Daughter of Dusk (7 page)

“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

I
t 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 voice 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.

“You should marry Flick, Kyra,” Lettie said as they looked after him.