“My father was, so I am, too. That’s what Moria always says. The empire can raise us up, but we owe it to our ancestors to recognize where we come from.”
“Which is very pious. At least, in your case. With Moria, I suspect she’s just being contrary.” Ronan settled in, sitting, his legs extended to the fire as he stretched out beside Tova. “High treason is the worst crime. There is one punishment worse than being exiled to the forest. Your family can have their caste stripped altogether.”
It took her a moment to realize what he was saying. “You mean you… you have no caste.”
He smiled wryly. “You were about to say I was casteless, and decided there must be a better way of phrasing it. There isn’t. When I said I wanted caste, I meant exactly that. A caste, not a higher one. I am casteless. Like the girl you met on the way to the city. The one taken by the slavers.”
Ashyn remembered the girl. Belaset. They’d been captives together and helped each other escape. Then Belaset had demanded Ashyn’s mother’s ring in payment. Ashyn hadn’t given it, of course, and she had been shocked and hurt by the demand. At the time, Ronan had tried to help her understand. The girl was casteless, rejected by her family because of a deforming skin condition. Belaset would do what she could to survive, and her demand was neither an insult to Ashyn nor a failure to recognize that Ashyn had assisted her.
When Ashyn had told Ronan that the girl was casteless, she’d admitted she didn’t know quite what that meant. She’d heard of it, in books, of course. The casteless were the lowest of the low, shunned by the goddess, the ancestors, and ordinary people alike. They were beggars and slaves, and in books they had always done something terrible to deserve their fate. But Belaset had not. Nor had Ronan.
“I… I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I ought to or…”
“You can. I know you mean well, as always. But there it is. My big secret. I’m casteless.”
“And it was a secret because you feared how I’d judge you?”
He shook his head. “Not after I knew you. But there are strict rules for the casteless. I should not even be permitted in your company, let alone be with you unaccompanied and share a room with you. Of course, the fact that the casteless aren’t branded means you can’t tell by looking at me, no more than you could tell a farmer from a merchant, if they dressed alike.”
“Because it’s considered the responsibility of each citizen to embrace and communicate their proper caste.”
“Which only a fool does if they don’t have one. So, yes, those who know my family know our situation. We’re registered as casteless, and that registry is checked each time we might try to take employment, purchase a home, or apply for a trading license. The penalty for falsely representing oneself is exile. With you, though… I didn’t hide it because I wasn’t concerned you’d report me.”
“Does Tyrus know?”
“I’m sure he suspects. If I’d told him, though, he wouldn’t have been able to hire me.” He shifted and patted Tova. “My hope was that if I proved myself, he would plead my case with his father and allow me merchant caste. That is looking increasingly unlikely.”
“So you’re leaving. I can understand that.”
His head whipped up. “No – I mean, yes, I’m leaving, but only because I don’t believe I can be of any further service to either of you.”
They sat in silence before Ashyn said, “I could strenuously argue that we still need you, but if I do, then I pull you away from your family again. There is only one duty higher than one’s duty to the empire, and that is one’s duty to family.”
“I’m not concerned with duty, Ash.”
“The point remains. We could use your protection, but your brother and sister need – and deserve – it more.”
“My protection?” Now the smile turned bitter. “Ask Guin how she fared under my protection. Ask my —” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head and got to his feet.
Ashyn scrambled up with him. “If you blame yourself for Guin—”
“I blame myself for a lack of care,” he said. “A lack of attention. True, it’s not as if I told her to volunteer herself. Nor would I have allowed it if I’d known. But the fact remains. I was careless. As I always am.”
“You are never —”
He cut her off with a kiss on the cheek. “Go to bed, Ash. It’ll be a hard ride tomorrow, and I want to make it to the inn before sundown.”
She watched him walk away. She glanced at Tova, who was watching him, too. The hound looked up at her, as if in question.
“Ronan?” She jogged after him and caught his sleeve. “Tell me what you mean, that you are always careless.”
He looked at her, and there was such sadness there that she moved forward, wanting to kiss his cheek, to embrace him, to offer some comfort for whatever put that sadness in his eyes. But she didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
“You can talk to me,” she said. “About anything.”
“I know.” He touched her face, one finger tracing a line down her jaw, and he leaned forward, as if to kiss her, but stopped short, turning away, his hand dropping.
“I’m too tired to talk, Ash,” he said, his voice soft, gentle. “Another time.”
“I —”
He squeezed her hand. “Truly, we will talk. Just not now. I’ll scout the perimeter while you prepare for bed.” He kissed her again, a mere brush of his lips on her cheek. Then he walked away, and she could not bring herself to give chase.