Daughter of Dusk: Midnight Thief, #2

Copyright © 2015 by Livia Blackburne

Cover Design by Regina Wamba of ReginaWamba.com

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-940584-05-8

To my favorite astronomer and literary snob

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Epilogue

Note from Livia

Rosemarked

Zivah

Also By Livia Blackburne

Acknowledgments

About the Author

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One

The snow was a problem, the way it crunched beneath Kyra’s shoes and bore marks of her passing. Though her Makvani blood made her light-footed, it wasn’t enough to keep her from leaving a trail of footprints between the trees. The previous four times Kyra had come into the forest, she’d told herself it would be her last. If she were wise, she’d stay away. But apparently, she wasn’t wise, not where her past was concerned.

The moon was almost full tonight. Its light passed through the leafless canopy, making the ground shine silver. Though the snow muffled the forest’s sounds, there was still plenty to be heard. Wind blew through the trees. Occasionally an owl hooted. A shadow moved nearby, and Kyra trained her eyes on it, focusing on the shades of darkness that teased themselves apart if she looked hard enough. She sampled the odors of bark, new snow, and frozen leaves, and she listened. There was the snuffling of a raccoon, a scratching of tiny paws. Her Makvani blood sharpened her senses, and her brief time with the clan had taught her to use them to their fullest. It had been exhilarating to see the world like this, and Kyra had reveled in these new discoveries.

But they were no longer enough.

Even now, as she stood awash in the forest’s sights, sounds, and smells, Kyra was thinking about something else. A crisp fall morning. A circle of witnesses. Her life hanging in the balance. She’d been a captive of the Makvani, fighting the assassin James in Challenge, and he’d beaten her. He’d had her at his mercy, and she’d been sure she was going to die.

But then she’d changed. Kyra could feel it still, the warmth that started in her core and expanded out until her body melted and her bones stretched into the frame of a giant wildcat. The world had come to her in stark clarity—sights, sounds, and smells overwhelming her with their strength.

And with it had come the bloodlust. Kyra shrank back from that detail, but it was there, as clear in her mind as the taste of the forest on her tongue. She’d wanted nothing more than to tear James limb from limb, to savage his body beyond recognition. Though Kyra had resisted the urge, the memory stayed with her, as did her horror at what she might have done. She’d sworn she would never take her cat form again.

And yet, here she was, back in the forest. Still in her skin but teetering on the edge, far too tempted for her own good.

Kyra placed her hand on a nearby tree. Its rough bark felt solid enough to keep her from being swept away. Kyra closed her eyes and sent her senses inward, daring herself to find the spark that would bring out her other form. But what would happen afterward? How long would she remain in her fur? What atrocities would she commit before she turned back?

She opened her eyes and stopped reaching. Maybe someday she would go through with it, but not tonight. Kyra glanced up at the constellations and noted the time, a habit formed years ago from her early days as a thief. She suspected she’d be checking the sky for the rest of her life.

That was when she heard something move, something that didn’t have the small scurrying steps of prey. Though the footsteps weren’t loud, she could sense a bulk to them—a difference in the feel of the ground and the way the air moved. A bear would have that kind of weight, but it would be louder. That left one other possibility.…

Kyra backed against a tree, her heartbeat suddenly twice as fast as before. If it really was a demon cat coming toward her, climbing the tree would do her no good. She balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, muscles taut, as the beast came into view. Sleek muscle, long tail, pointed ears—a wildcat the size of a horse. Kyra didn’t recognize this particular demon cat. Its eyes fixed on her, and its tail swished dangerously. There was no friendliness in its gaze. Kyra hadn’t exactly left the Makvani on good terms.

I mean no harm, Kyra said. I don’t come on Palace business. Her voice quavered. As if the beast would believe her. As if the beast would care.

It continued advancing, and though it would do no good, Kyra turned to run. The forest had gone silent around her, and all she could hear were her own quick breaths and the crunch of snow underfoot. She managed a few steps before powerful paws knocked her down. Kyra skidded along the ground. Icy snow spilled into her sleeves and melted against her skin. Kyra rolled onto her side and scrambled for the knife in her boot, only to drop it as the beast knocked her again to the ground. Hot breath bore down on her, and Kyra crossed her arms in front of her face to ward off teeth and claws. Could she change now? The beast gave her no quarter, not even a chance to breathe.

There was a roar. A creature—another demon cat—collided with the beast on top of her. The two cats tumbled along the ground, growling and snapping, a blur that was impossible to follow. Kyra had only just made sense of the scene when the two cats broke apart and faced each other. The second cat let out a low growl. After a long moment, the first beast turned and retreated into the forest, leaving Kyra alone with her rescuer.

Kyra’s heart still beat wildly in her chest, and she couldn’t quite believe that the threat was gone. She didn’t recognize this new beast. She’d hoped it was Pashla, the clanswoman who had been her advocate during her time with the Makvani, but this tawny-yellow creature was much bigger, with muscular shoulders and haunches that were formidable even for a demon cat. As Kyra climbed to her feet, the beast’s shape began to blur. A moment later, Leyus stood before her. Leyus, the leader of the Makvani, who had only grudgingly spared her life the last time she’d seen him. In his human form, Leyus was tall with long hair that matched the tawny yellow of his fur, and the same muscular shoulders he carried as a beast. Kyra kept her eyes on his face because, like all Makvani who had just changed into his skin, he was naked.

You tread a dangerous line, coming back to this forest, said Leyus. He turned to leave without waiting for a response.

Kyra stood dumbfounded. Thank you, she called.

Leyus looked over his shoulder. You have chosen your loyalties, he said without stopping. Do not expect to be safe out here. If you come into our territory, you alone bear the risks and the consequences.

And then he was gone.

Two

Kyra’s younger friends Idalee and Lettie were sound asleep by the time she returned to the small room the three of them rented from a wealthy jeweler’s widow. The two sisters lay curled together on the straw pallet they all shared. Idalee’s dark hair was spread wild around her on the pillow, while Lettie had burrowed completely under the covers and was only visible as a small mound at her sister’s back. They didn’t stir when Kyra climbed in next to them.

Though the bedding was blissfully warm compared to the icy forest, Kyra stayed awake long after she lay down, staring into the darkness as the attack and rescue played in her mind. It was a foolish thing, going back into the forest time after time with no reason. The Demon Riders had made it very clear that she was no longer welcome in their midst, and Leyus could very well have let her die. Kyra didn’t know if it was residual gratitude for saving his clan, a desire to avoid trouble with the Palace, or Kyra’s own mixed blood that had led Leyus to intervene, but she wasn’t naïve enough to expect her good fortune to hold if she continued going. Trouble was, she couldn’t seem to stay away. She’d spent her entire life wondering who her parents were and where she’d come from. Just as she’d learned more about her history, however horrifying it was, it had been taken away from her. The draw of her past was strong, as was that tantalizing memory of those few moments she’d had in her second form.

But maybe there was a better way to go after her past—one that wouldn’t get her killed. Pashla had once mentioned that Far Ranger trade caravans had long memories and might be able to give Kyra clues about her origins. Perhaps it was time to seek them out.

She was running through the forest on four legs, dodging trees and leaping over rocks. It was a joy to use her limbs this way, to stretch her back legs behind her and reach with her front paws for the next push. The trees were a blur around her, and she ran until she arrived, breathless, in front of Forge’s walls. Kyra sat back on her haunches, tongue lolling, but something wasn’t right. The walls were lined with Red Shields, and even as she climbed back to her feet, they streamed down from the walls and surrounded her. The last man to close the circle was Malikel, stern in his official’s robes and looking much taller than Kyra remembered.

It brings me no joy to do this, he said, but you’re a threat to the city. We can’t let you live.

Kyra’s fur stood on end, and she arched her back as the Red Shields raised sharp spears and pointed them toward her in silent unison. A growl stirred in her throat. If this was how it would be, then she would go down fighting.…

Kyra, wake up.

Kyra’s eyes flew open and she reached under her pillow for her dagger. She’d drawn the blade and was pushing herself to her feet when she finally regained her bearings. It was morning. She’d been dreaming.

The single room she shared with Idalee and Lettie was still. The muted noises of the street one story below filtered in through the window. The girls were nowhere to be seen, but her good friend Flick sat at the table across the room, looking as carefree as ever with his feet propped up on the table and his brown curls slightly mussed atop his head.

Kyra sank back into the bedding. Fiery cities, Flick. Are you trying to scare me to death? Flick lived with friends several streets away, but he spent so much time here that he might as well have been a fourth resident, especially since he’d stopped courting the wool merchant’s daughter.

What was it this time? Assassins? Demon cats? Old ladies wielding poisoned knitting needles?

She sheathed her dagger and threw it at her pillow. Red Shields. Malikel.

Ah. Flick dipped a chunk of bread into a tumbler of watered wine and stared at it pensively before popping it into his mouth. Hunting you down because they learned what you were?

Aye.

At this rate, you’re likely to worry yourself to death before they find out.

Given the way her heart was beating wild rhythms in her rib cage, Kyra couldn’t argue with his reasoning. But neither could she stop worrying.

When the Demon Riders first started raiding farms around Forge, everyone had assumed that the enormous wildcats they rode were simply well-trained pets. It was only after the barbarians captured Kyra that she learned they were shape-shifters, the mythical felbeasts of legend. Kyra told the Palace upon her return, but she’d kept one detail to herself: that she shared their shape-shifter blood.

Only five humans knew Kyra’s secret. Tristam and James had seen her change shape in the forest, and Kyra had told her adopted family—Flick, Idalee, and Lettie—after she returned to Forge. While Tristam and her family could be counted on to keep her secret, James most definitely could not. After Kyra captured James and turned him over to the Palace, she’d gone to sleep every night expecting to be woken by soldiers at her door. But it hadn’t yet happened, and though it was the best possible outcome, Kyra couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

If you want, we could still go to Edlan. Play it safe, said Flick.

She rubbed the back of her neck. Flick’s offer was generous, but he didn’t really want to leave Forge. None of them did—Forge was all they’d ever known. I don’t know. Mayhap if I can earn Malikel’s trust, he won’t think me a threat to the city when he finally finds out.

Flick gave a noncommittal shrug. I didn’t wake you up just to get you out of that nightmare. Tristam’s waiting for you outside.

Tristam? It was only then that Kyra noticed the angle of light coming in the room’s small window. She’d slept past noon. We’re to report to duty today. I’ve found a member of the Assassins Guild. She threw a tunic over the shift and trousers she’d slept in, splashed her face at the washbasin by the door, then grabbed a hairbrush and tugged at her hair until she could tie it back with a leather thong. She tried a few times to smooth down the wrinkles in her tunic, but they just popped back up.

Flick tipped backward in his chair, eyeing her with amusement. "Why don’t you go to such efforts to look presentable for us?"

Kyra gave up on the wrinkles. All right if I let him in?

"Fine by me. My hair’s been combed all morning."

The door to their quarters opened into a plain wooden corridor that ended in a narrow staircase. When Kyra came out, she found Tristam at the top of the stairs, his tall form bent slightly as he peered over the low railing. She walked quietly up behind him and placed a hand on his back.

Looking at anything interesting?

His muscles tensed under her hand, and he whipped around, reaching for the dagger at his waist. But then his eyes landed on her, and his face relaxed into an embarrassed smile.

A warmth spread around her ribs as she looked up at him and returned his grin. He must have just washed this morning, because she could smell the soap on him, layered over the familiar scent of his skin.

Latrine duty for you, she admonished. It was an old joke between them, a remark he’d made the first time she’d snuck up on him. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.

Late night? asked Tristam. He straightened to his full height, and Kyra craned her neck to keep eye contact.

Aye. She was thankful when Tristam didn’t ask where she’d been. He was dressed in Palace livery—not that of a knight, Kyra noticed again with a pang, but the plainer tunic of a Red Shield, with an embroidered F on the left breast, over plain black breeches. He’d been stripped of his knighthood for a year because he’d rescued Kyra from the Demon Riders against direct orders from the Council. While Tristam had never complained about his punishment, Kyra couldn’t help wondering if he regretted his decision. Though she noticed he wore this livery well. He held himself like a soldier, and his movements were precise and confident.

They returned to the room. Flick gave Tristam a sideways glance then and grunted a half greeting, not bothering to take his feet off the table. Flick was the illegitimate son of a minor nobleman and had decided long ago that wallhuggers could not be trusted. Kyra glared at him, but he’d already turned his attention back to his breakfast.

Let me fetch my daggers, said Kyra. And then I’ll be ready to go.

She’d picked up the one on her bed and was rummaging through her chest for others when the door opened and Lettie stepped in, followed by Idalee carrying a basket of bread. The two sisters were bundled against the cold with matching wool dresses, scarves wrapped around their hair, and warm boots. Months of shelter and good food seemed to be paying off. Lettie now stood as high as Kyra’s waist, and Idalee’s dress was stretching tight around her chest and hips. The girl hadn’t even started her monthly blood and she already had more curves than Kyra. They’d have to get her cloth to make a new dress soon.

Both girls stopped short when they saw Tristam.

Ho, Tristam, said Lettie, breaking into a dimpled grin.

Tristam bowed. Hello, Lady Lettie.

Lettie giggled, her dark brown curls bouncing beneath her headscarf.

Idalee gave Tristam a halfhearted curtsy and took her basket to the hearth without saying a word. Then she turned her back to the room, removed a loaf from the basket, and started vigorously brushing it off.

Kyra frowned and walked closer. What are you doing? She’d always had problems with Flick and Tristam getting along, but this was the first time she’d seen rudeness from Idalee.

Nothing, Idalee said. A strand of black hair stuck to her forehead as she bent protectively over the bread. The girl was standing so close to the fireplace that her skirt almost brushed the embers.

Kyra saw now that Idalee’s bread was covered with dirt. What happened? She put her hand on Idalee’s shoulder, but the girl shook it off.

I dropped the basket, said Idalee.

Kyra and Flick exchanged a worried glance over Idalee’s head. Flick turned to Lettie. Is that what truly happened? he asked.

Lettie had climbed up onto one of the chairs. A fatpurse pushed me in the market, she said, cringing at Idalee’s warning glance. Idalee yelled at him, and he knocked the basket out of her hand.

Kyra looked to Flick in alarm. His mouth tightened in a grim line, and he shook his head. Idalee had always been fiercely protective of her sister.

Lettie, did the fatpurse hurt you? said Flick. He used the low, steady tone he always did when trying to stay calm.

Lettie shook her head, and Flick looked her up and down, silently verifying her answer. Then he leaned against the fireplace mantel so Idalee would have to look at him, even if it was only out of the corner of her eye. You’re lucky it was only the bread that came to harm, he said.

Idalee put down one clean loaf and picked up the next. It in’t fair, she said to the bread.

Of course it wasn’t fair. Kyra’s own pulse was rising at the thought of any wallhuggers laying hands on either Idalee or Lettie. But acknowledging the injustice wouldn’t keep Idalee safe the next time some nobleman offended her. Idalee, you can’t go testing your luck with the wallhuggers, she said. If they do something you don’t like, you walk away. They’re dangerous and unpredictable.

The words had barely left her mouth when Kyra remembered that Tristam was standing quietly at the edge of the room. She shot a mortified glance in his direction. I mean, not all—

No offense taken, Tristam said before she could finish. He pushed away from the wall, his gaze keen. Idalee, do you know the name of the man who pushed Lettie?

Idalee finally stopped attacking the bread, and her eyes were slightly hopeful when she raised them to Tristam. No. Could you do something, if I did?

There are no laws against pushing, I’m afraid, he said gently. But I would have liked to know. He glanced out the window. It’s about time we go. Kyra, are you ready?

Almost. Kyra ran back to her trunk and finally fished out her daggers. Everything all right over here? she asked as she tucked them into her boots.

We’ll be fine, said Flick.

She supposed they would have to be. Take care, then, she said, and followed Tristam out the door.

Forge was laid out in rough concentric circles with the Palace at its center. The nobility lived in the ring just outside the Palace wall, hence their nickname wallhuggers. Wealthy merchants, including Kyra’s new landlady, lived in the ring outside that. As Kyra and Tristam set out from her quarters, they headed farther away from the Palace, toward the beggars’ circle.

Kyra tried again to apologize for her comment about dangerous wallhuggers, but Tristam waved her words aside.

It just means that you’re comfortable enough around me to speak freely. I’m glad of it.

He’d thrown a cloak over his livery to disguise his affiliation with the Palace, and the two of them strolled down the street like any other couple. A silk vendor waved a gold scarf to get Kyra’s attention. It will bring out the warm tones of your skin, lovely lady. When she ignored him, the silk vendor turned his efforts to Tristam. Young Lord, get your lady a scarf to match her beauty.

Kyra chuckled. The merchant’s honeyed words would have been more convincing if he hadn’t said the same thing to every other person walking down the street.

The silk merchant’s voice echoed after them. You’re a feisty pair of young lovers. I can tell that you adore each other.

Kyra’s laugh trailed off, and she took an involuntary glance at Tristam. The street vendor’s words rattled in her mind. Feisty? She supposed she’d been called that before. Young? That was certainly true. But lovers?

Six weeks ago, after they’d been released by the Makvani, the two of them had shared a kiss. It didn’t take much effort at all to conjure the memory of his arms around her that night, or the tingle on her skin as they’d leaned their faces close. But that had been one moment in the forest, when they didn’t know what the future held. Now they were back in the city, and things felt less clear. Tristam was the son of a noble house, and she was a pardoned criminal. How could a stolen kiss in the forest stand against that? After weeks of working together under Malikel, they were comfortable with each other, even flirted on occasion. But things remained…uncertain.

As they continued walking, the lively trappings of the merchant circle gave way to the blackened walls of the fire-burned district, the part of the city that had been destroyed in the Demon Rider raid orchestrated by James. The streets were lined with charred frames. A few of the ruins had been torn down, and some of the poor had set up tents and lean-tos in the burnt-out buildings. The air still smelled faintly of charcoal, and though the ash was gone, Kyra couldn’t shake the impression that breathing too deeply would clog her nose with blackened dust.

It doesn’t look much different from before, does it? said Kyra. There’s been some rebuilding near the merchant sector, but not down here.

The landlords are likely waiting for the city to clean it up, said Tristam. The first person to rebuild has to also clean the wells and unclog the gutters. Nobody wants to do that.

It would only take a crew of Red Shields a couple weeks to clean everything, said Kyra.

That sounds about right, said Tristam. Neither mentioned the obvious, that the Council hadn’t seen fit to use its soldiers this way.

Their path didn’t take them directly by the ruins of The Drunken Dog, for which Kyra was grateful. Her friend Bella, who had been like a mother to her, had died after the fire overtook the tavern, and Kyra didn’t want to dwell on the loss today. She sped up her steps as they neared the vicinity of her old home and didn’t stop until it was far behind her. Tristam kept pace with her and didn’t comment.

Finally, they came to a place where the houses stood intact, though they were still marked by smoke. The beggars along the street became more numerous, and soon Kyra and Tristam neared a corner where she recognized other Palace men. All of them, like Tristam, wore plain cloaks to hide their Palace livery. In addition to Kyra and Tristam, there were three Red Shields and Sir Rollan, a knight new to Malikel’s command. He’d been transferred after Malikel dismissed another knight for taking bribes while on gate duty. The Defense Minister was one of the few who actually enforced honesty in his men—most other commanders simply overlooked such infractions.

Rollan nodded a greeting as they approached. He was a big man with messy yellow hair, about ten years older than Tristam. That’s all of us. Kyra, give us an update.

The men gathered around. Ashley’s a low-ranking member of the Guild, said Kyra. If he keeps his patterns from earlier this week, he should be home. He’s a good fighter, so be careful.

It had taken Kyra considerable time to track him down. After the Palace pardoned Kyra’s crimes, she’d agreed to help Malikel track down the rest of the Guild and bring them to justice. The first assassin, a taciturn man named Jason, had been easy to capture. But as word of Jason’s imprisonment had spread, the rest of the Guild went underground. Kyra found nothing for weeks, until finally she’d run across rumors of Ashley hiding in an old house in the beggars’ sector.

Kyra, scout the house, said Rollan. Brancel, go help her.

Kyra kept her head low as she and Tristam set off down the street. The streets here were narrow and dirty, with the upper stories hanging over the lower ones and blocking the light. She could sense the handful of loiterers and beggars on the street giving them suspicious looks. The Palace folk stood out here despite their efforts to blend in. Their clothes were too nice, and they carried themselves too straight. Well, it was too late to do anything about that. She quickened her steps and turned into an empty alleyway.

You’ll be climbing up here? Tristam asked quietly.

Kyra nodded, pleased that Tristam knew her habits well enough to anticipate her movements. Give me a boost?

He checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then joined his hands to form a step for her.

She pushed off him and pulled herself over the edge of the roof. The old wooden shingles felt as if they’d come apart if she bent them hard enough, and she was glad she had gloves to protect her from splinters. Thank you. You’re a decent stepladder.

You know, came his voice from below, in some circles I’m known for my combat skills and quick strategic mind.

And here I thought it was your pretty face, she said under her breath.

Kyra looked down from the roof to find Tristam’s mouth quirked in a mischievous smile. You think so?

Their gazes met for a moment, and the flutter in Kyra’s stomach was not at all convenient for running a mission. She scowled and traced the line of the rooftop with her gaze. I’m off, then.

This entire street was lined with cheaply constructed boarding-houses, favored by landlords who often rented out each room to a different family. Kyra had to use a soft step and watch her way carefully so she wouldn’t tread on any rotten tiles. There was far more creaking and shifting underneath her feet than she would have liked.

The assassin, Ashley, lived in an attic apartment. These rooms had windows that protruded out of the roof under slanted eaves, and Kyra counted them as she climbed over each one, finally stopping at the fifth. Though the shutters were closed, there was a thin gap where they met. When Kyra put her eye to the crack, she could make out a man sitting on the floor, doing some work with his hands. She had only seen Ashley once or twice during her time at the Guild, but it was definitely him.

Her target found, Kyra crept to the very edge of the roof. About ten people walked the streets below. Though they all could have seen Kyra easily in the afternoon sun, Tristam was the only one looking up. His eyes met hers, and then he walked casually away.

Her message delivered, Kyra went back to the window and waited, straining her ears for any sound from within—hard to do because the street noise below was louder. She thought she heard a faint knock—not loud enough to be someone at Ashley’s door, though it could have been Rollan’s men knocking on the building’s main entrance. She risked another peek inside and saw Ashley pause in his work and inch his way toward the door. He held a dagger in his hand. Kyra drew her own blade but stayed put. Her orders were to wait by this window in case he tried to escape.

The door to Ashley’s room crashed open and Rollan’s men rushed in. The clashing of blades scraped Kyra’s ears. A man screamed in pain, and Ashley pushed past the Red Shields out the door as Rollan yelled a command to follow him. Kyra squinted through the crack, trying to see who’d been hurt, but there was too much going on. She jostled the latch. When it wouldn’t budge, she stepped back and aimed a kick at the window. The flimsy shutters gave way, and she swung herself into the room.

It was empty. The door was flung open. A Red Shield named Daly sat in the corridor outside while his comrade, a skinny young Red Shield named Fitz, bound a bandage around his thigh. Judging from the amount of blood, the wound looked deep.

He needs a healer, said Fitz as Kyra came closer. Kyra crouched