“And what would be the point in that?” she snapped. “Alvar was holding the village hostage, threatening to do exactly this. Why do it before your father has a chance to respond?”
“Because he knew my father could not respond. Could not give him what he asked for. So there was no reason to keep the townspeople alive. Better to slaughter them quickly, before they revolted. Harvest the menfolk for shadow stalkers. Leave the corpses as a message to my father, one that says ‘you are responsible.’ He knows my father too well, and he knows exactly how he’ll play his hand —”
“This is not a game!” she roared, so loud the words scraped her throat raw. “Everyone here is dead. Everyone in Edgewood is dead. Every person I have known since I was a babe has been slaughtered or turned into a monster, and I’m not sure which is worse, but I know one thing – this is not a game!”
He reached out for her. She backed away and slid in the blood, and he caught her, arms going around her, gathering her in. When she struggled, his grip tightened. She pounded her fist against his back and he only said, “Go ahead. Let it out.” But she couldn’t vent her rage on him, and she froze there, torn between anger and grief until her chest heaved. Then the tears came – great, gasping sobs, hot tears flowing down her cheeks, her body shaking, Tyrus holding her against him, whispering in her ear, telling her it was all right, no one was here, just him.
She’d cried twice after the massacre at Edgewood. Once when she found her father’s Fire Festival gift. Again when she finally broke down with Ashyn, sharing their grief. But those were nothing like this, her whole body consumed, the sobs so deep they hurt, the tears like acid, stinging her eyes and her cheeks. This hurt. Everything hurt. Everything was wrong, so horribly wrong.
“I couldn’t stop it,” she whispered, finally pulling back. “Not at Edgewood. Not here.”
“I know.” Tyrus held her face in his hands, fingers against her burning cheeks. He kissed her forehead. “I know.”
“I’m the Keeper. I’m supposed to be able to stop it.”
“I know,” he whispered again. And kissed her again, on her forehead, on her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop it.”
“I know.” More kisses, his lips blessedly soft and cool. “Neither do I, Moria. Neither do I.”
She looked up at him. His face moved over hers, mouth lowering toward hers. Then he stopped. He hovered there, then pulled her against him in a fierce hug. When she finally moved away, he rubbed his hand over his face and looked around, as if momentarily forgetting where they were.
“Thank you,” she said.
A wan smile. “No need. You keep my secret about what happened in the other house, and I’ll keep yours about this.” He said the words lightly, but the haunted look crept into his eyes, fear and shame returning.
“It was the smell,” she said.
“No, it was a weak stomach. I’ve always had one, and I suppose I never realized the impediment it might cause on a battlefield. I…” His gaze shifted away. “I’ve never been on one. A battlefield.”
“The empire isn’t at war.” It hasn’t been since before your birth. She didn’t say that. While it might allay his guilt, it would only remind him of that deeper fear, the one that said, after so long at peace, Tyrus wasn’t the only one unprepared for war.
“There are still skirmishes at the borders,” he said. “I should have insisted on going. Sparring in the court isn’t nearly enough. I see that now. This…” He motioned at the girl on the floor, then waved out toward the town beyond. “I’ve heard the stories, Moria, but they do not prepare one…”
“Nothing can,” she murmured.
“I worry now whether I —” A sharp shake of his head. “And now is not the time to think of that. We must tell the others what we’ve found. The town needs to be thoroughly searched for survivors. And then we’ll search for the children of Edgewood. For now, remember them. They are still alive. I am certain of that.”
FIFTEEN
It did not take long to retrieve the others. There were already four warriors at the gate – the counselors having become concerned by their prince’s vanishing inside – and Ashyn, who’d been threatening to go in herself.
On Tyrus’s instructions, the warriors were to search the homes for survivors. The counselors, along with the scholars, were to follow, taking notes to convey to the emperor – the number of dead, the manner of death, anything they could glean from the bodies. Simeon did not make it past the first house, where he vomited so quickly that no one noticed someone had left a similar mess before him. Katsumoto and the counselors did not take to the task any more easily, requiring frequent breaks for air. Even the warriors often found excuses to step outside.
Ashyn wanted to aid the scholars and counselors. Moria forbade it. Ashyn was not trained in such reporting, so there was no need to add to her nightmares. Finally, Ashyn relented and took Simeon to find the town hall, where they could retrieve records. Moria and Tyrus joined the search for survivors.
There were almost a hundred houses in the town. The task was as long as it was unpleasant. With each home, they would open every door and check every room. There were no cellars in Fairview, with the volcanic rock of the Wastes not far below the soil. That made the task swifter. It also, however, had robbed the townspeople of the best place to hide and survive. When the shadow stalkers had struck Edgewood, that’s where Moria, Ashyn, and Ronan had been – underground, in the cells.