"You have nothing--"
"I do."
"No." She met his eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for, and if you think you do, then yes, you are forgiven. But you--"
His eyes began to close.
"Stay with me, Kitsune. Please, please, please." Tears streamed down her face onto his, and his eyes opened barely a crack. He fumbled for her hand, and she took it, squeezing it hard. "Please, just--"
"I was never good at obeying your orders, Keeper. But for once, I wish I could. Just stay here." His hand gripped hers. "Stay here, and tell me a story, one of your silly stories . . ."
His eyes closed. She wanted to shake him again, to shout at him to wake up, but she knew he wouldn't. She had seen the wound. She knew what it portended. Now she crouched there, crying and clutching his limp hand. Then she leaned and kissed his lips.
"I'll see you on the other side, Kitsune," she said. "Do not forget me."
I never could, Keeper, his spirit whispered as it slipped past, and she fell onto his bloodied body, sobbing like she would break in two.
FIFTY-SEVEN
When Moria finally rose, she saw Tyrus there, kneeling beside Gavril, tears rolling down his cheeks. She reached for his hand and he took it but said nothing, just rose. He stood with her as their gazes went to one figure standing on that dais.
Alvar Kitsune stood as if frozen in one of his own spells. His gaze was locked on his son, and his expression . . . Moria didn't care about his expression. Didn't care if he looked like he was going to fall on his own blade. She'd not let him. She'd wield that blade herself. And so she rose, and in her hand she held a dagger--Gavril's own dagger.
Tyrus walked at her side, his own blade raised. She met Alvar's gaze, and he did not flinch. Gave no expression at all, just looked at her with eyes as dead and empty as his son's.
"He hated you," Moria said. "That's the last thing I want you to hear, Alvar Kitsune. The last thought I want impressed in your mind. That your son despised you. That he was ready to give up his afterlife if that's what his betrayal cost him. What happened here? You have no one to blame but yourself. You killed him as surely as if you wielded the blade."
One of the guards moved forward, but Alvar lifted a hand to stop him. Then his lips began to move.
"Casting magics?" Moria said. "That is your only true power, isn't it? The only reason you stood a chance of winning. You raised the dead and you twisted innocent spirits and you slaughtered innocent citizens with them. You snuck spirits into the city in the bodies of children."
She expected him to deny it, or at least to sneer and gloat at how easily they'd been trapped by their sentimentality, bringing the children into the very palace grounds. But he said nothing. Just continued to whisper.
Moria raised her dagger and Tyrus his sword. No one moved to stop them. Alvar's own guards stood stock-still. Emperor Tatsu met Moria's gaze and then Tyrus's, as if to say that he would do this if they could not. They both shook their heads. Moria stopped in front of Alvar Kitsune and lifted her dagger.
"Wait," he said, and his voice was oddly soft. "Let me finish."
"Finish casting your spell?" She gave an ugly laugh. "Of course, my lord. I'll let you finish so you may turn out the lights and escape."
"If I wanted that, I'd have done it. Plunge that dagger into my gut, Keeper. Start me on my way to the second world. But let me complete my magics before you finish me off."
Of course she would. He was the nine-tailed fox. He'd trick her with his dying breath. Yet as she lifted the dagger again, a passing spirit whispered Wait, and she hesitated, thinking it was Gavril, and the pain of that, of hearing him as a spirit, of remembering his broken body behind her--it stopped her hand. Then the spirit said, Wait, child, and she realized it was not him. Yet she paused, just a moment, unwittingly long enough for Alvar to finish.
"There," he said. "It is done. And so am I."
He reached as if to pull open his tunic for the fatal blow. Instead, he grabbed his sword. Before he even had it out, Moria was on him, stabbing him in the chest, thoughts of Gavril fueling her rage as she stabbed him again and again, expecting to feel his blade at any moment. Instead, he said, "Best not to attack an unarmed man. It is dishonorable." Then he smiled. An odd little smile. And there was a thwack, and the smile was gone, his head gone, blood spraying. Tyrus pulled her back out of the way, his bloodied blade still in hand. She stumbled and he caught her and they both stared at Alvar Kitsune's body.
"There's a trick," Moria whispered. "I know there's a trick."
But there wasn't. Alvar Kitsune lay on the dais, his head against the wall, his life's blood flowing into his son's. Moria couldn't look at Gavril. It was as if, by not looking, it would not have happened like this. That instead of throwing himself under that blade, Gavril would have killed his father. But Moria knew why he'd made this choice. Because killing Alvar wouldn't have stopped the blade. Even dragging Tyrus aside would have changed nothing. Alvar would only have restrained Gavril and killed Tyrus and perhaps the crown prince, too, reneging on the deal in his rage. No, the only thing that would truly stop Alvar? The death of his son. Of his only heir.
It had been about Gavril. All about Gavril.
No, she imagined Gavril's voice. It was about him. His legacy.
Which was true, but Gavril was that legacy. Alvar hadn't been securing the throne for himself. He was older than Emperor Tatsu. He'd not have ruled for long. He would win the empire, rule briefly, then hand it to his son and watch his legacy unfold.
Gavril had given his life. To stop his father. To save his friend. Moria had begged him to do something, anything . . . and he had done everything. Given everything.
And she would never forgive herself for that.
She felt Tyrus's arms around her then. They were shaking, and she reminded herself that she was not the only one who'd suffered this loss. As much as she cared for Gavril--no, as much as she loved him--Tyrus had loved him first. Loved him. Lost him. Gotten him back. Lost him again.
Moria turned in Tyrus's arms and hugged him, letting her dagger clank to the floor, as his sword did the same. They stood there until they both realized the room was no longer silent, that people were milling about, freed from their shock.
They both looked to see the emperor standing there. They parted, and he embraced them, first his son and then Moria, whispering "I'm so, so sorry, child."
She nodded and pulled back. Maiko was there, on the dais, and she hugged them both as well, gripping Moria with a fiercer embrace than Moria would have expected of the concubine. When Tyrus and Moria finally pulled away from both his parents, Moria looked . . . and saw an empty blood pool where Gavril had lain.
"Where--?" she began.
"They've taken him," Maiko murmured. "He'll be tended to."
"I want to see him."
"I know. Someone will lead you there. Both of you."
Moria stepped back. Then she saw Daigo, and she broke from Tyrus, leaping off the dais and running to her wildcat. As soon as she touched him, his eyes opened.
"Ashyn," she whispered to Daigo. "We must find Ashyn and Tova."
Tyrus was already there, helping her up, his sword back in place. "We'll go now. Daigo? Are you well enough--?"
The wildcat was on his feet before Tyrus could finish. They all started for the door, everyone falling out of their way.
"Moria!"
She stopped short and turned to see her sister racing in a side exit, Tova and Ronan at her heels. Moria ran to her and caught her up in a hug.
"We were locked outside with Sabre and the Okamis," Ashyn said. "We only just got in. You're . . ." She pulled back, staring down at Moria's blood-soaked clothing. "What happened? Are you hurt? Where are you--?"
"It's not mine. Gavril . . ." She swallowed, the pain surging again. "He . . . he . . ."
"Moria is fine," Tyrus said softly. "Alvar Kitsune is dead."
"And Gavril?"
Moria met her sister's gaze and shook her head. That was all she cou
ld manage. A head shake. It was enough. Ashyn pulled Moria into her arms and they both began to weep.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Gavril had been taken away for his body to be prepared. It took time to find him, and Moria grew angry, even Tyrus's patience fraying until finally he snapped at the woman in charge of preparations, when she admitted she wasn't sure where the young warrior lay.
"He's . . . still in the palace," she said. "In one of the rooms there. His body . . . it was not in good . . . they did not wish to move him far."
Moria saw the sword falling on Gavril again, slicing into his back, and she teetered, shaking her head when Ashyn and Tyrus both reached for her and leaning on Daigo instead for support.
When they turned to head back to the palace, the woman hurried into their path. "You ought to wait--"
"No," Tyrus said, and brushed her aside.
They found the room easily then, in the rear of the palace. Easily because two guards raced past them on the way, and there were two young healers outside the room babbling to a older man so fast Moria couldn't catch more than a word or two of what they said.
Tyrus broke into a run, Moria behind him.
"What's going on here?" he said. He looked at the closed door. "Is that where Gavril Kitsune lies?"
The older man stepped in front of the door. It was one of the senior household stewards, looking as shaken and frightened as a newly appointed clerk.
"Y-yes, your highness," the steward said. "But you ought not to go in there. The body . . . it is not in any condition . . ."
"We were at his side when he died," Tyrus said. "We bound him. We know exactly what condition he was in. Now step aside."
"T-there is a problem," the steward said. He bowed awkwardly, sweat dripping from his brow. "I beg deepest forgiveness, your highness, but I must ask you to wait. Your imperial father has been summoned--"
"My father is dealing with the death of three of his sons. And the death of many more of his people. As much as he cares for Gavril, this is not the time to bother him with funeral arrangements."
"I-it is not that . . ."
"Sorcery," one of the girls whispered. "It is sorcery."
The steward spun, hand raised as if to strike her. Tyrus caught the man's arm and then turned to the girl.
"What is happening?" he said. "And remember who you address."
The girl bowed her head. "Yes, your highness. I--I cannot say exactly what happened. I know only that it is sorcery. When we saw . . ." She swallowed. "We fled the room and summoned the steward and the guards."
Sorcery. The spell Alvar had cast. The girl said something about the body. Had he done something to Gavril's body? Some final indignity? Revenge on his son for his betrayal?
"We have to--" she began.
She didn't need to finish. Tyrus's hand was already on the door, his glare silencing the steward.
"Ashyn? Ronan? I'll ask you to wait here. Moria and I will see what this is."
"And you'll bring us in then, correct?" Ashyn said, meeting his gaze. "If it is sorcery, Moria and I may be able to do something."
Tyrus nodded. "I will summon you as soon as we've determined it's safe."
"Or as soon as you've determined it isn't," Ronan said.
Another nod, and Tyrus opened the door. Moria and Daigo walked in, and he closed it behind them. Gavril lay on a raised platform. He was naked, a sheet pulled over him for propriety. He lay on his back, his wound partially bound. There had been some initial attempts to clean the flecked blood on his face and shoulders, as if the girls had started there while awaiting a surgeon to sew up the terrible wound on his back. The bindings had been pulled away, preparing for that, and Moria stopped short, not wanting to see that horrible wound. Except . . .
Moria stopped. She stared. Then she jogged past Tyrus to Gavril's side and pulled the binding back farther. She kept tugging, certain she was mistaken about the wound, the size of it, the horror of it, and that at any moment, she'd reveal the bloody slice that had ended his life.
There was no wound. Moria grabbed a cloth from the bowl and hastily wiped at Gavril's side. There, under the blood, was the mark. Not the gaping tear that had nearly ripped him in two. Just a mark, like a long-healed scar.
"It must be farther up his back," Tyrus said.
She nodded and pushed Gavril up, Tyrus helping. But there was no gaping wound, only that scar. She stood there, Gavril's body cold against her fingers.
Why would Alvar do this? Spend his last moments closing his son's wound? Was this a custom from the mountains, from before the Kitsunes became the Kitsunes, before they became an imperial clan? Ashyn had once mentioned a tribe that would stitch its dead back together fully, in the belief that they would not be able to enter the afterlife otherwise.
"I don't understand," Moria whispered.
Tyrus shook his head. "Nor do I. But if it's sorcery, it isn't with evil intent. I don't see how it could be." They lowered Gavril's body to the platform. "I'll tell the girls to resume their work, and we'll stand guard, in case they're concerned about evil magics."
He headed for the door. Moria stood there, looking down at Gavril, thinking of Gavril, seeing him again, his glower, his scowl, hearing his snapped words. And the rest, too, that slight smile, that low laugh. Rare moments. Too rare. She reached for his hand and took it, feeling the skin warm as if from her touch, and she thought of those last moments, Gavril on the dais, meeting her gaze as she'd silently pleaded with him to do something.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so--"
His hand twitched, and her heart stopped. She stared down at him. He lay as still as ever. His lips as still as ever. His chest as still as ever. It was her imagination. Her treacherous--
Gavril's lips parted and his chest moved and she shouted for Tyrus, her hands flying to Gavril's neck, feeling the barest pulse of life. Then his eyes fluttered and opened, looking into hers as his lips curved in the faintest smile, and his lips parted to whisper, "Keeper." And she threw her arms around him and wept.
FIFTY-NINE
"Come," Moria whispered in Ashyn's ear. "Let's leave them alone."
Gavril was sitting now, talking to Tyrus as one of the young healers ran to find her mistress and the guard ran to inform the emperor.
"If you wish to stay . . ." Ashyn whispered, but Moria shook her head and said, "Gavril died for him. They should have a moment alone. And they'll not get it once everyone hears what has happened."
What had happened? Ashyn still didn't know, to be quite honest. Gavril was alive. Alive and healed, and she'd checked him herself, as Moria had tentatively put questions to him, ensuring it was no sorcery. He'd passed her sister's tests. It was Gavril. Alive. And as Moria walked from that death chamber, she glowed as if lit by the fire of the goddess herself.
"Do you know what happened?" Ashyn asked.
"Perhaps. We can speak of that later. For now . . ." Her sister turned and caught her in a hug so fierce it took Ashyn's breath away. "For now, you are alive. That is the most important thing, and I want to talk about you. Not Gavril. Not Tyrus. Not you either," she said as she turned to Ronan, who'd been following, and waved him off with, "Begone, boy. I wish time with my sister."
He only smiled, bowed, and said, "As you will, my lady," and headed back toward the chamber.
Moria looked at Daigo and Tova. "I suppose you may both stay. But see that you do not interrupt my time with Ashyn."
Tova harrumphed and Daigo rolled his eyes, but they fell back, trailing them as Ronan had been.
"Thea and Ellyn are dead," Ashyn said, which was not, she suspected, what Moria wished to hear, but she could not go further without telling her.
Moria's smile faded and she bowed her head. "I am sorry to hear it. I suppose we ought to go there, to say blessings for their departure."
"I did so quickly, as I left. But yes, we ought to." She looped her arm through her sister's. "We'll take the long way, to avoid others. You can tell me what happened in the palace."
"You first," Moria said. "You're the older one. You can start."
Ashyn managed a smile at that. She was a half day older, and Moria had always hated the reminder. She tugged her sister closer, and she began.
Four days had passed since the horror of that night. Ashyn was where she'd been every afternoon since, in the tiny apartment that Ronan had once called home. He'd paid his last rent and was preparing to move his siblings to the court, at the emperor's insistence. It was temporary, of course, but with everything that had happened, it wasn't the time for long-term plans.
Ronan had offered his services as the emperor struggled with the loss of over half his imperial guard. That's what Ronan was doing now while Ashyn watched his siblings.
Though it had been four days, there had been little time for personal conversations. Ronan's time was split between court and home, and Ashyn's was, too, on the opposite schedule, as she prepared to take over as court Seeker while Ronan was home with Aidra and Jorn. He'd tried to speak to her several times, but she'd brushed him off, not unkindly, simply making it clear that this was not the time.
She was reading to Aidra while Jorn feigned disinterest in the story, yet never moved far enough away that he couldn't hear it. When Ronan arrived, he had to duck to enter the dark, dingy apartment. Even the dim lighting couldn't hide his exhaustion. But he walked straight to her, as he always did, bending to brush his lips across her cheek and whisper, "Thank you."
"Are things getting any better?" she asked.
He made a face. "Better, yes. There's still much to be done."
The court was in turmoil, and they were all dealing with it. Alvar might be gone, but the emperor still had to deal with the warlords and warriors who'd betrayed him. Politics rather than war, which was some relief, though it meant little rest for anyone as they handled the aftermath and stitched the empire back together.
"Will you finish the story tomorrow?" Aidra asked, climbing off her lap and giving Tova a farewell hug.
"I will," Ashyn said. "But I'm not leaving just yet. Ronan has some very exciting news, and I want to be here when he shares it."
Ronan mouthed: I do?
"Shall I tell them?" Ashyn asked.
He frowned in confusion.