So Wenda had lied about seeing Moria leave Edgewood. Her charge against Gregor had also been a lie. She must have overheard Ronan and Ashyn talking about leaving together and accused Gregor, knowing it would keep the group together, so she could ensure Ashyn reached Fairview, which seemed to be her mission.
Was Wenda still alive? Or had she been consumed by that spirit? Was Moria alive? Their captors said yes. Their captors were cutthroats and thieves.
Ashyn could be the only survivor of her village. And here she was, putting on a pretty frock for breakfast.
When she came out, the meal had arrived. Ronan was stuffing pickled plums into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten in days. Which was, she'd learned, pretty much how he ate every time an unlimited amount of food was placed in front of him. Presumably food in this quantity and variety had not been part of his daily table, as it had hers. And perhaps that should soften her annoyance. It would later, when she looked back, after he'd made his escape. She'd think of his life and would not question why he'd chosen to leave her behind, to consider only himself. That was his life. She should expect nothing more. But for now, thinking of all they'd been through, she did expect more. She couldn't help it.
"We need to talk about Tova," she said as she took a bowl of rice porridge. "He can't go through the roof."
"We'll figure--"
"Do not tell me we'll figure it out." She struggled not to snap the words. "I think we have been through enough for me to expect a little honesty. There is no way to get Tova out through the roof. Therefore I cannot leave. You're waiting for me to realize that. First, though, you needed to make sure I helped you open those tiles for your escape."
He'd chewed steadily slower as she'd spoken. Now he swallowed and his eyes narrowed. "If I wanted to escape alone, Ashyn, I could have done that yesterday, when you were taken. I was outside the village walls. I could have escaped."
"Without a reward."
His face darkened, and he set down his plums.
Before he could answer, she said, "If my tone is harsh, I apologize. I'm tired and my fingers hurt from prying those tiles. But I would have done it for you. I only wish you'd show me the respect of honesty. I've never faulted you for wanting a reward. You deserve it. You helped me, and I do not expect you to suffer with me. As you said, you came back. The reason doesn't matter. The point is that you are leaving alone, and I wish you would not pretend otherwise."
"You could come."
"Without Tova? Even to suggest that--" --shows how little you know me. She wouldn't say that, though. It spoke of disappointment.
"I meant that you come with me, and Tova will find a way back to you. He can take care of himself, Ashyn, and he can do it better if he doesn't need to worry about you."
Ashyn stroked Tova's head. He lay beside her, quiet and still, as if not to interrupt or influence the conversation. "And what if, in trying to get back to me, he's killed? They'll not hesitate to kill him, which means I will not leave him. I did once and . . ."
She didn't say, "And look what happened." Ronan would tell her that the shadow stalkers would have risen even if Tova had been with her that day. He was correct, and yet it was one more small thing that added to the pile of what she'd done wrong, what she felt she'd done wrong.
She looked over at Ronan. "Go. I understand."
He argued, but it was clear there was no other way out of this quandary. She would not leave without Tova, so she could not leave through the roof. As for Ronan . . .
"I must go," he said, shifting, his gaze averted. "I know I ought to stay and look after you--"
"I don't need looking after, Ronan."
"I still would not leave, if there were no other considerations. But I have . . . responsibilities. In the city. People who need me."
Who? she wanted to ask. You were exiled to your death. No one would expect you to return. They will have moved on with their lives and . . .
She caught the look in his downcast eyes. The anxiety and the worry, and she realized what he meant.
You have someone there. A girl. You left a girl, a lover, and now she thinks you're dead, and you're anxious to get back and show her that you are not.
It made a romantic tale. The young rogue, cheating death, returning to his grieving lover. But in reality . . . ? Ashyn had always known that life did not resemble one of her book stories or Moria's bard tales, and yet there'd been part of her that hoped it did. The more she saw, the more she realized she was wrong. People made up those stories because it's what they wanted from their world. A place where goodness, kindness, and honor were rewarded. They were not rewarded. The people of Edgewood could attest to that.
Would Ronan's lover be waiting for him? There was a tiny part of Ashyn that wanted to point out the futility of that hope and the almost certain disappointment that lay ahead. The same tiny part that realized he had someone, and felt the crush of those words. A tiny part that wondered why he'd not mentioned it, and suspected it was because Ashyn would be more susceptible to his charm and his flirting--and more likely to argue that he deserved a reward--if he did not say he had a lover in the city. That was, she supposed, unfair and rather petty, but she thought it nonetheless before pushing all that aside to say, with conviction.
"Then you should go. If you can find a way to let someone in the city know what has happened . . ."
"I will."
Thirty-nine
As hard as Ashyn tried, she could not quite shake the lingering hurt over Ronan's . . . betrayal certainly wasn't the right word. Even abandonment felt too harsh. Just hurt, then, not so much that he was leaving, but that his agreement seemed to come so easily.
Still, she'd help him. That was the honorable thing to do. Assist him in any way she could. Be happy that at least one of them escaped.
She suggested a plan and he agreed to it. After breakfast, he gathered what food he could carry and took a makeshift bag he'd devised. Then he went up into the rafters while she took Tova to the door.
She rapped on it. The guard heard her--she'd knocked loudly enough--but he didn't answer. She rapped harder and said, "My hound requires meat."
The door opened then, the guard peeking in, his face screwed up as if he'd misheard.
"There was no meat with breakfast," she said, "save some pickled fish."
His face screwed up more. It didn't help that she'd spoken softly. Intentionally so, though her voice was never loud at any time. Now she stepped back and motioned at Tova.
"He cannot stomach pickled fish. He requires meat. Preferably fresh, though he'd settle for anything you have. Even fish, if it's not pickled."
The guard was one of the villagers. A warrior, given his dual blades. Not a high-ranking one--he bore no tattoos--but that was to be expected from a village guard. He was perhaps as old as her father, and she'd like to think that when he looked on her, there was kindness in his eyes, as if he might have a daughter her age. The kindness was, of course, rightfully tempered by caution and a touch of sardonic humor.
"Let me guess, Seeker," he said. "You would like me to go and fetch you some meat, leaving the door unguarded."
No, I want to hold your attention while Ronan escapes across the roof.
She smiled. "That would be nice, but I know you won't be so foolish. I simply want meat for my hound. His stomach has been grumbling, and I'm concerned. He requires more exercise than he's been receiving--and, no, I'm not asking to take him for walks. I understand our limitations. I only request that when the girls come to take our breakfast trays, you tell them to bring meat."
"All right, then, Seeker," he said. "Since you've asked nicely and haven't played any tricks--"
The guard pitched forward. He fell into Ashyn, and something hit the floor on either side of him. Pieces of a roof tile. Ronan stood behind him holding a second one, ready to smash it over the guard's head, but he was already on the floor, unconscious.
"Haven't lost the knack," Ronan said with a grin. "Come on, then. We need to pull him inside
and go."
Ashyn stared at him.
"I saw an opportunity," he said. "Now quickly. Before someone comes."
Ashyn helped him drag the guard the rest of the way inside. They went out and closed the door.
"That way," Ronan said, pointing to a building across the way. "I could see from the roof and it's clear over--"
"Going somewhere, Seeker?"
Barthol rounded the corner, two of his men flanking him. Ashyn wheeled to see two more coming in the other direction. She looked straight ahead, where they'd planned to run.
"Go!" she whispered to Ronan. "They want me."
Before Ronan could run--or decide not to--one of Barthol's men had him with a blade at his throat.
"Oh, I think we want him, too, Seeker," Barthol said. "To keep you in line. Now, tell your cur to stop growling or we'll give him cause."
Ashyn laid her hand on Tova's head, but he stopped even before that. If there'd been a chance of overpowering the men, he'd have attacked already.
"Good girl." Barthol moved in front of her. "Turn around and go back inside your pretty little cage. I will count to three, and if you are not inside, the boy dies. One . . . two . . ."
She flung the door open, with Tova at her side, both of them stumbling over the body of the unconscious guard. Barthol shoved Ronan in with her, then strode over, lifted the guard by the front of his tunic, and slapped him hard enough that even Ronan winced. The man jerked awake.
"So . . ." Barthol said. "You let the Seeker and her brat boy escape."
"What?" He looked around wildly and when his gaze settled on Ashyn, she saw accusation there, and felt it, too, even as she told herself she'd done nothing wrong, that they were clearly the victims here.
"They bashed you on the head and escaped."
"I--"
"Are you going to tell me you let them go? That your conscience would not permit you to hold a Seeker captive?"
"No, of course not. I--"
"The alternative is that you were stupid enough to be fooled by two children. I would suggest, as a warrior, you stay with the first excuse. At least then you'll die with honor."
"D-die?" The guard scrambled to his feet.
Ashyn leaped forward. "It was my fault, not his. Please don't--"
"Silence, Seeker, or your boy dies. Back up three paces, or your boy dies. Do anything to displease me and your boy dies." He met her gaze with a chilling smile, silver teeth flashing. "Is that clear?"
She backed up. Ronan took her arm and tried to lead her into their quarters.
"No, boy," Barthol called. "She stays and she watches what she's done." He turned to the guard. "Take out your dagger, warrior. You know what to do with it."
"No," Ashyn blurted. "Please--"
She stopped as one of the other mercenaries stepped toward Ronan, his blade raised. Ronan put his arm around Ashyn, moving up behind her and whispering, "Keep your gaze on the wall beside him. Look, but don't look. Think of something else."
As Ronan whispered, the warrior pleaded.
"Please. I have a family. My wife, my children. My parents are aged, and I'm their only son. Give me any punishment, any at all. Please."
Barthol's men flanked him, one on each side, pressing down on his shoulders until he sat cross-legged, in the proper position. One took out the guard's dagger and put it in his hand.
"Do you know the point of ritual suicide?" Barthol sounded bored. "I may not be a warrior, but even I know it. You take your own life with honor, not beg for it like a dog. You want another punishment? All right. I'll take you into the village square, for all to see, and execute you. Cleave off your head in front of your wife and children and parents, so they may--"
The guard didn't even need Barthol to finish. He thrust his dagger into his stomach and sliced it open. Ashyn fell back. Ronan's arm tightened around her and he kept whispering, "Look to the side, Ashyn. Look to the side," but even if she did, she could see the blood and smell it and hear the man, still alive, breathing hard and panicked as he died.
"Finish it," Ronan said to Barthol, his voice a growl. "Finish the ritual."
"Finish?" Barthol sounded confused.
"The killing blow," Ronan said between his teeth. "That is how it's done. As soon as he plunges in the blade, you cut off his head. Show him mercy."
Barthol screwed up his face. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Barthol turned to the others. "Have any of you heard that part?"
They smiled and said no, they had not. Ashyn looked at the big man and she knew he understood the ritual full well. Writhing in agony, the guard whispered, "Please, please."
"Well, I suppose it makes sense," Barthol said. "This does seem slow. We'll be here all day." He glanced at one of his men. "Finish him off." He paused. "Drag him outside first, where it will make less of a mess. Leave the door open, though, so our Seeker can watch."
Two men dragged the dying guard out. Ronan kept whispering for her to not look, but she was still staring at the bloody floor when the killing blow came. She pressed against Ronan, breathing deeply, trying to keep calm and upright.
"There," Barthol said. "It's done. We'll drag him into the village square now, so the others may see what happens to those who neglect their duties." He looked at Ashyn. "I hope that was a lesson learned, Seeker. The same fate will befall anyone who assists your escape or allows it to happen. Go back inside with your cur and your boy, and be thankful I don't make you clean up the mess."
Forty
Ashyn was playing capture-my-lord. The game was going nowhere and had been since they began, not because they were both astoundingly good players but because, frankly, neither had any interest under the circumstances.
It was an act. After what happened to the poor guard--and after Barthol threatened Ronan--Ashyn knew they had to convince their captors that they had settled in and would cause no trouble. Even now, as Ashyn moved her pieces, her fingers trembled, remembering the guard.
"Don't," Ronan murmured. "Don't think about it. You ought not to have witnessed that."
"I've seen worse," she said.
"You ought not to."
"It's not just seeing it. I feel as if I caused--"
"You didn't," Ronan said. "He chose to join them. Perhaps he had no option. Perhaps his family is here, and they threatened them, but even if I give him the benefit of the doubt, it was still his decision to hold a Seeker captive. And it was mine to use him in our escape."
"I don't think it would have mattered," she said softly, gaze on the board. "Even if you escaped, Barthol would have killed him as an example."
"I think Barthol just likes killing," Ronan muttered. "And having others watch. He's a sadistic--"
Tova leaped up. Ronan rose, fingers slipping to his side, reaching for his missing blade. His hand clenched, empty, and he moved forward, gaze fixed on the door. It opened.
Something raced through the open door. Something long and black, and Tova bounded forward with a happy bark. The black blur hit him and took him down, and they rolled together, light fur and dark, as Ashyn stared.
It looks like . . . It cannot be . . .
She lifted her gaze slowly, almost not daring to look back at the door, certain she would not see what she--
Moria walked through.
There were others with her. Ashyn didn't see them. Her mind stopped there: Moria walked through.
She saw her sister's face, sweat-stained and hard, her blue eyes blazing fury. Moria spotted her and her rage evaporated in a flicker of shock. Then she raced across the stone floor.
Ashyn threw her arms around her sister. The fierce hug lasted a moment before Moria pulled back, holding Ashyn at arm's length, frowning again as her gaze traveled over her.
"Are you all right? Have they hurt you?"
Ashyn shook her head and started to ask the same of Moria, but her sister had already turned to the men who brought them in.
"Where'd the other one go?" she said. "The man in charge.
I want--I demand to speak to him."
The mercenaries laughed and began to leave.
Moria started after them. Ashyn tried to hold her back, but she shook her off.
"You!" she said to the men. "Do you know who I am? In the name of the goddess, I demand answers."
"Then ask your goddess for them," one said as he continued toward the door.
Moria lunged. "Do not--"
A hand caught her by the shoulder. Ashyn hadn't even seen anyone standing there--she was too focused on her sister. She glimpsed the young man's face, curtained by braids as he leaned over, whispering to Moria.
Gavril.
Ashyn braced for her sister to throw him off, too, and march after the departing guards. But she only grumbled and Daigo snorted, both of them glowering toward the guards. Then Moria did pull from Gavril's grasp, but only to march back to Ashyn.
"You're all right?" she asked again.
Ashyn nodded.
"And Tova?"
"He's fine."
Moria's gaze flicked to Ronan. She didn't ask if he was injured, but he seemed to understand the implied question and said he was fine, too.
"What happened?" Moria said. "And what's going on here?"
They sat to talk. Moria said she'd found Ashyn's letter, so she knew how they'd left and why. Ashyn skimmed over their journey through the Wastes, except to say that Beatrix, Gregor, and Quintin were dead. She did not tell them how the first two perished. Stories of death worms could wait. Finally she explained about Wenda.
"Spirit possession?" Moria said. "Yet she was not dead? Not possessed by a shadow stalker?"
Ronan answered. "Not unless they can keep a corpse fresh for six days."
He didn't mean it seriously, but Moria considered before saying, "No, the stories say possessed corpses rot slowly, but you would have noticed. It sounds more like . . ."
As she trailed off, she glanced at Gavril. Did he look uncomfortable? Or simply annoyed with the diversion? With Gavril, it was impossible to tell.
Ashyn went on to tell them about the children and the men who had control of Fairview.