Chapter 2 Kyra 🔥

For Kyra’s day to be annoying, something, anything, would have to be happening. She was bored to tears, switching between watching the Maypole being hoisted into place and the lampwrights bringing light back to the city. Whatever strings the Archduchess had pulled to have her posted in Green Market Square, Kyra would need to let her know just how appreciative she was for it. She smoothed down her surcoat, which never sat comfortably on her having been made for someone broader and taller, and checked that her fiery red hair was still pulled into a tight bun.

As she passed by the Spire of the Morning, a young couple stopped her to ask where they might find the Mad Tatter. She pointed them north to the courtyard just outside the Laurentian gate and warned them to stay off the wharves. As she turned back south, she watched a group of boys futilely try to lift Elianim from the plinth holding the statue to Luca Dietrich. The hammer remained absolutely unmoved, though that was no surprise.

Soon enough, Kyra came upon the Hostess of Fertility, the three-story stone-and-timber building was overrun with patrons, including several of her fellow guardsmen.

She chewed at her lip as she passed by.

I beg all gods great and small, just let me pass by unnoticed.

“Kyra.”

Damn.

Her cadence stumbled for a moment, but she continued walking until, “Kyra!”

She turned abruptly. “Would you keep your voice down?”

Sitting at a table on the patio outside the front doors of the tavern and inn was a young man with hair that was too dark to be blond, too light to be brunette, and generally just a mess that he clearly ran some water through after he woke up. He had a strong jaw and broad shoulders, with blue eyes that held a rather mischievous look. His uniform was similar to hers, a surcoat of deep red accented with brilliant golds over a chainmail hauberk. While some women chose to wear a skirt ending in a loose white ruffle just above the knee, Kyra opted for the more practical dark woolen breeches. His also featured the golden shoulder cord to denote his rank.

“Come on, Kyra, sit down and relax.”

“I’m working, Nils. Like you should be. All of you.”

“Who says we’re not?”

Kyra cocked an eyebrow and looked over at Otto and Liese competing for the attention of one of the servers, a diminutive girl with short brown hair. She wore the same uniform as all the others, a green dress with a white apron over it, black leggings, and a pair of boots. Otto and Liese were polishing off a bottle of wine and quite obviously to the point of being handsy with their flirtation. Nils followed her gaze and started nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah, okay, they’re not working so much anymore, but I am.”

“We should all aspire to your dedication to duty.”

She snatched a cherry tomato off his plate, popped it in her mouth, and started to walk away.

“W-wait, Kyra.”

Nils frantically took a couple more bites and polished off his glass of water as he pushed himself up from his seat. He trotted over to walk side by side with Kyra.

“You know you don’t have to be on all the time, right? I mean, come on, look around.” He gestured broadly at the square. “We’re here to give directions to the honey guy.”

Her nose scrunched as she laughed. “Or the tattoo parlor.”

“Exactly. Or the tattoo parlor. Point is, you don’t have to patrol the square with a stick up your ass.”

Kyra stopped and glared at him, her lips pulling into a thin line.

“Yes, I do. I don’t belong here, Nils. You know it. I know it. They all know it.” She gestured back at their peers at the tavern. “I should be out in the Coronal District with the other recent graduates.”

Nils opened his mouth to reply, but Kyra held her hand up to stop him before he began.

“I already know what you’re going to say. Kat posted me here for my safety, which I do believe, but to everyone else it just comes across as favoritism and, for myself, that I can’t handle what she did.”

“Kyra, I don’t think-”

“I wasn’t finished,” she said, her words sharp. “You’d go on to say that I’m not appreciative of my post and the opportunity to serve this city and the kingdom.”

“Are you?”

She closed her eyes for a beat and took a deep breath.

“It’s just us, Kyra. You don’t have to hold back how you’re feeling. Not with me.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground.

“...I want to be, but I’m just not. I know there are so many of our peers that would do just about anything to be in my position, but the difference is they chose this for themselves.”

This isn’t what I want to do with my life.

“There wasn’t much of a choice for some.”

She fixed him with another glare.

“Don’t be pedantic. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, yes. Daughter of a beloved noblewoman and sister to the illustrious Katarina Kiermann, Archduchess and Shield of Brighthollow,” he said, standing at attention with a salute.

“You mock, but it’s true. This life was all but decided for me long before…”

Her expression dropped, and her lip began to tremble. Nils threw his arm around her and gave a reassuring squeeze. She let it happen for a few trembling breaths and then shrugged him off.

“That’s enough of that. Can’t have you thinking I like you like that.”

Kyra wiped away a tear that hadn’t fallen and smiled at him, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, trust me, I am well aware that I am not your type. If you want, though, we can go back and see if the brunette would be interested.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I rather preferred the blonde.”

“The blonde? You mean the elf?”

She gave him a smirk.

“Well, she was attractive to be sure, but I have a feeling it was more the silent brooding with a side of emotional unavailability that drew you in.”

“Shut up.”

They started a leisurely lap around the market square, skirting the Tradeway on the southside and passing by the Slice of Life Bakery where the sweet scents of golden honey, toasted almond, warm bread, and a hint of vanilla and spice permeated the air. They were already making their signature honey-fried fritters and almond honey cakes for the festival, causing Kyra’s mouth to water.

“Do you want to stop in?”

She took a long look through the windows and breathed in deep before letting her head fall away.

“No. We need to remain vigilant.”

Just across the alley was the Fat Dragon Inn, where she could hear Rahgaar's boisterous laugh ringing clear through the front door, accompanied by White Claw’s screech of biting expletives. Kyra watched Nils’ entire body tense up as they passed by.

“That one scares me. The kobold. He’s just three feet of fury.”

“She.”

“What?” he said, not taking his eyes off the door to the inn.

“White Claw is female, as in she.”

“Great, now she is even more terrifying.”

That earned him a genuine laugh.

“Look at that. The city didn’t burn to the ground because you laughed and had fun.”

They stopped in front of the main stage that was being erected against the old Laurentian wall, where both song and dance would be performed during the festival, only now workers and citizens were staring at the stones and the familiar symbol of the Firelights, a stylized insect with flared wings and a pointed abdomen.

“Seriously, Kyra, what’s the worst that could happen?”

She pointed at the wall.

“It seems you’ve forgotten the rising tension between the Faceless and the Firelights. They’re being so bold as to leave messages on the walls. How soon before they’re fighting in the streets, endangering these people we’re meant to protect?”

“No, I haven’t. I don’t want to sound dismissive–”

“Then don’t be.”

“But that,” he gestured to the symbol, “isn’t our job. The Archduchess and the small council are on it. She has the entirety of the city guard out on patrol, and her comitatus is encamped less than an hour away if needed.”

Kyra was still looking at the symbol, a hand cupping her chin.

“That’s all well and good, but we’ll be the ones trying to defend these people with little more than a stick should violence break out.”

She pulled her truncheon free from her belt and gave it a twirl.

“And if that happens, we deal with it then,” he took a breath. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t be mindful and observant, but we also need to show people that it’s okay to enjoy themselves and have fun.”

She scowled at him, though it quickly melted into a grin.

“I’m just saying, I’d pay a platinum for my bow right now.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Am I? Or are you just frustrated that all your charm does absolutely nothing for me?”

The two began heading west as they reached the north end of the square and the din of discordant instruments quickly began overpowering the collective noise of the crowd. Kyra and Nils both snapped their eyes shut and their hands shot up to massage their forehead.

“Gods, I fucking hate bards,” Nils said.

“We can only hope they improve over the next three days.”

The two continued to weave their way through the crowd as fast as their feet would take them from the assault on their ears, finding themselves standing in the western courtyard where Kyra had been watching the Maypole slowly rise up nearly an hour ago.

Nils bumped her shoulder with his own. “Going to dance around the Maypole this year?”

“Why? So all the blue-haired old women can gossip about any potential match? I can hear it now, ‘Did you see little Kyra and so and so had their ribbons intertwine? They'd make such a cute couple.’” She made a gagging gesture. “So no, thank you.”

Nils threw his head back and laughed.

“Damn, Kiermann, don't hold back on telling me how you really feel.”

“The whole thing is a preposterous song and dance, literally.”

She was throwing her hands around wildly as she spoke and came close to smacking Nils more than once.

“Oh, so you really are telling me how you feel. All right, continue.”

“Don't interrupt. And why does no one find it odd that it's a public display that encourages gossip and rumor that, in turn, places pressure on young men and women to then court someone they likely only had a passing fancy with?”

She let out a breath as she finished.

“You've thought about this for a while, haven't you?”

She sneered at him. “All I'm saying is that it's manipulative at worst and an antiquated tradition that should be done away with at best.”

A voice cut in. “Look at the little Kiermann bringing that orange cat energy today.”

Kyra didn’t need to turn around to know it was Otto with Liese trailing just behind him.

“Seriously, Kiermann, don't be such a stick in the mud. Or are you still holding a grudge from when you were twelve and yelled at poor little Eran Ostwald that you only liked girls?”

Kyra’s eyes narrowed as she turned to face them.

“Careful, Otto, the kitten has claws,” Liese said.

“ Don't call me that. My name is Kyra.”

Liese rolled her eyes.

“Lighten up, Kiermann. We’re just having a bit of fun.”

“Yes, at my expense. You should be working,” Kyra said, crossing her arms tightly.

Both Otto and Liese’s lips tugged into a snarl, but Nils stepped between everyone before either could retort.

“All right, that’s enough out of all of you. Otto, head over to the main stage and help with the cleanup there. Liese, make a round of the market.”

They both shot one last condescending look Kyra's way before dispersing.

“You’re with me,” Nils said.

“Where are we going?”

“Toward the river so I can throw you in to cool off.”

Kyra clenched her fist.

“So I can–they started it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to show up to the fight every time.”

She just shook her head and started walking west into Brickstown.

“You’re angry,” Nils said as he came astride her.

She didn’t respond, just kept walking.

Brickstown was, unsurprisingly, a small neighborhood of brick buildings built around a wide, roughly L-shaped, avenue that abutted the river. The people here were a hardworking blue collar folk that didn’t much care for forced pleasantries. It made the neighborhood a favorite amongst the City Guard as it made spotting a liar so much easier.

Kyra continued to march down the street, the heel of her boots clicking loudly with each footfall as if they were the pointed ending of a sentence. She glanced sideways at Nils twice. The first time he opened his mouth and looked like he was going to say something profoundly stupid, like he does, but thought better of it. The second, he had his eyes forward and back straight. After ten minutes of painfully awkward silence, they reached the riverfront.

“So…would you prefer I throw you in or push you in?”

She stared at him, lips drawn thin. “You're hilarious.”

Kyra watched the water rushing past that was making its way towards the bay a mile further on when she noticed all the lampposts on both sides of the river were unlit.

“I'd go with being pushed in myself. Better chance at–”

“Quiet. Something isn't right. None of the lampposts are lit downriver. And all the buildings across the river are dark as well.”

Kyra’s hand hovered over the handle of her truncheon, and she stared down the riverwalk that was enveloped in darkness. After several tense moments, she seemed poised to release a breath when a board groaned under the weight of something unseen in the darkness.

Kyra took a step forward. “Identify yourself.”

Nils tried to step in front of her, but Kyra stepped in front of him and onto the riverwalk proper.

“I said–”

A single flame flickered into existence a few feet above the riverwalk, illuminating two figures standing outside one of the windows to the warehouse on her right. The flame was thrown inside and the building flared up immediately like an oil-soaked torch. The screams began moments later, though Kyra was focused on the two figures. They ran northward, away from her, as the flames grew higher. Kyra didn’t hesitate. She immediately broke out into a run after them. She continued to shout for whatever this was to stop in common, Avalonian, Draconic, and Elvish, with no sign of acknowledgement. She heard Nils yelling after her, but she wasn't about to break pursuit.

The figures ducked into the alleyway that separated Brickstown from Riverside, and she drew her truncheon out as she rounded the corner to follow. Her quarry seemed lost for a moment before dogs barking further into the neighborhood spurred Kyra back into a run. She emerged into the caravan court behind Lutes and Lyres where two dogs were growling and yipping at one of the covered wagons. Riverside was laid out much the same as Brickstown, with the wagons being pulled into a circle in the cul de sac. Kyra slowed her pace as she approached, eyes wide and head on a swivel. She pulled back the canvas on the wagon the dogs were whining at to find nothing but crates of cured meats, cornmeal, and salt.

She saw the dogs snap their attention to something behind her and heard a faint grunt just in time to spin away to her left. The space she had occupied a moment ago exploded with splintered wood as a heavy mace came down against the wooden frame of the caravan. Kyra planted her back foot as she came out of the spin and drove forward with her truncheon, bringing it down on the arm currently attached to the mace. The attacker dropped the mace and recoiled, grabbing their arm as they drew in a sharp breath.

“You bitch. You broke my arm.”

I’ve been called worse by better people.

“How very observant of you.” She kicked the mace away. “Turn around. Hands behind your head.”

They took a step back and Kyra got her first proper look at them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a mop of white hair and skin the color of night. Drow. He wore a leather cuirass that had clearly seen better days and had been painted, not dyed, black. Kyra took a step toward him.

“Do not run.” Kyra reached for the shackles on her belt. “Why is the riverwalk bathed in darkness?”

Kyra didn’t get the pleasure of receiving an answer as her legs were swept out from beneath her. She hit the ground with a thud, her eyes snapping shut and teeth gritting. Her eyes blinked open and she looked to her left where another figure was crawling out from beneath the caravan. Kyra rolled back and vaulted herself upright. She immediately shuffled away from the caravans and into the open street so as not to be trapped between them and these two people.

The figure that crawled out from beneath the wagon was smaller than the other. They were lithe with spindly arms and legs. This one wore no discernible armor, but instead a black corset-like leather bodice with layered, asymmetrical skirts of red and blue hanging in torn, uneven lengths with a tattered dark cloak. The white hair was interrupted by steaks of blue and was short and choppy as if cut by a blade themselves with the back pulled into a long braid. Red eyes pierced through the darkness, and the distant light from the blazing fire confirmed what Kyra already knew. This one was also Drow. And female. They kicked her truncheon, which she lost in the fall, away underneath the caravan. Kyra looked around for something, anything she could use as a weapon, and settled on a broomstick from one of the wagons as she cleared the line of caravans. The woman drew a blade in response.

“You should find your way back to the market, little kitten.”

Kyra scoffed. “But we’re having so much fun here.”

The two began cutting a large arc around Kyra, surely hoping to flank her. Kyra pivoted on her heel and began stepping backward as the two closed in on her. The man lunged for her. Kyra spun away and brought the broomstick across his back with a resounding smack, sending him to the ground with a sharp hiss. Kyra turned just in time to get an arm up to block the knife intended for her back, earning a deep cut along her forearm for it. The woman feinted left, then lunged forward, but Kyra backstepped and brought the stick up in a sweeping arc that struck true against her assailant's hand. The knife sailed away, clattering against the cobblestones.

Before Kyra could press her advantage, two meaty arms wrapped tightly around her and lifted her off her feet. The woman closed the distance between them, grabbed Kyra’s fiery hair, and a fist cracked against her face a moment later.

“Should have run off when we gave you the chance,” she said while retrieving the dagger.

Kyra grabbed hold of the man’s arms, let her head fall forward, and brought it back with every bit of force she could muster. A sickening crunch rang out and he faltered backwards, Kyra still in his grasp. The woman rushed forward, but Kyra kicked up and caught her square in the chin with the heel of her boot. She heard a dull thud and then she was back on her own two feet. Kyra looked back to see Nils standing over the man.

“Took you long enough,” she said, wiping a streak of blood from her lip.

Nils didn’t respond. He secured the man’s unbroken arm in a manacle, then tossed his truncheon to Kyra. She turned and squared up. The elf bolted eastward towards the open streets. Kyra put heel to ground immediately, mirroring the other woman’s every move. They both crashed into a crowd of people, garnering some rather colorful language for their effort, though Kyra bore the brunt of it through the merit of being a city guard. Her quarry used the opportunity to scramble north toward the docks. Kyra pushed through the crowd and into the darkness after the elf.

The mirthful roar of Green Market Square and panicked screams from Brickstown were quickly giving way to the rushing water of the river as she made her way along the riverwalk. The moon was doing little in the way of providing light. A board creaked behind her. Kyra spun and swept her truncheon in a wide arc, thudding into the Drow’s chest. Kyra swung again, but this time the elf knocked it aside with a sharp parry.

A fist cracked across Kyra’s cheek. Then another slammed into her abdomen, doubling her over. Kyra felt fingers latch into her hair and she snapped her arms up just in time to block the knee driving toward her face.

Two hard elbow strikes came down on the back of Kyra’s head. She staggered backward, dropped to a knee, and twisted away from her attacker on instinct. Dizzy, she crawled toward the open space behind her, the sound of approaching footsteps pressing close.

“Hope you can swim, kitten.”

The Drow pushed her boot into Kyra’s back, and she tumbled over the railing into the river. She came up sputtering, her arms flailing to keep her above the water. The current was sweeping her downriver with alarming speed. Her chest tightened with dread. She reached out and grabbed one of the sloops moored to a dock. Kyra’s fingers clamped onto the gunwale, knuckles white as she dragged her drenched body up and over the side. She took short, sharp breaths intermixed with watery fits of coughing. The sloop began to rock, and Kyra pushed herself up onto her elbows.

“W-what…”

A galleon was making its way upriver, the hull scraping the embankment as it did. She grimaced, pulled herself up, and dove back in as the bow wave upturned all the moored boats before the galleon crushed them under keel. Kyra dove deep against the wall, her fingers finding no grip against the algae-slicked stonework. She was tossed and turned as the current fought against the wake, though it was inexplicably pulling her downward instead of side to side. She found the wall again, pressed her boots to it, and propelled herself up to break the surface with a deep breath. The galleon, however, had vanished as if the gods themselves had plucked it from the river.