Kelley Armstrong - Sea of Shadows

As 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 Edge-wood, 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 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, unwittingly 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!”