Empire of Night by Kelley Armstrong Page B

“You may think you are a Keeper and an imperial prince, but we see only two children playing at being warriors.”
    â€œRemember these are bandits,” Tyrus said. “I may give Barthol the honorific of commander, but he is no warrior.” And thus they could not expect them to act with honor. “Remember who you are.”
    She backed up her horse to look again at the unmoving guards. When she noticed Tyrus dismounting, she stopped him.
    â€œRemember who you are,” 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.
    â€œThey toy with us,” she muttered.
    â€œAs is to be expected. Here, I’ll—”
    â€œRemain on your steed, your highness. If those guards will not respond, perhaps they are hard of hearing. I’ll take my message to them.”
    Moria shimmied up the posts as deftly as a cat, if not quite as gracefully. Tyrus’s 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 openings—
    â€œMoria!”
    She looked to see Tyrus swinging off his horse, his face taut with alarm. “Down! Now!”
    She went still, trying to hear or see what had caught his attention.
    â€œIt’s a trap!” he hissed. “They’re fake.”
    She’d planned to drop down as he asked, but at that she paused. “Fake?”
    â€œThe guards still have not moved. Get down!”
    She boosted herself up the last handspan to peek into the tower. This guard was no fake. His arms were bare, as she’d 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 to—
    Her gaze shot up. She saw the hair first, the loose hair she’d noticed before and—
    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.
    â€œMoria!”
    She tore her gaze from the corpse.
    â€œIt’s a woman. She’s dead. They’ve nailed her up to look like a guard.”
    â€œA woman?” He frowned. “Why would they use—?”
    He stopped short as Moria squeezed through the window.
    â€œWhere are you going?” 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, “Stop.” 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.
    â€œDon’t shove me aside next time, then,” 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, “Steady,” 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.
    â€œI know . . .” She swallowed. “I know why they used a woman. I know what’s out there.” It is like Edgewood.
    â€œYou don’t know that.”
    Her chin shot up. “I do. I—”
    â€œYou suspect it. You cannot know. It could be a trap, and if you rush in, you’ll . . .” He trailed off, and when he spoke again, steel threaded his voice. “I feared a trap with the guards, and I wanted you to come down.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œI may outrank you, Moria, but no one commands you. I understand that. I will ask, though,