Empire of Night (17 page)

“I
t's a lie,” Tyrus said when they had him outside, far enough from the inn to speak in private.

“Of course it is,” Guin sniffed. “Even I saw enough of what happened at the battlefield not to believe such nonsense.”

“I mean it's a lie that judgment has been passed. What you've heard is a rumor. An alarming one, to be sure, but I
did
lead a troop into an impossible battle. I was spirited away from that battle. I am the only warrior who survived. The charge is not untrue.”

“Yes, it is,” Ashyn said. “Because the circumstances are much more complicated than that.”

“But to some, no matter how the facts are laid out, they will see exactly what those men do. As Moria would say, people like a good story.”

He went silent for a moment, and Ashyn could tell he was
thinking of her sister. He'd been struggling with his decision not to search for her first. Duty and honor bound him to this path, but his heart pulled him in a very different direction.

“I wouldn't call that a good story,” Guin said.

Tyrus gave his head a sharp shake, as if clearing it. “Moria would tell you a good story doesn't need to be true or happy. It merely needs to be satisfying. And for some, this would be supremely satisfying. They believe my father falsely exiled Alvar Kitsune. What better fate than to have his own son be guilty of the same charge?”

“This is Alvar's work, then,” Ashyn murmured. “Starting this rumor.”

“Perhaps. But the only impartial survivor was Simeon, who seems, poor soul, not to have survived the journey. My father won't defend me against these rumors—he does not dare, for fear of seeming indulgent. But he won't believe them either, until he has proof. The horses should be sufficiently rested. We'll ride to the city—”

“No,” Ronan said.

“We—”

“No.” Ronan stepped in front of Tyrus. “You are not riding to the city until I have gone ahead and investigated this rumor.”

Tyrus's brows shot up. “Is that an order?”

“I'm being impudent, I know. But you are the one who's told us, repeatedly, not to treat you as a prince. Out here, you've said, you're simply a friend. So, I'm going to insist you stay here, while I investigate, as a friend.”

“I appreciate that . . . I think. But I can't allow it. Every moment we delay is another moment in which my father is,
presumably, unaware of what has happened—with Fairview, with Northpond, with Jorojumo. And it's another moment in which I am dealing with this while Moria is held captive. So I'm sorry if you disagree, but I'm returning to the city—”

As Tyrus stepped forward, Ronan pulled his blade.

“Ronan!” Ashyn said.

Tyrus only shook his head. “Obviously you feel strongly about this.”

Ronan adjusted his grip on his blade. “I do, your highness.”

“And I feel equally strongly that any risk I face is outweighed by duty. I must return to the city. Immediately. If you say I may not, we are at an impasse.”

“We are.”

Tyrus eyed the blade. “If you draw that against me, you ought to be prepared to use it.”

“I am.” Sweat beaded along Ronan's forehead, but he kept the sword steady.

“I would need to defend myself.”

“You would.”

“All right, then. I would prefer to avoid open combat, so let's handle this civilly. Do you know how to score a strike?”

Ronan nodded.

“If you can, I'll stay. If I can disarm you first, you'll let me leave.”

Tyrus unsheathed his blade, and Ashyn realized they were going to spar, which was not her idea of “handling it civilly.” Before she could say so, Ronan was lunging, sword swinging and—

A resounding clang, so loud that Ashyn jumped in spite
of herself. She saw the blades strike. She saw Ronan's sword fly up, knocked clear out of his hand. It hit the ground, and he stood there, gaping at it.

Tyrus shook his head and sheathed his blade. “You may have been trained to fight, but I believe you need a little more practice. Now, I'll ask one more favor of you, Ronan, before I leave. See to Ashyn, please. As there is some danger with me returning to the city, I'd rather she didn't accompany me there. Please escort her back with Guin. I'll speak to you both once this matter is cleared up.”

Tyrus began walking away.

“Your high . . .” Ashyn began. “Tyrus!”

He glanced back.

Ashyn stepped forward. “Moria would try to stop you.”

“I'm sure she would. More effectively, too. But she'd also understand that this is what I need to do. Now take care on the remainder of the journey. I'll see you in the city.”

He continued toward the stables.

Ronan retrieved his sword, grumbling under his breath. “He might be more even-tempered than your sister, but he's just as stubborn.”

Ronan was still sliding his blade into his belt when Tyrus rode from the stables.

“We can't let him go alone,” Guin said.

Ashyn looked at her in surprise.

“We won't get a reward if we don't accompany him to the gates,” Guin said, but in her eyes, Ashyn thought she detected a shadow of genuine worry.

Ashyn looked back toward Tyrus. As he rode onto the
lane, a dark shape shot from behind the stables. It was Daigo. The wildcat stopped by the roadside. He looked at Ashyn, then back at Tova, loping out from where he'd been hiding. Tova started for Ashyn. Daigo gave one last look from Ashyn to Tova to Tyrus, then raced after the prince.

“Daigo's right,” Ashyn said. “We need to go with him.”

“Didn't I say that?” Guin murmured.

“I agree,” Ronan said to Ashyn. “But he'll not allow it.”

“Then we'll follow him.”

T
hey said all roads led to the imperial city. Of course that was true—all roads linked up with other roads and would ultimately take you anyplace you wished to go. This road did in fact become the Imperial Way, though, and was busy enough that they could follow Tyrus unnoticed.

“Oh, he's noticed,” Ronan said when Ashyn commented.

“But he hasn't looked back once.”

“No, we haven't
seen
him look back. He's a prince and a warrior, Ash. He's not going to glance about like a nervous trader with a full purse. He acts as if no one would dare attack him, so they give him wide berth. But he's fully aware of his surroundings. He knows we're here. He's just not going to do anything about it unless we come closer.”

“He's in danger, isn't he,” Guin said. She'd been riding quietly until now.

Ronan took a moment to respond. He'd become accustomed
to ignoring her, and he seemed to have to struggle against that urge now. “Yes, he's in danger.”

“Do you think the rumor's true? That the emperor has already condemned him?”

Ashyn considered carefully. “I do not know the emperor well enough to say with certainty, but I believe that the court of opinion may have condemned Tyrus, though his father has not. That is equally dangerous. It is, however, a matter easily resolved.”

“Is it?” Guin asked.

Ashyn's reply was firm. “It is.”

She glanced down at Tova. He walked at her side, making no effort to hide. Hounds of various types were common enough in the empire that, while his size garnered a few curious glances, he was dismissed as a rare or exotic breed. Daigo was the one who stood out, which meant that he did not walk beside Tyrus, but slunk along the buildings and long grass and any other obstacles he could find at the road's edge. With Moria gone, the wildcat acted in her stead, watching over Tyrus.

“I don't think we're the only ones following the prince,” Ronan said after a moment.

At first, she thought he meant Daigo, but then she saw his tight face.

“Where?” she whispered.

“Guin? Fall back.”

“Please,” Ashyn added.

The girl did. She'd been pensive since the scene at the inn, as if finally realizing this was not some grand adventure. She wasn't stupid. Nor as unfeeling as she seemed. Simply unaccustomed to worrying about danger—or worrying about
others. She'd been a spirit for so long. How long? If girls had wed by their fourteenth summer in her time, it could be several ages ago.

“They're on your side,” Ronan said. “Near the edge of the road. Three warriors.”

She counted to five under her breath and then swept her gaze over the other travelers. It was not difficult to spot the men. The dual swords hanging from their waists meant even on a crowded thoroughfare, no one got too close. While jostling a warrior's sword no longer carried a penalty of death, few cared to risk the insult.

Warriors served in many roles. This trio was clearly not in the army. While uniforms were worn only for tournaments, processions, and imperial events, there was a standard of dress required at all times. Simple, well-made, but generally somber garb. The outfits on these three were ornate, colorful, and not particularly well-made. Their clothing reminded her of the bandits, yet those men had clearly not been warrior caste—their bearing, their grooming, and their overall demeanor had given them away. These three were clean-shaven, with gleaming hair, white teeth, and no jewels. Men who understood the warrior way. Men who followed it, though?

She moved her horse closer to Ronan. “I don't think they're regular warriors. Their manner of dress is ostentatious.”

He frowned at her, puzzled. He was literate and intelligent, but not quite as book-learned as she was.
No one is as book-learned as you, Ash
, Moria would say. Which wasn't true—Simeon had been her superior in that area.

Moria. Simeon.

Moria was fine. She didn't know about Simeon. She
prayed for his safety. But her sister was fine. Daigo would know otherwise.

“It's not proper warrior attire,” she said. “Wealthy warriors may show it in their garb, but they would buy proper fabrics and hire proper tailors. These three look like . . .”

“Whores trying to dress as court ladies?” He caught her blush. “Sorry.”

“Not the analogy I'd use, but yes. Perhaps they're mercenaries?”

“I'm more concerned with what they're doing.”

What they were doing was watching Tyrus—not with the simple curiosity of men who think they've seen a face before, but with the hawkish stare of predators.

Ronan's hand went to his blade hilt. “You ride back here with Guin and Tova. I'm going to speak to them.”

Ashyn reached to lay her hand on his. “I'll speak to them and distract their attention while you ride ahead and warn Tyrus.”

“I'd rather—”

“Yes, I'm sure you would. But I have this.”

Ashyn reined her horse toward the three men. She came up behind them, but they didn't notice her even when she said, “Excuse me.” Or perhaps they were simply ignoring anyone impertinent enough to hail warriors.

“Excuse me,” she said louder. “I'm very sorry to bother you but—”

The youngest glanced her way. His eyes widened. He reined his horse in so quickly that hers nearly bumped it. The other two stopped as well, and looked at her with varying expressions of surprise. They hadn't noticed Tova, who'd
slipped into the crowd and now had come out on the other side of them, standing watch.

When the men turned, she noted that each wore his forelock in a braid with red, blue, and white beads. The beads likely signified membership in some criminal group, though that was hardly her area of expertise.

“My sincerest apologies for interrupting your travels,” she said, her voice soft and her gaze lowered. “I . . . I fear I didn't know where else to turn. My father is Lord Vernay of Coldwall, and I'm hoping that forgives some of my impudence in speaking to you.”

The youngest of the three straightened in his saddle. “Of course, my lady.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where is your escort?”

Ashyn's gaze dropped further. “That is the problem. I have not been long out of the North, and the sights of the empire are so new and exciting. My maidservant”—she waved to Guin, who had stopped on the other side of the road—“and I rode on ahead. We could clearly see my father's wagons, but then the road became more congested, and we rode farther still and . . . and I fear we rode quite far, perhaps past a branching road that my father may have taken. We've gone back and forth but there is no sign of him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ronan speaking to Tyrus.
Get him moving. Quickly. While their backs—

The oldest warrior glanced over his shoulder, as if remembering their target. He saw Ronan, and Ashyn tensed, but only nodded as if relieved that some random traveler was slowing Tyrus's progress.

He turned back to Ashyn. “We would be happy to assist
you, my lady, but I fear our own lord expects us, and we are already late.”

“Oh? Who is your warlord?”

The man hesitated. One of the others jumped in. “Asano Bakenko.”

“Truly?” Ashyn leaned forward, her eyes wide. “My father knows Lord Bakenko. In fact, we're due to visit him next moon. This is quite fortuitous. Your lord and my father were boon companions in their youth. Their fathers fought at the Battle of Dahuran, alongside the emperor himself. But, of course, you know that.”

They nodded, but their blank expressions said they had no idea what she was talking about. As they struggled to follow her blathering—and not give themselves away—none thought to check on their target, who was leaving the road quickly, Ronan guarding his rear.

“I'm so glad we've met,” she continued. “Your lord will certainly understand if you are delayed on my account. My father will reward you most handsomely. Now, we're looking for a retinue of two wagons and—”

Ronan rode up behind Ashyn and exhaled loudly. “My lady. There you are. I've been looking for you and asking after you . . .” His gaze traveled to the three warriors. “Oh. Thank you, brothers, for finding her.”

“These are Lord Asano Bakenko's men,” she twittered excitedly. “What is the chance, to meet friends so far from both our homes?”

Ronan's gaze took in the three men's attire. “Lord Bakenko . . . I see . . .” He gave the men a hard look, as if to say he knew they lied. A wise move, which kept them from
looking more closely at him—shabbily dressed for a warrior despite his blades.

“Well, I thank you, brothers, for your kindness,” Ronan said with a half bow. “I'll take my lady to her father's retinue. Her maidservant, too.” An equally hard look Guin's way. “The girl will be properly chastised for this.”

“Me?” Ashyn said, eyes wide. “But I only—”

“I mean your maidservant, my lady, for allowing you to wander.” He rolled his eyes at the warriors and mouthed
Northerners
, and they shared a small laugh at the silly, empty-headed girl before he ushered her off.

“You're a very good performer,” Ronan said as they rode back to Guin.

“Who says I was performing?”

He chuckled, his dark eyes glittering conspiratorially, and she felt a rush of warmth, as if he'd paid her the highest compliment. She glanced away and waved for Guin to join them.

They headed back the way they'd come, as if returning to their retinue.

“Guin?” Ashyn whispered, moving closer to the girl. “Can you tell me what they're doing?”

Guin frowned.

“You're supposed to be my maidservant,” Ashyn said gently. “Your curiosity will seem less suspicious than ours.”

“They aren't looking in this direction,” Guin said. “They're searching for the prince. Where is he?”

“Safe,” Ronan said. “We'll keep him that way by not riding directly to him. Follow my lead.”

“Blast him,” Ronan hissed as they surveyed the empty space behind the roadside shop. “He may tell us not to treat him as a prince, but he cannot stop acting like one. He does as he pleases.”

“Only when it's in my best interests,” Tyrus said as he rounded the shop.

Ronan glowered. “Which is anytime you don't like what you're told to do.”

Tyrus grinned. “True.” He clapped Ronan on the back. “I was simply keeping an eye on those three, so we don't lose them.”

“That would be the idea, your highness. To lose them. Which means
they
lose
you.
”

“Testy, aren't you?”

“Because this could have been avoided if you'd heeded our warnings—”

“I did heed your warning. I hid back here, didn't I?”

Ronan's glower deepened. Of course Tyrus knew that wasn't what he meant. The prince might claim no head for politics and machinations, but he could be as conniving as any courtier. His trick was to smile and charm and, if needed, play the fool. And, ultimately, get his way because he was indeed as obstinate as her sister. If Moria was a lightning storm—meeting every obstacle with fire and thunder—Tyrus was a steady spring rain—calmly but steadily wearing away everything in his path.

“We need information,” Tyrus continued, ignoring Ronan's scowl. “If those men hope to collect a bounty on me—”

“Bounty?” Ronan said.

“Of course. They're bounty hunters. Did you not see the beads on their forelocks?”

When Ronan looked at him blankly, Tyrus said, “It signifies that they are imperial bounty hunters. It's a secret society, but as with all such things, that secrecy is often more a hope than reality. If you've not heard of them, then I suppose they aren't quite as well-known as my father fears.”

“Your father has set a bounty on you?” Guin said.

“My father has nothing to do with such matters. And I cannot imagine there is a bounty on my head at all. I think those men recognized me, and they were trying to decide what to do about it. The trick now is to confirm that, find out what they know, and enlist their aid in getting me safely back to the imperial city.”

“And if I think that's a very poor idea?” Ronan said.

Tyrus smiled. “I'd be disappointed if you didn't. Your task is to watch over me, which includes exercising caution when I do not.”

“But does not include you actually listening to me when I do?”

“I listened when you told me to get off the road, didn't I? I'm listening to your counsel now. I'm not planning to march out there and ask them to return me to the imperial city.”

“Then what do you plan to do?” Ashyn asked.

Tyrus explained.