"You're going on ahead to reunite with your brother and sister. Is that what you think made me run outside?" She gave a soft laugh. "No, Ronan. I'm quite aware that you intend to return to them quickly. If you must know, I came out because a spirit summoned me."
Now it was his turn to laugh under his breath. "You don't need to make excuses--"
"You do think highly of yourself, don't you? I'm truly following a spirit. Which is getting impatient. Now, I need to find out what it wants. If you wish to follow, you may do so, though I'll warn you it may be disappointing when I don't break down sobbing behind the stables."
He had the grace to look abashed. "I didn't think you were coming out for that."
"No, just to wander about the stables, wallowing in my grief and the stink of horse dung." She continued on as the spirit summoned her, more urgently now. "I know you're eager to return to your siblings. I'd think less of you if you didn't hurry back to them. You're a good brother."
His gaze slid to the side, his eyes filling with a look she couldn't quite catch. "Not always."
"Tyrus offered to pay you handsomely. You weighed the options and decided Jorn and Aidra were better served if you came with us."
"It's not a matter of option, Ash. I don't truly have . . . It's not as if I could simply . . ." He trailed off and rubbed his mouth.
She slowed, but the spirit urged her on.
"There's something I need to speak to you about," he said. "I tried, before we parted the last time. I should have. It would better explain the decision I made . . . not to be with you."
"Can we not discuss this again?"
They'd come around the stables now to a side yard, where a girl was currying a horse while two traders talked, both trying to impress her.
Stop, child. Hide yourself.
Ashyn backed around the side of the stable. Ronan did the same, without comment.
"Do you remember our meal in the inn?" he whispered. "The last one? Before we parted? We spoke of the girl you'd met. The casteless one."
Listen now, the spirit said.
"Yes, but I need to--"
"You know that my family was stripped of their warrior caste for backing the wrong imperial successor. Do you understand what that means?"
"Of course. Your family is no longer allowed to claim their caste. They're moved down the ranks, according to the severity of the crime. Can we discuss this later? I truly need to--"
"And I truly need to explain this, Ash. While it's usually a lowering of rank, sometimes--"
"--bastard prince?" one of the traders was saying.
Ashyn urgently waved Ronan to be silent, b
ut he'd already stopped and moved closer to listen.
"That's what you expect, isn't it?" the man continued. "From a bastard? He was a clever one, though. Playing the fool."
"I didn't think him a fool," the servant girl said.
The second man snorted. "Because he's young and handsome. And he was no fool. He simply played one. That was the game. Smile for the crowds. Take no part in politics. Spend his days sparring and chasing pretty girls."
"As a prince should," the other man said. "I know that's what I'd do if I were an imperial bastard."
"Because you're a fool. Young Tyrus was not."
Ashyn stiffened. It had certainly seemed they'd meant Tyrus, but until they named him, she'd not been sure. As she tensed, Ronan laid his hand on her hip, squeezing it as he braced himself against her.
"No?" the other trader said. "I'd say that's exactly what he was. An overreaching fool who proved himself a coward. That's what I expect from a bastard. Weakness. When the emperor spreads his seed so far, it thins, and the result is always this. Weak sons. Cowards."