There was an extra bounce in Tyrus’s step, too, and a light in his face when he looked Moria’s way. She was happy, so he was happy.
He cares for her. He truly does.
“Who deserved what?” Moria repeated as they continued through the camp.
“Oh, just…” Ashyn fluttered her hand. “That young man who joined the caravan mistook me for a serving girl.”
Moria snorted. “Idiot. You corrected him, of course.”
“I tried. First, he told me not to give my name, because it’s inconsequential. Then he lectured me on not furthering the intellectual stereotypes of Northerners with dim-witted tricks. I am to bring his tea and honey cakes at once. He may be waiting a while.”
Tyrus laughed. Moria turned on her heel, her glare sweeping across the camp.
“That tent over there? The one we saw you exiting?”
“Yes, but —”
“Tea and honey cakes, you said?”
“Yes, but —”
Moria started toward the rations wagon. “We wouldn’t want the poor boy to go hungry.”
“Moria, don’t —”
Tyrus caught her arm. “Let her.” He leaned to her ear and whispered. “You know you want her to. And if a prince insists, you have no choice.”
Ashyn and Tyrus caught up as Moria strode into the young man’s tent, tea in hand.
“Finally,” they heard him say. “You can put that right —”
“Here, my lord?”
The gurgle of rushing water. A shriek. Ashyn raced into the tent, thinking Moria had poured it on him. Of course, she had not. The water was boiling. She had poured it, though… onto the paper he’d been writing on.
“You stupid, clumsy —!”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She picked up a soaked page. “This wasn’t important, was it?”
“You foolish girl,” the young man said. “I ought to —”
“Teach me a lesson?” Moria opened her cloak, hand falling to one of her daggers. “Shall we take this outside? I’d rather a fair fight, dagger to dagger, but if you prefer a sword, I suppose that would…” Her gaze moved to his empty sash. “You’ve removed your blades? A warrior must never…” Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Are you not a warrior?”
As Ashyn moved closer, Daigo reached Moria and settled in beside her. The young man looked at the wildcat.
“That is… You are…” He struggled for words, then said, “You claimed you were a Seeker,” as if that erased the issue.
“I claimed nothing.” Moria waved at Ashyn. “She said she was a Seeker.”
He turned and saw Ashyn and gaped. Then his gaze went to the third person in the tent and he fell forward into the deepest bow one could manage without toppling.
“My lord prince. I – I had not realized —”
Tyrus cut him off. “Then I would suggest you spend less time staring at your books and more at your surroundings. It is quite impossible to miss a Wildcat of the Immortals or a Hound of the Immortals. Not to mention the fact that the only two women in our caravan are twins.”
“Y-yes, your highness. I do apologize. My thoughts were elsewhere.” He stepped forward. “My name is —”
“Oh, there’s no need to tell me. I’ll not bother to remember it.”
The young man’s face mottled as his gaze dropped.
“You are Simeon of Mistvale,” Tyrus said. “Assistant to Katsumoto. I know who I travel with.”
That rebuke seemed to cut even deeper than the first, and Simeon stuttered an apology. Meanwhile, Moria wandered to his writing desk, peering down at the undamaged papers.
“You are a teller of stories?” she said.
Before Simeon could answer, Tyrus cut in. “Of a sort, one could say. I’m certain he’d be more than happy to entertain you with a tale tonight.”
“I —” Simeon began.
“More than happy,” Tyrus said.
Ashyn knew Katsumoto’s name – he was a great scholar, not a bard. But Tyrus gave Simeon a look that forbade argument. This was the prince’s lesson in making presumptions of identity.
“You’ll sing our Keeper a song tonight, at the fire,” he said. “I’d choose a rare one. She has quite the knowledge of tales, and you’ll find she’s easily bored. And when she’s bored… you noted the daggers, I take it?”
Moria made a face at Tyrus. He smiled and waved for the girls to come out with him, leaving Simeon looking as if he’d just been ordered to commit ritual suicide.
NINE
Tyrus didn’t actually make Simeon play bard. Shortly before the evening fire, he told Moria Simeon’s true occupation, likely more to save her from embarrassment than Simeon. For the night’s entertainment, someone played a flute, then someone sang a tale. Neither performance was expertly done, but there was no place for bards and musicians on such a journey. Moria grumbled that there was no place for frivolity at all – they should get to sleep and rise sooner. Tyrus had compromised by allowing the men this brief entertainment before declaring they’d rise at dawn and must retire sooner than usual.
Ashyn had settled her own anxieties with a tumbler of honey wine. A small tumbler, but the alcohol was enough to have her up in the night, needing to rid herself of the added liquid. She sighed and tossed and turned, hoping to rouse Moria. Moria and Daigo both slept as if dead. When she could not hold out any longer, she “accidentally” stumbled over Tyrus’s legs making her way past him. He didn’t stir.