Sea of Shadows (19 page)

Thirty-seven

T
hey had been on the road for five days now. Gavril believed they were approaching Fairview. Moria hoped so. She still worried about Daigo’s wounds.

As for Gavril, he’d been a better companion since the thunder-hawk fight. That sense of calm had, for the most part, stayed. He still confused debate with conversation, but if Moria was being honest, that was her preference as well. She had little patience for idle chatter, and a lively discussion kept her entertained on the mind-numbing walk.

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

“Is that . . . a mirage?” she asked.

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

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

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

“And the children?”

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

“Does evil need a purpose?”

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

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

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

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

She wheeled and took off, Daigo at her side.

“Keeper!”

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

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

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

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

She made a face at him and took off.

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

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

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

“Welcome, Keeper.”

Gavril walked up beside her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will not enter until I see—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moria straightened. “I do.”

He whispered something to a man near him. The man loped off into the village. Moria and Gavril waited in silence. When the man returned, leading two women with hoods hiding their faces, the true guards stiffened. The big man shot them a look, and they dropped their gazes and shuffled back.

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

“Is this your sister?” he asked.

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

“So it is not your sister?”

“No.”

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

He’s making me watch her die.

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

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

“Is this your sister?”

Moria glared at him as hate bubbled in her gut.

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

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

She brushed past him and strode toward the gates.

Ashyn

Thirty-eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And Tova?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll figure—”

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

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

“Without a reward.”

His face darkened, and he set down his plums.

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

“You could come.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need looking after, Ronan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”