The leader was now speaking of the great emperors, the first emperors.
She looked around wildly. Then she glanced at the cart beside her. A trader's, one big enough to be affixed to horses. Behind it, the merchant had stacked barrels. Ashyn clambered onto them. Ronan was at her side, saying nothing now that she was hidden. From the barrels, she heaved herself onto the roof of the cart.
"Ashyn, no!" He grabbed at her leg. "They'll see--"
She kicked him off and flattened herself, pulling her cloak hood down farther. Ronan climbed up beside her.
"There!" she said, pointing at the last captive. "Are you to tell me that's not Guin?"
The young woman stood in the line of the prisoners, wearing shackles, looking confused as she listened to the leader.
"How did the great emperors of old deal with threats to their lands? To their people? Did they exile traitors to a forest? No." He kicked the young Northerner onto all fours and waved for another warrior to take his hold on the young man's hair. "The great emperors of old knew how to deal with serpents."
His blade flashed, so fast there wasn't even time for a gasp from the crowd. The Northern merchant fell, and the warrior holding his hair swung his head into the air.
"That is how one deals with a serpent!" the leader boomed. "You chop off its head."
The warrior flung the young man's head into the crowd. A cry went up, delayed shock, and then the onlookers surged forward, enraged. The warriors fell on the first few, knocking them to the ground, holding them there, blades at their necks.
"Are the rest of you traitors as well?" the leader said. "I've shown you how we deal with them now, and I would suggest you take a moment to decide whether you are one of them."
The crowd rumbled and shifted. The old Northern merchant crouched by his grandson's body, weeping. The warriors kept their targets pinned, swords at their necks. Slowly, the mob backed off. Some on the edges began looking around, as if wishing to leave. Other false warriors appeared from behind buildings and carts, surrounding the crowd.
"If you are good citizens of the empire," the leader called out. "Then you will wish to bear witness. If you do not, we will know you are not good citizens." He turned to his men. "Let them decide for themselves if they have changed their minds."
Those pinned to the ground rose as soon as they were able and silently merged back into the throng. The leader strode to the next chained man. When a warrior went to grab him, the prisoner fought wildly, writhing and kicking, but three of the false warriors held him down. Others came forward to subdue the rest, and even as Ashyn saw the leader's sword rise, there was a part of her that did not make the logical assumption. That refused to make it.
He's bluffing. Threatening. Posturing. One death is enough. He does not need--
The blade fell. The young man heaved himself up at the last moment, in a final attempt to escape, and instead, lost the mercy of a quick death. The blade caught him too high, cutting but not slicing through bone. Blood sprayed like a fountain.
I'm not seeing this. I cannot be seeing this. The spirits. The ancestors. The goddess herself. None would allow--
Ronan clamped his hand on her collar and heaved her backward, dragging her off the roof of the cart. When she realized what he was doing, she stopped resisting and scrambled down herself, hitting the barrels hard, toppling one in her haste. She leaped to the ground, her ankle twisting, recovering fast as she lunged forward to race around the cart and--
Ronan hauled her back. She fumbled with her cloak's fastening, got free, and almost darted away again before he caught her by the tunic. He yanked her back and seized her arms instead.
"No," he said. "You cannot--"
"I must. Guin."
"You can't."
"I can try. I will try."
She gave a tremendous pull, but he only tightened his grip. When she began to struggle, he did the same as the false warriors in the square. He pushed her to the ground and pinned her there. Only he didn't pin her with a sword, but with his own body, holding her down, wincing as she kicked and fought. When she opened her mouth, he jammed his forearm against it, and she had to stop herself before she bit him.
"There's nothing you can do," he said. "Nothing."
She wriggled away from his forearm. "I can try--"
"How, Ash? It's a dozen men. Guin is chained. If you interfere at all, they will see who you are. You'll be captured, and Guin will still die."
"But I need to do something. Anything. Please."
"We can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He touched her face, wiping away tears, and only then did she realize she was crying. He wrapped his hands around her face, fingers entwined in her hair, and he pressed his palms to her ears, shutting out the screams and struggles of the dying. She lay there, gasping for breath, trying not to think--
Not to think of what was coming? To ignore Guin's death? To leave her out there, surrounded by strangers as she died?
"I need to be where she can see me."
He shook his head. "No, you don't. That won't make you feel any--"
"It's not about me. I won't let her die alone again."
THIRTY-NINE
Ronan finally agreed though with obvious reluctance. He kept hold of her arm, as if to steady her, but she knew it was to restrain her, should she have any urge to rush in and save Guin.
Of course she had the urge. But as she'd lain there crying, the tears had washed away the panic, and she realized he was right. Now, as they moved around the side of the cart, she could see it, too. Guin was chained, surrounded by Alvar's men, with more ringing the crowd. Perhaps earlier, if Ashyn had acted when the crowd rose up, in that initial surge of horror and rage . . .
Perhaps she could have turned the crowd against the false warriors.
Or perhaps she'd have gotten them all killed along with Guin.
While the others fought and wept as the blade came down the line, Guin only stood there. Perhaps it was shock, but it seemed like resolve. She'd been dead before. So she would be again. It was not what she wanted--so desperately not what she wanted--but from everything Ashyn knew of Guin's mortal life, she'd not been a girl accustomed to getting what she wanted. And so it was again.
Ashyn tried to ignore the executions, but that was as futile as ignoring a raging fire if you were caught in the middle. She heard the sobbing of the prisoners and their relatives and friends in the crowd. She heard the thwack of the blade, then the chortles of Alvar's men. She smelled blood and urine and vomit.
She kept her gaze on Guin and kept moving forward. When she was only a few paces away, the young woman noticed her. Her eyes rounded, and her gaze shot to Ronan, head shaking as she motioned for him to keep back, to take Ashyn away.
Ashyn shook her head and motioned that she'd not try anything, but she was staying where she was. She would not leave. Even Ronan seemed to realize that and finally released her.
I'm sorry, Ashyn mouthed as fresh tears streamed down her face.
Guin gave a wry smile. "Don't be."
The leader finished executing the man beside Guin. The girl tensed, fear finally crossing her face. He took a step toward her.
"No!" a voice called from deep in the crowd. "Not the women. Please, my lords. Spare the women."
I know that voice.
She turned to find that Ronan was no longer beside her. It was him shouting from the middle of the throng. A few people moved away from him, distancing themselves, but he stayed where he was, his blades hidden under his cloak, his gaze downcast, his posture servile.
"Please, my lords. Show mercy on the women. Take them if you must. Put them in service of the empire. But spare them."
There was little hope of that. Alvar's men wanted to portray imperial warriors as monsters, so they would kill the women, and Ronan's words could neither sway them nor goad them on. But there was still a chance of spurring the crowd to action. If they rose up, Ashyn and Ronan might be able to rescue Guin. That's what he was trying
to do. Provide a distraction.
While others took up his cry, their voices were low, their tone submissive, begging for mercy toward the two women. And that was all they did. They stayed in their places and they begged.
The leader motioned for one of his men to grab Guin's hair. Ashyn squeezed her eyes shut and spoke new words then. New pleas. To the ancestors and to Guin's spirit itself. Leap free, if you can. Let go.
Take her out of there. She does not belong in that body. Spare her this final moment.
Guin gasped. Ashyn's eyes flew open. The false warrior was wrenching Guin's head up as the leader's sword swung down.
Please, please, please. Release her. That's all I ask. Release her.
Before the sword struck, Guin's body went limp. Ashyn felt her spirit pass in a soft breeze and heard a whisper in her ear. "Thank you." Then Guin was gone and her body lay in the square.
"Come," Ronan whispered, appearing beside her, his hand on her arm. "We ought to get inside."
She turned and stared at him, and when she did, she felt as if it were her body on that stage, empty and cold. She looked at him, and all she could think of were the times they'd fought about Guin, all the times he'd cursed the inconvenience of her. Had she not done the same? Quietly and to herself?
We're finally rid of her, she thought, and began to sob.
They were in their room now, waiting for a chance to flee. She'd wanted to leave right away, but Ronan had said it wasn't safe. The false warriors would be watching for anyone running away from the "lesson" too fast. Indeed, in the short time that followed, Ashyn heard several screams, including a horse's, presumably killed carrying a traveler swiftly from the scene of the carnage.
As they waited, she spoke for the dead, easing their passage and offering one last heartfelt apology to Guin and a prayer that the ancestors would help her find her place in the second world.
Once Alvar's men were gone, the burbling rage of the crowd hit full boil. People began shouting, snarling, fighting. Grieving relatives blamed onlookers for not helping. Onlookers blamed the grieving relatives for raising sons and daughters who'd betray the empire. The anger and the confusion seemed almost a living thing, a dragon lashing through the crowd.
Twice, when she'd heard a scream, she'd marched to the door to tell them what had truly happened. But Ronan dragged her back and blocked the exit.
Otherwise, he sat on the sleeping pallet and stared at the wall. Tova moved between them, offering comfort. Ashyn took it, with hugs and pats. Ronan simply kept staring.
"I couldn't wait to be rid of her," he said, echoing her earlier thought.
"Not like that."
He turned dull eyes toward her. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it does."
"No, Ash. I called her useless. Too useless to look after my brother and sister. She was proving me wrong. When she came in, she overheard me talking about volunteering, so she did it. To prove herself."
"You didn't--"
"I ought to have been more careful with my words. Like you were. Shown her how to be useful, not harangued her when she wasn't. I was thoughtless, and I was careless." He paused. "I've learned nothing. Nothing at all."
She knelt to sit beside him. "Learned nothing about what?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He went quiet, then said, "Do you think I sealed her fate by begging for mercy for the women?"
"No, they were going to kill her. You hoped to rouse the crowd and cause a distraction. I understood that. Even if your pleas had no effect, Guin heard them. The final words she heard from you were kind ones. That meant something."
He nodded, his gaze to the side, then said, "The noise seems to be dying down. We'll leave as soon as we can and head to Lord Okami's lands to meet Tyrus."
"What? But we have to go to the city. More than ever. The emperor must be told--"
"It won't help. Those men fulfilled every disgruntled commoner's fears about the empire and its warriors, and this story will spread a day's ride by sundown. In fact, I'll wager it'll go even faster. Surely we didn't just happen to make rest in the one settlement they targeted."
"You think there were others."
"I'm certain of it. There's nothing Emperor Tatsu can do to stop the lies." He finally reached out and patted Tova as the hound lay his head on Ronan's knee. "This is the sort of thing I grew up with, Ash. To trick people, you prey on their worst fears by weaving a scenario just realistic enough to convince them. No matter what the emperor says, those who wish to see him guilty of this will."
Ashyn's insides folded on themselves, hope suffocating. "And there's nothing we can do to help?"
"Nothing except take this story to the only person who might know what to do with it."
"Tyrus."
FORTY
By the time Ronan and Ashyn felt it safe to leave the inn, the moon was well past its zenith. Then they were faced with a quandary: what to do with Guin's pack.
"Leave it," Ashyn said.
Ronan hesitated. "I know you will not wish to wear her clothing, but she was carrying some of our food and money and--"
Ronan's head snapped up, and he began patting his pockets. "She bought something tonight. She gave it to me." He pulled out a small cosmetic pot and handed it to her. "Henna cream. She said she remembered women using it to darken their complexion. She thought it might help you pass more easily."
Ashyn took and opened the pot. She dipped a tentative finger into the reddish-brown cream.
"She was so pleased that she'd found it," he said. "I never even thanked her."
She was trying, Ashyn thought. She truly was.
She didn't say that, of course. His guilt was heavy enough.
"I'll use it," she said. "I have no looking glass, so you'll need to tell me how it works."
Up close, the cream made for a rather obvious disguise, but from a distance, it would help, as long as she kept her hair covered and her face downcast.
As they stepped from their room, Tova went ahead to wait near the road. Ashyn looked at the square. The bodies were gone, thankfully. When she and Ronan rounded the building to the stables, though, they saw the heads on pikes near the roadway.
"They forbade us to remove them," the stable boy said as he got their horses. "The innkeeper is sick about it. It's a terrible tragedy, of course, but it'll be even worse for business. He's saying we might as well shut down."
Ronan hesitated, then glanced at Ashyn before saying, "I'll wager they won't be left up past the first imperial warrior or courtier riding by."
The boy tensed, one hand gripping Ashyn's reins. "Why's that?"
"Because I don't believe those men were imperial warriors. I've lived in the city all my life. I've seen plenty of guards. Oftentimes as I was running from the point of their blades."
The boy laughed and relaxed. From the cut of his clothes, he was low caste himself.
"I bear the imperial army no goodwill," Ronan said. "But they're proud men. They don't dress in mended uniforms and laugh at commoners. They consider themselves too good for that, the arrogant sons of whores."
The boy nodded. "When they stable their horses here, I won't even get a copper if their steeds don't leave as curried and combed as a court lady's mare."
"And I've never seen warriors led by one without ink." Ronan shrugged. "I could be wrong. I'm not staying to see if I am. But I don't think you'll need to keep those heads up more than a day or two. Now, we should be off . . ."
"Didn't you come with three horses?"
"Yes," Ronan said. "And we leave with two."
The boy hesitated, then his eyes went round. "I--I'm sorry."
Ronan nodded and they mounted their horses.
"About the third . . ." the boy said.
"Keep her. I suspect you'll have a few more horses today than you did yesterday. Perhaps that will be some compensation to the innkeeper."
Ashyn thanked the boy and paid him a few coppers. Before they left, Ronan paused, then he turned back and
gave the boy five coppers more.
"If there's any chance of taking one of those heads down, could you make sure it's the girl with the longer hair. Don't get yourself in any trouble for it, and I understand if you cannot, but if the opportunity presents itself . . . Perhaps the innkeeper can be persuaded that it's best to remove both the girls' heads . . ."
"I'll do what I can."
"That's all one can ask." Ronan bowed to the boy, and they rode into the night.
FORTY-ONE
The cushion caught Gavril in the side of the head, sending him stumbling backward with an oath.
"I suppose I should be thankful there's nothing harder for you to throw. Or sharper."
She yanked a long, jeweled pin from her hair and whipped it. She'd been aiming for his eye, but sadly, he turned at the last moment and caught it in the cheek instead. It still scratched, and he let out a hiss, not loud enough to bring the guards, who'd retreated with Rametta.
"Moria . . . I know you're angry--"
"Do you? Truly? Give me your dagger, and I'll show you how angry I am."
"Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I've not argued since the moment he mentioned it? It isn't a real betrothal. You don't have to marry me."
"I don't? Ancestors, have mercy. Because otherwise, I'd have gone through with it." She strode over and glowered up at him. "Going through with it is not in question, Kitsune. If your father dragged me to the marriage shrine, I'd commit ritual suicide before I got there. With a hairpin if needed. After I killed you with it."
Her gaze moved to the floor. He stepped back, his foot coming down to cover the hairpin.
"My father has assured me there is no question of an actual marriage. It's a betrothal for political posturing. A sign that even the goddess favors his ascension to the imperial throne, having given her child to his in marriage."
"Is he mad? A Keeper cannot marry. It's an insult to the goddess--"
"There's a precedent."
She stared at him.
"There's a precedent, and my father is using it to bolster his claim on the imperial throne by saying it's a portent."
"No, it's insanity."
"I am not disagreeing. But as I said, there will be no marriage. Simply a betrothal. The wedding will be postponed until he takes the throne, when it can be properly celebrated."