Forest of Ruin (16 page)

T
yrus shot Moria a grin that made her heart somersault.

“Stealing my prey, are you?” he said. “I don't know who's worse. You or your wildcat.”

Daigo growled. Tyrus walked over and stopped right in front of Moria, so close she could feel his breath on her upturned face.

“Hello,” he said.

Then he bent and kissed her. A soft, sweet kiss that had her rising on her tiptoes to follow it as he straightened.

“I thought we should catch up,” he said. “See how you were doing, if you needed our help. We'd have been faster, but, you know.” He shrugged. “Dungeons. They're very inconvenient.”

She laughed and kissed him again, her arms going around his neck in a brief, fierce hug.

“You can thank me for the rescue later,” he said as she stepped back.

“Umm . . .”

“Not even going to pretend to cushion my ego, are you?”

“You came closer this time.”

He sighed.

She smiled. “Given the number of times I seem to need rescue, think of them as practice drills. Eventually you'll succeed.”

“You don't
need
rescue at all. That is the problem.”

“Could someone please get this beast—” the fallen bounty hunter began.

“You did
find
me again,” Moria said, ignoring the young man. “That's a feat.”

“Y . . . yes. We did find you, didn't we, Daigo?”

The wildcat growled.

Tyrus continued. “We absolutely found you and did not accidentally stumble upon you while waiting for those bounty hunters to go to sleep so we could capture them. Absolutely not.”

Moria laughed and kissed him again. “Do I presume you were their target then?”

“So it seems, though they're doing a very poor job of catching us considering we've been tracking them for half a day.”

“Hello, Tyrus.”

They looked to see Gavril there, his sword at his side, his face taut. Tyrus's gaze dropped to Gavril's blade.

“Do I need to draw mine as well?” he said, that jaunty tone evaporating from his voice.

“No, of course not.” Gavril put his sword away. He looked at Moria. “The other one is dead. The blood loss was too much.” When the younger bounty hunter groaned, he
said, “We should tend to him.”

He started toward the man. Then he stopped, turned slowly, and, his tone formal, said, “I am glad to see you are well, Tyrus.”

Tyrus accepted the courtesy with a nod, and they walked to the bounty hunter. Moria hugged Daigo while Gavril stripped off their captive's cloak and tunic and Tyrus stood watch. Moria retrieved water from the campfire and set about cleaning and then cauterizing the man's wounds. The first step came with muffled grunts of pain. The second brought screams, and Gavril had to stuff a cloth in the man's mouth before everyone within a quarter-day's walk heard him.

When they finished, the bounty hunter passed out. They stood, staring down at him.

“Well, that's inconvenient,” Tyrus said.

Daigo chuffed in agreement. Gavril opened his mouth, but Tyrus cut him off with, “We'll bind him while we talk. I'll use the other man's belt. Leave that gag in his mouth, too, so he doesn't wake screaming.”

Tyrus walked back to the dead man. Gavril stared after him.

“He's changed,” he murmured when Tyrus was out of earshot.

“He's had to.”

Gavril nodded, his gaze lowering. “I am sorry he's become involved in this. We were friends. Yes, I've denied it. But we were.”

“I know.”

“I should have known he'd follow you into this. I could
tell . . . at the court . . . even on so short an acquaintance.”

“He did not follow me, Gavril. He isn't a puppy.”

A faint twist of a smile. “He used to be. That's what his father called him, when he trailed after me, letting me lead our adventures. He's not a puppy anymore. And you're right, Keeper—not a follower either. That is what I did not expect.”

“He's an imperial prince. He knows how to lead. If you know him as well as you should, you know why he's never done so before.”

Gavril nodded. “His brothers. Yes. I mean he's more adept than I would have expected. At leading. At fighting. At surviving. I can see why you care for him.”

“I care for him because of who he is, Gavril. Not because he's a fine warrior.”

“Who's a fine warrior?” Tyrus asked as he came back.

“Him.” Moria pointed at the young bounty hunter.

Tyrus laughed. “I could tell. Good thing I didn't try to take him on myself. I might never have survived.”

Belt in hand, he headed for the inept young bounty hunter. Daigo followed, growling.

“Yes, yes,” Tyrus said, reaching to turn the young man over and bind him. “You're very brave around those who have lost consciousness and—”

The bounty hunter's hand shot out. He grabbed Tyrus by the tunic. Steel flashed. A thin dagger, from under the young man's clothes. Tyrus was already wrenching away, Daigo leaping on the bounty hunter to pin him. Gavril ran, sword out, Moria right behind him. She had her dagger poised, but Daigo was grappling with the bounty hunter, and she dared not throw
it, for fear of hitting her wildcat.

The steel flashed again. That thin dagger headed straight for Daigo's throat. She launched hers. She had to. It was a moment too late, but Tyrus was not. His blade sliced into the young man's side an eyeblink before hers hit the bounty hunter's heart. As blood spurted from the boy's side, Tyrus wrenched out her dagger and slammed it in again, as deep as he could, giving the bounty hunter a quicker death.

Gavril and Moria stopped a couple of paces from the body. Tyrus pulled out the dagger, walked to the side, and cleaned it in the grass. When he handed it back to her, his hands shook. He noticed and gave Moria a rueful twist of a smile.

“It is not as easy as they make it seem in training,” he said. “Taking a life.”

“I don't think it ought to be.”

He nodded, and she leaned against him, his hand going to her hip as he gave a shuddering breath. Then he pulled back, straightened, and looked about, still regaining his composure.

“I'll say a few words for both of their spirits,” she said. “I'm not sure it works, coming from me . . .”

He squeezed her arm. “Thank you.”

Gavril's swords clicked, and they turned to see him kneeling beside the young bounty hunter. He took the thin dagger from where it had fallen and examined the blade. It was needle-thin and seemed as if it would fold on impact, but when he tested the blade, it didn't bend.

“It's a stiletto,” Tyrus said.

Gavril frowned at the unfamiliar word.

“I've read of them,” Moria said. “They're foreign. From
beyond the empire. Very rare. They're also known as assassin's daggers.”

Tyrus nodded. “An imperial bounty hunter ought not to be carrying one. Which is no excuse for me nearly losing Daigo's life to the trick. Particularly after he tried to warn me.” He turned to the wildcat. “My apologies.”

Daigo swished his thick tail against the prince, his way of saying the apology was accepted.

“While warriors cannot carry hidden weapons . . .” Tyrus held it out to Moria.

“Thank you,” she said. As she accepted, she recalled taking another dagger from a dead warrior—Orbec, back in the Forest of the Dead. While her intention had been to return the ancestral blade to his family—which she had—she'd still felt guilty taking it from his body. Now, even with no such purpose, she did not. She regretted the young man's death. It was senseless. Foolish, too, given that they'd tended to his wounds and obviously did not wish him ill. But he'd made his choice, and if his weapon could aid her, she would take it.

“We ought to go now,” Tyrus said. “Say your words for the dead, please, Moria, while Gavril and I take what we can from their supplies.”

A
s they walked, they told their stories of what had transpired since they'd parted outside Lord Okami's compound. Moria asked Tyrus to speak first. Their tale would end with the death of Kiri Kitsune, and Gavril didn't need to revisit that any sooner than necessary.

Tyrus had been held under guard at Goro Okami's compound, while his father had returned to the imperial city. His captivity had lasted only until he'd heard that the emperor's spy had reported Moria and Gavril had never arrived at Alvar Kitsune's compound.

Escape hadn't been difficult. Tyrus may have joked about dungeons, but it was simply house arrest, Lord Okami having presumed that once Tyrus calmed down, he'd see the futility of following Moria. Tyrus and Daigo had escaped and found the place where Sabre had reported meeting up with Moria and Gavril.

“We discovered the remains of your camp, along with signs of a wagon train heading up to it and then retreating north. Presumably you'd been taken captive. We followed the wagon as best we could, but your wildcat needs tracking lessons, Moria.”

Daigo fixed Tyrus with a baleful look.

“Yes, I know,” Tyrus said. “You aren't a hound or a hunting cat, but you could try harder. It's never too late to learn new skills.”

Daigo growled and laid his head against Moria's leg as they walked. That was usually something only Tova would do with Ashyn, Moria and Daigo being less overt in their affections. But tonight he stayed close, and she rubbed him and scratched his ears and felt one hollow part inside her fill again.

“We lost the trail completely this morning,” Tyrus said. “Your wagon must have ridden over hard ground, and we could no longer track it. I knew exactly where I was, but your wildcat got hopelessly lost.”

Daigo rolled his eyes and flicked his tail at Tyrus, who laughed. Moria saw Gavril watching them. In their days together on the Wastes and beyond, Daigo had gone from barely tolerating Gavril to grudgingly accepting his companionship, a far cry from the easy camaraderie Daigo had with Tyrus.

“That's when we found the bounty hunters,” Tyrus continued. “We overheard enough to realize they were looking for me, so we planned to attack under cover of night. If we'd seen their poor fighting skills, we could have struck sooner. But then we'd never have found you, so . . .” He smiled at her. “It all worked out.”

“It did.”

“Now tell me your story.”

Moria explained that their captors had said they'd only stumbled upon them, when they'd actually been in pursuit of Kiri Kitsune.

“Your mother's out here?” Tyrus said to Gavril. He caught the young warrior's expression. “Gavril?” He turned quickly to Moria. “What—?”

“My mother is no more,” Gavril said. “I will . . . I'll let Moria explain. She's . . . better at such things. I should—I should check over that rise ahead.” He strode onward before either could speak.

Moria told Tyrus what had happened. With each word, the horror on his face grew. When she finished, he jogged ahead to Gavril.

“I am deeply, deeply sorry,” Moria heard him say.

“Thank you,” Gavril replied. “And I know your father did not do this, though you're refraining from saying so.”

“I do not wish to belittle your loss by defending him, but I'm glad you do not suspect him of it. My father is capable of many things, some of them cruel and even callous, but—”

“If he took my mother, he would do much as Lord Okami did with you. House arrest. Even if he felt he had to make a stronger statement, he would never have killed her and certainly not in such a fashion. Someone did this to frame him, in the expectation that others would not realize he isn't capable of such monstrosity.”

“Thank you for understanding that.”

“I understand much,” Gavril said, his gaze dropping to his still-bloodied blade. “I always did. I simply did not wish to.”

With that, silence descended, and as it grew, the strain between Gavril and Tyrus returned, like a metal bar that kept them together yet apart. They walked within a few paces of each other but said nothing. What had happened outside Lord Okami's compound was not easily overcome. Moria knew that, for Tyrus, learning Gavril had held her captive had been a greater betrayal than anything that had come before it.

Yet Tyrus didn't seem entirely comfortable with her either. He'd seemed to be, when they'd first met, with his smiles and kisses. But now he seemed anxious, walking close enough to brush her hand with his, but never taking it. He kept looking over at her, as if trying to work something out. When they finally stopped for the night, Tyrus asked Gavril if he'd make camp while Tyrus and Moria found water.

They walked until they reached a stream and filled their waterskins. As Moria rose, she nearly bashed into Tyrus, standing right beside her with an oddly guarded expression on his face.

“Something's wrong,” she said.

He started to shake his head. Then he stopped and cleared his throat. “I need to know . . . That is, I ought to ask . . .” He looked back toward camp and went quiet.

“Tyrus . . . ?”

“Has it changed?” he blurted.

“Has what changed?”

She followed his gaze to see Gavril setting up the bounty hunters' tent. “Are you asking . . . ?”

“The first time you kissed me, I said I could not be with you, no matter how much I wanted to. Not until I was sure of
how you felt about him.”

“And I told you—”

“You told me there was nothing between you. Not that way. But I worried that if he somehow had an excuse for his betrayal, things would change.” He looked at her. “I presume he's given an explanation.”

“He has, insomuch as I wished to hear it. I am satisfied that the massacre of my village was as great a shock to him as it was to me. As for the rest, I will hear more when I'm ready, but I accept his explanation. I will not say that I have forgiven him. But I no longer plan to kill him as soon as I get the chance.”

She said the last with a smile, but Tyrus stood there, holding himself tight, that wary look in his eyes only growing, as if braced for the worst.

“And so . . .” he said.

“If anything had changed, do you truly think I'd have greeted you with kisses?”

“It was spontaneous. Perhaps—”

She kissed him. Deep and long and passionate enough to leave him staggering back when she pulled away.

“That was also spontaneous,” she said. “But if you think I would kiss you that way if my relationship with Gavril had changed—”

He cut her off with a kiss, even deeper than her own, his hands in her hair, his body against hers, heat licking through her until he left her gasping.

“That was my apology,” he said.

“Then I certainly hope you make more mistakes that require them.”

He laughed, pulling her into a fierce embrace. When they parted, she pushed her cloak over her shoulder and laid his hand on the amulet band.

“I make up my mind, Tyrus, and I do not change it, and if you are going to question my loyalty every time we are apart . . .”

“I'm truly,
deeply
sorry,” he said. “If it had been anyone else, I would not have questioned.”

“There has never been anything between Gavril and me.”

“I know, but . . .”

“Not a look. Not a word. Not a touch. Nor ever a time when I longed for one.”

“Yet there is a bond between you. I saw it from the moment we met, and even if you did not think of him in that way, I cannot help feeling that could have changed, that if the possibility had been there . . .”

“It was not.”

“But if it had been—” He cut off his own words, kissing her. “No, that isn't a question. Or if it is, I'll not ask it, because it does not matter. The possibility is no longer there. That is what counts. He is your friend. I am your lover. That is enough. More than enough. It's all I want, Moria, and I apologize for the rest. It'll not happen again.”

“Good.” She looked him in the eye. “I'll never give you any reason to question my loyalty, Tyrus. I expect the same from you.”

“You have it. Without question.”

She nodded and began to take off his amulet band. He put his hand on hers. “Keep it.”

“No, it's—”

“Yours. For as long as I am. When you tire of me, you can give it back.”

“Then I don't imagine I ever would.”

He pressed his lips to hers. “I'll not argue with that. Now, it looks like Gavril has that tent ready. It's yours for the night.”

“I ought not to take—”

“I insist. And I am still a prince, so you must listen. Or at least pretend to.” He took her hands and pulled her to him. “If I were to join you—”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “You didn't let me finish.”

“It's still yes.”

“I was going to qualify that by stating my intentions before I shocked you with the suggestion. But I forgot who I'm speaking to.”

“You did. It's yes. And please.”

His smile evaporated in a look that sent a shiver through her. Then he pulled her to him and gave her a kiss that made her think they weren't going to make it back to the tent at all.

“Don't tempt me, Moria. I'm going to be honorable.”

“Blast it.”

He laughed then, loud enough to ring out over the empty plain. “I was going to ask if I might share your tent without the expectation of anything that might normally come with sharing your tent.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he put a finger to her lips. “I know you're curious, but I'll not take advantage of that, and I'll not rush.” His mouth moved to her ear. “Or you might discover that my experience with girls is not
quite as extensive as my reputation suggests. Though I'll trust you to keep that between us.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then you will allow me to proceed slowly and explore . . .”

“Yes. Please.”

He grinned. “All right. You get the idea then. I'll share your tent with no expectation of anything. And if you wish, more, though I'll do nothing that could leave you with child.”

“I know how babies are made. And I know that precautions can be taken to prevent that, though I suspect we wouldn't have such devices on hand. Unless you carry them around with you.”

“Did I mention there might be a discrepancy between my experience and my reputation? I most certainly do not carry any such thing with me. Which means we have the perfect excuse for limiting our nights to—”

“Yes. Now can we stop talking and get to the tent?”

He grinned and led her back.