Sea of Shadows

THIRTY-ONE

Moria and Gavril had been walking through the Wastes for three days now. They were moving quickly, rising early, walking until they needed lanterns, and then stopping to conserve fuel.

They’d found signs that others had passed that way—a campfire by an oasis, footsteps in a sandy patch, an abandoned waterskin by the roadside. Signs of Ashyn and at least four others, including what looked like a child’s small footprints and an elderly villager’s shuffling ones. Moving slowly, then. Good. They would catch up before the party reached Fairview.

The third night, they stopped earlier than usual. Moria wanted to push on, but Gavril refused.

“You’re getting tired,” he said. “Keep this up, and you’ll fall by the roadside. I’ll not stop for you, Keeper.”

“Of course you won’t. You’ll carry me.”

He hadn’t even favored her with a scowl for that one.

“I’m stopping now,” he said. “If you go on without me, and if I find you collapsed by the roadside—”

“Yes, yes. You’ll leave me to die of thirst and let the buzzards and corpse dragons pick my bones.”

“There’s no such thing as corpse dragons.”

“Or shadow stalkers. Don’t worry. I’ll stay and protect you. I’ll let you rest, too. If you need that, you have only to say so, Kitsune.”

He stalked off. She smiled and set about finding a place to camp. She knew he wasn’t truly angry or even annoyed. It was a long walk, with little amusement to be had beyond needling each other, and the barbs had lost their poisonous tips after Edgewood.

As the sun began to drop, she found another amusement— practicing her dagger throws. They’d stopped at a spot that might be an oasis after one of the rare rainfalls in the Wastes. For now, it was only a patch of sandy soil big enough for two houses. No grasses or flowers. Just moss-covered rocks and a few stunted, gnarled trees. One of those trees was already dead, having been almost entirely debranched for firewood. So she felt no guilt using it as a target.

She practiced with Orbec’s blade to get used to it. There was far more variety in warrior daggers than swords. Some were almost as small as kitchen knives. Few warriors used those. Most preferred a blade nearly two hand spans long, similar to the short swords warriors had once paired with their long blades. Moria and Ashyn’s daggers were somewhere between the two, a model more suited to small hands—with a longer handle for throwing. Orbec’s dagger blade was slightly longer than hers, but not much, and the handle was perfectly weighted. It was, in short, a superior throwing weapon, suited to both the short distance technique—with rotation—and the more difficult non-rotational long-distance technique. Moria practiced both.

When Gavril returned, she saw him watching a rodent scamper past. They’d seen many of them—brown ratlike creatures with powerful back legs that sent them hopping over the lava plains.

“If you were better with those”—he pointed at her blades— “you’d get us some dinner.”

The challenge could not go unanswered, and she set off with Daigo toward an outcropping of rock that appeared to be a likely home for the rodents. It seemed Gavril did not expect her to actually return with a meal. Or so she presumed from his expression when she came back with two of the rodents, tails tied, slung over her arm.

“I’m hoping you know how to dress these,” she said as she dropped them in front of him.

“Hardly,” he said. “I didn’t grow up in this spirit-forsaken place. And you’d best not think you’re going to make me do it because it’s man’s work. If you didn’t wish to bloody your hands, you ought not have killed them.”

She scooped the rodents up. “I simply thought that if you knew how to dress them, then you should, or we’ll be eating hacked meat for dinner. I’ll figure it out while you gather wood and start the fire.”

“Fetch wood? I—”

“You’re a grand warrior, from a line of grand warriors. Fetching wood is, I’m sure, beneath you.”

“Give me the beasts.”

“Too late.” She started strolling off. “Make sure the fire is ready when I am, Kitsune.”

He said nothing for a moment, then called after her, “Take them back to that rock to clean them. I don’t want to sleep beside a pile of offal.”

Skinning rodents was rather like removing a too-tight garment—slit the beast from from nape to arse and then peel. She had no idea how to cut it up, though, so she left the beasts whole. They could put them on a stick, roast, and eat.

Daigo watched the process with a complete lack of interest. When she showed him the final result, he sniffed, unimpressed.

“Yes, I know, I ought to have gotten a third for you. A little help in that matter would have been appreciated.”

Another sniff, as if to say he was not a mere hunting cat.

As they neared camp, she could see Gavril ahead, with his back to her as he bent over a fire pit. They had materials to light it from the lanterns, and he’d managed with less in the forest, but he was obviously struggling now. The moss wasn’t dry enough to act as tinder. She could have told him that but… well, again, there was little enough entertainment to be had in the Wastes. So she hunkered down with Daigo behind a boulder and watched the show.

It was not a silent performance. There was plenty of cursing involved. Finally as she was about to advise him to use his blades to trim strips from the dried wood, he stopped cussing. He crouched there, staring at the pile. Then he glanced over his shoulder. She ducked behind the boulder.

When she looked again, he was hunched over the fire pit, talking to it. That’s what he seemed to be doing—whispering a string of words so softly that she struggled to make sense of them. Then she realized why. They were not spoken in the common tongue.

The words came faster and stronger. Then his hands lowered over the pit. He crouched there, shoulders quivering slightly, as if with exertion. Finally, he lifted his hands. And there was fire.

Moria pushed to her feet and padded toward him. Daigo followed, equally silent. By the time they arrived, the blaze was devouring the dried wood.

“You started the fire,” she said.

He jumped. “That was my task, wasn’t it?”

She nodded and crouched beside it, warming her hands. Without looking his way, she said, “I saw you start it.”

Silence. Then, belatedly, “So?”

She looked over. “I saw how you started it. Not with tools. With sorcery.”

Panic lit his green eyes, but only for a moment before his face set. “Watch your words, Keeper. If you were a man, that accusation could earn you a blade between the ribs.”

“It’s not an accusation. It’s a statement. I wondered how you started the fire in the woods. Now I know.”

“You know nothing,” he said.

She straightened. “Your father was rumored to be a sorcerer. Apparently, it was more than rumor. I care not whether you are one or not. Whatever you may think of me, I’m not an ignorant village girl. I am the Keeper. My world—”

“—is filled with childish nonsense,” he said. “I’ve heard your stories. You fill your head with monsters and magic and—”

“I saw monsters,” she said. “And now I’ve seen magic.”

“You saw nothing.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “If you claim otherwise again, Keeper, you’ll wish you’d held your tongue.”

“Are you threatening me?” Her voice was edged with a growl that he seemed not to notice.

“I am warning you against spreading lies about me. I am suggesting you hold that tongue of yours or—”

Before he could finish the sentence, her blade tip was digging into the bottom of his jaw.

“I am the Keeper of the Forest, boy,” she said. “Do you think those pretty patterns on your arms give you the right to threaten me? They do not. Even if your father was still marshal, they would not. I will take your glowers. I will take your insults. I will take your warnings that you’ll abandon me by the roadside if I do not keep pace. But you will not call me a liar. And you will not threaten me.”

He’d gone still, his expression unreadable. She tensed, ready to defend herself if he reached for his sword. Even the spirits would not know if he left her here, gutted in the sand. So she waited. But after a moment, he dropped his gaze.

“My apologies, Keeper.” His voice was low, his tone hard to read. It was not obviously mocking. Perhaps it was even genuinely contrite, though she doubted it.

She lowered her blade and stepped back. Gavril reached as if to rub his throat, before stopping himself. A bright red drop of blood fell on his tunic, but he didn’t look down at it.

“We have both seen things no one should see,” he said finally. “It is difficult for me and an immense tragedy for you. We are anxious and wary. You clearly thought you saw me light the fire by sorcery. I did not, but I accept that is what you believe you saw. I am overly sensitive to the charge, given the rumors about my father. With this situation and my current state—yes, I am tired, I’ll admit it—I overreacted. I do apologize. There is no excuse.”

On the scale of apologies, none was considered greater than that—I have no excuse. She made a noise that he could take as acceptance, though she intended no such thing. Then she lifted the rodents from where she’d dropped them by the fire.

“We’ll need sticks.”

“I’ll roast them,” he said.

“You only need roast your own. But save some for Daigo. He doesn’t eat scraps. He isn’t a house pet.”

“I know. I’ll share mine.”

He reached to pat Daigo, but the wildcat snapped at his fingers and then stalked off with Moria to find a roasting stick.

THIRTY-TWO

After that, Moria was quite willing to drop the subject of sorcery. Gavril would not. As they ate, he felt compelled to explain his reaction to the charge by detailing his father’s experience. How the accusation had dogged the Kitsune family even before his father became marshal. How it arose from the fact that their family came from the Katakana Mountains, said to be the birthplace of sorcery, so the charge was as inaccurate and offensive as saying all Northerners were stupid and lazy.

He explained how his father’s enemies had used the slander to belittle his accomplishments by saying he’d used enchantments to gain his position. How those same enemies whispered the rumor in the ears of all the court, season after season, and the Kitsune clan believed it was those rumors that had led to his downfall. Given all that, could Moria blame Gavril for reacting too strongly?

Yes, she could. Because she’d seen what he’d done, so she knew the rumors were not baseless. He insulted her intelligence by denying it. She ate as quickly as she could, saying little, then retired for the night.

The next day, their walk began in awkward silence. It did not last, though, no more than his angry silences would. They were too much effort to maintain, and as the day passed, he would usually reach the point where he forgot that she was the last person in the empire he’d wish to traverse the Wastes with.

That did not mean, of course, that he would launch into friendly conversation. Moria had begun to suspect that particular social skill was one he’d never mastered. Instead, their discussions would be much like the current one, which had begun when she’d noticed a flock of birds winging past and wished aloud that she was skilled in archery.

“Arrows are for hunters, not warriors,” he said. “Attacking an enemy from afar is cowardice.”

“And that includes the throwing of blades, I presume?”

“It depends on who’s throwing it. For a warrior in battle? Yes. That is why Orbec was not valued for his expertise. For you, though, it’s a wise choice.”

She was going to comment, probably sarcastically, but he continued.

“The dagger is a poor hand weapon. Most warriors rarely use theirs for anything more than cutting meat. It’s good for self-defense against an unarmed man, but otherwise nearly useless. The Keeper and Seeker aren’t warriors, though, and it isn’t as if they could properly handle swords.”

“Give me yours and we’ll see whether I can handle it.”

“You can wield it, but not well. It’s too big for you. That’s no insult, Keeper. It’s a simple fact. The sword”—he took his out and cut a loop in the air—“is intended for a man’s size and strength.”

“That sword is better suited to a man. Women warriors have thinner and lighter ones, which I will handle quite adeptly when my time comes.”

“Adeptly, perhaps, but against a true sword?” He lifted his. “A smaller one is like a dagger, an inferior weapon, which is why so few women become warriors.”

For Gavril, even discussion was a form of warfare. The trick, she’d learned, was not to take offense at his strong opinions.

She watched yet another flock of birds fly past.

“Ceding my point, Keeper?” he said after a moment.

“The birds,” she murmured. “We’ve scarcely seen any and now two flocks have passed within a hundred paces.”

“If you are unable to counter my point, have the courage to say so. Distraction is a coward’s gambit.”

A tremendous crack exploded in the distance, and they both froze. Moria looked down to see Daigo plastered against the ground, ears to his head. When she laughed, he gave her a baleful look, rose, and shook himself.

“Thunder,” Gavril murmured as he scanned the sun-bright sky.

“Is that what it sounds like?”

“Of course. What else—?” He paused. “I suppose you haven’t heard thunder before.”

And that, Moria reflected, was the difference between normal Gavril and good-tempered Gavril. There was still a snap to his words, but he skipped the ripe opportunity to mock and insult her.

“We do get rain in the Wastes,” she said. “Rarely, though. I suppose that’s what had the birds fleeing and the beasts cower—” Daigo cut her off with a growl.

Gavril made a noise that could be a laugh. “He does understand you, doesn’t he?”

“When he chooses. Usually only when there’s excitement or insult involved.”

“Like his Keeper.”

She glanced over. She wouldn’t say that Gavril was smiling. The curve of his lips was far too slight for that. But his eyes glowed with a rare light, one he did not extinguish when he caught her looking, though he did rub his mouth, as if to temper that sign.

Are you ever happy? Can you be? Or will you just not allow it?

She shook off the thought. Trying to understand Gavril’s moods was like trying to gauge the direction of whirling sand to avoid getting blasted.

“Speaking of excitement,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind getting a glimpse of the storm, if we’re close enough.”

He squinted up. “Looks like we might be, if that sky is any indicator. See how dark it is?”

“That means a thunderstorm is coming? There’s lightning, isn’t there? How dangerous is it?”

“It can kill a man if it touches him. It rarely does, though.

Just don’t lift your sword over your head. I saw that once. We were having a mock battle in the plains and a storm blew in. They made us keep fighting, but told us not to lift our swords. It’s a challenge to the storm spirits. So of course one warrior had to issue that challenge. He lifted his sword clear over his head. A bolt of lightning shot from the sky. It hit the sword, lighting with a blast that blinded the two warriors standing beside him.”

“Did he die?”

“Exploded in a cloud of ash.”

“Truly?”

A twitch of his lips. “No, not truly. Nor were the others actually blind—”

She lifted her hand. “I’ll keep the first version.”

The twitch grew to a half smile. “I thought you might. Lightning is deadly, though, so—”

A blast of sand hit them, seeming to come from nowhere. Gavril let out an oath as he coughed.

“These thunderstorms come with wind?” Moria asked.

Gavril nodded, spitting sand.

“Then we’d best prepare for more than rain and lightning. I’ve been out in a sandstorm and—”

The wind whipped up again, and she quietly shut her mouth and eyes. It wasn’t just a single gust of wind this time. It swirled around her, blasting from all directions, and she fumbled with her pack, yanking out her cloak and putting it over her face. She peeked out to see Gavril circling, trying to get his back to the wind.

“Cover up!” she shouted. “You can’t avoid—”

A gust sent her stumbling. The wind howled now, sand battering them from every direction.

“Down!” she shouted. “Get down!”

She fell to her knees as Gavril struggled to get his tunic up over his face.

“Down!” she yelled. “Before—”

The wind caught him and knocked him clear off his feet. Moria crawled over. He tried to rise, but Daigo pinned him there. Moria reached him and slung her cloak over both their heads. She tried to stretch it to cover Daigo, too, but the wildcat snorted and burrowed between them, telling her he’d rather just keep his eyes shut.

The wind continued to whine and howl like a wild beast, ripping at their clothes and blasting every bare piece of skin. She tried to see Gavril under the tented cloak, but could only make out the whites of his eyes, then a flash of teeth as he hissed in pain.

“Who’d have thought sand could hurt so much,” she said.

He grunted and shifted, as if yanking his tunic down more.

“Is this part of the thunderstorm?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard.

He said something, but she didn’t catch it. The whine of the wind hurt her ears, and she gritted her teeth against it. While the wind seemed to grow stronger, she swore the sand wasn’t blasting as hard.

She was about to say so when a tremendous crack sounded again. Rolling thunder. She’d heard the expression and it seemed appropriate—great cracks of thunder, one after another. They grew louder and louder, as if the storm was closing in on them. Then she couldn’t just hear the thunder—she felt it, too—huge vibrations that seemed to push down from above with each crack.

Gavril’s head shot up. “That’s not—”

Daigo screamed, like a woman’s shriek, a terrible sound that ripped through Moria. His claw caught her in the side, tearing through her tunic as she grabbed for him. Her fingers brushed his fur. Then he was gone.

THIRTY-THREE

She threw off her cloak and leaped up. Wind beat down, waves of it buffeting her as if trying to push her back to earth. Only a smattering of sand still swirled around, and she squinted, daggers out.

“Daigo!”

He screamed and she looked up and there he was, suspended in the air, all four paws lashing, tail lashing, too. Moria saw what had hold of him, and yet it took a moment to believe what she was seeing.

Huge yellow talons stretched clear over Daigo’s broad back, as if he were a newborn kitten in the grip of a hawk. She didn’t try to see the rest of the beast. She didn’t care. She ran and slashed the talons. Above her head, a deafening shriek rent the air. Again, she didn’t look, just slashed again until whatever had Daigo dropped down enough for her to get a better swing.

Her dagger hit bone, but the blade wasn’t big enough to do serious damage, and stayed buried in the talon, wrenching it from her hand. Dimly, she heard it clank to the rock as it fell free. The injured talon released its hold on Daigo. The other kept a grip, though, and the beast started climbing as Daigo struggled wildly, his blood flecking Moria’s face. She jabbed upward with Orbec’s dagger. She saw then what she was hitting. A feathered body. Green feathers. That was all that fit in her field of vision. A green-feathered stomach, two yellow talons, and Daigo.

She jabbed upward, but the beast was too high and her blade too short. As she swung for the other talon instead, the beast lurched suddenly, giving another earsplitting cry. Blood spurted from the beast’s gut, and Moria twisted to see Gavril there, his blade thrust deep in the creature. It dropped Daigo. As it did, its talons scraped the back of Moria’s head. They caught in her loosely braided hair, and then began shaking her wildly, trapped by her hair. Moria’s body flailed, pain cracking through her neck as she frantically reached up to free herself. She did—or the beast got itself free—and she fell to all fours on the lava rock below.

She saw Daigo spitting and snarling. Her fallen blade lay beside him. She grabbed it, clawed her hair from her face, looked up, and saw the very sky darkened by a bird. It had the shape of a hawk, but was covered in bright plumage, shimmering greens and reds and blues that nearly blinded her. She could just barely make out its head, with a long, curving beak and bloodred horns. With each flap of its massive wings, the air cracked like thunder, the force as mighty as a gale.

Thunder hawk.

A creature of legend, sending storms of wind and sand and rain in its path and in its wake, clapping thunder from its wings and shooting lightning from its eyes.

The huge head turned her way. She saw the glowing, yellow eyes, remembered the stories, and started to drop, her head under her arms, but knew it was too late and there was no place to hide from its gaze—

The beast shrieked again. She glanced up and saw it looking straight at her. No lightning bolts, just those yellow eyes.

She bounded up. Gavril was wrestling to pull his blade from the bird’s guts, but it wouldn’t budge and he was hanging from it. As she ran over to help, the bird’s talons headed for his raised arm.

“Drop the sword!” she shouted. “Let it go!”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her over the thunder of the bird’s wings. But she was sure he did. Yet a warrior never releases his weapon in battle. Apparently, not even to save his life.

The talons wrapped around Gavril’s arm as Moria struggled to get to him, fighting against the tremendous wind, loose hair whipping in her eyes. A black blur passed her. Daigo, leaping at the bird as it flapped its wings to ascend. Moria jumped, too. Daigo caught the bird in the side, all his front claws digging in. Moria did the same, using her daggers for claws, ramming one in as she jumped, and the other on the upswing.

The bird screeched. Daigo swung his rear legs up. They found purchase in the bird’s belly. As he dug in all four sets of claws, the bird began to flap its wings madly. Moria glanced down to see the earth dropping away beneath them.

She yanked one dagger free and stabbed the bird’s breast. It screamed and dropped a little, losing momentum. Daigo pulled back one giant paw and imitated her with a vicious slash. Blood sprayed. The bird shrieked. Another strike with her dagger. This time, she aimed it into the leg holding Gavril. She pulled it out and plunged it in again. A third time and the talons flexed. The bird didn’t release Gavril, but that flex was enough. He fell free, sword still gripped in his hands. She heard him gasp as he hit the rock below.

“Daigo!” she shouted. “Go!”

He understood her just as well as Gavril had. She was sure of it. But he was just as stubborn, turning away as if he hadn’t heard, and slashing the bird again. Then Daigo looked over and snarled, fangs flashing. Telling her to drop. When she hesitated, he aimed one of those swipes her way. She scowled but yanked out one dagger, braced herself, and pulled out the other. Then she fell.

Daigo dropped, too. He landed on top of her. Which, she reflected, might have been his plan all along, to soften his own fall. It hadn’t been as long a drop as Gavril’s, though—Daigo’s attack had made the hawk dip low enough. She supposed she owed him thanks for that. But she still booted him off her.

The bird was beating a fast retreat, its wings flapping up uneven spurts of wind that buffeted them as they stood. As they watched the beast ascend into the sky, the thunder and the wind became a mere distant boom and a strong breeze that whipped about their legs.

Moria stood there, heaving breaths, her arms aching. She glanced over to see Daigo twisting to lick at his back. His black fur gleamed wet. Blood. The talons.

She raced over and pushed him down. She carefully moved the fur aside to see his skin. It was dark in color, but lighter than his fur, and she could see a puncture as wide as two fingers and as deep as…

She swallowed. She had no idea how deep it was, but when she remembered those talons digging into him, she knew it wasn’t a shallow gash. And it wasn’t only one wound. There were four on this side and, she was sure, a matching four on the other.

When a shadow passed over them, she jumped, but it was only Gavril.

“He’s hurt,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Badly hurt. The talons—”

She remembered then that Daigo hadn’t been the only one gripped in those terrible claws.

“Your arm,” she said. “Are you—?”

“Only scratched,” he said.

She could see long, bloody gashes through the tattoos on his right forearm. She started to rise. “Those aren’t scratches—”

“Little more,” he said, waving her down. “They’re shallow. Are his… ?”

“Not shallow,” she whispered as she turned back to her wildcat.

“Can he stand?”

“He shouldn’t. He needs—”

“Moria, there’s no healer here. If he can walk—”

Daigo answered by struggling to his feet. Three of his wounds gushed fresh blood.

“No!” she said, pushing him back down. “He’ll hurt himself more. They need to be sewn. I didn’t bring— Blast it, why didn’t I bring—?”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped them away. “You go on ahead. Send someone back.”

“It’ll be days before I reach Fairview, Moria. Then someone has to return—”

“By horse. They’ll return by horse. We have water. I can hunt for food. We’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. Not with that creature hunting for its food. We need to go before it comes back. We have to find shelter.”

She sprang up. “And abandon Daigo? I do not leave him. Anywhere. Ever. If that monster comes back, it comes back for both of us, because—”

“Moria, calm yourself.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you won’t leave him. I wouldn’t ask you to. I meant that we need to figure this out.”

She took a deep breath, then peered over the landscape. There were piles of rock here and there, and gullies, too, where the earth had shifted. Were any nearby ones enough to shelter the three of them from the thunder hawk?

“They taught me battle healing,” she said. “Why didn’t I pay more attention?”

As she cursed herself, Gavril said hesitantly, “I might be able to help.”

She looked up sharply. Sorcery. Healing magic.

“I also had lessons in battle healing,” he said quickly, as if reading her thoughts.

And you didn’t mention this when your head was injured? Or when that beast shot quills in us? No, Gavril, that is not what you mean at all.

It didn’t matter. He could help Daigo. That was all that counted. She backed away.

“You ought to gather the packs,” he said. “Some items may have fallen out. You should go look.”

You want me to leave so I don’t see you use sorcery.

“I need to keep him still and clean his wounds. I don’t care what you do, Gavril. I’ll tell no one.”

He broke eye contact and shook his head, his jaw setting. “I don’t know what you mean, but if you don’t go and look around…”

He didn’t finish the threat, but she heard it clearly. Leave me or I’ll let your bond-beast die.

She walked away, and she kept walking until she heard only the distant murmur of his voice, casting his spells. Then she lowered herself to the rocky ground, pulled up her knees, and waited.

THIRTY-FOUR

Whatever Gavril did, it didn’t miraculously cure Daigo. Moria expected that. She knew a little about sorcery. When villagers told hushed tales of evil men who would murder infants and mutilate children, their father would take the girls aside, particularly Moria.

“I know you enjoy such tales, Rya,” he’d say. “But you must never soil an entire people with twisted lies. There are sorcerers. I’ve seen them. I’ve traded with them. They know small magics, helpful magics.”

“And nothing more?” she’d ask.

When she was young, he’d say no, nothing more. As she grew older, though, he’d said, “There are dark uses for sorcery. It is a tool. It can be a simple one, used for simple things, like a blade for cutting meat. It can also be more dangerous, like a sword, but even then, it is intended only to defend oneself against one’s enemies. Yet not every man who wields a sword is honorable, and so, too, with sorcerers.”

Whatever Gavril had done to Daigo, it had been that simple kind of sorcery. A magical stitching of his wounds. But it was enough. Daigo was on his feet and moving.

Moria kept scouring the landscape for places to hide, but they’d seen no sign of the thunder hawk, and as she grew more certain that the danger had passed, she sank into thoughts of her father, spurred by those reflections on his words.

She would never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never sit and listen to him gently instructing her, guiding her in the right direction. Had she appreciated that? Perhaps not. He’d had stories, too, endless tales of his adventures as a traveling merchant before they came to Edgewood. She’d liked those better.

She would never see him again. Not in this life. The thought seemed too much for her mind to even approach. It was like in winter, when they’d go to the spring to slide on the ice. Daigo would circle the edge, sometimes putting a paw on the ice, only to back off quickly. That’s what the truth of her father’s death felt like—her mind endlessly circled it, evaluated, considered, perhaps took a step toward acceptance, only to retreat quickly.

“So that beast…” Gavril’s words shattered her thoughts. “It was a thunder hawk?”

She made a noise he could interpret as assent.

He replied evenly, as if fighting the urge to snap at her, “I’m trying to understand the threat, Moria. If it comes back again, we need to be ready.”

She wheeled on him. “You would have let him die.”

“What?”

She waved at Daigo. “You were willing to let him die if I didn’t walk away back there.”

“I would never—”

“We jumped on that bird. Daigo and I. For you, because you were too blasted stubborn to let go of your sword. Daigo made his injuries worse fighting for you, and you would refuse to heal him to protect a secret that is not a secret at all?”

“I did not mean I wouldn’t treat him.”

“And if I’d stayed?”

He pushed his braids behind his ear. “You wouldn’t.”

So it had been an idle threat, knowing she’d never risk her wildcat’s life to simply prove a point.

She resumed walking. “We can’t keep doing this. If you have skills that can help—”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. They looked at each other.

“Was that… ?” Moria said.

“It sounded like it.” He turned quickly, scouring the landscape. “We need cover. Rocks. Or a narrow chasm.”

“I saw a pile of rocks over there.” She pointed left, in the direction they’d come. “But it didn’t look big enough.”

Daigo nudged her to continue forward and she ran alongside them. Gavril’s boots thumped as he followed. The plains looked flat, but the lava rose and fell in waves often too gentle to see. Moria crested one of those waves and looked out to a see a hillock in the distance, the sun shimmering off the rock, nearly hiding it.

As they raced toward it, the wind picked up, sand swirling from every seemingly barren nook and cranny in the rocky plain. Moria slitted her eyes and shielded them. Another roll of thunder, closer now. Then the sun vanished. She glanced over her shoulder to see a dark shape blocking it. The thunder hawk swooped over the plain, searching for its lost prey.

They reached the rise. It was nearly as tall as Moria. When the lava had swept over the land, it had plowed down almost everything in its path. Sometimes, though, it had met an obstacle unwilling to fall, even under molten rock. The lava had done its best here, but the obstacle remained—a heap that may have been a stone hut, one side crumbling now, as if it was finally giving way under the weight.

As Moria and Gavril scooped out the debris, Daigo paced and watched the sky. Finally, they’d removed all they could, leaving a cave-like hole. It narrowed in the back, better suited for Daigo’s flexible form. He wriggled in as best he could.

Moria and Gavril hid their packs under the debris. Then Moria went in. It was a tight fit, with barely enough space to crouch.

“Are you going to make room for me, Keeper?”

“I’m trying.”

Another long roll of thunder. The sky was so dark she could barely see. The sand whipping about didn’t help, especially after they’d unsettled it moving rocks.

“Come out,” he said. “There’s more room in the middle. I ought to be there.”

She shielded her eyes and slipped from the hole. Gavril crawled inside and turned around. Once he’d settled, Moria backed in and promptly bashed into him.

“Move back,” she said.

“I can’t. Just sit.”

He tugged her down, and she landed in his lap.

“Not there,” he said, his voice muffled as if he was talking through gritted teeth.

“Is there someplace else?”

He didn’t answer. She was still uncomfortably close to the cave mouth, so she shifted to get farther in.

“Stop wiggling.”

“My knees are sticking out. And I’m getting sand in my face.”

“Then cover it. Just stop—” He drew in a ragged breath, as if she was crushing him. “Stop wiggling.”

“I’m not that heavy. I just need to move—”

“I said, stop. Now.” His breath was coming harder and she could feel the thump of his heart against her back.

“Do you have a fear of small places?” she said.

“No.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know—”

“Yes, I have a fear of small places. Now stop—” He put his hands on her hips, as if to hold her still, then quickly pulled them back. “Stop moving. Please.”

“Fine. There. Better?”

A moment’s pause. “Not truly.”

“And you call me difficult.”

He made an odd noise, and she realized her hair was probably in his face, which may have explained his continued difficulty drawing breath. She leaned to the side, feeling him tense as she moved, then he relaxed as she swept her hair over and rested her head against his shoulder. He lifted his arms and seemed to be trying to figure out where to put them.

She grabbed his wrists and set his hands on her knees. “There. Now if the thunder hawk sees anything, it’ll be your hands. You’ll be taken again, and this time, I might not save you.”

“I don’t think the bird will get me out without taking you along.”

“Oh, I’ll find a way.”

He began to relax, his hands resting on her knees, his body shifting slightly, getting comfortable, his chin moving to rest on her shoulder. Then a sniff, as if he was about to sneeze, and he reached up to move a stray piece of her hair aside.

“I know,” she said. “I ought to cut it off. It almost got me killed by that bird.”

“You can’t cut it off.”

Keepers and Seekers were not permitted to do more than trim their hair to elbow length. Ashyn said they ought to be grateful they weren’t like the spirit talkers, who weren’t ever allowed to cut their hair or their nails. Personally, Moria would be more concerned with the “eyes plucked out, tongues cut off, and nostrils seared” part of being a spirit talker, but she could see that the uncut nails might be inconvenient as well.

Even when Moria and Ashyn trimmed their hair or their nails, it had to be done at the shrine, and the leavings immediately burned, the ashes scattered. Otherwise supposedly they could be used against the spirits—and the village—by sorcerers.

“I don’t care what they say. As soon as we get out of here, I’m cutting my hair off.”

“No, you’re not,” he murmured.

“Care to wager on it? There are no spirits here to offend.”

“And no sorcerers to steal it?”

“Is that true, then? Do they use hair and nail clippings?”

He tensed. “I have no idea.”

“Then don’t bring it up.”

He relaxed again and she did, too, settled in against him, listening to the storm rage outside. He shifted his shoulder, making her more comfortable, and she felt the muscles of his chest, hard against her back, and saw his arm flex, too, muscles moving under his dark skin.

Her eye traveled down to the Kitsune tattoos. Perhaps it was their association with warriors, but they were, for her, as a woman’s jewels might be to a man. Gavril’s were among the best she’d seen, beautifully wrought, the dark inked artwork amazingly intricate, the spot color bright green. There were few physical shortcomings a man could possess that could not, in her mind, be compensated for by good warrior ink.

She glanced over at him and had to admit there were blessed few physical shortcomings that needed compensating for. It was a shame to waste such a face and physique on such a surly—and, yes, exceedingly difficult—boy. Although, she supposed it was probably for the best, or being alone with him on this long journey might have pushed her to seek distractions they could ill afford. As it was, she’d be safer wooing a rock adder.

Speaking of rock adders… they did like to inhabit damp, rocky holes. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Stop that,” Gavril hissed.

“I moved my head.”

“Shhh!” Then, “Listen.”

She did, and picked up the distant crack-crack of the thunder hawk’s wings.

THIRTY-FIVE

“Now hush,” Gavril whispered. “Before it hears us.”

Though she was not the one who had instigated or perpetuated the exchange, she said nothing, which was usually the best course with Gavril.

The wingbeats grew louder. The beast seemed to be heading straight for them. Could it smell them? Did birds have a sense of smell? It wasn’t anything she’d ever needed to ponder.

Then it landed. They couldn’t see it—the cave mouth dipped down, and they were looking at rock. But she heard a thud that set the earth trembling.

The thunder stopped. The wind stopped, too. Then talons scraped against rock. A thump. Another one. The bird was walking, and the earth quaked with each footfall.

It stopped. Silence. Then the beast let out a deafening shriek… right outside the cave.

“No,” Gavril whispered. “No, no, no.”

His hands went around her knees, as if shielding them, yanking and tugging as he tried to shift backward, to get them farther into the cave. She could feel Daigo moving, too, trying to give them room. It was no good. They were in as far as they could go. And her legs were a hand’s breadth from the mouth of the cave.

Thunder cracked as the bird flapped its wings. The wind swirled up. Gavril kept pulling her, trying to shift her, get her off to the side. But there was no room.

She took out one dagger, gripping it, then pried his fingers from her knee and tugged his hand to the hilt of his blade. He hesitated as if, for one moment, he wasn’t sure what it was. Then he eased the sword from the sheath and up, over her lap, blade ready, if awkwardly held. Though he tried a few angles, she could tell it was no good—with Moria on his lap, he couldn’t do more than feebly jab.

Moria unsheathed her other dagger. They sat there, holding their weapons in the dark, sand swirling in as the bird beat its wings, each crack of thunder punctuated by an earth tremor, as if it was hopping more than walking, using its wings to help itself along.

It’s injured. Remember that. We hurt it and—

The bird stopped. Everything stopped.

A beak thrust into the cave, so fast that they both jumped. Gavril’s free arm wrapped tighter around her legs, but the beak was right there, so massive it barely fit through. It opened just enough to reveal rows of small, blade-sharp teeth. The beak slashed at her legs as the bird worked itself in farther, rock crumbling to give it room. Gavril tried his sword, but only succeeded in enraging the bird, making it fight harder, those tiny teeth slashing and biting Moria’s leg.

“Can you use anything else?” she said as she struggled to keep back from those teeth.

“I’m trying—”

“No, something else.” She twisted, gaze meeting his. “Do you know anything else? I’ll cover my ears. I’ll hide my eyes. If you know any magic—”

“I would use it.” He held her gaze. “Truly, Moria. I have nothing more to fight with than my blade, and I can’t get enough leverage—”

“Then we’ll have to fix that.”

She raised both her boots and slammed them into the bird’s beak. The beast let out a tremendous roar and fell back. As she rushed from the cave, she felt Gavril grab for her feet and heard him shout. She lunged out and leaped up, daggers still clutched in her hands. The bird was there. Right there. Towering above her—that head diving toward her, a head as big as a horse cart, beak opening, that massive beak with those terrible teeth.

I’m dead, she thought.

The head slashed down, and she leaped at it. Straight at it. Blades raised. One made contact, slicing into the bird’s eye. It screamed then, a shriek that seemed to open the skies. Thunder and lightning and a sudden torrent of rain battered her as the bird yanked back, her blade coming free, her body falling, realizing only then that she’d been lifted clear off the ground by her strike. She hit the rocky ground so hard the air flew from her chest.

She saw a blur. Black fur raced past. Daigo launched himself at the bird. Then she heard a snarled shout and lifted her head to see Gavril there, in front of the bird, thrusting his sword up into its throat.

The bird let out a gurgling scream and whipped its head back, sending Gavril flying to the side, still clutching his sword. The thunder hawk’s giant wings lifted as it prepared to take flight, blood pumping from its torn throat. Moria squinted through the torrents of rain to see Daigo still hanging from the bird’s side.

“Daigo!” she shouted. “Jump!”

He did, but not before one last slash. He dropped, twisting and landing on all fours just as the bird took flight. It rose. Then it stopped and hovered there, bright, rain-soaked plumage shimmering as the sun pierced the clouds. Then it started to fall. Moria looked to see Gavril, still struggling to his feet, dazed. The bird was right above him, dropping fast.

“Gavril!” she shouted as she ran at him, sheathing her daggers.

He looked up and started to lunge. Moria caught him by the tunic and yanked. The thunder hawk landed, glancing off Gavril as it did, knocking them both off balance. Gavril recovered and raced to the bird, slipping and sliding on the wet rock. He raised his sword, ready to stab the beast in the breast. Then he stopped.

He stood there, rain pouring off him in sheets, the sun bright now, strangely shining through the rain, the light glinting off his sword. Moria could see him breathing hard, his green eyes seeming to glow as bright as his sword, bright with fury and determination and fear. Yes, fear. She could see that, in his face and in his stance, holding himself fast, gulping air, watching the bird, ready to strike the fatal blow. But it lay there unmoving.

Moria unsheathed her daggers as she walked over. Daigo followed her, creeping through the rain, head down, as if he could avoid getting wet.

She walked to the bird and looked down at its ruined eye and bloody throat. She kicked its beak. It fell open, but the bird didn’t move. Another kick, just to be sure, then she sheathed one dagger and turned to Gavril.

“It’s dead,” she said.

“You…” He looked toward the cave. “You just ran out… you could have been killed.”

She sheathed her other dagger. “Yes, it was foolish. Exactly what you expect, I’m sure.”

“No, not foolish. It was…” He seemed to search for a word, then looked down at the bird as if in shock. His gaze turned to her. “You don’t fear anything, do you, Moria?”

She gave a short laugh. “Oh, there was plenty of fear. I’m glad it’s raining, because I’m not completely sure my breeches would have been dry.”

A quirk of a smile. “A warrior isn’t supposed to admit fear.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not a warrior.”

“No, you are.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “You truly are.”

She felt her cheeks heat and covered it by kneeling beside the bird. The rain was easing now, and with the sun shining, the colorful plumage glittered.

“Sadly, I can’t claim the killing blow,” she said, ducking to look at the bird’s throat. “Good work, Kitsune.”

He didn’t answer. She could sense him walking up behind her, but she kept examining the bird.

“I meant what I said in the cave, Moria. I don’t know anything that could have helped.”

“I know.”

More silence. He was right behind her now. She swore she could hear him breathing.

“You were right. I don’t need to tell you that, but… yes, my family…” He trailed off. “I only know simple things, though, like how to start a fire or close a wound.”

She nodded and then glanced over. He was frozen there, braced for a reaction, for questions.

“I’ll tell no one,” she said, and then she turned back to the bird.

She plucked out three feathers—smaller ones from the chest and one large one from the wing plumage.

“Trophies?” Gavril asked.

She gave him a look. “That would be dishonorable. A warrior—or a Keeper—is not supposed to take pride in the kill. It’s proof. Otherwise, no one will believe we met a thunder hawk.”

He nodded. “Here, I’ll carry the large one. My pack is bigger.”

He reached out. His fingers were trembling slightly. He gave a soft, nervous laugh. “As you see, you weren’t the only one frightened by that thing.”

“I thought a warrior wasn’t supposed to admit fear.”

He met her gaze. “I know you’ll protect my secrets, Keeper.”

“I will.” She pushed to her feet. “Now, let’s see if we can find dry wood somewhere to build a fire. Rain was perhaps the last thing we needed.”

“At least your face is clean now.”

“Perhaps, but it did absolutely nothing for this.” She lifted a handful of her knotted, soaked hair.

“We’ll get that fixed. Come on, then. Gather your pack and we’ll go.”

THIRTY-SIX

Moria had argued most strenuously for the obvious solution to her hair issues: chop it off. Gavril refused to permit it. Ashyn would be upset, and Moria would have to answer to the court Keeper and Seeker, perhaps even the emperor. Clearly, the emperor had far too little to do if he’d concern himself with a Keeper’s hair, but she ceded Gavril’s point. Or she did when he offered to help come up with an alternate solution.

The basic methods—a single braid or tie—were perfectly acceptable for daily life, but did not control her locks when battling anything of substance. Additional braids would help, but took time, and would likely give her welts when they whipped about in battle.

“I fail to see how you’d think I’d be an expert in this matter,” he said as she finished brushing out the snarls.

“You’ve been to court. You’ve seen the women’s styles.”

He snorted. “I’m not sure which is more amusing, Keeper: to think you believe I spent much time in court, or to think you believe I’d waste any time there looking at women’s hair.”

“True,” she said. “There are probably far more engaging sights if the rumors are true, about how little some of the court women wear.”

“The women of court are not to my taste.”

“You have a taste?”

A glare. “No, I have better things to occupy my mind, in and out of court.”

And that, she mused, was truly a shame, but sadly not unexpected.

He continued. “If I have any knowledge of women’s hair fashions, it comes from my mother, which won’t help you at all. Your hair could not be more dissimilar.” He paused, then hunkered down, tilting his head. “There is a style I have seen some men wear, those with your sort of hair. Men too vain to cut it short.”

“Vanity is not my issue. I would gladly—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Which is why I’m devising solutions. What the men do is braid the sides, perhaps a hand’s span of hair, then tie the two back. The back stays untethered, but as long as the sides are held, it seems to work.”

“Unless I get caught in a thunder hawk’s talons again.”

“I’m trusting that’s a once-per-lifetime experience. Now, take the hair…”

“If you ever tell anyone of this…” Gavril warned as he worked on the second braid.

“Is that a threat, Kitsune?”

“Yes.” He tightened the braid. “Yes, it is.”

She’d attempted to do her hair herself, and thought she was doing a fine job, but apparently, it hadn’t been to his standards. After several fruitless attempts to correct her technique, he’d taken over.

“Given that I promised not to tell anyone you’re a sorcerer—or that you admitted fear in battle—I’m certainly not going to tell anyone you braided my hair. And truly, can you imagine any conversation in which the subject would arise?”

He tugged a braid and grumbled under his breath, but it was a good-natured grumble—or as close to good-natured as Gavril seemed capable of. They’d had to trek out of the storm-struck area to find dry wood for fire, and he hadn’t said an unkind word in all that time. He was still prickly, of course, and argumentative and difficult, but that was to be expected.

When he finished, he pulled back the braids and surveyed his work. “Now we need to find something to tie it with. You had a band…”

“Which came out when the thunder hawk decided to restyle my hair. I can pull a strip of fabric off my other tunic—”

“No, it’ll unravel.” He took one of his own braids and pulled off the band.

As he fastened it in her hair, she asked, “Why don’t you have beads, like other warriors? Is it a family custom?”

“No. I don’t see the need. Colored beads are for show. Like a peacock’s plumage.”

“Like those?” She gestured at his tattooed forearms.

A scowl, more mock angry than serious. “That’s not the same, Keeper. Those are—”

“Ancestral devotion markings for high-born warriors,” she said. “I know. I’m only teasing.” She shifted for a better look. As long as the subject was being discussed, it gave her the excuse. “I’ve heard it’s done with needles and ink. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“When I asked Orbec about them, he said it doesn’t hurt.”

“He lied.”

She laughed softly and looked up. “Truly?”

“Very truly. I am extremely glad they only do one section at a time, with many moons between.”

She smiled and shifted onto her stomach, her feet over Daigo. Gavril was sitting, leaning back on his elbow, letting her examine the tattoo on his left arm. His eyes were almost closed, as if basking in the fire’s heat. He looked more at peace than she’d ever seen him.

“When do you get the upper arms done?” she asked.

“Soon. They were supposed to be done on the eighteenth anniversary of my birth, but winter is hardly the time for travel in the Wastes.”

“Are you glad for the delay?”

He paused. “Not particularly. Getting inked is hardly pleasant, but…” He shrugged. “It means something that’s important to me.”

“It’s beautiful work.”

He hesitated. Then, “Thank you.” Another pause. “I’ll remember that when they’re doing the inking, and I’m trying very hard not to cry out.”

She laughed. “If you fell from a thunder hawk without so much as a gasp, I think you can handle inked needles.”

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the dark sky, feeling the fire’s heat against the top of her head. Gavril reached forward and she felt a faint tug on her hair. She tilted her head back to see him moving her hair away from the fire pit.

“Before it catches alight,” he said.

“See? It’s a menace. We may have escaped a thunder hawk, but ultimately, we will perish… killed by my hair.”

A chuckle. He settled in again, and silence fell, broken only by the snapping of the sparks and the crackle of burning wood. When the clouds shifted, stars lit up the sky, brighter than they’d ever seemed in Edgewood.

“I know you’re curious,” Gavril said after a while. “About the sorcery. You’re trying very hard not to ask about it.”

“Given how difficult it was for you to admit to it, I can hardly imagine you’d welcome questions.”

A few moments of silence. Then, “What I said yesterday, about the rumors of my father, how his enemies used that against him: it was true.”

“Except that they weren’t mere rumors.”

She heard his boots scrape the rock as he shifted. “That we can do sorcery? Yes, that was true. But they said he stole babies from their cradles, Moria, and cut out their hearts in dark rituals. Murdered children. Defiled women. Mutilated warriors. All the worst that has been said of sorcery, they accused him of doing to further his fortunes. The same rumors have dogged my family since the first Kitsune became a warrior. Is it any wonder we deny having powers? Admit to anything, however simple, and the rest would be presumed true as well.”

“So you use it for nothing more than lighting fires and closing wounds?”

Silence. Her tone had been curious, not accusatory, but clearly he seemed to have taken it that way. When she glanced over, though, he didn’t seem angry or offended, just contemplative.

“There is… more,” he said. “I haven’t the skills or the training for it, but there are more… martial applications.” He moved to look at her. “It is a skill we are born with, Moria. A gift from our ancestors. Like caste. Would you argue that a man born a warrior should not lift a sword against an unarmed enemy because it gives him an advantage?”

She considered that as she stared into the night sky. “But if your enemies do not know your skills, is that not unfair? If you are a warrior, other men see your blades and know not to challenge you or they’ll taste your steel.”

He said nothing for a long while. Then, “Perhaps. But we do not hide our sorcery by choice.”

“True.”

He paused, as if he’d been preparing to add further arguments.

“Will you learn more?” she asked.

“Yes. My training has been… slow. My mother blames sorcery for my father’s exile and wouldn’t allow my uncles to train me. So they did it in secret.”

“Against her will?” She looked back at him.

He shrugged. “I am my father’s only son. To deny my abilities would be an insult to our ancestors.”

She flipped over. “His only son?”

“You did not know that?”

“No. I was a child when your father was exiled. When you arrived, I only recall my father saying you were the child of Marshal Kitsune’s third wife. I presumed you had older brothers. Your father was not a young man.”

“True, but he was not blessed with fertile wives.”

“Oh, so clearly it was their fault. All three of them.”

He gave her a stern look. She reminded herself that in the warrior code, there was only one thing more important than loyalty to one’s emperor: filial piety. To suggest that a man’s father lacked virility was to ask for a drawn sword and spilled blood.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He shrugged and leaned back, getting comfortable again. “I’m hardly an expert in such matters. I was told that his first two wives could not bear children, so he wed my mother. I’m his only son. Only child, as well.” A sidelong glance her way. “Which may suggest you’re correct about my father being the problem, but I did not ever say such a thing.”

“I still apologize.”

He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

“You were his only child, then. I can see why your mother would want to protect you.” She paused. “And why your uncles would wish you trained in their ways. You must have been close to your father. I suppose I hadn’t realized that. An only son is much different than a late-born child to a third wife. You must—” She stopped. “Now I am being too curious. I’m sure your father is not a subject you like to discuss.”

“I…” He stopped and stretched out on the rock. Daigo grunted as Gavril rested his bare feet against him. “I do not often discuss it. In court it is a subject best avoided. To most citizens, I am the son of a traitor. My father still has supporters in the army, though. Warriors who swear he did not flee that battlefield. To them I am the son of a martyr. Neither position is… comfortable.”

“No, it would not be.” She went quiet for a moment, then she said, carefully, “I know my father believed the empire had not done right by your father.”

“He was betrayed.” He spat the words, laced with bitterness. Quiet rage, too. “Accused of a crime he did not commit. Betrayed by men he thought he could trust, including the one he trusted more than any other, his closest friend, the emp—”

He clipped the word short. “I speak rashly. I apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize to me. I have no reverence for a man I’ve never met.”

“You should, Keeper.” His voice was firm. “Or, at least, have care enough to feign it. You cannot be careless in court. Ever.”

“I would prefer not to go to court. Ever.”

“I know. And I agree. But I fear, after this, neither of us will have a choice in the matter.”

“As long as it’s a short visit.”

He paused, then murmured, “Yes, let’s hope it’s a short visit,” and they lapsed into peaceful silence again.

THIRTY-SEVEN

They had been on the road for five days now. Gavril believed they were approaching Fairview. Moria hoped so. She still worried about Daigo’s wounds. As for Gavril, he’d been a better companion since the thunder-hawk fight. That sense of calm had, for the most part, stayed. He still confused debate with conversation, but if Moria was being honest, that was her preference as well. She had little patience for idle chatter, and a lively discussion kept her entertained on the mind-numbing walk.

It was nearly midday when she spotted it, shimmering in the sun. A city of white.

“Is that… a mirage?” she asked.

“No, that would be Fairview. They whitewash the buildings. A beacon for the weary traveler on the Wastes.”

“Ah, a fair view indeed.” She tried to smile, but her heart pounded too hard. “So this is it, then. If Ashyn—when Ashyn made it through the Wastes, this is where she’d go.”

“It is, and she did. You know she did. We saw no signs otherwise, and as you said many times, you’d know if she was gone. She’s there—or she was there and you’ll have news of her.”

“And the children?”

He paused then. “I still… I do not see the point in men taking the children.”

“Does evil need a purpose?”

Another pause. “If the children were taken, perhaps that proves that what happened at Edgewood was not evil. That the massacre at Edgewood was a mistake, one that could not be reversed but could be mitigated by saving the most innocent.”

Even after all they’d seen, he could not accept it. Should she blame him, when she still skirted around the treacherous ice of her father’s death?

Gavril cleared his throat. “I doubt the children would be here, though. Those men would push on to Riverside, where the warlord resides. Fairview does not even have a proper garrison.”

“I’ll worry about the children later. Ashyn will be here.” She found her smile then, a blazing grin as her heart lifted. “I’ll race you.”

She wheeled and took off, Daigo at her side.

“Keeper!”

She turned, still moving. “Yes, only children run. I don’t care. You can be mature and walk.”

He gestured to the sword hanging at his side. “It’s not about maturity. Run and I end up with bruises.”

She laughed. “Then you must walk, Kitsune.” She started to turn away again, then looked back. “Is my face clean?”

“Yes, Keeper. Your face is clean. Your hair is tame. Your clothing looks as if you’ve been walking for five days in the Wastes, but if you don’t stand too close to anyone, you’ll be fine.”

She made a face at him and took off.

Guards met Moria as soon as she drew close. She stopped running then and walked with all the dignity she could muster, one hand resting on the handle of a sheathed dagger, the other on Daigo’s head.

“I am Moria of Edgewood,” she called as the guards walked out. “Keeper of the Forest of the Dead.”

Like her, they had their hands on their sheathed weapons. Caution devoid of disrespect. Now they dipped their heads.

“Welcome, Keeper.”

Gavril walked up beside her.

“I am the Keeper’s guard,” he said. “From the Edgewood garrison.”

He’d pulled on his spare tunic, with sleeves that covered his forearms. As he’d pointed out last night, he could never be certain just how welcome Gavril Kitsune would be.

Three guards had come out at first—two from the towers, and one from inside. Now, the gates opened and four more approached. And when they did, Moria knew something was wrong. A town without a garrison would likely not have seven warriors in the entire community. Also, these new men were not warriors. Yes, they dressed in plain tunics and breeches, and they were clean-shaven, as required of warriors in service. They also wore the traditional blades hanging together on their left side, the dagger above the sword. But there was a food stain on the collar of the smallest man. The large one—a bald, copper-skinned desert dweller—had a tiny tattoo on his the side of his neck. A third had shaving-blade nicks along his chin, as if he’d recently cut away more than mere stubble. Small things, which would go unnoticed by anyone who hadn’t grown up scampering through a garrison.

Daigo began to growl. Not loudly, but she could feel the vibration. Gavril started to step in front of her before stopping himself. He moved behind her instead, so close she could feel his sword hand on his hilt, brushing her back.

The big, bald guard waved at the gates. “Come, Keeper. Fairview welcomes you.”

“No,” Gavril said. “We’ll not be stopping. The Keeper wished merely to greet Fairview and bless it. We’re pressing on to Riverside.”

The smallest man stepped forward. “Fairview wishes to welcome the Keeper. This is a rare honor, and we would like to celebrate.”

“I fear that is not possible,” Moria said. “I beg the forgiveness of Fairview’s spirits, but we have urgent business in Riverside.” She dipped her head. “I’ll take my leave.”

She turned, Gavril and Daigo moving with her. The small man lunged into their path, sword drawn. Gavril swung around her so fast she didn’t realize he’d even moved until she heard the clang of steel. Gavril’s sword knocked the small man’s hard enough that Moria swore she heard the man’s wrist crack. He held his blade, though, smacking it back against Gavril’s, both stepping forward, swords crossed.

“Lower your weapon, Kitsune,” the biggest man rumbled. “I know who you are. My scout spotted you before you hid your ink.”

The others surrounded them, blades drawn, all pointed at Gavril. Moria’s hands flexed on her sheathed daggers, and she felt Daigo tense. Seven armed men against one young warrior, one even younger Keeper, and a wildcat. In a fight for their lives, the odds would be worth taking, but until then…

Her hands relaxed on her blades and she whispered, “Gavril…”

“Sheath your sword, Kitsune,” the big man said. “Do you wish to begin a sword fight with the girl in the middle?”

“The girl is a Keeper.” Gavril took a deep breath and lowered his blade. “Remind your men who she is and the disrespect of pulling steel on her.”

“My men are not good with respect,” the big man said. “But they will not harm your Keeper. Our lord wishes her safe, so she will be safe, as her sister is.”

“Ashyn?” Moria said in spite of herself. “You have Ashyn.”

The big man smiled and she caught a flash of silver teeth. “She is a guest of Fairview. Now come along inside.”

“No.” Moria lifted her chin. “Bring her to the gates. I will see her before I enter.”

The small man stepped past Gavril, who rotated, gaze locked on him.

“Is that how it works, girl?” he said. “You give us orders?”

“I will not enter until I see—”

The small man’s blade swung up. Gavril leaped forward, and she saw his sword arm swing out, and was about to shout a warning, tell him not to provoke them with his blade, but there was no blade in his grasp. He’d caught the man’s sword with his bare hand.

“You do not raise your weapon against the Keeper.”

Moria stared at Gavril’s hand. Blood seeped through his fingers as he held the blade. Her heart pounded. A warrior’s sword was unbelievably sharp—new ones were tested on dead men, and a blade that could not pass through at least two cadavers with one slice was discarded. With one twitch of that sword, Gavril could lose his fingers. She stepped forward, touching his back, but he kept his gaze locked with the other man’s. Gavril pulled the blade down, then he released it.

“Warriors.” The small man spat to the side. “It’s a wonder they haven’t all died out from their own reckless stupidity.” He turned to Gavril. “You think you’re brave, boy, but all I see is a coward hiding behind a girl. Hiding who he is.” He nodded at Gavril’s covered arms. “Or are you ashamed of your family?”

“I am not. I stand here only as the Keeper’s guard. That is my duty: subsuming my own identity until she is safe.”

“How noble.” The man sneered and spat again. “Warriors.”

The big man stepped forward. “Do you still insist on seeing your sister before you’ll enter, Keeper?”

Moria straightened. “I do.”

He whispered something to a man near him. The man loped off into the village. Moria and Gavril waited in silence.

When the man returned, leading two women with hoods hiding their faces, the true guards stiffened. The big man shot them a look, and they dropped their gazes and shuffled back.

The man pushed the two women forward. The big man yanked back the hood on one. It was a middle-aged woman.

“Is this your sister?” he asked.

Moria’s mouth tightened. “Of course not. My sister is my twin. We look alike. If this is a game—”

“So it is not your sister?”

“No.”

The man’s dagger shot out. Before anyone could react, he sliced the woman’s throat. Moria leaped forward, but Gavril caught her, his hand gripping her cloak, holding her fast. The big man held the woman by the hair, her throat split, eyes rolling as her hands frantically grasped her throat as if she could hold it shut while blood gushed over her fingers.

He’s making me watch her die.

Moria tried to pull away from Gavril, but his arm went around her waist now, his lips to her ear, whispering, “No, Moria. You cannot save her.”

The big man dropped the woman. Just dropped her, still writhing, still gasping, still dying. He yanked down the hood on the second woman, a girl barely older than Moria, tears streaming from her wild, terrified eyes.

“Is this your sister?”

Moria glared at him as hate bubbled in her gut.

Someday I’ll slit your throat and watch you die.

“Will you come in the village now?” he said. “Or do you still wish us to find your sister first?” He stepped toward them, ignoring Daigo’s snarl. “She is in there, Keeper. This is but a lesson. I am in command here. You will obey me or you will get another lesson. There is a whole village waiting to help me teach you. Now, will you come?”

She brushed past him and strode toward the gates.