Daughter of Dusk (31 page)

Flick smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Taylon of Forge.”

“Robert,” said the messenger. No city, no house. Still being careful.

The door opened, and Flick saw Kyra come in and sit at a back table. He averted his eyes and launched into an elaborate story about getting cheated by a trader over a fake silver brooch.
Robert’s lips curled slightly as the story progressed—the messenger didn’t have a high opinion of Flick’s eye for goods—but Flick knew he had him. Robert was listening
intently, and he’d forgotten all about his earlier attempts to stay aloof.

Flick patted Robert on the shoulder. “I’ll wager someone like you wouldn’t be fooled by such a simple trick.” The pat was a little rougher than it needed to be, and
Robert scowled at Flick’s drunken clumsiness. As the messenger pulled away, Flick undid the clasp on Robert’s bag, looking out the window as he did so. “You’ve far to travel
today?”

Robert followed Flick’s gaze. They always did, if he led confidently. “Not too far,” the messenger said, oblivious to the fact that Flick had just lifted a piece of parchment
from his purse.

Flick tucked the parchment up his sleeve and continued to chatter on. Someone brushed past him—Kyra’s scratchy wig tickled the back of his neck. Her fingers skimmed his palm, and he
let the parchment drop into her hand.

He spoke to the man a while longer and then pushed back from the table. “Pity that ale never stays with us very long,” he said with an embarrassed grin. He made a show of asking for
the privy before he went out the door.

Flick found Kyra and Tristam crouched in the alley behind a stack of crates. Kyra had already opened the parchment, and Flick noticed with pride that she’d managed to keep half the seal
intact, though the other half had broken into pieces.

“Find anything?” he asked, bending down to join them.

Tristam handed him the opened note. The message inside was written in neat, elegant script.

All our soldiers are in position and ready for the forest offensive, though the Council is volatile and our plans are far from secure. I need more funds to gain the cooperation of Palace
scribes, as well as key members of the defense forces. The more of our own that we have within the Palace, the safer our position will be.

“That’s Willem’s handwriting,” said Tristam.

Flick read it over one more time, then returned it to Tristam. “Certainly seems underhanded, but what’s it mean? Care to enlighten us on the ways of the court?”

Tristam rubbed his temples. “Willem’s trying to ensure the success of the Demon Rider offensive—that’s clear enough. And looks like he’s using bribes to do it. The
Council members look to the scribes and army leaders for advice. If Willem controls what they hear, he controls what they think.”

Seemed a roundabout way of pulling strings, but Flick supposed everything in the Palace was roundabout. “Who do you think is providing this coin?”

“Hard to tell. My best guess would be some of the minor families outside the city. They’d have the most to gain from an offensive against the Demon Riders.”

They were silent for a moment, then Kyra spoke. “If the Council’s decision to attack the Demon Riders was influenced by bribery, would that be enough reason to stop the
offensive?”

“It might be enough to delay while they investigate further,” said Tristam, “and it might be the first step we need to discredit Willem himself. But I’m not sure we have
enough proof. This is only one letter, and it’s not even signed. Willem’s handwriting could easily be faked. And we don’t even know who his co-conspirators are.”

Flick drummed his fingers against his thigh. “What if you had the testimony of the messenger? He’ll find his purse empty soon enough and come looking for me. Might there be some way
to, ah…persuade him to cooperate?” He almost felt guilty for suggesting it. Though really, Robert was a rather unpleasant fellow….

Tristam squinted in the direction of the street. “Depends on how his loyalty measures up to his self-preservation. But we’d need someplace to keep him. We can’t exactly
interrogate him here.”

“I could guard him at my cave,” said Kyra.

“It’d be better if you had help,” said Flick. An idea came to him, and he made a quick decision. Why should Kyra be the only one to come up with harebrained schemes? “I
might have friends who could keep an eye on him.”

“Are these friends trustworthy?” asked Tristam.

“They’ve no love for Willem. I’ll introduce you and you can decide for yourself.”

Tristam looked to Kyra. “What do you think?”

She stared at the parchment. “We’ve only seven days until the offensive starts. Think we can get the messenger to crack that quickly?”

“Can you think of a better way?” said Tristam.

A vendor on the street outside hawked his hotcakes as the three of them thought this over. Kyra gave a decisive nod. “Let’s do it.”

They sketched out a quick plan, then Flick returned to the inn, bypassing the dining room this time for the living quarters in back. He climbed the stairs in a rush, as if he were making a hasty
exit. No one stopped him, so he ran through the hallways several more times, wondering how long he could keep this up. Finally, Robert stepped around the corner. The man grabbed Flick’s
collar and forced him against the wall.

Flick raised his hands. “Whoa there, friend.” One of the doors in the corridor opened, and a bewildered lodger peered out, only to duck back into his room when Robert glared at
him.

The messenger bent his face close to Flick’s. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

Flick felt the sharp point of a dagger against his side. “The parchment,” said Robert.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Flick bit back a curse as cloth ripped and the dagger skimmed his skin. He was pretty sure Robert had drawn blood. “Search
me if you want,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ve nothing on me.”
You owe me, Kyra.

Flick stayed absolutely still as Robert patted him down. Robert searched him twice, then narrowed his eyes. “It was in my purse when I stepped into the dining room, and gone after you
left. No one else came near me except for you.” Robert raised the dagger to Flick’s throat.

“All right, all right, I took it.” Flick didn’t have to work hard to sound convincingly panicked. “It’s outside. I can give it back. Just—keep that dagger to
yourself.”

The messenger spun Flick roughly around so they were facing the same direction. A moment later, the knife reappeared at his back. “Slowly,” said Robert. “If I suspect anything,
your life is forfeit.”

They walked in lockstep down the stairs. The lodgers they passed didn’t even notice anything was amiss. Once out the door, Flick headed for the alley, and Robert tightened his grip.
“Don’t try anything.”

“Do you want the parchment or not?” said Flick under his breath.

Flick felt a layer of sweat forming over his skin as they stepped into the alley. There was no sign of Tristam or Kyra as they walked past the stack of crates, and he dearly hoped that nothing
had gone awry. Flick’s gaze settled on a pile of rocks next to the wall. “There, under the rocks.”

Robert nudged him closer. “Move them aside slowly.”

Carefully, Flick got to his knees and began slowly shifting the rocks in the pile.
Any time now, Tristam…

Robert grunted behind him, and Flick felt the man’s grip go slack. He turned around to see Tristam carefully lowering the messenger’s body to the ground. Kyra dropped off the roof,
eyed Robert, unconscious on the ground, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s alive,” said Tristam. “He’ll have a headache when he wakes though.”

“Cutting it a bit close?” said Flick, shaking out his arms and shoulders. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been.

“Sorry,” said Tristam. “With that knife drawn on you, I wanted to make sure he didn’t see me coming.”

Flick plucked Robert’s dagger off the ground and wiped the dust off the blade. “I’m keeping this,” he said. “For my troubles.”

T W E N T Y - S I X

T
hey bound Robert tightly and gagged him while Tristam hurried back to the Palace for a wagon. When the messenger awoke, Kyra showed him her
dagger.

“You’ll be quiet,” she said, conjuring her best imitation of James in his more dangerous moments. “And you won’t cause any trouble.” The messenger’s
glare could have sparked kindling, but he made no noise.

A short while later, Tristam pulled up with a wagon full of the fake demon cat heads. “I told them I was going to set up some exercises outside the city,” he said. “I suppose
I’ll have to do that now.”

By pulling the wagon right to the alley, they loaded Robert without attracting too many wayward glances. Flick lay down behind him, holding tight to the ropes that bound Robert’s wrists.
Kyra took her place in front of the messenger, and Tristam covered all three of them with demon cat heads. The hemp sacks smelled like mold, and Kyra could feel Robert’s eyes on her in the
cramped semidarkness. The messenger exuded fury, and Kyra wondered how they would possibly get him to cooperate before the start of the Demon Rider offensive in seven days.

After a bumpy and stuffy ride out of the city, Tristam pulled the wagon off the road. Flick left to find his friends, and Kyra and Tristam marched Robert to Kyra’s cave. Their captive
walked stoically in front of them, with Tristam’s knife at his back. He was obediently quiet, but his eyes were a bit too keen, and it was with great relief that Kyra saw her cave appear
ahead of them.

Kyra scouted it first, then waved Tristam in when she found it empty. Not much light came in from the mouth, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. It also smelled
slightly of cat, and Kyra wondered if Tristam noticed.

Tristam ungagged Robert. “You may sit if you’d like,” said Tristam, motioning to the cave wall. The messenger glared at them but carefully lowered himself onto the ground. He
pulled his legs away from Kyra when she tried to retie them, but relented after a moment.

“You’re from the Forge Council?” said Robert. “I didn’t peg that fellow for a Palace man.”

“We’ll be asking the questions,” Tristam said calmly. “Who sent the message to Willem?”

Robert’s laugh had a sarcastic edge. “And you expect me to simply lay it all out for you?”

“No, not immediately. But you will. You looked competent with that dagger, but you’re a messenger and not a soldier. You aren’t sworn to die for your master, and I don’t
think you mean to. It might take some time for this to sink in, but you’ll come around.”

Kyra had been on the receiving end of Tristam’s interrogations not long ago, and it was strange to be on the other side. Tristam didn’t yell or raise his voice, but there was a quiet
intensity to the way he spoke that commanded attention. He was also incredibly calm. All their plans hinged on this messenger, but Tristam acted as if he had the upper hand.

“I don’t believe you’ll kill me,” said Robert.

“I won’t have to,” said Tristam. “The Council will gladly execute you for me. But if you give us useful information, we might be able to speak on your behalf. I
can’t promise you any specific terms to your sentence, but I can promise you far better than what you’ll receive if I turn you in without an admission of guilt. Just tell me which house
employs you and whom the message was for.”

Kyra heard footsteps outside a few moments before Tristam did. They exchanged a glance, and she slipped out. Flick waited a short distance from the cave mouth, shifting his weight from foot to
foot. She could have sworn he looked guilty.

“My friends can help,” he said. “And they’re right behind me.”

“I see.” Kyra took a few steps closer, wondering at Flick’s manner. “That’s good news, in’t it?” She stopped as Adele, Pashla, and Mela and a man she
didn’t recognize came into view. “Flick, that’s—”

At that moment, Tristam stepped out of the cave. He took one look at the newcomers and reached for his sword.

“There’s no need, Tristam,” said Flick. “These are the friends I mentioned.”

Tristam had gone rigid. He drew breath sharply to speak, then looked back at the cave mouth. His voice was low when he spoke again, but no less angry. “You didn’t mention that your
friends were Demon Riders.”

“I know,” said Flick. He spoke carefully, though there was no hint of apology in his manner. “They’re good to help, but you don’t have to accept it.”

Kyra looked from Flick to Tristam and back again, trying to ignore a feeling of betrayal that was trickling into her consciousness. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, that Flick had
obviously hidden this plan from her, or that he’d been the one to think of it when Kyra shared their blood.

Pashla nodded to Kyra in greeting, then looked at Tristam. “I didn’t know the knight would be here,” she said to Adele.

“I have a name,” said Tristam, his voice taut.

“Tristam of Brancel,” Pashla said lightly. While her tone didn’t exactly convey disrespect, neither did she assign much importance to the utterance. The tension in the circle
was palpable, and Kyra couldn’t quell the feeling that things were about to unravel. She didn’t know what Flick’s game was, and the thought of her old friend doing anything behind
her back bothered her more than she cared to admit.