“But you have other sons,” Barthol said. “With other families. And you will continue to have them if these children do as they are told.”

Ashyn watched her sister’s hand grip her dagger hilt, so tightly her knuckles whitened. Gavril tensed, as if ready to stop her. Ashyn knew he wouldn’t need to. Her sister’s blue eyes blazed hate, but she was not foolish enough to attack.

Ashyn looked at the governor and tried to imagine—

Her knees quivered just watching the grief on his face, the remembered horror. To see your child returned to you, not dead and not alive, but something far worse. It was beyond—

Ashyn’s breath caught. She slowly turned to her sister, but Moria was facing resolutely forward, her chin up, her whole body stiff.

To see your child that way was terrible. And to see your father that way? To run home, certain he was dead, then to watch him rise, to feel the joy of relief, and then . . .

There was something more horrifying than what the governor had suffered. Seeing Moria standing so rigid, holding in her grief and her pain and her rage—now Ashyn understood, and when tears filled her eyes, they weren’t for the governor, however sad his plight.

“What say you, Keeper?” Barthol’s voice rang through the hall. “Will you take the message? Or would you like to tell the good governor here to bid farewell to the rest of his family? We can take you to tell the children they’ll die, too. They’d be delighted to see you. They hold you in such high regard. The Keeper will save us. That’s what they said when we told them you were coming.”

A round of chortles from the other mercenaries.

Barthol stepped forward. “So, Keeper, will you save them? Or will you tell them to prepare to meet their ancestors—”

“Enough.”

It was Gavril, his voice low. Barthol only snorted a laugh.

“Yes, Kitsune. At your command, my lord Kitsune.”

Barthol strolled closer. Then, in a flash, he had his dagger at the young warrior’s throat. Moria pulled hers.

“Sheathe your blade, little one,” he said. “I’ll not hurt the boy . . .” He dug the tip of his dagger in, drawing blood. “Unless he interrupts me again.”

He lowered the blade and turned to Moria. “So what say you, Keeper? Will you take the message? Or does another village perish?”

Ashyn saw her sister’s jaw flex. But her lips didn’t open. It was as if she’d been holding herself so still, biting her tongue, that now she could not answer at all. Panic flashed in her eyes.

“Yes,” Ashyn said quickly. “We will deliver your sealed missive to the emperor.”

Barthol turned, as if just noticing her now. He looked from her to Moria.

“Does your sister speak for you, Keeper?”

Moria managed to nod.