed? A second clan has crossed the mountains. Zora and Havel are their leaders.”

  Pashla was looking at her as if she had missed something patently obvious, and Kyra couldn’t help but wonder if she had. Did Havel and Zora look any different from the others? Of course, a new clan would explain the recent increase in attacks. “They are in contact with your clan?”

  “They used to be clan mates with Leyus. Leyus and Havel are like brothers.”

  Kyra took a moment to ponder Pashla’s words. Things had been bad enough with one clan. With two…She had to try to make peace.

  “Pashla, I’m here on behalf of the Palace,” she said.

  The effect on Pashla was immediate. Her expression closed off, and her voice when she spoke again was cool. “What errand do they send you on?”

  Pashla’s reaction stung, but there were more important things at stake. “I need to speak with Leyus. The clan is in danger. The city means to mount an attack, but our Defense Minister wishes to negotiate peace.”

  “Leyus will not speak with you. He has no desire to negotiate with humans.”

  “Even if they outnumber his people by a hundred-fold? It would cost the city greatly to destroy you, but they could do it.”

  “That’s enough,” said Pashla, a hint of anger in her voice. “I didn’t think you’d be so foolish as to deliver threats while in our midst.”

  Kyra fell silent. She had gone about this all wrong. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to deliver threats. And I wish I wasn’t here on Palace business. I wish we didn’t have to be enemies.” Truth was, Kyra had missed Pashla—the long walks they’d taken in the forest, the clanswoman’s patience and gentle touch. Was it too much to hope for forgiveness? “You taught me so much, and I owe you more than I could ever repay.” Immediately, she felt embarrassed and very small, but it was too late to unsay her words.

  The clanswoman studied her again, her gaze gliding over Kyra with the serenity of falling snow. “Your wounds have healed well.”

  Kyra put a hand to her stomach. “I just have a light scar. I don’t feel it at all.”

  Pashla motioned for Kyra to lift the edge of her tunic so she could see. The clanswoman ran a finger over the scar. It was an odd sensation, Pashla’s touch on her toughened scar tissue.

  “Time forms bonds,” Pashla finally said. “Those we grow up with, those we live with, we become connected to them, even if they’re different from us.”

  Pashla’s words were an olive branch, the clanswoman’s way of saying that she somewhat understood Kyra’s choice to return to Forge, if not completely. “Thank you,” Kyra said. When Pashla didn’t respond right away, Kyra found her courage and kept going. “Does it have to be one or the other? Why must I choose a side? I’ve been coming back into the forest by myself. I know it’s foolish, but I can’t stay away.”

  “I know you’ve been coming,” said Pashla.

  Kyra stopped. “You know?”

  “Of course we watch those who come from the city.” The clanswoman broke a forever spray off its stalk and rolled it between her fingers. “Your blood calls to you, does it?”

  Calls to her? She hadn’t thought of it that way, but it seemed apt.

  “I can’t stop thinking about what it was like to change shape,” said Kyra. “Though I’ve not been brave enough to do it.”

  The wind blew snow off the trees around them, and Pashla dusted off her sleeves. “I suppose it can’t be avoided. The temptation is too great. You cannot silence something that is yours by right.”

  Was Pashla just expressing sympathy? Or was she actually…Kyra was afraid to breathe for fear that her hope would be extinguished. Just the thought that she might experience her other form again…

  The clanswoman tossed the wildflower to the ground. “If you must change, then better to do it with my help.”

  Kyra’s breath rushed out of her.

  It was late enough in the morning that the sunlight shone straight into the clearing. Pashla turned her face to its rays for a moment, eyes closed, before turning again to Kyra. “The sun is warm today. Take off your tunic, your trousers, and anything else that will tear. You can keep your cloak to block the wind. Once you are in your fur, you won’t feel the cold at all.”

  “Right now?” This was exactly what she’d been hoping for, but somehow she hadn’t expected the lesson to start immediately.

  “Do you have somewhere to be? I do not know when we will cross paths again.”

  She was right, of course. Kyra gathered her courage. “I don’t have anywhere to be,” she said. And she reached to untie her belt.

  The first few tries, she couldn’t go through with it. As she stood there, eyes closed with a cloak wrapped around her and the cold breeze whipping at her bare feet and ankles, Kyra concentrated and found the sense of her other form. She nudged it, coaxing it like a small flame, feeling it burn stronger. But when she sensed it reaching the point of overflow, Kyra drew back and opened her eyes again.

  Pashla watched her. After the third time, she simply said, “Do not be afraid.”

  Kyra nodded and closed her eyes again. This time she didn’t stop.

  It was just as she remembered. The spreading warmth in her limbs, the sense of melting and growing, her fur forcing itself through her skin and making her arms tingle. She threw off her cloak as her limbs stretched and her muscles thickened. Her vision darkened for a moment, and when it returned, everything was clear. So very clear.

  Pashla stood in front of her, still in her skin. The clanswoman held herself with her muscles relaxed and her hands down by her sides. While Kyra’s previous transformation had been in the heat of battle, this time her feral instinct was muted. She could still feel its presence, a constant readiness for a fight that hovered in the back of her mind. But she was far more interested in the world around her. The wind, so bitingly cold a few moments before, now blew ripples in her fur and raised a tickling sensation along her back. She bent down to smell the wildflowers. The scents were heady, almost too strong. And such vivid colors. Kyra sneezed, then stepped around Pashla. The snow’s coolness seeped through the tough pads of her feet.

  Behind her, Pashla spoke. Kyra ignored her, but Pashla persisted, and Kyra finally took the effort to pay more attention. She found she could make sense of her words if she tried hard enough. Pashla was telling her that she’d done well.

  A new scent reached her nostrils. Unlike Pashla’s words, the meaning of this new smell was immediately clear. There was a deer upwind, just a short sprint away.

  “Kyra, stay here.”

  Kyra shook off the command like water from her fur and started off toward the scent.

  “No, Kyra.” A hand on her flank, and a firmer command this time. Kyra spun around and slashed at Pashla, who
jumped back, stumbling. As Pashla regained her balance, Kyra whipped around and sprinted toward her prey. She dove into the trees at the edge of the meadow, jumping over rocks and dodging branches. The scent was as clear to her as a path she could follow. Ahead of her, she caught a glimpse of the deer and smelled its alarm. Birds took flight at her approach, wing beats like drums against the air, their warning calls sharp and bold. Kyra ran faster.

  Something heavy landed on her back and knocked her paws out from under her. The weight was so strong, so sudden, that Kyra realized it must have fallen from a tree. Kyra writhed and twisted to face this new attacker, striking out with her claws. Her opponent kept out of her way and opened cuts on Kyra’s forelimbs with her teeth. It stung, and the pain infuriated her.

  The deer was getting away. She could hear its light hoofbeats fading, and she roared with frustration. Her attacker—Pashla, it was Pashla, Kyra realized—was strong, and Kyra couldn’t get the best of her. She tired, and it gradually became clear to Kyra that they shouldn’t be fighting at all. She stopped moving and let Pashla pin her to the ground.

  As Kyra’s breath slowed and her blood cooled, she felt the sense of her fur waning. She let herself melt back into her skin.

  Pashla, her own form still shifting, pulled Kyra to her feet. “Get dressed before you freeze.”

  It was a cold run back to her clothes. Kyra wrapped her cloak around herself to block the wind, then reached with stiff fingers for her trousers and tunic.

  Pashla joined her. “You need control. But it was not too bad.”

  “I’m sorry I slashed at you.”

  “If I’m slow enough to let some young cub touch me, then I deserve it.”

  Kyra finished dressing and rubbed the heat back into her limbs.

  “I almost envy you,” said Pashla after a while.

  “Me?”

  “You know the ways of the humans, and now you’re learning ours.”