"We have food. We have money, too, thanks to you."
"It's not enough."
"It will be." When there's only one person who needs it. She didn't say that, of course. As far as Ronan knew, he was leaving alone. He wouldn't readily agree to take her to the city and they'd no time to argue.
"What if you're attacked? I'm sorry, Ash, but as much as you've been practicing with your blade--"
"I'm not as good as my sister. I know that."
"I was going to say that you're not as good as me."
She smiled. "Of course."
"And Guin is less than useless."
"I can hear you," Guin called from the fire.
"Good. Perhaps it will spur you to remedy the situation," he called back. Then he said to Ashyn, "I'm concerned--"
"Yes, we know," Tyrus said, walking over with a cloth in hand. "You're still leaving. It's a two-day ride to the city. Take a day to check on your siblings. If you wish to return after that, you'll go here."
He held out the cloth. On it was a map drawn with burnt wood. "Once I have Moria, I'll need a place to stay, and a powerful ally to take my case to my father. If you'd asked me a fortnight ago who I could trust, I'd have listed name upon name. But it's not until your life and the lives of others are at stake that you reevaluate. Harshly reevaluate. My list has been reduced to one. When I reached my twelfth summer, I was sent to live with Goro Okami until my thirteenth. He knows me. His family knows me. While he is a loyal subject, he is not slavishly devoted to my father. He has a sharp mind, and a sharp mind questions before accepting. He'll listen to my side of the story."
"I will return," Ronan said. "So you want me to meet you there?"
"In the area. I'll want you to stay clear until I am absolutely certain it's safe. I've marked an inn on the map, just beyond Lord Okami's compound. Wait for me there."
THIRTY-SIX
Ashyn and Guin followed Ronan at a distance. It was easy enough. He didn't expect trouble now that he traveled alone. Ashyn just had to wait until they had enough distance from Tyrus that Ronan couldn't send her back to him.
"Do you love him?" Guin asked as they rode.
Ashyn started to say an abrupt no, then stopped herself and said instead, "That's a complicated question."
"No, it isn't. You do or you don't. It's that simple."
"Is it?" Ashyn looked at the young woman. "I used to think so. I'm not so sure anymore. It isn't like lighting a candle, which either catches or it doesn't. It's like trying to light a fire. Sometimes you get a spark and you aren't sure if it's enough. It might start the fire. Or it might just sputter out."
"Candles can be lit and then go out."
"True."
"Love can, too. Or perhaps it isn't love. You think it is, and then it goes wrong, and you realize it probably wasn't at all. It was just desperation."
Ashyn looked over sharply. Guin kept her face forward, expressionless.
"I imagine such a realization would be . . . difficult," Ashyn said carefully.
"It is, at the time. Later . . ." Guin shrugged. "Later you see your error. Unfortunately, it can come too late."
"There was someone, then?" Ashyn prodded. "For you?"
"No. There was no one for me." Another moment of silent riding, then she continued, "I simply thought there was. I have mentioned that my parents had difficulty finding me a husband. I became a burden, as unwed daughters do. I tried to fix the problem. I was too thin, so I ate as much as I could, but it went into the wrong places. I was plain of face, so I tried elixirs of every sort, but all they gave me was bad skin. I sought to be pleasing to men in other ways, to be accomplished and sweet-natured, and I discovered . . ." She shrugged. "I discovered I was a poor performer. I cannot be what I'm not."
"One shouldn't need to."
"One does, if one wishes a husband and has nothing else to entice him with. Finally, as I approached my twentieth summer, my parents sent me to a widowed shopkeeper, to cook and to clean for him. To replace his wife, as my mother said. I did not fully know what that meant. I soon learned."