"Once I'm with Tyrus, you'll go back to the city," she said. "You ought to stay there a few days to be sure everything is all right. You'll feel much better when you return, knowing that they are safe at home."
He nodded and seemed ready to let silence fall again, but as they reached camp, he cleared his throat and said, "I ought to tell you now, Ash. I'm not returning."
"What? You said . . ."
He crouched by the campfire. She stayed standing. She wanted to say, You are angry with me, but that was arrogant, to think he would change his plans so drastically because of her.
"I understand," she said carefully as she lowered herself cross-legged to the ground. "You're worried about Aidra and Jorn. That your aunt will make them steal for their keep. You've done enough, and you should go home to them. I don't know if Tyrus can presume upon Lord Okami to borrow money to repay you--"
"I don't care about that."
"Well, he will, obviously. As soon as he's able, he'll pay. I know it won't compensate for--"
"It was never about the money, Ash. I wanted--"
He swallowed the rest and rose to poke at the fire.
"What did you want?" she asked.
It seemed as if he wasn't going to answer. Then he said, "Caste. I wanted caste."
She hesitated as she remembered he'd been trying to talk to her about caste outside the stables, before they heard the accusations against the prince. "A higher one, you mean?"
"What caste am I, Ash?"
"I don't know. Your family were warriors, and I'm not sure what the demotion is when that's stripped. It seems to vary, so I haven't wanted to ask."
"You wouldn't want to be rude." He crouched beside her. "You're correct, it varies. Warriors can be demoted to artisans or to farmers or merchants. It depends on the crime. If it's serious enough . . . My family backed the wrong heir to the imperial throne. Before Emperor Tatsu's reign. It was considered high treason."
"So you're merchant class then." She managed a smile. "Like me."
He shook his head. "You're not merchant class, Ash. You're--"
"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?"