I can’t. And neither can you. He saw Kyra saying that, her eyes still bright, but grounded now with regret.
Kyra was right, of course. Tristam was to have dinner again with Cecile in another week, and he had no idea how he would look her in the eye, let alone discuss their marriage. Tristam had been brought up with the expectation of serving his family through this type of alliance, and he’d long made his peace with it. But he’d never realized just how hard it would be. He shouldn’t have kissed Kyra last night. It only made things worse. But somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.
Tristam might have remained lost in his thoughts, but gradually the commotion around him increased until he could no longer ignore it. Tristam pushed his worries aside and peered up the street. The execution cart wasn’t here yet, though it should be close if everything was running on schedule. He exchanged a glance with the soldier next to him, who was also starting to look around.
“Think they need reinforcements?” asked the Red Shield.
“I’ve not heard a call for them,” said Tristam.
Then he started to make out words. “Girl…rooftop…monster…”
“Kyra,” he whispered. And he knew something was horribly wrong.
“What did you say?”
Tristam stepped out of formation and ran up the road.
Getting to the cart was easy. The road had been cleared, and his fellow soldiers were holding the crowd at bay. Quite a few Red Shields turned in confusion as he ran by. Someone shouted his name, asking him what he thought he was doing, but he just ran faster. The orderly ranks of soldiers broke down as the wagon came into view, and the shouts of the crowd grew deafening. Tristam caught a glimpse of James, hanging limply from the crossbeams. Dead.
Tristam stopped in his tracks, staring in disbelief. Shouts of “girl” and “monster” still rose up at random around him. “Girl crawled out from under the wagon,” said an old man. “Gutted him like a fish.”
Had Kyra done this? Had she planned to? And why? Tristam grabbed a man in the crowd. “Where did the assassin go?”
The man pointed—at the rooftops, naturally. Tristam gritted his teeth and pushed his way into the throng. It was slow going. Even with his official livery and his height, the mob could only part so quickly. He took a rougher approach as he grew more impatient, throwing elbows and ignoring angry comments.
Red Shields ran along the rooftops and dropped out of sight farther on. They had the right idea—the crowd wasn’t going to get any thinner. Tristam gave up on the street and pushed his way to a nearby wall. He jumped for an overhang and pulled himself up. Most of the Red Shields he’d seen were gone by now, but he had a vague idea of where they’d disappeared to. Tristam ran, his steps landing too heavily for comfort on the well-crafted roof tiles. He’d heard enough from the crowd to know that they’d recognized Kyra for who she was and what she was. There was no way this could end well.
Tristam was halfway there when he heard the roar, and the blood drained from his face. No. She wouldn’t.
He redoubled his speed. His way was once again directed by screams and shouts, and it was easy to find the courtyard where chaos was breaking loose. He skidded to a stop dangerously close to the roof edge and took in the scene below.
She was there. Tristam had seen Kyra twice in this form now—dark brown fur, slender muscular body—and she was backed into a corner by four Red Shields. Tristam’s first reaction was relief to see that they wielded swords rather than spears. But then Kyra growled, a deep-throated snarl that sent shivers down his spine, and he wondered if he was worried for the wrong party.
He lowered himself off the roof and crept closer. Jump over them, Kyra. Knock them aside and make for the forest.