Empire of Night (21 page)

“I
s that too tight?” Tyrus asked as he wound the strip of clean cloth around Ashyn's arm. The “nick” had turned out to be a gash, much deeper than she thought.

She shook her head. As Tyrus fastened it, Ronan paced, occasionally aiming glares Guin's way. The girl sat at the base of a tree, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. They'd escaped the bounty hunters—the surviving ones, that is—and were now catching their breath and tending to injuries.

“Why did you stop him?” Guin asked Tyrus. “He was running at me. If you hadn't cut him, he wouldn't have turned on you and Ashyn wouldn't have been hurt.”

“So it's Tyrus's fault Ashyn was injured?” Ronan snapped.

“No, it's my fault,” she said softly. “I'm asking why the prince didn't let him cut me down. Why Ashyn didn't leave me there.”

“That is the stupidest—” Ronan began.

Tyrus cut him short with a raised hand and said, his voice gentle, “I
could
stop him so I did. Ashyn
could
help so she did.”

“I wouldn't have done the same for you. Either of you.”

Ashyn looked at the girl, hugging her knees, her gaze fixed somewhere on the ground between them. She'd said the words not with defiance but quietly, as if she was still working through the scenario in her mind.

“Sometimes that doesn't matter,” Tyrus said as he tied off the bandage and stood. “For some
people
, that doesn't matter.”

“But in a group, it matters.” Ronan strode over. “Guin's right. She wouldn't have done that for us, and she almost got us killed. We can't have someone like that. Not now. She's deadweight. She eats our food, drinks our water, slows our pace, and requires our protection.”

“We can't just leave her—” Ashyn began.

“By the roadside? No. As tempting as that might be. When we near the next town, we ought to send her on her way with a few silver. She'll be fine. She's a healthy young woman of marriageable age. We'll give her a story, and the villagers will take her in.”

“So she can tell them where we're headed?” Tyrus said.

Guin jumped to her feet at that. “I would never—”

“How does your arm feel?” Tyrus asked Ashyn. “Can you move it?”

She nodded. “How are
you
?”

He fingered a fresh gash on his chin, below the earlier one. “It stings, but I'll live.” He tilted his head, still touching the
cut. “Do you think it will scar? I could better intimidate my enemies if I had a scar.”

“Tyrus . . .” Ashyn gave him a hard look.

He lowered his hand and sobered. “I've always said I aspired to nothing except to make a name for myself in battle. The goddess has granted my wish. At least now I don't ever have to worry about my brothers seeing me as a threat. They won't bother killing me. The rest of the empire, though . . .”

He caught Ashyn's eye. “Don't give me that look, Ash. I'm not being flippant. I'm dealing with this the best I can. I'm sure the shock will set in soon enough. Until then, I need to make plans.”

“You must tell your father the truth,” Guin said.

“Yes, and while I would love to think he does not truly believe me capable of what Simeon has claimed, I cannot rely on that. I'll worry about clearing my name later. For now, I'm going after Moria.”

“Because you think she might have done as they say?” Guin said. “Betrayed you?”

“Not for a moment. But she's being held by Alvar Kitsune, as his prisoner, and if she gets any chance to escape, she will. She'll flee to the nearest village, where she'll discover—”

“—that she's been branded a traitor,” Ashyn said, her breath catching. “She'll have no way of knowing it. If she escapes and identifies herself to anyone—”

“She won't,” Tyrus said. “Because I'm going to get to her first.”

Before they left, Tyrus insisted they rest and recover from the fight and flight. Not that he himself rested. He prowled about
the perimeter of their camp with Daigo, clearly anxious to be gone. Ashyn found them in a small gully. Tyrus was crouched, peering into a rabbit burrow.

“I'd smoke them out the other end if I could trust you to catch one,” he was saying to Daigo.

The wildcat busied himself cleaning a paw.

“Or you could smoke them out,” Tyrus said. “And I'll catch one.”

Ashyn laughed as she walked over. “You're wasting your time.”

“On the contrary,” he said, straightening. “I'm wearing him down. Eventually, he will tire of not having fresh meat.”

Tova walked over to sniff at the hole. Daigo hissed and batted him with a paw, as if to say,
That's mine.

“See?” Tyrus said. “He's considering it. Soon he'll realize there's no sense resisting. I'm more patient—and persistent—than he is stubborn.”

“I need to speak to you.”

She climbed down the small gully and seated herself on the edge. Tyrus sat beside her. Tova settled in at her feet while Daigo set off prowling.

“You must let Ronan leave,” she said.

“He's free to go at any time, Ash. If I haven't made that clear—”

“I'm sorry. I misspoke. I meant that you must
make
him leave. Send him onward to the city so he can be with his brother and sister. Otherwise he'll stay at your side until you've found Moria and cleared your names.”

“Which is unlikely to be anytime soon,” he murmured. “All right, then. I'll insist he continue on.”

“I'm going, too.”

Tyrus turned sharply. “What?”

“My priority is always my sister. But you can best search for her on your own, in disguise. I will go to the city to seek information that might help you.”

“If you walk into the imperial city—”

“I'm not so foolish as to stroll in and announce myself.” She gave him a look, which Tova seconded with a grunt. “But even if I were caught, there are no rumors about me.” None at all, which was, admittedly, a little disheartening. She had once again faded into obscurity beside her sister's supposed wild deeds. “I could convince them I was not at the battlefield, that I know not what happened.”

“And Simeon? He clearly started these stories to punish you.”

“I'm not convinced of that. Part of his reason, it seems, was hurt over my rejection, but there must be more to it.”

“Still . . .”

“If it came to it, I would convince him that he'd misinterpreted my rejection. As much as I might hate deception, there are times that warrant it. However, I'm not my sister, Tyrus. I have no wish to defy or tempt fate. I'll quietly gather what information I can, while Ronan tends to his siblings. I will also get word to your mother, tell her you are well.”

“I cannot ask you to endanger yourself, for me or my mother—”

“I will if I can. I know you are worried about her. It's settled, then? We part?”

Tyrus gazed out as he considered it. “As much as I dislike the idea—and I suspect Moria would strangle me for agreeing
to it—I trust your discretion and your judgment, Ash. There's only one thing I ask of you.”

“What's that?”

“Take Guin.”

When Ashyn laughed, Tyrus said, “I'm serious. I can hunt for Moria much better if it's only me and Daigo.”

“I know,” she said. “I will take her.”

“I've done something wrong,” Ronan grumbled as he shoved his spare tunic into his pack.

“You know you haven't.” Ashyn handed him his sleeping blanket.

“See? Even you're trying to get rid of me. I've done something.”

She sighed. “Yes, Ronan, you have. I'm sorry, but it must be said. You've committed a grave offense. You wouldn't go back to check on your brother and sister until Tyrus put his boot to your arse.”

His brows lifted at her choice of words. Just because she rarely used strong language did not mean she did not know it. In fact, she'd wager her vocabulary for profanity exceeded his own. That's what came of extensive reading . . . and growing up around warriors and traders.

“You know Tyrus is right,” she continued. “You ought to check on them, and you
want
to check on them. You just needed . . .”

“A kick in the arse?”

“Exactly.” She rolled dried fruit and meat in a cloth.

“He's making a mistake,” he said.

“Perhaps.”

“There's no perhaps about it, Ash. How will you survive without me?”

Her brows shot up.

“Will you steal for your supper? Will he? I'm sure Guin would try, for a lark, but she'd be more likely to end up with twenty lashes than food.”

“We have food. We have money, too, thanks to you.”

“It's not enough.”

“It will be.”
When there's only one person who needs it.
She didn't say that, of course. As far as Ronan knew, he was leaving alone. He wouldn't readily agree to take her to the city and they'd no time to argue.

“What if you're attacked? I'm sorry, Ash, but as much as you've been practicing with your blade—”

“I'm not as good as my sister. I know that.”

“I was going to say that you're not as good as me.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“And Guin is less than useless.”

“I can hear you,” Guin called from the fire.

“Good. Perhaps it will spur you to remedy the situation,” he called back. Then he said to Ashyn, “I'm concerned—”

“Yes, we know,” Tyrus said, walking over with a cloth in hand. “You're still leaving. It's a two-day ride to the city. Take a day to check on your siblings. If you wish to return after that, you'll go here.”

He held out the cloth. On it was a map drawn with burnt wood. “Once I have Moria, I'll need a place to stay, and a powerful ally to take my case to my father. If you'd asked me
a fortnight ago who I could trust, I'd have listed name upon name. But it's not until your life and the lives of others are at stake that you reevaluate. Harshly reevaluate. My list has been reduced to one. When I reached my twelfth summer, I was sent to live with Goro Okami until my thirteenth. He knows me. His family knows me. While he is a loyal subject, he is not slavishly devoted to my father. He has a sharp mind, and a sharp mind questions before accepting. He'll listen to my side of the story.”

“I
will
return,” Ronan said. “So you want me to meet you there?”

“In the area. I'll want you to stay clear until I am absolutely certain it's safe. I've marked an inn on the map, just beyond Lord Okami's compound. Wait for me there.”

A
shyn and Guin followed Ronan at a distance. It was easy enough. He didn't expect trouble now that he traveled alone. Ashyn just had to wait until they had enough distance from Tyrus that Ronan couldn't send her back to him.

“Do you love him?” Guin asked as they rode.

Ashyn started to say an abrupt no, then stopped herself and said instead, “That's a complicated question.”

“No, it isn't. You do or you don't. It's that simple.”

“Is it?” Ashyn looked at the young woman. “I used to think so. I'm not so sure anymore. It isn't like lighting a candle, which either catches or it doesn't. It's like trying to light a fire. Sometimes you get a spark and you aren't sure if it's enough. It might start the fire. Or it might just sputter out.”

“Candles can be lit and then go out.”

“True.”

“Love can, too. Or perhaps it isn't love. You think it is, and then it goes wrong, and you realize it probably wasn't at all. It was just desperation.”

Ashyn looked over sharply. Guin kept her face forward, expressionless.

“I imagine such a realization would be . . . difficult,” Ashyn said carefully.

“It is, at the time. Later . . .” Guin shrugged. “Later you see your error. Unfortunately, it can come too late.”

“There was someone, then?” Ashyn prodded. “For you?”

“No. There was no one for me.” Another moment of silent riding, then she continued, “I simply thought there was. I have mentioned that my parents had difficulty finding me a husband. I became a burden, as unwed daughters do. I tried to fix the problem. I was too thin, so I ate as much as I could, but it went into the wrong places. I was plain of face, so I tried elixirs of every sort, but all they gave me was bad skin. I sought to be pleasing to men in other ways, to be accomplished and sweet-natured, and I discovered . . .” She shrugged. “I discovered I was a poor performer. I cannot be what I'm not.”

“One shouldn't need to.”

“One does, if one wishes a husband and has nothing else to entice him with. Finally, as I approached my twentieth summer, my parents sent me to a widowed shopkeeper, to cook and to clean for him. To replace his wife, as my mother said. I did not fully know what that meant. I soon learned.”

Ashyn paused, trying to think what Guin
did
mean. Then she realized it and said, “Oh,” her cheeks heating.

“Yes. I was to warm his pallet as well. It was not as unpleasant as I expected. He was quite unattractive, but there is pleasure to be had in a man's embrace, and if the lantern is off, it hardly matters what he looks like.”

“I . . . see.” Ashyn was sure her cheeks were bright red now, but Guin took no notice.

“He told me he loved me, and I began to believe I loved him in return. Then I became pregnant.”

“You . . .” Ashyn stopped her horse. “You had a child?”

Guin continued riding, her gaze straight ahead. “No, I did not.”

Ashyn caught up. “I'm sorry.”

“As was I, at the time. In fact, when I first learned I was with child, I was delighted. I thought the shopkeeper would marry me. Instead, he sent me back to my parents and demanded the return of all consideration. That means he wanted back what he'd paid for me. Of course, it was not legal to sell a free citizen, even in that age, but there could be an exchange of goods for services. Which is the arrangement he'd had with my parents.”

Ashyn tried not to stare in horror.

“My parents were displeased with me.” Guin hesitated. “No, that is what I believe is called an understatement. I had dishonored them. Whored myself, they said.”

“But—but—they . . . They expected you to share his pallet.”

“Yes, but because they'd
said
no such thing, they claimed innocence. As they must. Selling one's daughter as a whore is as bad as selling her as a slave. Perhaps the tradesman misunderstood the deal, but I do not think he did. Either way, I
had shamed them. Though, in truth, I do not know what they expected.”

Guin rode a few paces in thoughtful silence before continuing, “I suppose they thought I would take measures to prevent pregnancy. However, to do such a thing requires knowing that it exists. I don't know if the situation has changed, but in my time, one certainly did not discuss those matters with girls.” Another thoughtful pause. “Though it would seem, since they are most affected, they ought to know.”

“Yes,” Ashyn said. “They ought.”

Her own father had asked a neighbor woman to explain the facts of “marital relations” to Ashyn and Moria. He'd had the foresight, however, to stay within earshot, and later he'd had to explain it properly, to his obvious embarrassment. As for avoiding pregnancy, he'd only mumbled something about speaking to a healer once they were older.
Much
older.

At the time, Ashyn had thought Moria might need that conversation a little sooner, but she'd never had the nerve to suggest it. Now, hearing Guin's story, she realized she ought to make sure Moria
did
speak to a healer about it. Soon.

“Did you . . . lose the child?” Ashyn said. “I do not mean to pry—”

“You do not pry. I broached the subject. As I said, my parents were displeased. My mother gave me the name of an old healer and told me not to come home until I'd visited her. The woman lived quite far from our village. I told her my situation and gave her the money my mother sent with me. The next thing I knew, I woke in a field, alone and bleeding. Apparently, she had ended the pregnancy, and something had gone wrong.”

Ashyn gripped the horse's reins so tight her fingers ached. She waited, barely breathing. But Guin said no more.

“And then?” Ashyn prompted finally. “What happened then?”

“Nothing. That was the end.”

“Th-the end? Y-you mean . . .” Ashyn stammered and stared, unable to get the words out, until finally they came and she blurted, “You died?”

“Yes.”

“There? In that field? Alone?”

“Yes.”

Nothing Guin had said was more horrifying than the
way
she said this. So calm. So matter-of-fact. As if this was all one could expect from life. To be sold to a man, impregnated, rejected by your family, and sent to a stranger—with no idea what she has in mind—and then to wake in a field, the baby gone, your own lifeblood seeping into the ground. Used, abused, abandoned, and left to die. Alone. Utterly alone.

“I . . . I'm sorry,” Ashyn said. “I don't know what else to say but that.”

Guin's lips curved in the smallest smile. “You say it and you mean it, and you know me hardly at all. That is more than I expect. I'm glad I told you.”

“I'm glad you did, too.”

She reached to squeeze Guin's hand, seeming to startle the girl. But Guin managed a smile in return, and they continued on in silence.

When Ronan paused to eat a quick meal by the roadside, Ashyn and Guin rode his way. He reached for his blade but stopped
when he saw Tova. Ashyn braced, expecting him to scowl and march over to confront them, but he only smiled.

“Changed his mind, did he?” Ronan got to his feet and scoured the landscape. “Where is his highness? Off prowling as usual?”

“He headed west.”

“There's nothing there. I just came from that way.”

“So did we. I meant that he headed west after you left. We're going with you.”

Now the scowl came. “I hope that's a joke, Ash.”

“It is not. I'm going with you so I can get the news from the city. It's our best chance of hearing gossip on Moria. When you return to Tyrus, we'll ride back together.”

He argued, but there was little he could do now with Tyrus long gone. Finally, he waved at Guin. “And her?”

“I asked Guin to come along,” she lied for Guin's sake. “I thought that best. She can find a place in the city and—”

“I'm coming to care for your siblings,” Guin cut in. “So you will have no cause for concern on their behalf.”

Ronan sputtered, then settled for aiming an accusatory look at Ashyn.

“That was not what we discussed,” she said slowly. “But perhaps it is not a bad idea . . .”

“Not a bad idea? She's been non-corporeal for an age. She's barely stopped walking into walls.”

Guin glowered at him. “I have not walked into anything since my second day in this body. I can care for children. I had younger siblings when I was alive. They all survived the ordeal of my care.”

Ashyn expected Ronan to snap back a retort, but he only glanced away and grumbled, “You'll not care for my siblings. Since the prince is long gone, though, I must accept Ashyn's companionship.”

“You're too kind,” she murmured.

He glared at her and said to Guin, “And since I accept hers, you—unfortunately—come as part of the deal. But if you impede our progress or endanger Ash at any turn—”

“I would never endanger Ashyn,” Guin said hotly. “You, perhaps. But not her.”

Ronan opened his mouth to reply, but Ashyn cut him off. “If I can find information on my sister, I'd like to do that
soon.
Can we stop arguing and start riding?”