Coldly logical. Like admitting he would sacrifice the children and the villagers to protect the empire. She understood it, but could not fathom making such a choice herself.
She’d seen Emperor Tatsu’s warmth and affection for his son. Now to send him as an envoy after two spies had presumably perished? While she agreed the risk was much smaller, it was still a risk.
“Do you have a choice?” As soon as Ashyn said the words and saw her sister’s face, she knew it didn’t matter.
“I must go,” Moria said. “But you don’t need to.”
Ashyn went still.
Moria rose from where she’d collapsed, sprawled over cushions with Daigo, and she moved to sit beside Ashyn on the sleeping mat. Her voice softened. “You’ve been through enough. Tyrus and I can handle it.”
Of every unintended slight Ashyn had suffered over the last six days, this one cut the deepest. Before the massacre, they’d never been separated for more than a half day.
Tyrus and I can handle it.
“I’d like to go,” Ashyn said.
Moria grinned. “All right, then. If you’re sure you want to give up all this” – her hand swept across the luxurious room – “for a horse and a hard pallet.”
“I’m sure.”
“Then start packing. We leave at dawn.”
And that was it. Her sister didn’t wish her to stay behind, but simply hadn’t presumed she would join them. Life had changed. They were no longer children, tumbling on each other’s heels. They’d not been for many summers. This was but another step down a path they couldn’t avoid.
Moria rose. “We’ll need to get a message to Ronan.”
“Why?”
“Because he should know. I’m also hoping he’ll offer to come along. He can’t actually join us, of course —”
“No, he cannot. Because he has not been pardoned. He will not be until he allows us to ask for it.”
“He hoped to see you today. With me. In the market.”
Ashyn struggled to keep her face neutral. “The fact remains that he is a thief condemned to the Forest of the Dead, and until he seeks pardon, he is safest where he is. I’ll ask you to humor me in this. Please. Until the sentence is lifted, I’d not have him in any danger, and sending him that message implies we need his help.”
Moria hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I’ll take that extra time to bathe. It’ll be days before we have another chance.”
“Fetch the water. I’ll stoke the fire.”
When her sister was gone, Ashyn heard a grumble and looked down at Tova, lying by her feet.
“Ronan should not be told,” she said.
Tova fixed his dark eyes on her, and she squirmed under his stare. While she’d not have Ronan endangered, the truth was a little less selfless, a lot less honorable. But to admit her own troubles seemed to cheapen Moria’s, as if by saying, “He hurt me,” she put Ronan’s betrayal on the same level as Gavril’s.
When she’d first met Ronan, he’d seemed infatuated with Moria, which was no surprise. Yet as they’d traveled together, his attention had turned Ashyn’s way. Before they reached the imperial city, Ronan had told her how to contact him. Then, as they parted, he’d kissed her. She was not as experienced in romantic matters as Moria, but there seemed no other way to interpret his actions. There truly did not.
After two days, she’d done as he’d said – tossed a missive over the courtyard wall, to land between it and a neighboring building.
It was a simple I’d like to see you. His reply came a day later: I don’t think that’s wise.
No explanation. No apology. A cool refusal, as if she were some starry-eyed village girl asking him to the Fire Festival.
While that had stung, she’d told herself she was overreacting. He merely meant what he said – that it was not wise at the time.
But then he’d agreed to see Moria, and Ashyn realized there was no excuse other than the obvious. His kiss had not been a beginning but the ending. A good-bye.
In bard songs, love was love, and when you found it, it was forever. In life, romantic entanglements came and went, and sometimes they were not entanglements at all, but merely two people, brushing against each other before moving on.
That was what had happened here, and she ought to be mature about it. Savor the memory. Chalk it up to experience. That was certainly what Moria would do. Except, she was not Moria, and perhaps she was not all that mature, and so it hurt, and it did not seem likely to stop hurting soon.
EIGHT
The spirits bade Ashyn farewell as she left the imperial city. She heard their whispers, sometimes coming clear enough for her to catch a word or two, but often no more than circling murmurs, as much a part of her world as the wind sighing through the trees. A Seeker and Keeper did not converse directly with the ancestral spirits, as the spirit talkers could. Nor did they see them, if indeed they had form that could be seen, which Ashyn doubted.
The spirits did not serve the Seeker and Keeper. The Seeker and Keeper served the spirits. Ashyn was responsible for rituals and ceremonies to put them at peace. Moria protected the ancestors – and the living – from evil spirits, possessing the power to fight and banish them. Occasionally, the ancestors would demand something, like when they told Moria to give Ronan her dagger before he went into the Forest of the Dead. Why? Well, that was where the communications ended. Demands and vague warnings only. Or greetings and farewells.