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Chapters (61)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. Ashyn: One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Moria: Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Ashyn: Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Moria: Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-one
  24. Twenty-two
  25. Ashyn: Twenty-three
  26. Twenty-four
  27. Twenty-five
  28. Twenty-six
  29. Twenty-seven
  30. Twenty-eight
  31. Twenty-nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Moria: Thirty-one
  34. Thirty-two
  35. Thirty-three
  36. Thirty-four
  37. Thirty-five
  38. Thirty-six
  39. Thirty-seven
  40. Ashyn: Thirty-eight
  41. Thirty-nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-one
  44. Forty-two
  45. Forty-three
  46. Forty-four
  47. Forty-five
  48. Forty-six
  49. Forty-seven
  50. Forty-eight
  51. Forty-nine
  52. Moria: Fifty
  53. Fifty-one
  54. Fifty-two
  55. Fifty-three
  56. Fifty-four
  57. Fifty-five
  58. About the Author
  59. Back Ad
  60. Credits
  61. About the Publisher

“A bastard must have some head for political wrangling. If not, he risks losing the head he has.”

Another affable smile, as if the prospect of assassination was simply part of everyday life. Moria supposed it was, for him. The children an emperor fathered by official concubines were recognized, like Tyrus. They were raised in the palace as princes and princesses. They received their father’s name and, apparently, modified clan tattoos for the sons.

While bastard princes could not succeed as emperor, they could attain any other high office—even marshal. The problem was that the emperor had several sons by the empress, and only one could succeed him, so the others would need to fight the bastards for court appointments. It was an old joke that emperors bred like rabbits because, like the rodents, so few of their offspring survived. It would not be nearly as amusing an analogy if you were one of those young rabbits.

Tyrus continued, “My place of choice, as Gavril knows, is the battlefield.”

“I saw you practicing,” Moria said. “You’re very good.”

“I had an excellent sparring partner,” he said, with a nod toward Gavril. “But thank you, my lady. You are . . .” A glance down at Daigo. “The Keeper. Of course.”

“Moria,” she said. “My sister is Ashyn. This is Daigo and that is Tova.”

“Ah, yes. I’d heard the Edgewood twins named their hound and wildcat. They are magnificent beasts.” He paused, sobering. “About Edgewood. You said all except the children were killed.”

Ashyn nodded. “We suspect they only spared us because they feared spiritual reprisals.”

Moria snorted. “I think they spared us more because we’re useful. We could get their message to the emperor, and Gavril could help us survive the journey across the Wastes.”

“Across the Wastes?” Tyrus paused. “Yes, of course. If the village was massacred, you had to cross. I cannot imagine . . .” He shook his head. “Do you know who killed your people? Tribesmen? Sending missives seems very well organized for tribes—”

He cut himself off with an audible click of his teeth. “And that is none of my business.”

“We’d be happy to tell you all we know,” Ashyn said. “We appreciate what you’ve done for us.”

A wry smile her way. “No, I mean it is truly none of my business, and it’s best if I leave it as such. My brothers will already find fault with my involvement. They are always looking for a sign that I take an interest in court politics. I’ll hear the rest of the story when my father does. He ought to be back before dawn.”

“Dawn?” It was not even midday.

“When my father leaves, he doesn’t stay close. It may be nightfall before the riders even reach him. But he will come, and he will come swiftly. You have my assurances on that.”

Fifty-two

Fifty-two