Empire of Night (Age of Legends 2)

"I insist. I came to speak of Fairview."

Ronan studied her expression and then nodded. "You don't believe the emperor is taking the threat seriously?"

"I have no idea if he is or is not. I only know that the children are still gone and there is no army marching from the imperial city to rescue them. Which is why I need to return."

"To Fairview? Did Gavril not say they would be moved elsewhere?" He paused. "Oh."

"Yes, oh. Given that Gavril was lying from the start, the emperor believes the children are indeed at Fairview, and I agree, which is why I'm going there."

His lips twitched. "To rescue them yourself?"

"If I must. But I hold no illusion that I can swoop in and set them free like birds from a cage. I merely wish to assess the situation. Confirm that the children are there."

"You don't think the emperor has already done that?"

"He deems it too dangerous."

"Too dangerous for trained warriors and spies, yet you plan to do it? That's madness, Moria. Brave and bold and utterly mad."

"I agree," said a voice.

A young man walked into their alley. Like Moria, he wore a disguise. His was more elaborate--and less obvious--than a cloak with the hood pulled up. He'd dressed in a rough tunic and trousers, with a loose jacket to hide his dual blades. On his feet he wore a peasant's simple thonged sandals. His long, black hair was plaited and he wore the rice straw hat common to farmers, oversized to shade one's eyes from the sun.

Yet even with the hat shadowing his face, his disguise was as poor as her cloak and hood. It wasn't his coloring or his features. He was empire-born--the golden skin, high cheekbones, and dark eyes that were the most common look even in this cosmopolitan city. He was well-formed and strikingly handsome. What made him stand out was something no hood or hat could hide. The face of an emperor. Or, at least, an emperor's son.

Ronan's mouth dropped open in a very unattractive gape.

Moria narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. "You followed me."

"I tried. I'm not very good at it, though. I left too large a gap, and I lost you. Luckily, it's not easy to lose you for long. Just follow the sounds of chaos."

He grinned and tugged off his jacket. Ronan's stare dropped to the matched dagger and sword hanging from the young man's waist, the silver handles inlaid with flawless rubies. Then Ronan's gaze lifted to the red-and-black tattooed bands on the young man's forearms--the intricate dragon design of the Tatsu clan.

"Your highness," Ronan said, bowing so deep Moria expected him to fall over.

The young man made a face and waved him up. "That's for my brothers. One need not be so formal with a bastard prince."

Which was not exactly true. An emperor's bastard sons were treated little different from those born to his wives. They could not ascend to the throne, and they had tattooed cuffs rather than the full sleeves of highborn warriors, but otherwise Tyrus was as much a prince as his brothers. He just didn't like to act the part.

Tyrus picked up a crate and plunked it down closer to Moria's.

"Take off that cloak before you melt," he said. "It wasn't disguising you."

"Nor is that"--she waved at his peasant outfit--"disguising you."

"It isn't supposed to. It merely conveys the message that I'm attempting to pass incognito."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

Ronan cleared his throat. "Actually it does. His highness--"

"Tyrus."

"Um, yes. If people see him dressed like that, they know he wishes not to be recognized, so they grant him the courtesy."

"I'll teach you how to do it," Tyrus said to her. "For the next time you sneak off, because expecting you to stay in one place is like trying to cage that wildcat of yours." He lounged back on his crate. "So, we're discussing the issue of Fairview."

"No, we are not. This is a private conversation."