The Grey Prince Page: 27
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But there was that enigmatic something about him.
She knew that Dylan would die for her father. She also knew
that he wasn't alone.
As a matter of fact, of all their company, she was probably
the only one who wouldn't.
She loved him, yes. But she also hated him fervently. In
many ways she beheld him with awe—if only for the way Fuzz
followed him—but in other ways she loathed him.
Her mother had died over four years ago and she had been with
her father ever since. She had seen more lands than most people
three times her age. But she had not really had a place she could
call home. She wanted that. Yet she knew that it was something
she would never attain in her father's company.
That was why she was going to leave.
And because of what she had stolen!
Well, yes; and because of what she had stolen. That too.
Perhaps it could buy her a home. If so, then it would be worth it.
One small theft to avert a lifetime of them.
"He's back," Dylan motioned toward the door.
For a frightful second, Ashley thought he meant her father.
But a tall, lanky man with shaggy grey hair stood silhouetted in
the narrow entrance to the Cloven Shield. Aidain. His eyes seemed
to pass right over them without seeing them, but she knew he had.
He immediately turned and stepped from the tavern into the bright
sunlight. For an instant, his jolly motley shone so brightly, that
he looked to Ashley like an old jester who had put some furry pelt
on his head to amuse his fat king. Then he was gone. Most of the
people in the tavern had not even noticed him.
Ashley and Dylan sat in silence for a minute more. Two
minutes. Three. Four. Ten. Finally, after almost fifteen
minutes, Dylan rose.
"Time to go," he stretched.
"Why don't I meet you there?" Ashley asked quietly.
Dylan frowned.
"Why, little princess?"
"I have some things to do."
Dylan seemed about to protest. Ashley did not let him.
"If I'm not finished by the time we're supposed to leave,
well, I'm sure you courageous men can manage without one small
woman—exceptionally brave as she is. Besides, you know I never do
anything until afterwards."
Dylan nodded. That was true. Her father had spotted a couple
of targets coming out of the Soutland. They were staying at a
nearby inn, traveling in a northeasterly direction. They had come
to the inn under cover of darkness on exquisite mounts. They had
not fraternized with the other guests at all, keeping mainly to
themselves. Ashley's father had guessed that they were nobles
heading to Whitehall for the Table Gathering, trying to remain
inconspicuous. Ashley's father had a particular dislike for the
system of government Whitehall now enjoyed and all but insisted
that this particular party be hit.
Dylan knew how much Ashley hated these raids. More and more
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Casey, Jim. The Grey Prince, thesis or dissertation, Summer 1991; Denton, Texas. (https://digital.library.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc146419/m1/32/: accessed April 23, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, UNT Digital Library, https://digital.library.unt.edu; crediting UNT Honors College.