Sea of Shadows

FIFTY

Moria looked at the palace ahead. It was imposing—she’d give it that much. The wall around the compound was said to take four thousand steps to circumvent and it was so high they could only see blue-tiled roofs beyond. Ashyn had always talked about wanting to see this, not because she was truly interested in court life, but because she’d read of it and heard of it so often that she wished to see it for herself.

Moria wondered if it was what Ashyn expected. Or if Ashyn still cared. No matter what their message brought, it would not return their village.

The Imperial Way ended at the Gate of the Crimson Phoenix. Which sounded terribly impressive, until one realized that it simply meant “the south gate”—the crimson phoenix being the guardian of the south. It was not even a proper gate, but rather a gatehouse two stories tall, with flared roofs at each level, in the imperial tradition. It was made of cypress wood, painted red, with a red tiled roof. The first floor was for the guards. The second was a tearoom, where the emperor would meet dignitaries from enemy nations, which allowed them to be on the palace grounds but not truly within the palace proper.

Once again, guards spotted them long before they arrived. This time, though, they stayed inside the walls of the gatehouse as if they didn’t notice the party approaching, though Commander Alain had sent a runner ahead.

When the party reached the gatehouse, the men bowed deeply and respectfully to Moria and Ashyn.

“Welcome, Seeker and Keeper of Edgewood.”

There was no greeting for Gavril. Not a glance his way. He’d told her to expect that, as he’d told her to expect the overly warm greeting from some warriors, like the commander, and an uglier one from some bystanders, like the man who’d spat and jostled his sword.

Moria was not sorry she’d thrown her dagger and caused a scene. It wasn’t even about avenging an insult to a comrade. Truly, if the man had spat at Gavril over some misdoing, Moria would not have gotten involved. While she’d never felt the urge to spit at Gavril herself, she certainly understood the underlying sentiment. But the insult wasn’t about Gavril—it was about his father. That was unacceptable.

She wasn’t much happier about the commander’s greeting. At first, she’d thought perhaps Gavril had trained under him or spent a season learning his trade at the wall. But as they’d walked Gavril had said he knew the commander only slightly. He’d been a general under his father, demoted to wall commander after the marshal’s exile. Just as the spitting man had said, “I stand against your father,” the commander had said, “I stand with him,” and had simply used Gavril as a tool to do it. Unacceptable. She could certainly understand now why he had been in no rush to return to the imperial city.

When these gate guards ignored him, Gavril didn’t react. He’d said this would happen—no matter what their position on the matter, those at court would keep it to themselves. Truly, Moria didn’t see why there ought to be any “position” on a marshal exiled ten summers past, but there was, and there was little she—or Gavril, apparently—could do about it.

“We come with a missive for the emperor,” Ashyn said to the guards. “We ask that you allow us to take it to him.”

“That is, I regret, impossible, my lady,” the older of the guards said. “We must ask that you give us the message, and we will convey it to his imperial highness.”

“It is not an invitation to lunch,” Moria said. “Do you have any idea—?”

“They do not, I’m sure,” Ashyn cut in.

Ashyn gave her sister a look. Moria glowered but held her tongue.

“Our missive must be given to the emperor himself,” Ashyn said. “Those were our orders, and I fear we dare not disobey. There are lives at stake. Many lives.”

Gavril had warned them to tell as few people as possible about the fate of Edgewood and the threat against Fairview. It would only lead to panic.

“We cannot let you in, my lady,” the guard said. “Our Keeper and our Seeker are in court. The spirits would be disturbed and offended if we permitted you onto the grounds.”

“Then tell Thea and Ellyn to leave,” Moria said. “Better yet, call them here, and I’ll tell them myself.”

Her sister stiffened at her tone. The younger guards’ eyes flashed in something like amusement.

“We know your Keeper and your Seeker,” Ashyn said. “They trained us in Edgewood. Ask them to come, please.”

“I would, my lady, but they are the ones who gave the order not to open the gates.”

“Did they?” Moria stepped forward, Daigo moving with her. “Go tell those old—”

Ashyn cut in. “Please ask Thea and Ellyn to come speak to us so that we may properly explain the situation. Under normal circumstances, we understand their concern, but the situation is far from normal.”

The older guard nodded and sent the younger to fetch the city’s Keeper and Seeker. Then he murmured, “It is good to see you, Gavril.”

“Thank you, sir.”

An awkward pause. “Your lady mother is well. She was at the palace last moon for the Cherry Blossom festival.”

“Good.” A pause, and Gavril seemed to struggle, finally asking, “Is she in the city?”

“No, son. She is not.”

Gavril didn’t seem surprised by the news. He turned his attention beyond the gatehouse, inside the walls to the palace grounds. Moria followed his gaze to see two warriors sparring. They were on a raised platform, which would have suggested they were performing for an audience, except the dais was unceremoniously placed at the rear of a government building. It was for training, then—get knocked off the narrow platform and the young warrior would suffer a bruised rump and ego.

In the silence, she could hear the faint click and clash of their blades. She moved to the fence for a better look. The two were dressed in battle armor. They wore sleeveless tunics and loose-fitting breeches, as Gavril did, but were also dressed in sleeve armor, shoulder plates, shin guards, and neck guards; all were made of fabric and covered in overlapping lacquered wood scales.

One of the warriors wasn’t much older than Moria. From here she could see little of him except dark hair tied back and arm tattoos, though only two pairs of bands, rather than full sleeves—one band circling his upper arms and one his lower, like ornamental cuffs.

“Is that how they sometimes do the tattoos?” she asked Gavril. “In stages?”

He shook his head.

Ashyn moved forward and murmured. “It signifies that he is a…” She seemed to struggle for a word, and her cheeks flushed. “He is not born of a wife, but a courtesan.”

“That’s Tyrus,” Gavril said. “He’s one of the emperor’s bastards.”

Moria watched the young man. His instructor was having a hard time keeping up, the youth’s sword flashing like quicksilver.

“Do you know him?” Moria asked Gavril.

“We trained together.”

“He’s very good.”

Gavril grunted. “Decent enough. We used to spar.”

“Until you weren’t enough of a challenge?”

He gave her a look. When she resumed watching the fight, Gavril tried to nudge her from the fence. She ignored him. This was a distraction and she was happy for it. Also, admittedly, she was enjoying it. There was something to be said for watching an expert swordsman in training, particularly if he was young and, at least from this distance, well formed.

When Tyrus wheeled to avoid a blow, he noticed that he had an audience and gave a small bow. His instructor’s sword flashed, nicking the youth’s cheek to get his attention. Moria would have expected a prince—even a bastard prince—to take the rebuke badly, but she heard Tyrus laugh as he called something to his instructor. Then he resumed the fight.

“Keeper,” Gavril said.

She was about to brush him off again when she saw what he meant—the court Keeper and Seeker were coming down the walk.

FIFTY-ONE

The Seeker—Ellyn—came first, walking with a warrior’s haughty stride, despite her age. The Keeper—Thea—followed behind, her hands folded in front of her. It was said that when a Keeper and Seeker were chosen, the beasts determined which would be which. Then the babies were quickly given bracelets. Moria was convinced that some early nursemaid had switched Thea and Ellyn’s bracelets.

Even their beasts didn’t seem as bonded to them as Tova and Daigo. When Ashyn was little, she’d say it was because Thea and Ellyn hadn’t named their beasts. They were simply the Hound and the Wildcat. That was, however, the tradition. It was their father who had let the girls break it—one of his small, quiet rebellions.

“Moria,” Ellyn said as she strode through the gate. “What is the meaning of this, summoning us?”

“She didn’t,” Ashyn said softly. “I did.”

The old Seeker turned a disdainful look on her student. “Don’t take the blame for your sister, Ashyn. I know which of you is the impetuous one.” She turned to Moria. “And the disrespectful one.”

“I’m sure Moria meant no disrespect, sister,” Thea said as she caught up.

“No, she didn’t,” Ellyn said. “She’s simply thoughtless. As demonstrated by coming here, knowing the danger it puts our city in, having two Keepers and two Seekers.”

“We haven’t even passed our seventeenth summer,” Moria said. “Our combined powers should barely add to one of yours.” She paused. “Unless you’re concerned that we’re more powerful than we ought to be. Or that you’re weaker.”

Ashyn elbowed her to silence. “We’ve had a long journey. My sister is tired and even more impatient than usual. However, we bring an urgent missive—”

“Which you will give to us. Then you will leave the city.”

Moria stepped up to the old woman. “Edgewood is gone. Our village has been massacred by shadow stalkers—”

“Shadow stalkers?” Ellyn laughed. “Your village was massacred by figments of your imagination?”

Moria gripped her blade, and it took everything in her not to draw it. “No, my father was killed by shadow stalkers, as Ashyn and Gavril will attest—”

“Your sister and a traitor’s son? Those are your witnesses?”

“My witnesses are the dead of Edgewood. My father and the governor and the commander—”

“This will be investigated. In the meantime, you shall not—”

“I will pass!” Moria roared, Daigo snarling beside her. “My village is gone and its children are held prisoner, and you will let me pass, old woman, or I swear by my ancestors—”

Thea drew her blade, lunging forward, still spry for her age.

Gavril stepped between them. “This is unreasonable. They ask only to see the emperor. It is their right to do so. If you will allow us to explain…”

“Yes, ladies,” said a voice behind the women. “Please let them explain.”

It was the young prince, Tyrus. He’d sheathed his sword and was walking toward them from the palace gardens.

He looked—as she would have expected from the emperor’s son—empire-born. Of course, they were all born in the empire, but the term was used to denote those who came from the original kingdom that had eventually conquered the surrounding lands and formed the empire. His skin was the color of golden sand, his hair straight and black, his cheekbones high and his dark eyes slightly tilted. It was, within the empire, considered the highest standard of beauty—a standard, Moria suspected, set by those who ruled it. She was not herself given to preferring any regional “look” over another, but even she would admit the boy was very well formed from face to physique, and she allowed her gaze to linger as he approached.

“Hello, Gavril,” he said with a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you back.”

Gavril managed a stiff bow. In turn, Tyrus bowed to Ashyn and Moria.

“The Keeper and Seeker of Edgewood, I presume. I’m Tyrus Tatsu. Welcome to the imperial city.”

“This does not concern you, your highness,” Ellyn said. “It is a spiritual matter.”

“Oh?” He stopped before them. “It sounded like a martial matter from where I was standing. Do you always discuss the spirits with shouts and drawn blades?”

“Your highness—” Thea began.

“Have the young Keeper and Seeker come for guidance? Additional training?”

“No, your highness,” Ashyn said. “We bear a message for your imperial father. One that we have been instructed to deliver to his hand.”

“Oh?” He gave a feigned look of confusion for the old women. “That does not seem like a spiritual matter at all.”

“The spiritual matter is that they ought not to be in this city. Two Keepers and two Seekers ought not to occupy the same location.”

Again he faked confusion. “But it’s been done, hasn’t it? I seem to recall that one of the traveling pairs visited court last summer.”

Moria bit her cheek as Ellyn’s face darkened. Challenges and arguments posed as innocent questions was not Moria’s style, but she could see the advantage of the strategy. There was no way the old Seeker could argue without seeming rude, particularly when the one asking was an imperial prince.

“Your highness,” Ashyn said to Tyrus. “If we could explain the situation—”

“There is no need to bother the young prince—”

“The village of Edgewood is no more,” Moria said. “The people of Edgewood are dead, massacred. The children were spared, but if we do not get this missive to the emperor, their lives are forfeit, as are the lives of every villager in Fairview.”

Silence. Tyrus stared at her, stunned. “Your entire village…”

“Yes, your highness. Every man and woman. Now mercenaries hold the children in Fairview, under siege.”

“We have only their word, your highness,” Ellyn said. “Three children, one of them the son—”

“One of them a warrior in service of the empire,” Tyrus said. “A boon companion who trained with me. Although given that Gavril is several moons my senior, I suppose that means I am merely a child, too.”

“Of course not, your highness.”

Tyrus turned to the two guards. “Would you leave us, please?”

Once they’d walked out of earshot, Tyrus turned to Moria and Ashyn. “The deeper problem, I fear, is that my father is not in the city.”

“Your highness!” Thea said.

“It is, as you see, a matter of some secrecy. The people do not like their emperor to leave, yet my father feels the occasional need and does so unbeknownst to his subjects and most of his staff. I will, of course, have my brothers send a party to retrieve him. In the meantime, I would like to offer you the hospitality of the court. It has very richly appointed guest rooms for visiting dignitaries, which you are. Our Keeper and Seeker will remain in their quarters, in the Chambers of the Divine, suitably separated from you, should the proximity make the spirits uneasy.”

Ellyn grumbled but allowed that this was reasonable.

“You ladies may take your leave, then,” Tyrus said. “I will escort the young Keeper and Seeker to their quarters. The less time you spend in their presence, the safer it will be.”

Thea and Ellyn withdrew with their beasts trailing after them.

“My apologies for that,” Tyrus said when they were gone. “Things have been… difficult this last moon, which is why my father needed a rest.”

“Problems?” Gavril asked.

Tyrus shrugged. “Tensions. Internally and externally, with mountain tribes. Do not ask me for details.” A flash of a smile. “You know how I hate politics.”

“But you’re good at it,” Ashyn said as they began walking. “You handled that admirably.”

“A bastard must have some head for political wrangling. If not, he risks losing the head he has.”

Another affable smile, as if the prospect of assassination was simply part of everyday life. Moria supposed it was, for him. The children an emperor fathered by official concubines were recognized, like Tyrus. They were raised in the palace as princes and princesses. They received their father’s name and, apparently, modified clan tattoos for the sons.

While bastard princes could not succeed as emperor, they could attain any other high office—even marshal. The problem was that the emperor had several sons by the empress, and only one could succeed him, so the others would need to fight the bastards for court appointments. It was an old joke that emperors bred like rabbits because, like the rodents, so few of their offspring survived. It would not be nearly as amusing an analogy if you were one of those young rabbits.

Tyrus continued, “My place of choice, as Gavril knows, is the battlefield.”

“I saw you practicing,” Moria said. “You’re very good.”

“I had an excellent sparring partner,” he said, with a nod toward Gavril. “But thank you, my lady. You are…” A glance down at Daigo. “The Keeper. Of course.”

“Moria,” she said. “My sister is Ashyn. This is Daigo and that is Tova.”

“Ah, yes. I’d heard the Edgewood twins named their hound and wildcat. They are magnificent beasts.” He paused, sobering. “About Edgewood. You said everyone except the children was killed.”

Ashyn nodded. “We suspect they only spared us because they feared spiritual reprisals.”

Moria snorted. “I think they spared us more because we’re useful. We could get their message to the emperor, and Gavril could help us survive the journey across the Wastes.”

“Across the Wastes?” Tyrus paused. “Yes, of course. If the village was massacred, you had to cross. I cannot imagine…” He shook his head. “Do you know who killed your people? Tribesmen? Sending missives seems very well organized for tribes—”

He cut himself off with an audible click of his teeth. “And that is none of my business.”

“We’d be happy to tell you all we know,” Ashyn said. “We appreciate what you’ve done for us.”

A wry smile her way. “No, I mean it is truly none of my business, and it’s best if I leave it as such. My brothers will already find fault with my involvement. They are always looking for a sign that I take an interest in court politics. I’ll hear the rest of the story when my father does. He ought to be back before dawn.”

“Dawn?” It was not even midday.

“When my father leaves, he doesn’t stay close. It may be nightfall before the riders even reach him. But he will come, and he will come swiftly. You have my assurances on that.”

FIFTY-TWO

The court was comprised of two dozen buildings, as Tyrus explained. The Chambers of the Divine were at the back, near the storehouses and the tea garden. “The tea garden is magnificent,” he said. “Particularly now, as the cherry blossoms begin to bloom, but I’ll ask you to stay away from that end for now.”

“So Thea and Ellyn have no cause to complain,” Ashyn said.

“Yes. That seems best.”

He pointed out the Hall of the Eight Ministries—the large building he’d been sparring behind. To the side was a small, lushly landscaped garden, centered about a pond. He left them there on the bridge overlooking the pond while he went in to make arrangements for their visit.

“Will you stay here?” Moria asked Gavril once Tyrus was gone.

“I will,” he said. “They will want my statement on the matter, and they’ll not want to waste time fetching me from my mother’s house.”

Moria nodded. Ashyn wandered along the bridge, leaning over to look at the koi fish sparkling in the clear water below. She continued off the bridge, heading for a collection of unusual rocks arranged beside the pond.

“So Tyrus,” Moria said when her sister was out of hearing range. “You don’t like him.”

Gavril stiffened. “If I gave that impression, I apologize—”

“Stop politicking, Kitsune. There’s no one to hear you.”

“We are in the imperial city. There is always someone to hear us. Remember that, Keeper.” He lowered his voice. “As for Tyrus Tatsu, he is the emperor’s son. I cannot afford to have a personal opinion on him. If you are asking if I suspect him of ulterior motives, I do not. Tyrus is as he appears. When I knew him, he had no interest in politics, and I cannot imagine that has changed. He knows it’s not in his best interests, and it doesn’t suit him anyway. He lacks the guile to compete in that snake’s nest. He is best suited for his chosen profession: a warrior.”

“So he can be trusted.”

“No one here can be trusted, Keeper.” He gave her a stern look. “Remember that, too.”

“I misspoke. Is he honorable?”

A pause. It didn’t seem as if Gavril was considering the matter, but more as if it pained him to speak the words. “Yes,” he said finally. “Tyrus is honorable.”

Moria realized that was Gavril’s problem with the young bastard prince. He respected him. He might even like him.

Which was unacceptable, because Tyrus was the son of the man who had, in Gavril’s eyes, betrayed his father.

They were taken directly into a large chamber, where they were seated on cushions and given food and drink, and then told that the chancellor and one of the three major counselors were on their way. Gavril had warned them to expect a delay— the men would be briefed first, and would not rush, for fear of seeming panicked.

Politically, the chancellor ranked just below the emperor and marshal. He was in charge of all matters of state. Major counselors were the emperor’s advisors. Sending both showed that their situation was being taken seriously.

Gavril and Moria decided Ashyn would speak for them. Letting Gavril do so would be politically dangerous. So would letting Moria, though in a much different way.

There was little need for restraint. When the men arrived, with their scribes and their attendants, it was nothing like their encounter with Ellyn and Thea. The chancellor and major counselor listened to their story with incredulity, but they did not question its veracity. Or, Moria suspected, they did not question that the three young people thought it was true.

Whether the village had truly been massacred by shadow stalkers seemed dubious to them, but clearly a large number of citizens were dead and the children had been taken hostage by mercenaries, who threatened the people of another town. These were events on too grand a scale to be wholesale fabrications.

They had, of course, dispatched fast runners to Fairview to “assess the ongoing situation,” and to Edgewood to “search for survivors.” Moria would argue with neither. Their story was indeed incredible, and the chancellor would be a fool to take it at face value.

Ashyn said nothing of death worms and thunder hawks. That would come later. Adding more sightings of presumed legendary creatures would not aid their cause.

So they told their story, and then were escorted to their quarters, where they would await the return of the emperor.

Moria wandered about the confines of their room. It was large enough, though the design was not truly to her taste. It was done in the imperial style, starkly white, with “windows” made of thin paper that let in light, but were impossible to see through. Bright, colored pillows decorated the floor and the sleeping mat, adding enough color to ease the chill of the white, but Moria still found herself shivering as she walked.

“Stop pacing,” Ashyn said. “You’re making Daigo dizzy.”

Moria glanced at the wildcat. He was on a bed of pillows like a sultan, sleeping soundly, his wounds cleaned and tended by the court doctor.

“Fine,” Ashyn said. “You’re making me dizzy. And Tova.”

The hound grunted in agreement.

“Go to the library and fetch a book.” Ashyn lifted the one she was reading. “You’ve never seen such a collection. They’re sure to have new ones for you, with new beasts you can use to scare children.”

Ashyn smiled, but Moria was in no mood to think of fantastical creatures. At this point, it seemed as if merely to consider them would be to conjure one in their quarters. She had no interest in new tales of wild adventure either. She would be quite happy when this one was done.

“Let me see the envelope,” she said, walking to Ashyn.

“And let you nearly set it on fire again, holding it to the flame trying to read the message inside?” Ashyn shook her head. “You’ll find out soon enough. We cannot risk tampering with it.”

“I’m not tampering. I’m trying to learn more. Once we hand it to the emperor, we have only his word on what’s written within.”

Ashyn’s brows shot up. “You think he would lie?”

“Perhaps not, but I don’t like knowing so little. Let me see the seal again.”

Ashyn sighed and took the envelope out. Moria examined the wax seal.

“It looks like a family crest,” Moria said. “But there is no creature in it, and Gavril did not recognize it.”

“Because if it is a family crest, it is not from a family of the empire. These are mercenaries. They must work for a foreign king.”

“If we could identify it, then…”

Another sigh. “Then what? What difference does it make?”

“It would be knowledge. Insight. Before we hand it over.”

Ashyn shook her head and pocketed the envelope. “You’re bored, Moria. Go for a walk. Visit Gavril. He’d be happy to see you.”

“No, I’m quite certain he’s enjoying the respite.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure.” Ashyn smiled. “I think he’d welcome a visit, particularly if your sister is not tagging along.”

“Do not play matchmaker, Ash. Or, if you must, find a more suitable target for me. Gavril is a valuable ally. I respect him.”

“Meaning you do not find him attractive? Because I’m sure I caught you watching at the stream when he took off his tunic to bathe.”

Moria shrugged. “He was doing so within view; it was no invasion of privacy, it was a sight worth watching. So is a pretty sunset. It does not mean I wish it for my own. I respect Gavril. I admire him. Therefore, he is not a potential lover.”

“Because you respect and admire him? That may be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

“Not wishing to dally and amuse myself with someone I hold in regard?” Moria sat cross-legged on the end of the sleeping mat. “I think that is perfectly reasonable. I like Gavril. I enjoy his companionship. He infuriates me, but he challenges me, and I appreciate that. I can talk to him honestly. That’s rare.”

“And all qualities you ought to seek in a lover.”

“Why? I don’t want a lover so I can talk to him. That would defeat the purpose. I can think of much better uses for a lover’s energy. And his mouth.”

Ashyn’s cheeks colored. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“You keep your notions of romance, Ash, and I’ll keep mine. Just understand that they do not include Gavril Kitsune.” She crossed the room and peered out the window into the courtyard. “Is the sun not even down yet?”

“Go to the library and get a book.”

“I don’t want—” She stopped. “Give me that missive again.”

“You’re not—”

“I want to draw the seal. Perhaps I can find references in the library.”

“An excellent idea.” Ashyn sat up. “One that ought to keep you busy and allow me to finish my book. I’ll copy it for you.”

FIFTY-THREE

The buildings of the imperial court were quiet, the walkways linking them empty. The library was almost clear across the grounds. The most direct path to it cut dangerously close to the Chamber of the Divine, meaning Moria instead had to head through the smaller garden and the warren of buildings that followed. She took a wrong turn, and as she retraced her steps to the garden, she saw Gavril sitting on a bench, staring into the koi pond. Lost in thought. She wouldn’t disturb him.

She started retreating, but he seemed to sense her. He rose and gestured, too subtly for her to figure out what he wanted. Then he began walking away. She hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, jerked his chin, and mouthed, “Follow me.”

She did, keeping her distance. They wound through the manicured garden, eventually coming to a shed. Gavril glanced around and then went inside. She followed, entering as he lit a lantern. He motioned for her to close the door and keep her voice low.

“Is this a secret meeting?” she whispered.

“You should not be seen conferring with me,” he said. “I warned you about that. You cannot risk seeming to have aligned yourself with me. I must seem merely your escort from Edgewood.”

“And as I told you, I’m not concerned—”

“You must be,” he said, his voice harsh. “I mean it, Moria.”

His use of her name told her he was serious.

He peered down into the darkness. “Where’s Daigo?”

“Resting.”

“Is his infection worse?” He sounded alarmed.

“No, but the doctor advised him to rest, and he’s sleeping so soundly he never noticed me leaving.”

“You should have him with you at all times, Keeper.”

“In the imperial court?”

“Particularly in the imperial court.”

She peered at him. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on his face, but she still noticed a faint sheen of perspiration and a tightness to his features. Gavril was usually so good at hiding his emotions that she sometimes wondered if he even had any. But now the worry and fear was so thick she could almost smell them.

“I need to leave,” he said, before she could speak. “That’s why I called you in here. I’ll be gone before the emperor returns.”

“What?”

“I’ve realized my testimony may actually do more harm than good. I shouldn’t be here.”

“So you’re abandoning us?”

She’d only meant to get a reaction from him, to break him out of this odd mood and back into the Gavril she knew. But he stiffened before saying, “You’ll be fine. Just keep Daigo with you.”

“You’re running away, then?”

If he did not react to an accusation that he was failing his duty, surely an insult to his honor would work. But once again, there was only that brief flicker of tension, quickly dowsed.

“I am retreating. Yes.”

“What’s wrong, Kitsune?”

“I am uncomfortable here, and you do not require my services any longer—”

She looked up into his face. “What is wrong, Gavril?”

Sweat trickled down his face. She swore she could feel his heart pounding.

“Come with me,” he said quickly, closing the gap between them. “We’ll go away from this. Bring Ashyn.”

“What?”

“War is coming, Moria. You know it is. Whatever that letter demands, the emperor will not bow to threats. War will come, and we’re caught in the middle of it when we don’t need to be. We’ll give the missive to Tyrus. He’ll take it to his father. I trust him to do that. We can leave.”

She stared at him. “What have you eaten?”

She reached up and touched his forehead. He jumped back, but not before she felt his skin, burning hot. “You’re fevered. Someone has poisoned you.” She gripped his arm. “We must get you to the doctor—”

“I’m not poisoned.”

“Then you’re possessed, like Wenda. The Gavril I know would never abandon his duty. Would never run from a threat. You are a warrior, Kitsune, and to even suggest fleeing ahead of a possible war…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“You don’t under—” He stopped and he looked at her. Then he swallowed and took a slow step back, his hand going to his forehead. “Yes, I am fevered. I have not eaten or drunk anything but…” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You are right, of course. I’m unwell, perhaps from the strain of the journey.”

“And perhaps from not eating or drinking.”

He nodded. “I apologize for my outburst. It was…” A sharp shake of his head. “Madness. I ought to speak to the doctor.”

“So you aren’t leaving the city?”

“No. I’ll stay the course. I must.” Another deep breath, his gaze lowered. “I must.” He rolled his shoulders and shoved back his braids, and when he spoke again, his tone had returned to its usual clip. “But I was quite serious about you wandering without Daigo, Keeper. You shouldn’t be poking about at all.”

“I’m not poking about. I’m heading to the library.”

“To read? Or do you just look at pictures?”

He rewarded her glower with a twitch of a smile, and she began to relax. This was the Gavril she knew.

“Both.” She took Ashyn’s drawing from her pocket. “I want to find out what this is.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. “I believe it’s a seal. In fact, it rather resembles the one from the letter, though it’s hard to tell. Someone should not trade her daggers for drawing pencils.”

“I’ll tell Ashyn that. She drew it for me.”

Another pause, and she wondered if he was about to apologize for the unintended insult to her sister. He simply said, “So you plan to research it.”

“Yes. Or ask the scholars.”

“And if I said you were wasting your time on frivolities…”

“I would say it was my time to waste.”

“Perhaps instead you would care to waste it in the training yard with me? Or touring the grounds? I know a few secret spots that might be of interest.” When she looked up, he shrugged. “You aren’t the only one going mad with boredom, Keeper. Either activity would be an acceptable excuse for you to be seen with your guard and escort.”

She hesitated and then looked down at the drawing. “Can we do it later?”

He paused, and she thought he’d say he wasn’t waiting on her convenience, but he merely murmured, “You are resolved to your research, then?”

“I am.”

When she looked up, his expression seemed odd. The lantern light, she decided.

“Of course you are,” he said.

“So we’ll meet afterward? I’d like to see these secret places you mentioned. In the meantime, since you need to eat and drink, you should pack us a picnic.”

“Should I?”

“Yes. We’ll ‘poke about,’ and we’ll have sweets and honey wine, and perhaps, if we don’t have too much wine, we’ll spar afterward. Does that sound like a good way to pass the time?” “It sounds like a perfect way to pass the time.” His voice was strange, almost wistful, and she looked up sharply, but he only turned his face and bumped her shoulder. “Go on, then, Keeper. Look up your seal.”

Moria found the imperial library. It seemed the busiest place in the court at this time of evening. Or perhaps busy was not the right word. It was simply the most populated. There were six or seven scholars there deep in study, the room so silent that her footfalls echoed like thunder when she entered.

A man came hurrying out from behind stacks of books. He seemed only in his third decade but was already slightly stooped and graying, as if from a lifetime of poring over books. When he saw her, he stopped and smiled.

“Did you finish your book already, my lady?” he asked.

“That was my sister, Ashyn.”

He blinked. In Edgewood, it was rare even to be mistaken for each other—their manners, their stances, their speech, and even their style of dress was different.

“Of course,” the man said. “You must be the Keeper.” He bowed deeply. “I am the master of the library. Are you looking for an adventurous tale? Your sister did mention you are fond of them.” His dark eyes twinkled. “We have several new translations from beyond the empire. You likely will not have heard them.”

“I would be interested in those another time, master. Tonight I wish to identify a seal.”

His brows rose. “A seal?”

“A family crest, I believe.” She took the paper from her pocket, smoothed it, and showed him. “I am curious.”

“Curiosity is what lets a young mind grow and keeps an old mind young.” He peered at the paper. “Yes, it does appear to be a family crest. A secondary seal, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Secondary?”

He waved her to accompany him into the stacks of books. A few other scholars—old and young—glanced up, but only briefly, before returning to their studies.

“A noble family’s primary crest bears its emblematic beast. As such, it is easily identified.” He waved to a wall hanging, showing a dragon circling on itself. “The Tatsu crest. There is no mistaking it.” They continued walking. “However, there are times when the family wishes to send a message that is not immediately recognizable to all who see it. So they have secondary seals.”

Which made perfect sense, given the nature of this particular missive.

“I myself am not familiar with the secondary crests, but there’s someone here who will know. The old master of the library.”

He led her to an elderly man sitting at a long table, transcribing a crumbling text onto new pages. The younger man cleared his throat and then gave a slight bow when the old man looked up.

“Master, this is the Keeper of Edgewood. She brings a family crest that she wishes identified. It appears to be a secondary one.”

“Oh?” The old man’s gaze settled on Moria. “The Keeper of Edgewood. I heard you were in court. Welcome.” He began to rise stiffly from his low seat to bow, but she stopped him and he settled back with a grateful sigh. “Thank you, my lady. My old bones prefer the shape of a cushion these days. Now, you bring me a crest?”

She handed him the drawing. As he took it, he reached for his looking glass. Then he glanced at the page and set the glass down again.

“I have no need of that,” he said. “I’ve seen this one often enough, though not in many a summer. Where did you—?” He stopped himself and smiled. “Ah, yes. I heard you came with the Kitsune boy. Did he have it on him?”

The old man didn’t seem to expect an answer, and Moria wasn’t sure she could have given one, her heart was pounding so hard. Finally she managed to say, “It is… the Kitsune crest?”

He nodded. “A particular one, for a particular man. The boy’s father. Marshal Kitsune.”

FIFTY-FOUR

As Moria stumbled from the library, no one came after her, so she presumed she had thanked the library masters and said good-bye, but she could not remember doing so. Nor could she remember how she got out the door or, moments later, how she arrived in the gardens.

The man who sent the letter was Marshal Kitsune.

No, that was impossible. Someone else was using his seal. Pretending to be the man who’d perished in the Forest of the Dead.

He had perished, hadn’t he?

When Gavril came to Edgewood, the villagers had wondered what to tell the boy of his father. Should they mention that they recalled him? Should they not? Then there was the matter of the body, which had not been found. They feared Gavril would discover that, and it would only make matters worse for the boy, knowing his father’s spirit roamed the forest, trapped between worlds. So they’d decided to lie. They’d told him his father was at rest. It was a small kindness he deserved.

But the body had not been found.

Because there was no body to find?

Again, impossible. You could not simply walk from the Forest of the Dead. Even if you managed to make it to Edge-wood, you would be seen by the guards. No man could escape his fate.

Not even one who had been, arguably, the most powerful man in the empire? She had seen Gavril’s reception among the city guards. He had not been nearly so respected in Edgewood, where many were too young to have served under his father. But there had been those, like Orbec and the commander, who’d treated Gavril with deference and respect. Honor, duty, and loyalty—the tenets of the warrior code. Loyalty to one’s lord. One’s warlord. And the warlord of all warriors was the marshal. Whether Marshal Kitsune been disgraced or not, there would be men who would risk their own exile in the forest to help him escape it.

Marshal Kitsune wasn’t merely a warrior either. She remembered Gavril at the campfire in the Wastes, arguing that the raising of the shadow stalkers did not seem the work of a sorcerer. Eventually he’d allowed that it might be, but they both knew it was—it could be nothing else.

Her stomach clenched so hard she doubled over and had to grab a bench for support.

Does Gavril know? He must.

But he’d said he didn’t recognize the seal.

He lied.

That was even more impossible than his father escaping the forest. Hadn’t Gavril refused to believe those things in the forest were shadow stalkers? Hadn’t he refused to believe that the people of Edgewood had been massacred? Hadn’t she seen the shock and horror on his face when he discovered it?

Gavril knew nothing of this.

She’d found him in the forest, injured but alive. Left alive. The sole survivor.

Because his father had spared him, as any father would. Which did not mean Gavril knew his father lived. Or that he knew anything about this terrible plot.

But would the former marshal allow his only child to unveil that terrible plot to the emperor? When the emperor discovered who was behind it, Gavril would be lucky to escape with his life. What father would do that?

Not one who had made sure his son had survived thus far.

As Moria sat on the bench, she looked to the garden shed and heard Gavril’s voice in her head again. I need to leave. That’s why I called you in here. I’ll be gone before the emperor returns.

She inhaled sharply. No. Gavril had played no witting part in this. He’d simply been uncomfortable in the emperor’s court and wanted to leave. Or perhaps, on reflection, he had recognized the seal. He came to recall it later and knew he had to flee. Flee quickly, because Moria was about to uncover the identity of the man who had sent that message.

She ran for the guesthouse.

Moria was almost to Gavril’s quarters when his door opened.

She crouched behind a squat statue. He stepped out, pack in hand. Then he paused and went back inside, as if he’d forgotten something.

She hurried to his door and nudged it open. He had his back to her as he stood at a tray of food, stuffing fruit into his pockets.

She watched him, the way his braids swung forward as he bent, the way he pushed them back impatiently, a motion so familiar it quelled the turmoil in her gut.

Gavril had played no part in his father’s plan, if it was his father at all. Gavril was stubborn and difficult and prickly and arrogant, but he was, above all else, honorable. He had fought by her side. He had confided in her, about his sorcery and his fears. He had trusted her and she had trusted him. That meant something.

He must be another victim of this tragedy, unwittingly used by his father. He’d recognized the seal and known that he could not say, “I am innocent” and be believed. Moria had seen how people treated him. He’d spent his life paying for the treachery of his dead father, punished for events he’d clearly played no part in. How would he be treated now, if his father was no longer dead? If Gavril had—however unwittingly— played a role in this new treachery? He had no choice but to flee.

She pushed open the door. Gavril spun, hand on his sword hilt. Then he saw her and…

He saw her, and she caught his expression, and she didn’t see worry or fear. She saw guilt and shame.

He said nothing. Just stood there, watching her.

“So you’re leaving after all?” she said.

“You know I am.” His voice was low.

“You’re not even going to pretend?”

He straightened. “You know me better than that, Keeper.”

“No.” She closed the door behind her. “Clearly I do not know you at all.”

Something flickered on his face, but he hid it quickly.

“So he’s alive?” she said. “Your father?”

He said nothing.

“And you knew that? All along you knew that?”

Still nothing. Her heart hammered so hard she could barely draw breath. This was not possible. She must have fallen asleep in her quarters and was having a nightmare.

“You knew what he was going to do?” she said. “You took part in it?”

Another flicker of emotion, too fast to decipher. His mouth opened as if he was going to speak. Then he clamped it shut, jaw held tight, and said nothing.

Moria stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. Rage pounded through her, and she had to struggle to keep her gaze on him, struggle to speak to him.

“You raised shadow stalkers. With your father. For your father. You raised them, and you commanded them to massacre my village.”

His eyes rounded. “No, I would never—I did not realize—”

Again he clamped his mouth shut, so hard she heard his teeth click. She could still see more in his eyes, more he wanted to say, but he blinked hard and when he looked at her again, his gaze was shuttered.

“You let them kill my village. Kill your comrades. Kill my father.”

She heard his teeth grind and the muscles on his jaw worked, as if he struggled to keep silent.

“What?” she said. “You have some excuse? Some explanation?”

He took a moment to open his mouth, just enough to let words out. “I have no excuse, Keeper.”

“Do not call me that!” she roared, yanking her blades from their sheaths.

“Moria, I—” He swallowed hard, and he seemed to pause, as if considering. A flicker of something like pain. Then anything in his expression vanished, his face going hard as he pulled himself straight. “Yes, I have done whatever you believe. I have deceived you. I have betrayed you. Remember that. Whatever happens, remember that.”

“Remember that?” She whipped a dagger at him. “I remember my father, you son of a whore!”

Gavril spun out of the dagger’s path just in time, and it passed just under his arm, ripping through the fabric before hitting the wall. He stared at it, as if shocked. She charged him, the other dagger raised, and it was only at the last moment that he feinted. He pulled his own sword. Her charge was clumsy, rage-blind, and his sword broadsided her arm, knocking her blade flying. She scrambled out of the way, but he didn’t strike at her, just stood there, sword half-raised.

“I’m going to leave now, Moria,” he said. “You can’t fight me.”

“By the spirits, I can. And I will, if I need to wrap my hands around your throat and choke the life from your body.”

She dove for the nearest dagger. He tried to intercept her, but she twisted and went for the other one instead, yanking it from the wall. She spun. He lifted his blade.

“You cannot fight me with a dagger, Moria. You’re outmatched and—”

She threw it, but she was too angry, every lesson evaporating from her head. The dagger flew off-target, Gavril easily dodging it. She went for the second blade, but his sword struck her again, broadside, knocking her into the wall. Then it was pointed at her throat.

“Enough, Moria.”

She stepped forward, the edge of his sword touching her throat.

“Enough!” he said.

She met his gaze and moved a little more, letting the edge dig in.

“Moria! Stop this. Are you mad?”

“If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.” She met his gaze and eased forward again, feeling blood trickle down her throat.

Gavril’s eyes filled with fury. “Blast you, Keeper. A pox on—” He snapped his mouth shut. “You will not do this.”

“Is it so hard to kill me?” she said. “Perhaps it’s not the same when you aren’t ordering dead men to do the deed.”

“I would not kill you, Keeper. Not kill you. Not harm you. Not ever.” He looked her in the eyes. “I regret any hurt I have brought to you. Most of all, I regret what I had to do to Daigo.”

“Daigo?” Her heart thumped. “The infection? You caused—”

“No, not that. What I did tonight. After we spoke in the garden. I went to your rooms, hoping to take your sister as a hostage, but Ashyn was not there. Daigo was. He knew something was wrong.” Gavril looked at her. “He attacked me, Moria. I would not have harmed him, but I had to defend myself. I hope…” He paused. “He was alive when I left him, though barely.”

Rage blinded her. She reached to grab his sword, not caring if it sliced through her hand, but he’d already lowered it. She dove for her blades. Then she felt something hit the back of her head. Everything went dark.

FIFTY-FIVE

Moria bolted upright, pulse racing, mind on fire, knowing she had to do something, had to get somewhere, but she was momentarily dazed. She looked around.

Where am I?

An empty room. Her gaze snagged on one of her daggers lying on the floor, and it all rushed back.

“Daigo!”

She grabbed the dagger and ran. She tore across the gardens and threw open the door to their quarters. As she raced through, she could see Daigo lying on the cushion, a pool of crimson beside him.

“Moria?”

It was Ashyn, but Moria barely heard her. She flew to Daigo as the wildcat rose, stretching and snarling a yawn. He let out a chirp as she dropped to her knees, running her hands up and down his sides.

She could see and feel no injury.

Her gaze shot to the crimson pool. It was a bright-red cushion he’d been lying on. She kept patting him down, certain there was something. He rubbed his cheek against hers as a purr rumbled through him. Behind her, Tova whined and Ashyn hurried over.

“Moria? What’s wrong?”

“He’s hurt. When you were gone. He came in and hurt him.”

“What?” Ashyn’s hand closed on her shoulder. “When did I leave?”

Moria gulped breath as her heart slowed. She couldn’t find any sign of injury on Daigo. In fact, he seemed rested and recovered from his infection.

“Moria?”

She turned to Ashyn. “Did you leave the room?”

“No, I’ve been in bed the whole time. Reading my book.”

Moria stood. “Gavril lied to escape. He said he’d hurt Daigo so I’d come straight here before raising the alarm.”

“Gavril?”

She turned to her sister and told her everything.

“I—I don’t understand,” Ashyn said when Moria had finished. “That’s not possible.”

“The Seeking party never found Marshal Kitsune’s body, did they?” Moria paced the floor, fury and rage fresh again.

“No, I can believe the marshal survived. I can believe he would strike against the emperor. While I find it difficult to believe any person could do it in that way—raising shadow stalkers and annihilating a village of innocents—I do not know the marshal. But I do know Gavril, and that is what I cannot believe. That he was part of this.”

“He admitted it. He used us and betrayed us, and he played a role in the massacre of our village and the death of our father.” She gripped her dagger. “For that, I’ll kill him.”

“Moria, don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” Moria spun on her sister. “Don’t threaten to kill the boy who helped massacre every person in our village? Who helped murder our father? Gavril Kitsune’s life will end by my hand, Ashyn. I swear it.”

Her sister dropped her gaze, mouth setting in a way that told Moria she would resume the discussion at a more suitable time. Moria continued pacing the room.

“Now that we know this, we need to decide how to handle—”

Ashyn leaped up. “We must tell someone. Immediately.”

“All right. We’ll summon—”

“No.” Ashyn gripped her arm. “We must raise the alarm. You said that is why Gavril tricked you—so he could escape. If anyone finds out that we allowed him to escape, that we discussed the matter and merely summoned a servant to request an audience…”

Ashyn was right, of course. They’d delayed too long already, and every extra moment would count against them.

Moria raced for the door.

A fast rider had arrived, saying Emperor Tatsu was on his way, coming quickly, and he expected all parties involved to be in the throne room when he arrived. Moria and Ashyn had been there since shortly after they’d burst from their room, calling for help.

It had been chaos—the court steward convinced the girls were hysterical, waking from some nightmare. Then they discovered Gavril was gone. And the young master of the library confirmed that the seal on the letter did indeed belong to Marshal Kitsune.

The steward, clearly out of his depth, summoned his superior—the minister of the imperial household. Not the correct choice, he’d discovered, as he’d been soundly rebuked in front of the girls, while the minister sent word back to the palace.

The chancellor was brought, along with two of the major counselors and the marshal’s head general—the marshal himself was with the emperor. Ashyn had gotten only partway through her story before they were joined by the crown prince and the whole tale had to be retold.

So it was chaos, and Moria could not decide whether to be infuriated or relieved. Had Gavril still been in the city when all the confusion began, he clearly was not by the time the guards were properly alerted. However, those delays meant no one could blame his disappearance on her own delays in telling someone of his treachery.

And so they waited. People came and went. Tyrus was there. She’d seen him slip in, and he’d nodded to her, but he kept his distance. Being cautious around his brothers. Based on her conversation with the library master, Ashyn had said there were four princes in the imperial family. Several princesses, too, though all were married and living elsewhere. Of the official bastards, Tyrus was the only son. Or the only still living—Ashyn said the master had not elaborated on that. Moria did not, then, blame Tyrus for avoiding his half brothers.

Apparently all four were there, though only the crown prince had been introduced. There was a steady stream of others, too, ministers and such, and when the doors opened again to admit yet another group of men, Moria was beginning to wonder where they’d fit them all.

This last group looked much like the others. Middle-aged men, all warriors, all moving briskly, heads high. The one in front was the shortest of the group. A broad-shouldered man with a severe face, well formed for his age, empire-born and perhaps in his fifth decade, his dark hair entwined with gray. He had flashing, dark eyes that reminded her of a hawk’s, scanning the room as he moved fast. His sleeves were pushed up and she could see his tattoos. They looked like…

She glanced over at Tyrus and the dragons circling his forearms. Then she looked at the man walking in… with dragons inked on his arms. Her gaze dropped to his breeches and boots, both filthy with the sweat and dust of a hard ride.

It was only then that everyone else seemed to notice the newcomers. The room went silent. Then men rushed forward to take Emperor Tatsu’s cloak and offer him cold water and hot tea, but he waved them off impatiently. They lined a route to the emperor’s seat—a raised chair at the head of a long table. The man ignored them, instead striding into the room and looking around. His gaze fell on the girls.

He gave a short laugh. “You two are easily spotted, even in this crowd.”

As he walked over, Ashyn bowed as deeply as she could, and Moria tried to emulate her. She was not as adept at social graces, but she also had to struggle not to keep staring at the man.

This is the emperor. Our emperor.

In the days before, she’d prepared for this moment. She would be polite, despite her feelings about the man who had exiled Gavril’s father, and exiled Gavril, too, in a way, cruelly sending him to guard his father’s death place.

Except Gavril’s father hadn’t died. And whether Marshal Kitsune was innocent or guilty of the charges that had led to his exile, the blood of Moria’s entire village stained his hands.

She wasn’t even sure now whether Gavril had been sent to Edgewood or volunteered for the post, to aid his father’s plan.

“The Keeper and the Seeker of Edgewood,” Emperor Tatsu said. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

Ashyn dropped her gaze and Moria could see her eyes filling. She kept hers on the emperor.

“We will have justice for Edgewood,” he said. “And we will free the children.”

Ashyn lifted her head and held out the envelope. One of the ministers rushed forward, pulling her arm back, glowering at her.

“The emperor has just arrived,” one snapped. “You will not shove that at him—”

“She did not.” Emperor Tatsu returned the man’s glower tenfold as he took the envelope. “She handed it to me as quickly as possible, because she is well aware of the urgency of the situation. Unlike those who would have me take off my boots and sip tea first.” He shot his glare around the room. “What are all of you doing here? This is not an acrobatic performance.”

“We thought you might need us, your imperial—”

“I sent word telling who I needed in this room. The rest of you will hear what is in this missive when I am ready to share it. Now, begone. Quickly.”

The mass of ministers and counselors started for the door. When the crown prince tried to remain at his father’s side, the emperor snapped, “You, too. Begone.” He paused and then turned to the mass of exiting men. “Tyrus? Where’s Tyrus?”

The young man was almost out. He backed into the room.

“Come back, boy. You know Gavril Kitsune, don’t you?”

“We trained together, Father, though it has been almost two summers—”

“Good enough. You’ll stay.” Tyrus ducked his brother’s glares as he approached. The emperor continued snapping orders, expelling men from the room.

“I am sorry,” Tyrus whispered to Moria. “About Gavril. I could tell you two were close.”

“You misjudged, your highness. He was merely a traveling companion.”

“Yes,” Tyrus murmured. “That is for the best. Say that to all who ask. I am sorry for it, though.”

“But not surprised?”

He seemed confused by the question. “It is his father. He must do as he is told. Filial piety comes before everything, even obedience to the empire.”

“Even obedience to one’s conscience? Slaughtering innocents is acceptable if your father commands it?”

Ashyn tried to shush her, eyes wide with alarm, but Tyrus said, “No, which is why I am certain there is more to it. Gavril is prickly, but he has a true heart. He is always honorable.”

“There’s no mistake, your highness. He accepted full responsibility.”

“There is more. I am certain—”

“Tyrus?” the emperor said. “While I do hate to pull you away from a pretty girl…”

Tyrus turned to his father, gaze dropping as he murmured an apology. The emperor clapped him on the shoulder and waved everyone to the table. As they walked, Emperor Tatsu opened the envelope and pulled out the missive.

The men who had stayed were the chancellor, all three major counselors, and one of the warriors who’d arrived with the emperor. He was short, slightly squat, breathing heavily as he tried to keep up with Emperor Tatsu. An older man, the summers weighing heavily on him. From the way he dogged the emperor’s steps, she presumed he was an attendant, until Tyrus leaned in and whispered, “Marshal Mujina.”

He did not look like a man of war, and she wondered briefly if Tyrus was referring to someone else. But she could see the man’s tattoos were marks of the Mujina—the badgers. He did rather resemble one. An aged badger, toothless and slow. Not a man Moria could imagine leading an army. Perhaps that was the point—after Marshal Kitsune, the emperor wanted a man he could control. This marshal certainly looked controlled, hurrying after the emperor and then sliding past him to quietly take his seat at the man’s left hand.

The chancellor sat at the lesser, right-hand position, with the major counselors beside him. Tyrus tried to seat Moria beside the marshal, but she motioned for Ashyn to go there instead—she ought to speak for them. Tyrus gave Moria the next seat, and pulled out the one beside her as Daigo and Tova wedged in beside their girls.

No one had spoken a word on the walk to the table. No one spoke now either, the room silent as the emperor read. When he passed the missive to the marshal, his face was unreadable, his gaze distant.

“This is—” Marshal Mujina said. “He cannot expect—”

“Of course he doesn’t.” The emperor snatched the letter and handed it to the chancellor, motioning for the major counselors to read it after him.

When the last counselor handed it back, his face somber, the emperor folded it, then held it out across the table. He was clearly passing it to Ashyn, but she sat there, looking confused, until Tyrus nudged her. Even then, she took it carefully, gaze on the emperor, as if waiting for him to rescind it.

“You brought it this far,” he said. “You ought to read it. Seeker, is it? Ashyn?”

She nodded.

“You and your sister will read it, so there can be no question that what we claim is in that letter is true. Otherwise, I suspect there will be those who think we must be misrepresenting the situation.”

“It is the old marshal, then?” Moria said. “Marshal Kitsune?”

“It is. As you will see, he includes information known only to the two of us. We grew up together. It is he. He threatens to destroy Fairview if I do not step down immediately and cede the imperial throne to him.”

“Cede—? But that is—he cannot expect—” Moria inhaled sharply. “He does not expect it. He is asking for what he cannot have. He means to incite war.”

“Yes, apparently even a child can see his true purpose.” The emperor shot a glare at his marshal. “It would be difficult for me to make any concessions to an exiled traitor. If he were, however, to ask for something reasonable, such as a pardon, negotiations could be held. This is beyond negotiations. He will have war. The destruction of Fairview and the death of Edgewood’s children would lie at my feet.”

“But…” Ashyn’s head shot up from her reading. “Fairview? The children? Are they lost, then?”

“No, child. Rescuing them will be our first priority, one that can hopefully be accomplished before Alvar Kitsune realizes we’ve refused his generous offer.”

“But war?” the marshal said. “How does he imagine he’d win that? His mercenaries cannot outnumber our troops.”

“I’m quite certain he hopes to win some of his former men to his side. I’m equally certain he already has, and they are merely awaiting his signal.” He gave his marshal a hard look. “You have told me that your warriors are content. Now we will see the truth of that.”

“But war?” the chancellor said. “Against shadow stalkers?”

“And more,” Ashyn said quietly.

They all turned to her, but she seemed unable to go on.

“He has raised more than shadow stalkers,” Moria said. “Ashyn encountered death worms in the Wastes. I fought a thunder hawk. I have a feather in my pack to prove it. That may mean he has plans to do battle with more than men and shadow stalkers.”

“Then we must be prepared,” the emperor said. “For a war unlike any the empire has seen.