Stalemate

Chapter 31

They had cut through the forest and found the path again. The sun burned the ridge; it was sunrise. And all the while Doon kept saying, "She's alive, she's alive!" and Dinor was trying to rationalize: "Doon, it could've been anyone. Right? There're other Minarians named Ashtin, surely."

But then Dinor paused for a moment. "Right?"

They knew her name. Those men, travelers in the mountains, they had heard her name. Doon tried to understand what this meant, this special relationship between her and Dordan mountaineers. A conference. She would be attending a conference—and evidently this was a big deal. If these men knew who she was, and enough about her to know that she would be at this conference, did that mean everyone did? The whole country?

Ashtin? It didn't make sense to Doon. He was trying with all his might to make it so. "Dinor," he said, staring off at nothing. "How much longer 'til we reach Concord?"

"I dunno. Another week or two."

Doon turned his head to look at him, but he still wasn't quite looking at him. "What if we hurried? What if we didn't sleep all night and walked longer?"

Dinor said nothing. He blinked. "Doon... what are you askin'?" he asked, but his expression said he already knew.

"Ashtin's alive," Doon said again, perhaps for the hundredth time—he couldn't not say it. He wanted to scream it; he wanted the birds and the skies to hear it, to know it. "I gotta see her. I gotta speak to her."

"Doon," Dinor said slowly. He was going to try and knock some sense into him, Doon knew it. "It'd be dangerous. They hold these conferences at the villa. It's right in the middle of the city. Reporters'll be there, hundreds of guests, guards posted everywhere—"

Doon stopped walking. "Please, Dinor," he said. Some distant, sleeping part of him knew he was being nonsensical. He knew the risk. He knew it was just plain stupid.

But he didn't care.

Dinor had stopped walking too. He had turned, but not all the way, his body facing the prairie, but his head—his concerned expression—turned toward Doon. "Doon, I don't think you understand—"

Doon took a step forward. "Please." He was almost appalled at himself for begging; he never begged. He debated about saying what he wanted to say. He knew it wasn't a good thing to say, but he said it anyway: "What if it had been your brother? What if you found out that he'd lived?"

Dinor broke their gaze then, turning his head forward so Doon only saw his profile, his jaw clenching and unclenching. There was silence. Only the distant song of a morning bird.

Then, he sighed. "All right." He looked back at Doon. "All right."