Sea of Shadows (21 page)

Forty-one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ronan stiffened beside her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snickers now, from the others.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave?” Moria said.

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

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

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

“Then get them to deliver your message.”

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

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

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

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

Silence. Even Moria didn’t speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ashyn looked at the governor and tried to imagine—

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

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

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

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

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

A round of chortles from the other mercenaries.

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

“Enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does your sister speak for you, Keeper?”

Moria managed to nod.

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

“As will I,” Ronan said.

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

Forty-two

T
hey’d been riding since sunrise with no guards other than Gavril and Ronan. There was no need of more. They were plainly dressed and armed, making them a poor target for bandits. Having no guards also meant there was no one to ensure they went to court. Again, unnecessary. Barthol’s threats bound them to their task.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t
squawk
,” Ashyn said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ashyn’s cheeks heated.

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

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

Ronan got to his feet. “Ashyn is—”

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

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

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

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

“Go, Keeper. I’ll tend to your cat.”

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

“Come, then,” Moria said. “Time for class.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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