“Exile him? Where, old man, would we exile him? The Forest of the Dead? Have you not heard the news? Edgewood is gone. The people of Edgewood betrayed the empire, letting Alvar Kitsune live and then hiding him for these ten summers. The village has paid for its treason, executed by order of the emperor. Every man, woman, and child has been put to the sword —”
“No!” Ashyn cried before Ronan could slap a hand over her mouth. Her cry went unheard, as a similar one rose from the crowd assembled below, shock and disbelief and outrage. She twisted in his grip and peeled his fingers away. “They lie. Why would the emperor lie?”
“Look closer, Ash. Do they truly look like imperial warriors to you?”
Below, the crowd had erupted in chaos, held in check only by the men’s blades. As she peered closer at the warriors, she remembered what Moria had said about when she’d first come to Fairview. How she’d known that the “warriors” standing guard were no warriors at all. Little things. A general slovenliness of appearance, such as stains on tunics, and signs they’d made hasty attempts to clean themselves up, like poorly braided hair and shaving nicks.
As Ashyn looked at these warriors, she saw the same signs. Yes, they wore the uniforms of the imperial army. They bore the twin blades. A few even had imperial army helmets – the distinctive horns and dragon crests at the temples that marked them men of Emperor Tatsu.
But faced with the panic and unrest of a growing mob, a warrior should not forget his caste. He did not shout at commoners or bicker with them or threaten them, and below, she could see “warriors” doing all three.
Why would Alvar’s men recruit volunteers and then pose as imperial warriors? Why lead the recruits into fake exile?
No, the leader had said there was no exile. Not anymore.
“The old ways were soft,” the leader said, his voice ringing out as the crowd came under the warriors’ control. “Your emperor realizes that now.”
There was a commotion in the audience, and he had to stop as his men subdued it. While they waited, Ashyn’s gaze swept over the prisoners, six young men and two young women – she choked back a gasp.
“Guin,” she whispered.
She raced along the walkway for the stairs. Ronan let out a stifled cry as he came after her. He caught her arm before she descended.
“Guin,” she said. “She’s among the captives. She volunteered.”
His face screwed up. Then he shook his head. “You’re mistaken. Guin looks like many empire-born girls. She’s certainly not going to volunteer for something —”
“— that will help us?” She looked him in the eye. “After someone repeatedly reminded her that she’s useless? That she never does anything?”
“She wouldn’t —”
Ashyn wrenched from his grip and hurried down the steps. She set out at a run across the yard. Ronan raced after her, calling for her to come back as loudly as he dared.
Ahead, the leader was still talking. “Your emperor has realized he is too soft on criminals. None of this would have happened if he’d followed the ways of the great emperors past.”
Ashyn tore around a cart and stopped on the other side, where she could see the crowd. All she could see, though, was that crowd – the backs of onlookers, with the warriors and captives lost in the middle.
The leader was now speaking of the great emperors, the first emperors.
She looked around wildly. Then she glanced at the cart beside her. A trader’s, one big enough to be affixed to horses. Behind it, the merchant had stacked barrels. Ashyn clambered onto them. Ronan was at her side, saying nothing now that she was hidden. From the barrels, she heaved herself onto the roof of the cart.
“Ashyn, no!” He grabbed at her leg. “They’ll see —”
She kicked him off and flattened herself, pulling her cloak hood down farther. Ronan climbed up beside her.
“There!” she said, pointing at the last captive. “Are you to tell me that’s not Guin?”
The young woman stood in the line of the prisoners, wearing shackles, looking confused as she listened to the leader.
“How did the great emperors of old deal with threats to their lands? To their people? Did they exile traitors to a forest? No.” He kicked the young Northerner onto all fours and waved for another warrior to take his hold on the young man’s hair. “The great emperors of old knew how to deal with serpents.”
His blade flashed, so fast there wasn’t even time for a gasp from the crowd. The Northern merchant fell, and the warrior holding his hair swung his head into the air.
“That is how one deals with a serpent!” the leader boomed. “You chop off its head.”
The warrior flung the young man’s head into the crowd. A cry went up, delayed shock, and then the onlookers surged forward, enraged. The warriors fell on the first few, knocking them to the ground, holding them there, blades at their necks.
“Are the rest of you traitors as well?” the leader said. “I’ve shown you how we deal with them now, and I would suggest you take a moment to decide whether you are one of them.”
The crowd rumbled and shifted. The old Northern merchant crouched by his grandson’s body, weeping. The warriors kept their targets pinned, swords at their necks. Slowly, the mob backed off. Some on the edges began looking around, as if wishing to leave. Other false warriors appeared from behind buildings and carts, surrounding the crowd.