Moria had chosen the most delicate way of putting it, but from Gavril's expression, she might as well have said something far more vulgar.
"Yes," he said. "There were no children despite . . . outside dalliances. Which clearly would have affected his relationship with Emperor Tatsu, given his seemingly endless offspring."
"The ability to father children is a mark of virility."
As Gavril squirmed, Moria resisted the urge to sigh with impatience. Truly, sexual relations were a fact of life, and this conversation only skirted the edges of the subject.
She continued. "It added salt to the wound of his friend becoming emperor. But this does not concern your mother."
"It does. In many ways. He married her because she was very beautiful. And very young. She was your age when they wed."
"What? That hasn't been legal for--"
"It has always been legal if the girl's parents consent. My mother was very young and . . ." Gavril pushed back his braids. "You may have heard my father say my mother lacks intelligence."
"He made an unki
nd jab. I put no stock in it."
"My mother is not a stupid woman. But she is very sheltered and she is not . . . I asked if you'd met Maiko. I think you would get on well. She does not have your sharp tongue or your impetuousness, but she is a strong woman, an independent thinker who does not bow to convention. My mother is not Maiko. She is not you or Ashyn. She grew up in a world where she was expected to be a powerful man's wife. No other options were presented to her before or after she married my father."
"That can be the way of things," Moria said slowly. "At least she had you."
"No, she did not. That, too, can be the way of things in the warrior world, and my father adhered to the old customs. I was raised by a succession of caretakers, none permitted to stay long enough for me to form any maternal attachments, which are not fitting for a young warrior."
"Not even if they are to your actual mother?"
"Particularly then. When Tyrus would chatter about life with his mother, my father would mock him behind his back, saying that letting Tyrus stay with his mother meant the emperor must want more daughters, not sons, and that Tyrus would never become a proper warrior. I wish he'd been there yesterday, to see Tyrus fight, and--" Gavril sucked a breath. "No, I ought not to say it."
"Your father was wrong."
A weak smile. "On many counts. I mean only that I ought not to say that because it makes me . . . It makes me things I do not wish to be."
"Angry?"
He seemed ready to answer, then shook his head. "As I said, when I was a child, I had little contact with my mother. That changed when my father was exiled. Ours was still . . . not the usual relationship between parent and child. My mother did not know how to be a mother, but she was sorely in need of a friend."
"I can imagine she was."
"She is a good woman. She's kind and she's caring, but she . . . She needs to be cared for more than she is capable of caring for others. My father has hidden her someplace and I've tried to find out where, because I'm concerned for her well-being."
"And what Toman said only ignited those fears."
"Yes."
The bandit train wasn't moving fast--it could not, given that it took roads that were little more than paths. But it moved steadily, all through that day and into the night, making only brief stops to rest the horses. Too brief, in Moria's opinion, but she suspected if the poor beasts wore out, the men would simply liberate more from the nearest homestead.
Each time they stopped, the captives were allowed out of the wagon. Moria got food and water, precious little of both but still more than Gavril. At the end of the first day, they'd given him water, yet only a few mouthfuls, enough to ensure he didn't die on them. Toman delighted in mocking Gavril and reminding him that he could have more, if only Moria deigned to share. The truth, Moria realized, was that Toman hoped she wouldn't share, and the lack of rations would keep Gavril weak. In other words, the bandit leader had no desire to tangle with a true warrior, even if he was young and unarmed. A coward, then. Unsurprisingly.
The next morning, they'd barely woken when Moria heard a commotion outside. The scout had returned, riding hard, and was warning Toman that a troop of soldiers was coming their way.
"On this road?" Toman's voice carried in the quiet morning. "Blast it. They must be Alvar's men, sniveling cowards who don't dare take the main route. Get the horses and wagons to that forest there. Quickly!"
That took some effort. The road was rough enough--leaving it meant the wagon tipped and veered wildly until Toman finally stopped it and ordered Moria and Gavril out.
"You're weighing it down," he grumbled, though Moria was sure he just wanted to get his prizes to safety before the soldiers appeared.
He bustled them off, making them run on foot ahead of his horse. That was not easy, given how little she'd eaten. For Gavril, it must have required every bit of strength he had left, but he pushed himself to keep up, needing not a single prod from Toman. When they reached the woods, though, he looked ready to collapse, and she caught his arm, only to have him shake her off with a whispered, "Mind yourself, Keeper." She nodded and motioned for him to lean against a tree instead. When he hesitated, she said, "Accept the support of that oak or collapse at Toman's feet. Your choice, Kitsune."