Sea of Shadows

THIRTY-EIGHT

Ashyn crawled across the rafters. Dust filled her nose, and her mouth, too, when she forgot to close it. She had to bite her cheek to keep from sneezing. She couldn’t even stifle them against her sleeve. She was dressed only in her shift, so she wouldn’t get her clothing dirty and tip off their captors to their escape plan.

Escape plan was an exaggeration. Escape hope was closer to the truth. Or, if she was being realistic, escape fantasy.

Ronan had come in through the roof. Naturally, their captors had figured that out and plugged the hole. It should reason, then, that Ashyn and Ronan would not attempt to escape through there. Except there was no other way out. The windows were battened shut, and after half a day working one free, Ronan had peeked through to see a village warrior there, waiting. Any attempt to distract the front-door guard or lure him inside had been met with derision and mockery. So the only option was up.

Ronan had spent half the night working at roof tiles. Now it was Ashyn’s turn. And she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about the task as one might imagine.

It wasn’t merely the low chances of success that discouraged her. She was being held captive, with no idea what fate lay in store for her. Of course she’d escape any way she could.

The problem was Tova. He could not possibly take this route. Earlier, when Ronan came in through the roof, she’d presumed he was going to lead them out some other way. If he’d intended to go back up onto the roof, she never would have followed. Not without Tova. When they’d hatched this plan, she’d said as much, and he’d brushed off her concerns, which made her suspect she was not making an escape route for three. She was making it for one.

She found the spot where he’d been working on the tiles. He had two loose already. She settled herself awkwardly on the rafters and set to work prying off another.

It was nearly breakfast when Ashyn descended, filthy and exhausted, her nails broken, her fingertips aching.

“It’s done,” she said. “The hole is big enough.”

Ronan grinned. “Great. They’ll bring food any moment. I heard the morning bell. We’ll eat and take what we can. Then we’ll go.”

“And Tova?”

Again, he waved off the concern with a nonchalance that set her teeth on edge. “We’ll figure it out. You should go get dressed.” Another grin. “Not that I’d complain if you stayed like that…”

She didn’t crack a smile. Didn’t even blush. She was too tired, too filthy, and too annoyed. She went into the bedroom with Tova, closed the door, cleaned up, and put on the simplest of the dresses her captors had brought.

Wenda’s dresses were still there, shoved into the corner as Ashyn had tried to get them out of her sight. She’d figured out what had happened. Ashyn had been lured to Fairview by a spirit that had apparently possessed Wenda even before they’d left Edgewood. Ashyn cursed herself for not realizing it, but her connection with the spirit world apparently did not extend to recognizing one in a living body. Tova hadn’t detected it either.

So Wenda had lied about seeing Moria leave Edgewood. Her charge against Gregor had also been a lie. She must have overheard Ronan and Ashyn talking about leaving together and accused Gregor, knowing it would keep the group together, so she could ensure Ashyn reached Fairview, which seemed to be her mission.

Was Wenda still alive? Or had she been consumed by that spirit? Was Moria alive? Their captors said yes. Their captors were cutthroats and thieves.

Ashyn could be the only survivor of her village. And here she was, putting on a pretty frock for breakfast.

When she came out, the meal had arrived. Ronan was stuffing pickled plums into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Which was, she’d learned, pretty much how he ate every time an unlimited amount of food was placed in front of him. Presumably food in this quantity and variety had not been part of his daily table, as it had hers. And perhaps that should soften her annoyance. It would later, when she looked back, after he’d made his escape. She’d think of his life and would not question why he’d chosen to leave her behind, to consider only himself. That was his life. She should expect nothing more. But for now, thinking of all they’d been through, she did expect more. She couldn’t help it.

“We need to talk about Tova,” she said as she took a bowl of rice porridge. “He can’t go through the roof.”

“We’ll figure—”

“Do not tell me we’ll figure it out.” She struggled not to snap the words. “I think we have been through enough for me to expect a little honesty. There is no way to get Tova out through the roof. Therefore I cannot leave. You’re waiting for me to realize that. First, though, you needed to make sure I helped you open those tiles for your escape.”

He’d chewed steadily slower as she’d spoken. Now he swallowed and his eyes narrowed. “If I wanted to escape alone, Ashyn, I could have done that yesterday, when you were taken. I was outside the village walls. I could have escaped.”

“Without a reward.”

His face darkened, and he set down his plums.

Before he could answer, she said, “If my tone is harsh, I apologize. I’m tired and my fingers hurt from prying those tiles. But I would have done it for you. I only wish you’d show me the respect of honesty. I’ve never faulted you for wanting a reward. You deserve it. You helped me, and I do not expect you to suffer with me. As you said, you came back. The reason doesn’t matter. The point is that you are leaving alone, and I wish you would not pretend otherwise.”

“You could come.”

“Without Tova? Even to suggest that—” —shows how little you know me. She wouldn’t say that, though. It spoke of disappointment.

“I meant that you come with me, and Tova will find a way back to you. He can take care of himself, Ashyn, and he can do it better if he doesn’t need to worry about you.”

Ashyn stroked Tova’s head. He lay beside her, quiet and still, as if not to interrupt or influence the conversation. “And what if, in trying to get back to me, he’s killed? They’ll not hesitate to kill him, which means I will not leave him. I did once and…”

She didn’t say, “And look what happened.” Ronan would tell her that the shadow stalkers would have risen even if Tova had been with her that day. He was correct, and yet it was one more small thing that added to the pile of what she’d done wrong, what she felt she’d done wrong.

She looked over at Ronan. “Go. I understand.”

He argued, but it was clear there was no other way out of this quandary. She would not leave without Tova, so she could not leave through the roof. As for Ronan…

“I must go,” he said, shifting, his gaze averted. “I know I ought to stay and look after you—”

“I don’t need looking after, Ronan.”

“I still would not leave, if there were no other considerations. But I have… responsibilities. In the city. People who need me.”

Who? she wanted to ask. You were exiled to your death. No one would expect you to return. They will have moved on with their lives and…

She caught the look in his downcast eyes. The anxiety and the worry, and she realized what he meant.

You have someone there. A girl. That’s what you mean. You left a girl, a lover, and now she thinks you’re dead, and you’re anxious to get back and show her that you are not.

It made a romantic tale. The young rogue, cheating death, returning to his grieving lover. But in reality… ? Ashyn had always known that life did not resemble one of her book stories or Moria’s bard tales, and yet there’d been part of her that hoped it did. The more she saw, the more she realized she was wrong. People made up those stories because it’s what they wanted from their world. A place where goodness, kindness, and honor were rewarded. They were not rewarded. The people of Edgewood could attest to that.

Would Ronan’s lover be waiting for him? There was a tiny part of Ashyn that wanted to point out the futility of that hope and the almost certain disappointment that lay ahead. The same tiny part that realized he had someone, and felt the crush of those words. A tiny part that wondered why he’d not mentioned it, and suspected it was because Ashyn would be more susceptible to his charm and his flirting—and more likely to argue that he deserved a reward—if he did not say he had a lover in the city. That was, she supposed, unfair and rather petty, but she thought it nonetheless before pushing all that aside to say, with conviction,

“Then you should go. If you can find a way to let someone in the city know what has happened…”

“I will.”

THIRTY-NINE

As hard as Ashyn tried, she could not quite shake the lingering hurt over Ronan’s… betrayal certainly wasn’t the right word. Even abandonment felt too harsh. Just hurt, then, not so much that he was leaving, but that his agreement seemed to come so easily.

Still, she’d help him. That was the honorable thing to do. Assist him in any way she could. Be happy that at least one of them escaped.

She suggested a plan and he agreed to it. After breakfast, he gathered what food he could carry and took a makeshift bag he’d devised. Then he went up into the rafters while she took Tova to the door.

She rapped on it. The guard heard her—she’d knocked loudly enough—but he didn’t answer her. She rapped harder and said, “My hound requires meat.”

The door opened then, the guard peeking in, his face screwed up as if he’d misheard.

“There was no meat with breakfast,” she said, “save some pickled fish.”

His face screwed up more. It didn’t help that she’d spoken softly. Intentionally so, though her voice was never loud at any time. Now she stepped back and motioned at Tova.

“He cannot stomach pickled fish. He requires meat. Preferably fresh, though he’d settle for anything you have. Even fish, if it’s not pickled.”

The guard was one of the villagers. A warrior, given his dual blades. Not a high-ranking one—he bore no tattoos—but that was to be expected from a village guard. He was perhaps as old as her father, and she’d like to think that when he looked on her, there was kindness in his eyes, as if he might have a daughter her age. The kindness was, of course, rightfully tempered by caution and a touch of sardonic humor.

“Let me guess, Seeker,” he said. “You would like me to go and fetch you some meat, leaving the door unguarded.”

No, I simply want to hold your attention while Ronan escapes across the roof.

She smiled. “That would be nice, but I know you won’t be so foolish. I simply want meat for my hound. His stomach has been grumbling, and I’m concerned. He requires more exercise than he’s been receiving—and, no, I’m not asking to take him for walks. I understand our limitations. I only request that when the girls come to take our breakfast trays, you tell them to bring meat.”

“All right, then, Seeker,” he said. “Since you’ve asked nicely and haven’t played any tricks—”

The guard pitched forward. He fell into Ashyn, and something hit the floor on either side of him. Pieces of a roof tile. Ronan stood behind him holding a second one, ready to smash it over the guard’s head, but he was already on the floor, unconscious.

“Haven’t lost the knack,” Ronan said with a grin. “Come on, then. We need to pull him inside and go.”

Ashyn stared at him.

“I saw an opportunity,” he said. “Now quickly. Before someone comes.”

Ashyn helped him drag the guard the rest of the way inside. They went out and closed the door.

“That way,” Ronan said, pointing to a building across the way. “I could see from the roof and it’s clear over—”

“Going somewhere, Seeker?”

Barthol rounded the corner, two of his men flanking him. Ashyn wheeled to see two more coming in the other direction. She looked straight ahead, where they’d planned to run.

“Go!” she whispered to Ronan. “They want me.”

Before Ronan could run—or decide not to—one of Barthol’s men had him with a blade at his throat.

“Oh, I think we want him, too, Seeker,” Barthol said. “To keep you in line. Now, tell your cur to stop growling or we’ll give him cause.”

Ashyn laid her hand on Tova’s head, but he stopped even before that. If there’d been a chance of overpowering the men, he’d have attacked already.

“Good girl.” Barthol moved in front of her. “Turn around and go back inside your pretty little cage. I will count to three, and if you are not inside, the boy dies. One… two…”

She flung the door open, with Tova at her side, both of them stumbling over the body of the unconscious guard. Barthol shoved Ronan in with her, then strode over, lifted the guard by the front of his tunic, and slapped him hard enough that even Ronan winced. The man jerked awake.

“So…” Barthol said. “You let the Seeker and her brat boy escape.”

“What?” He looked around wildly and when his gaze settled on Ashyn, she saw accusation there, and felt it, too, even as she told herself she’d done nothing wrong, that they were clearly the victims here.

“They bashed you on the head and escaped.”

“I—”

“Are you going to tell me you let them go? That your conscience would not permit you to hold a Seeker captive?”

“No, of course not. I—”

“The alternative is that you were stupid enough to be fooled by two children. I would suggest, as a warrior, you stay with the first excuse. At least then you’ll die with honor.”

“D-die?” The guard scrambled to his feet.

Ashyn leaped forward. “It was my fault, not his. Please don’t—”

“Silence, Seeker, or your boy dies. Back up three paces, or your boy dies. Do anything to displease me and your boy dies.” He met her gaze with a chilling smile, silver teeth flashing. “Is that clear?”

She backed up. Ronan took her arm and tried to lead her into their quarters.

“No, boy,” Barthol called. “She stays and she watches what she’s done.” He turned to the guard. “Take out your dagger, warrior. You know what to do with it.”

“No,” Ashyn blurted. “Please—”

She stopped as one of the other mercenaries stepped toward Ronan, his blade raised. Ronan put his arm around Ashyn, moving up behind her and whispering, “Keep your gaze on the wall beside him. Look, but don’t look. Think of something else.”

As Ronan whispered, the warrior pleaded.

“Please. I have a family. My wife, my children. My parents are aged, and I’m their only son. Give me any punishment, any at all. Please.”

Barthol’s men flanked him, one on each side, pressing down on his shoulders until he sat cross-legged, in the proper position. One took out the guard’s dagger and put it in his hand.

“Do you know the point of ritual suicide?” Barthol sounded bored. “I may not be a warrior, but even I know it. You take your own life with honor, not beg for it like a dog. You want another punishment? All right. I’ll take you into the village square, for all to see, and execute you. Cleave off your head in front of your wife and children and parents, so they may—”

The guard didn’t even need Barthol to finish. He thrust his dagger into his stomach and sliced it open. Ashyn fell back. Ronan’s arm tightened around her and he kept whispering, “Look to the side, Ashyn. Look to the side,” but even if she did, she could see the blood and smell it and hear the man, still alive, breathing hard and panicked as he died.

“Finish it,” Ronan said to Barthol, his voice a growl. “Finish the ritual.”

“Finish?” Barthol sounded confused.

“The killing blow,” Ronan said between his teeth. “That is how it’s done. As soon as he plunges in the blade, you cut off his head. Show him mercy.”

Barthol screwed up his face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Barthol turned to the others. “Have any of you heard that part?”

They smiled and said no, they had not. Ashyn looked at the big man and she knew he understood the ritual full well. Writhing in agony, the guard whispered, “Please, please.”

“Well, I suppose it makes sense,” Barthol said. “This does seem slow. We’ll be here all day.” He glanced at one of his men. “Finish him off.” He paused. “Drag him outside first, where it will make less of a mess. Leave the door open, though, so our Seeker can watch.”

Two men dragged the dying guard out. Ronan kept whispering for her to not look, but she was still staring at the bloody floor when the killing blow came. She pressed against Ronan, breathing deeply, trying to keep calm and upright.

“There,” Barthol said. “It’s done. We’ll drag him into the village square now, so the others may see what happens to those who neglect their duties.” He looked at Ashyn. “I hope that was a lesson learned, Seeker. The same fate will befall anyone who assists your escape or allows it to happen. Go back inside with your cur and your boy, and be thankful I don’t make you clean up the mess.”

FORTY

Ashyn was playing capture-my-lord. The game was going nowhere and had been since they began, not because they were both astoundingly good players but because, frankly, neither had any interest under the circumstances.

It was an act. After what happened to the poor guard— and after Barthol threatened Ronan—Ashyn knew they had to convince their captors that they had settled in and would cause no trouble. Even now, as Ashyn moved her pieces, her fingers trembled, remembering the guard.

“Don’t,” Ronan murmured. “Don’t think about it. You ought not to have witnessed that.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said.

“You ought not to.”

“It’s not just seeing it. I feel as if I caused—”

“You didn’t,” Ronan said. “He chose to join them. Perhaps he had no option. Perhaps his family is here, and they threatened them, but even if I give him the benefit of the doubt, it was still his decision to guard a Seeker. And it was mine to use him in our escape.”

“I don’t think it would have mattered,” she said softly, gaze on the board. “Even if you escaped, Barthol would have killed him as an example.”

“I think Barthol just likes killing,” Ronan muttered. “And having others watch. He’s a sadistic—”

Tova leaped up. Ronan rose, fingers slipping to his side, reaching for his missing blade. His hand clenched, empty, and he moved forward, gaze fixed on the door. It opened.

Something raced through the open door. Something long and black, and Tova bounded forward with a happy bark. The black blur hit him and took him down, and they rolled together, light fur and dark, as Ashyn stared.

It looks like… It cannot be…

She lifted her gaze slowly, almost not daring to look back at the door, certain she would not see what she—

Moria walked through.

There were others with her. Ashyn didn’t see them. Her mind stopped there: Moria walked through.

She saw her sister’s face, sweat-stained and hard, her blue eyes blazing fury. Moria spotted her and her rage evaporated in a flicker of shock. Then she raced across the stone floor.

Ashyn threw her arms around her sister. The fierce hug lasted a moment before Moria pulled back, holding Ashyn at arm’s length, frowning again as her gaze traveled over her.

“Are you all right? Have they hurt you?”

Ashyn shook her head and started to ask the same of Moria, but her sister had already turned to the men who brought them in.

“Where’d the other one go?” she said. “The man in charge. I want—I demand to speak to him.”

The mercenaries laughed and began to leave.

Moria started after them. Ashyn tried to hold her back, but she shook her off.

“You!” she said to the men. “Do you know who I am? In the name of the goddess, I demand answers.”

“Then ask your goddess for them,” one said as he continued toward the door.

Moria lunged. “Do not—”

A hand caught her by the shoulder. Ashyn hadn’t even seen anyone standing there—she was too focused on her sister. She glimpsed the young man’s face, curtained by braids as he leaned over, whispering to Moria.

Gavril.

Ashyn braced for her sister to throw him off, too, and march after the departing guards. But she only grumbled and Daigo snorted, both of them glowering toward the guards. Then Moria did pull from Gavril’s grasp, but only to march back to Ashyn.

“You’re all right?” she asked again.

Ashyn nodded.

“And Tova?”

“He’s fine.”

Moria’s gaze flicked to Ronan. She didn’t ask if he was injured, but he seemed to understand the implied question and said he was fine, too.

“What happened?” Moria said. “And what’s going on here?”

They sat to talk. Moria said she’d found Ashyn’s letter, so she knew how they’d left and why. Ashyn skimmed over their journey through the Wastes, except to say that Beatrix, Gregor, and Quintin were dead. She did not tell them how the first two perished. Stories of death worms could wait. Finally she explained about Wenda.

“Spirit possession?” Moria said. “Yet she was not dead? Not possessed by a shadow stalker?”

Ronan answered. “Not unless they can keep a corpse fresh for six days.”

He didn’t mean it seriously, but Moria considered before saying, “No, the stories say possessed corpses rot slowly, but you would have noticed. It sounds more like…”

As she trailed off, she glanced at Gavril. Did he look uncomfortable? Or simply annoyed with the diversion? With Gavril, it was impossible to tell.

Ashyn went on to tell them about the children and the men who had control of Fairview.

Moria took a moment to digest it. “So it appears as if mercenaries were responsible for what happened in Edgewood, presumably working with”—she paused—“men of magic. They unleashed the shadow stalkers, among other things.”

“Other things?” Ronan said.

“We saw a thunder hawk,” Gavril said.

“We fought and killed a thunder hawk,” Moria corrected.

She explained. Then Ashyn told them about the death worms.

When Ashyn finished, Moria fixed Gavril with a look. “Shadow stalkers, thunder hawks, and death worms… all just coincidentally appearing in the Wastes at the same time?”

“I agreed that the shadow stalkers suggest the arcane arts. But conjuring thunder hawks and death worms… ?” He shook his head.

“It would be the same principle, wouldn’t it? Raising something that supposedly doesn’t exist?”

Gavril paused. “I suppose so. It does seem unlikely the Wastes would be home to two legendary creatures and we see both shortly after the shadow stalkers.”

Ashyn tried not to stare. Seeing Gavril and Moria speaking—without insults and barbs—was surprising enough. But exchanging ideas and actually listening to each other’s opinions… ? Moria rarely did that with anyone other than her sister and father. And Gavril never seemed to do it with anyone at all.

“So the mercenaries appear to be responsible,” Moria continued. “They unleash the shadow stalkers, take the children, and herd us here. Why not capture us at Edgewood, too?”

“Because it would have been sacrilege,” Gavril said. “They may pretend they don’t care about the spirits, but obviously they do.”

“Or someone does,” Ronan said. “Whoever the mercenaries are working for.”

Moria and Gavril turned to Ronan, looking surprised, as if they’d forgotten there were others there.

“He’s right,” Moria said. “Someone has hired them. Someone who respects the spirits enough not to lay hands on the Seeker and Keeper, but not so much that he fears holding them hostage. So they have us, and they have the children, and they’ve slaughtered the village of Edgewood. To what purpose? Have they told you?”

Ashyn shook her head. “We’ve only been here one night, and no one will speak.” She did not mention the escape attempt. She told herself this was not the time, but in truth, she didn’t wish this moment clouded by the memory.

“I want answers,” Moria said, pushing up.

Gavril rose with her. He leaned over, whispering to her again. Ashyn heard enough to make out the gist of it, which was nothing terribly private. Gavril wanted Moria to let him get answers.

“At least allow me to try,” he murmured. “If it doesn’t work, you can do it your way.”

Moria waved for him to go ahead. He bent to say something else. As he did, Moria turned her head to listen and Ashyn noticed the odd way her hair was bound, with small braids at the sides, pulled back with a dark strip of leather. She looked at Gavril, leaning over, one of his braids loose at the end, the tie gone.

Ashyn remembered back in Edgewood, the village girls vying for lovers among the guards. It was not easy to marry into a higher caste, but it was possible, and for the girls of Edge-wood, those warrior guards were their best chance of bettering their lives. If they managed to catch one even temporarily, they’d parade trophies like the plunder of war. Most prized of all were beads. If their lover wore braids, they’d persuade him to part with a few and weave them into their own hair.

Ashyn looked at Gavril, at that unbound braid, the strap now binding her sister’s locks.

She knew it did not mean the same thing. Her sister was too private a person to ever flaunt a conquest. And yet, was it still a lover’s gift? There was something between her sister and the Kitsune. There always had been, even when they were at each other’s throats. Now even Ronan saw it, given the way he watched them whisper.

Was he sad to see it? He ought not to be, given that he had a girl in the city. Perhaps, though, he still had feelings for Moria, and she felt no pleasure at seeing him disappointed.

As for Moria and Gavril… Ashyn knew her sister was curious about what happened between men and women, and she made little secret of it. But that was a curiosity to be pursued when nothing else required her attention. She would not escape her massacred village, set out on the Wastes with a handsome warrior, and decide it was the perfect opportunity to find out what all the fuss was about.

Yet they had spent five days alone together, in the wake of a tragedy, relying on each other for survival and… comfort? Perhaps.

She looked at her sister’s hair.

“Yes,” Moria said. “It’s a mess. Just be thankful I didn’t cut it after it almost got me killed.”

“Your hair?” Ronan said.

“Did I mention the talons on that thunder hawk?” she said. “They liked long hair.”

Ronan moved closer. “You truly killed it?”

“Gavril struck the fatal blow.”

Ronan started to ask for more, but Ashyn cut in. “So your hair, that’s why it’s pulled back like that.”

“Yes, he”—a wave at Gavril, now at the door, talking to the guard outside—“wouldn’t let me cut it and risk angering the spirits. So I made him figure out an alternative.”

That explained the strap then. Expediency. Which Ashyn should have known—while she thought it quite romantic to wear a lover’s beads, her sister was far more practical. Still, there was something between them….

Gavril came back. “We’ll have an audience before sundown.”

“Thank you,” Ashyn said.

Gavril nodded, but Ashyn could tell he was waiting for a response from her sister. Moria grumbled about the wait, but she didn’t blame him or try to do better, which Gavril seemed to recognize as a sign he’d done well. He walked to Daigo and bent to examine the wildcat’s wounds.

“We should get water for these,” he said. “One is oozing a little.”

Ashyn retrieved a bowl of water and helped Moria clean Daigo’s wounds. She took a closer look, too. Gavril was right. One showed signs of infection. The surrounding flesh was hot to the touch. Yet the wounds were otherwise healing well. She’d keep an eye on it.

As they finished their work, Ashyn gestured to the bowl. “Daigo isn’t the only one who could use some cleaning. There’s a tub in back, and they’ll bring all the hot water you want.”

Her sister opened her mouth, but Ashyn cut her off. “Yes, I know you consider it a waste of time under the circumstances, but we have time to waste. You ought to spend it getting rested and fed.”

“And clean,” Gavril said. “You could use the bath, Keeper.”

“No more than you, Kitsune. Did you notice I’ve been sleeping upwind?”

He shot his fist at her. Moria only laughed. It was a good sound to hear. Ashyn went to ask the guard to bring water. When she returned, Gavril was following Moria into the bathing room.

“Um, there’s plenty of water,” Ronan said. “You don’t need to share.”

Gavril gave him a hard look. “As the water is not yet here, I’m clearly not taking any liberties. I simply wish to speak to Moria.”

“Then speak here.”

More of that expressionless stare. “I don’t know you, and I would prefer not to share my thoughts with you.” He turned to Ashyn. “No offense meant to the Seeker.”

“None taken,” she murmured. “Go on.”

Gavril closed the door behind them.

FORTY-ONE

Guards came shortly after Moria and Gavril had bathed and changed into fresh clothing. Before they arrived, Ashyn and Moria finally had a chance to talk. Yet they discussed nothing important, nothing about all the things they ought to be talking about—Edgewood, their father… Ashyn had raised the subject of their father, but Moria had only asked how she was coping.

Gavril had spent the time prowling. Pacing the room, checking everything, trying to look through the battened windows. Which meant Ronan had to do the same, lest it seem as if he was content to wait for rescue while the warrior found it. Ashyn wanted to tell him to sit. Just sit. They already knew there was no way out, so leave Gavril to it. But she knew it would do no good.

Then the guards came and escorted them through the village. Now it was Ashyn’s turn to look all about, getting a fresh picture of Fairview, should they have an opportunity to escape. Ronan did the same, but Gavril and Moria kept their gazes forward. Empty gazes, each lost in thought.

There was, Ashyn admitted, nothing to see. Even Tova and Daigo didn’t show more than cursory interest in their surroundings. The village was locked up tight. This time, no one even opened a window to peek out.

An entire village held captive. How was it even possible? True, Fairview didn’t have a garrison, but they had guards and able-bodied men. Women, too, would fight, if their homes and their men and their children were in danger.

There was no sign that the capturing force was simply too large to conquer. She’d seen perhaps a dozen mercenaries. She could hear the spirits whispering, but as always their messages were vague and unhelpful.

The guards led them into the village hall. It was a simple affair—just a long, whitewashed building. As they passed through the doors, she saw Barthol, the big leader of the mercenaries, and his confederate, the small man, Fyren. There were also four guards—mercenaries, all of them, she was sure, like the men who’d escorted them here. And the governor. He was the only one sitting. She presumed it was “his” chair, an ornate one big enough to hold his weight. But he shifted and fussed, as if he couldn’t get comfortable. Then he saw them and went still.

“By my poxed ancestors,” Fyren said, sliding forward. “They truly are alike in every way.” A chortle. “Or every way I can see.”

Ronan stiffened beside her.

Fyren continued forward. “Feast your eyes on this, my brothers. Can you imagine both of them in your bed? I know I can.”

He leered. Moria reached for her waist and stopped as Fyren pulled a dagger from his belt.

“Looking for this, pretty one?” He twirled it, metal flashing. “A lovely blade. I thank you for it.”

Moria lunged. Ashyn didn’t have time to react—didn’t even have time to see what truly happened. She heard Fyren let out a grunt, saw the blade swing, only to stop abruptly. Fyren twisted to see who had him by the arm. It was Gavril. He plucked the dagger from Fyren’s fingers and handed it to Moria. She thanked him. Ashyn looked at the mercenaries. They all stood watching, as if amused.

Gavril pushed Fyren aside. The smaller man reached for his sword, but before he could pull it out, Moria had her dagger at his throat.

“You’ve been bested,” she said. “Don’t embarrass yourself further by pulling a blade on an unarmed man.”

Snickers now, from the others.

“The girl is right, Fyren,” Barthol said. “Step back.”

“You aren’t going to let her keep it, are you?” Fyren said.

Barthol shrugged. “I don’t see the harm. It is but a dagger.”

And one dagger would not help them against so many. Leaving it with Moria was more a statement than a concession—even if they were armed, they could not escape.

Ronan moved forward. “As long as you’re handing out weapons, I had two blades—”

“You’ll get them when you leave. Which will be soon.”

“Leave?” Moria said.

“Yes, I know, you just got here,” Barthol said. “I’m sure you’d love to stay, but we need you to take a message to the emperor.”

A moment of silence. Moria broke it. “What message?”

Barthol took an envelope from under his jacket. “A sealed missive for the emperor’s eyes only. If the seal is broken or tampered with in any way, we’ll find out. We have eyes in court.”

“Then get them to deliver your message.”

Gavril shifted as if he knew why they wouldn’t. Ashyn did, too. She had read enough stories about the court to realize that Barthol was referring to spies, who would never reveal themselves by handing notes to the emperor.

“Would you rather stay here?” Barthol asked Moria.

“I’d rather know what the blazes is going on.”

Barthol laughed. “Quick with your blade and quick with your tongue. I’d be inclined to make you an offer of employment, Keeper, if I thought you’d entertain it. The message is for the emperor only. However, because it might speed your steps, I will share part of it with you: the stakes. Fail to deliver this note—or tamper with it—and every child from your village dies.”

Silence. Even Moria didn’t speak.

Barthol continued. “What you saw in Edgewood was only a demonstration. If the emperor does not agree to our demands, this lovely town—and all its people—will suffer the same fate.”

It was Ashyn who found her voice first. “You mean the…”

“Shadow stalkers. Yes, that’s what they were. They wait just beyond the town walls, as the good governor can attest.”

The governor looked as if he might be sick. Fyren walked over and kicked his leg. “Come now, old man, tell the children what happened.”

“It was…” The governor swallowed. “A traveling party. A few warriors and their families. The shadow stalkers set upon them at dusk. Our people were…” He paused now. “Taken from us.”

“Now, governor, be truthful,” Fyren said. “We didn’t take them. We brought them back. Right here to Fairview. The next night.”

The governor grabbed the sides of his chair, as if he might launch himself at Fyren. Two armed men stepped forward. The governor lowered himself and turned to the captives.

“They brought them, as shadow stalkers, to show us what they had become. To show me what my son and his family…” He could go no further.

“But you have other sons,” Barthol said. “With other families. And you will continue to have them if these children do as they are told.”

Ashyn watched her sister’s hand grip her dagger hilt, so tightly her knuckles whitened. Gavril tensed, as if ready to stop her. Ashyn knew he wouldn’t need to. Her sister’s blue eyes blazed hate, but she was not foolish enough to attack.

Ashyn looked at the governor and tried to imagine—

Her knees quivered just watching the grief on his face, the remembered horror. To see your child returned to you, not dead and not alive, but something far worse. It was beyond—

Ashyn’s breath caught. She slowly turned to her sister, but Moria was facing resolutely forward, her chin up, her whole body stiff.

To see your child that way was terrible. And to see your father that way? To run home, certain he was dead, then to watch him rise, to feel the joy of relief, and then…

There was something more horrifying than what the governor had suffered. Seeing Moria standing so rigid, holding in her grief and her pain and her rage—now Ashyn understood, and when tears filled her eyes, they weren’t for the governor, however sad his plight.

“What say you, Keeper?” Barthol’s voice rang through the hall. “Will you take the message? Or would you like to tell the good governor here to bid farewell to the rest of his family? We can take you to tell the children they’ll die, too. They’d be delighted to see you. They hold you in such high regard. The Keeper will save us. That’s what they said when we told them you were coming.”

A round of chortles from the other mercenaries.

Barthol stepped forward. “So, Keeper, will you save them? Or will you tell them to prepare to meet their ancestors—”

“Enough.”

It was Gavril, his voice low. Barthol only snorted a laugh.

“Yes, Kitsune. At your command, my lord Kitsune.”

Barthol strolled closer. Then, in a flash, he had his dagger at the young warrior’s throat. Moria pulled hers.

“Sheath your blade, little one,” he said. “I’ll not hurt the boy…” He dug the tip of his dagger in, drawing blood. “Unless he interrupts me again.”

He lowered the blade and turned to Moria. “So what say you, Keeper? Will you take the message? Or does another village perish?”

Ashyn saw her sister’s jaw flex. But her lips didn’t open. It was as if she’d been holding herself so still, biting her tongue, that now she could not answer at all. Panic flashed in her eyes.

“Yes,” Ashyn said quickly. “We will deliver your sealed missive to the emperor.”

Barthol turned, as if just noticing her now. He looked from her to Moria.

“Does your sister speak for you, Keeper?”

Moria managed to nod.

“She speaks for all of us,” Gavril said. “I will accompany the Seeker and the Keeper to court and protect them and the message.”

“As will I,” Ronan said.

“Excellent choice,” Barthol said, flashing his silver teeth. “You will leave at dawn.”

FORTY-TWO

They’d been riding since sunrise with no guards other than Gavril and Ronan. There was no need of more. They were plainly dressed and armed, making them a poor target for bandits. Having no guards also meant there was no one to ensure they went to court. Again, unnecessary. Barthol’s threats bound them to their task.

The mercenaries had sent them on a less-traveled road. It was the same one Ronan had marched to Edgewood— they used it for the exiles, so the criminals would pass as few travelers as possible. Ashyn and Moria met none that morning. Then, just past lunch they’d seen clouds of dust ahead, announcing the approach of a wagon train. Traders, Ronan said—those bypassing villages on the main road, uninterested in their amenities or business prospects.

Other travelers presented a problem—namely that fair-haired twin girls would not pass unnoticed. Nor would a young warrior bearing Kitsune ink. It was easy to hide Gavril’s arms. Disguising the girls was harder. They wore their cloaks, with their hair tucked in, hoods tented over their faces. It would still draw attention—there was no need for cloaks in the spring sun of midday—but Ronan said that two hooded girls accompanied by young warriors would be presumed to be headed for the city, likely to one of the courtesan houses.

The real problem was Tova and Daigo. Even the most jaded traveler would realize they weren’t simply exotic pets from a far-off kingdom. The best way to handle it was to send the beasts off into the wooded roadside. Daigo was quite willing to go—he’d happily avoid people if he could. Tova was harder to convince—if they were about to encounter strangers, he wanted to be at his Seeker’s side, to protect her. Ultimately Daigo convinced him—or drove him off, herding him until they were in the trees, following alongside their girls, keeping an eye on them.

They passed two wagon trains and four carts without incident. When it came time to stop for the night, they found a place far from the road, so no stray travelers would see their fire and decide to join them.

They’d tethered the horses near the stream, where spring grass grew in abundance. Then they made camp a hundred paces away. Now Ashyn watched her sister crouch beside Daigo, examining his leg. The infected scratch seemed to be worsening. Ashyn had already done what she could, helping Moria wash and drain it. Now her sister was fretting, and Ashyn wanted to be there, sitting with her, comforting her, and reassuring her. She tried, but it was like talking to a spirit, one who may respond, but only vaguely, remaining hidden and distant beyond the veil.

Moria tugged impatiently at her cloak as it slid over her shoulder. It was obviously new, and Ashyn had asked about it, but her sister had stiffened at the question before changing the subject.

Ashyn presumed she’d taken it from Edgewood. Moria’s own had clearly been—Ashyn winced at the memory— unusable. So she’d likely removed one from the tailor’s shop. Completely reasonable, but perhaps to Moria it seemed like theft. Ashyn wanted to offer comfort, but for once in their lives, Ashyn couldn’t reach her.

As she watched Moria, she noticed Ronan heading her way. He slowed and looked from her to Moria. Then he made his choice. It was—she sighed—the expected one.

Ronan crouched beside Moria. He pointed at her dagger and made a motion, as if throwing it. Moria lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. Ronan took out his blade and gripped it, as if to throw it, then gestured at his hand. Asking her if he was holding it properly. Trying to entice her away from Daigo for a lesson. Again, though, Moria only gave a half shrug.

She clearly just wanted him to go away, and those lackluster shrugs—instead of telling him point-blank—only proved that she wasn’t herself. But Ronan would see it as rejection. Ashyn could take no pleasure in seeing him hurt.

She stood and walked over, with Tova trailing silently after her.

“Can you throw both?” Ashyn asked as she approached them. “I know you’ve practiced with your off-hand, but can you throw them both at once? Like…” She motioned.

Ashyn thought she’d pantomimed it quite well, but Ronan choked on a laugh. Even Moria managed to find a smile.

“If I threw them like that, I think I’d lose both my feet,” she said.

Ashyn shot her fist at her sister. Moria sputtered, a real laugh now, then turned to Ronan.

“What did you teach her on the road?” she asked. “She usually squawks every time I do that.”

“I don’t squawk,” Ashyn said.

“Yes, you do.” Moria raised her voice to a falsetto. “Moria! That’s rude!”

Ronan laughed and Moria grinned, and Ashyn didn’t care if they were laughing at her, only that her sister was smiling again.

Moria leaned over to Ronan and mock-whispered. “Just don’t tell her what it means.”

Ashyn shot her fist again before motioning her away from Daigo. “Ronan wants to learn to throw a blade. Go teach him so he’ll stop pestering me about it. Tova and I will look after Daigo.”

A throat clearing behind them. They looked over to see Gavril returning from his patrol.

“Given how you just pantomimed throwing a blade, Ashyn, I would suggest you join the lesson. At the very least, your sister ought to teach you how to handle it better. You draw it as if you’re preparing to slice an apple.”

Ashyn’s cheeks heated.

“Martial arts aren’t a Seeker’s focus, Kitsune,” Moria said. “You don’t use your dagger for much more than slicing apples.”

“Because I have my sword. While fighting may not be her strength, I’d like to see her better able to defend herself.”

Ronan got to his feet. “Ashyn is—”

Ashyn rose. “Gavril’s right, even if he could use a few lessons himself—in diplomacy.” She gave him a pointed look, which he chose to ignore. “I’ll spar with Moria later. For now, she can go with Ronan while I tend to Daigo.”

Gavril shook his head. “I’ll stay with the cat. I need no lessons on holding my blade.”

“No,” Moria said. “You just need lessons on how to release it. Preferably before you fall from a thunder hawk and dash out your brains on the rocks.” She paused. “Though that might not be an overly debilitating injury.”

He turned a cool look on her, but Ashyn swore she saw a flicker of warmth in it before he knelt beside Daigo.

“Go, Keeper. I’ll tend to your cat.”

Now Ashyn was sure a look did pass between them. She was almost as sure Moria mouthed thank you, but that seemed too great a stretch of the imagination.

“Come, then,” Moria said. “Class is in session.”

The lesson did not last long. The sun had almost dropped before they even began. They continued by the light of the moon and the campfire, but when Tova nearly got his tail lopped off, it became clear that throwing daggers in the dark was not, perhaps, a wise idea. They should have settled in for sleep then. Yet no one was tired.

They sat around the campfire, talking. Or Ronan and Moria talked. She had brought out sharp quills from her bag to show them, which necessitated the tale of where the quills came from. Then Moria and Ronan discussed the ways they could be used as weapons, poisoned or not. Ashyn had tried to slip away and give Ronan time with her sister, but he’d kept her there, pulling her into discussion.

It would have done little good to give them privacy anyway. Gavril sat across the fire, as silent and still as the rock he’d settled on. But he was listening to the conversation. When Moria stretched out her arm, explaining something to Ronan, and her cloak swung a little too close to the fire, it was Gavril who noticed first, scrambling up with, “Watch it!” and sweeping it away from the flames.

“You don’t want to damage that,” he said as they both moved back a step.

Moria murmured, “I know,” her gaze dropping slightly.

Gavril hesitated. He glanced at Ashyn, then he bent and whispered something to her sister. Moria shook her head. Gavril said something else. She hesitated and then nodded.

“Ashyn?” she said. “I need to stretch my legs. Will you come with me?”

Tova was on his feet even before Ashyn. Moria made a stop at her pack and pulled something from it, then they began to walk.

FORTY-THREE

They headed toward the horses. At night, Ashyn could look out at the landscape and think she was still in the Wastes. It was flat land, with distant, irregular shapes that could be heaps of stone and rubble. But the ground here was soft underfoot. Earth, not lava rock. As they walked, their steps swished through new grass, and those shapes were trees and distant mountains.

This was what the Wastes had looked like before the Age of Fire. It was so different. Normal for other people, she supposed—the rich smell of grass and soil, the chirp of crickets and night birds, the unseen creatures that scampered out of Tova’s path. There were spirits here, too, quiet ones whispering past. She ought to revel in her surroundings, in the sense of life swirling all about them, so unlike the Wastes, so unlike her home.

But it wasn’t home. It felt odd and alien, and she knew part of that owed to the circumstances—there was no way she could enjoy her surroundings given the situation. Whatever the reason, it was not what she’d expected. She’d always dreamed of rich, vibrant, living land, and now she almost yearned for hard rock underfoot.

When Ashyn shivered, Moria started undoing her cloak. “Here, wear this.”

Ashyn shook her head. “It was just a breeze.”

Moria stopped walking and pulled hers off. Ashyn protested again, but Moria didn’t pass her cloak over. She just stood there, fingering the supple leather and fur lining.

“It’s beautiful,” Ashyn murmured. “I’m glad you found it.”

Moria nodded.

Ashyn pressed on. “Whoever was supposed to have it would be pleased that you found it, too. That it went to such good use.”

“It’s mine,” Moria whispered, gaze down.

“Exactly. It’s yours now and—”

“No,” Moria raised her head, eyes meeting her sister’s. “It truly is mine. I found it in Father’s shop, with a…” Her voice clogged and she cleared it. “With a note. It was my Fire Festival gift. There was…” She tugged a small package from her pocket, and when she held it out, her fingers trembled. “This is for you.”

Ashyn stared down at the wrapped parcel.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier. With everything… I didn’t forget. I just… I wanted it to be a better time. But I don’t know if there will be a better time, not for a while, so you—you ought to have it.”

When Ashyn took the package, her own fingers quivered. Moria started to back up.

“I’ll give you some privacy—”

Ashyn reached out and caught Moria’s cloak. “No. Stay. Please.”

She untied the paper and folded it back, then folded it back again and again. She managed a small laugh. “I don’t think there’s a gift in here. It’s all paper.”

She kept going until finally, she reached the middle and found a ring. A thin silver band studded with garnets. As she lifted it, she saw a note underneath. She picked it up and turned her back to the moon, letting the light spill over the page.

Ashyn put the ring on. It fit perfectly, and she swore the stones glittered in the moonlight.

“It’s beautiful,” Moria said.

Ashyn nodded. “It was…” The words caught in her throat and when she looked down at the note again, she couldn’t read it through the haze of tears.

She passed the note to Moria.

Her sister lifted her hands. “No, I shouldn’t. It’s a private message for you.”

“It’s for both of us,” she said, and pressed it into Moria’s hand.

She watched as her sister read it. Watched as her face crumpled, as her shoulders shook. Ashyn caught her and held her, and they fell against each other as the tears came.

When Ashyn and Moria returned to the campsite, Moria went straight to Daigo, who was again resting under Gavril’s care. Ashyn headed to the stream, to check on the horses and wash off some of the day’s dust. She was cleaning a spot of dried mud from Tova’s ear when Ronan appeared.

“Is Moria all right?” he asked. “She was happy when we were practicing and talking, but when you two headed out… she seemed upset.”

“She’s fine. We talked about our father. Finally.”

“Good.” He hunkered down beside her. “So you feel better?”

She nodded.

“I’m glad. You have enough to worry about.”

He crouched there, looking at her as if she was supposed to make some kind of response, but she wasn’t sure what.

After a moment of silence, he said, “If you want more lessons with your dagger, I can give them. Your sister is an excellent warrior but a lousy teacher.”

Ashyn sputtered a laugh. “Patience is not her strong suit.”

“I can tell.”

“It doesn’t help that she’s distracted.”

“We all are. Understandably.”

“I meant that if she seems… cool, it’s just the circumstances.”

He frowned, as if confused. “All right. But I’m serious about the lessons. We’ll be on the road a few more days, and I’m happy to give them.”

“Thank you.” She glanced over. “I’m sorry if I’ve been sharp with you.”

He frowned. “You were sharp with me?”

“Distant or…” She could tell by his expression that he had no idea what she was talking about. Apparently, unlike Moria, she did not convey her feelings well. “I’ve been as distracted as anyone, I fear. I only wanted to say thank you for all you’ve done, and I’m sorry your return to the city was delayed. I know you have someone waiting for you.”

“Someone… ?” He gave her an odd look.

“You said you had someone waiting.”

“I said I had…” He sputtered a small laugh. “You think I have a girl waiting?”

“No, of course not. I just said—”

“You said someone in a tone that leaves no doubt that someone must be young and female. Truly? I was exiled to my death, Ashyn. If there was a girl—which there was not—I’d hardly expect her to be waiting for me.” He sat a few moments in silence. “I have a younger brother and a sister. They’re the ones I need to get back to.”

She glanced over. “Then why would you not simply say so?”

He shrugged. “There was enough to worry about. I wasn’t going to burden you with my life story.”

“Telling me you have a brother and sister is hardly your life story.”

Another shrug and when she looked over at him, she knew there was more to it. She saw guilt there, and discomfort, as he shifted and kicked at a small rock.

“How old are they?” she asked. “And no, I’m not prying. I’ll ask that and nothing more.”

“Aidra is six summers and Jorn is almost ten. They’re staying with my aunt. She’ll take care of them well enough, but… they are of an age where she’ll want them to start earning their keep, and I’d rather they did not. If I can help it, they will not.”

Ashyn suspected that “earning their keep” did not mean sweeping shops. She noticed he’d made no mention of a mother. Presumably she was dead, then. Ashyn had promised not to pry, though, and she would not, as dearly as she might wish to know more.

“We’ll get you back to them,” she said. “As quickly as we can.”

He looked over. Their eyes met. His hand dangled there beside hers, and she wanted to give it a squeeze. A friendly squeeze, reassuring, nothing more. But she could not breach that gap.

He cleared his throat and rose. “Let’s get to bed, then. Gavril’s made a guard schedule. I’m on second shift. You get early morning.” He grinned over. “Less chance for you to drift off.”

“I did not—”

“Oh, yes, you did. I could hear the snoring—”

“I don’t snore.”

He continued teasing her all the way back to camp.

FORTY-FOUR

Ashyn woke as Tova rose. While the night here wasn’t nearly as cold here as on the Wastes, she noticed the loss of his warmth and lifted her head. He nudged her cheek, telling her to go back to sleep while he went to relieve himself. But now that she was awake, she realized she could stand to do the same.

She glanced over at the small rise they’d agreed to use for watch. She could see a light-brown cloak and dark, tousled curls. Ronan was on duty. She started over to warn him where she was going, but his head was lowered, as if he’d drifted off. She didn’t doubt it. He’d not seemed to sleep at all during their two nights in Fairview. She’d wake him when she returned and insist on taking her shift early, though she’d still tease him about it come morning.

She wasn’t going far anyway. Just down by the stream, where the shallow gully offered some privacy. The horses were downstream, asleep. She gave them wide berth.

Tova wandered off, looking for a place to lift his leg. As she was unclasping her cloak she heard a faint whistle. An insect zipped past, as long as a finger joint. It hit Tova in the side. He snorted and twisted, biting at it, as if it had stung him, but it was too far for him to reach and clung in his thick fur. She walked over to pull it off. He took a step toward her. Then he teetered.

“Tov—!”

She didn’t even get the rest of the word out before she felt something hit her neck with a sharp jab. She clawed at her neck, and something fell into her hand—too hard to be an insect. As she peered down at it, she had to struggle to focus, forgetting for a moment all about Tova and wondering why she was staring down at this odd little tube with a pointed end.

It looks like the quill that Moria had. Not the barbed tip, but the tube, hollowed out and…

Her legs gave way, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.

Ashyn woke on a soft pallet. She lifted her head groggily to peer around the dark room, and spotted a figure sitting beside her.

“Moria?” Her voice sounded odd, like a frog’s croak.

Her sister turned, but it was so dark Ashyn could only see the outline of her head.

“You better not be going out,” Ashyn said. “You know Father hates it when you and Daigo…”

Father…

The thought caught in her mind, and she could feel it buzzing there, trying to push past her sleep-stupor. Something about Father…

She couldn’t focus. Her throat hurt and her head throbbed. Had she drunk too much honey wine? No, she was always careful since the last Fire Festival, when Moria wanted to know what it felt like to be drunk and Ashyn had spent half the night nursing her.

Fire Festival…

Again, the thought caught, and her gaze went to her hand. There was a ring on her finger. Silver with red stones.

Where did that…

Father. Fire Festival.

“Moria?” she said.

“Shhh.”

Ashyn hesitated. Her sister sounded odd. Was her throat hurting as well? Ashyn struggled to rise, her hands gripping the coverlet. Only it wasn’t her silk coverlet from home. It was coarse hemp cloth.

She heard a distant noise. Men’s voices, speaking in a tongue she didn’t recognize. She pushed up on her sleeping mat and peered around, her heart hammering now, mind struggling to put the pieces together.

As soon as she looked around, she knew something was missing. Something she ought to be able to see even in the dimmest light.

“Tova?” she said.

No answering scrabble of claws. Ashyn blinked hard. She caught sight of a drawn curtain, moonlight seeping in on all sides. She scrambled over and yanked at it.

“No!” whispered a voice beside her. “Don’t—”

Ashyn turned and let out a shriek. A hand clapped over her mouth and when it did, she screamed all the louder, feeling that hand, covered in hard bumps that rasped against her skin. She struggled to get away, but another hand grabbed her by the shoulder, holding her fast.

“Be still,” the voice said. “I’m not going to hurt you. You need to keep your voice down, child.”

A nightmare. She was having a nightmare. Nowhere else could she wake to see such a thing and hear it speak like a normal woman.

As Ashyn struggled for calm, she looked up into that terrible face. It had the shape of a human head, but instead of skin, it had overlapping reddish scales all over its bald skull. Where there weren’t scales, there were warts—on the nose, the ears, the lips, even the eyelids.

Shadow stalker.

As the thought came, her mind stuttered. It seemed to latch on to an idea—a memory—that wouldn’t quite form.

Shadow stalkers. Death worms. Thunder hawks.

The words passed through her mind and brought the rest tumbling after, all the memories of the last days, of why she wasn’t at home in Edgewood, of what happened there. It all rushed back, and she started to shake.

“Shhh,” the creature said. “Don’t make noise or they’ll beat us. They have no sympathy for tears.”

Ashyn stared at the thing. Not a shadow stalker. Some new monster raised by sorcerers, unleashed on the empire?

A monster that talks? Kindly? Comforts me and warns me?

“W-what are you?” Ashyn asked.

Anger flashed in the thing’s dark eyes. “A girl, like you.”

Ashyn glanced down at her own hand, as if expecting to suddenly see it covered in warts. Of course it wasn’t.

The creature’s voice softened. “It is a deformity of the skin. I am a girl, even if I do not look like one. My name is Belaset. I am nearly eighteen summers. I live in the imperial city.”

Ashyn’s cheeks flared red hot. “I—I’m so sorry. I… I have never met… I was confused.”

“And your name?” Belaset prompted.

“Ashyn of Edgewood.”

“Edgewood.” Belaset frowned. Then she nodded. “The village that guards the Forest of the Dead.”

Gone now, Ashyn thought. All gone. But she did not say that. There was no reason. Instead she only nodded and lowered her gaze so the girl wouldn’t see the pain there. Then her head shot up, and she looked around wildly.

“Where are we? I… There was a dart. Tova. Where’s—”

“If you mean the great dog, I saw them bring him on a cart with you. Where did you get such a huge beast?”

“He’s a…” Again, too much to explain under the circumstances. “He’s a special breed. But where are we?” She looked around again, focusing. “A wagon. We’re in a wagon. But it’s not moving.”

“They’re preparing to return for your sister.”

“My sister?”

“They want both of you, of course. Alone, you are exotic, but no more so than dozens of Northern girls in the city. It is the pair that is unique—because you look so alike. Some believe you’re twins, which isn’t possible, of course, but I’m sure that’s what the trader will tell King Machek.”

Machek. King of Denovoi, a small land to the west of the empire. There were dozens such kingdoms beyond the empire’s borders. Lands the empire did not care to—or could not—conquer. So why did she remember this particular one?

She heard Moria’s voice, talking to village children she’d caught stealing or striking a smaller one.

Do you know what happens to little savages who mistreat others? They grow tails like monkeys, and then they’re sold to King Machek. For his zoo. Have you heard of the Denovoi zoo? They say he keeps monsters there, locked in cages, and people come and pay money to see them.

Ashyn looked at Belaset, at her scaled face and arms.

“No,” she whispered.

“You know who he is, then?”

“The zoo. They mean to sell me and my sister to him. For his zoo.”

Belaset laughed softly. “No, child. You’re bound for his harem. King Machek collects oddities of all sorts. Some for his zoo. Some for his bed. As for where I’ll end up, that has yet to be seen. While the choice should be obvious, the king apparently has… unusual tastes.”

Ashyn tried to process all that, gave up, and shoved it aside. “They’ve made a grave mistake. I have to tell them who I am.”

“It won’t matter who your family is, child—”

“No, who I am. Who my sister is. We are twins. The Seeker and Keeper of Edgewood.”

“Seeker and…” Belaset stared, much as Ashyn must have stared at her moments ago. “The hound. I… had forgotten the stories.”

“There are a Seeker and Keeper in the imperial city as well. Have you not seen them?”

“I’m casteless, child. I would not dare show my face anyplace they would be.”

“Casteless?”

Ashyn had heard of such a thing, though there were no casteless people in Edgewood. They were the lowest of the low—those not permitted an occupation.

“My parents cast me out when my skin began to harden. I was allowed to live but stripped of my caste, as I was clearly cursed by the goddess for some sin or other, though I was but five summers old.”

Deformity was believed to be a punishment. But a child of five could not possibly have committed a sin grave enough to deserve this.

“We need to tell them who I am,” Ashyn said. “Harming me is an affront to the goddess.”

Belaset laughed. “You truly are a child, aren’t you? Do you think the king of Denovoi cares for the goddess of our empire? Now I suspect the slave trader knows exactly who you and your sister are. He would not speak too loudly of it, for there are men in his employ who might object, but he will be rubbing his hands, imagining the fortune that is to come. King Machek has no love for Emperor Tatsu. How much will he pay to be able to tell the great man that a young Seeker and Keeper warm his bed?”

“We need to escape, then.”

“And we will, when we reach Denovoi. This is my plan, and I’ll gladly take you and your sister with me if you help.”

“No, we must escape now.”

Belaset shook her bald head. “It sounds as if the other men have left to fetch your sister, but there is still an armed warrior outside our door. To escape, we would need—”

Ashyn pulled her dagger from beneath her cloak. “It seems they did not think to search a mere girl.”

“A blade? And you can use it?”

“Adequately.”

Belaset nodded slowly. “Yes, then. We can call the guard in. I will create a distraction, and you will slit his throat.”

“S-slit—?”

Belaset’s eyes flashed with impatience. “You said you can use it, did you not?”

“Yes, but I have never killed a man.” I’ve never stabbed anything more than a pig carcass. “Perhaps we could just disable him.”

“So he can cry for help? No, child, he must be killed. I’ll do it while you create the distraction. When the guard brought you in, he clearly found your looks pleasing. I caught him stroking your hair as he laid you on the mat. That’s how you’ll distract him. Use your wiles.”

“Wiles?”

Ashyn was sure she looked almost as shocked as she had when Belaset suggested she slit the man’s throat. I truly am a child. I can’t even save myself.

Ashyn took a deep breath. “I can distract him.”

FORTY-FIVE

As they prepared, Ashyn got a better sense of the situation from Belaset. They were in a wagon from one of the trains they’d passed earlier that day. Apparently, the slave trader had spotted the girls and realized they were alike—in his profession, he would have a much keener eye than the average traveler.

He’d cut Belaset’s wagon from the train and returned with a few mercenaries, planning to take the girls at night. That’s why Ronan seemed to be asleep at his post—he’d been unconscious from a dart. They’d likely planned to use darts on the others as they slept, but then Ashyn and Tova woke. They’d brought them back and returned for Moria and Daigo.

Now Belaset had Ashyn remove her cloak, pull her hair over her shoulders, and undo the top button on her tunic. Ashyn would have been fine with all that, but then Belaset insisted on a second button and tugged her tunic down until Ashyn was certain if she leaned over, her breasts would be on full display. That was, she supposed, the idea, but her cheeks still blazed at the thought.

“How do you do that?” Belaset said.

“Do what?”

“Redden your cheeks.”

Belaset reached over and pinched them hard with her scaly fingers. Ashyn tried not to shrink at her touch.

“There,” Belaset said. “You look very sweet and shy. Men like that. I worked at a brothel doing chores for the women, and men were always asking for virgins.”

“Brothel?” Ashyn said. “Is that like a courtesan house?”

Belaset laughed. “Not exactly, child. Come now. We must move quickly, before they take your sister.”

Ashyn knocked on the wagon door. “Hello? Is someone out there?”

It took a moment for the guard to answer.

“Yes?” he said.

“I’m unwell,” she said.

“It’s the dart,” he said. “It will wear off soon.”

“I—I’m going to be ill. Do you have something for me to… use? I don’t want to be sick in here. I’m afraid I’ll wake… the thing in here with me.”

Ashyn hadn’t wanted to say it that way, but Belaset insisted. If she called her a girl or used her name, it would be clear they’d been speaking, and the guard would be wary.

“Is there a bucket?” Ashyn asked. Belaset had said there was, hanging from the wagon, so the captives could relieve themselves.

The guard grunted. She heard the bucket clatter against the wood. He opened the door just enough to pass the bucket through. Ashyn pulled it into the gap so the guard couldn’t close the door.

Now it was time to use her wiles. Did she even have wiles? She doubted it, but she could feel the guard’s gaze fixed on those opened buttons, on the pale skin beneath.

Pretend I’m a maiden in a tale, and this is my warrior love, slipping to my door for a few stolen moments.

She leaned forward, letting her tunic open more, her hair tumbling over it, and she didn’t need to fake the blushing cheeks or shy gaze as she looked up into his face. He was not much older than she, his own cheeks darkening as he stared at her open tunic.

He’s only a boy. We can’t do this.

I’ll find another way.

“I… I thought I heard something in here,” she whispered, as if trying not to wake Belaset. “A snake or a rat. Could you take a look?”

She gazed up into his eyes. Not that there was much use in it. His attention hadn’t left her open neckline. She steeled herself and leaned over farther.

“Please,” she said. “I’d be so grateful.”

He nodded, his gaze not lifting until she backed onto the pallet. The move was not so much seduction as necessity—the wagon was only big enough to hold the wide sleeping mat. But when she backed onto it, his breath caught and he started forward, as if she were pulling him into her bed. He glanced over at Belaset, who was feigning sleep.

“Where did you hear the noise, miss?” he asked, his voice thick.

“Up here. At the head of the mat.”

He knelt on the pallet, his gaze on her. Then he put his hands down carefully, ready to crawl onto it, watching for any sign that she was going to stop him. When she gave none, he started forward.

I’ll pretend I’m going to let him kiss me. Then I’ll grab his hair and knock him unconscious. We won’t need to kill—

Belaset sprang up and grabbed the guard by the hair.

“Knock him—” Ashyn began.

The blade slashed.

“No!”

It was too late. The guard’s throat split before he could pull his blade. He gurgled blood. Ashyn stared in horror as Belaset grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the door.

“Hurry, child!”

Belaset pulled Ashyn outside. Ashyn resisted at first but quickly realized there was nothing she could do. She tumbled out the wagon door, hitting the ground. The night was silent and still.

“Tova,” she said. “I need to find—”

“Your dog? We can’t worry about him. Hurry!”

“No, go on. Keep the dagger. I’ll…” She swallowed. “I’ll take the guard’s.”

Belaset shook her head. “There’s no time. Find your dog quickly. He can’t be far.”

Tova was right under the wagon. Sound asleep, still unconscious from the dart. As Ashyn shook him, her heart pounded.

He leaped up with a snort, and she threw her arms around his broad neck.

“There’s no time for that,” Belaset said. “Hurry!”

Belaset raced off. Ashyn untied Tova and caught up. She had no idea which way to go—the plains all looked the same to her—but she trusted Belaset. They ran until they reached a patch of scraggly bushes. Belaset crouched behind them.

“Here’s where we part, child. The road is that way.” She pointed. “I trust you can find your camp?”

“Come with me,” Ashyn said. “You’ll be safer. We’re all armed. My sister is well trained with a blade, and we have a warrior escort. We’ll take you back to the city.”

“There is nothing for me in the city.”

“Then we’ll take you someplace safe.”

“You’ve been kind, but I’m going my own way, Ashyn of Edgewood. I trust you’ll allow me to take this blade.”

The request caught Ashyn off guard. It was a fine dagger, one she’d used since she was a child. If Belaset wanted a blade, she should have gone back for the guard’s, when Ashyn mentioned it. As soon as she hesitated, she felt shamed. Ashyn could easily get another.

“Of course,” she said. “Take it. Please.”

“And that ring?”

“Ring? I… I am sorry, but I cannot part with that. It was my mother’s.”

“I think I have earned it, child.”

“My father left it for me. When he died. Barely seven nights ago.” Ashyn heard the edge in her voice and the snap in her words. Yet there wasn’t an inkling of understanding in Belaset’s eyes, much less shame.

“You can buy many rings,” the girl said. “I will take that one, in payment for my services.”

“No, you will not—”

Belaset lunged. Ashyn staggered back. Tova grabbed Belaset by the blade arm, and she let out a hiss of shock, as if she’d forgotten the hound was there. He whipped her off her feet, Ashyn’s blade bouncing to the ground. Then he retrieved the dagger gingerly by the handle and returned it to Ashyn.

“I deserve that ring,” Belaset said. Her voice remained calm, as if simply requesting her due. A simple act of necessity, devoid of emotion. “I deserve it. I rescued you.”

Ashyn gave a short laugh. “No, you helped me escape, using my blade, and in return, you earned your freedom, which you would not have gotten otherwise. I owe you nothing but my thanks. However, I will give you the dagger. Stay where you are. I’ll walk away and leave it on the ground between us. When I whistle, you may retrieve it. If you make a move before that, I will set Tova on you, and this time, he will not be so gentle.”

“All right.”

Belaset’s agreement came quickly—too quickly—which made Ashyn certain the girl was planning to trick her, but Belaset stayed still as Ashyn walked away and set down the blade. Even when Ashyn whistled softly, Belaset only rose and walked toward the dagger. When Ashyn glanced back, the girl was bending to retrieve it. She saw Ashyn and lifted a hand, as if in farewell. Then she turned and loped off across the dark plain.

FORTY-SIX

As soon as they left Belaset behind, Tova started off, presumably heading for camp.

Ashyn kept looking about, creeping quickly, until she saw a figure crouched behind a bush. It was not apparent at first, and she was certain he thought the bush hid him, but spring had not yet brought the bush into full bloom, and she could make out a crouching figure through its half-bare branches.

She froze. Her fingers fumbled under her cloak for her dagger… before she remembered she no longer had it. “Tova!” she whispered.

He glanced at her. She motioned at the bush, where the figure was now rising. Tova looked over at it, then back at her, as if to say, So?

The faint moonlight lit the figure. It was Ronan.

“Ashyn?” Ronan’s whisper crossed the distance between them.

“Who else would it be?” she whispered as she walked over. “Tova gives me away nicely.”

“It was not a question so much as a greeting, lest you decide to put Moria’s dagger-throwing lessons into practice.”

“I doubt you’d be in much danger even if I did.”

He chuckled softly. His hand went out, and she thought he was going to take hers and draw her to him, but he only beckoned her close, then laid his hand on her arm.

“It seems I fell asleep at my post.” He flashed a wry smile. “But if you don’t tell Gavril, I won’t tell Moria that you got lost relieving yourself.”

“Got lost?” She gave him a hard look. “Is that truly what you thought?”

Tova harrumphed, equally offended.

“You were knocked unconscious with a dart,” she said. “I was kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?”

“How long was I gone?” Ashyn shook her head and waved for him to follow Tova, who’d started back toward camp. “I’ll explain to everyone at—” She stopped and spun on him. “You did not realize I was taken?”

“I didn’t, and I apologize—”

“No, I mean—Moria and Gavril. You didn’t wake them?”

“I wanted to find you before they realized I’d—” He swore.

Ashyn was already running.

The slave trader’s men were at the camp. Ashyn could hear the commotion before they were close enough to see anything. When she tried to race ahead, Ronan caught her cloak.

“We’d do better to surprise them,” he said. “Come this way, along the stream.”

They ran down into the shallow gully. Ronan told her to follow in his footsteps, on the hard ground, so their boots wouldn’t squelch. The gully was neck high, meaning Ashyn could still see over the edge. It seemed forever before she spotted the horses, looking about as if startled. When she gazed over the field, she saw figures at the camp.

Those figures had gone silent now. Their early oaths and curses seemed to have been Moria and Gavril as they were woken from sleep. And perhaps the raiders as they realized they’d lost the element of surprise.

Ashyn and Ronan continued running silently until the figures became clear—Moria, Daigo, and Gavril, surrounded by armed men. Ashyn tried to dart past Ronan, but again, he held her back.

“Race in there, and you’ll distract Moria and Gavril as much as those mercenaries.”

Causing a distraction hadn’t actually been her plan. She’d had no plan at all but to run in, armed with Ronan’s dagger. Even that would be pointless—they were still several hundred paces off.

Ronan resumed moving, quickly. Ashyn followed, her gaze fixed on her sister. Four men surrounded them. Daigo was at Moria’s side, while Gavril stood with his back to her, their blades raised as they faced off against the raiders.

“Give us the girl,” a man said. “And we’ll let you live.”

The words came from a fifth man, one Ashyn saw only now. He stood off to the side, well out of the fight. The slave trader.

Gavril didn’t even acknowledge the offer. Moria did, saying, “I’ll let you all live, if you return my sister.”

“Take them!” the slave trader shouted, and the raiders surged forward.

Ronan raced up the stream gully onto clearer ground. Ashyn could barely even see the fighters; they seemed a seething mass of dark forms and flashing metal, their clangs of steel mingling with Daigo’s snarls. Every now and then, though, she’d catch a glimpse of Moria and Gavril, still back-to-back as they fought.

Tova raced ahead. Already a man lay on the ground under Daigo, and another was fleeing. By the time Tova reached the fight, Daigo’s prey lay unmoving. Moria’s target was staggering back, and the wildcat was leaping for him. Gavril fought the last raider, but Tova circled past him, instead heading for the slave trader, who realized the fight was lost. He began to flee, with Tova at his heels. Once he was far enough gone, Ashyn whistled Tova back.

Moria spun to help Gavril, but he was already drawing his blade back as his opponent rushed him. The man’s charge left him open, and it took only one solid swing to end it.

Ashyn saw Gavril’s expression as his sword struck the man’s side. Anger and resolve as he swung. Relief as the blade sliced through the man’s side. Then horror as the raider hung there, nearly cut in two, held upright by the sword.

Gavril stumbled back and yanked his blade out, as if he hoped he could somehow undo the fatal blow. Moria wheeled from the raider Daigo now had pinned to the ground. She took hold of Gavril’s elbow and pulled his attention to her as she said something.

Ashyn caught Ronan’s arm, slowing him. Moria seemed to be asking Gavril if he was hurt, and he was shaking his head. Then he reached out, one hand going to the back of Moria’s neck, under her hair, the other rising to her cheek. The young warrior leaned over her sister’s upturned face, his braids falling in a curtain around them.

He’s going to kiss her.

He never even came close. And unlike Ashyn with Ronan several nights before, Moria gave no sign that she ever expected a kiss, given that she kept talking. Instead, it seemed Gavril was examining a cut on Moria’s cheek, and she was brushing off his concern.

Gavril continued checking the wound, his voice low, and as Ashyn watched them, she knew it didn’t matter if he kissed her sister or not; there was something between them. A deep concern for each other’s well-being that went beyond blossoming friendship.

She glanced at Ronan. He watched them, looking uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He glanced over, brows gathering. “About what?”

She paused. “Are you all right?”

A short laugh. “I’m not the one who just fought off armed kidnappers. Though I might feel like I did in a moment. Moria and Gavril aren’t going to be pleased with me.”

“It was an honest mistake,” she said. “You thought—”

“Ronan!” Moria’s voice rang out, and they looked up to see her striding over. “I hope you have a good excuse for being captured on guard duty.”

Ashyn stepped between them. “He does. They used darts with some sort of sleeping potion, and we were taken captive—”

“Ashyn was taken captive,” Ronan corrected. “While I was unconscious. I woke and thought she’d wandered off.”

Moria snorted. “Wandered off? I should hope after all these days together you’d know her better than that.”

“Moria?” Gavril called. “We’ll speak about this later. We ought to leave before that trader decides to return.”

Moria turned. “And the other mercenaries?”

“Daigo killed one. Another fled. The third is unconscious. I’ve taken his blades. Gavril’s right. We ought to gather the horses and go.”

As they rode, Ashyn explained what had happened—but only to Moria. Given the fate that had awaited her in King Machek’s court, she’d been too embarrassed to tell Gavril and Ronan. “What’s the shame in being kidnapped for a harem?” Moria had said. “It wasn’t as if you volunteered.” Still, Ashyn was more comfortable letting her sister tell Gavril and Ronan, which she did, riding behind with them while Ashyn went on ahead.

As for their reaction, they had none—to the harem prospect, that is. To them, it seemed as natural as a young man being captured for work in the mines. It was simply a fate that could befall unprotected youth.

They reacted more strongly to the actual kidnapping. Gavril was furious at the affront. To kidnap the Seeker was an unforgivable insult to the goddess, and even if one did not follow the laws of a neighboring land, one ought to respect its customs.

Like Moria, Ronan was more concerned about how the ordeal affected Ashyn. She assured them she was fine. Yes, it had been a shock, but it had ended so quickly that she was quite recovered. Which was untrue, yet not something she wished to burden them with now.

They continued through the day, but Moria and Gavril were obviously finding riding difficult, having taken several hard blows and blade slices during the fight.

Finally, as the sun began its descent, Ashyn persuaded them that the horses needed to stop. Having decided not to risk camping on open ground again, they found an inn for the night.

FORTY-SEVEN

The inn was a two-story wooden building with communal dining and bathing areas. Stairs led up the side to a balcony that stretched across the front and back, with rooms along each side. The inn was not large, and it was already crowded, the four of them needing to cram into one small room with a sleeping mat for two.

“It was that or the stables,” Ronan said after he’d secured lodgings while they waited outside. “The girls won’t mind sleeping on the floor, I’m sure.”

“You won’t mind sleeping in the stable, I’m sure,” Moria said. “Which is where you’ll end up if you attempt to put me on the floor.”

“Moria should be on a mat,” Ashyn said as they tramped up the outside steps to their room. “After that fight and a long day’s ride, she’ll be stiff and sore. Gavril, too. They should both take the—” She realized what she was suggesting and stopped short.

“I’m quite fine,” Gavril said. “The girls ought to take the mat. Particularly you, Keeper. The fight was much harder on you.”

Moria shot her fist at him. When they reached the balcony, she said, “If Ashyn’s offering the bed, we ought to take it. They’ll have one tomorrow night.”

Ashyn’s cheeks heated—and she was sure Gavril’s did, too, even if she couldn’t see it. Ronan seemed to be biting back a laugh.

When Moria caught Gavril’s expression, she rolled her eyes. “Daigo can sleep between us. To keep you on your own side.”

“I’m hardly the problem, Keeper. You flail. And snore.”

“How would you know?” Ronan asked.

“She does,” Ashyn cut in to save the young warrior from a reply. “She takes all the covers, flails about like she’s in battle, and snores almost as loudly as Daigo.”

The wildcat was not there to defend himself. They’d asked Tova and Daigo to remain below for now, in the adjacent stretch of forest. They’d sneak them up after dark.

They reached their room. When Moria opened the door, it was even smaller than they’d anticipated, barely big enough to fit the sleeping mat.

“I’m not sure we can get Tova or Daigo in here with us,” Ashyn said as they crowded inside.

“It was honestly this or the stables,” Ronan said. “That’s where the traders behind me ended up.”

“They truly rent room in the stables?” Ashyn asked.

“And the kitchen and the dining room, and probably the bath if they get an offer.”

“I would suggest that Ronan and I take room in the stables,” Gavril said. “But after last night, I’m not certain it’s wise to separate.”

“It isn’t,” Ashyn said. “We’ll squeeze in. For now, you and Moria rest up here, in whatever configuration suits you. Ronan and I will go down to dinner.”

When Ronan and Ashyn went back downstairs, Ashyn lowered the hood on her cloak. Dining with it on would call too much attention to them, and Northerners were hardly unknown in the empire. The problem was only if the girls were seen together.

Indeed, their entrance into the dining hall attracted little attention. There was an entire trading party of Northerners there who nodded when they saw Ashyn, their gazes taking in her manner of dress and deciding she was not truly “from the North,” and therefore required no more greeting than the nod.

Ronan guided them to one of the long, communal tables. As they knelt on coarse pallets, the innkeeper’s wife came out. She paused and gave Ronan a hard look. The serving girl snickered as she laid down their bowls of rice and pork.

“Are we doing something wrong?” Ashyn whispered when they were gone.

“Not at all.”

She looked back at the girl, whispering to the woman, who was now favoring Ashyn with that hard look. “What did you tell them when we arrived?”

“Only that my brother and I needed rooms for ourselves and our sisters.”

“Sister?” she sputtered. “I no more resemble you than Gavril does. They’re going to think…” She stared at him.

“They think we’re lovers.”

Now it was Ronan sputtering as he laughed. “I would take more offense at your expression if it was not so adorable, Ash.”

Ash? He’s never called me— She pushed the thought aside, refusing to be distracted. “You let them believe—”

“Yes, because that is the best explanation for two young men and two young women to be on the road, and it’s the one they’d likely arrive at whatever our story. Would you rather deny it and make them wonder who you truly are?”

“Oh.” She settled back on her heels. “I suppose—”

“That I was correct in doing so, however much the implications might embarrass you?” He grinned, leaned forward, and whispered. “It’s a good thing you were not taken to that harem. It’s not just blades you require lessons in, is it? I would happily offer instruction in that as well if…” He trailed off, still smiling. “I’ll stop before your face lights on fire. Drink some water. Just don’t choke on it.”

She was indeed blushing furiously. Furious, too, with him for teasing her, and with herself for reacting. Like a child, she thought. I’m sixteen summers. Out here, in the real empire, I would be a woman now.

I am a woman. The Seeker.

Not like that. She’d be more mature, perhaps no more experienced with men, but at least not blushing and stammering when the subject was raised.

“I apologize,” Ronan said. “I was only teasing.”

The apology only stung all the more, erasing any doubt that she’d reacted like a child.

I don’t want you to see me as a child.

“I forget sometimes that you’re a highborn girl,” he said.

“I’m not highborn. My family is—”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever your family’s caste was, you’ve been raised above that. I ought not treat you like a normal girl.”

“But I am—”

“I don’t mean that as it sounded.” He sighed and pushed back from the table. “I’m making a mess of this. I only meant to apologize if I sometimes forget my place.”

“You don’t have a place, Ronan. Not with me.”

He waved off the denial. She tried to continue, but her insistence only seemed to make the situation worse. It certainly drove Ronan to silence, eating his meal as she struggled for something to say, something worldly and interesting.

She was gazing around at the other diners, looking for a comment to make, when Ronan said, “I know you’re bothered by what happened last night.” He paused. “Well, obviously, being kidnapped would bother you, but I mean the… girl. What she did. Helping you and then demanding payment.”

“I’d have happily given her the dagger,” she said. “Even a ring, if it wasn’t this one. But… I helped her, too. Perhaps I couldn’t kill that man, but it was my dagger she used and my distraction. Without me, she would not have escaped.”

“You felt betrayed.”

Ashyn considered that. “I think, in some ways, I would rather feel betrayed. Then I’d be upset with myself for getting tricked, but this… I’m just confused. She didn’t seem angry. She just expected the ring, no matter how important it was to me.”

“Her own family cast her out; she would not understand that your mother’s ring would hold any importance. It is”—he waved his eating sticks—“beyond her comprehension. Demanding the ring was not an insult to you. It was not even an expectation. She was simply seeing if you would give it up. If you did, that was your loss and her gain.” He ate another mouthful. “You said she was casteless. They must take everything they can get. They have no choice. The empire allows them no choice.”

“You know people who are casteless.”

He made a noise in his throat and ate a chunk of sticky rice, swallowing before answering. “On the streets, you cannot help but know some.”

“How do they make a living?”

“Begging. Thieving.”

“Belaset said she worked in a, um, brothel. Doing odd jobs. That’s employment, isn’t it? Better than beggary or thievery.”

“I don’t know.” He met her gaze, his dark eyes serious. “Would you find it more honorable to steal for a living? Or to clean shit buckets for whores?”

Her gaze dropped.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to be so blunt—”

“No, it’s not that. I see your point and I feel shamed for not knowing more. There’s no one… like that in Edgewood.”

He grunted and took another bite of pork. They ate for a few moments in silence, then he said, his gaze still on his plate, “There’s something I ought to tell you.”

“All right.”

“I…” He looked up. Indecision flickered in his eyes. Then he blinked, pulled back a little, and cleared his throat. “When we get to the city, I’m going to leave. Before we enter the gates.”

“What?” Ashyn tried to hide her surprise. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“Under the circumstances, I can no longer expect anything but suspicion from the emperor. He’ll think I may be involved with these mercenaries. You’ll be safe once you’re there, and I’ll be safer if I go my own way.”

“Where?”

“Into the city. Just not through the main gates.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze met hers. “Do you want to see me again, Ashyn?”

Her heart hammered, and she searched his expression. He just sat there, gaze shuttered, waiting.

“I do,” she said carefully. “After all this, I wouldn’t want you to vanish into the city forever.”

“Well, I’ll need to vanish for a day or two. To be safe. Before I go, I’ll speak to Gavril and determine the best way for you to contact me. All right?”

She nodded.

“You’ll contact me when you want to see me?” he said.

Again she nodded, and he seemed to be waiting for some other response, but she didn’t know what.

Finally she said, “Have you told Moria you’ll be leaving?”

“No.”

“I can get her alone, so you can tell her.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t think I need to inform everyone individually. I’ll tell her and Gavril on the road tomorrow.

I just wanted you to know first.”

“Thank you.”

He picked up another chunk of sticky rice. “Better finish up here. There’s a mob at the door, and they’re eyeing our table.”

FORTY-EIGHT

They started before dawn the next morning, and Ashyn saw the imperial city as the sun rose. The wall soared twice as high as those of Edgewood, yet she could still see the tops of buildings beyond it. Buildings unlike any she’d ever seen—towers of blocks, every story smaller than the one below it, each with a sweeping, curved roof. Atop that was a rod. For lightning, Ronan explained. Being so tall, the rod attracted it, and thus kept it from the wooden buildings below.

The city itself was built into the base of a mountain, one as green as the Forest of the Dead. Beautiful, though, with the sun rising behind it.

Ashyn tried not to gape. Ronan rode close beside her, pointing out what they could see. Her sister seemed more interested in the wall, and was asking Gavril about it—how many gates, how many guards.

“Are you planning your invasion, Moria?” Ronan called.

“More like planning my escape,” she said, looking at the city and shuddering. “I can smell the place from here.”

It was true—the stink of the city was ill-contained by the walls. Ronan said it was because they were near the stables— only imperial horses were permitted on the roads within—but Ashyn was sure that wasn’t all they smelled. It was said ten thousand people lived in the imperial city. When she’d imagined it, she’d pictured a town stretching as far as the eye could see. Except she could see from one end of the wall to the other in one sweep. It was many times the size of Edgewood, but still much smaller than she’d envisioned. Which would explain the smell. And the noise. Even at dawn the cacophony rolled out to greet them.

They were approaching along a tertiary route, through one of the many villages that had sprouted along the city wall. They were all together now, Tova and Daigo having joined them.

As their horses’ hooves clopped along the empty street, a man staggered sleepily from a house. He turned at the sound, his gaze passing over the riders, then stopping as he gaped at the massive hound and wildcat. He went back inside as if deciding he needed more sleep.

“This is where I take my leave,” Ronan murmured, leaning toward Ashyn, not loud enough for Gavril and Moria.

“Already?”

He smiled. “You’re almost in the city, Ashyn.”

Ronan pulled his horse to a halt and slid from the saddle. Ashyn got down, too, to say good-bye. Moria and Gavril didn’t notice, caught up as they were in their conversation. Ashyn was about to call to them, but Ronan stopped her.

“They won’t get far before they notice,” he said as he handed her his reins. “I’ll leave you here, but if you have any troubles in there, any at all, contact me. All right?”

“And if…” She swallowed. “If I don’t have troubles, may I still contact you? Or would you rather—”

He stepped forward, his hand going to the back of her head, his mouth lowering to hers. And he kissed her. Not a long kiss, but not a light one either. His lips pressed firmly against hers for a moment, before he backed up.

“I would like it very much if you contacted me,” he said, his hand still behind her head. Another kiss, this one little more than a brushing of the lips, before he released her, murmured good-bye, and left her there, standing in the middle of the road, holding the reins of his horse.

Her sister and Gavril had not seen the kiss. They hadn’t realized that they’d left Ashyn behind until Ronan ran up alongside them for a quick farewell. Ashyn had still been standing like an idiot in the road, holding the horses. It was only when Gavril returned for her that she climbed back onto hers.

Gavril took the reins of Rona’s horse without a word— and without any suggestion that he would notice her condition even if she’d been swooning, flushed, and half-dressed on the roadside. He was not unkind. He simply paid her little heed at the best of times, and now, as they approached the city, seemed lost again in his thoughts.

Ronan had been right to leave when he did. Shortly after that, their tiny lane joined with the Imperial Way—the road heading to the city gates. That was where, as Moria said, things got interesting.

It was a massive road, big enough for six carts across, lined not with forest or even houses, but with walls, funneling traffic to the gates. So the wildcat and the hound had to remain at their sides, meaning there was no reason to hide Ashyn and Moria.

Gavril didn’t hide his identity either—if he appeared to have snuck into the city, it would smack of shame or treachery. So he removed his cloak, revealing his inked arms, and the girls took off their cloaks, and they rode onto the Imperial Way.

It was, as Moria joked, an effective method of dealing with the solid streams of people. They noticed the riders first. Two identical Northern girls with long, red-gold hair, riding side by side. Then they saw Gavril, riding slightly behind and between, his blade drawn, his inked arms bare. Finally, they noticed the beasts. That was usually the point at which they decided they were too close to the riders and stumbled out of the way.

And so, despite the crowd, Ashyn and Moria cut easily through to the gates, where there was a line of those wishing to enter the city. It was generally a quick process, Gavril had said. Travelers paused, ostensibly to state their business, but in truth so the guards could get a look at them. Exiles were marked by a brand on the side of their neck. As well, there were travelers from outside the empire who did not follow its laws and attempted to carry weapons into the city. And, of course, there were criminals whose faces the guards had been told to watch for, though considering that Ronan knew another way in, Ashyn suspected it was a rare and truly foolish criminal who attempted to use the front door. Ronan himself, fortunately, did not bear the exile’s brand—if a convict survived the Forest of the Dead, his exile was considered at an end, so no permanent mark was given.

As they approached the line, their magical crowd-clearing powers proved useful again. They’d stand behind someone who would look back, see the girls and the beasts, and wave them ahead. Sometimes they would be met with lowered eyes and a murmured, “Blessings to you, Seeker and Keeper.” Most just moved aside quickly.

As soon as they drew close enough for the guards atop the wall to see them, one hurried down and spoke to his comrades. Then the line truly did part before them, as two armed guards strode along and ordered everyone back.

Ashyn started to dismount, but Gavril murmured, “No,” and Moria seconded it with a nod. As the guards drew close, Ashyn could see why they stayed on their horses—because it meant they towered over the guards, putting them in a position of power.

Gavril moved his horse forward. “I bring the Keeper and the Seeker of Edgewood.” He didn’t shout, but his voice carried, and around them, a hush fell. “They bear a message for the emperor.”

The guards exchanged a look. Clearly this was not an occurrence for which they had been trained.

“We were not informed of this visit,” one said finally.

“Because that was not possible,” Gavril said. “We bring urgent tidings. Grave tidings.”

Another look between the guards.

“These are clearly the Keeper and the Seeker of Edge-wood,” Gavril said, his voice hardening. “No more ought need to be said. You will let them pass.”

The crowd behind the guards was parting again, this time for a gray-haired man, an inked warrior. Likely the commander of the gate.

“My apologies to the young Seeker and Keeper. This is unexpected and—” The old man stopped. His gaze went from Gavril’s face to his arms. Then his weathered face broke into a smile. “Gavril Kitsune. Welcome home.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Few would have been able to recognize the tattoos at a distance, and even those who had would likely presume it was only some distant relation of the former marshal.

Gavril discreetly waved for the girls to stay seated, but he dismounted and for a moment, Ashyn thought he meant to embrace the old warrior. Which proved, she reflected, that she didn’t know Gavril nearly well enough. He only dismounted and bowed.

“Commander Alain,” he said.

The commander clapped Gavril on the back as he straightened. “It is good to see you, son.”

“I would say the same, sir, were it under other circumstances. As I was telling the guards, I’m escorting the Keeper and the Seeker of Edgewood with a message for the emperor, along with ill news.”

He lowered his voice, and Ashyn knew he was telling the commander about Edgewood. The other guards moved closer to eavesdrop, but Ashyn could tell from their expressions that they heard none of it.

As Gavril finished, Commander Alain’s face paled and his gaze shot to the girls. “My sincerest condolences,” he said, with a deep bow. “The imperial city welcomes you. My men will escort you to the court.”

Gavril murmured something, again too low for anyone to hear.

“Yes, of course,” the commander said. “Understandable.” The old man clapped Gavril’s back again. “It is good to see you, Gavril. Welcome home.”

A buzz ran through the crowd, and Ashyn realized this was more than an old warrior welcoming a young one. There was a subtext to the words and the effusive greeting. A dangerous subtext, given the crowd’s whispers and murmurs. In welcoming the son of the disgraced former marshal, the commander was making a very public statement.

Ashyn knew that when the emperor exiled Marshal Kitsune, his family was permitted to keep their rank and live in the city, and were accorded all due respect in the court in acknowledgment of the marshal’s long service. It had seemed simple enough. Yet given Gavril’s concerns about appearing to sneak into the city—and now the commander’s reception and the bystanders’ reactions—Ashyn could tell it was not simple at all.

As Gavril walked back, he leaned over to Moria and whispered, “I asked for a small escort kept at a distance. Otherwise, by dusk, people will be saying we were taken to the court under armed guard.”

Moria nodded. “Good idea.”

The commander gave their packs to guards to carry, and two boys led their horses away. No one asked about the fourth riderless horse.

FORTY-NINE

The commander accompanied them to the gates, talking as they went, mostly to Gavril, though he included the girls. It was idle chatter, yet not meaningless, Ashyn decided as they passed through into the city proper with the commander still at Gavril’s side, still talking to him. It was another statement. So, too, were the actions of other guards, older than the ones who’d first met them, warriors coming out from the gate garrison, welcoming Marshal Kitsune’s son home.

Was it simply a sign of respect for their old leader? Ashyn hoped so. She knew from her studies that no enemy, no plague, no natural disaster was more dangerous for an empire than a schism between its emperor and its army. She’d heard her father and other villagers speak of the current marshal, saying he was not the man his predecessor had been, and she’d heard relief in their voices. He was a competent marshal and nothing more, and that seemed to be the way most liked it.

At least, it was the way the villagers of Edgewood had liked it. For the average citizen, peace was good. She looked at the armed men greeting Gavril. Were they as fond of peace? Did they chafe under the rule of a “competent” man?

The commander took his leave of them at the roadway, and they walked into the city, followed at a distance by the two guards with their packs. There was no need of anyone to lead them. While Gavril knew the way to court, the path was clear—the Imperial Way, now paved with brick, cutting clear through the city, ending at the palace.

It was still quite early in the morning, but the Way was more crowded than the main thoroughfare in Edgewood on market day. Carts and makeshift booths lined the roadway as traders hawked everything from fresh chicken eggs to petrified dragon eggs. Gavril assured Moria that the latter were simply pretty rocks, but Ashyn was certain her sister was making a note to come back later for a closer look.

There was no time for dawdling at merchant carts now. It did not take long for people to see them, and for whispers to snake along the street and spread. Soon it was as if they were leading a victory parade, as onlookers lined both sides of the Way and watched and whispered.

The spirits came, too, those whispers an undercurrent of the air itself. At home, they were mostly just that—an undercurrent, the spirits conversing, rarely to her. These ones were talking both to and about her.

You ought not to be here, child.

Not your place.

Beware.

“Beware of what?” she whispered under her breath.

Everything.

She could tell Moria was hearing the same messages. Her face was tight with annoyance.

“Tell me something useful for a change,” Moria muttered. “We could truly use some help here.”

Beware and be safe, the spirits whispered.

Moria grumbled and Daigo snorted.

The onlookers’ whispers had grown now. Cries of “Bless us, Seeker,” and “Protect us, Keeper,” rang out. When a group of children pushed to the front of the crowd, Moria reached into her pocket and pulled out copper coins, blessing them and throwing them. It was almost instinctive, Ashyn thought, and when the children dove for them, Moria hesitated. Ashyn saw grief flicker across her face, and she knew Moria was thinking of the children of Edgewood.

She caught her sister’s hand and squeezed it.

“You ought not to throw coins here, Keeper,” Gavril said. “I know you mean well, but these are not the children of Edge-wood.”

“I can see that,” Moria said dryly. The children looked as if no one had bathed them in a week, and most wore clothing so tattered that even the thriftiest mother in Edgewood wouldn’t have attempted to mend it. “I’m not sure we can trust the emperor to care about the plight of Edgewood’s children when he apparently has so little regard for those of his own city.”

Ashyn hushed her, but it wasn’t necessary—Moria was wise enough to keep her voice low. When an older child grabbed a coin from a younger one, Moria flipped the bereft little one another, her aim perfect. The crowd cheered.

“Your advice is noted, Kitsune,” she said. “But I will give coins where I choose.”

“As expected,” he said. “You’ll do as you choose and learn your own lessons.”

“Is that not the best way to learn them?”

Gavril shook his head and prodded them to pick up the pace. People continued to join the throng along the roadside. Few ventured onto the actual road, and those who did moved back at a growl from Tova or Daigo.

They were halfway along the road when a voice yelled, “Kitsune!”

Gavril didn’t turn, only letting his gaze flicker that way, as if to reassure himself it wasn’t someone he knew.

“Gavril Kitsune!” the voice called. “Did you meet your father in Edgewood? Does that son-of-a-whore haunt the Forest of the Dead?”

Someone shouted for the man to be silent. Gavril’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, but he kept walking, gaze forward.

“If it was my father, I’d do the honorable thing,” the man shouted. “Drive my blade between my ribs. If you’d like, I can do it for you.”

Moria stopped then, swinging around.

“Don’t,” Gavril said.

Moria didn’t stop, but only because silencing the man wasn’t necessary. Someone had done it for her—with a punch to the man’s jaw. Others had joined in, and a brawl erupted.

The group continued on, but this time they didn’t get more than twenty paces before someone else shouted, “Kitsune!”

Gavril kept walking. This man didn’t settle for shouting from a crowd. He elbowed his way to the front, coming out behind them and jostling the sheath on Gavril’s sword as he passed. In past ages, to knock against a warrior’s sword, even by accident, was an insult punishable by a lethal swing of that blade. Today, such a response broke the empire laws, but the insult remained, and could be answered with a scarring blow.

Gavril turned a cool glare on the man and rested his hand on his blade hilt. For a moment, it seemed the man intended to stand his ground. Then, slowly, he eased back, just enough to let Gavril ignore the insult with a nod and continue on.

Ashyn saw her sister tense as they passed. She also let her hand fall to one of her blades. But the man made no move and said not a word. He simply spat, loudly, spittle landing on Gavril’s arm.

Moria threw her blade so fast neither Gavril nor Ashyn had time to stop her. It sailed under the man’s arm and pinned his cloak to the cart behind him. Then, with a snarl, Daigo ran at him. The man let out a high-pitched shriek, arms shielding his face, but the wildcat simply plucked out the dagger, giving him a disdainful look, and bounded back to Moria. As she took it from him, the crowd laughed and let out a cheer as the man slunk back into the crowd.

“Keeper! Keeper!”

“What’s your name, Keeper?” a young man near them shouted.

Moria sheathed her weapon. “I am Moria of Edgewood. My sister is Ashyn.”

“Welcome to the imperial city, Moria!”

“Ancestors bless you, Moria!”

Gavril sighed as they resumed walking. “So much for a quiet and subtle entrance.”

“If you wanted either, you needed to give her a sleeping draught,” Ashyn said.

Moria rolled her eyes. “The street is lined with people gaping at us. We were hardly passing unnoticed. Gavril couldn’t respond to the insult, so I did.”

“Which I appreciate,” he murmured. “But I’m going to ask you not to repeat it, Keeper. You would do well not to align yourself with me.”

“I already have.”

“I’m serious, Moria,” he said, voice lowering as he moved beside her. “You cannot—”

“Ashyn, is the city what you thought it would be?” Moria asked.

Ashyn glanced at Gavril, but he only shook his head. He’d have the conversation with Moria at another time, she was sure. For now, he let drop the subject drop, and they continued on to the court.