Kelley Armstrong - Sea of Shadows

“Which I appreciate,” he murmured. “But I’m going to ask you not to repeat it, Keeper. You would do well not to align yourself with me.”

“I already have.”

“I’m serious, Moria,” he said, voice lowering as he moved beside her. “You cannot—”

“Ashyn, is the city what you thought it would be?” Moria asked.

Ashyn glanced at Gavril, but he only shook his head. He’d have the conversation with Moria at another time, she was sure. For now, he let drop the subject drop, and they continued on to the court.

Moria looked at the palace ahead. It was imposing—she’d give it that much. The wall around the compound was said to take four thousand steps to circumvent and it was so high they could only see blue-tiled roofs beyond. Ashyn had always talked about wanting to see this, not because she was truly interested in court life, but because she’d read of it and heard of it so often that she wished to see it for herself.

Moria wondered if it was what Ashyn expected. Or if Ashyn still cared. No matter what their message brought, it would not return their village.

The Imperial Way ended at the Gate of the Crimson Phoenix. Which sounded terribly impressive, until one realized that it simply meant “the south gate”—the crimson phoenix being the guardian of the south. It was not even a proper gate, but rather a gatehouse two stories tall, with flared roofs at each level, in the imperial tradition. It was made of cypress wood, painted red, with a red tiled roof. The first floor was for the guards. The second was a tearoom, where the emperor would meet dignitaries from enemy nations, which allowed them to be on the palace grounds but not truly within the palace proper.

Once again, guards spotted them long before they arrived. This time, though, they stayed inside the walls of the gatehouse as if they didn’t notice the party approaching, though Commander Alain had sent a runner ahead.

When the party reached the gatehouse, the men bowed deeply and respectfully to Moria and Ashyn.

“Welcome, Seeker and Keeper of Edgewood.”

There was no greeting for Gavril. Not a glance his way. He’d told her to expect that, as he’d told her to expect the overly warm greeting from some warriors, like the commander, and an uglier one from some bystanders, like the man who’d spat and jostled his sword.

Moria was not sorry she’d thrown her dagger and caused a scene. It wasn’t even about avenging an insult to a comrade. Truly, if the man had spat at Gavril over some misdoing, Moria would not have gotten involved. While she’d never felt the urge to spit at Gavril herself, she certainly understood the underlying sentiment. But the insult wasn’t about Gavril—it was about his father. That was unacceptable.

She wasn’t much happier about the commander’s greeting. At first, she’d thought perhaps Gavril had trained under him or spent a season learning his trade at the wall. But as they’d walked Gavril had said he knew the commander only slightly. He’d been a general under his father, demoted to wall commander after the marshal’s exile. Just as the spitting man had said, “I stand against your father,” the commander had said, “I stand with him,” and had simply used Gavril as a tool to do it. Unacceptable. She could certainly understand now why he had been in no rush to return to the imperial city.

When these gate guards ignored him, Gavril didn’t react. He’d said this would happen—no matter what their position on the matter, those at court would keep it to themselves. Truly, Moria didn’t see why there ought to be any “position” on a marshal exiled ten summers past, but there was, and there was little she—or Gavril, apparently—could do about it.

“We come with a missive for the emperor,” Ashyn said to the guards. “We ask that you allow us to take it to him.”

“That is, I regret, impossible, my lady,” the older of the guards said. “We must ask that you give us the message, and we will convey it to his imperial highness.”

“It is not an invitation to lunch,” Moria said. “Do you have any idea—?”

“They do not, I’m sure,” Ashyn cut in.

Ashyn gave her sister a look. Moria glowered but held her tongue.

“Our missive must be given to the emperor himself,” Ashyn said. “Those were our orders, and I fear we dare not disobey. There are lives at stake. Many lives.”

Gavril had warned them to tell as few people as possible about the fate of Edgewood and the threat against Fairview. It would only lead to panic.

“We cannot let you in, my lady,” the guard said. “Our Keeper and our Seeker are in court. The spirits would be disturbed and offended if we permitted you onto the grounds.”

“Then tell Thea and Ellyn to leave,” Moria said. “Better yet, call them here, and I’ll tell them myself.”

Her sister stiffened at her tone. The younger guards’ eyes flashed in something like amusement.

“We know your Keeper and your Seeker,” Ashyn said. “They trained us in Edgewood. Ask them to come, please.”

“I would, my lady, but they are the ones who gave the order not to open the gates.”

“Did they?” Moria stepped forward, Daigo moving with her. “Go tell those old—”

Ashyn cut in. “Please ask Thea and Ellyn to come speak to us so that we may properly explain the situation. Under normal circumstances, we understand their concern, but the situation is far from normal.”

The older guard nodded and sent the younger to fetch the city’s Keeper and Seeker. Then he murmured, “It is good to see you, Gavril.”

“Thank you, sir.”

An awkward pause. “Your lady mother is well. She was at the palace last moon for the Cherry Blossom festival.”

“Good.” A pause, and Gavril seemed to struggle, finally asking, “Is she in the city?”

“No, son. She is not.”

Gavril didn’t seem surprised by the news. He turned his attention beyond the gatehouse, inside the walls to the palace grounds. Moria followed his gaze to see two warriors sparring. They were on a raised platform, which would have suggested they were performing for an audience, except the dais was unceremoniously placed at the rear of a government building. It was for training, then—get knocked off the narrow platform and the young warrior would suffer a bruised rump and ego.

In the silence, she could hear the faint click and clash of their blades. She moved to the fence for a better look. The two were dressed in battle armor. They wore sleeveless tunics and loose-fitting breeches, as Gavril did, but were also dressed in sleeve armor, shoulder plates, shin guards, and neck guards; all were made of fabric and covered in overlapping lacquered wood scales.

One of the warriors wasn’t much older than Moria. From here she could see little of him except dark hair tied back and arm tattoos, though only two pairs of bands, rather than full sleeves—one band circling his upper arms and one his lower, like ornamental cuffs.

“Is that how they sometimes do the tattoos?” she asked Gavril. “In stages?”

He shook his head.

Ashyn moved forward and murmured. “It signifies that he is a…” She seemed to struggle for a word, and her cheeks flushed. “He is not born of a wife, but a courtesan.”

“That’s Tyrus,” Gavril said. “He’s one of the emperor’s bastards.”

Moria watched the young man. His instructor was having a hard time keeping up, the youth’s sword flashing like quicksilver.

“Do you know him?” Moria asked Gavril.

“We trained together.”

“He’s very good.”

Gavril grunted. “Decent enough. We used to spar.”

“Until you weren’t enough of a challenge?”