Sea of Shadows

TWENTY-THREE

As Ashyn climbed the pile of rock, she banged her knee—the same one she’d banged twice already. She hissed in pain as tears sprang to her eyes. Tova whined from the base and put one tentative paw on the rocks, but she motioned for him to stay down and then waved to the others, assuring them she was fine as they made camp.

The outlook was man-made, rock piled by an age of travelers along this road, using a rare rise in the landscape for a base and adding to it. The stones were volcanic, like everything around them. Sharp as broken glass, if you grabbed the wrong piece. Ashyn already had a cut on her hand to prove it. But she kept going until she reached the top. Then she found her footing and looked out.

There was little to see. One could argue that these lookouts were a tribute to the endless—and foolish—optimism of the human spirit. Or to their equally foolish determination to conquer everything in their path, including nature itself.

In the Wastes, nature won. There was no contest, truly. Ashyn stood on that pile of rock and looked out at… more rock. In places the land was smooth and swirled, like a quiet river. In others, it was as rough and choppy as a stormy sea. There were patches, here and there, of scrubby trees and moss, improbable islands of life. Yet most was rock.

They’d been walking for two days now, and every time she saw a possible lookout, she’d run ahead. After the first day, she no longer even needed to search for them herself. Tova would see one and bound off with a bark.

While she was scouting for danger, she was also looking for Ronan. At first, she’d scoured the landscape, furious with him for abandoning them. Then, as her temper had settled, she’d begun to look with less anger and more hope. By the second day, though, the hope had vanished.

He was long gone. She tried to understand that. Given the way the village had treated him, she couldn’t blame him for leaving. But it still hurt. She took one last look around, then scrambled down to rejoin the others.

Ashyn crawled from her sleeping blanket. She could hear the soft snores of Wenda beside her. Beatrix was on Wenda’s other side, and the two men were about five paces away. Only Tova was up, having woken as soon as she did.

Ashyn followed his pale form through the rocks, stumbling as she went, her body aching from a third night sleeping on stone. She shivered as she walked. Even her fur-lined cloak did little against the bitter nights. If her bladder weren’t full to bursting, she’d have stayed in her blankets until the morning rays warmed the rocks. By midday, she’d be cursing that same sun. It was like living in an oven, nestled among stones that were bitingly cold until the flame made them unbearably hot.

Tova was anxious to return to bed, too, and they’d gone barely ten paces before he found a place to lift his leg. When Ashyn continued on, he grumbled.

“You can go back,” she whispered.

His grumble bordered on a growl, annoyed and offended that she would suggest such a thing. Normally, she’d have patted him in apology. But their even tempers were both fraying out here in the Wastes. It wasn’t simply the poor sleep or the inadequate food, or the heat or the cold or even the boredom. They were lonely. They had each other, but that was no different than having your arm or your leg. You couldn’t imagine life without it, but it was, after all, a part of you. They missed Father and, even more, they missed Moria and Daigo. In sixteen summers, they’d never spent more than a night apart.

When Ashyn insisted on finding more privacy, Tova laid down as if to say, I mean it.

“Wait there, then,” she said.

His grumble warned her to come back and insisted she didn’t need to go so far. As the distance between them grew, Ashyn could feel it, like a rope going taut. She was being unreasonable.

Ashyn turned. “I’m just going there, behind those rocks.”

Tova chuffed and pushed to his feet. As he padded toward her, Ashyn jogged to the rocky outcropping, swung behind it, and—

She heard the scratching of cartilage against rock. She wheeled, and it was right there, perched nearly at eye level. A scorpion. Or so her eyes told her, but it was unlike any scorpion she’d ever seen. In Edgewood, they were less than a hand long. This one was a leg’s length from clicking claws to raised tail.

As she stood there, paralyzed, Tova tore around the corner and the scorpion rose up, claws waving, tail poised. She could see the stinger now, as long as a finger, venom glistening on the tip.

She took a slow, careful step backward. Her gaze stayed fixed on the creature as she prayed to the goddess that it would let her leave, just let her—

It sprang. She tried to twist out of the way, knowing it would do no good, seeing Tova leaping forward, knowing that wouldn’t help either. The scorpion was coming right for her and—

My dagger.

Her hand shot down and hit the folds of her cloak. Yes, she had her dagger—uselessly hidden under her cloak.

Her hands flew up to ward the scorpion off. It struck her, knocking her off balance, its armored body ice-cold against her fingers, and then—

It gave an earsplitting shriek. A spray of something cold and wet hit her. Venom. It wasn’t simply going to sting her. It had sprayed her with—

Fingers wrapped around her arm and hauled her upright before she hit the ground.

“Where in blazes is your dagger?” a voice said, sharp with irritation.

She looked up to see a dirt-smeared face and blazing brown eyes. Ronan.

She stared at him, then down at the scorpion. It was cut in half, still twitching on the rock. She stared at it and felt not relief but shame. She was armed with a dagger and hadn’t even had the sense to draw it when walking into the Wastes at night. She might be her sister’s wombmate, but clearly they shared little beneath their outward appearance. That’s what he must be thinking.

Moria would have huffed that she’d been relieving herself, which did not usually involve being attacked by giant scorpions. Ashyn said, “You’re right. I ought to have had my blade out.”

“Yes, you should have. And your hound ought to be at your side, not lying ten paces away like a stubborn mule.”

Tova whined and moved closer to Ashyn, butting his head under her hand.

Ronan sighed. “You need to be more careful, Ashyn, but I lay most of the blame at the feet of that guard who accompanies you. I’m starting to wonder if he’s a farmer who stole the sword and boots. He ought to be arranging a nightly watch schedule and choosing safer campsites, preferably ones with a pissing spot nearby.”

“A guard isn’t expected to lead. I’ll help him.”

Ronan motioned her away from the rocky outcropping. “You’ve been through a great tragedy, and I ought not to have left. That shames me, Ashyn, but I hope to make up for it now.” He looked into her eyes. “I was worried about you.”

She blushed. “I understand why you—”

“No, there was no excuse. I told myself I was doing the right thing, going ahead to send help back, but you needed me. I failed you. I have barely slept these last three nights, thinking of what I’d done.” Another look, deep into her eyes. “Thinking of you.”

Ashyn felt her insides flutter. Was this not the stuff of bards’ tales? The maiden who captured the heart of a rogue, who inspired him to rise to the role of warrior, devoted to her protection? Such pretty words. And they would be so much prettier if she didn’t hear them in that same soft voice he’d used when he’d meekly thanked Moria for helping him get locked up in a dungeon cell.

“Do you play the lute?” she asked.

He blinked, that soulful look evaporating. “What?”

“The lute. Lies and false flattery go so much better to the strains of a lute. You ought to consider becoming a bard. You have a certain rakish charm. An eye patch would help, too.”

His face darkened.

“Yes, definitely an eye patch,” she continued. “You can concoct some tale of tragic bravery to explain how you lost your eye. Wait—I know one. You were maimed when you rescued a Seeker from the ruins of her ravaged village and escorted her through the Wastes. Then you heroically delivered her to court while expecting nothing in return.” She paused. “You do expect nothing in return, I presume?”

“More gratitude and less mockery would be nice. But yes, if you insist, I will admit that I do hope for something. I hope to survive the Wastes, and I realized we both stand a better chance of that together.”

“And that is all?”

“You may not wish to believe I came back for you, but I did, Ashyn. I was concerned. For you. A Seeker is a very valuable member of the empire.”

“Valuable?”

“I meant important,” he said. “It’s the same thing.”

“Not quite. You came back because you realized you had walked away from an opportunity that could turn you from pauper to lord, from exile to hero.”

“I came back for you, Ashyn.”

He said it with breathtaking sincerity, and she looked at him there, silhouetted against the pale moonlight, sword in hand, a scratch across his dirty cheek only making him seem more raffish.

Truly, Ashyn? Truly?

She heard her sister’s voice and imagined Moria shaking her head. Ashyn silenced her. Just because she was admiring the scenery did not mean she would step blindly into the quicksand.

“Yes, I’m sure you did come back for me,” she said. “Except I would word it differently. You came back for the Seeker. And I don’t care. If you get me to the nearest town, you deserve that reward.”

He eyed her, wary now.

“I mean it,” she said. “I understand your situation. You might return to the imperial city only to be thrown into another cell, awaiting a fate as dire as the forest. If you return with me, and I say that you rescued me, at the very least you will be free. You would also likely receive some sort of more tangible reward. I don’t begrudge you that. I would simply ask that you are honest with me.”

He paused, still searching her face, as if for a trick. Finally he said, “I apologize.”

“Good. Now, I’ll need to explain the situation to the others. That would be best done in morning’s light.”

He bent and wiped his blade on the sand, cleaning it. “While I understand why you don’t wish to frighten them by disappearing, I’m not sure that discussing the matter will help.”

“Disappearing?”

“With me.” He stopped. “You expect me to join them?”

“I will say that you are my chosen guard. Gregor cannot argue with that.”

“It’s not arguing that concerns me. You can’t continue at their pace, Ashyn. The woman and child are slow enough, but the old man? I left Edgewood just ahead of you, and I had to walk back half a day to find you.”

“I’ll not leave them.”

“I know you feel responsible, but I also have respons…” He trailed off and resumed checking his sword. “I wish to get back to the city as quickly as possible. I’ve been in the Forest of the Dead for four moons. I’d like a soft sleeping mat and clean clothing, and I’ll not get that out here.”

“I understand, but the matter isn’t open to discussion. My duty is to my village—those few who still live. If you wish to join us, you may. Otherwise…” She looked up at him. “I hope to see you again someday.”

He shook his head. “I’ll not join them.”

“Then that is your—”

“I can’t. The guard won’t stand for an exiled convict bearing blades. It would be disruptive for no purpose.” He returned his sword to its sheath—he must have taken one from the bodies in Edgewood. “If you insist on staying with the others, I’ll do what your guard does not—watch out for you. Would that be sufficient?”

He meant would she still vouch for him, to say he “rescued” her. Someday, perhaps, a young man would give her that soulful look and not want anything more than her kind regard. Ronan wasn’t that young man. But he was what she needed right now. So she agreed and returned to camp with Tova.

TWENTY-FOUR

When Ashyn didn’t see Ronan the entire next day, she began to wonder if he was there at all. It would be a clever scheme. Promise to guard her from a distance, then hurry on ahead and find his soft mat and hot food, and wait for her to arrive. She trusted, though, that he wanted his freedom and a reward enough not to risk it. To be honest, she only suspected him of ill intent because she was disappointed not to see him. The others were hardly spirited conversationalists.

The next morning she sought Ronan out. For very good reason. They’d woken to find Quintin’s sleeping blankets empty. Empty and cold. Worse, she’d had to prod Gregor to hunt for him.

“He’s missing,” she’d said. “Possibly injured, out there in the Wastes.”

“My responsibility is with you, Seeker.”

Which he was doing a poor job of, as Ronan had said. She’d ordered him out to hunt and then gone looking herself— both for Quintin and for Ronan.

Finding Ronan turned out to be simple enough. She walked straight to the biggest outcropping of rock and found him there, settled into his sleeping blanket. He roused at her footsteps, as if he’d only just gone to bed.

“Quintin is gone,” she announced as he stood.

He peered at her, feigning sleepy confusion as if trying to determine what reaction would best suit the situation.

“You knew that, I presume?” she said.

A flicker of anger. “If you are accusing me—”

“Of harming him? Of course not. Of seeing him walk away and doing nothing? Yes.” She pointed at the rocks. “You were sitting guard up there last night?”

“I was, and yes, I saw him, and yes, I did nothing. He was not attacked, Ashyn. He walked away. He knew he was a burden, and he made his choice.”

She stared, stunned at the casual way he said it. “Abandoning elders is the mark of a primitive society. We’ve moved past that. Long past it.”

“Because we can afford to. Because we have an organized system of trade and communication that means a village never needs fear passing a winter without sufficient supplies. Do you think they used to drag the elders off to the forest as they kicked and screamed for mercy?”

“Sometimes.”

He paused, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure sometimes they did. But for most elders, it was a part of life. A final sacrifice for their families. A way to die with honor.”

When she didn’t answer, he moved toward her, his voice lowering. “Every time you needed to stop for Quintin to rest, the entire group was at risk of being bitten by rattlesnakes or attacked by nomads and bandits. You were all at risk of running out of food and water because the walk was taking twice as long as it should. He knew that.”

“And you gave no thought to going after him?”

A pause. “Yes, I did. To offer a quick death.”

Ashyn stared at him.

He stepped back, his face hardening. “Did you want me to lie to make you feel better, Ashyn? Or are you hoping to make me feel worse? You’ve told me to be honest. So don’t ask a question if you don’t care to hear the answer.” A brusque wave. “Now, if you’ll leave me be, I might get a little sleep before I need to catch up with your party.”

That night, Ashyn lay shivering on the hard lava, her cloak and sleeping blanket wrapped tightly around her. It was still not enough to fend off the savage chill of night. She peered around. Under the moonlight, lava fields stretched to the horizon itself.

There was an end. They were following the “road”—a smooth, winding strip of lava, marked by piles of rock. It was not the fastest route through the Wastes, but it was the only safe one.

Safe being a relative term, she thought as she peered into the night.

Besides the poisonous snakes and giant scorpions, the Wastes were home to roving bands that called themselves nomads. There were only two reasons anyone would choose to live here. First, it was beyond the reach of the empire’s law, at least from a practical standpoint. Second, trade wagons passed through once a moon in the warmer seasons. So, too, did travelers or scholars who wished to see the Wastes for themselves. All were such easy pickings for “nomads” and bandits, there was almost an unspoken arrangement that wagon trains would bring extra goods and toss them out like honey cakes at a festival. Road tax, they jokingly called it.

They’d seen no one since leaving Edgewood. Ashyn had detected no spirits either. She could feel the lack of them, chilling the air. She supposed that made sense—what spirits would exist in a desolate land of rock?—but it still unsettled her. She longed for their whispers and their warmth and the soft buzz of their energy.

That’s not all I long for.

She blinked back the prickle of tears. She’d spilled enough of them onto the rocks at night. Tears for her father. Tears for her village. Tears of worry for Moria, thinking of her with the children, a captive.

Please, don’t do anything foolish, Rya. If I lost you…

Tova shifted, pressing his shaggy body against hers. She nestled into it, face buried in his fur. Then she lifted her head and peered around. Ronan was out there somewhere, watching over them. Protecting his investment—she understood that, but it didn’t change the fact that he was sacrificing his own safety for them. Just as Quintin had sacrificed his life.

If she’d gone ahead with Ronan, Quintin wouldn’t have walked into the Wastes. He could have slowed down, knowing they would have sent help when they reached the first town.

I failed him.

But it’s not too late for the others.

She pushed up from her sleeping spot, Tova rising beside her.

“Can you find him?” she whispered.

Tova grunted, as if understanding. She would go speak to Ronan now. She’d tell the others at dawn and then leave with Ronan.

TWENTY-FIVE

Soon after Ashyn returned from talking to Ronan, she awoke to a scream. She leaped up. Tova was already on his feet, fur bristling.

It was Wenda. The girl stood by her blanket, sobbing as Beatrix held her.

A nightmare, Ashyn thought, sinking down again. The girl had held up so far, but bad dreams had to come eventually.

As Ashyn settled, though, she noticed Gregor standing in front of Beatrix and Wenda, motioning frantically, saying something she couldn’t hear over the girl’s sobs.

Ashyn pushed up again. Wenda raced over and threw herself into Ashyn’s arms, head buried against her as she cried. “What happened?” Ashyn asked.

Gregor turned to her. “The girl had a nightmare. She dreamed—”

“It was not a nightmare!” Wenda pushed from Ashyn’s arms and swiped at her tears. “You touched me.”

“Touched… ?” Ashyn began.

“He came into my sleeping blanket. I felt someone there, and I forgot where I was and thought it was my sister. I moved closer to get warm, and then I felt his hand on my leg. It was moving toward my…” She leaned and whispered the rest to Ashyn.

Ashyn sprang up. “Gregor!”

“No!” His face filled with what looked like genuine horror. “I swear on my ancestors I did not do this, Seeker. I could… I could not imagine such a thing. The girl is mistaken. She’s had a nightmare. I swear—”

Wenda howled and ran at him. Ashyn grabbed her, and the girl sobbed that she had not dreamed it. Beatrix took her, and she collapsed against the older woman.

“I did not do this,” Gregor said. “I am not saying the child is telling tales, only that she is mistaken.”

“How would she even imagine such a thing?” Beatrix said.

As Ashyn thought it through, the arguing and accusations gradually ceased, and she glanced up to see everyone looking at her. Waiting for her to give her opinion.

No, they don’t await your opinion. They await your verdict.

With neither the commander nor the governor in their party, the weight of authority fell to her.

She looked from Gregor’s horror to Wenda’s anguish, both seeming equally certain of what had—or had not—occurred here. Then to Beatrix, her glower and stiff back placing her firmly on Wenda’s side.

Ashyn was not qualified to make this decision. Yet they expected it of her. They needed it.

I can do this.

I must do this.

“Wenda,” she said. “I need you to tell me again what happened. Gregor? Please don’t interrupt her. You’ll have your turn.”

And so she proceeded, exactly as she’d seen the governor conduct trials. Each party told their story. The witness—Beatrix—told hers.

Wenda’s story did not change. She’d awoken to find Gregor in her sleeping blankets, his hand moving up her leg. Gregor simply said it did not happen. He was asleep in his own blankets. He awoke to Wenda striking him with her fists. Beatrix woke to see the two of them on their feet. She said they were nearer Wenda’s blankets than Gregor’s, but the two were separated by only a few paces.

There was, then, no easy answer. Gregor looked genuinely horrified; the girl genuinely traumatized. Could it have been a misunderstanding? Gregor rolling in his sleep, thinking it was a woman by his side? Or Wenda having a nightmare that seemed real?

Ashyn carefully suggested the possibility of an accident or misunderstanding, avoiding blame, but they vehemently denied it. Wenda said it happened; Gregor said it did not. Beatrix could add no evidence. The decision rested on her.

If she had any personal feelings on the matter, they sided with Wenda. She knew the girl to be good and honest. She barely knew Gregor at all, even after four days together. Yet that did not seem a valid criterion for such a judgment. Even were she to find Gregor guilty, his punishment would be imprisonment in the town where they now headed. She could insist he wait until the sun was high, then follow the same road, but if they were to encounter trouble, they would have no warriors to aid them. To punish Gregor could punish them all.

“I am not qualified to preside in a court of legal matters,” she said finally. “I must commend Gregor to the court in Fair-view, where we now head. He will accompany us, but staying in the lead to scout our path. Wenda will sleep in Beatrix’s blankets. And Gregor shall give the child his dagger.”

The last part was, as she expected, the most contentious. Wenda was thrilled to have the blade. Beatrix was concerned and offered to hold on to it for her, but Ashyn said she’d show her how to carry it properly.

As they prepared to set out early, Ashyn excused herself to tell Ronan that they would not be leaving together.

The next morning Ashyn woke to Ronan’s voice whispering her name. She opened her eyes to see his face over hers, his eyes looking into hers, his lips over hers. She thought… Well, she supposed it was obvious what she thought. Not, she corrected later, that she actually believed he’d come to her in the night, driven by an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Such things happened often in songs, but Ashyn suspected they rarely did in real life.

What she truly thought was that she was dreaming.

“Ashyn?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

She felt a dampness on her cheek. Not a kiss, but a… lick. Tova nudged Ronan aside. At the same moment that she realized it was not a dream, she noticed the anxiety in Ronan’s dark eyes and the tightness in his voice.

She started to scramble up, but he grasped her shoulder and whispered, “Shhh,” motioning for her not to wake the others.

She blinked and looked around. Tova was sitting beside her now, wide awake. Gregor’s snores said he was sleeping soundly. Across the campsite, Wenda seemed to be doing the same, in the blankets she shared with Beatrix. Except the older woman wasn’t there.

“Bea—” Ashyn began.

Ronan shushed her again. “I saw her go to relieve herself. But it’s been too long. I thought it better if you checked on her. It could be a… female problem.”

Ashyn suspected Beatrix was well past any such “problems,” but in any event, he was right—Beatrix would panic if a stranger came after her in the night, particularly after what had happened with Wenda. Remembering that, though…

“I can’t leave Wenda alone with Gregor,” Ashyn whispered.

Ronan cursed under his breath.

“I’ll go,” she said. “You wait here.”

He peered into the night. Even the moon’s light seemed to shun this place. They’d used the lanterns judiciously, but the last one had run out the night before.

“I’ll follow a bit, while staying close to camp,” he said.

She nodded and stood.

“You have your blade?” Ronan whispered.

She nodded again, and withdrew it. Then she set out with Tova.

TWENTY-SIX

Ashyn headed across the plain. When her foot touched down on sand, the change came as such a surprise that her boot almost slid out from under her.

Yes, she remembered now—they’d stopped at one of the rare sandy areas, setting up camp on a patch where scrubby cacti had taken hold. It’d been two days since they’d passed the last oasis, and Wenda had spotted red flowers on the cacti nearly fifty paces off the road. She’d insisted they stop early so they could camp there, where the ground was soft. Ashyn had known she ought to refuse—they had to use every moment of sunlight, but the girl had been so entranced by the flowers, and Beatrix’s old bones had ached so much from sleeping atop rock. Ashyn hadn’t had the heart to refuse.

She adjusted her stride for the sand. It did feel better. Softer. Slower, though, too, as each step slid a little. There were patches of rock, and she found herself steering toward them, to pick up the pace. Tova figured out what she was doing and led the way across the rock.

As they walked, Ashyn squinted around for Beatrix. There were no cacti here, no piles of stones, so the old woman— standing or squatting—should be easy to spot. But Ashyn saw nothing. She tried calling to her. Her voice carried in the silence and no one replied.

How far did she go?

There was no need to go far. Since the scorpion episode, Ashyn had chosen camps carefully. Tonight, there’d been no obstacles to hide behind, so she’d told them to simply walk far enough that smells wouldn’t waft back to camp.

Ashyn sighed. Soon she wouldn’t be dreaming of dangerous boys, but of toothbrushes, and hot water, and toilets with doors that latched. And as long as she had none of those, she suspected there was little use in dreaming of the other either. She was rather grateful they hadn’t passed a still body of water in two days, so she’d been spared the horror of her own reflection.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that when Tova growled, she only reached out and absently patted his head. He grabbed her fingers in his teeth. She stopped abruptly to look around.

“Beatrix?”

No answer.

As Ashyn looked, she caught a rustle. No, not a rustle. This was just as quiet, but more of a rasping, sliding sound, like something moving across sand.

Tova’s growl drowned out the noise. She tried to shush him, but when he finally stopped with a snort of satisfaction, the sound was gone.

A snake. That’s what it had sounded like. They got them in the village sometimes, coming in from the edge of the forest. Little green ones, harmless, children scooping them up as pets. But the snakes of the Wastes could be dangerous. She’d seen men bitten by them, their fellow travelers rushing them to Edgewood for treatment. Some were merely ill, easily treated. Others… others were not.

“Beatrix,” she whispered. She reached for Tova. “Can you help me find her?”

He grunted, lifted his muzzle, and made a show of sniffing the air; then he shook his head and grunted again.

I’ve been trying all along, he seemed to be saying, but wherever she is, I can’t smell her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know you’re already helping. I’m just…”

He walked behind her and butted her legs gently.

“And I won’t find her by standing here in the dark, worrying about not finding her.”

Tova took the lead again, steering her another way, sniffing the air more obviously now, as if to make sure she knew he was working on it.

Perhaps Beatrix was taken. That’s why we can’t find her. Bandits. Or something else.

What else? They’d seen no sign of shadow stalkers, bandits, or anything that moved on two legs.

Ashyn walked faster, calling louder. When she heard her own name on the wind, she broke into a run, jogging toward a distant figure—

It was Wenda, running barefooted across the rocky plain. Ashyn could make out Ronan following. Ashyn hurried over to Wenda, who ran into her arms with a sob.

“I woke, and you were gone and Beatrix was gone and Tova—”

“It’s all right,” Ashyn said, patting her back as she hugged her.

“But I was all alone with him.”

Ashyn hesitated. Time to end this ruse. “No, you weren’t. Someone was watching.”

The girl’s face screwed up in confusion as Ashyn waved for Ronan to join them. He approached with reluctance.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered over Wenda’s head. “It’s better this way.”

She introduced him as quickly as she could, keenly aware that Beatrix was still missing. Luckily, Wenda was still sleepy enough to simply accept that this boy was here and Ashyn knew him and he would help.

“No sign of Beatrix?” Ronan whispered as they began walking.

“Not yet.” Ashyn lowered her voice, so the girl wouldn’t hear. “I think I heard a snake.”

Ronan cursed. Wenda said something, but Ashyn’s attention was divided between scanning the empty landscape and watching for signs that Tova had scented the old woman.

Ronan and Wenda were talking when Tova stopped, his fur bristling. He was looking to the side, and Ashyn shushed the others as she strained to peer into the night.

The moon slipped behind clouds and the darkness seemed to wrap around them. Wenda crept closer. Ashyn put her arm around the girl’s shoulder. A gust of wind brought a blast of sand and icy cold. Wenda shivered and whimpered.

Then Ashyn heard it again. That dull rasp. Like scales on rock.

“Wh-what is that?” Wenda said.

Ronan lifted his sword and tracked the sound as Tova did the same. Both halted, facing the same direction.

“We’re going to walk that way,” Ronan whispered, pointing his sword in the opposite direction. “And don’t be quiet about it. As I’ve said before, with snakes, you run the biggest risk if you startle them.”

As he said the words, something deep in her gut flared up, telling her no. She tried to push the feeling aside, but it only grew stronger.

“Ashyn?” Ronan whispered.

“I—I think we ought to be quiet,” she said. “I feel…” She swallowed.

“Is it the spirits?” Wenda whispered.

Ashyn shook her head. “I haven’t heard any out here. I just— I feel…”

“She’s the Seeker,” Wenda said to Ronan. “We ought to listen.”

Ashyn suspected that carried little weight with him, but then the noise came again, closer now, and when Ashyn looked over—

She stifled a gasp. Ronan wheeled, sword up.

They could see a dark shape moving along the ground twenty paces away, too far for them to make out any more than that. Far enough that they should not have been able to see a mere snake. This looked as big as a man’s head, a creature slithering across the rock.

“Move!” Ronan whispered, pushing them ahead. “Go!”

TWENTY-SEVEN

As they ran, Ashyn fumbled to get her dagger out of the sheath. She’d put it away to hug Wenda. Now she was so preoccupied removing it that when Tova bounded over a small fissure, she didn’t notice until she was already tripping.

Her hands shot out to stop herself, and they managed to touch down just in time to keep her from bashing her face into the lava rock. Except she wasn’t touching rock. Her forearms rested on something soft. Tova, she thought… until she felt the hound yanking her cloak. That’s when Wenda started to scream, and Ashyn looked down at her forearms, resting on green, worsted wool. Beatrix’s cloak. With Beatrix’s plump body beneath it.

Ronan silenced the child as Ashyn crawled quickly toward Beatrix’s head, her fingers ripping Beatrix’s cloak apart, her hands going to her heart. She felt wet fabric and thought it was blood. Then her fingers began to burn and, as she fell back, she saw Beatrix’s own hands, covering her face and…

Bone. Ashyn saw bone. Skin, too—and flesh and bone. Her own fingers continued to burn, and she wiped them brusquely on her cloak as she moved up for a better look. Beatrix’s hands were… damaged. Chunks of skin and flesh were missing, bone showing through. Her throat was the same. And beneath Beatrix’s hands, Ashyn could see parts of the old woman’s face. Holes in her…

She turned and emptied her stomach onto the sand. Ronan’s hand closed on her shoulder, tugging her up. He didn’t bend—he was holding the child’s face against his tunic, hiding the sight from her.

“She’s gone,” he said as he pulled Ashyn up.

“But what… what could do that?”

“Fire, perhaps? She looks burned.”

She doesn’t smell burned.

Her stomach lurched again at the thought. Her fingers still stung and she rubbed them harder. Ronan whispered for Wenda to stay where she was, facing her away from Beatrix’s body, then he caught Ashyn’s hand and pulled it up into the moonlight. Her fingertips were red and raw.

“Did you touch her?” he asked.

“Just her cloak. It was wet. Her blood, I suppose, but…” There was no blood. Looking down now, she saw that. But she could also see damp patches all over Beatrix’s cloak.

“Venom,” Ronan whispered. He spat on her fingers and rubbed furiously.

She jerked her hand back. “It’s worse if it breaks through the skin.” Her voice sounded so calm. As if she were treating a stranger on a battlefield. “I need to wash it off.”

“There’s water at camp.”

“I brought a healing bag, too. There might be something there.”

This isn’t calm. It’s shock.

She looked again at Beatrix’s maimed body, and it was like a smack, snapping her out of her stupor. She broke into a run heading for camp, Tova leaping in front to lead her down a clear path.

I’m all right, she thought as she ran. My fingers sting, but that’s it.

Was that calm reason talking? Or shock? Either way, it kept the panic away. Whatever poison affected Beatrix had been horrific, but it seemed to have happened quickly. It must have, if she hadn’t had time to scream.

Because it burned her throat. She couldn’t scream. That doesn’t mean she didn’t—

No, Ashyn had barely touched the poison and had wiped it right off. She’d be fine.

“You’ll be fine,” Ronan said as he and Wenda caught up. “We’ll fix it. You’ll be fine.”

She stifled a laugh as his words echoed her thoughts. Yes, it’s probably shock, but it’s keeping me calm, so I’ll take it. Just keep moving. Don’t let it dull my senses and—

A curse rang through the night, so sudden and loud that it seemed to be right beside them. Ronan spun, blade raised with one hand as he tugged Wenda back. He swung between them and the noise, with Tova at his side.

Ashyn pulled Wenda against her. The girl seemed to be in shock, too, uttering not a word, shaking under Ashyn’s hand. Ashyn rubbed her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

Ashyn gripped her blade and looked around. She thought she detected a scuffling sound, so distant it was only a whisper.

Then another wordless shout, and this time, there was no question of where it came from. That’s when Wenda spoke, so loudly that her whole body jerked under Ashyn’s hand, as if she’d just woken from sleep.

“Gregor!” Wenda cried. “At the camp!”

They ran. Ronan scooped up Wenda and swung her onto his back. It wasn’t easy—the girl wasn’t a toddling child—but it was faster than dragging her along with them.

Gregor shouted a challenge at some unseen attacker. Then they could see him on his feet, waving his sword at the air.

“I heard you!” he shouted. “Show yourselves, cowards! Do not slink in shadows!”

He whirled as if he’d heard something.

“Where have you taken them, cowards? If you’ve harmed the Seeker, you will be cursed. Do you understand that? Cursed.”

“We’re here!” Ashyn called. “We’re—”

Something reared up a few paces from Gregor—like a snake lifting its head, but too big by far. It must be a man, crawling on the ground, starting to rise.

Gregor saw it and let out a shout. He staggered back, his sword held awkwardly, as if it were a shield. Then he screamed. A terrible scream, like Levi’s in the forest, that high-pitched shriek of agony that seemed as if it should not come from a human throat.

Ronan dropped Wenda from his back and ran. Tova stayed with Ashyn as she raced toward the camp, clutching the girl against her.

Gregor dropped to his knees, his sword clanking against the rock as it fell from his grip. His hands shielded his face, and he kept screaming that terrible scream. Then he began to gurgle, his body shaking. That thing—whatever it was— stayed in front of him, reared up.

Ronan skidded to a halt about ten paces away. He let out a curse, a blasphemous commentary on the goddess’s anatomy that, at any other time, would have had Ashyn slamming her hands over Wenda’s ears. But she just kept running as fast as she could, while holding the girl against her.

Then she saw the creature, and she stopped, too. She may also have cursed.

It was not a snake. It was a worm. A long, reddish, segmented cylinder of a creature, at least as long as a man and just as wide. She could see no features—no eyes, no earholes, nothing. It was reared up, pointing one end at Gregor. Then that end sprang open in a giant circle of teeth, and it spat a stream of liquid.

Acid. It spat acid.

“That—that’s a death worm,” Wenda whispered, her thin body quaking. “From the story Moria told after the earth moved.”

Moria said that each time they felt the spirits of the earth shift, blaming “death worms” for the amusement and horror of the children. Now Ashyn stood there, watching a worm the size of a man spitting acid at Gregor. Killing Gregor. Right before their eyes.

I’m asleep, she thought. Or I’ve gone mad. Moria’s tales have come to life, and that is not possible, which means I’ve gone mad.

Or the world has gone mad, and we’re simply trapped within it.

She looked at Ronan. He stood there frozen, blade raised. Gregor was on the ground now, writhing in agony, his screams garbled as the acid ate away his throat.

Ashyn turned Wenda away. Then she ran forward, dagger raised. Behind her, Ronan shouted. He lunged at her. Yelled for her to stop. She kept going, covering the distance between her and the worm—

It turned with lightening speed, twisting its body. She saw that terrible mouth open, the teeth flicking out like blades. A stream of acid shot straight for her face. Then the ground disappeared under her feet as Ronan whipped her back. She heard the patter of the acid hitting her shoulder. Heard the sizzle as it burned through her cloak. Heard Wenda scream and twisted to see the worm, seeming to fly at them across the rocks, so fast it was a red blur—

Ronan threw her aside. She hit the rock and scrambled up just in time to see his blade flash. The worm reared, spitting. Wenda screamed. The blade sliced through the worm, and its head fell, cleaved clean off.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ashyn was on her feet and running to Ronan. He shoved his sword bladefirst into the sand, and was fumbling to get out of his tunic. Holes dotted the thin fabric. As she helped him out of it, she saw the acid had passed through, a line of it across his chest, holes searing to the skin.

She fetched water, and splashed it on his wounds. As she did, she heard a little voice in her head telling her to be more careful, not to waste it; this was all they had. But she didn’t care. She’d use the whole waterskin if she needed to. Finally, it was Ronan who stopped her, fingers clasping her arm as he said, “That’s enough,” through teeth gritted against the pain.

She looked at the wounds, raw and ugly, a line of spots across his chest where the skin had burned away.

“I need to bind them,” she said. “Keep them dry and clean. I have an extra tunic—”

“Later,” he said. “You need to tend to your own wounds.”

She shook her head. “They’re only minor burns.”

“Then we have to get out of here, in case that wasn’t the only one.”

He looked at the worm, and she was sure he shuddered. Then they heard a faint gurgling sound. They looked over together.

“Gregor,” Ashyn whispered. “He’s still alive; I need to tend to—”

Ronan caught her by the wrists. “Take the child. Start walking. Stay off the sand.”

“But I need—”

“You can’t,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know you can’t.”

She looked at Gregor’s mutilated hands. Listened to his gurgles as he tried to scream through his ruined throat. She thought of Beatrix. Of her face beneath her hands.

“Take the child. Now, Ashyn.”

He pushed her toward Wenda, and she was about to refuse when she saw the girl staring at Gregor, her thin chest heaving.

She’s watching a man die horribly. And I’m letting her.

Ashyn scooped Wenda up and held the girl’s face against her shoulder as she hurried away. Tova followed. She could still hear Gregor’s agonized gurgling. And then, she couldn’t.

Holding Wenda’s face to her shoulder, Ashyn looked back to see Ronan standing above Gregor’s still body. He stepped aside and plunged his blade into the sand to clean it.

He killed Gregor.

No, he ended Gregor’s suffering. Would you have him leave the man to die a slow, tortured “natural” death?

Ronan looked over. He saw her watching. He hesitated. Then he motioned that he’d gather their belongings when a shape reared up behind him.

“Ronan!” she shouted.

He turned sharply. Too sharply, slipping in the sand, one foot shooting out. She dropped Wenda and raced toward him. Ronan was on one knee, frozen in place. The worm was poised in front of him, swaying back and forth, as if it somehow couldn’t see him.

She heard her sister’s voice, telling her tale to the children.

“Death worms have no eyes. They spend so long in the dark that they have little need of them. Instead, they sense the vibrations of the earth and the currents in the air. So, if you ever meet a death worm—”

“Don’t move!” Ashyn shouted. “It can’t see you if you don’t move.”

She raised her dagger as the distance between them closed. She’d stab it behind the head so it couldn’t whip around and spray her. Use a downward stroke, driving its head down, so it wouldn’t spray Ronan.

Yes, see? I can do this. I just need to think it through—

The worm whipped in her direction.

Think it through… and forget the fact that I’m thundering toward a creature that can feel me coming.

The worm shot straight at her. She threw the dagger—a move that would have been so much smarter if she’d accepted any of those dagger-throwing lessons Moria had tried to foist on her.

The dagger sailed harmlessly off to the side as the worm raced toward her. She froze then. Went completely still and sent up a prayer to the spirits—

The worm seemed to rear up suddenly. Then its head flew, hewed from its body, with Ronan standing behind it, still swinging his blade.

Ashyn watched as the two pieces of the worm twitched on the sand. When they went still, she took a deep shuddering breath as Ronan cleaned his blade.

“We need to go,” she said. “Quickly. Before another comes.”

“That was the same one,” he said, gesturing at the worm.

“What? No. You killed…”

She moved forward, being careful not to step in whatever was seeping from the worm’s torso. That torso had both ends cut clean.

She heard Moria whisper, “Beware if you chop off a death worm’s head. It has another in its tail, teeth and all, and it’ll come back. And then you’ll have an even bigger problem, because the part you chopped off? It will—”

Across the campsite, she could see the first head segment twitching. Regenerating.

She pointed. “It’s coming back. This one will, too. We need to—”

“Take the girl. Start moving.”

“You can’t kill—”

“I’m not going to try,” he said. “Now move.”

There was even less time for Ashyn to perform a ritual for the dead now. She had to do it as they ran, moving as fast as they could while staying far from the sand. Ashyn suspected death worms could not truly gnaw through rock, as her sister claimed. By this point, though, she wasn’t taking any chances.

First shadow stalkers. Then death worms. Both had featured prominently in her sister’s stories, along with snow dragons and thunder hawks and fiend dogs—

Perhaps it’s best not to recite the entire list. While she was quite certain she could not conjure the beasts merely by imagining them, she was not going to tempt fate.

Finally, around midmorning, they had to stop. Wenda’s legs had given out long ago, and neither Ashyn nor Ronan could carry the child another step. They rested past midday, then started off again.

They said little as they walked. Ashyn wanted to talk to Ronan about the death worms, but she didn’t dare in front of Wenda, for fear of frightening her all the more.

Beatrix and Gregor were dead. They were truly the only survivors of Edgewood.

No, she reminded herself each time the thought surfaced. The children were alive. And Moria.

They ran out of water before nightfall. They’d tried to drink sparingly, but the sun beat down on the lava plains. So they’d drunk what they needed, and soon it was gone. After they made camp, Ronan set out in search of water, but Ashyn knew there was little chance he’d find it. They’d been scouring the horizon all day for any sign of greenery.

When Ronan returned with nothing, they decided to sleep and make an early start of it. Ronan thought they were only a day or two from Fairview. They’d try to travel in the morning and evening, resting under the midday sun.

She stayed with Wenda until the girl fell asleep. She’d spent the day reassuring and calming the child. Once Wenda slept, Ashyn went over to where Ronan sat guard atop a boulder.

“You’ll wake me so I can take a turn?” she said as Ronan patted Tova’s head. “When the moon reaches its zenith?”

He nodded unconvincingly.

“You must,” she said. “We need you to be rested. In case anything else happens. I’m not…” She looked down at the dagger, held awkwardly at her side. “I didn’t follow my lessons the way Moria did. As I’m sure you could tell.”

“You did fine.”

He said it easily, empty reassurance. She hadn’t done fine. She knew that.

“Perhaps you could teach me,” she said.

“Not tonight. We shouldn’t expend the energy.”

Her cheeks heated. “I didn’t mean tonight. Just… sometime.”

Another absent nod.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For saving me. Again.”

He shrugged, his gaze surveying the empty plain. “You saved me, too.”

It wasn’t the same. She’d simply alerted him to danger.

He continued looking about the plain. Ending the conversation. He was tired, and she was distracting him from guard duty with meaningless chatter.

She started walking away.

“You seemed to know what that thing was,” he said without turning, as if he hadn’t noticed her leaving.

“A death worm,” she said.

He glanced at her, his expression blank.

“Like in the old tales?” she said.

He eased over, as if making room for her. When she took a cautious step closer, he shifted more.

“Not many bards in my life,” he said. “Or time for tales.”

“Moria’s the expert. Shadow stalkers, death worms, corpse dragons, fiend dogs, thunder hawks…” She lowered herself beside him. “She loves monster stories and grisly stories, and she tells them to the village children. She says she does it to get rid of them, but she knows they love it, and they love her for it. They follow her around hoping for more.”

“I wager they do,” Ronan said, as if he, too, would follow Moria for a story. “So she’s the one who told you about these… death worms? That’s what they’re called?”

Ashyn told him what she knew, then said, “I’ve never heard any other story mention the part about chewing through rock. I suspect that’s one of Moria’s embellishments. It doesn’t make nearly as good a tale if the monster can’t actually get you where you live.”

He chuckled, then sobered. “The Wastes are lava. The rock doesn’t go down forever. They must be living under it, and they come up in the sand if they hear someone.”

Ashyn shook her head. “Death worms aren’t real.”

“That one looked real to me. Felt real, too.” He touched his chest and winced.

“I mean they aren’t supposed to be real. Just like shadow stalkers. Something or someone has brought them to life.”

Ronan frowned. “How?”

“Sorcery.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Ah. Of course.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“That depends. Are you serious?”

She started to stand up, but he caught her arm.

“I didn’t mean to mock you, Ashyn. It’s just… sorcery? I suppose in a place like Edgewood they still believe in that sort of thing. Old superstitions.”

She glowered at him. “And how would you explain it?”

“Do we know for certain that these creatures don’t exist? Perhaps it’s just that no one—”

“If you say that no one who sees them ever lives to tell the tale, I’ll scream. That’s what my sister always says.”

He laughed. “I’ll not say she’s right, but think of it this way: What if there were things like death worms in past ages? That would explain the tales. Since then, most of the creatures have died, but there are still a few, in far-flung places like the Wastes. So few that they’re rarely spotted, and when they are, some might live to tell the tale, but who would believe them? Such creatures aren’t supposed to exist.”

“And the shadow stalkers?”

“Spirits are real. Everyone knows that. Shadow stalkers are a twisted form of them. The Forest of the Dead is an unnatural place. It’s filled with the spirits of the damned, however hard the Seeker works to put those spirits at rest. Does it not make sense, then, that that bad spiritual energy could warp itself into shadow stalkers, waiting for the right opportunity?”

“Waiting for me,” she whispered. “A weak Seeker. One who can’t hold them back.”

“I meant the blood moon. I saw it, even if you didn’t.”

“But it’s true that I’m a weak Seeker. In past springs, the court Seeker came. She’s powerful. I’m not. I wasn’t ready. I tried but—”

“This wasn’t your fault.”

She said nothing, but sat there, her stomach twisting. Tova rose from his spot behind her and nudged her face.

“Tova’s agreeing with me,” Ronan said. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

She said nothing.

“Ashyn…”

“I don’t think I caused it. I just think I ought to have been able to stop it. I ought to have been stronger. Moria…”

“Your sister couldn’t stop it either.”

“But she tried. She came for me, and she got us out. She fought every threat.”

Even our father. I fear I’d have stood there and let that thing kill me.

He moved closer. “You don’t need to be like your sister. You didn’t break down when faced by death worms. You remembered what they were and how to deal with them. You tended my wounds. Don’t forget, you found Beatrix.”

“I tripped over Beatrix’s dead body.”

His lips twitched. “Ah, yes. Sorry. But you still found her.”

She gave him a look, and he laughed softly, then he leaned closer until she could see the sparkle of his eyes in the darkness, feel the warmth of his breath on her cold skin, and then he was right there, his face in front of hers.

“You did fine,” he said.

She nodded, scarcely able to draw breath as she waited, her gaze locked with his. He leaned closer. His lips parted. “Now go to bed,” he whispered. “You need your rest.” He backed away, giving Tova a pat, and then shooing them both off.

“I’ll call you for a shift later,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

And that was it. She hung there feeling confused and cheated. Then embarrassed and annoyed with herself.

“Ashyn?” he called as she began walking away.

She looked back.

“You are doing fine,” he said. “We’re going to make it.”

She nodded and hurried to her sleeping blanket.

TWENTY-NINE

They found no water the next morning, and the sun seemed hotter than ever. Ashyn remembered tales of travelers to Edgewood, those who’d come late in summer, when some of the oases had gone dry. They’d told of having to drink their own urine. I could never be so desperate, she’d thought at the time. By midday she was reconsidering.

They’d found an outcropping of rock that provided some shade for a rest. Wenda was so weak she’d fallen straight asleep. Once the sun started to drop, they’d headed off again, but Wenda could barely walk, and when they prodded her, she’d vomited, losing what little liquid her body had retained. Neither had the strength to carry her. As for Tova, the hound was the worst off of them all, trapped in his heavy coat.

After Ashyn settled Wenda into her sleeping blankets, she found Ronan sitting guard.

“How is she?” he asked.

Poorly. That was the truth, but he didn’t need to hear it. “Well enough.”

He shifted as if restless. When he noticed she was still standing, he waved for her to sit, but as soon as she did, he stood and peered out across the lava plains.

“I know you want to keep moving,” she said.

He looked down, as if startled. Then he gave a short laugh. “No. Well, yes, I would but… Do you know what I’m truly doing?”

“What?”

He lowered himself again. “Promise not to laugh?”

“Of course.”

“I’m looking for water to steal.”

She choked on a laugh.

“You promised,” he said, waggling his finger. “Yes, I know, it’s ridiculous. Obviously there’s no one here to steal water from. I just can’t shake the urge. That’s how I was raised. If you need something and you don’t have it, you take it from someone else.”

She nodded and watched Tova as he settled in beside her.

Ronan’s gaze slid her way. “You’ve never asked me why I was condemned to the forest. I’ll presume that means you’d rather not know.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t ask because that would be rude.”

Now it was his turn to sputter a laugh. Then he leaned his shoulder against hers, briefly, but enough to make her cheeks heat.

“I ought to have guessed you were simply being polite,” he said. “I’ll tell you my crime, then. Selfish of me, but I’ll feel better if there are no illusions for me to shatter.” He sobered. “We killed a minister. He wasn’t supposed to die. It was a robbery. We ran a… a scheme. With a woman my father… spent time with. She used to… entertain men.”

He cleared his throat. “That part isn’t important. The point is that we had a scheme for robbing rich men while they were… otherwise occupied. It had worked many times. This time, something went wrong. We were caught.”

He went quiet then, for so long that she thought that was the end of his story.

“No,” he continued. “I was caught. Things went wrong and I didn’t get out quickly enough, and my uncle… It doesn’t matter who killed the minister. We were all responsible. So we were all exiled.”

“Including your father?” she asked.

He nodded.

“So he perished in the forest?”

“He hung himself shortly after we arrived. He… was a man given to extremes. Life was wonderful or life was hopeless. Once we were abandoned in the forest, he gave up.”

And abandoned you. That’s what she thought, and the anger that flared in her gut had nothing to do with Ronan for his thievery or his uncle for killing the minister. His father had committed the worst crime. He had brought his son into that life, and when things went wrong, he abandoned him in the Forest of the Dead. Ronan might joke that he was selfish, but that was true selfishness.

As she judged Ronan’s father, she was well aware that her mother had also taken her own life. But it was not the same. It could not be less the same.

When Ashyn and Moria were born, their mother had kept their twin birth a secret for very good reason. Because when the girls were discovered, their local governor would inform his warlord. The warlord would tell the marshal, who would, as soon as possible, dispatch a nursing Hound of the Immortals and nursing Wildcat of the Immortals.

This great hound and wildcat would be deprived of food from the moment they left their kennels. When they reached the twins’ village, the babies would be put into a room. The starving beasts would be put in with them at dawn. The door would be closed and not reopened until dusk, no matter what terrible sounds emanated from within.

If the babes were truly a Seeker and Keeper, they would be found nestled with the beasts, suckling, the Seeker with the hound and the Keeper with the wildcat. Then they would be given the best pup and kitten from the hound and wildcat’s litters, as their bond-beasts, and the family would be transported with much pomp and circumstance to their future post.

If the twins were not a Seeker and a Keeper? Then the starving beasts would do what all starving beasts did when left alone with defenseless prey. It was said that the chance of twins being blessed was one in a hundred. Those were the odds her mother had faced. That was why she had tried to run with her daughters. When she’d been caught, she’d taken her own life not in despair, but to ensure the girls’ father would not be implicated. Take all the blame on herself. Let their father live, for his sake and their daughters’. There was nothing selfish in that.

Ashyn realized then that she’d been quiet too long after Ronan’s confession. He was fussing again, obviously uncomfortable now, as if her silence judged him.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she said.

He glanced over sharply, as if that was not the answer he expected.

“I’m sorry about your father and your uncle. I can’t imagine how difficult that was.”

He met her gaze. “I think you can, Ashyn.”

She nodded and looked away.

Ronan reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ll get you out of here. You and Tova and Wenda. And we’ll find Moria.” He paused. “I’m going to keep walking.”

“What?” She stared at him. “Tonight?”

He nodded. “We can’t be far now. I’ll get water and come back.”

“How will you see your way?” She waved up at the cloudy sky.

A tired smile. “I’m a thief, remember? I see very well in the dark. The road is clearly marked. Waiting until morning will only mean we’ve gone that much longer without water. With luck, I’ll be heading back before you wake.”

“I shouldn’t have used up the water.”

“You were worried about my wounds.” He managed a strained smile. “I can’t fault you for that.” He brushed off his breeches and leaned over to give Tova a pat. “I should probably leave now. I was planning to as soon as we’d spoken.” He waved at what she’d thought was a rock. It was his pack. He stood. “I’ll find us water, and I’ll see you soon.”

He hefted his pack, offered her one last smile, and set out across the lava plains.

Ashyn woke to Tova growling. When she lifted her head, she could see only his pale shape, so close she could smell his fur. The sky was dark gray.

As Wenda stirred beside her, Ashyn looked up at Tova. His big head moved, as if tracking something. She tried to listen, but all she could pick up was Tova’s growling, growing louder until she could feel the vibration of it.

“What’s wrong?” Wenda asked.

Ashyn shushed her, then softened it with a reassuring pat.

Tova was turning his whole body now, his nails scratching the rock as he moved, his gaze fixed in the distance.

Another death worm?

Ashyn sucked in air, but reminded herself that they hadn’t seen sand or soil in a day.

As she sat up, she heard a scraping to her left. She caught movement. When she glanced over, it stopped, but she could make out the faint outline of a human figure.

Tova started walking slowly in that direction. Ashyn crawled from her sleeping blankets, staying on all fours, ready to follow Tova—

She heard a crack behind her. Something struck her, fast and hard, searing her skin, wrapping around her neck and yanking her up as Wenda screamed. Ashyn’s hands flew to her neck as the cord tightened, cutting off her air. Tova let out a roar and raced behind Ashyn. The cord tightened again as if he’d grabbed it in his teeth. Then it slackened, and as she yanked it off, she fell to the hard rock.

She heard another roar and lifted her head to see Tova leaping onto a dark figure. Both went down. A man screamed. Then Tova threw the man aside, his body falling limply as Tova stood there, snarling, his legs planted, fur on end.

“The dog!” a man shouted. “Shoot it!”

“No!” Ashyn screamed.

She ran for Tova and threw herself over him. Something hit her shoulder, piercing right through her cloak and tunic. Then another, this one catching in her cloak before clattering to the rock. Arrows.

“Get off the dog, girl!” a man shouted.

“It’s not a dog!” Wenda shouted. “It’s a Hound of the Immortals. And that’s the Seeker.”

Laughter echoed seemingly from every direction. Ashyn’s heart pounded, but she stayed on Tova and slid out her dagger, keeping it hidden under her.

“All right, Seeker,” a man’s voice said, mocking, drawing closer.

He stepped from the darkness. He had the coppery skin and eyes of one from the distant desert lands. His head was shaven and he stood at least half a head taller than any man she knew, with broad shoulders and burly arms, bare despite the cool night air. His filthy clothing was covered in silver beads, an odd display of wealth on such shabby apparel. When he smiled, his teeth shone, too, his front ones silver-coated.

A bandit.

Another man sidled up behind him, smaller, with lighter skin and braids.

“Look at that hair,” he said, his voice breathy. “The color of the setting sun.”

The big man snorted. “Have you never seen a Northerner? Skin pale as a fish belly. Hair like dirty straw.” His lip curled in distaste. “We’d be lucky to find a man willing to take her to bed.”

“Oh, I’d be willing,” the smaller man chortled. “I think you need spectacles, Barthol, if you think that hair resembles straw. And those eyes? Like a summer sky.”

The big man—Barthol—shook his head. “On your feet, girl. Mind your cur.”

“It’s not a cur,” Wenda said. “It’s a Hound—”

“Yes, yes,” Barthol said. “It’s a poxed Hound of the—”

He broke off as Tova rose. Then he stared at the huge hound. Behind him, the smaller man whispered, “By the spirits…”

“His name is Tova,” Ashyn said, as loud as she could while keeping her voice steady. “I am Ashyn of Edgewood. I am the Seeker who guards the Forest of the Dead. He is my bond-beast.”

The smaller man dropped to his knees. “My lady. I meant no offense with my joking—”

“Oh, don’t grovel,” Barthol muttered. “She’s a girl, barely old enough to be sold to a whorehouse.”

“Barthol!” the other man said.

Another man stepped forward, still hidden in the dark. “Fyren’s right, Barthol. Our customs may not be yours, but you ought to show some respect. The girl is blessed by the spirits.”

“I know what a Seeker is. A rare and valuable creature.” Barthol smiled, teeth shimmering. “The empire will pay well to ransom her.”

“Ransom?” Fyren choked on the word, sputtering. “A Seeker? They’d exile us all to her forest… after they burned out our tongues for blasphemy.”

Noises of assent came from the darkness.

“It’s true,” Ashyn said. “You cannot ransom me. But if you found me and the child—the last survivors of our village, dying of thirst in the Wastes—and you gave us water and escorted us to Fairview, you would be handsomely rewarded.”

“Last survivors?” Fyren said. “What do you mean?”

“I will tell you,” she said. “When you bring water for the child.”

As Ashyn soon realized, the bandit leader—Barthol—was not a stupid man. One doesn’t rise to that position without at least a feral intelligence. He dismissed her stories of shadow stalkers and death worms as the panicked ravings of a girl who’d spent too long in the sun without water, but her suggestion of a reward struck him as rational and sensible. They would escort Ashyn and Wenda to Fairview.

The bandits had plenty of water and food, and strong men willing to carry the child. Fairview was less than a half day’s walk, they said, and they set out immediately, lighting the way with lanterns.

As they walked, Ashyn watched for Ronan. She did not mention him—the bandits might fear competition for that reward and send a runner ahead to make sure he didn’t reach Fairview alive. Wenda took the hint and stayed silent as well.

THIRTY

It was barely midmorning when they reached Fairview. Wenda had seen it first, from her perch on a bandit’s shoulders. She’d cried out so suddenly that the man nearly dropped her. Ashyn looked up and there it was, the whitewashed clay buildings shimmering under the sun.

The bandits sent a runner ahead, before the village guards trooped out with their blades flashing. When the party drew close enough to see warriors in the guard stations—and the runner hadn’t returned—Barthol sent another. Both came back escorted by armed guards.

Ashyn had her speech prepared. She didn’t need it. The guards took one look at Tova and a second at her, and they ordered the bandits back. The warriors surrounded her like a shield and took her to the village.

The governor was waiting at the gate when they arrived. When she drew close enough to see his jowly face, he dipped his chin and bent one knee in a stiff bow.

“Ashyn of Edgewood,” he said. “It has been many summers, Seeker.”

She remembered him then. He’d visited Edgewood nearly ten summers ago.

“Sir.” She gave a slight bow, as taught by the court Seeker. Always show respect but never genuflect. Remember who you are. Remind them who you are.

“I bring you news of Edgewood,” she said. “The village is no more.”

The governor shifted his bulk and glanced at Barthol. “I heard something of that from the runner these men sent. I need to hear more, of course. After you have rested and been fed.” He waved to the guards to bring her inside.

“Wait,” Ashyn said. “There were children, from my village. They were taken by men. Are they here?”

“No, Seeker. We have seen no one but your party in a fortnight.”

“And my twin sister? You have not seen the Keeper?”

He dropped his gaze and shook his head. “No.”

He said something else then—platitudes and reassurances from his tone—but she didn’t hear the words. He’d said the only thing that mattered.

Moria was not here.

Ashyn let the guards lead her through the gates.

Fairview was not like Edgewood. Ashyn realized that as soon as they entered. Of course, it looked different, with rounded, whitewashed buildings instead of squared, rough-hewn wood. And they were close enough to the edge of the Waste that villagers had brought in plenty of soil for yard gardens. But it was more than that. The people were… not the same.

They looked the same, of course. Mostly native to the region, though it was hard to tell because she saw few villagers as she was escorted through. In Edgewood, by this time of day the streets would have been humming with voices and laughter, footfalls and cart wheels, everyone off and about on their daily chores. Fairview was so quiet that her heart almost stopped, stricken by the irrational fear that she was walking into another empty town, decimated by shadow stalkers. That passed, of course. There were guards and a governor and villagers, just very few of them, most hurrying inside.

The windows along their path were battened shut. As they passed, she’d hear one open, and glance over to catch a flash of a face before it banged shut again.

“Do you get sandstorms here?” she said.

“We do,” panted the governor, as he struggled to keep up. “Thankfully, they are rare. But the people have retreated because I sent a messenger to clear your path, Seeker. You do not need to be gaped at.”

She murmured her thanks and continued on down the empty street.

Seeker, a voice whispered, so faint she could barely hear it. It is a Seeker.

It had been so long since she’d heard and felt ancestral spirits that her eyes filled with tears.

“I am Ashyn of Edgewood,” she murmured, too low for her escorts to hear. “Seeker of the Forest.”

The forest. Ashyn of Edgewood. Seeker.

They seemed merely to repeat her words, voices running together.

“I’m looking for—” she began.

“Who are you talking to?” Wenda asked.

Ashyn smiled and patted Tova. “Just Tova. He’s not used to new places. I’m reassuring him.”

The hound chuffed, supporting her lie. When Wenda’s attention turned away, Ashyn listened for the spirits, but they’d slipped away. She was alone. Again.

The governor left Ashyn and Wenda in his guesthouse. It was unlike any house either of them had ever seen, with silk drapes and cushioned chairs piled with embroidered pillows.

The governor had said he’d return at midday. Soon after they’d arrived, two women had come with food and drink, richer than either girl was accustomed to. Not just honey cakes, but peach jelly and green-tea biscuits and dried persimmons and fruits they’d never seen. Wenda chattered endlessly about the food and the room and the village and the bandits until Ashyn longed to say, “Be still, please, just be still.” She wanted to retreat into her thoughts and ponder their situation, but the girl had been so strong during the trip, never complaining. Now, as the ordeal ended, her grief and fear must all be rushing in, and she was dealing with it through girlish chatter.

After the meal, the two women returned with clothing— dresses of linen and silk. Any other time, Ashyn would have delighted in the gifts. Right now, she was only glad that they were clean.

Soon she’d be clean, too. They’d brought buckets of hot water for the tub. Wenda was in no hurry to wash, which gave Ashyn an excuse to retreat into the next room for a quiet bath.

It was then, as she stood by the steaming tub, that she broke down and cried. A silly thing to bring tears. But she saw that tub, and she thought of all the times Moria had drawn a bath for her. She’d come all this way, and she’d been so certain Moria would have at least have come through.

Perhaps the kidnappers had passed by Fairview in the dark of night, so as not to be caught with their captives.

But why had they taken the children captive at all? If for ransom, would they not have stopped here? The governor could send a fast horse to his warlord or straight to the court.

Ashyn slid absently from her tunic and breeches. Still in her silk shift, she checked the water. It was a little hot. The women had left a bucket of cool water, too, and she was pouring it in when a hand slapped over her mouth, another grabbing the bucket. She fought, but her attacker dropped the bucket silently into the water-filled tub, and his other hand went around her waist to hold her still.

Why wasn’t Tova attacking—?

“It’s me,” a voice whispered. “Ronan.”

As she relaxed, he released her slowly, as if still expecting her to struggle. She turned and, without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and whispered, “I was worried about you.”

“No need to be.” She moved back and his gaze dropped. “But with a welcome like that, perhaps I ought to disappear more often.”

She blushed, snatched up her tunic, and tugged it on. He motioned for her to stay quiet.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he whispered. “I was waiting until you were making noise pouring the water, so you wouldn’t cry out and alert the guards.”

“Guards?”

“There are two at every door. One at every window. I had to come through the roof.”

“Because of the bandits?”

“Those men aren’t bandits, Ashyn. They’re mercenaries. They didn’t just happen upon you in the Wastes. It was their mission to bring you here.”

“What—?”

He covered her mouth again. “Shhh. I don’t know exactly what’s going on. I only overheard enough to know that whoever they work for has this whole town terrified—the governor, the guards, and the villagers.”

She remembered the governor’s lowered gaze, the villagers fleeing before her, the closed shutters.

“An entire town?” she whispered. “How?”

“Again, I don’t know. But the children of Edgewood are here, too.”

This time he seemed to anticipate her exclamation, and covered her mouth.

“I don’t know how or why. Moria isn’t with them. That’s all I could tell. They’re being held captive. The whole town seems to be held captive. But I’m going to get you and Tova out.”

The door opened. Wenda walked in. She saw Ronan. Ashyn flew across the room before she could cry out.

“Yes, it’s Ronan,” she said. “He had to sneak in. Something’s wrong. The children are being held here.”

“How?” Wenda asked.

“I don’t know, but Moria isn’t with them.”

“Then he lies,” Wenda said, turning on Ronan. “The boy lies.”

The boy? Ashyn had never heard Wenda call him that. Nor had she heard that hard edge in the child’s voice.

“I saw Moria. I know I did.” Wenda’s tone changed now. Childish indignation.

Ashyn relaxed. “I’m sure you did. She must have escaped. Now, Ronan’s going to lead us out—”

Wenda looked alarmed. “Out? Why?”

Ashyn explained as quickly as she could.

“And you believe him?” Wenda said when she finished. “He’s a thief.”

Ashyn felt a surge of anger. “Who helped us through the Wastes.”

“Because he wanted a reward. Which he doesn’t think he’ll get because he abandoned us out there.”

Reward? When had the child heard that? They’d never discussed it. Nor had they told Wenda that Ronan was a thief.

Ronan had moved forward and was watching Wenda, his eyes narrowing.

Wenda went on. “If these bandits stole the children, why wouldn’t they have taken us captive at Edgewood? Why let us come across the Wastes alone?”

Now Ashyn stared at Wenda. This did not sound like the words of a child, nor the reasoning of a child.

“We can’t go!” Wenda said suddenly, childlike again, tears springing to her eyes. “We can’t! Ronan’s wrong, Ashyn. He must be. He’s made a mistake.” She looked up at her. “We’re safe now. We have food and water, and they’re taking care of us. We can’t go back out there.”

“Then you can stay,” Ronan said. “Ashyn?”

She looked from Ronan to Wenda. Outside, she heard voices.

“They’re coming,” Ronan said. “We must go. The child will be safe.” He turned to Wenda. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I, boy,” she snarled. Her eyes turned orange, a bright, glowing orange, even the whites suffusing with color. Then she opened her mouth and let out an inhuman shriek as she launched herself at Ronan.