Daughter of Dusk

by Blackburne, Livia

  Your people. What would it have been like to grow up as the daughter of a Makvani clan leader? She imagined herself hunting beside Pashla, learning to fight in preparation for her first Challenge. Would she have been friends with Adele? Would she look upon humans as lower beings and despise that part of herself?

  “But I wasn’t raised your heir, was I?” She’d grown up in the gutter, about as far from leading a desert village or a Makvani clan as she could get. “And I only have eleven fighters to lead into battle.”

  “Do you pity yourself, that I did not give you more help? A true leader would not rely on the charity of others.”

  And here it was again, another reminder that she didn’t measure up. “And I suppose you’d rather have me kill all the Edlan soldiers with my bare hands,” Kyra said bitterly. “Or was I supposed to have inspired more of your people to follow me?”

  “I’d rather have you know yourself and your own strengths, and to act with purpose. That is the first lesson I would have taught you, had I raised you.” There was no sentimentality in Leyus’s voice, just his direct and unflinching words. Anger stirred in Kyra’s chest. Would it kill him to express even some scrap of regard for her? Some minuscule hint of happiness to have discovered the daughter he’d lost?

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to learn your lessons,” she said. She kept her voice low and cold so it wouldn’t quaver. “But I will do my best with the things I’ve learned in the life I’ve had. I must ask you to leave now, as we have many preparations to make.”

  “To have command of eleven of your kin is no small thing. Use your power wisely.”

  He left her then, and as soon as he was out of sight, Kyra took her frustrations out on a nearby tree, kicking and pummeling it with her fists. What she really wanted to do was scream, but she retained at least the presence of mind to remain quiet. Her shoes were soft leather and the tree was sturdy, so all she managed to do was bruise her toes and send shooting pains up her elbow. At some point during her tantrum, Pashla came to stand next to her and quietly watched until Kyra was still again.

  “If this is what it’s like to have a father,” said Kyra under her breath, “I’d rather go back to being an orphan.”

  “He does wish you to succeed, Kyra,” Pashla said. “He would not have come to speak to you if he did not care.”

  Pashla’s voice was as calm and smooth as a healer’s balm, yet Kyra resisted her words. “If he wanted me to succeed, he could have given me more help. Instead, he lists my failures and gives me useless advice.”

  “To know your strengths and act with purpose is not useless advice,” Pashla said. So she’d been eavesdropping.

  “I know my strengths, and they’re nothing like what I need to see this through. I’m a thief. I climb rooftops, I slip into windows, and I steal things.” Her voice got louder as she spoke. “I’ve no idea how to lead fighters into battle, and with this coming raid, I feel like I’m running headlong toward the edge of a precipice.”

  “Then perhaps our plan is the wrong one,” Pashla said.

  Pashla’s words surprised her. Kyra supposed she’d expected the clanswoman to be in favor of a raid and nothing else.

  “You think so?” Kyra asked. “But what else is there?”

  “I don’t know. You are not like us.”

  Well, that was one thing the two of them could agree upon. Kyra sank down into the snow and leaned back against a tree, paying no heed to the cold seeping into her trousers or the rough bark pulling at her hair. She stayed like that for a long while, eyes closed, simply trying to hold on to what sanity she had left. Then she sat bolt upright.

  “What is it?” asked Pashla.

  “I have an idea,” said Kyra. It had come to her suddenly, but as soon as it came to mind, she knew it was the right one. It would be dangerous, but it was something she could attempt with a clear conscience. Perhaps Flick was right. Whatever she was, whatever hidden pasts she discovered, in the end she would always be the thief girl that he met on the streets so long ago.

  Kyra turned to Pashla. “Cancel the raid. I’ve a new plan.” Leyus would probably tell her that her decision was driven by fear of what she was, but it wasn’t fear that motivated her this time. It was confidence—in what she was, and more importantly, in knowing what she wanted to be. “I’m going into the enemy camp,” she said. “And I’m doing it in my skin.”

  T H I R T Y

  Flick didn’t like the idea, of course. He never liked anything that placed Kyra in danger, and this would be far riskier than a caravan raid.

  “You know, you don’t always have to pick the most foolhardy way forward,” he told her.

  “But if it works, it could end it all before it begins,” said Kyra.

  The plan was simple. The easiest way to control an army was to control its leaders, and the leaders currently resided in a large tent at the center of Edlan’s encampment. If someone were to, say, steal the leaders and turn them over to Forge, then Edlan’s army would have newfound motivation to retreat.

  Of course, an army encampment was perhaps the very definition of “well guarded.” Kyra was fairly confident she could get in. She wasn’t nearly as confident that she could get back out, but she had to try. They had so much to gain if she succeeded.

  She risked a trip back into the city and relayed her plan to Tristam and Malikel. “If all goes well, I’ll deliver Willem to your gates tomorrow night. My Demon Riders will be waiting outside the camp to guard my initial retreat, and I’ll need troops from Forge stationed by the city to guard the final stretch. If things do not go to plan…” She paused here and avoided Tristam’s eyes. “All the Demon Riders with me are dedicated to this task. They can carry out raids on the Edlan supply caravans even if I can’t help them.”

  “I will have a unit by the gates ready to come to your defense,” said Malikel.

  “Thank you.” She finally looked at Tristam then. She could see the effort it took for him not to object to her plan, and his struggle tugged at her chest. Kyra swallowed and met his gaze. “This is war. We do what we must.”

  She left before her resolve could weaken further.

  Kyra tried her best to get plenty of rest the next day, though her nerves didn’t allow her to sleep for very long. When she could no longer stay still, she paced the ground in front of her cave. She’d just about churned the snow into mud when Adele and Pashla appeared.

  “We will go with you tonight,” said Pashla.

  Kyra’s initial reaction was to refuse. “I can’t in good conscience make you run a mission in your skin.”

  “We have stake in this as well,” said Adele.

  “You can’t subdue both Alvred and Willem by yourself,” said Pashla. “And your plan does work better with us in our skin.”

  Once she gave up trying to dissuade them, Kyra had to admit that they were right.

  They set out late that night, after the moon had set. Kyra had Pashla and Adele darken their clothes with mud to blend in. Then they walked silently to the forest edge, where they could see the campfires of the Edlan army. Kyra looked back to check that the other two were still with her, then set off on a slow jog toward the camp. The women fell easily behind her—Kyra’s own stealth, after all, was a legacy of their blood. But though the clanswomen were quiet, they still looked to her as they neared the edge of the encampment. As Kyra watched the guards go by, waiting for an opening, she sensed that her companions couldn’t read the intention in a sentry’s footsteps or predict where he would look next. The clanswomen didn’t have Kyra’s lifelong experience breaking into guarded places, but they watched her carefully, and Kyra led the way into the camp, trailed by two impossibly graceful shadows.

  The ground of the camp was muddy and wet; all the snow had long been trampled away. The muck was slick in some places, while others times it sucked at their shoes. The three of them passed campfires at regular intervals, all burning low. Kyra steered clear of the occasional groggy soldier who got up to feed the flames.


  The center of command was a large tent near the physical center of the camp. Kyra could see its shadow looming in the dim moonlight. Little by little, from one patch of darkness to the next, they made their way closer. There was a sentry at the tent flap standing next to one of the few torches around. Kyra motioned to Pashla. They approached him from opposite sides, skirting along the edges of the tent until they stood just outside the light cast by the torch. Kyra could barely see Pashla’s form as the clanswoman bent down, picked a rock off the ground, and let it drop. The sentry turned toward the sound, alert but not alarmed. Kyra ran while his back was turned and brought the hilt of her dagger down on the back of his head. He grunted, and Kyra snaked her arms under his armpits as he crumpled to the ground. Adele rushed in to help drag the body out of the torchlight. The sentry had a partner, who circled around from the other side of the tent. When he saw Kyra and Adele, he drew breath to shout but pitched forward before any sound left his mouth. Pashla bear-hugged him from behind and eased him to the ground.

  “Ho, what’s happening there?” came a shout from across the camp.

  Sweat broke out over Kyra’s skin. “We have to get them now,” she said.

  She drew her dagger and rushed into the tent. It was dark inside, and Kyra barely caught the glint of metal as a man charged at her with a blade. Kyra shouted a warning as she sidestepped his swipe. He moved with the clumsiness of someone who’d just woken. When he stumbled, Kyra saw her opening and slashed at his knife arm. He dropped the blade and clutched his arm, swearing.

  Kyra pressed her knife to his throat, and for the first time, got a good look at her opponent’s face. He’d trimmed his mustache since she last saw him, but there was no mistaking Edlan’s Minister of Defense. Lord Alvred’s eyes widened in recognition as he took in her features. Around her, the scuffling died down. As Kyra’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that Pashla had Willem facedown on his bedroll, her knee on his spine and her dagger pointed at the base of his skull. Adele stood alert by the tent flap.

  “Adele, rope,” said Kyra. Her heart pounded so loudly it was a wonder the entire camp couldn’t hear it.

  Pashla shifted her weight so Adele could bind Willem’s wrists. The Head Councilman glared at Kyra as Adele pulled the knots tight. His gray-streaked hair was messy and tangled from the scuffle.

  “Do you really expect to get out of here alive?” asked Willem.

  “Your fate will be tied to ours,” Kyra said. When Adele finished binding Willem’s arms, she stepped toward Kyra and Alvred, rope in hand.

  “Kyra, take care!” said Pashla as someone threw open the tent flap. Kyra tightened her grip on Alvred as she turned. Three Edlan soldiers stood at the entrance with swords drawn. Several more stood behind them.

  “Drop your weapons or your commanders die,” she said, her voice sharp in her ears.

  “Do as she says,” said Alvred in his low, booming shout, and the others obeyed.

  Well, it was too late for rope now. “Clear a path,” said Kyra. Slowly, the soldiers parted. Kyra turned Alvred around so he faced away from her and nudged him to start moving. She stepped out first, followed by Pashla and Willem, with Adele bringing up the rear. It was awkward progress. He was much larger than she was, and Kyra had to reach up to get her dagger to his throat. Her arm quickly began to get sore, and sweat from his skin soaked into her clothes.

  Kyra scanned the soldiers around her as they walked. This couldn’t last forever. There were too many soldiers, and too few hostages. Her spine prickled—she expected an arrow in her back any moment. When Alvred lagged, she pressed the blade closer to his throat, nudging him forward. Slowly, ever so slowly, they made their way to the edge of the camp. Her arms burned. She could see the forest now when she peered around Alvred’s bulk. Almost there. They just needed the shelter of the trees.

  Something whistled through the air, followed by a woman’s cry. Kyra turned just in time to see Adele fall to her knees, an arrow shaft sticking out her back.

  “Adele!” she shouted. At that moment, Alvred broke free and struck her hard in the stomach. Kyra fell to the ground, retching. Alvred grabbed for her dagger, but she snatched it away just in time.

  “Lord Alvred!”

  A soldier handed Alvred a mace, an evil-looking club with a steel-coated head. Kyra dove to the side as he raised it high and brought it down. He missed the first time and the second, but his third blow came down squarely on her right hip.

  Kyra screamed, and for a moment she couldn’t see anything for the pain. When her vision cleared, Alvred was closing in for another blow. She tried to scoot away, and realized with horror that she couldn’t move her leg at all.

  A roar split the air and a demon cat charged into the fray, coming to a stop protectively above Adele. Two more came after and stood tail-to-tail with the first, fangs bared and snarling dangerously. For a moment, everyone stared. Then the demon cats disappeared behind a wave of soldiers. Alvred raised his mace once more, and Kyra hopelessly threw her arms in front of her face.

  “Stand back!” Suddenly, Pashla was next to her, still with Willem firmly in her grasp. How had she managed to hold on to her hostage in all that chaos? Alvred hesitated, and in that moment someone’s arms threaded under Kyra’s and pulled her to her feet. She cried out again as the movement jarred her leg. Then she realized it was Flick holding her.

  “Easy, Kyra.” His voice was a safe harbor she could cling to. “Let’s get you to safety.”

  “To the trees,” said Pashla, dragging Willem in that direction. Flick threw Kyra over his shoulder and hurried after the clanswoman. Kyra buried her face in his chest to keep from screaming. Every step he took was agony. Two swordsmen gave chase, but a demon cat jumped in front of them, cutting off pursuit.

  The sounds of battle followed them into the forest. “Our people won’t last long,” Kyra said. And Adele. Was she alive?

  Pashla forced Willem to his knees in front of her. “We must get him to Forge.”

  She was right. If the Edlanese recovered Willem, all their efforts would have been in vain. “Pashla,” she said. “I can’t walk, much less run. You must bring him to the gates.”

  Pashla’s eyes flickered quickly over Kyra, and then she undid her tunic as Flick lowered Kyra to the ground. When Pashla regained her form, Flick hoisted Willem onto her back and secured him with rope. The Head Councilman’s attempts to resist met with two solid clouts to the head. Willem swore at Flick but stopped fighting.

  Finally, Flick pulled the rope tight. When Pashla bent her head around to check Flick’s progress, he patted her on her flank. “Go,” he said. “Run quickly.”

  Pashla took off with a bound, zigzagging through the trees. Kyra watched her disappear, then turned back toward the battle, trying to see between the trees to the chaos beyond. Demon cat growls split the air. Swords clanged as fur and steel flashed in and out of view.

  Kyra drew the deepest breath she could. “Retreat!” she yelled. “Makvani retreat!”

  The battle continued on, and she wondered if anyone had heard her. Then a demon cat ran for the trees and knelt in front of Kyra.

  “Hang on,” said Flick as he lifted her onto its back and climbed on behind her. Another demon cat came on its tail, and Kyra was light-headed with relief to see a very pale Adele clinging to its back. Other demon cats followed, turning around several times to fend off pursuers. The demon cat Kyra was riding looked around at the gathered Makvani and let out a roar. And then, as one, the beasts ran into the forest.

  Tristam stood at attention outside the city gate, facing the empty road. He might as well have been sitting in a root cellar for all he could discern in the darkness. Tristam knew from Malikel’s strategy charts that fifty Red Shields stood to his left, armed with spears. To his right came the occasional whinny and snort from the horses of twenty cavalrymen. Sir Rollan stood in command at the front, while Malikel oversaw everything from the wall.

  “Disturbance in the enemy camp,” came
a lookout’s voice from above.

  Perhaps it was good that his position required absolute stillness, because otherwise Tristam would have worn down the road with his nervous energy. Of all the schemes Kyra had come up with so far, this had to be the most brazen, and he couldn’t quiet the fear that her luck would finally run out. What was this “disturbance” in the enemy camp? Panic at finding their leader gone, or celebration at capturing an intruder?

  “Light the torches,” Rollan commanded. “Put them in place.”

  A ripple of readiness went through the troops. All around him, there was the sound of flint striking. A warm glow illuminated the troops as sparks caught on pitch-coated wood. Each cavalry man took two torches and rode down the road to place them in stands before returning to formation. They all waited, growing more and more tense as the shadows formed and dissipated on the newly lit road.

  “A rider, sir,” came the lookout’s voice, sharp now. “No, a demon cat. With a single rider. A man.”

  “Tristam,” said Rollan. “Is it Kyra?”

  Tristam squinted down the road. He could make out the rider now, and his steed was definitely a demon cat. As the beast passed the torches though, he saw that the fur was tawny yellow.

  “It’s not Kyra, sir,” he said. “Wrong color.” Was it Pashla? “I think it may be one of her allies.”

  “Spearmen, take formation, but don’t attack.” Rollan delivered his orders with confident ease, and his composure seemed to rub off on the troops around him. “Tristam, speak immediately if you see anything untoward.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. Where was Kyra? A knot formed in his stomach. Concentrate on your task.

  “It’s Willem tied to the beast’s back,” called the lookout.

  The felbeast slowed as it neared them and approached carefully with its head lowered and ears flat. Willem was indeed tied to its back. He must have been captured while he was asleep because he wore only a plain wool tunic and trousers. And though Willem’s face was turned partially away, Tristam could clearly see the rage etched in his features. Tristam almost felt sorry for him. What a fall it must be for a Head Councilman to be delivered to his city gates like a sack of flour.