Authors: Livia Blackburne
Alvred had a few follow-up questions, and Kyra found she could answer them to his satisfaction. Other officials came to their circle as she spoke, and the air around her grew warmer with the
crowd. Apparently, the Demon Riders were high in everybody’s interest. As she spoke, Kyra became self-conscious about her lowborn speech. She was tempted to try to match the
wallhuggers’ smoother consonants and intonation, but she suspected she’d only come across as foolish.
Alvred downed his wine in one swig. “This is all very interesting,” he said. “We’ve not found the Demon Riders to be much of a threat in Edlan. We did have a few attacks,
which we fought off. After that, the barbarians have left us alone. Perhaps they’ve found easier marks elsewhere.”
The insult didn’t go unnoticed. All eyes went to Malikel, who looked to be suppressing a smile. “I congratulate you, Alvred, on the success of your excellent army.”
“It’s colder and rockier near Edlan, in’t it?” said Kyra. “Mayhap the Demon Riders just prefer warmer weather.”
Alvred peered down his nose at her. “And you would presume to know the minds of the barbarians? What kind of training does a girl like you have in warfare?”
Kyra flushed and squared her stance. “No formal learning, sir, but you’ll remember I was their prisoner for a month.”
Head Councilman Willem cleared his throat. His presence was commanding enough that everyone looked to him, though he didn’t start talking until the pretty serving girl attending him had
finished refilling his glass. “You raise a good question, Alvred, and one that we at Forge might do well to remember. Kyra
of Forge
”—he emphasized the city name, subtly
underscoring Kyra’s lack of affiliation with a noble house—“is a former assassin who was convicted of high treason, a member of the very group who first brought the Demon Riders
against Forge. Certainly an unconventional choice to ask for counsel when the city’s safety is at stake. But Malikel’s choice in subordinates has always been unique.”
Kyra choked at Willem’s words.
Willem
had been the one to recruit Kyra into the Palace service after the pardon. How dare he reframe things now to cast suspicion on Malikel?
She might eventually have found her voice, but Malikel spoke first. “Thank you, Willem,” he said mildly. “Kyra is valuable to us precisely because of her history with the
Assassins Guild. Her experience with them and as a prisoner of the Demon Riders gives her a perspective that we lack. Any tome on strategy will fall short upon meeting an unfamiliar enemy.
Sometimes firsthand experience is the best.” He turned to Kyra. “I believe we’ve heard all we need from you. You are dismissed.”
Tristam intercepted her before she could go very far, looping his arm into hers as if they were any one of the elegant couples in the ballroom.
“Don’t leave.” He spoke conversationally and looked out over the crowd, though there was a layer of compassion in his tone. “If you let him know he’s upset you,
then he’s won. It’s all part of the game.”
Kyra let him guide her through the revelers, frustrated that he’d read her intentions so easily and wondering how much he’d overheard. “Can we go somewhere quieter at least? I
can’t stomach much more of this.”
“How about here, by the wall?” He guided her to a space far enough from any posted guards to give them a semblance of privacy. “We can watch the dancing.”
She nodded gratefully. Kyra started to lean against the mirrored walls but stopped when she saw Tristam standing straight. He gave her a faint smile. “Lean against me. I’m plenty
sturdy, and the servants don’t have to polish me at the end of the evening.”
Kyra had to laugh at that, and she took his offered arm. They made quite a pair, the two of them in their finery, behaving in what must have been an incredibly unsociable way.
“Are you all right?” Tristam asked after a while.
Kyra nodded and found that she was indeed feeling better. “I’m used to Willem’s barbs by now.”
“Willem shouldn’t have spoken like that, undermining our own people to Edlan officials. It’s not even a matter of decorum. As Head Councilman, what he did was
unacceptable.”
“I suppose he just really dislikes me.” Kyra tried to make her voice light, but Tristam just shook his head.
“No. Willem is too much of a politician to let his own feuds leak through to his official duties. He had a reason for saying what he did.”
“And what was that?”
“I can’t know for sure,” said Tristam. “But Malikel’s been gaining favor in the Council. He’s been pushing an initiative against corruption in the Palace, and
he’s been convincing the other Council members. Perhaps Willem is trying to push back.”
Across the room, Willem was enjoying a brief moment of solitude, attended by the same unusually pretty serving girl who’d refilled his cup before. The girl smiled at Willem, tilting her
head as she refilled his glass, though it was clear to anyone with eyes in his head that her true function involved more than simply pouring wine. She wore the usual undyed linen dress of Palace
serving women, but she’d cut it to a tighter fit, and the collar was much lower than the usual modest cut. The girl had accentuated her already striking features with a hint of kohl and berry
stain, and she had the kind of figure that made men stop in the streets. Willem didn’t even try to hide his glances at her cleavage as he leaned over to speak in her ear.
“Doesn’t he care about word getting back to his wife?” Kyra snapped. She scanned the ballroom. Kyra didn’t know what Willem’s wife looked like, but she must have
been present at such an important event.
It took Tristam a moment to discern whom she was talking about. “From what I hear, his wife has her own line of companions. Theirs was an arranged marriage.”
“Is that how it’s done with nobles? A marriage for politics’ sake and a plaything on the side?” Kyra didn’t bother to remove the distaste from her voice. Flick had
come from such a union. His father had enjoyed his mistress’s company and then abandoned her when illness took her beauty.
Tristam’s gaze went to her face and lingered there a moment before he carefully replied, “It’s commonly done but it’s…frowned upon. Many couples do try to make it
work. My parents had a political marriage, but they now love and respect each other deeply.”
Willem’s serving girl sidled up closer to him, and the Head Councilman put a possessive arm around her waist. Kyra turned away. “I can’t watch them carrying on like this. How
can any serving girl stand to be that close to him? It turns my stomach.”
Tristam looked at her in bemusement. “I’ve never seen you react this strongly to Willem, and he’s done some pretty despicable things.”
Kyra didn’t want to think about why the sight of Willem with his mistress upset her so much. The answer was there. She just didn’t like it. “Why’s Malikel
unmarried?” she asked. “All the other Council members have wives, don’t they?”
“You know, I’ve never considered that. I suppose I always saw Malikel as a solitary entity.” Tristam tilted his head thoughtfully. “To be honest, I think it would be
difficult for him to find a family open to an alliance with him.”
“Because he’s Minadan? Even though he’s a Council member?”
Tristam hesitated, then gave an uncomfortable nod. “Allowing a foreigner into the workings of one’s city is hard enough. Allowing him into one’s family…I can’t see
it happening.”
Kyra chewed on his words. She supposed she wasn’t all that surprised. Though Malikel had power and influence, he’d never completely lost the aura of an outsider. The children of
Forge stared openly at Malikel when he toured the city, and Kyra remembered at least one serving girl new to the Palace who had been afraid to wait on the Defense Minister. In a sense,
Malikel’s situation was the opposite of hers. He was a good man and dedicated to the city, yet people feared him because of his dark skin and foreign ways. Whereas people who saw Kyra tended
to underestimate her, seeing only a young girl of low birth.
“To be honest, Willem had a good point,” she said. “I still wonder why Malikel trusts me. I did try to kill him.”
“You were ordered to assassinate him,” Tristam corrected. “And you didn’t carry out that order. Furthermore, you captured James and turned him over to the Palace. That,
if anything, should prove you’re no longer loyal to him.”
James. Kyra shivered as the assassin’s face appeared in her mind. He’d changed her life the day he’d walked into The Drunken Dog to hire her. “There was a time when I
believed in his cause. He really did think he was fighting for justice.”
The problem was, he’d taken the fight further than Kyra had been willing to go. Things had gone sour when Kyra refused to kill innocent bystanders. And though she’d once been his
most promising recruit, he’d eventually counted her his enemy.
Tristam spoke again. “And now you’re working for the very people you once thought to bring down.”
Kyra glanced sideways at him. “Are
you
doubting my loyalties now?”
He gave a faint smile. “Do I think you’ll do anything to harm the city? No. Nor would I hesitate to entrust you with my life. But I do wonder sometimes if you regret joining the
Palace.”
Tristam owed her his life several times over, and she him. So she believed Tristam when he said he trusted her, and she took her time thinking his question over. When Kyra had been in the
Assassins Guild, she’d feared that she was slowly becoming something she hated, that the horror of taking someone’s life would fade into normalcy. What about now? She was glad she no
longer had to follow James’s orders, but was the Palace changing her in subtle ways as well?
“You do look lovely, you know.” Tristam’s words startled her out of her reverie. “I’m so used to seeing you in trousers.”
She knew instinctively that he’d changed the subject on purpose, to give her permission not to answer right away. Kyra was grateful. “I prefer trousers. Certainly can’t run
anywhere in this dress,” she said. “But you don’t have to stand by the wall with me all night. Feel free to go charm the Edlan ladies.”
Tristam pantomimed taking a lady’s hand. “Good evening, fair lady. I’m Tristam, recently stripped of my rank. Would you like to dance?”
“They might find the idea of a disgraced knight romantic, if you frame it right.”
Tristam nodded slowly in mock consideration. “You might have a point. But I’m too tired for courtly conversation.” He paused. “Actually, the reaction to my disgrace has
been much more complex than I expected. The richer and more influential families, the ones that used to view me as a promising match—they stay far away from me. But the slightly less
respectable houses, their daughters seem to be paying me
more
attention. It’s as if they think an alliance with Brancel is now within reach.”
An alliance with Brancel.
Kyra hadn’t meant to steer the conversation to Tristam’s marital prospects, and she regretted it now. Thankfully, a servant came by just then to
offer them some lamb meatballs. Tristam took one, but Kyra declined.
“They’ll be at this all night,” said Tristam after the servants bore the tray away.
“What?”
He gestured toward the ballroom. Dancers twirled in pairs in front of the musicians, weaving patterns between and around each other that were hypnotizing to watch. “The dancers. It’s
amazing how they can keep it up for so long. Hours and hours of this, with only champagne and delicately frosted cakes to fuel their exertions.”
“It all looks unnecessarily complicated,” said Kyra. “How does anyone remember all the steps?”
“I would have thought you’d like dancing.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re not exactly someone who trips over her feet.”
She turned her head to hide a smile. “I do like some dancing.” There had been a few dancing girls at The Drunken Dog. Kyra had never bothered to learn what they did, mostly because
she hated how the tavern’s men leered at them. But once in a while on a festival day, someone would start up a circle dance in the dining room. Kyra had loved those. The steps were simple,
and there was plenty of laughing and clapping and cheering. This Palace dancing was completely different though. The elegance of it intimidated Kyra, the feeling that everything had to be done
exactly right.
“It looks complicated,” said Tristam. “But really, the patterns make sense after a while.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “This one, the valsa, you don’t
even have to learn any patterns—the gentleman chooses the steps and guides the lady through it. They say a good leader should be able to teach his partner to dance without
speaking.”
“Are you a good leader?” Kyra supposed Tristam must have been trained in these social graces at some point in his upbringing.
A smile touched his lips. “I’m decent.”
Before Kyra could react, Tristam moved toward her, ringing her waist with one hand and taking her hand in the other. Without warning, he lifted her onto her toes and pivoted them both around
until they stood at the edge of the dance floor. Kyra was speechless for a moment, then, seeing the sparkle in his eye, punched him in the chest.
“I could have stabbed you for that.”
“Words, words, words. Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to catch you if you trip.”
Maybe it was the pure absurdity of the situation, but the misgivings that had been weighing Kyra down all night dissipated. Kyra laughed and let him guide her through the steps. He kept them on
the edge of the ballroom, out of the crowds. This was a stately dance, with tambour and bells keeping the rhythm as a trio of cornets trumpeted a dignified melody. Though Tristam had downplayed the
dance’s complexity, Kyra still found it a great challenge to keep up. It was only after the first few repetitions, after she started getting the hang of when she was to twirl and when she was
to curtsy, that Kyra became more aware of his hand on her waist, the confident strength with which he led her. The frame of the dance was firm, and their bodies were separated by a good distance.
But there was an energy between them, and Kyra wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be farther from him or closer.