Sea of Shadows (22 page)

Forty-three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moria nodded.

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

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

“Exactly. It’s yours now and—”

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

Ashyn stared down at the wrapped parcel.

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

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

“I’ll give you some privacy—”

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

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

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

To my child whose heart shines as bright as these stones,

It was at a Fire Festival that I met your mother, and I later bought her this ring as a reminder. It’s time to let it shine again, a reminder of the love that brought me my two greatest treasures.

All my love, always,

Father

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

“It’s beautiful,” Moria said.

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

She passed the note to Moria.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

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

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

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

“I can tell.”

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

“We all are. Understandably.”

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

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

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

He frowned. “You were sharp with me?”

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

“Someone . . . ?” He gave her an odd look.

“You said you had someone waiting.”

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

“No, of course not. I just said—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did not—”

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

“I don’t snore.”

He continued teasing her all the way back to camp.

Forty-four

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

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

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

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

“Tov—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Father . . .

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

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

Fire Festival . . .

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

Where did that . . .

Father. Fire Festival.

“Moria?” she said.

“Shhh.”

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

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

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

“Tova?” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shadow stalker.

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

Shadow stalkers. Death worms. Thunder hawks.

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

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

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

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

“W-what are you?” Ashyn asked.

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

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

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

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

“And your name?” Belaset prompted.

“Ashyn of Edgewood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My sister?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” she whispered.

“You know who he is, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Casteless?”

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

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

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

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

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

“We need to escape, then.”

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

“No, we must escape now.”

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

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

“A blade? And you can use it?”

“Adequately.”

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

“S-slit—?”

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

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

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

“Wiles?”

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

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