"And you've wanted to go sooner."
"I have, which makes me glad she wasn't there. Not that she could have stopped my father from sending me but . . . It's awkward."
"You're her only child, and you're constantly in danger. She fears adding to that. And you fear having to tell her you're ready."
"Hmm." He stretched out his legs and squinted toward the forest until he caught sight of Daigo. Then he looked back at Moria. "I don't like causing friction between her and my father. It's a difficult enough relationship as it is."
"Because she's a concubine, not a wife. Yet she's also the mother of an imperial prince."
"It isn't an easy life, and there are times . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck. "To solidify his position, an emperor must make choices that I personally disagree with. The taking of concubines is one. Fathering sons by them is another. Yet the concubines allow political alliances that the empire requires and the children provide additional heirs and bolster his reputation for virility, which is important. For a warrior to be unable to have children, preferably sons . . ."
Moria remembered Gavril saying he was his father's only child, despite three successive marriages. That had reflected poorly on Alvar Kitsune, particularly compared to the emperor's brood. It excused nothing, but it might help explain the resentment that had grown between the two friends.
"It would be difficult," she said carefully, "to see your mother suffer for choices your father had to make."
"It is. There's a reason I'm her only child. She has . . . avoided having others."
"By avoiding your father's sleeping pallet?" Moria paused. "Or is that an indiscreet question? I think Ashyn would say it is."
Tyrus laughed softly, relaxing as he leaned back, his ponytail brushing the ground. "With an emperor, such matters are as open as his daily schedule. If you listen to court gossip, you will hear that he has indeed not visited my mother's quarters in seventeen summers. Which, I suspect, is true. They don't meet at her quarters. Or at his."
"Ah."
"Yes, if you recall when you first arrived, my mother was on her pilgrimage and my father was taking a couple of days away from court business. My mother is a very devout woman, but"--he winked--"not as devout as all her pilgrimages would suggest."
"But by avoiding each other's quarters, your mother does not incur the jealousy of the other wives and concubines. She focuses on her life of faith, and is not seen as a threat. Just as you focus on your martial training rather than politics."
"Her example has taught me the best path for those who have no interest in a high position. It is still a . . . confining life. My mother is an artist. You've seen her work in my father's quarters, although no one knows it's hers. She is cautious with her appearance as well, never wearing the latest styles or fixing her hair in the latest fashion. She loves my father, though, and he returns her affection. More than that, they are comfortable with each other, which is no small thing in an imperial family."
"She wants nothing from him. As you want nothing from him." Moria moved closer, their legs brushing. "While this mission of yours may upset things between them, it is a storm that must be weathered eventually. You will finish this mission, and return victorious. Your father will be pleased, your mother placated, and you will officially be a man, a true warrior."
"You make it sound easy."
She squeezed his hand. "It is easy. You're ready for this, and they will both see that very soon."
Moria was watching Ashyn. Her sister rode to the side, far enough from the others that it was clear she wasn't in the mood for conversation, but close enough to Moria that Simeon wouldn't pounce. The young scholar had taken a fancy to Ashyn, one which her sister did not reciprocate. Moria wanted to warn him off.
"He's lonely," Ashyn had said. "He's not blessed with social graces, so he's having difficulty fitting in. I don't mind talking to him sometimes. Just not . . ."
"All the time?"
"I can handle it."
As for her sister's distant mood, Moria knew the causes. The situation with the monks was one. Ronan was another. He was still with them--secretly guarding them--and that upset Ashyn. He'd behaved poorly, leading her on and then pretending he hadn't. Disingenuous and dishonorable. But what did one expect from a thief?
Moria had not objected to a romance between them. If Ashyn wanted an illicit dalliance with a rogue, she could have done worse than Ronan. Moria would mourn the loss with her, but if this was how he treated Ashyn, he did not deserve her.
"And there it is," Tyrus said, snapping Moria's thoughts back. "Fairview."
She looked up to see the white-plastered town shimmering in the distance, and her heart beat faster.
Tyrus rode to the front of the convoy, saying, "That's close enough. Light the fires."
There was no need of campfires on a warm spring day. They were for the smoke, which would be seen from Fairview, alerting the guards inside to the envoy's presence.
"Are you ready?" Tyrus said as he rode back to her.
Moria lowered her voice. "If I ask you again to allow me to go without you--"