“We ought to have come when the sun moved,” Moria said.
Tyrus nodded. There was naught that could be done now, though, without retreating. So they continued until they were less than ten paces from the gate. Tyrus pulled his horse forward and shifted position, displaying his forearm tattoos should anyone watching have failed to notice them as he rode.
“I am Tyrus Tatsu,” he called. “Son of the emperor and his first concubine, Maiko. I bring the Seeker and Keeper of Edgewood. We wish to speak to Alvar Kitsune, if he is here. If he is not, then his son, Gavril, or his commander, Barthol.”
Moria stiffened. She knew Gavril might be here. What would she do if those gates opened and he walked out? How would she stay her daggers? Worse, what if she did not even reach for her daggers, but stood like a wounded child, hoping for an explanation.
It’s not what you think, Keeper. I’d never hurt you, never betray you.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Moria?”
She looked to see Tyrus, worry darkening his eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said.
A half nod, acknowledging without believing. Then he straightened and turned forward again. There was no sign of movement at the gates. The shadowy figures of the tower guards stayed where they were.
“I am Tyrus Tatsu!” he said again, louder this time. “I come as an envoy to discuss the situation, and I expect the courtesy of a reply!”
When no response came, the minor counselor eased his horse forward. “My lord —”
Tyrus raised a hand to cut him short. His dark eyes blazed with rising fury. He might be more modest than one would expect of a prince, but he was still the emperor’s son.
“We’ll ride forward,” he said to Moria. “Ashyn? Retreat with the counselors.”
He glanced back at the two men, as if making sure they’d heard, but more seeking their approval of the plan. He was no seasoned diplomat, and he knew it.
The major counselor gave the barest nod. “Ancestors watch you, my lord.”
“Ride back and compel the archers forward,” Tyrus said. “Have them stop midway between the camp and here.”
Tyrus rode to Moria as Ashyn retreated with Tova.
“Watch the towers,” Tyrus said as they continued forward. “I’ll keep my eyes on the gate.”
The figures in the towers remained exactly where they’d been since Moria first spotted them, and she began to suspect they’d miscalculated the darkness of their shelter and thought themselves hidden.
As they rode into the shadow cast by the wall, cool air rushed past on a strong breeze. Moria picked up traces of an unfamiliar scent and heard a slow thump-thump-thump from inside the wall. Not footsteps – the thumps were too regular.
Moria realized the sound was the gate itself, opening a little and then closing in the wind. As they drew closer, she could see something under the gate. Feet? It was hard to tell.
“You there!” she called. “In the tower. Acknowledge us.”
Silence.
“Do you think I cannot see you both?” she snapped. “On the left, you wear a light tunic and your hair is long and loose. On the right, your tunic is brown and I see no hair, so I presume it is short. The shadows may hide your faces, but that is all.”
When still neither moved, her hand went to her dagger.
“Moria,” Tyrus murmured.
“I would not,” she said.
“I know.” His voice dropped more. “I mean watch your temper. They’re hoping you cannot.”
His own eyes simmered with outrage, but he controlled it. The guards were mocking them, and if Moria and Tyrus seethed they’d say, “You may think you are a Keeper and an imperial prince, but we see only two children playing at being warriors.”
“Remember these are bandits,” Tyrus said. “I may give Barthol the honorific of commander, but he is no warrior.” And thus they could not expect them to act with honor. “Remember who you are.”
She backed up her horse to look again at the unmoving guards. When she noticed Tyrus dismounting, she stopped him.
“Remember who you are,” she said.
Few people in the empire outranked a Keeper, but an imperial prince was one of them. So it fell to her to open the gate. When she tried, though, she discovered why it was banging in the wind. It was barricaded from within.
“They toy with us,” she muttered.
“As is to be expected. Here, I’ll —”
“Remain on your steed, your highness. If those guards will not respond, perhaps they are hard of hearing. I’ll take my message to them.”
Moria shimmied up the posts as deftly as a cat, if not quite as gracefully. Tyrus’s gaze swung from one guard tower to the other, ready to alert her to trouble. Daigo climbed the other post and they both drew up to the window openings —
“Moria!”
She looked to see Tyrus swinging off his horse, his face taut with alarm. “Down! Now!”
She went still, trying to hear or see what had caught his attention.
“It’s a trap!” he hissed. “They’re fake.”
She’d planned to drop down as he asked, but at that she paused. “Fake?”
“The guards still have not moved. Get down!”
She boosted herself up the last handspan to peek into the tower. This guard was no fake. His arms were bare, as she’d noted from below. They were held oddly, though, at his sides, as if in a gesture of surrender, palms out…