“It’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.”