Ronan hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said it would be a hard ride. They were heading west, toward the mountains. Soon Ashyn was wishing for the empty desolation of the Wastes. At least the lava fields were flat. Toward the imperial city, the land was mixed plain and wilderness, but the woods there were usually sparse, confined to pockets where farmers and settlers hadn’t chopped them down. Here, as the population dwindled, there were places where the road seemed barely a scar in the wilderness.
She could see the mountains in the distance. They reminded her of Gavril. His family had been imperials since before his birth, but they would still have relatives there and allies, too. Did that include allies like the Okami clan, whose compound they were nearing even now?
Ronan didn’t dismiss her fears, but he didn’t change his plans either, probably because he had no intention of entering the compound itself until Tyrus escorted them there. They found the inn, made camp in the forest, and then went in for dinner.
The inns they’d visited on the road may have been rough, but they were still intended to host travelers—often noble ones—heading to the imperial city. This particular road ended at Lord Okami’s compound. The inn was for tradesmen, but also, Ashyn suspected, for those who might have cause to make such inhospitable land their home: poachers, mercenaries, and brigands.
The man at the table beside theirs bore the tattoo of a convict from the imperial city. It was two unconnected marks now, but if he committed a third crime, lines would be added to complete the symbol for “swine.” The former convict sat at the table with an elderly woman who looked as if she’d stepped from the imperial court fifty summers ago, with white hair reaching to the floor and teeth yellowed from a lifetime of blackening. This was, in short, not the sort of place Ashyn had ever expected to visit, which made it all the more fascinating.
Ronan had helped her reapply the henna. They’d learned it worked best with a light touch, one that made her look like Moria after a long summer exploring the Wastes with Daigo. Once inside the inn, though, Ashyn wondered if they’d needed to bother. It was colder in this region, with the thick forest and higher elevation, and inadequate ventilation from the blazing fire left the room so smoke filled that she swore she could pull down her hood and no one would even note the color of her hair.
There were few women in the inn, but the men there—rough as they were—seemed inclined to take as little notice of her as possible, as if to do so might suggest an interest that wasn’t safe so close to the warlord’s compound.
Ronan confirmed that. “Lord Okami is known as a harsh man. He tolerates this rabble on his doorstep—even encourages them—because they’re valuable allies for a man living in such a wild place. In return, though, they must keep their activities far enough from his lands that merchants and artisans won’t fear to travel here.”
Ronan motioned to the serving girl and ordered rice wine. After a long day’s ride, Ashyn could see the attraction, but she was better warmed—and calmed—by a pot of tea. The girl brought it with a date-stuffed sweet roll.
“I’m looking for news from the lord’s compound,” Ronan said as he handed the girl a generous tip. “The empire is an unstable place these days, and we hoped it would be calmer out here.”
“It is,” she said. “The trouble hasn’t reached this far.”
He added two more coppers to her palm. “So nothing at all?”
“Something did happen inside two nights ago. Rumor says men from the imperial city slipped past through the forest. We’ve seen more activity inside his lord’s compound since then. They say his warriors are preparing.”
This was not good. Either the emperor was simply alerting all his warlords . . . or someone in the imperial city had figured out this was where Tyrus would run.
“Is there news from the city?” Ashyn asked. “The last we heard, they still hunted the traitor prince.”
The girl stiffened. “If you mean Prince Tyrus, then I’ve heard no news, but I’ll warn you to watch your tongue when you speak of him.”
“And why is that?” said a man at the neighboring table. “He is a traitor, girl, and a coward to boot. If the goddess is just, he’s rotting in a field somewhere.”
A man from across the tavern strode over. “Prince Tyrus apprenticed under Lord Okami and many here know him. The girl is right. Hold your tongue. He’s not had the chance to defend himself. I’ll wager his story is vastly different.”
“I’ll wager it is, too, because a bastard isn’t above lying—”
The second man hit the first, knocking him almost into Ashyn’s lap. Ronan sprang to his feet, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward the exit as others joined in the brawl.
“Apparently, I ought not to have mentioned Tyrus,” she said as they hurried outside.
“Apparently.”
When they’d first stepped out, Ronan had warned Ashyn not to rush off. They didn’t wish to look as if they’d incited a riot and fled. Nor did they want to lead anyone back to their camp.
Others had left the inn, too—those not wanting to be caught in the melee. Fortunately, they simply hurried past.
“Let’s go,” Ronan said. “Quickly.”
“I thought—”
“There are two warriors at the inn doors watching us.”
When she made a move, he grabbed her arm. “Don’t look over.”
“Presuming they are behind me, I believe I was turning in the other direction, toward the forest, which is where we are headed, is it not?”
He nodded.
“I’d suggest you let me storm off, as if we’ve argued. Then you give chase. That provides us with an innocent excuse for speed.” Before he could reply, she took a step back. “Truly? Truly, you blame me for that? I asked an innocent question—”
“I did not mean—”
“Did you even hear what I asked? I’ll wager you didn’t. You were too busy ogling the serving girl and giving her our hard-earned coppers. I’ve had enough. Find your own sleeping blanket tonight.”
She wheeled and broke into a run.