Sea of Shadows (24 page)

Forty-seven

T
he inn was a two-story wooden building with communal dining and bathing areas. Stairs led up the side to a balcony that stretched across the front and back, with rooms along each side. The inn was not large, and it was already crowded, the four of them needing to cram into one small room with a sleeping mat for two.

“It was that or the stables,” Ronan said after he’d secured lodgings while they waited outside. “The girls won’t mind sleeping on the bare floor, I’m sure.”

“You won’t mind sleeping in the stable, I’m sure,” Moria said. “Which is where you’ll end up if you attempt to put me on the floor.”

“Moria should be on a mat,” Ashyn said as they tramped up the outside steps to their room. “After that fight and a long day’s ride, she’ll be stiff and sore. Gavril, too. They should both take the—” She realized what she was suggesting and stopped short.

“I’m quite fine,” Gavril said. “The girls ought to take the mat. Particularly you, Keeper. The fight was much harder on you.”

Moria shot her fist at him. When they reached the balcony, she said, “If Ashyn’s offering the bed, we ought to take it. They’ll have one tomorrow night.”

Ashyn’s cheeks heated—and she was sure Gavril’s did, too, even if she couldn’t see it. Ronan seemed to be biting back a laugh.

When Moria caught Gavril’s expression, she rolled her eyes. “Daigo can sleep between us. To keep you on your own side.”

“
I’m
hardly the problem, Keeper. You flail. And snore.”

“How would you know?” Ronan asked.

“She does,” Ashyn cut in to save the young warrior from a reply. “She takes all the covers, flails about like she’s in battle, and snores almost as loudly as Daigo.”

The wildcat was not there to defend himself. They’d asked Tova and Daigo to remain below for now, in the adjacent stretch of forest. They’d sneak them up after dark.

They reached their room. When Moria opened the door, it was even smaller than they’d anticipated, barely big enough to fit the sleeping mat.

“I’m not sure we can get Tova or Daigo in here with us,” Ashyn said as they crowded inside.

“It was honestly this or the stables,” Ronan said. “That’s where the traders behind me ended up.”

“They truly rent room in the stables?” Ashyn asked.

“And the kitchen and the dining room, and probably the bath if they get an offer.”

“I would suggest that Ronan and I find room in the stables,” Gavril said. “But after last night, I’m not certain it’s wise to separate.”

“It isn’t,” Ashyn said. “We’ll squeeze in. For now, you and Moria rest up here, in whatever configuration suits you. Ronan and I will go down to dinner.”

When Ronan and Ashyn went back downstairs, Ashyn lowered the hood on her cloak. Dining with it on would call too much attention to them, and Northerners were hardly unknown in the empire. The problem was only if the girls were seen together.

Indeed, their entrance into the dining hall attracted little attention. There was an entire trading party of Northerners there who nodded when they saw Ashyn, their gazes taking in her manner of dress and deciding she was not truly “from the North,” and therefore required no more greeting than the nod.

Ronan guided them to one of the long, communal tables. As they knelt on coarse pallets, the innkeeper’s wife came out. She paused and gave Ronan a hard look. The serving girl snickered as she laid down their bowls of rice and pork.

“Are we doing something wrong?” Ashyn whispered when they were gone.

“Not at all.”

She looked back at the girl, whispering to the woman, who was now favoring Ashyn with that hard look. “What did you tell them when we arrived?”

“Only that my brother and I needed rooms for ourselves and our sisters.”

“Sister?” she sputtered. “I no more resemble you than Gavril does. They’re going to think . . .” She stared at him. “They think we’re lovers.”

Now it was Ronan sputtering as he laughed. “I would take more offense at your expression if it was not so adorable, Ash.”

Ash? He’s never called me—
She pushed the thought aside, refusing to be distracted. “You let them believe—”

“Yes, because that is the best explanation for two young men and two young women to be on the road, and it’s the one they’d likely arrive at whatever our story. Would you rather deny it and make them wonder who you truly are?”

“Oh.” She settled back on her heels. “I suppose—”

“That I was correct in doing so, however much the implications might embarrass you?” He grinned, leaned forward, and whispered. “It’s a good thing you were not taken to that harem. It’s not just blades you require lessons in, is it? I would happily offer instruction in that as well if . . .” He trailed off, still smiling. “I’ll stop before your face lights on fire. Drink some water. Just don’t choke on it.”

She was indeed blushing furiously. Furious, too, with him for teasing her, and with herself for reacting.
Like a child,
she thought.
I’m sixteen summers. Out here, in the real empire, I would be a woman now.

I am a woman. The Seeker.

Not like that. She’d be more mature, perhaps no more experienced with men, but at least not blushing and stammering when the subject was raised.

“I apologize,” Ronan said. “I was only teasing.”

The apology only stung all the more, erasing any doubt that she’d reacted like a child.

I don’t want you to see me as a child.

“I forget sometimes that you’re a highborn girl,” he said.

“I’m not highborn. My family is—”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever your family’s caste was, you’ve been raised above that. I ought not treat you like a normal girl.”

“But I
am
—”

“I don’t mean that as it sounded.” He sighed and pushed back from the table. “I’m making a mess of this. I only meant to apologize if I sometimes forget my place.”

“You don’t have a
place
, Ronan. Not with me.”

He waved off the denial. She tried to continue, but her insistence only seemed to make the situation worse. It certainly drove Ronan to silence, eating his meal as she struggled for something to say, something worldly and interesting.

She was gazing around at the other diners, looking for a comment to make, when Ronan said, “I know you’re bothered by what happened last night.” He paused. “Well, obviously, being kidnapped
would
bother you, but I mean the . . . girl. What she did. Helping you and then demanding payment.”

“I’d have happily given her the dagger,” she said. “Even a ring, if it wasn’t this one. But . . . I helped her, too. Perhaps I couldn’t kill that man, but it was my dagger she used and my distraction. Without me, she would not have escaped.”

“You felt betrayed.”

Ashyn considered that. “I think, in some ways, I would
rather
feel betrayed. Then I’d be upset with myself for getting tricked, but this . . . I’m just confused. She didn’t seem angry. She just expected the ring, no matter how important it was to me.”

“Her own family cast her out; she would not understand that your mother’s ring would hold any importance. It is”—he waved his eating sticks—“beyond her comprehension. Demanding the ring was not an insult to you. It was not even an expectation. She was simply seeing if you would give it up. If you did, that was your loss and her gain.” He ate another mouthful. “You said she was casteless. They must take everything they can get. They have no choice. The empire
allows
them no choice.”

“You know people who are casteless.”

He made a noise in his throat and ate a chunk of sticky rice, swallowing before answering. “On the streets, you cannot help but know some.”

“How do they make a living?”

“Begging. Thieving.”

“Belaset said she worked in a, um, brothel. Doing odd jobs. That’s employment, isn’t it? Better than beggary or thievery.”

“I don’t know.” He met her gaze, his dark eyes serious. “Would you find it more honorable to steal for a living? Or to clean shit buckets for whores?”

Her gaze dropped.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to be so blunt—”

“No, it’s not that. I see your point and I feel shamed for not knowing more. There’s no one . . . like that in Edgewood.”

He grunted and took another bite of pork. They ate for a few moments in silence, then he said, his gaze still on his plate, “There’s something I ought to tell you.”

“All right.”

“I . . .” He looked up. Indecision flickered in his eyes. Then he blinked, pulled back a little, and cleared his throat. “When we get to the city, I’m going to leave. Before we enter the gates.”

“What?” Ashyn tried to hide her surprise. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“Under the circumstances, I can no longer expect anything but suspicion from the emperor. He’ll think I may be involved with these mercenaries. You’ll be safe once you’re there, and I’ll be safer if I go my own way.”

“Where?”

“Into the city. Just not through the main gates.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze met hers. “Do you want to see me again, Ashyn?”

Her heart hammered, and she searched his expression. He just sat there, gaze shuttered, waiting.

“I do,” she said carefully. “After all this, I wouldn’t want you to vanish into the city forever.”

“Well, I’ll need to vanish for a day or two. To be safe. Before I go, I’ll speak to Gavril and determine the best way for you to contact me. All right?”

She nodded.

“You’ll contact me when you want to see me?” he said.

Again she nodded, and he seemed to be waiting for some other response, but she didn’t know what.

Finally she said, “Have you told Moria you’ll be leaving?”

“No.”

“I can get her alone, so you can tell her.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t think I need to inform everyone individually. I’ll tell her and Gavril on the road tomorrow. I just wanted you to know first.”

“Thank you.”

He picked up another chunk of sticky rice. “Better finish up here. There’s a mob at the door, and they’re eyeing our table.”

Forty-eight

T
hey started before dawn the next morning, and Ashyn saw the imperial city as the sun rose. The wall soared twice as high as those of Edgewood, yet she could still see the tops of buildings beyond it. Buildings unlike any she’d ever seen—towers of blocks, every story smaller than the one below it, each with a sweeping, curved roof. Atop that was a rod. For lightning, Ronan explained. Being so tall, the rod attracted it, and thus kept it from the wooden buildings below.

The city itself was built into the base of a mountain, one as green as the Forest of the Dead. Beautiful, though, with the sun rising behind it.

Ashyn tried not to gape. Ronan rode close beside her, pointing out what they could see. Her sister seemed more interested in the wall, and was asking Gavril about it—how many gates, how many guards.

“Are you planning your invasion, Moria?” Ronan called.

“More like planning my escape,” she said, looking at the city and shuddering. “I can smell the place from here.”

It was true—the stink of the city was ill-contained by the walls. Ronan said it was because they were near the stables—only imperial horses were permitted on the roads within—but Ashyn was sure that wasn’t all they smelled. It was said ten thousand people lived in the imperial city. When she’d imagined it, she’d pictured a town stretching as far as the eye could see. Except she could see from one end of the wall to the other in one sweep. It was many times the size of Edgewood, but still much smaller than she’d envisioned. Which would explain the smell. And the noise. Even at dawn the cacophony rolled out to greet them.

They were approaching along a tertiary route, through one of the many villages that had sprouted along the city wall. They were all together now, Tova and Daigo having joined them.

As their horses’ hooves clopped along the empty street, a man staggered sleepily from a house. He turned at the sound, his gaze passing over the riders, then stopping as he gaped at the massive hound and wildcat. He went back inside as if deciding he needed more sleep.

“This is where I take my leave,” Ronan murmured, leaning toward Ashyn, not loud enough for Gavril and Moria.

“Already?”

He smiled. “You’re almost in the city, Ashyn.”

Ronan pulled his horse to a halt and slid from the saddle. Ashyn got down, too, to say good-bye. Moria and Gavril didn’t notice, caught up as they were in their conversation. Ashyn was about to call to them, but Ronan stopped her.

“They won’t get far before they notice,” he said as he handed her his reins. “I’ll leave you here, but if you have any troubles in there, any at all, contact me. All right?”

“And if . . .” She swallowed. “If I don’t have troubles, may I still contact you? Or would you rather—”

He stepped forward, his hand going to the back of her head, his mouth lowering to hers. And he kissed her. Not a long kiss, but not a light one either. His lips pressed firmly against hers for a moment, before he backed up.

“I would like it very much if you contacted me,” he said, his hand still behind her head. Another kiss, this one little more than a brushing of the lips, before he released her, murmured good-bye, and left her there, standing in the middle of the road, holding the reins of his horse.

Her sister and Gavril had not seen the kiss. They hadn’t realized that they’d left Ashyn behind until Ronan ran up alongside them for a quick farewell. Ashyn had still been standing like an idiot in the road, holding the horses. It was only when Gavril returned for her that she climbed back onto hers.

Gavril took the reins of Ronan’s horse without a word—and without any suggestion that he would notice her condition even if she’d been swooning, flushed, and half-dressed on the roadside. He was not unkind. He simply paid her little heed at the best of times, and now, as they approached the city, seemed lost again in his thoughts.

Ronan had been right to leave when he did. Shortly after that, their tiny lane joined with the Imperial Way—the road heading to the city gates. That was where, as Moria said, things got interesting.

It was a massive road, big enough for six carts across, lined not with forest or even houses, but with walls, funneling traffic to the gates. So the wildcat and the hound had to remain at their sides, meaning there was no reason to hide Ashyn and Moria.

Gavril didn’t hide his identity either—if he appeared to have snuck into the city, it would smack of shame or treachery. So he removed his cloak, revealing his inked arms, and the girls took off their cloaks, and they rode onto the Imperial Way.

It was, as Moria joked, an effective method of dealing with the solid streams of people. They noticed the riders first. Two identical Northern girls with long red-gold hair, riding side by side. Then they saw Gavril, riding slightly behind and between, his blade drawn, his inked arms bare. Finally, they noticed the beasts. That was usually the point at which they decided they were too close to the riders and stumbled out of the way.

And so, despite the crowd, Ashyn and Moria cut easily through to the gates, where there was a line of those wishing to enter the city. It was generally a quick process, Gavril had said. Travelers paused, ostensibly to state their business, but in truth so the guards could get a look at them. Exiles were marked by a brand on the side of their neck. As well, there were travelers from outside the empire who did not follow its laws and attempted to carry weapons into the city. And, of course, there were criminals whose faces the guards had been told to watch for, though considering that Ronan knew another way in, Ashyn suspected it was a rare and truly foolish criminal who attempted to use the front door. Ronan himself, fortunately, did not bear the exile’s brand—if a convict survived the Forest of the Dead, his exile was considered at an end, so no permanent mark was given.

As they approached the line, their magical crowd-clearing powers proved useful again. They’d stand behind someone who would look back, see the girls and the beasts, and wave them ahead. Sometimes they would be met with lowered eyes and a murmured, “Blessings to you, Seeker and Keeper.” Most just moved aside quickly.

As soon as they drew close enough for the guards atop the wall to see them, one hurried down and spoke to his comrades. Then the line truly did part before them, as two armed guards strode along and ordered everyone back.

Ashyn started to dismount, but Gavril murmured, “No,” and Moria seconded it with a nod. As the guards drew close, Ashyn could see why they stayed on their horses—because it meant they towered over the guards, putting them in a position of power.

Gavril moved his horse forward. “I bring the Keeper and the Seeker of Edgewood.” He didn’t shout, but his voice carried, and around them, a hush fell. “They bear a message for the emperor.”

The guards exchanged a look. Clearly this was not an occurrence for which they had been trained.

“We were not informed of this visit,” one said finally.

“Because that was not possible,” Gavril said. “We bring urgent tidings.
Grave
tidings.”

Another look between the guards.

“These are clearly the Keeper and the Seeker of Edgewood,” Gavril said, his voice hardening. “No more ought need to be said. You will let them pass.”

The crowd behind the guards was parting again, this time for a gray-haired man, an inked warrior. Likely the commander of the gate.

“My apologies to the young Seeker and Keeper. This is unexpected and—” The old man stopped. His gaze went from Gavril’s face to his arms. Then his weathered face broke into a smile. “Gavril Kitsune. Welcome home.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Few would have been able to recognize the tattoos at a distance, and even those who had would likely presume it was only some distant relation of the former marshal.

Gavril discreetly waved for the girls to stay seated, but he dismounted and, for a moment, Ashyn thought he meant to embrace the old warrior. Which proved, she reflected, that she didn’t know Gavril nearly well enough. He only dismounted and bowed.

“Commander Alain,” he said.

The commander clapped Gavril on the back as he straightened. “It is good to see you, son.”

“I would say the same, sir, were it under other circumstances. As I was telling the guards, I’m escorting the Keeper and the Seeker of Edgewood with a message for the emperor, along with ill news.”

He lowered his voice, and Ashyn knew he was telling the commander about Edgewood. The other guards moved closer to eavesdrop, but Ashyn could tell from their expressions that they heard none of it.

As Gavril finished, Commander Alain’s face paled and his gaze shot to the girls. “My sincerest condolences,” he said, with a deep bow. “The imperial city welcomes you. My men will escort you to the court.”

Gavril murmured something, again too low for anyone to hear.

“Yes, of course,” the commander said. “Understandable.” The old man clapped Gavril’s back again. “It
is
good to see you, Gavril. Welcome home.”

A buzz ran through the crowd, and Ashyn realized this was more than an old warrior welcoming a young one. There was a subtext to the words and the effusive greeting. A dangerous subtext, given the crowd’s whispers and murmurs. In welcoming the son of the disgraced former marshal, the commander was making a very public statement.

Ashyn knew that when the emperor exiled Marshal Kitsune, his family was permitted to keep their rank and live in the city, and were accorded all due respect in the court in acknowledgment of the marshal’s long service. It had seemed simple enough. Yet given Gavril’s concerns about appearing to sneak into the city—and now the commander’s reception and the bystanders’ reactions—Ashyn could tell it was not simple at all.

As Gavril walked back, he leaned over to Moria and whispered, “I asked for a small escort kept at a distance. Otherwise, by dusk, people will be saying we were taken to the court under armed guard.”

Moria nodded. “Good idea.”

The commander gave their packs to guards to carry, and two boys led their horses away. No one asked about the riderless fourth horse.