Empire of Night (8 page)

As hurt as she was, she couldn't bring herself to say the rest.
You're a thief. A criminal.
Ronan still recoiled, his gaze lowering, but not before she caught a glimpse of pain.

I may have no experience with kisses, but he lies if he says that was a simple farewell. He changed his mind, and he does not have the integrity to be honest with me. He makes me feel the fool. So I'll not retract my words.

He didn't look at her as he said, “Whatever you were about to say, I am that. And more. Or, perhaps, less. I . . .” He closed his mouth, paused, and then said, “Do you wish me to return to the city? Or continue along to Fairview?”

“Why do you ask me?” she snapped. “You came for money not—” She bit off the words, but it was too late. His gaze swung to her eyes and she knew he'd caught the anger in them, the hurt.

“Ashyn . . .” he said.

“Do as you will,” she said and walked away with Tova.

T
hey'd stopped for their midday meal. While Moria hated the pause, the horses needed the break, and she would never argue to overwork the horses.

Tyrus and Moria sat away from the others, ostensibly giving Daigo a chance to prowl the nearby woods, though in truth Moria had suggested it because she suspected Tyrus needed a break from playing the amicable prince. He always took time to ride with the others, out of both imperial responsibility and natural camaraderie, but that morning, it had seemed more of the first. Now, as they ate, he lapsed into silence, idly fingering the dangling ends of his amulet band.

“Thinking of your mother?” Moria asked between mouthfuls of cold rice.

He glanced up, as if startled.

She nodded at the band, then said, “You've been quiet since the monks, and I noticed you watching when we passed the
road to Seven Oaks. That's where she's gone on her pilgrimage, isn't it?”

A faint smile. “Excellent deduction. Yes, I was thinking she'll be home soon, and she will not be pleased with my father. He's been talking about sending me on a mission since the winter. She asked him to wait until I passed my next summer.”

“And you've wanted to go sooner.”

“I have, which makes me glad she wasn't there. Not that she could have stopped my father from sending me but . . . It's awkward.”

“You're her only child, and you're constantly in danger. She fears adding to that. And you fear having to tell her you're ready.”

“Hmm.” He stretched out his legs and squinted toward the forest until he caught sight of Daigo. Then he looked back at Moria. “I don't like causing friction between her and my father. It's a difficult enough relationship as it is.”

“Because she's a concubine, not a wife. Yet she's also the mother of an imperial prince.”

“It isn't an easy life, and there are times . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “To solidify his position, an emperor must make choices that I personally disagree with. The taking of concubines is one. Fathering sons by them is another. Yet the concubines allow political alliances that the empire requires and the children provide additional heirs and bolster his reputation for virility, which is important. For a warrior to be unable to have children, preferably sons . . .”

Moria remembered Gavril saying he was his father's only child, despite three successive marriages. That had reflected
poorly on Alvar Kitsune, particularly compared to the emperor's brood. It excused nothing, but it might help explain the resentment that had grown between the two friends.

“It would be difficult,” she said carefully, “to see your mother suffer for choices your father had to make.”

“It is. There's a reason I'm her only child. She has . . . avoided having others.”

“By avoiding your father's sleeping pallet?” Moria paused. “Or is that an indiscreet question? I think Ashyn would say it is.”

Tyrus laughed softly, relaxing as he leaned back, his ponytail brushing the ground. “With an emperor, such matters are as open as his daily schedule. If you listen to court gossip, you will hear that he has indeed not visited my mother's quarters in seventeen summers. Which, I suspect, is true. They don't meet at her quarters. Or at his.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, if you recall when you first arrived, my mother was on her pilgrimage and my father was taking a couple of days away from court business. My mother is a very devout woman, but”—he winked—“not as devout as all her pilgrimages would suggest.”

“But by avoiding each other's quarters, your mother does not incur the jealousy of the other wives and concubines. She focuses on her life of faith, and is not seen as a threat. Just as you focus on your martial training rather than politics.”

“Her example has taught me the best path for those who have no interest in a high position. It is still a . . . confining life. My mother is an artist. You've seen her work in my
father's quarters, although no one knows it's hers. She is cautious with her appearance as well, never wearing the latest styles or fixing her hair in the latest fashion. She loves my father, though, and he returns her affection. More than that, they are comfortable with each other, which is no small thing in an imperial family.”

“She wants nothing from him. As you want nothing from him.” Moria moved closer, their legs brushing. “While this mission of yours may upset things between them, it is a storm that must be weathered eventually. You will finish this mission, and return victorious. Your father will be pleased, your mother placated, and you will officially be a man, a true warrior.”

“You make it sound easy.”

She squeezed his hand. “It is easy. You're ready for this, and they will both see that very soon.”

Moria was watching Ashyn. Her sister rode to the side, far enough from the others that it was clear she wasn't in the mood for conversation, but close enough to Moria that Simeon wouldn't pounce. The young scholar had taken a fancy to Ashyn, one which her sister did not reciprocate. Moria wanted to warn him off.

“He's lonely,” Ashyn had said. “He's not blessed with social graces, so he's having difficulty fitting in. I don't mind talking to him sometimes. Just not . . .”

“All the time?”

“I can handle it.”

As for her sister's distant mood, Moria knew the causes. The situation with the monks was one. Ronan was another. He
was still with them—secretly guarding them—and that upset Ashyn. He'd behaved poorly, leading her on and then pretending he hadn't. Disingenuous and dishonorable. But what did one expect from a thief?

Moria had not objected to a romance between them. If Ashyn wanted an illicit dalliance with a rogue, she could have done worse than Ronan. Moria would mourn the loss with her, but if this was how he treated Ashyn, he did not deserve her.

“And there it is,” Tyrus said, snapping Moria's thoughts back. “Fairview.”

She looked up to see the white-plastered town shimmering in the distance, and her heart beat faster.

Tyrus rode to the front of the convoy, saying, “That's close enough. Light the fires.”

There was no need of campfires on a warm spring day. They were for the smoke, which would be seen from Fairview, alerting the guards inside to the envoy's presence.

“Are you ready?” Tyrus said as he rode back to her.

Moria lowered her voice. “If I ask you again to allow me to go without you—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He brought his horse closer. “This isn't a matter of what is expected of me, but what I expect of myself. You worry that, by going with you, I present a target Alvar may be unable to resist. But if he kills me without cause, my father will kill Gavril. My father has other sons. Alvar does not.”

“I still don't like it.”

“I know.” He took her hand and laced her fingers with his.
“You are thinking of me not of politics, and I . . .” He released her hand and backed his horse away. “I do appreciate it. Now, if you're ready . . .”

She was.

T
wo of the warriors ordered to stand watch were mounted archers. Traditionally, warriors had fought only with blades and considered other weapons the province of hunters and farmers, which left imperial forces at a disadvantage facing armies with ranged weapons. Even once the mounted archer troop began, the stigma had remained until the mounted archers had begun performing at festivals. Then it became an exalted position, with boys training from the time they could hold a bow.

The task of these two archers, then, was to guard Tyrus from afar, ready to loose their arrows on any attackers. Only the counselors accompanied the prince and the girls, though at twenty paces to act in an auxiliary capacity.

As they rode, Moria kept her gaze fixed on that distant town. The beasts did, too—Tova sniffing the air, Daigo's ears forward. It stayed silent and still. A town held captive.

“Do you truly think the children are there?” Ashyn whispered.

Tyrus's shoulders twitched, and Moria knew he'd been as focused on Fairview, the question an unwelcome interruption. But he found his civility before answering.

“I believe the chance is good,” Tyrus said. “If not in the town, then close to it.”

“We ought to be quiet,” Moria said. “Silence will help us hear preparations within.”

“Of course,” Tyrus said. “My apologies.”

He'd know she was not rebuking him. He took the blame to deflect it from Ashyn. Always honorable. Always considerate.

I could lose my heart to him.

The thought startled her. As she watched him, though, she wasn't merely admiring a handsome young warrior. She wanted to be with him. And she wanted more from him.

Yet he was satisfied with friendship. It was a new experience for Moria—not simply to have found someone who might capture her heart, but to have her interest not reciprocated. It was a lesson she supposed every girl had to learn. One may fall for a boy, and he may not fall in return.

She turned her attention back to Fairview. A wall encircled it, twice as tall as a man. Guard towers squatted on either side of the main gate, but unlike the simple platforms at Edgewood, these were boxed shelters. She squinted, trying to see guards within. Tyrus pointed at the tower on the left, motioning for her to look on the far right side. She could just make out the pale fabric of a tunic within. As they drew closer, she noted
a figure in the second tower as well. Both sentinels watched from deep in the shadows of their shelters. The gate itself was closed, with no one standing guard.

“They've gone in,” Tyrus murmured. “Saw us coming, retreated, and shut tight the gate.”

Moria understood the strategy, but Ashyn asked, “Why?”

“It forces us to draw nearer,” Tyrus said. “If they come to meet us, our archers can cover us. If we are forced to knock at the gates, with their guards posted above . . .”

“The gates are shrouded in shadow from the afternoon sun,” Ashyn said. “So the archers will have a difficult time reacting swiftly and accurately.”

“We ought to have come when the sun moved,” Moria said.

Tyrus nodded. There was naught that could be done now, though, without retreating. So they continued until they were less than ten paces from the gate. Tyrus pulled his horse forward and shifted position, displaying his forearm tattoos should anyone watching have failed to notice them as he rode.

“I am Tyrus Tatsu,” he called. “Son of the emperor and his first concubine, Maiko. I bring the Seeker and Keeper of Edgewood. We wish to speak to Alvar Kitsune, if he is here. If he is not, then his son, Gavril, or his commander, Barthol.”

Moria stiffened. She knew Gavril might be here. What would she do if those gates opened and he walked out? How would she stay her daggers? Worse, what if she did not even reach for her daggers, but stood like a wounded child, hoping for an explanation.

It's not what you think, Keeper. I'd never hurt you, never betray you.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Moria?”

She looked to see Tyrus, worry darkening his eyes.

“I'm fine,” she said.

A half nod, acknowledging without believing. Then he straightened and turned forward again. There was no sign of movement at the gates. The shadowy figures of the tower guards stayed where they were.

“I am Tyrus Tatsu!” he said again, louder this time. “I come as an envoy to discuss the situation, and I expect the courtesy of a reply!”

When no response came, the minor counselor eased his horse forward. “My lord—”

Tyrus raised a hand to cut him short. His dark eyes blazed with rising fury. He might be more modest than one would expect of a prince, but he was still the emperor's son.

“We'll ride forward,” he said to Moria. “Ashyn? Retreat with the counselors.”

He glanced back at the two men, as if making sure they'd heard, but more seeking their approval of the plan. He was no seasoned diplomat, and he knew it.

The major counselor gave the barest nod. “Ancestors watch you, my lord.”

“Ride back and compel the archers forward,” Tyrus said. “Have them stop midway between the camp and here.”

Tyrus rode to Moria as Ashyn retreated with Tova.

“Watch the towers,” Tyrus said as they continued forward. “I'll keep my eyes on the gate.”

The figures in the towers remained exactly where they'd
been since Moria first spotted them, and she began to suspect they'd miscalculated the darkness of their shelter and thought themselves hidden.

As they rode into the shadow cast by the wall, cool air rushed past on a strong breeze. Moria picked up traces of an unfamiliar scent and heard a slow
thump-thump-thump
from inside the wall. Not footsteps—the thumps were too regular.

Moria realized the sound was the gate itself, opening a little and then closing in the wind. As they drew closer, she could see something under the gate. Feet? It was hard to tell.

“You there!” she called. “In the tower. Acknowledge us.”

Silence.

“Do you think I cannot see you both?” she snapped. “On the left, you wear a light tunic and your hair is long and loose. On the right, your tunic is brown and I see no hair, so I presume it is short. The shadows may hide your faces, but that is all.”

When still neither moved, her hand went to her dagger.

“Moria,” Tyrus murmured.

“I would not,” she said.

“I know.” His voice dropped more. “I mean watch your temper. They're hoping you cannot.”

His own eyes simmered with outrage, but he controlled it. The guards were mocking them, and if Moria and Tyrus seethed they'd say, “You may think you are a Keeper and an imperial prince, but we see only two children playing at being warriors.”

“Remember these are bandits,” Tyrus said. “I may give Barthol the honorific of commander, but he is no warrior.”
And thus they could not expect them to act with honor.
“Remember who you are.”

She backed up her horse to look again at the unmoving guards. When she noticed Tyrus dismounting, she stopped him.

“Remember who
you
are,” she said.

Few people in the empire outranked a Keeper, but an imperial prince was one of them. So it fell to her to open the gate. When she tried, though, she discovered why it was banging in the wind. It was barricaded from within.

“They toy with us,” she muttered.

“As is to be expected. Here, I'll—”

“Remain on your steed, your highness. If those guards will not respond, perhaps they are hard of hearing. I'll take my message to them.”

Moria shimmied up the posts as deftly as a cat, if not quite as gracefully. Tyrus's gaze swung from one guard tower to the other, ready to alert her to trouble. Daigo climbed the other post and they both drew up to the window openings—

“Moria!”

She looked to see Tyrus swinging off his horse, his face taut with alarm. “Down! Now!”

She went still, trying to hear or see what had caught his attention.

“It's a trap!” he hissed. “They're fake.”

She'd planned to drop down as he asked, but at that she paused. “Fake?”

“The guards still have not moved. Get down!”

She boosted herself up the last handspan to peek into the tower. This guard was no fake. His arms were bare, as she'd noted from below. They were held oddly, though, at his sides,
as if in a gesture of surrender, palms out . . .

His palms were darker than his brown skin. And there was something in the center of them.

Spikes. There were spikes through his hands, nailing them to—

Her gaze shot up. She saw the hair first, the loose hair she'd noticed before and—

It was not a guard. Not even a man. It was a woman, nailed to the back of the guard box by her feet and hands, her head lolling, her eyes dead and staring.

“Moria!”

She tore her gaze from the corpse.

“It's a woman. She's dead. They've nailed her up to look like a guard.”

“A woman?” He frowned. “Why would they use—?”

He stopped short as Moria squeezed through the window.

“Where are you going?” he said, but she was already in the tower. With a clatter of blades, Tyrus followed.