Forbidden Forest (The Legends of Regia) (16 page)

Syrus drank from one of his bottles and was now absentmindedly eating fruit loops out of a sandwich bad. Forest ate a granola bar and drank a personal sized carton of coconut water as quickly as she could, wanting to get moving again.

“How much progress have we made?” he asked, talking for the first since she’d given him her MP3 player.

“Not that much, and we aren’t making anymore sitting here.”

Syrus smiled nastily. “Is that your charming way of saying, ‘Syrus, get off your butt.’?”

“As you like it.”

Syrus chuckled and put everything back into his backpack. They headed off, continuing up the rocky hills. Forest hoped that he would go back to listening to music but she had no such luck.

“Do you think it will be difficult to locate Maxcarion once we are in the Wood?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever met him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again flatly.

“Do you think Philippe is aware that a wizard is living the Wood?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you listen to music and stop asking me questions?” she said testily.

Syrus was quiet for a while, but when she looked at him, she noticed that he hadn’t put her ear buds back in. The terrain was getting worse, and both of them were beginning to feel physically taxed. An hour passed in silence, and Forest was feeling more and more uncomfortable. She thought about trying to begin a conversation just to break the tension but found there were no words in her. She would open her mouth hoping to say something trivial and close it again, at a complete loss. Maybe Syrus wasn’t bothered by the silence. His face remained impassive, but she could see the weight of his thoughts under the surface.

Two more silent hours passed, and the evening began to blossom over their heads. The only bonus Forest could see to them giving each other the silent treatment was that they traveled much faster. If they kept a steady pace, they would reach Kyhael before the moon achieved its zenith.

****

That night, Lush knocked lightly on Zefyre’s back door the way he used to when they had been more than just colleagues, and the memory made him irritable. She opened the door and gestured silently for him to enter. She quickly shut and locked the door behind him, and without a word, walked into her living room. The house was dark, and he might have felt disoriented if he hadn’t been there in the dark so many times before. Zefyre’s house was large and simply styled in the old Elfish tradition. She had never been happy living in the capitol city, mixed in with all the other races, so she modeled her home to resemble the one she had left back in Kyhael.

A few candles flickered around the living room, and Zefyre sat down on her flat uncomfortable couch and motioned for him to take the chair opposite. Lush’s irritation ratcheted up, and he dropped into the seat with a huff. She was trying to manipulate him, and the fact that she could only made him surlier. He wasn’t going to let her dictate this…meeting or whatever it was. He knew she was about to play hostess and offer him refreshment or something; he was in no mood for pleasantries.

“So, what do you want, Zef?” he asked aggressively.

She raised one eyebrow and gave him a look a mother might give to her naughty child. “Would you like something to…” she began.

“No!” he snapped.

She
tisked
at him and gave him a small sneer.

“You asked me to come here, now what do you want?”

“I want in-depth details about the new weapons the Ogre’s are designing.”

His face wrinkled up into a
what the hell
expression. “You have details on the weapons the Ogre’s are making. Or were you daydreaming through the last council meeting?”

“Oh no, I was paying attention. Paying enough attention to know that the information at the meeting was patchy and more a dance of misdirection. I want to know what is really going on in the bowels of the Onyx Castle.”

Lush leaned back in his chair and gave her a momentary piercing look before shrugging nonchalantly.

Zefyre’s eyes flashed at him, and he felt a little surge of pleasure that he had angered her.

“Don’t feign ignorance. I know you are in Queen Christiana’s pocket.”

Lush smiled. “And why shouldn’t I be? It’s warm and comfortable in her pocket.”

Zefyre merely hissed at him.

His smile broadened. “Jealous?”

Zefyre let her face go blank, turned her head to the side and yawned theatrically.

“You’ve turned into some sort of traitor, haven’t you?” he asked.

She didn’t respond.

“I should report you.”

Zefyre threw her head back and laughed heartily at him. “Don’t waste words with stupidity. You know you can’t threaten me. I’ll win any blackmail game you want to play, and you know it. Now tell me what I want to know.”

Lush crossed his arms over his chest. “Everyone’s entitled to have secrets,” he said dismissively.

They looked at each other like two hostile opponents over a chessboard. Lush could give her the information she wanted without feeling too guilty. He wanted to know what she was up to and feeding her intelligence made them partners. He smiled suggestively at her. She wouldn’t get what she wanted without a little give and take. “All this is just a ruse, isn’t it Zef?”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

He gave her a very hot stare. “You know what I’m talking about.”

She returned his heat with ice. “That’s over, Lush.”

He ignored her rebuff. “So you want to know about the new weapons. Anything else?”

“I want to know if Forest and Syrus were stopped.”

Lush stood up. “I’ll tell you anything and everything you want to know, but not in here.”

“Huh?”

Lush jerked his head towards her bedroom.

“No. I told you that’s over.”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Now who’s being stupid? You can’t really expect me to tell you secrets in bed without first getting into bed.”

****

The night was mature when Forest finally glimpsed the pale glowing light of Kyhael. She had not laid eyes on it for many years and had forgotten just how beautiful the straight Zen-like economical lines of the city made of Belliss stone were. Its golden glow made the weary traveler feel peaceful and welcome.

But the warm welcome feeling was deceptive. Kyhael offered the best of Regian tourism to the supper wealthy and maintained a strictly neutral policy on racial background. If you could pay the price, you were welcome. However, beneath the posh, elite surface, Kyhael harbored a meticulously cold and cruel sect of Elves called the
Rune-dy
. The ideology and practices of
Rune-dy
laid a foundation of fear in the other races and was the reason Elves were essentially the most feared race in Regia. The
Rune-dy
perfected the elements of torture and mastered the twisting of science.

Forest found a good place for them to spend the duration of the night. They made camp on a ridge, sheltered by trees, high above the city. “We’ll rest here and continue at first light.” It was the first words Forest had spoken to Syrus since midday, and they felt thick in her mouth.

Syrus merely nodded, took off his backpack, and sat down on a fallen tree. Forest was cold but they couldn’t have a fire, it was too risky. She unrolled her sleeping bag on the ground, thankful she had access to human camping gear. Syrus drank from one of his bottles before tucking into a rice crispy treat. Forest climbed into her sleeping bag. She wanted to sleep a while, but she didn’t want to ask Syrus to take the first watch. She watched him finish his dinner, wishing she could come up with some small talk, extend him a verbal olive branch.

He must have been cold too because he began rummaging through his backpack until he pulled out a zip-up hoodie. Forest hadn’t paid much attention to what she packed for him because she would have made anther selection. When he pushed his arms through the sleeves and turned his back to her, she let out a burst of laughter that she had to stifle with her hands over her mouth.

Syrus spun around to face her, startled by her outburst of laughter. “What?” he demanded.

The irony had broken through Forest’s tension. “You’re wearing a
Team Jacob
sweatshirt.”

“I’m wearing a what?”

Forest continued to laugh. “I didn’t pack it for you on purpose, I swear.”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be wearing this? What is
Team Jacob
?”

“A fictional werewolf.”

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me that I am wearing some kind of support werewolves affiliation symbol?”

“Yeah. It’s a human thing though. I wouldn’t worry about anyone spotting you in it.”

Syrus gave a low growl before unzipping the sweatshirt and tossing it aggressively on the ground.

“Hey!” Forest protested. “I’m just letting you borrow that. It’s mine.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” His voice dripped with false honey. Syrus picked the sweatshirt back up, wadded it into a ball, and then threw it at her, hitting her in the face. “There you go.”

“Jerk,” Forest said under her breath. “I guess I’m not the only bigot around here.”

“I’m not a bigot.” He was insulted. “They are our enemies. I don’t care if anyone saw me in it or not.”

“You could turn it inside out.”

Syrus folded his arms over his chest and sat back down on the fallen tree.

“Fine. If you’d rather be cold.”

“I would,” he snapped.

Forest stuck her own arms in the sweatshirt and zipped it up.

“Hm. It’s nice and warm,” she said sleepily. She nestled down in her sleeping bag, her eyes going heavy.

Syrus’ angry voice broke through her drowsiness. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing that?” he demanded.

“I am. It’s nice and cozy too. Thank you.”

Syrus was instantly on his feet. “Take it off!”

“No.”

“I’ll not travel with a guardian who displays love for werewolves on her person.”

“Syrus…” she said slowly like she was reasoning with an angry four-year-old. “I don’t care where your support and sensibilities lie, but in case you have forgotten, I am half Shape shifter. Shape shifter’s have a natural camaraderie with werewolves. Not unlike vampires and ogres. If you are going to try and form opinions for me and tell me…”

“You’re only trying to provoke me!”

“So what if I am?”

Faster than she could blink, he rushed to her and grabbed her by the front of the sweatshirt.

“Hey!”

“Take it off!”

The next second they were in a full-on wrestling match on the ground. He was unquestionably stronger and heavier, but Forest could slip through his grasp with limberness and a few well-placed cheap shots. Grunts, curses, and dirt flew into the air. Even with Forest’s ability to evade Syrus’ pins, he had almost managed to remove the sweatshirt.

“Ha!” he said triumphantly as soon as he had it in his grasp.

Forest scrambled to her feet as he jumped away from her, sprinting towards the edge of the ridge, laughing manically. She was right on his heel but she wasn’t fast enough.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Woops!” he said loudly as he threw the sweatshirt over the edge.

“Oh, you
Turkey
!”

“What did you call me?”

“A Turkey.”

“Oh, you’ve bought it now! I don’t know what a turkey is, but I don’t like the sound of it.”

Forest’s eyes widened. “No!” she yelped as he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

Forest clamped her mouth tightly together to keep the squeal of laughter inside as he spun in a circle. Thoroughly dizzy, he set her back on her feet. She swayed and giggled like a drunk and crashed into him. He grasped her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his waist, waiting for the ground to stop moving. Her equilibrium righted itself after a minute, and she no longer needed support, but still she hung on. His grasp eased and changed from a simple offer of support into an intimate embrace. Forest shivered as his hands moved up her arms, over her shoulders, and down her back.

“Forest?” he whispered.

She tipped her head back, and all remaining traces of fun were forgotten. The sensation of the pulsing of blood through the veins in his hands as his palms moved on her back was making her feel dizzy all over again. Logical thought was a drowned-out whisper as instinct screamed,
take what’s yours
! Forest’s eyes rolled back in her head as his mouth came down on hers. The whole forest around them seemed to go up in flames. Passion, in such intensity it bordered on insanity, burned through their veins.

The whispering of logic fought for a stronger voice, and Forest heard its desperate warning.
Let go now
!
Let go or you’ll lose yourself entirely
!

She had no idea how she mustered the strength to pull away from Syrus. She turned her head to the side and placed her fingertips lightly against his mouth. His hands on her back clenched into trembling fists.

“Please.” He whispered, his lips moving against her fingertips.

“I’m sorry.”

Syrus sighed, and his tense muscles eased in a kind of agonized defeat. Forest laid her head against his chest. “I’m sorry for being mean to you earlier today,” she said.

Syrus didn’t say anything but refused to let go of her.

“I do want to be friends, Syrus.”

“I don’t.”

“What?” The pain was clear in her voice.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, I just don’t think we ever will be. Why is it so hard with you, Forest? Why do you make me hurt so much?”

With his arms around her, Syrus could feel tension roll up her body as tears began to run from her eyes. He felt frustrated that she was crying. He knew she had feelings for him, but he couldn’t understand why she held them back like she did. He assumed it was partly because of the vast difference in their stations. He could tell her all day long that it didn’t matter to him, but he knew it mattered greatly to her, so it would always be a barrier between them.

Then there was his other suspicion that there was someone else, but he tried to push that thought away, because when he envisioned another man with his hands on Forest, the urge to kill filled him. He wished he could chuck both of their issues over the edge of that ridge as easily as he had that silly sweatshirt. He wished he wasn’t the prince. He wished he could kiss her, and she wouldn’t run away or bash him over the head for doing so. Syrus wished a lot of things around Forest.