Empire of Night (2 page)

D
aigo cleared a path through the crowd, bumping people and growling when they didn't move fast enough. Ronan nudged gawkers aside from the rear. Moria allowed herself to be led, well aware of the scene she'd caused and the trouble she was in. More important, she was aware of the trouble Ashyn could catch for not realizing her twin had left. If there was one thing that could melt the steel from Moria's spine, it was the prospect of causing her sister grief.

Only once they were out of the square did she regain her stride. Ronan took the lead, and they wound down two alleyways before finding a dark corner behind a bakery, the sweet scent of honey cakes wafting out.

Moria asked about his young brother and sister. After four moons of exile in the Forest of the Dead, he'd been anxious to return to his orphaned siblings, left in the care of an aunt he
feared would have them picking pockets for their keep. But now he answered with a quick, “They're well,” before saying, “You don't know the meaning of inconspicuous, do you? All I had to do was follow the commotion and there you were, in the midst of it.”

“I have no training in stealth and disguise,” she said. “Nor any reason to learn. I'm the Keeper of Edgewood. I should walk where I wish.”

His look said she knew full well why she couldn't do that, but she only settled onto a crate. Daigo took a seat beside her, leaving Ronan standing.

“How is your sister?” he asked.

“As fine as can be expected, being held a virtual prisoner and worrying about the people of Fairview and the children of Edgewood.”

Ronan sighed. “You have no gift for the art of conversation, Moria. All right. I take it Ashyn is well. Please tell her . . .” He struggled long enough for words that Moria sighed with impatience.

“I'll tell her you send your undying love and cannot wait to see her gentle face again.”

From the look on Ronan's face, you'd think she'd suggested telling Ashyn he wished her a slow and tortured death.

“Fine,” she said. “I'll tell her you asked after her and that it would be pleasant to speak with her, once she is permitted to do so.”

“Yes, thank you. I have great regard for your sister, but she is a Seeker, and I have good reason for not . . .”

Moria peered at him. “Not what?”

“I . . . have great regard for your sister.”

“Yes, yes, you said that. I didn't come to play matchmaker. I asked you to meet me—”

“Summoned would be a better word.” He crouched against the wall. “Is it about Gavril? I heard that he has left the city.”

“Yes, but that is not—”

“I wouldn't have thought him quick to leave your side. He seemed to have appointed himself as much your loyal guard and companion as Daigo.”

Daigo growled, as if understanding enough to not appreciate the comparison. Bond-beasts were said to be the reincarnations of great warriors, and the wildcat comprehended more than might be expected of an animal.

“I did not come to speak of—” she began.

“What happened?”

She'd truly rather not speak of it, but he'd need to know if he agreed to help with her plan.

“You'll recall the message we bore from Fairview?” she said. “For the emperor, from those who held the children and villagers captive. It bore a seal. One that Gavril claimed not to recognize.”

Ronan nodded.

“It was the Kitsune seal.”

Ronan pulled back. “Gavril must not have known—”

“He did. It was a secondary seal used by his father. The former marshal did not perish in the Forest of the Dead. He is alive, and he is responsible for raising the shadow stalkers that destroyed Edgewood. He's also responsible for the death worms and the thunder hawk. The rumors are correct. The
Kitsune family knows sorcery. Gavril confirmed it in the Wastes. I forced him to, having caught him at it.”

“But Gavril—”

“—betrayed us. After Edgewood was massacred, his task was to escort Ashyn and me to the emperor with a firsthand account of his father's power.”

Ronan shook his head. “I cannot believe that. Gavril might be one of the least companionable people I've ever met, but I would want him at my side in any battle. He's steadfast and loyal—”

“—to his
father.
That's the warrior way. Filial piety above all else. Even integrity and conscience, it seems. Now you know why he's gone, and I would like to leave the subject alone.”

“But—”

“I insist. I came to speak of Fairview.”

Ronan studied her expression and then nodded. “You don't believe the emperor is taking the threat seriously?”

“I have no idea if he is or is not. I only know that the children are still gone and there is no army marching from the imperial city to rescue them. Which is why I need to return.”

“To Fairview? Did Gavril not say they would be moved elsewhere?” He paused. “Oh.”

“Yes,
oh.
Given that Gavril was lying from the start, the emperor believes the children are indeed at Fairview, and I agree, which is why I'm going there.”

His lips twitched. “To rescue them yourself?”

“If I must. But I hold no illusion that I can swoop in and set them free like birds from a cage. I merely wish to assess the situation. Confirm that the children are there.”

“You don't think the emperor has already done that?”

“He deems it too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous for trained warriors and spies, yet you plan to do it? That's madness, Moria. Brave and bold and utterly mad.”

“I agree,” said a voice.

A young man walked into their alley. Like Moria, he wore a disguise. His was more elaborate—and less obvious—than a cloak with the hood pulled up. He'd dressed in a rough tunic and trousers, with a loose jacket to hide his dual blades. On his feet he wore a peasant's simple thonged sandals. His long, black hair was plaited and he wore the rice straw hat common to farmers, oversized to shade one's eyes from the sun.

Yet even with the hat shadowing his face, his disguise was as poor as her cloak and hood. It wasn't his coloring or his features. He was empire-born—the golden skin, high cheekbones, and dark eyes that were the most common look even in this cosmopolitan city. He was well-formed and strikingly handsome. What made him stand out was something no hood or hat could hide. The face of an emperor. Or, at least, an emperor's son.

Ronan's mouth dropped open in a very unattractive gape.

Moria narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. “You followed me.”

“I tried. I'm not very good at it, though. I left too large a gap, and I lost you. Luckily, it's not easy to lose you for long. Just follow the sounds of chaos.”

He grinned and tugged off his jacket. Ronan's stare dropped to the matched dagger and sword hanging from the
young man's waist, the silver handles inlaid with flawless rubies. Then Ronan's gaze lifted to the red-and-black tattooed bands on the young man's forearms—the intricate dragon design of the Tatsu clan.

“Your highness,” Ronan said, bowing so deep Moria expected him to fall over.

The young man made a face and waved him up. “That's for my brothers. One need not be so formal with a bastard prince.”

Which was not exactly true. An emperor's bastard sons were treated little different from those born to his wives. They could not ascend to the throne, and they had tattooed cuffs rather than the full sleeves of highborn warriors, but otherwise Tyrus was as much a prince as his brothers. He just didn't like to act the part.

Tyrus picked up a crate and plunked it down closer to Moria's.

“Take off that cloak before you melt,” he said. “It wasn't disguising you.”

“Nor is that”—she waved at his peasant outfit—“disguising you.”

“It isn't supposed to. It merely conveys the message that I'm attempting to pass incognito.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

Ronan cleared his throat. “Actually it does. His highness—”

“Tyrus.”

“Um, yes. If people see him dressed like that, they know he wishes not to be recognized, so they grant him the courtesy.”

“I'll teach you how to do it,” Tyrus said to her. “For the
next time you sneak off, because expecting you to stay in one place is like trying to cage that wildcat of yours.” He lounged back on his crate. “So, we're discussing the issue of Fairview.”

“No, we are not. This is a private conversation.”

Ronan sputtered and shot her looks of alarm. She ignored him. She'd spent enough time with Tyrus to take liberties—and to know he'd allow them, even enjoyed the informality.

“How can the meeting be private,” Tyrus said. “If you're holding it in a public place?”

“Because I don't have a private place. Not even my suite. I was bathing yesterday and a maidservant brought in fresh towels.”

“They're very attentive.”

“Which is fine. Just not while I'm bathing.”

Tyrus grinned. “I don't mind them.”

She rolled her eyes.

He turned to Ronan. “Since Moria refused to extend proper courtesies, I'll presume you're Ronan?”

Ronan nodded mutely.

“I apologize for dragging you into this, but if Moria had asked me what my father was doing, I'd have said he has sent spies to survey the situation in Fairview. He must determine an appropriate course of action since he cannot meet Alvar's demands for their release.”

The former marshal had demanded nothing short of the throne. As Emperor Tatsu said, Alvar Kitsune didn't expect him even to consider such a thing. It was not a negotiation but a declaration of war.

Tyrus continued. “If Moria had asked me, I would have
happily answered her questions. But she refuses to speak of the matter.”

“Because you shouldn't be pulled into it,” Moria said. “Your brothers have spies watching to see if you're paying attention to me because I'm a young woman or because I'm part of a situation that could further your position in court. The latter would suggest an interest in politics, which would suggest a
lack
of interest in a long life.”

Two of the emperor's bastard sons had already died from paying an unhealthy amount of attention to matters of court. Tyrus aspired to be a warrior—a great one. Nothing less and nothing more.

“Yes,” Tyrus said. “But I suggested finding a place where we could speak privately. Which you refused.”

“Because I won't involve you.”

“I said I wish to be involved.”

“And I said I would not allow it.”

They locked gazes, but she would not back down. If he wanted to give her sword lessons, she would not object to that. If he wanted to befriend her, she would not object to that. If he wanted to be more than a friend . . . well, that was open to consideration. Her sister deemed such matters affairs of the heart, to be approached with great care and forethought. To Moria, the heart did not enter into it. If Tyrus fancied her and she fancied him, she could use lessons in more than fighting techniques.

There was only one role she would not allow Tyrus to play: her champion. In court, everyone wanted something from you. She would not be part of that. She enjoyed Tyrus's company
because his company was worth enjoying, not because he was a prince. She would do nothing to suggest otherwise.

“My father has sent spies,” Tyrus said. “Two, to take separate routes, in case one is captured. He expects word from them at any moment. You may have noticed he is entertaining guests?”

Moria said nothing.

“I'm sure you're fuming at the emperor for throwing lavish parties while the children of your village suffer. He does no such thing, Moria. He entertains the Sultan of Nemeth and the King of Etaria. Minor principalities near the Katakana Mountains, where the Kitsunes once ruled. Both men were close friends of Alvar Kitsune. Someone has been sheltering him since his escape from the Forest of the Dead.”

“Your father thinks it's one of them,” Ronan said. “That's why they're here. So he can decide which is guilty.”

Tyrus nodded and watched Moria, waiting for her to ask questions. She had a hundred of them. And to protect Tyrus, she'd ask not a one.

“He's doing what he can,” Tyrus said. “He's not a perfect ruler, but he is a very good one. I know you think I'm only saying that because he's my father. But did he seem incompetent when you spoke to him? Did he seem uncaring? Did he seem to underestimate the threat?”

She shifted on the crate.

“I know you are frustrated,” he said. “But there is no reason for you to go to Fairview. If it would help you to speak to my father, I can arrange an audience.”

“No.”

“I would be discreet about it. Allow me to—”

“No,” she said, getting to her feet. She turned to Ronan. “I'll convey your regards to my sister. Please convey mine to your family. Thank you for meeting with me.”

She glanced for Daigo, but he was already at her side. She walked off, stiffly, leaving the two young men behind.

W
hen Tyrus did not come after her, Moria thought he was leaving her to whatever trouble would befall her for sneaking away from court. That was her ill mood speaking. It seemed he'd only stayed behind to speak to Ronan, and Moria had barely reached the market square before he fell in at her side.

Tyrus didn't pursue the conversation again. Instead he played city guide, pointing out landmarks and explaining the history. No dry, architectural lectures. Moria doubted he knew any. Like her, he favored tales of danger and daring and told her those—a duel fought here, a notorious bandit hideout there.

Nearly everyone they passed seemed to recognize him. Yet there were no bows or murmurs of respect. No cries for alms or favors. They saw Tyrus and quickly looked away. Moria kept Daigo at her side and left her hood down, and no one said a word to her.

She was certain her appearance with Tyrus would be commented on, in whispers and rumors. While the Keeper could not marry, she could take lovers. The prince would marry as his father wished, but he was not expected to eschew female company until then. The court already whispered of how much time the two spent together. Now the city would. And Moria and Tyrus would not discourage it because it meant his brothers would soon call off their spies, realizing there was no political angle here, simply a young man and young woman courting.

When they reached the palace, Tyrus didn't ask how she'd slipped past the guards. He went straight to her point of escape—the servants' gate.

“A word of advice,” he said as they approached it. “While I'd prefer you to ask me along on your next unauthorized excursion, if you do go alone, you will find it much harder to return through this gate unnoticed. In fact, I'd say it's impossible.”

The guards at the small gate were already moving forward. Then they saw Daigo and got a closer look at Tyrus, and they dipped their chins and gazes, welcoming the prince as he passed through.

“They hardly need to worry about spies and assassins
exiting
court,” Tyrus continued after greeting the guards. “But you will not get back in without revealing yourself.”

“So what are the other routes?”

His lips curved. “Did I say there were any?”

“You implied it.”

“Perhaps. And the next time you wish to leave, you have only to tell me, and I will show you . . . and go with you.”

“I'm quite safe in the city.”

“But is the city safe when you are in it? That's the question.”
He glanced up at the sound of harsh footsteps clacking over the stone path. “I will handle this.”

She was about to say “Handle what?” when five figures rounded a building, bearing down on them. In the lead was a stout, gray-haired man—the minister of the imperial household. Two of his stewards flanked him. All three walked quickly, their faces set in expressions so grim one would expect they were headed to a public flogging. Yet no face was as grim as the fourth. A young woman dressed in a simple but elegant silk dress, her red-gold hair flowing almost to her waist, her blue eyes so chill Moria decided that if it
was
a public flogging, the girl would ask to wield the strap herself.

“I think I'm in trouble,” Moria murmured.

Daigo grunted beside her, and when he did, the fifth figure—a huge yellow hound walking beside the girl—gave an answering growl.

“My lady Keeper,” the minister said in his soft, steel-laced voice. “We had heard—”

“—that she escaped into the city and was raising untold havoc in the market?” Tyrus said. “I fear it is true.”

The minister stopped short, his sandals squeaking. He'd apparently been too intent on his target to take a closer look at the person accompanying her.

“Prince Tyrus,” he said.

“Yes, I'm the one causing trouble today. Or, at least, causing the trouble that caused the trouble. I wanted to show Moria the marketplace. She insisted on looking at books. I failed to see the attraction so I fear I wandered off. That is when the incident occurred. A man was harassing a young girl, and Moria stopped him.” He paused. “You may wish to have the minister
of justice send someone to investigate. It seems it's not the first time the man has done such a thing. He'll need some sort of disciplinary action, and it may be best if the merchants aren't allowed to administer it themselves. They were quite angry. And quite grateful to Moria.”

“I'm sure they were.” The minister turned stiffly to Moria. “Thank you for your intervention, my lady. The people will appreciate it.”

Moria snuck a look at her sister. Ashyn's face was still stern, but her eyes had lost their chill. She mouthed something to Moria.

“And I, um, apologize for causing a disturbance,” Moria said with a slow bow.

“It was for a good cause,” Tyrus said. “As for taking the Keeper out of the court, that falls entirely on me. She was bored, and I wished to impress her.” A disarming grin. “One can't blame me for that.” He walked to Ashyn. “I apologize for stealing your sister away, my lady.”

Ashyn's look said she knew full well what had happened. “No apology needed, your highness.”

“I offer it anyway,” he said with a half bow. Then he turned to the men. “Does that clear up the matter, minister?”

“It does.”

“I'll understand if you wish to report it to my father. I did act impetuously and did spirit the Keeper out against his orders.”

“Young men are impetuous,” the minister said. “Particularly when it comes to young women. I see no reason to tell your imperial father.”

“I will remember that. Thank you.” He turned to Ashyn.
“I leave your sister in your care. Be gentle with her. We have a sparring appointment later this afternoon, and I'll be hard enough on her then.”

He took his leave. The minister and his stewards followed without a word to Moria.

Once they were gone, Moria pulled a book from her cloak pocket and handed it to her sister. “I got this for you.”

Ashyn gave her a withering look as her hound, Tova, grumbled under his breath as if to say that was a poor try, a very poor try.

“And I saw Ronan.”

Ashyn went still. “You saw . . .”

“Ronan. That's where I was going. To meet him, because he deserved an update, and you refused to provide one.”

“Because we're not supposed to leave the court. You didn't tell him—Did you say I wouldn't meet with him? If you—”

“Of course not.” Moria waved for them to start back to their suite. “I told him you were busy, and it may have had something to do with that handsome courtier I saw you speaking to the other day.”

Ashyn's eyes flashed with outrage. “I did not speak to any—” She caught her sister's smile. “You're not funny, Rya. Not at all.”

“Oh, but you are. Tell me again how you think of Ronan only as a friend. A dear, kind friend . . . who just happened to kiss you good-bye the last time you saw him.”

“I should never have told you that.”

“You'd have burst otherwise. So tell me again how you are not thinking of him, not pining for him.”

“You make me sound like the fainting heroine in one of your ridiculous bard tales.”

“The lovely fair maiden, bound by destiny to a life of spiritual service, pining for the dashing thief, who escaped his fate, only to be torn from her side—”

“He hasn't escaped his fate,” Ashyn muttered. “He's out there, hiding like a criminal, when all he has to do is let us speak to the emperor on his behalf, and he'd be a hero.”

“Which would make a very happy end to the story. Unless the emperor
doesn't
pardon him, but throws him into the dungeons as an escaped criminal. Given the choice, I can see why Ronan's not eager to take the chance.”

“He would be spared. He's being stubborn.”

Ashyn opened the door to their quarters.

“I suppose you don't want to hear what he said about you?” Moria said. “What message he wished me to convey?”

“Message?”

Moria laughed and continued into their rooms, with Ashyn trailing after her.