“Why Alvar, of course,” Emperor Tatsu said. “There was a time – most of my life, in fact – when no man was closer to me than Alvar Kitsune. So, tell me, how is my old friend?”
Moria realized her mistake. A warrior must know tactics beyond the obvious. While Emperor Tatsu might not lead an army these days, the bards still sang tales of his victories as a warrior, fighting alongside the friend who would one day be his marshal. He understood the art of strategy… whatever the battlefield.
The king blinked and blustered and then finally found his voice. “Alvar Kitsune? He’s long dead, and well he should be, for betraying your imperial —”
The king was cut off by a whoomph, air rushing from his chest as he landed hard on the cobbled path, flat on his back. The emperor had snagged the king’s knee with his foot and yanked his leg from under him, and now the king lay there, gaping, mouth open as he heaved for breath.
“My – my —”
Emperor Tatsu leaned over the supine man, bending until his face was only a hand’s breadth from the king’s face.
“You accepted my invitation, knowing you had harbored a man intent on my destruction.”
“I —”
“You came without hesitation. You sat at my table. You drank my wine. You ate my food. And all the while, your ally has unleashed an unspeakable evil on my empire, on his empire, massacring his own people.”
“I —”
“Oh, I know why you came. In hopes of gaining intelligence you can feed back to Alvar. My stewards and my maids tell me you’ve asked many questions since you arrived.”
“Curiosity, your majesty. You are the most powerful man in the world. Naturally, I would have questions —”
“And you received no answers. But I will. Whatever it takes to get them.”
The king sputtered. “I am not some common courtier. I am —”
“I know who you are. The king of a country so insignificant I wouldn’t risk the lives of ten warriors conquering it. Have no fear. I recognize your station. I will not throw you in the dungeon. You’ll stay on, as my guest, while I question you. If you escape, I will send my fastest messenger to Alvar, to be sure he knows you were here, answering my questions.”
The king bleated some excuse, some denial, but Emperor Tatsu only turned and called, “Lysias?”
A man appeared, seeming to materialize like a spirit. He was almost a head taller than the emperor, his clothing and skin as dark as the surrounding night, his braids swinging as he slid from the shadows. Moria flinched, momentarily imagining another face, just as stone-hardened and grim as this man’s, but younger, with green eyes instead of dark. The green eyes of a sorcerer.
She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally spitting curses for her foolishness. Lysias was clearly from the mountains, like the Kitsunes, but resembled Gavril only in his height, coloring, and braids. He was at least ten summers older and wore the five-pointed star that marked him a member of the emperor’s private guard.
“His highness has drunk too much,” the emperor said. “He stumbled and fell, and I fear I’m too old to carry him myself.”
Lysias twitched his lips, as if he’d been watching and knew full well how the king had fallen – and that Emperor Tatsu could indeed carry him if he so wished. But he only dipped his chin and said, “Yes, your imperial highness.”
“Place two guards at his door, please,” Emperor Tatsu said. “I’ve heard rumors that cause me concern for his safety. He ought to remain in his quarters until I come to visit him.”
“Of course.”
Lysias lifted the king and took him away without another word. Emperor Tatsu watched them go and stayed there, unmoving, his back to Moria as she hid around the corner.
“Come out of the shadows, child,” he said.
Moria jumped, but he could not be speaking to her. He hadn’t even glanced her way.
“I know you’re there.” He looked straight at her hiding place. “The young Keeper, I take it?”
Moria took a careful step backward.
“If you run, I’ll have to send someone to fetch you,” he said. “You need to work on your spying skills, child.”
Moria stepped into the moonlight.
“Where’s your wildcat, Keeper? You ought not to be out alone —”
She’d left Daigo on the other side of the wall, but as soon as the emperor said that, the wildcat slunk around the corner, as if he’d been there the whole time.
“Moria?” a loud whisper cut through the night, followed by running footsteps. “Where have you —?”
Tyrus appeared behind the emperor and skidded to a stop. “Father?” Under his breath, he pretended to curse, then said, louder, as he gave a slight bow, “I’m sorry. This is my fault. Moria wished to see the palace gardens…”
“And you brought her this late in the evening?”
Tyrus’s gaze dipped lower. “I had… other intentions. Moria realized that, and she fled. I came after her, to make sure she got to her quarters safely.”
“I see.”
Tyrus glanced over at her. “I’m sorry, Moria. I behaved dishonorably, and I am shamed. I’ll call a guard to escort you back.”
“She is the Keeper,” Emperor Tatsu said. “Have you forgotten that?”
Tyrus kept his gaze on his father’s sandals. “No. I —”