Kyra studied Pashla’s profile in the dim moonlight. If these people aged like humans, the woman was probably about ten years older than Kyra. It would have been easier to hate her if she’d matched Kyra’s expectations of barbarians. But she was gentle when she spoke. Her hands were as soft and deft as any Palace healer’s, and she confided in Kyra as an ally.

A distant roar echoed through the trees, momentarily silencing the chorus of insects around them. Kyra instinctively lifted her head toward the sound.

“Come,” said Pashla. “The clan is gathering. Don’t worry. Leyus is a fair leader.”

The Demon Rider helped Kyra up and wrapped her in animal hides. She let Kyra lean on her shoulder as they ducked out from underneath the makeshift tent. The sky was beginning to lighten, and a hint of red stained the eastern side of the trees. Around her, the forest was surprisingly empty. She hadn’t exactly expected to step into a camp of Demon Riders, but the forest looked completely wild. The only sign of human habitation was her own shelter.

Kyra shivered despite her wrappings as they wound their way through the trees, growing warier as other figures converged on their path. At first, the majority of them were in cat form, with leather pouches around their necks. But as they traveled, more and more of the beasts stepped off to the side and changed shape, dressing themselves in tunics they’d carried in their pouches. Most of the Makvani were tall and long-limbed in their human skin, certainly taller than the average citizen of Forge. If Kyra was indeed related to them, she must have gotten her height from her human side. But the way they moved was unmistakable. It was the same inhuman and uncomfortably familiar grace she had seen in Pashla. Kyra stared at them, unable to help herself, and the Demon Riders made no effort to hide their glances back—some friendly, some disdainful.

Pashla’s arm was firm around her waist, gently supporting and steering her through this forest of trees and faces. Finally, they reached a small clearing where a group of Demon Riders was already gathered in a loose circle. The clear focus of the crowd was one figure—a man, half a head taller than the others, who held himself with a strength that signaled authority. He looked older than Pashla but was still in his physical prime.

“This is Leyus,” said Pashla, slowing Kyra to a stop in front of him.

What was she supposed to do? Bow? Curtsy? Beg for mercy?

Leyus looked her over with a careful eye, and Kyra immediately felt her guard go up. Something in his manner reminded her of James. He had the same air of power, the look of someone who was used to being obeyed. “You call yourself Kyra? Pashla says you know nothing of us.”