The wagon flap opened and Gavril pushed through, the driver hanging from one hand, the other brandishing his sword.
"Gavril?" Ronan said.
Running footsteps sounded outside, and Tyrus appeared, breathing hard and flecked in blood. Daigo was at his side, breathing just as hard and looking just as blood-speckled.
"Thank the goddess the driver lives," he muttered as he walked toward them. "Daigo and I had less luck with our targets. Neither was very interested in being captured and--"
"Tyrus?" Ronan said, scrambling up.
"Where's Ashyn?" Moria said.
"I . . ." Ronan blinked hard, as if his sleep had not come naturally.
Moria grabbed him by the shirtfront and gave him a shake. "Wake up, blast it. Where is my sister? Is she with you?"
"I . . ." Ronan's eyes snapped open and he pulled from her grip. "We need to go to her. Now."
"We will," Gavril said. "As soon as you explain."
"No, now. I'll explain on the way."
THIRTY-FOUR
As much as Ashyn missed Ronan, she was, in one way, glad that he was not there, or she'd have been enduring his grumbling all day. It seemed time did not progress the same in the North as it did in the rest of the empire, because apparently "day" extended to cover the following dawn. That's when the ritual would take place.
Still, she missed him. There was no denying that. As kind and friendly as Edwyn's people were to her, she was keenly aware that she and Tova were among strangers. Edwyn had tried to make her day pass quickly with preparations. Ashyn didn't know the purpose of any, and all were conducted in a foreign tongue. None required much more of her than her presence, which meant a very boring day. Between rituals, Edwyn had entertained her with histories of the North, but as keen as Ashyn normally was to learn, it all became a bit, well, tedious.
Later, when she reunited with Moria, she would be far happier about having Edwyn in their lives. Right now, though, her thoughts were consumed with worry about everyone she'd left behind, most of all Moria.
Night came but sleep did not. She'd gone to her tent too early, partially from boredom and partially from excitement for the day to come. But excitement certainly did not calm the nerves for sleep, particularly when night dragged doubt in its wake. What if she failed the ritual? What if she failed her grandfather--was not the girl he expected?
She kept thinking about the Seeking rituals. That was how all this started. Her first venture into the Forest of the Dead to soothe the souls of the convicts who'd died in exile there. She had gone in with the Seeking party from Edgewood . . . and emerged with Ronan, one of those exiled convicts. Everyone else in her party had perished horribly, killed by shadow stalkers, and all she'd been able to think at the time was "I did this." That somehow she'd conducted the rituals wrong and raised these creatures, and it was all her fault. She knew better now, but that didn't stop her from remembering how it felt. That crushing guilt and horror. What if this time she truly did fail? Or if she woke the dragons . . . and they massacred everyone around them and then flew into the empire and--
So she did not sleep. Not for a very, very long time, and only then after one of the women came to check on her, discovered she was awake, and withdrew in alarm, returning with a cup of wine.
"You must rest, child. You truly must."
Telling her she had t
o rest only added to the anxiety over not resting, particularly when Ashyn began to worry that a lack of rest could cause her to fail the ritual.
Surprisingly, though, despite her knotted stomach, sleep did come. Perhaps there was more than wine in that cup. The next thing she knew, she was waking to a commotion outside her tent.
She heard a shout in the common language, the words drowned out by the scream of another. Then the clang of steel and an oath, and she grabbed her dagger and cloak, Tova already at the door, growling. She pushed open the flap to see three unfamiliar warriors, blades raised, encircling a fourth, prostrate on the ground. The downed man seemed dead, unmoving, and Ashyn let out a gasp. She heard another oath, this one from a woman, and turned as one of Edwyn's people ran toward her, saying, "Back inside, my lady! Quickly!"
Ashyn ran along the tent instead, with Tova at her side, the woman calling after her. Strong arms grabbed her. Tova snarled and leaped, and her captor let out a strangled cry as the hound's fangs dug into his arm. He dropped Ashyn. She twisted to see another unfamiliar warrior and lifted her dagger to plunge it into his arm, when the woman who'd chased her shouted, "No, my lady! He is one of us!"
Ashyn stopped short. She stared up at the man. He was brown-skinned and dark-eyed, like Ronan. Not Northern-born and very clearly no one Ashyn had met in camp.
"He is with us," the woman said, gripping Ashyn's arm.
Tova backed off, still growling.
"But we are under attack," Ashyn said. "Those men--the warriors--"
"They are ours."
"I am sorry I frightened you, my lady," the warrior said, dipping in a slight bow. "I thought you were panicked and running blind."