that there were many reasons for that. We were both thinking about the best way to bypass the border crossing, for example, and did not wish to disturb one another. I had a feeling, however, that I knew the truth of the matter, which was that he had yet to forgive me for my fit of temper in the village. And there was no reason why he should have.
Even knowing as I did the insult paid to my lord by Jiang—filthy bastard dog—I could hardly excuse my actions. Better to have held my tongue, along with my hands, and have got us safely through the checkpoint.
Mamoru had done so well in adapting to his new station, despite his noble upbringing and the absence of all the things he’d once held dear. I could not afford to do less, to shame him by being unable to turn aside my duty as it was to protect him. The only difficulty was that I did not know what manner of man I was without my duty to Mamoru, first and foremost. Not when I had gone against the Emperor himself to fulfill it.
“Are you thirsty?” I asked. It was a cursory question, one that had as much to do with keeping my lord well as it did with ascertaining his temperament.
“No,” my lord answered, managing to convey how angry he was with me by that one word, itself like a blow.
“Ah,” I nodded, judging our progress by the distance from the wall. We would cross the border well before nightfall. There was that, at least, to be thankful for.
We rode on, the silence weighing heavily on my heart for all the times before when we had made games of guessing what birds there were in the trees above us, or what animal rustled in the bushes by the roadside. My lord had always been so cheerful in times past, and I had taken it away from him. I feared that if I allowed him to dwell too long on the things that made him unhappy, the well of his misery would rise up and swallow him whole. There was so much that he had lost, after all, and it was only his immutable spirit that kept him strong.
“We should stop here,” I said at last. “Even if you are not thirsty, the horse will need to be watered.”
My lord said nothing, only allowed his slender shoulders to rise and fall with grudging consent.
I dismounted behind him, leading the horse to the stream that was hidden just off the road. The clouds over our heads were a gathering dark, and I hoped that it would not mean rain before nightfall. When it came to helping my lord down, he took my hands—stiff as they were, the knuckles cracked from each unrefined blow—but refused to look at me.
In some ways, it was that which gave me the courage to speak again.
“Mamoru,” I said.
“Don’t,” he said, less angry this time, and with a greater pleading.
There was another rustling in the bushes, which for a moment gave us pause. More than likely it was an animal, though, and one disappointed by the occupation of its favorite water hole. My lord stroked the horse’s mane, as though in need of something to do with his hands. His shoulders were set against me. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him. I waited the barest of minutes before pressing on, heedless of investigating the noise any further.
“I must apologize,” I said, speaking of need and not of duty, for apologizing was akin to drawing the poison from a wound, and even if it was to no avail, it must still be done.
“It does little good now,” Mamoru whispered, as though by quieting his voice he might quiet his anger too. His fingers were knotted in the horse’s mane. I could tell so easily how he wished for some barrier between us. He held himself rigidly still.
“I… cannot tell you how sorry I am,” I added, for indeed, there were no words that would properly convey my regret in having disappointed him so deeply.
“Then why did you do it?” The words burst from him all at once. “You knew how important it was that we cross with another party. I don’t need to be defended! I didn’t tell—I didn’t ask you to do it.”
“He insulted you,” I murmured, lowering my head.
“You didn’t have to strike him!” Mamoru whirled around. His face was flushed, his eyes bright with hurt and anger.