âYou may think you are a Keeper and an imperial prince, but we see only two children playing at being warriors.â
âRemember these are bandits,â Tyrus said. âI may give Barthol the honorific of commander, but he is no warrior.â And thus they could not expect them to act with honor. âRemember who you are.â
She backed up her horse to look again at the unmoving guards. When she noticed Tyrus dismounting, she stopped him.
âRemember who you are,â she said.
Few people in the empire outranked a Keeper, but an imperial prince was one of them. So it fell to her to open the gate. When she tried, though, she discovered why it was banging in the wind. It was barricaded from within.
âThey toy with us,â she muttered.
âAs is to be expected. Here, Iâllââ
âRemain on your steed, your highness. If those guards will not respond, perhaps they are hard of hearing. Iâll take my message to them.â
Moria shimmied up the posts as deftly as a cat, if not quite as gracefully. Tyrusâs gaze swung from one guard tower to the other, ready to alert her to trouble. Daigo climbed the other post and they both drew up to the window openingsâ
âMoria!â
She looked to see Tyrus swinging off his horse, his face taut with alarm. âDown! Now!â
She went still, trying to hear or see what had caught his attention.
âItâs a trap!â he hissed. âTheyâre fake.â
Sheâd planned to drop down as he asked, but at that she paused. âFake?â
âThe guards still have not moved. Get down!â
She boosted herself up the last handspan to peek into the tower. This guard was no fake. His arms were bare, as sheâd noted from below. They were held oddly, though, at his sides,as if in a gesture of surrender, palms out . . .
His palms were darker than his brown skin. And there was something in the center of them.
Spikes. There were spikes through his hands, nailing them toâ
Her gaze shot up. She saw the hair first, the loose hair sheâd noticed before andâ
It was not a guard. Not even a man. It was a woman, nailed to the back of the guard box by her feet and hands, her head lolling, her eyes dead and staring.
âMoria!â
She tore her gaze from the corpse.
âItâs a woman. Sheâs dead. Theyâve nailed her up to look like a guard.â
âA woman?â He frowned. âWhy would they useâ?â
He stopped short as Moria squeezed through the window.
âWhere are you going?â he said, but she was already in the tower. With a clatter of blades, Tyrus followed.
FOURTEEN
M oria climbed down the tower ladder. At the base was a door leading into town. When she reached it, Tyrus called, âStop.â His tone was not that of a friend giving advice, but a prince issuing an order. He jumped down the rest of the way, knocking into Daigo, who snapped and glowered.
âDonât shove me aside next time, then,â Tyrus said to him.
When Moria reached again for the door, Tyrus caught her arm. He held fast, his free arm going around her waist, pulling her against him, his mouth at her ear, whispering, âSteady,â as he held her still. She could feel herself shaking against him. She tried to pull away, embarrassed, but he only tightened his grip, his body against hers.
âI know . . .â She swallowed. âI know why they used a woman. I know whatâs out there.â It is like Edgewood.
âYou donât know that.â
Her chin shot up. âI do. Iââ
âYou suspect it. You cannot know. It could be a trap, and if you rush in, youâll . . .â He trailed off, and when he spoke again, steel threaded his voice. âI feared a trap with the guards, and I wanted you to come down.â
âIââ
âI may outrank you, Moria, but no one commands you. I understand that. I will ask, though,
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