Ashyn pulled on her cloak and tightened the hood, making sure her hair was tucked in. Then she stepped out to find Ronan on the balcony walkway, his hands braced on the railing as he looked down at the collection of wagons below.
Beyond the wagons was an open area where people could take their food, sit, and talk. Now, the benches had been cleared aside. No one stood in the square, but people ringed it, as if something was coming and no one wished to miss the spectacle.
“A performer, most likely,” Ashyn said. “An acrobat or a bard. I’d suspect they’ve been paid by Alvar’s men to provide a distraction as the recruits make their getaway. Clever.”
When someone finally entered the empty square, though, it wasn’t a performer, but a warrior. Dressed in the colors of the imperial army.
Ronan swore under his breath. “Alvar’s men picked the wrong settlement after all. There’s going to be trouble, Ash. Get back in—”
He stopped. Then he cursed again. A second warrior had joined the first.
“That’s the man who tried to recruit me,” he said.
“The warrior?”
He nodded grimly. “Not one of Alvar’s men, apparently. Back inside, Ash. Now. I don’t know what’s going on—”
Ashyn rose on tiptoes for a better view as the warriors herded a group of young men and women into the square. They were bound with hemp rope, like convicts. As the warriors propelled them—at blade point—one of the young men fell to his knees. Ashyn recognized him as the Northern merchant who’d hurried past them moments ago.
“This is a mistake!” the young man cried. “I never—”
One of the warriors raised his sword to the man’s throat, but the first warrior—the apparent leader—waved the blade down. He unfastened the man from the rope, grabbed him by the hair, and dragged him to the center of the square. Protest rippled through those watching. An old man stepped forward, but one of the warriors stopped him with a wave of his sword.
The warrior in charge kicked the young man’s feet out, forcing him to kneel while still holding him by the hair, suspended, his knees not quite reaching the ground. When the young man tried to rise, the warrior kicked him back down again.
“You were approached by a man recruiting for the traitor Alvar Kitsune. Do you deny that?”
Ronan’s curse hissed in Ashyn’s ear as he shifted uneasily beside her.
“I do not deny I was approached,” the young man said.
“Then do you deny that an offer of recruitment was made?”
“No, but—”
“Do you deny that you accepted the offer?”
“No, but—”
“Then you cannot deny you are a traitor yourself. That you were willing to join the enemy and betray your people, destroy your land.”
“N-no. He offered money. Good money. My family needs—”
“You were joining the enemy cause. That is treason. High treason. Do you know the penalty for that?”
The old man who’d tried to move forward earlier did so again, saying, “My grandson meant no harm. Please. We are traders who have had a run of bad luck, and he made a foolish choice. Do not exile him—”
“Exile him? Where, old man, would we exile him? The Forest of the Dead? Have you not heard the news? Edgewood is gone. The people of Edgewood betrayed the empire, letting Alvar Kitsune live and then hiding him for these ten summers. The village has paid for its treason, executed by order of the emperor. Every man, woman, and child has been put to the sword—”
“No!” Ashyn cried before Ronan could slap a hand over her mouth. Her cry went unheard, as a similar one rose from the crowd assembled below, shock and disbelief and outrage. She twisted in his grip and peeled his fingers away. “They lie. Why would the emperor lie?”
“Look closer, Ash. Do they truly look like imperial warriors to you?”
Below, the crowd had erupted in chaos, held in check only by the men’s blades. As she peered closer at the warriors, she remembered what Moria had said about when she’d first come to Fairview. How she’d known that the “warriors” standing guard were no warriors at all. Little things. A general slovenliness of appearance, such as stains on tunics, and signs they’d made hasty attempts to clean themselves up, like poorly braided hair and shaving nicks.
As Ashyn looked at these warriors, she saw the same signs. Yes, they wore the uniforms of the imperial army. They bore the twin blades. A few even had imperial army helmets—the distinctive horns and dragon crests at the temples that marked them men of Emperor Tatsu.
But faced with the panic and unrest of a growing mob, a warrior should not forget his caste. He did not shout at commoners or bicker with them or threaten them, and below, she could see “warriors” doing all three.
Why would Alvar’s men recruit volunteers and then pose as imperial warriors? Why lead the recruits into fake exile?
No, the leader had said there was no exile. Not anymore.
“The old ways were soft,” the leader said, his voice ringing out as the crowd came under the warriors’ control. “Your emperor realizes that now.”
There was a commotion in the audience, and he had to stop as his men subdued it. While they waited, Ashyn’s gaze swept over the prisoners, six young men and two young women—she choked back a gasp.
“Guin,” she whispered.
She raced along the walkway for the stairs. Ronan let out a stifled cry as he came after her. He caught her arm before she descended.
“Guin,” she said. “She’s among the captives. She volunteered.”
His face screwed up. Then he shook his head. “You’re mistaken. Guin looks like many empire-born girls. She’s certainly not going to volunteer for something—”
“—that will help us?” She looked him in the eye. “After someone repeatedly reminded her that she’s useless? That she never does anything?”
“She wouldn’t—”
Ashyn wrenched from his grip and hurried down the steps. She set out at a run across the yard. Ronan raced after her, calling for her to come back as loudly as he dared.
Ahead, the leader was still talking. “Your emperor has realized he is too soft on criminals. None of this would have happened if he’d followed the ways of the great emperors past.”
Ashyn tore around a cart and stopped on the other side, where she could see the crowd. All she could see, though, was that crowd—the backs of onlookers, with the warriors and captives lost in the middle.
The leader was now speaking of the great emperors, the first emperors.
She looked around wildly. Then she glanced at the cart beside her. A trader’s, one big enough to be affixed to horses. Behind it, the merchant had stacked barrels. Ashyn clambered onto them. Ronan was at her side, saying nothing now that she was hidden. From the barrels, she heaved herself onto the roof of the cart.
“Ashyn, no!” He grabbed at her leg. “They’ll see—”
She kicked him off and flattened herself, pulling her cloak hood down farther. Ronan climbed up beside her.
“There!” she said, pointing at the last captive. “Are you to tell me that’s not Guin?”
The young woman stood in the line of the prisoners, wearing shackles, looking confused as she listened to the leader.
“How did the great emperors of old deal with threats to their lands? To their people? Did they exile traitors to a forest? No.” He kicked the young Northerner onto all fours and waved for another warrior to take his hold on the young man’s hair. “The great emperors of old knew how to deal with serpents.”
His blade flashed, so fast there wasn’t even time for a gasp from the crowd. The Northern merchant fell, and the warrior holding his hair swung his head into the air.
“That is how one deals with a serpent!” the leader boomed. “You chop off its head.”
The warrior flung the young man’s head into the crowd. A cry went up, delayed shock, and then the onlookers surged forward, enraged. The warriors fell on the first few, knocking them to the ground, holding them there, blades at their necks.
“Are the rest of you traitors as well?” the leader said. “I’ve shown you how we deal with them now, and I would suggest you take a moment to decide whether you are one of them.”
The crowd rumbled and shifted. The old Northern merchant crouched by his grandson’s body, weeping. The warriors kept their targets pinned, swords at their necks. Slowly, the mob backed off. Some on the edges began looking around, as if wishing to leave. Other false warriors appeared from behind buildings and carts, surrounding the crowd.
“If you are good citizens of the empire,” the leader called out. “Then you will wish to bear witness. If you do not, we will know you are not good citizens.” He turned to his men. “Let them decide for themselves if they have changed their minds.”
Those pinned to the ground rose as soon as they were able and silently merged back into the throng. The leader strode to the next chained man. When a warrior went to grab him, the prisoner fought wildly, writhing and kicking, but three of the false warriors held him down. Others came forward to subdue the rest, and even as Ashyn saw the leader’s sword rise, there was a part of her that did not make the logical assumption. That refused to make it.
He’s bluffing. Threatening. Posturing. One death is enough. He does not need—
The blade fell. The young man heaved himself up at the last moment, in a final attempt to escape, and instead, lost the mercy of a quick death. The blade caught him too high, cutting but not slicing through bone. Blood sprayed like a fountain.
I’m not seeing this. I cannot be seeing this. The spirits. The ancestors. The goddess herself. None would allow—
Ronan clamped his hand on her collar and heaved her backward, dragging her off the roof of the cart. When she realized what he was doing, she stopped resisting and scrambled down herself, hitting the barrels hard, toppling one in her haste. She leaped to the ground, her ankle twisting, recovering fast as she lunged forward to race around the cart and—
Ronan hauled her back. She fumbled with her cloak’s fastening, got free, and almost darted away again before he caught her by the tunic. He yanked her back and seized her arms instead.
“No,” he said. “You cannot—”
“I must. Guin.”
“You can’t.”
“I can try. I will try.”
She gave a tremendous pull, but he only tightened his grip. When she began to struggle, he did the same as the false warriors in the square. He pushed her to the ground and pinned her there. Only he didn’t pin her with a sword, but with his own body, holding her down, wincing as she kicked and fought. When she opened her mouth, he jammed his forearm against it, and she had to stop herself before she bit him.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said. “Nothing.”
She wriggled away from his forearm. “I can try—”
“How, Ash? It’s a dozen men. Guin is chained. If you interfere at all, they will see who you are. You’ll be captured, and Guin will still die.”
“But I need to do something. Anything. Please.”
“We can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He touched her face, wiping away tears, and only then did she realize she was crying. He wrapped his hands around her face, fingers entwined in her hair, and he pressed his palms to her ears, shutting out the screams and struggles of the dying. She lay there, gasping for breath, trying not to think—
Not to think of what was coming? To ignore Guin’s death? To leave her out there, surrounded by strangers as she died?
“I need to be where she can see me.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. That won’t make you feel any—”
“It’s not about me. I won’t let her die alone again.”