"The other boxes," Ashyn said quickly. "We must open the others and free--"
The mummy twitched. Ashyn stopped. They all stared as the thing went still and silent again.
"Did it just--?" Tyrus began.
The mummy hurled itself at him. Even as her eyes saw it happen, Ashyn's mind could not comprehend it. For that "bag of bones" to sit up would seem an impossibility. But to fly from the box, leaping on Tyrus, arms and legs scrabbling . . .
Ronan fumbled with his blade as the thing knocked Tyrus off his feet and fell on him like a dervish, clawing and kicking.
Moria did not hesitate. She grabbed the mummy by the back of its tattered tunic, shouting "Begone, spirit!" But the thing clung to Tyrus, now scrambling to its feet as it beat at him. Tyrus pulled his blade but there was nothing he could do with it--the mummy had one arm wrapped around his neck as it hung off him. He sheathed his sword and grabbed that arm instead, heaving at it as Moria continued to pull on the tunic and command the spirit to leave.
Tyrus could not unclench the mummy's grip, and when Moria grew frustrated and yanked harder, the fabric tore in her hands, sending her staggering back. Ronan had his blade out then and rushed for the thing, but the beasts were there first. Tova grabbed a leg. Daigo made the mistake of doing what wildcats do with prey--leaping onto its back and going for the neck. The jolt of Daigo's landing knocked Tyrus down again.
Ashyn had recovered from the shock and was speaking to the spirit within the mummy. She promised they meant it no harm and apologized for what had happened. Neither assurance was particularly convincing--not when two very large beasts bit at the mummy and one very angry Keeper shouted at it. It was also admittedly difficult to apologize when the mummy was the one causing the trouble. But Ashyn thought of that poor, twisted thing in the box, of the horror the spirit must have experienced, and she focused on that, telling it that freedom was close, the second world was close, its suffering was almost at an end.
She'd like to think her words loosened its resolve and calmed its fevered panic. But she acknowledged that Moria--snarling at it to be gone and pummeling it with spiritual energy--probably played a greater role in its eventual decision to depart. There was, again, a rush of wind. Then the mummified remains fell still.
Tyrus pushed the mummy off him and rose, whisking sloughed bits of dried flesh from his tunic.
"Well, that wasn't at all humiliating," he said. "Please tell me I didn't shriek. And if I did? Remember I am of imperial lineage. Lie to me."
"You didn't shriek," Moria said. "Still, it is a shame Simeon wasn't here to record the encounter for posterity. Prince Tyrus, attacked by a mummified monk. Truly, though, it looked more like a monkey. A crazed monkey, clinging to you--"
"Enough," he said with a feigned scowl. "Speaking of monks, did they see . . . ?"
He looked around. Ivo had sidled off as they opened the box. Now he huddled with the other two a hundred paces away.
"Well, at least they didn't bear close witness," Tyrus muttered.
"You needn't worry," Ashyn said. "Two of them have taken vows of silence."
"Though they might have been tempted to break them," Moria said. "To relay that particular story."
"But I did not shriek, correct?"
She smiled. "You did not shriek." Her gaze swept over him. "That thing didn't bite you, did it?"
Her tone had Tyrus touching his face, eyes widening in alarm. "I don't think so. A bite doesn't turn one into a shadow stalker, does it?"
"That would be ridiculous," Moria said. "I meant that being bitten by any dead thing cannot be healthy. But I don't think we're dealing with shadow stalkers either. Not the sort we've seen."
She glanced at Ashyn, who nodded and said, "I suspect it's a . . ." She looked at the distant monks and lowered her voice. "A related incident. If Alvar is using such strong spirit-based magics, side effects could be expected."
Moria nodded. "Alvar raises shadow stalkers and disturbs the natural process of death and passage to the second world, trapping spirits in this realm and forcing them to seek other habitation."
"I'm not sure they seek it." Ashyn looked at the broken mummy and shuddered. "I cannot imagine voluntarily trapping oneself in that."
"Which begs the question," Tyrus said. "Why return when it had been freed? We felt the spirit leave. It fled the moment it could. And then returned?"
"I don't think it actually--"
The mummy twitched. This time, both Ronan and Tyrus leaped on it, blades slashing. Ronan severed an arm. Tyrus cleaved the corpse clean in half, the legs falling free. Yet the thing was already in flight, hurtling itself at Moria . . . who skewered it on the end of her outthrust dagger. She held it there, casually, as the mummy gnashed its teeth and clawed with its remaining arm.
"Need some help with that?" Tyrus asked.
"No, it's remarkably light. That must be a result of the drying process."
"And the fact it's missing three limbs."
"True."
Ashyn cast a nervous glance at the huddled monks, now shifting and looking their way. "We ought to lower our voices. Or be more respectful. It is a monk, after all."
"Mmm, not truly," Moria said. "It's only part of a monk." She caught Ashyn's look. "Yes, I know. Give me a hand getting it free."
Ashyn looked aghast at the mummy, and Moria sputtered a laugh.
"I mean the spirit," she said.
Ashyn started her entreaties, while Moria ordered the spirit gone. It didn't take long before the wind came, signaling the spirit's departure.
"Now let's hope it stays gone this time," Ronan said.
Ashyn cleared her throat. "Actually, as I was trying to say, I don't think the spirit returned." She pointed at the sealed box next to the open one. "That one's been quiet since the first attack. And now I'll wager one of those two"--she pointed at the boxes on the other wagon--"is quiet."
Tyrus nodded. "Because those spirits hopped into this fellow."
"They can apparently jump bodies on their own, but cannot move to the second world without help. I think the attacks were more panic than anything. Realizing they'd leaped, only to still not be free."
"So let's help the last one," Moria said. "Ronan? Pry open that fourth box. I'll guard this"--she indicated the hacked-up mummy--"in case he makes the jump. Ashyn? Can you go with Ronan and perform the rituals? If we can do this without me bullying the spirit, that's best."
"And my task?" Tyrus asked.
"I would not presume to give you one, your highness."
Tyrus laughed. "Which means you don't have anything for me to do. I'll help Ronan. Shout if that comes back to life."
"I think I can handle it."
He grinned. "I've no doubt."
They laid the last spirit to rest without incident. Then Tyrus spoke to the monks. He told them that he had no idea what had happened, but it was resolved now and they ought not to speak of it to anyone until he'd related the events to his imperial father.
Moria went with Tyrus, leaving Ronan and Ashyn alone.
"I suppose you'll be scuttling off into the shadows again," she said.
He tensed as if he didn't like her choice of words. Then he motioned for her and Tova to follow him farther away so they could speak.
"What are you doing here?" she asked when they neared the ridge base.
"Tyrus hired me to accompany you."
"Oh." That was, of course, not what she'd hoped to hear.
"You ought to have told me you were leaving the city," he said.
"Then you ought to have accepted my request for an audience, so I could have explained the situation."
He paused. "Was that what you wished to see me about? I thought . . ." He inhaled. "When I left. That kiss. I . . . I feared how you might have interpreted it."
She said nothing. She couldn't. It was hard enough to stand there, listening to her fears made real.
"We had been together for days," he continued. "I came to care for you, but . . . it was n
ot the sort of caring that my kiss implied. I apologize for that."
Ashyn clenched her hands at her sides. Stop talking. Please stop talking.
"You're a wonderful girl, Ashyn. You're brilliant and you're beautiful and you're . . ." He trailed off, as if he could find no more adjectives to flatter her with.
Stop talking now. Please.
He continued. "I do care for you. But I feared that after my kiss, you may have expected more."
She gathered all her strength and lifted her gaze to his. "Truly? Do you think I've never been kissed before? I'm past my sixteenth summer. I took it as nothing more than a farewell. Perhaps foolishly over-affectionate, which did make me fear you might have meant more, but I'm glad to hear you did not. I am the Seeker of Edgewood. You are . . ."
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.
TWELVE
They'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 bro
ught 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.
THIRTEEN
Two 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.
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