It was still quite early in the morning, but the Way was more crowded than the main thoroughfare in Edgewood on market day. Carts and makeshift booths lined the roadway as traders hawked everything from fresh chicken eggs to petrified dragon eggs. Gavril assured Moria that the latter were simply pretty rocks, but Ashyn was certain her sister was making a note to come back later for a closer look.

There was no time for dawdling at merchant carts now. It did not take long for people to see them, and for whispers to snake along the street and spread. Soon it was as if they were leading a victory parade, as onlookers lined both sides of the Way and watched and whispered.

The spirits came, too, those whispers an undercurrent of the air itself. At home, they were mostly just that—an undercurrent, the spirits conversing, rarely to her. These ones were talking both to and about her.

You ought not to be here, child.

Not your place.

Beware.

“Beware of what?” she whispered under her breath.

Everything.

She could tell Moria was hearing the same messages. Her face was tight with annoyance.

“Tell me something useful for a change,” Moria muttered. “We could truly use some help here.”

Beware and be safe, the spirits whispered.

Moria grumbled and Daigo snorted.

The onlookers’ whispers had grown now. Cries of “Bless us, Seeker,” and “Protect us, Keeper,” rang out. When a group of children pushed to the front of the crowd, Moria reached into her pocket and pulled out copper coins, blessing them and throwing them. It was almost instinctive, Ashyn thought, and when the children dove for them, Moria hesitated. Ashyn saw grief flicker across her face, and she knew Moria was thinking of the children of Edgewood.

She caught her sister’s hand and squeezed it.

“You ought not to throw coins here, Keeper,” Gavril said. “I know you mean well, but these are not the children of Edgewood.”

“I can see that,” Moria said dryly. The children looked as if no one had bathed them in a week, and most wore clothing so tattered that even the thriftiest mother in Edgewood wouldn’t have attempted to mend it. “I’m not sure we can trust the emperor to care about the plight of Edgewood’s children when he apparently has so little regard for those of his own city.”

Ashyn hushed her, but it wasn’t necessary—Moria was wise enough to keep her voice low. When an older child grabbed a coin from a younger one, Moria flipped the bereft little one another, her aim perfect. The crowd cheered.

“Your advice is noted, Kitsune,” she said. “But I will give coins where I choose.”

“As expected,” he said. “You’ll do as you choose and learn your own lessons.”

“Is that not the best way to learn them?”