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
It 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—”