"They will be," she said. "You know that. And, yes, I do need you. I'm loathe to say so, when you have other responsibilities--"
"But this is the important one. This is for my empire, because perhaps, if we succeed, if I watch out for the Seeker and she raises dragons, perhaps . . ." Another gulp of wine. "Perhaps something will come of it."
Ashyn rose to stand beside him as he leaned against the dragon. "Something will come of it. You'll get caste. There's no doubt of that. You brought me safely from Edgewood and stayed by my side through it all. The emperor cannot refuse you now, and the more you do for me, the higher your caste will be. I truly believe that."
"Then that is all the reason I need. I stay for my empire and for my family and for myself. For a better life. Not because . . ." He glanced over at her. "Not for any other reason, and no one can accuse me of it."
"They cannot. You have the best intentions, Ronan. You always do."
He let out a sharp laugh at that and leaned to give her cheek a smacking kiss. "No one else would ever accuse me of that, Ash. It's not true, but I love--I appreciate you saying it."
He handed her the wineskin. She took another drink and slid to sit beside the dragon whelps again. He lowered himself beside her and they sat in comfortable silence, Ashyn with her eyes closed, feeling the warm buzz of the wine and the warmer heat of Ronan, pressed up against her side, his hand clasping hers.
"Ah, blast it," he said suddenly, startling her. "Forget what I said. I'm going to do this. I'm drunk enough to say blast it all, I don't care if I regret it in the morning. I need to do this. I need to tell you."
A lick of panic ran through her. Not this, Ronan. Not again. Don't tell me you care, only to tell me in the morning you do not. It isn't fair. I don't care how drunk you are or how good you feel, please do not--
"I used to have another brother. I . . ." He swore, spitting the curse. Then he drained the wineskin. "Gonna do this. I am. You gotta know, Ash. All my crimes laid bare. Whatever that means."
"Ronan . . ."
"No, I've got this. Just give me a moment." He took a deep breath. "I had another brother. Eder. Three summers my junior. My father expected me to watch over him. Eder was . . . slow of thought. He fell as a baby. When our mother left he became my responsibility and I . . ." Ronan swallowed. "I was tired of it."
"I can understand--"
"There was a girl. A merchant's daughter. I would go to her shop, and she would encourage me to come, and I thought that meant . . . I was thirteen summers, and she was pretty, and she flirted with me, and I thought me being casteless didn't matter to her. It didn't. Not for that. To flirt. To steal a kiss. It's safer actually. A casteless boy isn't going to tell someone she allowed the kisses, and if he did, who would believe him? It--" He stopped with a sharp shake of his head. "And that isn't what I'm trying to tell you. She isn't what I'm telling you. She was incidental. I don't even recall her name."
Liar, she thought. The story might not be about the girl, but she was still essential to it. A girl--likely his first kiss. A girl who'd toyed with him. Who'd said his caste didn't matter, exactly as Ashyn herself had. The girl lied, and while Ashyn hoped Ronan wouldn't suspect her of the same, the lesson he'd learned was that the barrier could not be crossed as easily as he'd hoped.
"I was with her," he said. "I told Eder to sit on a crate outside. I did not plan to be long, but I was longer than I ought to have been. Something caught his eye. There was a wagon coming and . . . He ran right in front of it. The wagon was moving fast and . . ."
He didn't need to say more. When Ronan talked about his siblings, he spoke of two.
Ashyn squeezed his hand as hard as she could. "I'm so sorry."
A light kiss on her cheek. "I know you are. You're good to me, Ash. Even when I don't deserve it."
"You always deserve it. You were young. And there are many older than you who have lost children. It only takes a moment. Your father ought not to have expected--"
"He did. And I ought to have taken care of Eder. Properly." Another kiss. "I'm not looking for pardon. I just . . . I wanted you to know. What I'd done. And if it changes anything, if you no longer wish me to guard you or . . . or anything else, I'll understand. I was careless--"
"You made a mistake that anyone could have made. It changes nothing, Ronan. There is no one I'd rather have at my side."
He nodded and sipped the wine now, then passed the last to her. They sat there, holding hands and leaning against a dragon and staring at dirt walls, and thinking.
Ronan claimed he'd told her the tale in case it changed her mind about him, but there was more to it. She remembered what he'd said, only moments ago, begging her not to give him a choice in leaving. Making it clear that staying was for the good of his family. That he was staying for duty. Not for a girl. Not to be with a girl. Because that was what the story truly said. His brother had died because he'd been distracted by a girl . . . and he could not, would not do that again. He could not let himself feel that he was staying for Ashyn. He stayed for the Seeker.
The best thing she could do for him, then? Close that door. Firmly. No more longing glances his way. No more wishing and hoping. Give him no cause to fear he was lingering for her sake, lingering to be with her. This was about duty. It had to be.
TWENTY-FIVE
Ashyn honored that pledge to keep her thoughts of Ronan pure and untainted by any romantic longing . . . by sharing a sleeping pallet with him. Moria would laugh at that, but for Ashyn it was, in her way, a statement, as much to him as to herself. That they could share a bed, like friends, and she would not lie awake hoping he would slide her way, that his hands would wrap around her, that his lips would find hers . . .
No. There would be none of that. And there wasn't.
They'd staggered back from the dragon's den, drunk and flushed, only to discover that the bitter wind on the steppes made Ronan's pallet outside her tent completely unsuitable. He'd come inside to see if there was a way of rearranging her pallet to make room for his, but the tent was not big enough, and in their intoxicated exhaustion, they'd just collapsed onto hers, Tova curled up at their feet.
Ashyn did wake once, hearing a noise, and Ronan was no longer on his side of the sleeping pallet, but curled up against her back, his hand on her hip, his face in her hair, his breath warm on the back of her neck. She accepted that. She even allowed herself to enjoy it. But she did not press against him, hoping to wake him and, well . . . just hoping. Instead, she lay there, fingering her bracelet and thinking about their night, about all of it, everything he'd done and said.