"I cannot permit you to leave without your sister," he said. "I'm sorry."
Theoretically, Ashyn's authority matched her sister's. But in martial matters, particularly with the guards, it was Moria's voice that rang the loudest.
"She seems to have forgotten me," Ashyn said.
Anyone who truly knew Moria would realize that was impossible. Most likely, Moria had been waylaid and simply delayed. But Ashyn was tired and not particularly eager to wait.
The guard looked up at the hatch, as if considering. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but she was very clear."
"Can you get someone to find her, then?"
He hesitated.
"The barracks are right above us," she said. "Someone must be near."
He nodded. She followed him down the hall. He climbed the ladder, opened the hatch, and called out. When no one answered, he called again, louder. Then a third shout, one that made her ears ring.
Something's wrong.
The thought seemed to leap from nowhere, but it didn't, of course. It had been there since they'd run from the forest. Whatever happened out there isn't over. She'd felt that in her gut, in the cold silence of the spirit-empty village. When they'd met with the commander, she'd wanted to tell him to run. Everyone run.
That was foolish, of course. Run from what? Run to where?
Ashyn had watched her sister marching around, giving orders, and making plans, and thought, for perhaps the thousandth time since their birth, Why can't I be more like her? Instead, she'd sat quietly to the side, fear strumming through her, ashamed of her cowardice, consumed by guilt.
Moria insisted that what happened in the forest was not Ashyn's fault. It was not possible that a mistake in the Seeking could have caused that. While Ashyn knew she hadn't raised those spirits, she could not help but feel she had still failed. That Ellyn would have been able to stop the spirits.
Now, as the guard came back down the ladder, that tamped-down fear and guilt ignited. She stifled the first licks of true panic and said calmly, "With the search party gone, they must all be on duty. Would you go out and check, please? I'll wait here at the hatch."
He nodded and climbed out.
"I'm going to step outside," he said.
She fought a prickle of impatience as his boots scuffed across the floor. A distant door creaked.
"Hello?" he called.
No answer.
"What's going on?" Ronan asked from his cell.
She silenced him with a wave and kept listening as the guard's voice got farther and farther away. Tova whined. She waved him to silence, too.
"You there!" the guard's distant voice called. "Yes, you! Come back."
Boots pounded rock as the guard gave chase. When he spoke again, his
voice was louder, as if he'd come closer to the barracks.
"I'm not going to report you for breaking curfew. The Seeker asked me to--" The guard stopped short. "Who are you? What's wrong with--?" A wordless shout of surprise. "Stay back. You have swamp fever. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't let you touch--"
A curse. Then an inhuman shriek. The click of a blade against stone or steel. Ashyn gripped the hatch opening, ready to race out fighting, as Moria would.
But you aren't Moria. You aren't the Keeper.
Moria . . . Oh, goddess. Moria. Their father. The villagers.
She scrambled down the ladder so fast she missed the last rung and tumbled, her ankle twisting, pain shooting through her leg.