Kyra shook off the command like water from her fur and started off toward the scent.
“No, Kyra.” A hand on her flank, and a firmer command this time. Kyra spun around and slashed at Pashla, who jumped back, stumbling. As Pashla regained her balance, Kyra whipped around and sprinted toward her prey. She dove into the trees at the edge of the meadow, jumping over rocks and dodging branches. The scent was as clear to her as a path she could follow. Ahead of her, she caught a glimpse of the deer and smelled its alarm. Birds took flight at her approach, wing beats like drums against the air, their warning calls sharp and bold. Kyra ran faster.
Something heavy landed on her back and knocked her paws out from under her. The weight was so strong, so sudden, that Kyra realized it must have fallen from a tree. Kyra writhed and twisted to face this new attacker, striking out with her claws. Her opponent kept out of her way and opened cuts on Kyra’s forelimbs with her teeth. It stung, and the pain infuriated her.
The deer was getting away. She could hear its light hoofbeats fading, and she roared with frustration. Her attacker—Pashla, it was Pashla, Kyra realized—was strong, and Kyra couldn’t get the best of her. She tired, and it gradually became clear to Kyra that they shouldn’t be fighting at all. She stopped moving and let Pashla pin her to the ground.
As Kyra’s breath slowed and her blood cooled, she felt the sense of her fur waning. She let herself melt back into her skin.
Pashla, her own form still shifting, pulled Kyra to her feet. “Get dressed before you freeze.”
It was a cold run back to her clothes. Kyra wrapped her cloak around herself to block the wind, then reached with stiff fingers for her trousers and tunic.
Pashla joined her. “You need control. But it was not too bad.”
“I’m sorry I slashed at you.”
“If I’m slow enough to let some young cub touch me, then I deserve it.”
Kyra finished dressing and rubbed the heat back into her limbs.
“I almost envy you,” said Pashla after a while.
“Me?”
“You know the ways of the humans, and now you’re learning ours.”
Her hands were starting to regain some warmth. “I’m surprised you’d want to learn about the humans.”
“I’ve no interest in being human. But it would be useful to know how to move in their world. With your mixed blood, you’re able to blend in anywhere.”
Kyra remembered that Pashla had been the liaison between James and the Makvani, back when the clan had been allied with the Guild. It made sense that Pashla would value advantages like this. Though Kyra didn’t exactly see herself as being able to blend in anywhere. On the contrary, half the Palace thought her a criminal, the Demon Riders didn’t want her in the forest, and even the gutter rats didn’t trust her anymore. It was a fine line, she thought, between being able to blend in everywhere and nowhere.
Kyra left the forest a short while later. And though she had failed in her mission, Kyra felt hopeful. She’d spoken to Pashla again, and the clanswoman had forgiven her. Perhaps it was selfish of her to be relieved when the city was still under threat, but Kyra couldn’t help feeling that a weight had come off her shoulders.
There remained plenty of energy in the city when she returned. Kyra skirted past the busy streets and squares toward home, avoiding the crowds that still loitered in the public spaces. Lettie was not home yet—Tristam had taken her to see Idalee that morning—but Flick sat waiting at their table. Kyra hadn’t bothered to give him an extra key; he just picked the lock when he so desired. But it was rare to see him waiting at their place when no one was there.
“Flick,” said Kyra. “You’re here early.”
He wasn’t smiling as he tossed a sheet of parchment on the table. Kyra slid it closer and picked it up. Her stomach dropped.
“A notice of conscription already?” she asked.