Jacobo tucked the parchment away. “I’m in Forge for the winter. We’re camped a quarter day’s walk to the west, along the main road. If I hear from the survivor, I’ll find you.”
She thanked him and went on her way. The market was filling with people, but Kyra barely saw them as she mulled over Jacobo’s words. A clan had come to Forge over a decade ago. Could she be descended from them? It was still morning, and Kyra had no plans for the rest of the day. The upper waterfall where the attack had happened wasn’t far. Everything would be gone after so long, but she was still tempted to take a look. Kyra turned toward the city outskirts. She could probably get there in an hour.
She was just making her way out of the market when she heard a scream.
The cry came from someone young, and it came from close by. Now that Kyra was listening for it, she heard other shouts as well. She sped up toward the commotion.
A courtyard next to the market was crowded with people, all watching something in the center. There was a sickness to the air. As Kyra came closer, several people broke away from the crowd and hurried away.
“You’ll learn to respect your betters,” came a man’s voice. “Tell me why we shouldn’t cut that tongue of yours clean out.”
Kyra thought she heard a whimper in response. She nudged a beggar woman next to her. “What happened?” she whispered.
“Some kind of row between fatpurses and a gutter rat. Gutter rat’s getting the worst of it now.”
Kyra redoubled her efforts to break through the crowd, her thoughts immediately going to Ollie. Had a nobleman taken exception to his hat? A few people protested when she pushed past them, but most were too distracted by the spectacle in the square.
There was a sickening thud and a low moan as Kyra pushed in front of the people blocking her view. Now that she was through, she saw that the crowd pressed against the outer perimeter of the courtyard, leaving the middle empty. Folk were afraid to get too close to the scene in the center, and Kyra couldn’t blame them.
Three young noblemen, peacocks in their colorful silk tunics, stood over a muddied body in the courtyard. The victim wore a dress—it wasn’t Ollie, then, though the girl looked to be in bad shape. Then the victim rolled over, and Kyra’s heart stopped beating.
It wasn’t Ollie. It was Idalee.
The girl was hunched over in the mud, her face twisted in pain as a nobleman waved a dagger in front of her eyes. Even as Kyra watched, the wallhugger, a skinny young man in a purple tunic, grabbed Idalee’s hair and pushed her face into the mud. His friend pulled his leg back for another kick. Kyra drew her dagger and made a mad rush into the circle. “Stop!”
Her momentum was enough that the noblemen jumped back, and Kyra threw herself in front of Idalee. The wallhuggers stared. If a squirrel had jumped off a roof and started talking to them, they couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Kyra?” Idalee seemed to have trouble focusing her eyes on her.
Kyra crouched and placed her hand on Idalee’s shoulder. The girl’s nose was bleeding, and her lip was torn. “I don’t know what imaginary offense this girl committed,” said Kyra. “But this is far beyond anything she could possibly deserve. Leave her be.”
The one in the purple tunic looked her over, still more confused than angry. “Who are you?”
He took a step toward her. Kyra raised her dagger.
“You’ll answer to the magistrate,” said Kyra. “There’s a courtyard full of witnesses.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Purple Tunic’s expression changed from confusion to annoyance, and he advanced on her.