"See? It's a menace. We may have escaped a thunder hawk, but ultimately, we will perish . . . killed by my hair."
A chuckle. He settled in again, and silence fell, broken only by the snapping of the sparks and the crackle of burning wood. When the clouds shifted, stars lit up the sky, brighter than they'd ever seemed in Edgewood.
"I know you're curious," Gavril said after a while. "About the sorcery. You're trying very hard not to ask about it."
"Given how difficult it was for you to admit to it, I can hardly imagine you'd welcome questions."
A few moments of silence. Then, "What I said yesterday, about the rumors of my father, how his enemies used that against him: it was true."
"Except that they weren't mere rumors."
She heard his boots scrape the rock as he shifted. "That we can do sorcery? Yes, that was true. But they said he stole babies from their cradles, Moria, and cut out their hearts in dark rituals. Murdered children. Defiled women. Mutilated warriors. All the worst that has been said of sorcery, they accused him of doing to further his fortunes. The same rumors have dogged my family since the first Kitsune became a warrior. Is it any wonder we deny having powers? Admit to anything, however simple, and the rest would be presumed true as well."
"So you use it for nothing more than lighting fires and closing wounds?"
Silence. Her tone had been curious, not accusatory, but clearly he seemed to have taken it that way. When she glanced over, though, he didn't seem angry or offended, just contemplative.
"There is . . . more," he said. "I haven't the skills or the training for it, but there are more . . . martial applications." He moved to look at her. "It is a skill we are born with, Moria. A gift from our ancestors. Like caste. Would you argue that a man born a warrior should not lift a sword against an unarmed enemy because it gives him an advantage?"
She considered that as she stared into the night sky. "But if your enemies do not know your skills, is that not unfair? If you are a warrior, other men see your blades and know not to challenge you or they'll taste your steel."
He said nothing for a long while. Then, "Perhaps. But we do not hide our sorcery by choice."
"True."
He paused, as if he'd been preparing to add further arguments.
"Will you learn more?" she asked.
"Yes. My training has been . . . slow. My mother blames sorcery for my father's exile and wouldn't allow my uncles to train me. So they did it in secret."
"Against her will?" She looked back at him.
He shrugged. "I am my father's only son. To deny my abilities would be an insult to our ancestors."
She flipped over. "His only son?"
"You did not know that?"
"No. I was a child when your father was exiled. When you arrived, I only recall my father saying you were the child of Marshal Kitsune's third wife. I presumed you had older brothers. Your father was not a young man."
"True, but he was not blessed with fertile wives."
"Oh, so clearly it was their fault. All three of them."
He gave her a stern look. She reminded herself that in the warrior code, there was only one thing more important than loyalty to one's emperor: filial piety. To suggest that a man's father lacked virility was to ask for a drawn sword and spilled blood.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He shrugged and leaned back, getting comfortable again. "I'm hardly an expert in such matters. I was told that his first two wives could not bear children, so he wed my mother. I'm his only son. Only child, as well." A sidelong glance her way. "Which may suggest you're correct about my father being the problem, but I did not ever say such a thing."
"I still apologize."
He dipped his head. "Thank you."
"You were his only child, then. I can see why your mother would want to protect you." She paused. "And why your uncles would wish you trained in their ways. You must have been close to your father. I suppose I hadn't realized that. An only son is much different from a late-born child to a third wife. You must--" She stopped. "Now I am being too curious. I'm sure your father is not a subject you like to discuss."
"I . . ." He stopped and stretched out on the rock. Daigo grunted as Gavril rested his bare feet against him. "I do not often discuss it. In court it is a subject best avoided. To most citizens, I am the son of a traitor. My father still has supporters in the army, though. Warriors who swear he did not flee that battlefield. To them I am the son of a martyr. Neither position is . . . comfortable."