Forest of Ruin (26 page)

“I
can do this,” Tyrus said, sitting atop his steed, his cloak hood pulled up. Moria had just rejoined him, after riding with Ashyn. They'd been snatching what time they could together, talking about everything they'd been unable to speak of until now. Over a fortnight had passed and they had been separated. There had been much to discuss. Now, though, it was time for Tyrus, because the city gates drew near.

They waited on the same side road that Moria, Gavril, and Ashyn had used to approach the city the first time. They were almost in the exact spot where Ronan had left them to sneak in a back way. From the look on Tyrus's face, he was seriously contemplating asking Ronan to point that route out.

“What's the worst thing that can happen?” Tyrus said. “The dungeons. That's not so bad. I hear they're relatively nice in the springtime. Not too cold. Not too damp. They'd be quiet
and peaceful.” Tyrus looked at Gavril. “Tell me I can do this.”

“Why? There's no doubt you can. The question is simply whether you'll survive it.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“We have not heard that your father has reinstituted capital punishment. Of course, we haven't heard news from the city in many days.”

“You are not helping.”

Gavril shot him a quirk of a smile. Tyrus laughed, which was as good to see as Gavril's smile. As tense as Tyrus was, Moria knew his show of anxiety was partly for the benefit of Gavril, who seemed almost to hope that the goddess herself would smite him before he reached the gate. Of course, Gavril would say no such thing. Or even show it. So Tyrus did the fretting for him.

“Are you ready?” Moria murmured as she moved her horse closer to Gavril's.

He nodded.

“Then turn.” She motioned, and he twisted in his saddle. She reached over and undid his cloak. He let her push it off his head and shoulders. Then he removed it. She took it and laid it over the back of his horse.

“You want this,” she whispered. “As hard as it is. You want to face the emperor. To face the city. To say that you made a mistake. I would gladly sneak you in the back and spare you that. But this is what you want. What you need.”

He dipped his chin. “It is.” He hesitated, then looked toward the back of the caravan. “Perhaps, though, I ought to ride farther away from—”

“No, you are Tyrus's friend, not his captive. If it makes you uncomfortable having me here, given the rumors, I'll ride back with Ash and—”

“No, stay.” He lowered his voice. “Tyrus needs you.” Another hesitation. “And I . . .” He trailed off and straightened. “You'll ride with us. Anything else would be hiding.”

“And none of us need to hide.” Tyrus passed Moria a strained smile. “I'll just keep telling myself that.”

She moved her horse to him and leaned in to remove his cloak.

“I think I'm going to vomit,” he whispered.

“Which is why you had no breakfast.”

“Hmm. I still might.”

“If you're serious, then we'd best step aside.”

“I think I'll be all right. But I would not mind a moment to check on the children, perhaps settle my stomach.”

“We'll do that then.” She raised her voice. “Gavril? We're saying a few words to the children, in case they are anxious.”

He nodded. “I'll wait here.”

Speaking to the children settled Tyrus's stomach and his nerves. They thought him a hero, so he would be one for them. As Moria watched him tease and joke with the children, knowing each by name, and she saw them beam under the attention, she thought of the wild visions she'd had on waking the dragon whelp. Visions of Tyrus on a throne. She watched him with the children of Edgewood, and then with the warriors, more words for them, and she realized they were not such wild visions after all. He did have what it took to be emperor, and she might
have no idea how he'd get to that throne, but he would. She'd no doubt of that.

Then it began. A test more daunting than any battlefield. Tyrus marched on the city that had declared him a traitor. He marched at the side of the enemy's son and the young woman who'd supposedly betrayed him. He marched with the Seeker of Edgewood and with an exiled thief who bore a warrior's blades. He marched with Goro Okami, who followed with his son directly at Tyrus's back. Wagons followed him, too. Two wagons filled with the children of Edgewood and Fairview and Northpond.

And Tyrus brought something else. A dragon.

They'd argued about that. Tyrus had wanted to find a way to contain Zuri, possibly in one of the wagons.

“You bring a
dragon
,” Moria had said. “And you wish to hide her?”

“I fear . . .”

“You fear what?”

He'd shifted, uncomfortable, casting a glance at Zuri, who was ripping apart a leg of deer with Daigo.

“You fear insulting your father,” Gavril had said, quietly listening in.

“How?” Moria had asked. “The dragon is your totem. You return to the city bearing your actual, living totem, who chooses to stay at your side. If that is not a sign of the goddess's favor . . .”

“That is the problem,” Gavril had said.

She'd understood it then. If anyone should have a living dragon, it was the emperor. So Moria devised a solution, one
that allowed Tyrus the awe and majesty of returning with a dragon, while not claiming the goddess's favor over his father. Now Zuri flew far overhead, circling the wagons and the troops, but always returning to her master, making sure he did not leave her.

They attracted quite enough attention on the secondary road, but when it joined the Imperial Way, Moria truly realized what they were doing. One might say that an empire is never so unsettled as when it is at war. That was, Moria reflected, not true. Being on the edge of war was worse. Tensions ran high and everyone was looking for a scapegoat. And now they brought three of them into the city. Three traitors, leading a small army.

Last time they'd been met with catcalls and mockery. Now it was hatred and fear. Lord Okami's men had to surround them to keep them from being attacked. Even then, they could not stop the rage-fueled words. Or the stones and fruit and whatever else could be hurled. Moria deflected a few of the missiles before they struck Tyrus, and she hurled snarls back, Daigo echoing them, but Tyrus stopped her.

“Ignore them,” he said, without looking her way. “To acknowledge their anger only feeds it.”

Gavril grunted in agreement. Moria glanced back to be sure Ashyn was fine, riding behind Lord Okami. Her sister caught her gaze and looked anxious, but the mobs growing along the road were leaving her alone. Their targets rode at the front. The three traitors.

Moria seethed and fumed and fidgeted in her seat. When someone shouted an insult about Gavril's mother, she could
not help herself. She wheeled toward the offender, daggers raised. Gavril leaned over swiftly and caught her arm, and then whispered, “Be calm. You are the Keeper.”

“I cannot stand to hear—”

“Do you remember when we first walked into the city? And you defended me? I never forgot that. Whenever I would try to tell myself I had not betrayed you, I would remember you leaping to my defense.”

“I—”

“What I mean, Keeper, is that it was more than I expected then and it is far more than I expected to ever have again. So . . .” He fussed with his reins. “I simply mean thank you.”

Tyrus leaned over then. “Believe me, I would have liked to draw my sword on that idiot myself, but this is one time when we cannot—”

“Are you bewitched, bastard?” someone shouted.

“At least bastard is an epithet I can own,” Tyrus said quietly to Moria. “And I will also accept bewitched.”

He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

“The Kitsune traitor has used his sorcery on you,” the man shouted. “He whispers treachery to the Keeper bitch and you still smile for his whore—”

Tyrus had his blade out before the man could finish. Gavril lunged, nearly falling off his horse as he leaned across Moria to grab at Tyrus's arm. He couldn't reach, but Tyrus looked over, their eyes meeting.

“He cannot call her—” Tyrus said.

“It is but a word,” Moria murmured.

Tyrus's eyes still flashed, and Gavril lifted in his seat,
straining to see the gates, cursing at how far off they still seemed, their party slowly making its way through the growing crowd.

“Do you not like that, you traitorous bastard?” someone else yelled. “Perhaps you aren't ensorcelled after all. Perhaps you simply tell yourself that your whore did not spread her legs for Alvar's brat. Or perhaps you don't care. Whores have their attractions—”

“Enough!” Gavril said, then shook his head sharply, as if angry at himself for reacting.

And with that, the crowd realized how to break their stolid facade. The trio would not react to insults against themselves. But to one another? Oh yes, that worked. They fought to hide it, all of them gripping their reins and looking straight forward, but when the crowds insulted Tyrus's honor and Gavril's mother, Moria knew there was a limit to what she could endure. Lord Okami rode closer and counseled them to stopper their ears, but there was a growl in his voice that belied his words, one that said he was on the verge of drawing his own sword, and Dalain already had his out, carried at his side, spoiling for a fight. Which was not what Tyrus or Gavril wanted. Not at all.

There was, then, only one thing to be done. Moria squinted into the sky. Zuri had been flying in ever wider circles and ever higher, confident now that Tyrus would not escape her, boxed in as he was by the crowd. The bright sun meant she was but a shimmering patch of light, visible only to those who knew what to look for.

Now Moria lifted her hand over her head, with a piece
of squashed plum between her fingers. Then she whistled. Zuri heard her above the crowd and circled sharp. The whelp saw what appeared to be food and began her descent. Before she could realize she'd been tricked, Moria dropped the plum and merely waggled her fingers. It was enough. Zuri swooped down and nipped at them. Nipped playfully, thank the goddess, though her teeth still dented the skin. She landed beside Tyrus's horse, walking alongside him and chirping. He reached into his pocket and threw her a piece of dried meat and she dove after it.

The moment Zuri had appeared, the crowd had gone silent. Now they stared, dumbfounded, as the whelp leaped and walked alongside Tyrus, snatching meat from his fingers.

“What?” Moria shouted into the crowd. “You act as if you've never seen a dragon before.”

Tyrus snorted a laugh. Even Gavril cracked the barest smile. Behind them, the laughter carried through their party.

“You thought dragons did not exist?” Moria called out. “Then you are wrong. Perhaps you are wrong about many things. Tyrus Tatsu returns to the city—to his
father—
and he brings a dragon, his totem beast. If that is not a sign that the goddess favors our emperor, then I do not know what is.”

Murmurs ran through the crowd.

“Perhaps you ought to give him way,” Moria shouted. “Considering that he brings a
dragon
.”

There were a few laughs and chuckles then, from the crowd itself. Not everyone moved. But enough backed away, heads bowed, that they were able to pick up speed, and no one challenged or insulted them until they were near enough to the
gates for the guards to step out, swords at the ready.

Tyrus stopped his horse. “I will not enter the city gates without my father's permission. Please tell him I am here.”

The captain of the guard gave a curt nod, one that could not be mistaken for a proper bow in any way. Then he turned on his heel and walked into the city, and they were left to wait.

T
hey waited in silence. Tyrus kept glancing at Moria, and she wanted to move closer, to whisper with him and reassure him, but she knew that would only get the crowd grumbling again. The Keeper who had seduced him and continued to bewitch him.

It might seem a pretty fantasy to one who imagined her some beautiful and delicate maiden, but it seemed impossible to fathom that they could see her—with her dusty breeches and plain tunic, face dirty from the long ride, her hair messily braided—and imagine a girl who seduced both an imperial prince and the enemy's son. It was a feat worthy of an artful enchantress, not a village girl barely past her sixteenth summer.

Worse, they believed it with absolutely no evidence beyond the fact that she'd been seen in the company of both young men. It seemed that was all the proof anyone required, that now they were engaged in a deeply torrid love affair, ready to
betray their empire and their families and their ancestors to be together.

“We ought to speak to the others while we wait,” Moria said. “Reassure them that all will be well.”

“Of course,” Tyrus said, nodding, and he waved for her to go ahead. Gavril stayed where he was at first, sitting as still as a statue, a trickle of sweat the only sign of his terror.

“Gavril!” Tyrus called, waving to him. “Ashyn has a question for you.”

Her sister had said no such thing, but Ashyn caught on and formulated one. As Gavril was talking to Ashyn, Tyrus moved up beside Moria and whispered, “You are well?”

“I am.” She looked over at him. “Whatever happens next, remember this: it is not your fault.”

“I—”

“Your father believes in you. He loves you. He is proud of you. He knows you have done absolutely nothing wrong. Well, except for escaping from Lord Okami's compound, but I'm sure he expected no less. If anything, he will be secretly pleased you managed it.” She moved closer. “He will do what he must for the empire, but if we are to go to the dungeons, it will be only temporary, while he works this out, because there is no doubt in the mind of anyone here that you have done your best, and there will be no doubt in the mind of your father either. He is proud of you, and I am proud to ride at your side. Truly proud.”

He dropped his gaze. “Thank you, Moria. I only hope that I will earn that momentarily.”

“You already have. You have earned my regard and my
loyalty and my love.” She met his gaze. “Always. No matter what.”

“And you have mine. Always. No matter what.”

Dalain cleared his throat, and they looked to see the gates opening.

Tyrus started forward, moving his horse close enough to discreetly squeeze her leg. Then they returned to their places as the gates swung open and Emperor Tatsu walked out.

Everyone dismounted as the emperor approached. Most of the retinue bowed deeply. Tyrus, Moria, and Gavril got to their knees and bent until their heads touched the ground, in what had once been the customary greeting for an emperor but had fallen out of favor, except in circumstances where mere bowing seemed insufficient. This qualified.

They stayed like that, heads touching the road, eyes on the cobblestones, waiting for permission to rise. Moria could hear the click of the emperor's shoes until they came to rest just before them. Then he stood there, saying nothing. Moria cast a glance Tyrus's way at the same time he looked hers, and he truly did seem about to vomit, his face shiny with sweat, his eyes bright with fear.

“Rise,” Emperor Tatsu said.

They did, as gracefully as they could manage. The emperor looked from one to the other, his expression unreadable. Moria recalled her words to Tyrus, reassuring him that if his father acted harshly, it was as emperor, not as father. But in that moment, seeing him so stone-faced, panic darted through Moria.

What if I was wrong? What if I misjudged? What if . . . ?

What if.

She glanced at Tyrus. He had his speech planned, but now he seemed frozen with his lips slightly parted, her own panic reflected in his eyes. As soon as she looked at him, though, it was as if she'd kicked him instead, and the words came, strong and true, ringing out over the silent crowd.

“Father, I return to you. I return to my empire and to my city to offer my sword and my body and my spirit, in any way you see fit to use them. I failed you at Riverside. My men were massacred. I survived. That is unacceptable, and I will accept any punishment for that with no words in my defense except these: you trusted me and I failed.”

“Why did you fail?” The emperor's words came soft but rang as clearly as Tyrus's.

“It does not matter. I failed.”

Emperor Tatsu turned to Moria. “Keeper. Tell me why he failed.”

The panic in her gut crystalized into terror.
Do not put this on me
, she wanted to say. But what did that mean? That Tyrus ought to bear the brunt of the blame? No. She would answer truthfully, no matter how much trouble this might cause.

“He was too young for the charge you gave him, your imperial majesty. You misjudged the situation, and he was forced into a position a seasoned general could not have handled.”

Anger and outrage rippled through the crowd. Tyrus looked over sharply, but she refused to glance his way.

“Continue, Keeper,” the emperor said. “Tell me everything that happened.”

“The people of Fairview were dead. Tyrus and the counselors knew Alvar's men would march on another town, and there was no time to return to the city for reinforcements. Tyrus chose Riverside as the most likely target. The counselors supported him. We came upon a man who claimed to have seen shadow stalkers marching on Riverside, which appeared to seal the matter. When we drew near, we found a camp of Alvar's men—a force twice the size of ours. Tyrus sent for the local warlord. Lord Jorojumo came and seemed to fight with us. Then he turned on us. Our forces were overwhelmed. I was taken, and Tyrus was poisoned and left for dead, rescued and returned to life by my sister and her guard.”

“I take responsibility—” Tyrus began.

“Keeper? Your assessment?”

“I am not an impartial judge. Nor am I a martial expert. Tyrus did the best with the information he had. His biggest mistake was trusting Lord Jorojumo, but he had no reason not to, and your imperial majesty knows that if his son has a flaw, it is trust. He will not make that mistake again. On the battlefield, he fought better than any man there, which is how he survived. He left the field, not by choice, but because he was taken from it, poisoned and unconscious. Neither the counselors nor warriors questioned his choices at any point. His failure comes down to one thing: his youth.”

“And an emperor who misjudged the situation.”

“I said that once. It seems unwise to repeat it.”

Emperor Tatsu's laugh rang out, startling everyone. He walked to Moria and embraced her, saying loud enough for all to hear, “I cannot count on you for manners, child, but I can
count on you for the truth.”

He stepped back, sobering. “Now, tell me what I asked of you.”

When she hesitated, he said, “I met up with you after you escaped from Alvar Kitsune with my son's help. And then I asked you to do what?”

“Return to Alvar Kitsune's camp,” she said, her voice low, in case he expected her to lie.

“Louder, child.”

“Return to Alvar Kitsune's camp.”

“With whom?”

She looked at Gavril. “Gavril Kitsune.”

“Who was acting as a spy for me in his father's camp. Because the atrocities his father committed were too great even for filial piety. The empire came first. Is that correct, Gavril?”

The emperor's words suggested Gavril had been a spy from the start, which he had not. Wisely, the emperor was not asking Moria to confirm this.

“Yes, your imperial highness, I did turn against my family,” Gavril said. “I understand the crime I committed in that, and my ancestors will judge me for it.”

“But your conscience would not allow you to act in any other way. My charge to you then, Keeper, was to return with Gavril and do what?”

“Spy on Alvar Kitsune.”

“And?”

“Kill him if I could.”

Tyrus stiffened at that, his eyes filling with outrage. “You
asked—” He clipped his words and shut his mouth, but his eyes still blazed.

“I presume you did not?” the emperor said.

Moria lowered her gaze. “No. Like Tyrus, I failed my mission.”

“Because, like Tyrus, you were tasked with one you lacked the experience to carry out.”

“It does not matter. I failed.”

Tyrus looked over, and the outrage in his gaze turned to pride. He straightened and said, “Yes, Father. She lacked the experience to carry it out. She is a Keeper, not an assassin. In asking her to do so, you misjudged. I apologize for saying so, but I must.”

“Yes, you must.” The emperor stepped forward and squeezed Tyrus's arm. “I gave both of you tasks you were too inexperienced to carry out. Yours, because I did not foresee what happened. Hers, not because I expected her to carry it through, but because I hoped if she had the opportunity she would take it. It was a seed planted with little hope of sprouting.”

“We may have failed our missions,” Moria said, “but we did find the children of Fairview, Northpond, and Edgewood, and we have brought them home, safely.”

Emperor Tatsu's brows shot up. “You . . . ?”

“We have the children, your imperial majesty. In the wagons.” Moria waved toward them and the crowd and the emperor looked and saw several of the older children, grown restless and standing alongside the wagons.

The emperor hid his surprise, and quickly turned to the
warrior behind him, ordering the man to take the children inside the city walls.

“The guard said you brought something else,” Emperor Tatsu said. “Something more exotic.” He looked up, over their heads. “But it did seem rather unlikely.” He tried to hide his disappointment, but he looked like a boy who has been told he can have a pony for his Fire Festival gift, and then finds no pony with his presents.

Tyrus lifted his fingers and whistled, and Zuri swooped in, landing beside him.

Emperor Tatsu stared at the dragon and then said, “Or not.”

Tyrus fought a smile. “The one Alvar hoped to raise was much larger.”

“I should hope so.”

“This is her whelp. And while I had hoped to do this with a little more ceremony . . .” Tyrus cleared his throat and bowed. “I would like to present you, Emperor Tatsu, of the dragon clan, with the living embodiment of your totem, brought to life by the blood of the Keeper of Edgewood and given to me by the goddess herself, to bring to you and present to you. A dragon.” He looked at Zuri. “She'll grow.”

The emperor laughed and stepped forward to embrace his son. When he moved back, he looked at Zuri again, staring for a moment, as dumbfounded as any commoner. Then he shook his head sharply and turned to the crowd.

“My son has returned. He has brought with him the honored Keeper and the equally honored son of my former marshal. I gave them tasks that set the entire empire against them, that
brought them into grave danger, and branded them as traitors. Yet while they were not entirely successful, they accomplished feats greater still. They returned our lost children to us. And they woke a dragon. For the empire. Taking her from the clutches of Alvar Kitsune. If there is a surer sign that the goddess smiles on us, I do not know what it is.”

A cheer rose from the crowd. Emperor Tatsu embraced the three of them again, more formally now, then moving to do the same with the Okamis and Ashyn and Ronan and even Sabre.

“You are welcome into the city,” he said, his voice echoing. “As our most honored guests.”