Daughter of Dusk by Livia Blackburne Page B

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