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 na?ve 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.