Kelley Armstrong - Sea of Shadows

“It’s a heart,” she whispered.

“What?”

She pointed. “A heart .”

Faiban raised his lantern for a better look, then let out an oath. It was indeed a heart, impaled on a branch.

“How could—?” He took a deep breath and stepped back. “It came from the woman’s corpse.” He looked at it, lying just below the tree. “Yes, that’s why they dropped her. They were lifting her to the blanket and she was impaled by the branch. Her heart popped out.”

Ashyn’s dagger training had included lessons in anatomy, using a pig, and she was quite certain that a heart impaled on a branch would not “pop” out.

“Yes, that’s what happened,” Faiban continued before she could speak. “It popped out, and it startled them. That explains the cries we heard. The forest was already making them anxious. This was all it took for them to flee.”

“But it’s warm.”

“What?”

Ashyn pointed at the organ. “I brushed the heart, and it was warm.”

“You were mistaken, my lady.”

“No, feel it.” She steeled herself and reached out. “It’s—”

Faiban snatched her hand. “Do not touch it again. It could be infected.”

“But it is warm. And wet. If the heart came from that corpse, it wouldn’t be—”

“Enough.” He swallowed and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, my lady, but it’s late and it’s dark and we must return—”

Another twig cracked. Faiban went rigid. Then came the distinct sound of a murmuring voice, and some of the fear left his face.

“Who’s there?” he said.

“Who’s there ?” the voice called back.

Faiban opened his mouth, but footsteps began heading away from them as the voice called, “Hello? Who’s that?”

Faiban sighed. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Ashyn looked at the corpses and then the impaled heart. “No, I’ll—” She started after him, but tripped over a root. By the time she recovered, the forest had swallowed even the glow of his lantern.

“I’ll wait here,” she muttered.

She glanced at the heart, shuddered, and turned away, only to find herself looking at the old man’s partly devoured corpse. That was no better.

She backed up to a fallen tree and settled on it, lantern at her feet. She stared out into—

Pain exploded in the back of her head. The forest spun into blackness.

Ashyn awoke feeling cold ground under her fingers. She leaped up, only to feel another jolt of cold— this one from a blade at her neck.

“Don’t,” a voice in front of her murmured.

“You’d better be talking to her , boy,” said an older voice behind her—the man holding the blade.

Her eyes adjusted to the semidark and she saw the first speaker. He was her age, perhaps a little older. He looked like a typical Edgewood villager, with light brown skin, and dark hair curling over his ears and tumbling down his forehead. She’d never seen him in the village, though. She tried twisting to see the older man, but the blade tip pressing into her neck stopped her.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here,” the boy said.

“Who are you?” she said.

When she spoke, he frowned as if her voice sounded odd.

“You knocked me out—” she began.

“Payback.” The boy grinned. “You aren’t nearly as alert as the last time.”

She stared at him. “The last time?”

“When you…” He looked over her shoulder, presumably at the man behind her. “Um, when I got the blade.”

She blinked, clearing her head, throbbing and still fuzzy from the blow. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He only smiled. “Ah, so that’s your story.” He winked. “I’d stick to it. Something tells me you’d get in trouble for giving this away.”

He pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade shimmered in the lantern light, but it wasn’t the steel that caught her attention—it was the filigreed handle.

“That’s… that’s my sister’s dagger.” She glared up at the boy. “You stole the Keeper’s blade? Do you have any idea what the penalty is for that?”

Behind her, the man laughed, and the steel finally moved from her neck. She twisted to see her other captor and when she did, her breath seized in her chest. He was at least twice the boy’s age and almost double his size, with thickly muscled arms and a barrel chest. Scars crisscrossed his face. It wasn’t the scars that stopped her breath, though. It was the look of him—the tangled hair and beard, the dirt creasing those scars. He was bigger and healthier than poor Cecil, but seeing that filth, there was no doubt what he was. One of the exiles. One of the damned.

Ashyn turned back to the boy. He wasn’t nearly as filthy, but on closer inspection, she saw dirt on his clothing and under his nails. There was a gauntness to his cheeks, though, as if he hadn’t been quite so thin a few moons ago.

She remembered the noises she’d heard when the governor had been interrogating Cecil. She remembered seeing a blade flash, deep in the trees. These two had been watching. Seeing what happened to Cecil, they’d realized that they weren’t getting out of this forest by prancing over to the governor and saying, “I survived.”

So they’d taken a hostage. A valuable one.

“I’ll not mention the dagger,” she said quickly. “Moria told our father she lost it. That’s all that needs to be said if you treat me kindly.”

“Treat you kindly?” The man laughed again.

The boy didn’t smile. He was watching her with that same look of confusion he’d had when she spoke earlier.

He lifted the dagger. “You say this is your sister’s?”

“Yes.”

“You lie. Why?”

“What’s this?” The man lifted the blade to Ashyn’s neck again.

“It’s the same girl,” the boy said. “I swear it. She’s making her voice sound different, and she’s acting different, but it’s the girl I got the dagger from.”

“No, I’m Ashyn. You met Moria. My twin.”

“Twin?” He said the word as if it was foreign.

“Born of the same mother, at the same time. My wombmate. We look exactly alike.”

Now the man stepped around her, getting a better look at his captive. He slid the blade around, too, the tip digging into her throat. Ashyn tried not to wince.

“Boy’s right. You lie. Twins are curse-born. Not allowed to live. Unless…” He turned to the boy. “She said you stole someone’s blade.”

“The Keeper,” Ashyn said. “He stole the Keeper’s blade.” She looked down at her bare dagger sheath. “And now you’ve stolen the Seeker’s, too.”

The man stared at Ashyn. Then he shook his head sharply. “You cannot be.”

“No? A Seeker hunting for the spirits of the vengeful dead, to give them peace? Isn’t that a Seeker’s task?”

“The dog,” the man said quickly. “You don’t have a hound.”

She plucked pale hairs from her breeches. “These are his. He’s back at camp. He was injured on the way in.” She turned to the boy. “If you met my sister, I’m sure you saw her wildcat, Daigo.”

The boy nodded, still looking confused.

She turned to the man. “You’ve kidnapped a Seeker. That is not—”

Her gaze fell on the blade in his hand. She’d presumed it was her dagger, but now she could see the long, curved blade of a sword. It had a boar’s head just above the hand guard, marking it as a blade of the Inoshishi clan.

“That’s Faiban’s blade!” she blurted, startling the man. When the blade fell from her throat, she leaped forward. “What have you done with Faiban?”

“Who?” the boy said.

“The guard you took that sword from. He—” She stopped. “It was you.”