Sea of Shadows (27 page)

Fifty-three

T
he buildings of the imperial court were quiet, the walkways linking them empty. The library was almost clear across the grounds. The most direct path to it cut dangerously close to the Chamber of the Divine, meaning Moria instead had to head through the smaller garden and the warren of buildings that followed. She took a wrong turn, and as she retraced her steps to the garden, she saw Gavril sitting on a bench, staring into the koi pond. Lost in thought. She wouldn’t disturb him.

She started retreating, but he seemed to sense her. He rose and gestured, too subtly for her to figure out what he wanted. Then he began walking away. She hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, jerked his chin, and mouthed, “Follow me.”

She did, keeping her distance. They wound through the manicured garden, eventually coming to a shed. Gavril glanced around and then went inside. She followed, entering as he lit a lantern. He motioned for her to close the door and keep her voice low.

“Is this a secret meeting?” she whispered.

“You should not be seen conferring with me,” he said. “I warned you about that. You cannot risk appearing to have aligned yourself with me. I must seem merely your escort from Edgewood.”

“And as I told you, I’m not concerned—”

“You must be,” he said, his voice harsh. “I mean it, Moria.”

His use of her name told her he was serious.

He peered down into the darkness. “Where’s Daigo?”

“Resting.”

“Is his infection worse?” He sounded alarmed.

“No, but the doctor advised him to rest, and he’s sleeping so soundly he never noticed me leaving.”

“You should have him with you at all times, Keeper.”

“In the imperial court?”

“Particularly in the imperial court.”

She peered at him. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on his face, but she still noticed a faint sheen of perspiration and a tightness to his features. Gavril was usually so good at hiding his emotions that she sometimes wondered if he even had any. But now the worry and fear was so thick she could almost smell them.

“I need to leave,” he said, before she could speak. “That’s why I called you in here. I’ll be gone before the emperor returns.”

“What?”

“I’ve realized my testimony may actually do more harm than good. I shouldn’t be here.”

“So you’re
abandoning
us?”

She’d only meant to get a reaction from him, to break him out of this odd mood and back into the Gavril she knew. But he stiffened before saying, “You’ll be fine. Just keep Daigo with you.”

“You’re running away, then?”

If he did not react to an accusation that he was failing his duty, surely an insult to his honor would work. But once again, there was only that brief flicker of tension, quickly dowsed.

“I am retreating. Yes.”

“What’s wrong, Kitsune?”

“I am uncomfortable here, and you do not require my services any longer—”

She looked up into his face. “What is wrong, Gavril?”

Sweat trickled down his face. She swore she could feel his heart pounding.

“Come with me,” he said quickly, closing the gap between them. “We’ll go away from this. Bring Ashyn.”

“What?”

“War is coming, Moria. You know it is. Whatever that letter demands, the emperor will not bow to threats. War will come, and we’re caught in the middle of it when we don’t need to be. We’ll give the missive to Tyrus. He’ll take it to his father. I trust him to do that. We can leave.”

She stared at him. “What have you eaten?”

She reached up and touched his forehead. He jumped back, but not before she felt his skin, burning hot. “You’re fevered. Someone has poisoned you.” She gripped his arm. “We must get you to the doctor—”

“I’m not poisoned.”

“Then you’re possessed, like Wenda. The Gavril I know would never abandon his duty. Would never run from a threat. You are a warrior, Kitsune, and to even suggest fleeing ahead of a possible war . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“You don’t under—” He stopped and he looked at her. Then he swallowed and took a slow step back, his hand going to his forehead. “Yes, I am fevered. I have not eaten or drunk anything but . . .” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You are right, of course. I’m unwell, perhaps from the strain of the journey.”

“And perhaps
from
not eating or drinking.”

He nodded. “I apologize for my outburst. It was . . .” A sharp shake of his head. “Madness. I ought to speak to the doctor.”

“So you aren’t leaving the city?”

“No. I’ll stay the course. I must.” Another deep breath, his gaze lowered. “I must.” He rolled his shoulders and shoved back his braids, and when he spoke again, his tone had returned to its usual clip. “But I was quite serious about you wandering without Daigo, Keeper. You shouldn’t be poking about at all.”

“I’m not poking about. I’m heading to the library.”

“To read? Or do you just look at pictures?”

He rewarded her glower with a twitch of a smile, and she began to relax. This was the Gavril she knew.

“Both.” She took Ashyn’s drawing from her pocket. “I want to find out what this is.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. “I believe it’s a seal. In fact, it rather resembles the one from the letter, though it’s hard to tell. Someone should not trade her daggers for drawing pencils.”

“I’ll tell Ashyn that. She drew it for me.”

Another pause, and she wondered if he was about to apologize for the unintended insult to her sister. He simply said, “So you plan to research it.”

“Yes. Or ask the scholars.”

“And if I said you were wasting your time on frivolities . . .”

“I would say it was my time to waste.”

“Perhaps instead you would care to waste it in the training yard with me? Or touring the grounds? I know a few secret spots that might be of interest.” When she looked up, he shrugged. “You aren’t the only one going mad with boredom, Keeper. Either activity would be an acceptable excuse for you to be seen with your guard and escort.”

She hesitated and then looked down at the drawing. “Can we do it later?”

He paused, and she thought he’d say he wasn’t waiting on her convenience, but he merely murmured, “You are resolved to your research, then?”

“I am.”

When she looked up, his expression seemed odd. The lantern light, she decided.

“Of course you are,” he said.

“So we’ll meet afterward? I’d like to see these secret places you mentioned. In the meantime, since you need to eat and drink, you should pack us a picnic.”

“Should I?”

“Yes. We’ll ‘poke about,’ and we’ll have sweets and honey wine, and perhaps, if we don’t have too much wine, we’ll spar afterward. Does that sound like a good way to pass the time?”

“It sounds like a perfect way to pass the time.” His voice was strange, almost wistful, and she looked up sharply, but he only turned his face and bumped her shoulder. “Go on, then, Keeper. Look up your seal.”

Moria found the imperial library. It seemed the busiest place in the court at this time of evening. Or perhaps
busy
was not the right word. It was simply the most populated. There were six or seven scholars there deep in study, the room so silent that her footfalls echoed like thunder when she entered.

A man came hurrying out from behind stacks of books. He seemed only in his third decade but was already slightly stooped and graying, as if from a lifetime of poring over books. When he saw her, he stopped and smiled.

“Did you finish your book already, my lady?” he asked.

“That was my sister, Ashyn.”

He blinked. In Edgewood, it was rare even to be mistaken for each other—their manners, their stances, their speech, and even their style of dress was different.

“Of course,” the man said. “You must be the Keeper.” He bowed deeply. “I am the master of the library. Are you looking for an adventurous tale? Your sister did mention you are fond of them.” His dark eyes twinkled. “We have several new translations from beyond the empire. You likely will not have heard them.”

“I would be interested in those another time, master. Tonight I wish to identify a seal.”

His brows rose. “A seal?”

“A family crest, I believe.” She took the paper from her pocket, smoothed it, and showed him. “I am curious.”

“Curiosity is what lets a young mind grow and keeps an old mind young.” He peered at the paper. “Yes, it does appear to be a family crest. A secondary seal, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Secondary?”

He waved her to accompany him into the stacks of books. A few other scholars—old and young—glanced up, but only briefly, before returning to their studies.

“A noble family’s primary crest bears its emblematic beast. As such, it is easily identified.” He waved to a wall hanging, showing a dragon circling on itself. “The Tatsu crest. There is no mistaking it.” They continued walking. “However, there are times when the family wishes to send a message that is not immediately recognizable to all who see it. So they have secondary seals.”

Which made perfect sense, given the nature of this particular missive.

“I myself am not familiar with the secondary crests, but there’s someone here who will know. The old master of the library.”

He led her to an elderly man sitting at a long table, transcribing a crumbling text onto new pages. The younger man cleared his throat and then gave a slight bow when the old man looked up.

“Master, this is the Keeper of Edgewood. She brings a family crest that she wishes identified. It appears to be a secondary one.”

“Oh?” The old man’s gaze settled on Moria. “The Keeper of Edgewood. I heard you were in court. Welcome.” He began to rise stiffly from his low seat to bow, but she stopped him and he settled back with a grateful sigh. “Thank you, my lady. My old bones prefer the shape of a cushion these days. Now, you bring me a crest?”

She handed him the drawing. As he took it, he reached for his looking glass. Then he glanced at the page and set the glass down again.

“I have no need of that,” he said. “I’ve seen this one often enough, though not in many a summer. Where did you—?” He stopped himself and smiled. “Ah, yes. I heard you came with the Kitsune boy. Did he have it on him?”

The old man didn’t seem to expect an answer, and Moria wasn’t sure she could have given one, her heart was pounding so hard. Finally she managed to say, “It is . . . the Kitsune crest?”

He nodded. “A particular one, for a particular man. The boy’s father. Marshal Kitsune.”

Fifty-four

A
s Moria stumbled from the library, no one came after her, so she presumed she had thanked the library masters and said good-bye, but she could not remember doing so. Nor could she remember how she got out the door or, moments later, how she arrived in the gardens.

The man who sent the letter was Marshal Kitsune.

No, that was impossible. Someone else was using his seal. Pretending to be the man who’d perished in the Forest of the Dead.

He
had
perished, hadn’t he?

When Gavril came to Edgewood, the villagers had wondered what to tell the boy of his father. Should they mention that they recalled him? Should they not? Then there was the matter of the body, which had not been found. They feared Gavril would discover that, and it would only make matters worse for the boy, knowing his father’s spirit roamed the forest, trapped between worlds. So they’d decided to lie. They’d told him his father was at rest. It was a small kindness he deserved.

But the body had not been found.

Because there was no body to find?

Again, impossible. You could not simply walk from the Forest of the Dead. Even if you managed to make it to Edgewood, you would be seen by the guards. No man could escape his fate.

Not even one who had been, arguably, the most powerful man in the empire? She had seen Gavril’s reception among the city guards. He had not been nearly so respected in Edgewood, where many were too young to have served under his father. But there had been those, like Orbec and the commander, who’d treated Gavril with deference and respect. Honor, duty, and loyalty—the tenets of the warrior code. Loyalty to one’s lord. One’s warlord. And the warlord of all warriors was the marshal. Whether Marshal Kitsune had been disgraced or not, there would be men who would risk their own exile in the forest to help him escape it.

Marshal Kitsune wasn’t merely a warrior either. She remembered Gavril at the campfire in the Wastes, arguing that the raising of the shadow stalkers did not seem the work of a sorcerer. Eventually he’d allowed that it might be, but they both knew it was—it could be nothing else.

Her stomach clenched so hard she doubled over and had to grab a bench for support.

Does Gavril know? He must.

But he’d said he didn’t recognize the seal.

He lied.

That was even more impossible than his father escaping the forest. Hadn’t Gavril refused to believe those things in the forest were shadow stalkers? Hadn’t he refused to believe that the people of Edgewood had been massacred? Hadn’t she seen the shock and horror on his face when he discovered it?

Gavril knew nothing of this.

She’d found him in the forest, injured but alive.
Left alive. The sole survivor.

Because his father had spared him, as any father would. Which did not mean Gavril knew his father lived. Or that he knew anything about this terrible plot.

But would the former marshal allow his only child to unveil that terrible plot to the emperor? When the emperor discovered who was behind it, Gavril would be lucky to escape with his life. What father would do that?

Not one who had made sure his son had survived thus far.

As Moria sat on the bench, she looked to the garden shed and heard Gavril’s voice in her head again.
I need to leave. That’s why I called you in here. I’ll be gone before the emperor returns.

She inhaled sharply. No. Gavril had played no witting part in this. He’d simply been uncomfortable in the emperor’s court and wanted to leave. Or perhaps, on reflection, he
had
recognized the seal. He came to recall it later and knew he had to flee. Flee quickly, because Moria was about to uncover the identity of the man who had sent that message.

She ran for the guesthouse.

Moria was almost to Gavril’s quarters when his door opened. She crouched behind a squat statue. He stepped out, pack in hand. Then he paused and went back inside, as if he’d forgotten something.

She hurried to his door and nudged it open. He had his back to her as he stood at a tray of food, stuffing fruit into his pockets.

She watched him, the way his braids swung forward as he bent, the way he pushed them back impatiently, a motion so familiar it quelled the turmoil in her gut.

Gavril had played no part in his father’s plan, if it was his father at all. Gavril was stubborn and difficult and prickly and arrogant, but he was, above all else, honorable. He had fought by her side. He had confided in her, about his sorcery and his fears. He had trusted her and she had trusted him. That meant something.

He must be another victim of this tragedy, used by his father. He’d recognized the seal and known that he could not say, “I am innocent” and be believed. Moria had seen how people treated him. He’d spent his life paying for the treachery of his dead father, punished for events he’d clearly played no part in. How would he be treated now, if his father was no longer dead? If Gavril had—however unwittingly—played a role in this new treachery? He had no choice but to flee.

She pushed open the door. Gavril spun, hand on his sword hilt. Then he saw her and . . .

He saw her, and she caught his expression, and she didn’t see worry or fear. She saw guilt and shame.

He said nothing. Just stood there, watching her.

“So you’re leaving after all?” she said.

“You know I am.” His voice was low.

“You’re not even going to pretend?”

He straightened. “You know me better than that, Keeper.”

“No.” She closed the door behind her. “Clearly I do not know you at all.”

Something flickered on his face, but he hid it quickly.

“So he’s alive?” she said. “Your father?”

He said nothing.

“And you knew that? All along you knew that?”

Still nothing. Her heart hammered so hard she could barely draw breath. This was not possible. She must have fallen asleep in her quarters and was having a nightmare.

“You knew what he was going to do?” she said. “You took part in it?”

Another flicker of emotion, too fast to decipher. His mouth opened as if he was going to speak. Then he clamped it shut, jaw held tight, and said nothing.

Moria stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. Rage pounded through her, and she had to struggle to keep her gaze on him, struggle to speak to him.

“You raised shadow stalkers. With your father.
For
your father. You raised them, and you commanded them to massacre my village.”

His eyes rounded. “No, I would never—I did not realize—”

Again he clamped his mouth shut, so hard she heard his teeth click. She could still see more in his eyes, more he wanted to say, but he blinked hard and when he looked at her again, his gaze was shuttered.

“You let them kill my village. Kill your comrades. Kill my
father
.”

She heard his teeth grind and the muscles on his jaw worked, as if he struggled to keep silent.

“What?” she said. “You have some excuse? Some explanation?”

He took a moment to open his mouth, just enough to let words out. “I have no excuse, Keeper.”

“Do not call me that!” she roared, yanking her blades from their sheaths.

“Moria, I—” He swallowed hard, and he seemed to pause, as if considering. A flicker of something like pain. Then anything in his expression vanished, his face going hard as he pulled himself straight. “Yes, I have done whatever you believe. I have deceived you. I have betrayed you. Remember that. Whatever happens, remember that.”

“Remember that?”
She whipped a dagger at him. “I remember my
father
, you son of a whore!”

Gavril spun out of the dagger’s path just in time, and it passed just under his arm, ripping through the fabric before hitting the wall. He stared at it, as if shocked. She charged him, the other dagger raised, and it was only at the last moment that he feinted. He pulled his own sword. Her charge was clumsy, rage-blind, and his sword broadsided her arm, knocking her blade flying. She scrambled out of the way, but he didn’t strike at her, just stood there, sword half-raised.

“I’m going to leave now, Moria,” he said. “You can’t fight me.”

“By the spirits, I can. And I will, if I need to wrap my hands around your throat and choke the life from your body.”

She dove for the nearest dagger. He tried to intercept her, but she twisted and went for the other one instead, yanking it from the wall. She spun. He lifted his blade.

“You cannot fight me with a dagger, Moria. You’re outmatched and—”

She threw it, but she was too angry, every lesson evaporating from her head. The dagger flew off-target, Gavril easily dodging it. She went for the second blade, but his sword struck her again, broadside, knocking her into the wall. Then it was pointed at her throat.

“Enough, Moria.”

She stepped forward, the edge of his sword touching her throat.

“Enough!” he said.

She met his gaze and moved a little more, letting the edge dig in.

“Moria!
Stop this.
Are you mad?”

“If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.” She met his gaze and eased forward again, feeling blood trickle down her throat.

Gavril’s eyes filled with fury. “Blast you, Keeper. A pox on—” He snapped his mouth shut. “You will not do this.”

“Is it so hard to kill me?” she said. “Perhaps it’s not the same when you aren’t ordering dead men to do the deed.”

“I would not kill you, Keeper. Not kill you. Not harm you. Not ever.” He looked her in the eyes. “I regret any hurt I have brought to you. Most of all, I regret what I had to do to Daigo.”

“Daigo?” Her heart thumped. “The infection? You caused—”

“No, not that. What I did tonight. After we spoke in the garden. I went to your rooms, hoping to take your sister as a hostage, but Ashyn was not there. Daigo was. He knew something was wrong.” Gavril looked at her. “He attacked me, Moria. I would not have harmed him, but I had to defend myself. I hope . . .” He paused. “He was alive when I left him, though barely.”

Rage blinded her. She reached to grab his sword, not caring if it sliced through her hand, but he’d already lowered it. She dove for her blades. Then she felt something hit the back of her head. Everything went dark.