“Don’t worry about me. I’ll tell them you ran off.”
Tristam wasn’t a good liar either. He couldn’t quite look her in the eye, and even with her mind muddled as it was, she knew that he was wrong. Tristam was too closely associated with her. They had to convince the Palace that he’d tried to capture Kyra, or he’d take the fall for her.
“Fight me,” she said. Even as Tristam was making sense of her words, she reached for her dagger and realized it was somewhere on the ground with her boots. She thought to go back for it, but there was no time. Instead, she tackled him.
Kyra caught him off guard, and Tristam fell backward as she pummeled at his face. He grunted in pain—her blows landed harder than she intended. Fight back, you idiot, she thought, even as she struck him again across his cheekbone. That blow split his lip, but her blood still ran hot from the kill, and it was hard to pull back.
Finally, he started to defend himself, raising his hands to block her. A flurry of blows and stinging parries passed between them, then Tristam caught one of her wrists. When she tried to pull away, he captured the other. For a moment, they were locked together, Kyra quivering with battle rage as she leaned into him, both of them breathing in deep, painful gulps. She saw uncertainty and resolve in his eyes, and Kyra realized she didn’t know when she would see him again.
“Go, Kyra. Now!”
When Kyra didn’t react, Tristam set his jaw, curled his legs between them, and kicked her off. He wasn’t gentle. The kick knocked the breath out of her, and she rolled over twice before she came to a stop. Kyra coughed, then slowly pulled herself to her feet. More shouts. Three Red Shields were pointing and running toward them.
Tristam raised himself to a crouch. One of his eyes was already starting to swell. He launched himself at her again. She dodged him, grabbed her boots, and ran, pushing through the pain in her ribs and her injured leg, hearing his footsteps behind her grow fainter even though she knew he was a faster runner than she. Kyra ducked her head and bent all her energy toward getting away.
Tristam watched Kyra disappear into the darkness. It wasn’t hard to feign shock as Red Shields swarmed around him. His jaw ached—Kyra had hit him hard. And he was still reeling from the scene around him.
Red Shields surrounded him and pointed their swords at him. He raised his hands.
“I’m unarmed,” he said.
One soldier came closer and patted him down. Tristam winced as the Red Shield hit another spot that Kyra had bruised. She’d been half-wild when she’d changed back into her human shape, more feral than he’d ever seen her. He saw her again, eyes flashing, a hint of a snarl still on her lips. She’d been out for blood, and it scared him more than he cared to admit.
The Red Shield finished his search and nodded to the others, who lowered their weapons. “You were a witness to this?” asked the soldier.
“Yes.” Every limb felt heavy. His ribs complained when he drew breath to speak.
“Come with me, then,” said the Red Shield, leading him back to the scene.
Santon’s mauled corpse lay on the cobblestones. Dalton screamed incoherently, though Tristam could pick out the words “monster” and “girl.” He slumped down and rubbed his jaw again, waiting for his mind to clear.
A crowd was gathering now, mostly nobles and guards, though a few brave servants also stopped to stare. A soldier knelt next to Dalton and called for bandages. Nobody came close to Santon’s body.
“Make way.” The crowd parted, and Tristam’s heart skipped a beat as Malikel strode through. The Defense Minister took a long look at Santon, and then at Dalton and Tristam. “What happened?”
“A monster,” croaked Dalton, his voice hoarse. “The girl changed into a demon cat.” He sounded delirious in his pain, and for a moment Tristam wondered if he could still cover this up. But no, there had been a third brother who’d run.