Empire of Night (16 page)

R
onan and Ashyn were outside the hut now. She would stay close enough to hear Tyrus if he woke, but she needed the fresh air and the chance to stretch her legs. They walked along the path leading from the hut. A tree had fallen over it—a small one, easily moved, but they'd left it to discourage anyone from investigating the path.

The hut was only a single room. It had no amenities to speak of, not even a shelter out back for the toilet pit. Ashyn could not imagine living like that for long. Obviously, someone had. Someone who lived off the land.
Stole
off the land, to be more accurate. They were close enough to the warlord's compound that all this land would belong to him. Even growing crops on it would be considered theft. Which explained why the hut was so well hidden, a distance from both the road and the spring.

Ashyn didn't dare walk as far as the road, but they could see it from a curve in the path, and she peered along that seemingly endless stretch of road that would, ultimately, lead to the imperial city.

“Simeon ought to have reached the palace two days ago,” she said. “He'd know he couldn't stop even for the night. The situation is too urgent. And the emperor would send a fast horse back, ahead of any troops. The rider ought to be here.”

“You're worried about Simeon?”

She nodded. “He's no warrior. No great rider either, despite being from the steppes. I fear he didn't reach the imperial city.”

“You've grown fond of him.”

She shrugged and shaded her eyes to look down the road. “He was very knowledgeable and quite companionable.”

“Were you courting?”

She turned sharply, her distraction vanishing. “What?”

Ronan cleared this throat. “I do not ask out of jealousy, of course.”

“I would not presume you do, given that
you're
the one who rebuffed
me.
”

He winced. “I did not rebuff—”

“Call it what you will. I was reacting to the absurdity of the question. I'd just seen Fairview massacred. We were on the trail of murderers, praying to find my village's children alive. Do you truly think I was batting my lashes at the nearest young man?”

“I didn't mean courting as in . . .” He struggled for words and then said, “I only asked if you were moving in that direction, so I could better commiserate with your concern for his well-being.”

“I don't need you to commiserate with anything. Yes, I am
worried, as I would be if it was anyone I know. While Simeon did express an interest, I made it clear his feelings were not returned.”

“Was he angry?”

“I suspect it is impossible to be anything but a little angry when one is romantically rejected.”

Ronan glanced away. After a few moments, he said, “Are
you
angry? With me?”

“I was confused, Ronan. I did not initiate the kiss. I did not give any indication that I expected it. Yes, I reciprocated—I was returning what seemed to be obvious interest on your part. Later, you acted as if I'd thrown myself at you.”

“I didn't—”

“That's how you made me feel. Like a foolish girl who's been kissed once and presumes a marriage proposal will follow. Perhaps I ought to laugh and say that I am relieved, because I did not truly care for you at all. But I have little experience at lovers' games, and so I am honest. You may not have intended to hurt me, but I was hurt. Clearly, I'm not wallowing in misery. I only wish you had handled it with more sensitivity.”

“There is more to it than—”

“Hello!” a distant voice called, weak and crackling. “Is anyone there?”

“Tyrus,” she said, and raced back to the hut.

When they reached the hut, Tyrus was sitting up, the blanket tangled around his waist. He looked at her and, without hesitation, he said, “Ashyn,” and she knew his fever had broken.

He glanced at Daigo. The wildcat stretched, his claws extending.

“Where's . . . ?” he began. Then he stopped. “Moria. She's—”

He went to leap up. The blanket started to fall and he grabbed for it, the movement too sudden, sending him nearly falling flat on his face. He cursed as he struggled to get his balance. His face was so pale he could pass for a Northerner. Ashyn darted forward to help him as Ronan riffled through the pile of clothing.

“I'm fine,” Tyrus said, brushing her off. “I just need . . .”

His legs wobbled, and before anyone could grab him, he collapsed back onto the blankets, the one around his waist falling free. Ashyn turned away quickly.

“I need my trousers apparently,” he said with a strained laugh. “We'll put that at the top of the list. My apologies, Ashyn.”

She murmured that no apology was needed, but her cheeks flamed nonetheless. Ronan passed Tyrus his trousers, which Guin had cleaned—if haphazardly.

“We needed to undress you because of the fever,” Ashyn said.

“I wasn't about to ask for an explanation.”

She heard the swish and shimmy of fabric as he pulled his clothing on behind her.

“Now, with trousers acquired, I'm fit to get outside this . . . whatever it is. The smell is enough to send me back onto that pallet.”

Ashyn turned as he swayed. “You truly shouldn't strain yourself—”

“I'm fine. I just need—” He took one step and dropped to one knee, catching himself before he fell completely.

“You've been poisoned, your highness,” Ashyn said. “And four days in a fever. You cannot expect to get up and walk out of here.”

“You sound like your sister. Except she'd inject more snap and less civility in the sentiment. Now, speaking of Moria . . .”

Again, he trailed off. The fever may have broken, but he hadn't quite recovered his wits, and he kept forgetting himself.

“Is she still . . . ?” He looked up sharply. “She was captured. Did you find her?”

“We could not,” Ronan said. “Daigo could not either. We believe she was delivered straight to Alvar Kitsune, as a prize of war.”

Tyrus nodded slowly, and Ashyn could see his mind turning. “Yes, that would make sense. If she's with Alvar, then she's with Gavril, which means she is safe. Whatever he's done, it's not as if he'd allow her to rot in a dungeon.”

“That was my thinking as well,” Ashyn said.

“Good.” A weak smile for her. “Then we can both rest easier until I recover her, which I intend to do as quickly as I can. I presume the counselors have been sent back to tell my father what's happened?”

Ronan looked at Ashyn.

“I fear the counselors are dead,” Ashyn said. “They were waylaid after we searched for the children's camp. Which we did not find.”

“Because the children were never here,” Tyrus said.

She nodded. “It seems so. The man with the story about his brothers was likely a trap to convince you that you were heading the right way.”

“While Alvar's men attacked Northpond instead.”

“I don't know.” She'd been trying hard not to think of that.

When she looked over, she knew that this was exactly what he was thinking. Of Northpond. Massacred because he'd made the wrong choice.

“The counselors supported your decision,” she said.

“Which would be much more helpful if they'd survived to confirm that.”

“
We'll
confirm it. And Simeon. He survived, and we've sent him back to the city to tell your father. A fast rider should be along any moment now.”

Tyrus nodded, but his gaze was still distant.

“Simeon will tell him what happened,” Ashyn continued. “You made the best possible choice, and you had the full support of both counselors. We all heard that. You will be fine.”

“The people of Northpond will not be fine. Nor will the counselors. Or the warriors who rode with us.” He fell quiet, then managed a wry twist of a smile. “Well, I always said I had no interest in politics or a high military position. Now I don't have to worry about it. And I've long wanted to see the desert. I've heard the outposts there aren't nearly as bad as they claim.”

“No one is exiling you to a military outpost,” Ashyn said. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I'm joking.” He paused. “I hope. But enough of that. When exactly did you send Simeon and what were his orders?”

“A rider should have come by now,” Tyrus said when Ashyn finished explaining. “Something has happened to Simeon.” He stood again and looked about. “You have my blades.”

Ronan passed them over, along with Tyrus's belt and tunic.

“We'll start for the city,” he said.

“Now?” Ashyn said. “You're not recovered enough for the journey.”

“I have to be. The longer we delay, the longer my father doesn't know about Jorojumo's betrayal. And the longer before I can go after Moria.”

“You truly aren't in any condition to travel. Ronan can go. Guin's here, though I'm not sure she's more help than hindrance.”

“Guin . . . ? Ah, yes. The spirit-possessed girl.” A half laugh. “I cannot believe I just said that quite so casually. We do make an unlikely group, don't we? The Seeker, the thief, the ghost, and the bastard prince.” He shook his head. “We are leaving, though. All of us. If I can't manage it, Ronan will go on ahead, but I need to try. We leave before sundown.”

R
onan stole horses for their journey. No, Ashyn corrected.
They
stole horses. Ronan only found the steeds and facilitated the theft. They needed mounts as much as they'd needed food.

Tyrus made a note of the homesteads they'd taken them from and vowed that he'd pay the owners back tenfold. But they were still on Jorojumo's land, so the chance that Tyrus
could
pay them back was slight, though it made them feel better. Or it made Ashyn and Tyrus feel better. Ronan and Guin seemed to consider the entire discussion a waste of time.

Having come from homesteads, the horses were not accustomed to galloping long distances. Neither, Ashyn would admit, was she. Not that she mentioned it, even when she could barely walk upon dismounting. To her surprise, Guin didn't complain either, though she seemed to be in as much discomfort as Ashyn.

The horses did their best, but by the time they were two days' hard ride from the imperial city, it became clear they could go no farther without resting. The group stopped at an inn to water and feed their mounts and themselves.

Tova and Daigo stayed in a patch of forest near the stables. Tyrus hid his tattoos and blades under a light cloak. In his present state, it was unlikely his face would be recognized even in the city. It was still wan from the poison and filthy from the road, with a yellowing bruise on one cheek and a healing cut on his chin.

“I'll be going home when we reach the city,” Ronan said as they sat in the inn's dining room, pulling apart pork buns. “I've been away longer from my family than I expected, so I'd rather not linger.”

“Go on ahead as soon as you're rested,” Tyrus said. “I appreciate everything you've done for us, and your recompense will reflect that.”

“Recompense?” Guin said. “You mean money?”

“It was a polite way of saying that,” Tyrus said. “I hired Ronan to aid us, and he's gone well beyond what was expected of him.”

“So I'll be paid, too, then. For helping out.”

“Absolutely,” Ronan said. “Just tell us what you actually did to help, and we'll pay you accordingly, once we've deducted your expenses. Which by my rough calculations, means you owe us about ten silver.”

Guin glowered at him.

“You will receive a stipend from my father,” Tyrus said. “After you've spoken to his advisors, and they've learned
whatever else you might know that can help us.”

Tyrus said more, but Ashyn didn't catch it. She was exhausted, and her mind retreated into simple quiet. The voices faded, as did the smells of the pork buns and the tea, and she drifted between the worlds, only faintly aware of the others.

Come, child.

The spirit's voice startled her out of her reverie. She looked around, blinking, as if it had come from a real person.

“Ash?” Ronan said.

Come now.

“Sorry. I'm drifting off. I'll go out and get some air, see to Tova and Daigo.”

“I'll come with you,” Ronan said, rising as she did.

She waved him down. “Rest. I'm only stepping outside.”

This way.

Ashyn followed the spirit's voice. She checked outside the inn before stepping into the midday sun. A moon ago, she would have hurried after the spirit without hesitation, never needing to worry that it might be summoning her for anything but good.

The spirit continued whispering, just a word or two, drawing her along. She was rounding the stables when she heard a soft footfall behind her.

“Ronan?” she said. “I know you're there.”

He stepped from beside the stable wall. “I didn't wish to startle you.”

“And sneaking behind me is less likely to do so than simply walking up and saying hello?”

He walked toward her. “I was hoping to wait until you
were with Tova, so we could speak privately.”

“About what?”

“I know what I said in there upset you.”

She stared at him in confusion. “What did you say? My mind had drifted.”

He stopped in front of her. “Don't, Ash. I handled it poorly. I should have told you I was leaving before I told the others.”

“Leaving?”

“Yes, I said that when we reach the city—”

“You're going on ahead to reunite with your brother and sister. Is that what you think made me run outside?” She gave a soft laugh. “No, Ronan. I'm quite aware that you intend to return to them quickly. If you must know, I came out because a spirit summoned me.”

Now it was his turn to laugh under his breath. “You don't need to make excuses—”

“You do think highly of yourself, don't you? I'm truly following a spirit. Which is getting impatient. Now, I need to find out what it wants. If you wish to follow, you may do so, though I'll warn you it may be disappointing when I don't break down sobbing behind the stables.”

He had the grace to look abashed. “I didn't think you were coming out for that.”

“No, just to wander about the stables, wallowing in my grief and the stink of horse dung.” She continued on as the spirit summoned her, more urgently now. “I know you're eager to return to your siblings. I'd think less of you if you didn't hurry back to them. You're a good brother.”

His gaze slid to the side, his eyes filling with a look she
couldn't quite catch. “Not always.”

“Tyrus offered to pay you handsomely. You weighed the options and decided Jorn and Aidra were better served if you came with us.”

“It's not a matter of option, Ash. I don't truly have . . . It's not as if I could simply . . .” He trailed off and rubbed his mouth.

She slowed, but the spirit urged her on.

“There's something I need to speak to you about,” he said. “I tried, before we parted the last time. I should have. It would better explain the decision I made . . . not to be with you.”

“Can we not discuss this again?”

They'd come around the stables now to a side yard, where a girl was currying a horse while two traders talked, both trying to impress her.

Stop, child. Hide yourself.

Ashyn backed around the side of the stable. Ronan did the same, without comment.

“Do you remember our meal in the inn?” he whispered. “The last one? Before we parted? We spoke of the girl you'd met. The casteless one.”

Listen now
, the spirit said.

“Yes, but I need to—”

“You know that my family was stripped of their warrior caste for backing the wrong imperial successor. Do you understand what that means?”

“Of course. Your family is no longer allowed to claim their caste. They're moved down the ranks, according to the severity of the crime. Can we discuss this later? I truly need to—”

“And I truly need to explain this, Ash. While it's usually a lowering of rank, sometimes—”

“—bastard prince?” one of the traders was saying.

Ashyn urgently waved Ronan to be silent, but he'd already stopped and moved closer to listen.

“That's what you expect, isn't it?” the man continued. “From a bastard? He was a clever one, though. Playing the fool.”

“I didn't think him a fool,” the servant girl said.

The second man snorted. “Because he's young and handsome. And he was no fool. He simply played one. That was the game. Smile for the crowds. Take no part in politics. Spend his days sparring and chasing pretty girls.”

“As a prince should,” the other man said. “I know that's what I'd do if I were an imperial bastard.”

“Because you're a fool. Young Tyrus was not.”

Ashyn stiffened. It had certainly seemed they'd meant Tyrus, but until they named him, she'd not been sure. As she tensed, Ronan laid his hand on her hip, squeezing it as he braced himself against her.

“No?” the other trader said. “I'd say that's exactly what he was. An overreaching fool who proved himself a coward. That's what I expect from a bastard. Weakness. When the emperor spreads his seed so far, it thins, and the result is always this. Weak sons. Cowards.”

“So it's true then?” the girl said. “What they say Prince Tyrus did?”

“It is indeed. Ran from the battlefield and left his men to die. Which sounds very familiar, doesn't it?”

When the girl said nothing, one of the traders laughed. “She's too young to remember. He means Marshal Kitsune. That's the crime he was exiled for. Running from a losing battle and sacrificing his men. Which we all know was a lie. The emperor feared the marshal's power and had him framed and exiled. Now the goddess has exacted her punishment. His own son has done the same thing. Judgment has already been passed. When the bastard prince slinks back to the imperial court, his father plans to exact the same penalty. Death to the coward who bears his name. Fitting, don't you think?”

The spirit whispered something, but Ashyn was already racing back to the inn with Ronan right behind her.