Forest of Ruin (14 page)

R
onan seemed to be correct about one thing—that Edwyn had apparently been hoping to tempt him into revealing his true self. He continued to insist Ronan test the veracity of the gold and jewels, and while Ronan claimed lack of skill and feigned lack of interest, it was obvious neither was true. When Edwyn held up pieces, Ronan's practiced eye reflexively assessed, and she could tell by his expression they were real.

“Do you know what this is, Ashyn?” Edwyn asked as he held out a handful.

“Gold coins from past ages, and a ruby, two emeralds, and a diamond.”

He chuckled. “You are observant and quick, child. But I mean this.” He waved at the cavern. “Do you know what this is?”

“It would appear . . .” She cleared her throat and chose her
words with care. “In a bard's tale, piles of treasure in a cavern means dragons. A dragon hoard.”

Edwyn took her hand and led her deeper into the cavern, past piles of gold and jewels, until they reached the farthest corner. Then he lifted the torch and murmured, “And among the treasures, the greatest of them all.”

At first, all she saw was more gold and silver and rich jewels glistening and dancing in the torchlight. Then she realized she was
not
looking on golden coins or diamonds or rubies. She was looking at iridescent scales, like the ones in the mountain cave.

Ashyn touched one. Tova growled, but softly, uncertain. The scale was as cold as the rocks surrounding them. She looked up and saw scales reaching over her head. Then she began to walk around the thing. When she tripped, Ronan grabbed her arm, and she looked down to see what she'd stumbled over. It was a toe as big as her forearm, ending in a sharp claw.

She started moving again. Ronan kept hold of her arm, but she peeled off his fingers and continued around. When she craned her neck up, she could see wings folded on the creature's back, too high for her to reach. Then another fearsome clawed leg. Only when she reached the front quarters did she see the beast's head, tucked around its body, its chin resting on the dirt floor.

The head of a dragon. A head with eyes almost closed, the barest sliver of yellow irises peeking out. One lip was curled over a fang. A curved and pointed fang, not dulled by age as the skeleton's fangs had been. This was a young dragon. Perhaps
two-thirds the size of the monstrous one in the cave. A female. Ashyn knew that when she saw why the dragon was curled the way she was—what she protected. The
dragon's
greatest treasure.

“Are those . . . ?” Ronan asked, squinting against the dim light.

She nodded and walked to crouch beside the two smaller dragons. They were the size of Daigo—whelps rather than hatchlings. She bent over the dragon on the left—ran her hand over its nubs of horns and down its snout. When she reached its nostrils, warm air tickled her hand, and she pulled back with a sharp “Oh!” that had Ronan brandishing his sword. She took his hand and put his fingers in front of the tiny dragon's nose.

“It's . . . breathing,” Ronan said.

“I should hope so,” Edwyn said as he finally came around to join them. “Or we've brought Ashyn here for nothing.” He waved at the three dragons. “This is your task, child. This is what I've brought you here to do. To awaken our dragons.”

Naturally, Ronan wanted to do it right away. Say the words, perform the ritual, whatever, and get back to finding Moria and Tyrus. That had offended Edwyn, and Ashyn couldn't blame him. He'd brought them here to awaken the most legendary of legendary creatures, and Ronan acted as if he'd asked Ashyn to remove a sliver from his foot. An inconvenient interruption at a very busy time.

Edwyn said that preparations had to be made. They would not even begin the ritual for another day at least. Ronan hadn't been thrilled with that, but he'd kept quiet—for now.

The festival began as soon as they emerged from the dragon's den. More people had arrived, strangers to her, and white tents were going up, and everyone was laughing and chattering. Ashyn was the center of attention, until finally Edwyn shooed them off and took her into one of the tents for a nap. Ashyn argued that she wasn't tired, but Edwyn insisted. It would be a long and glorious night, and she needed to rest for that. So she did.

It was indeed a festival, as elaborate as any Ashyn had enjoyed in Edgewood. A massive white tent was erected. Fresh goat was roasted, songs were sung. Music was played. Tales were told. Wine was drunk. Too much wine. By the time the moon passed its zenith, Ashyn was curled up at the fire with Tova at her side and Ronan at her back, his arm hooked around her waist, pulling her to lean back against him, as she ignored the whispered speculations and enjoyed the buzz of the wine and the warmth of the fire and the stories of the bard.

Stories of dragons. That's what they got that night. Especially tales of the one that slept beneath them. There were four types of dragons: sand, snow, timber, and rock, corresponding to the major areas of the empire. This one was, like the skeleton in the cave, a snow dragon. Her name was Isobo, and she was, like the other, a long way from her home. But after the Age of Ice, when the snow receded to the North, not all the snow dragons moved with it. Their iridescent scales meant they could reflect any terrain and blend with it. And there were few dragons in the steppes, with its lack of mountain caves. That must have been what appealed to Isobo,
a young female seeking her place in the world. She'd found that odd hill and made it her home. Then she'd begun amassing her wealth, taking it from travelers, easily spotted on this open plain. The problem, however, was that the open plain also meant she was easily spotted. Soon tales from the survivors reached the dragon seekers of the North.

That was what Edwyn's people—Ashyn's people—had been. Seekers and keepers of another kind. Their lives had been spent hunting dragons and using magics and skills to tame them. Young dragons were required. No one dared attempt such a thing on the ancient bulls that darkened the skies and set entire villages aflame. While Isobo was an adult, her youth and isolation made her a possibility. Even better, as they'd been bringing food and treasure and wooing her, she'd left temporarily and returned to lay her eggs. Two eggs. Two successful births. Two baby dragons who
could
easily be tamed: a female they named Zuri and a male they called Ponto. Isobo seemed a gift from the goddess herself.

But they never got the chance to do more than accustom Isobo's young to the smell and sight of humans. The Age of Fire came and there was no time for war and no reason to train dragons. In fact, as the volcanos erupted across the land, dragons took advantage of the chaos and rained down terror, and the people—unable to control the volcanos—turned their rage on the threat they
could
tackle.

Edwyn's ancestors tried to stop the dragon slayers, but they would not listen. One by one, the dragons fell. Three great bulls. Seven younger bulls and females. Soon, the only known survivor was Isobo, safe in her isolation, busy caring for her
young. The decision was made to protect her by putting the three into a magical sleep. The opening she'd used had been sealed, to be blasted open when the time was right for them to wake. When the empire needed them. As it did now.

T
he festivities continued into the night. So did the wine. By the time Ronan tried to sneak Ashyn off behind the tent, she was intoxicated enough to think . . . well, to think that perhaps
he
was intoxicated enough to do more than hold her hand. There was part of her mind still sober enough to panic at the thought. She'd had enough of this dance with Ronan—friends and then perhaps more, and then . . . no, sorry, just friends.

As much as she might want more, she wouldn't be the foolish girl who tried to woo a boy who balked like a skittish colt. She had too much dignity and, yes, pride, for that.

Yet, that night, with the wine swirling through her head, she couldn't help but think
What could a few stolen kisses hurt?
She could take those kisses and enjoy them for what they were. Moria would. But Ashyn was not her sister, and she would be unable to avoid hoping for more; and even if she somehow did avoid it, come dawn she'd have to endure Ronan's apologies
and the humiliating insistence that he'd meant nothing by it.

So when he tried to pull her behind the tent, she dug in her heels and said, “Where are we going?”

“Someplace where they won't find us.” He tossed her a drunken grin. “Where we can be alone. I'm tired of being responsible, Ash. I want to have some fun.”

She could imagine her expression at that, because he laughed and threw his arms around her neck.

“Not like that, my lady,” he said, a teasing lilt on the title. “Your honor is perfectly safe with me tonight. I simply want to be with you.”

“All right . . .” she said carefully.

“Don't give me that look, Ash.” His hands entwined in her hair, pulling her face beneath his. “Ash, my Ash, my beautiful, brilliant Seeker.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her into a tight embrace before moving back and taking her hand. “Come with me.”

She followed him, half stumbling and blaming the darkness rather than the wine. Tova sighed but trudged along, resigned. As they passed a lantern, Ronan grabbed it. When he snuffed out the flame, she said, “Umm? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?” but he only grinned and said, “We don't want anyone tracking our escape, do we?”

When she saw where they were going, she slowed, but Ronan tugged her hand, and said, “Don't you want to see it again? Without him? Just us?” and she did.

There were no guards posted at the hillside. She supposed everyone in the group could be trusted not to pilfer from the piles within.

They went inside, and Ronan lit the lantern. When they
got to the den, he set the lantern down. Then he pounced, making Tova let out a startled bark as Ronan scooped Ashyn up and tossed her onto a pile of gold and jewels. Treasure tinkled all around her, spilling over her as she laughed.

“Exactly how much honey wine did you drink?” she said.

“Enough that I don't care,” he said, plunking onto another pile and letting it rain onto the earthen floor. “I don't care about being responsible tonight. I don't care to be anything other than what I am, and I don't care what anyone thinks of that.”

“I think that's perfectly fine,” she said, sobering as she looked at him. “I would not want you to be anything else.”

“I know, and that's why I—” He cut himself off with a rueful smile and a shake of his head. “None of that. Not tonight. Tonight . . .” He dug his hands into the pile. “Tonight I'm going to find you a gift.”

“Not to deny your good intentions, but this isn't a marketplace.”

“It is for me. I'm a thief, Ash. I take what's not mine. What can never be . . .” He looked at her and went quiet, then yanked his gaze away and scooped up handfuls of treasure. “My gift is not in the purchase. It is in finding exactly the right piece for you.”

He dug through the piles, pulling up necklaces and armbands and other jewelry. He'd hold up a piece and say, “No, too gaudy,” or “No, not your style,” and keep sifting. She let him. He was happier than she'd seen him in many days, and she'd do nothing to spoil his game.

Even he had to know it was a game, that she would return
whatever he gave her. It didn't matter. What mattered was the moment, and it was wonderful, watching him in his element, his eye assessing every piece, telling her the stone and the origin and sometimes the value with no avarice in his assessments. None of that hunger and longing from earlier. This was pure fun. And, admittedly, some flattery, as he'd find a piece that “matched” her eyes or would “bring out” the red in her hair or one that wasn't good enough for her.

“The right piece must complement you,” he said. “The perfect . . .” He stopped. Then he nearly dove into the next pile, making her laugh as he shoved aside jewels and coins, digging like a bird chasing a worm down a hole. He snagged his goal and pulled it out.

“Yes, this.
This
.” It was a bracelet of gold, one that would weave up a woman's forearm. Delicate and intricately designed, with etched birds.

“Doves,” he said.

“Oh! Yes, I've read about them.”

“A man down the street from us raised them for sending messages. They were perfect, all white, as smart and as gentle as anything you could imagine. But I once saw a hawk twice their size try to steal a fledgling from a nest, and the dove drove it off.” He held up the band. “That's you, Ash. Smart and beautiful and gentle, but ferocious, too, when you need to be.”

Her cheeks burned as he put it onto her arm.

“It fits like it was made for you,” he said with a grin. “Do you like it?”

She ran her fingers over the gold, only now seeing the
tiny onyx in the birds' eyes, and the incredible intricacy of the metalwork. “It's amazing.”

“Like you.”

Her cheeks blazed hotter. She opened her mouth.

“Uh-uh. Don't duck the compliment, Ash. I've had enough honey wine to say anything I like and not be held responsible for it in the morning. Just know that it's the truth. I might complain about being in the middle of the blasted steppes, on a mad quest to wake dragons. But there's no place I'd rather be than with you. Wherever that is.”

His brown cheeks darkened, as if he'd gone too far. Then he took a wineskin from under his cloak and gulped it.

“No regrets,” he said. “Not tonight.”

He handed her the skin. She might have thought she'd had enough, but she suddenly felt the need to drain the entire thing. Get so drunk she would stop blushing and do something mad and rash and definitely unwise.
Be
unwise for once in her life. Of course she did nothing of the sort. She took a gulp, heat surging through her, and then she handed it back.

Ronan put the skin under his cloak and grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let's go visit your dragons.”

They went over to the beasts.

“So we stay then?” she said, as she sat beside the whelps, petting one and feeling the slow beat of its heart. “Until the ritual.”

“You're going to wake dragons, Ash. You can't walk away from that. You'd never forgive yourself.”

“There's no guarantee—”

“But you're going to try, and it's only one more day. Moria
has Tyrus and Daigo. Aidra and Jorn have my aunt, and while that's not the best situation, a few more days in her care will not harm them.”

“I know but . . . you worry.”

He shrugged and said nothing.

“You could go on ahead,” she said. “I'd understand—”

“Don't.”

“But—”

“Tell me I can't leave,” he said, the wine flush leaving his face as something like panic touched his eyes. “If you truly want to make this easier, tell me I can't leave. That you need me.”

She hesitated. Then she said, “Because you feel guilty if you choose not to leave.”

“I feel . . .” He shook it off and gulped more wine. “None of that. Not tonight. Just don't tell me to go, Ash. Don't make this my choice. Tell me you need my help and remind me that I'll be home soon, and that an extra day will make no difference, and my brother and sister will be fine.”

“They will be,” she said. “You know that. And, yes, I do need you. I'm loathe to say so, when you have other responsibilities—”

“But this is the important one. This is for my empire, because perhaps, if we succeed, if I watch out for the Seeker and she raises dragons, perhaps . . .” Another gulp of wine. “Perhaps something will come of it.”

Ashyn rose to stand beside him as he leaned against the dragon. “Something
will
come of it. You'll get caste. There's no doubt of that. You brought me safely from Edgewood and
stayed by my side through it all. The emperor cannot refuse you now, and the more you do for me, the higher your caste will be. I truly believe that.”

“Then that is all the reason I need. I stay for my empire and for my family and for myself. For a better life. Not because . . .” He glanced over at her. “Not for any other reason, and no one can accuse me of it.”

“They cannot. You have the best intentions, Ronan. You always do.”

He let out a sharp laugh at that and leaned to give her cheek a smacking kiss. “No one else would ever accuse me of
that
, Ash. It's not true, but I love—I appreciate you saying it.”

He handed her the wineskin. She took another drink and slid to sit beside the dragon whelps again. He lowered himself beside her and they sat in comfortable silence, Ashyn with her eyes closed, feeling the warm buzz of the wine and the warmer heat of Ronan, pressed up against her side, his hand clasping hers.

“Ah, blast it,” he said suddenly, startling her. “Forget what I said. I'm going to do this. I'm drunk enough to say blast it all, I don't care if I regret it in the morning. I need to do this. I need to tell you.”

A lick of panic ran through her.
Not this, Ronan. Not again. Don't tell me you care, only to tell me in the morning you do not. It isn't fair. I don't care how drunk you are or how good you feel, please do not—

“I used to have another brother. I . . .” He swore, spitting the curse. Then he drained the wineskin. “Gonna do this. I am. You gotta know, Ash. All my crimes laid bare. Whatever that means.”

“Ronan . . .”

“No, I've got this. Just give me a moment.” He took a deep breath. “I had another brother. Eder. Three summers my junior. My father expected me to watch over him. Eder was . . . slow of thought. He fell as a baby. When our mother left he became my responsibility and I . . .” Ronan swallowed. “I was tired of it.”

“I can understand—”

“There was a girl. A merchant's daughter. I would go to her shop, and she would encourage me to come, and I thought that meant . . . I was thirteen summers, and she was pretty, and she flirted with me, and I thought me being casteless didn't matter to her. It didn't. Not for that. To flirt. To steal a kiss. It's safer actually. A casteless boy isn't going to tell someone she allowed the kisses, and if he did, who would believe him? It—” He stopped with a sharp shake of his head. “And that isn't what I'm trying to tell you.
She
isn't what I'm telling you. She was incidental. I don't even recall her name.”

Liar
, she thought. The story might not be about the girl, but she was still essential to it. A girl—likely his first kiss. A girl who'd toyed with him. Who'd said his caste didn't matter, exactly as Ashyn herself had. The girl lied, and while Ashyn hoped Ronan wouldn't suspect her of the same, the lesson he'd learned was that the barrier could not be crossed as easily as he'd hoped.

“I was with her,” he said. “I told Eder to sit on a crate outside. I did not plan to be long, but I was longer than I ought to have been. Something caught his eye. There was a wagon coming and . . . He ran right in front of it. The wagon was moving fast and . . .”

He didn't need to say more. When Ronan talked about his siblings, he spoke of two.

Ashyn squeezed his hand as hard as she could. “I'm so sorry.”

A light kiss on her cheek. “I know you are. You're good to me, Ash. Even when I don't deserve it.”

“You always deserve it. You were young. And there are many older than you who have lost children. It only takes a moment. Your father ought not to have expected—”

“He did. And I ought to have taken care of Eder. Properly.” Another kiss. “I'm not looking for pardon. I just . . . I wanted you to know. What I'd done. And if it changes anything, if you no longer wish me to guard you or . . . or anything else, I'll understand. I was careless—”

“You made a mistake that anyone could have made. It changes nothing, Ronan. There is no one I'd rather have at my side.”

He nodded and sipped the wine now, then passed the last to her. They sat there, holding hands and leaning against a dragon and staring at dirt walls, and thinking.

Ronan claimed he'd told her the tale in case it changed her mind about him, but there was more to it. She remembered what he'd said, only moments ago, begging her not to give him a choice in leaving. Making it clear that staying was for the good of his family. That he was staying for duty. Not for a girl. Not to be with a girl. Because that was what the story truly said. His brother had died because he'd been distracted by a girl . . . and he could not,
would
not do that again. He could not let himself feel that he was staying for Ashyn.
He stayed for the Seeker.

The best thing she could do for him, then? Close that door. Firmly. No more longing glances his way. No more wishing and hoping. Give him no cause to fear he was lingering for her sake, lingering to be with her. This was about duty. It had to be.