Forest of Ruin (23 page)

M
oria was not dead. She'd only lost consciousness, and Gavril hadn't let her lose it for long. She woke to Gavril's anger and Daigo's rough tongue, and the two of them snapping and snarling at each other. But she did wake, and after that, she tried harder to stay that way, because Gavril seemed to think that merely shutting her eyes was a sign of her imminent departure from this world. So she drank water, and let him clean her wounds and cast magics on them, and she endured his misdirected anger and curses—at her and at himself and even at Daigo. That was how he dealt with panic and fear and uncertainty, and she let him.

When the wound closed again, he ordered Daigo to stay put while he went in search of water. He found a stream nearby and brought back a skinful. She drank as he washed her wounds and bound them using the only cloth available—his
tunic. She did rouse herself enough to argue about that, but he only snapped at her and she fell silent again. When he finished, he realized she was shivering. Shock, he said, and piled his cloak and hers on her. Daigo curled up beside her, but still she shivered, and finally, Gavril lay on her other side.

He did not exactly curl up against her like the wildcat. It was rather like leaning against a wooden board, Gavril as tense as if he expected her to sink her dagger between his ribs. But when she kept shivering, he pulled her against him and she rested her head back against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, and he told her she could sleep then but only for a while. She closed her eyes and drifted off, and the last thing she heard, after he must have thought her asleep, was his whisper.

“Don't ever scare me like that again, Keeper.”

Having reached a horizontal position, Gavril and Daigo must have fallen asleep, thoroughly exhausted. The next thing Moria knew, a cry from Gavril penetrated her dreams, and she caught a knee in her back and a claw in her leg, as both Gavril and Daigo clambered to their feet, Gavril with his blade out.

Moria rose on her elbows, blinking hard in the dim light. There was one window in the room, but enough light shone in for her to see they were alone.

“Kitsune?” she said as she reached for her dagger. “Did you hear something?”

He surveyed the room in silence. Then he blinked hard and shook his head. “It was but a nightmare. I apologize for
disturbing your rest, Keeper.”

She watched him as he walked to the window. He'd sheathed his blade, but his hand remained on the hilt and trembled slightly.

“Gavril?” she said, her voice softer.

He didn't turn. “I am going to walk the grounds.”

Before he reached the door, she said, “The nightmare . . . Was it of your mother?”

He stopped, his back still to her, sword hand trembling enough that his blade clinked against his short sword, and he pulled his hand away from the hilt.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I ought to leave you to your grief. I only wished—”

“He killed her,” he blurted, still facing the door. “My father did that.” He paused. “No, he had it
done
, and not because he couldn't bring himself to do it, but because he was too busy with his other schemes. Burying my mother in the dirt and leaving her to die was, in the larger context of his plan, a minor ploy.”

The agony and bitterness in his voice pushed Moria to her feet. She ignored the stab of pain as she stepped toward him. She stopped a pace behind and said, “You had a nightmare. He would not—”

He turned then. “Would not? Truly, Moria? He tried to whore you to me as if you were a mere vessel for his imperial lineage. He tried to have your sister's throat slit to raise dragons. When those two plans failed, he tried to kill you instead. And I know, in the greater scheme of what he has done—slaughtering entire villages—killing you is but a small thing,
but it was, for me, the true proof that he is responsible for my mother's murder.”

“I don't under—”

“My father would not allow me to form other attachments as a child. That is why he took me from my mother to be raised by an endless parade of caretakers. An attachment to him was filial piety. To anyone else? A sign of weakness. When I was young, Tyrus gave me a puppy from a palace litter. My father killed it in front of me.”

Moria inhaled sharply.

“It was but one of many lessons in the danger of attachments. I cried for the puppy, and my tears proved me weak and made his point. That is why I fought so hard to pretend I did not care about you.”

“For my own safety.”

He nodded. “But he knew. I could not . . . I could not properly hide it. I allowed you to be kept in a dungeon, but after the guard attacked you, it became clear to him that I cared. I believed the betrothal was a political ploy, as he claimed, but you are correct. He intended to see it through and force me to . . .” He swallowed. “Use sorcery or charms to . . .” He turned away. “That would be a lesson to me. Take someone I cared for and make her loathe the sight of me. And when that plan went awry? He substituted you for your sister to raise dragons. A punishment both for forming an attachment to you and renewing one with Tyrus.”

“I still do not think he would—”

“I tried to keep my fears for my mother concealed. To show only the proper concern of a son for his mother. But I did show
that concern to him. I said that I wanted to see her, to reassure myself she was safe and well.”

“Which is, as you say, only proper.”

“We were not abducted by imperial bandits, Keeper,” he said. “Toman was my father's man.”

“What?”

“Does that not make more sense? That they were lying in wait for us, knowing the road we'd take back to my father? Wouldn't that explain why he tried so hard to convince us of the evil plans the emperor would have in store for us? To frighten us? Why he would not attack a small band of my father's recruits? Why he knew exactly where my mother was being held? Why he played the game of having me search the house, of having my hopes raised that she'd escaped or my fears raised that she'd been taken . . . only to discover she'd suffered a far worse fate?
That
is my father, Moria. It is exactly how he would do it.”

She said nothing. Could say nothing. Daigo rubbed against her, sensing her mood.

Gavril continued. “As with all his schemes, it accomplished multiple purposes, because it is not enough simply to teach me a lesson or to stop my asking about my mother. Killing her in the traditional way of the Tatsu clan pins the blame on the emperor. Toman would have found some way to return me—perhaps my father's men would have faked an attack and rescued us—and I would tell the tale of my mother's death and my father could work up righteous rage and grief and the story would spread.”

“But it won't now. Your father is losing control of his
shadow stalkers. They escaped and killed Toman and foiled that plan, and now we have foiled the greater one. He did not raise dragons. The goddess is punishing him.”

“I wish I believed that, Keeper,” he said.

She walked over and leaned against his shoulder. “I do, Kitsune. I truly do.”

“A
lone again,” Ashyn murmured as Tova bumped her hand. She smiled and scratched behind his ears.

“You don't count.”

He rolled his eyes. Then he looked at everyone surrounding them and rolled them again.

“Yes,” Ashyn whispered. “But you know what I mean.”

True, she was surrounded by people, and few of them were strangers. She could see Ronan scouting ahead. Tyrus had been at her side, but had gone ahead to speak to Ronan. Dalain and Sabre were behind her, watching for trouble. A half dozen Okami warriors and several of Sabre's father's men could be spotted in the sweep of an eye. There was even a dragon, intermittently flying over Tyrus's head and then taking off for parts unknown, stretching her wings and exploring her world after nearly an age of sleep.

Yet someone was missing, and right now, that was the only person Ashyn truly wanted: her sister.

Tyrus circled back to her side. “Gavril will take care of her,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I'd not have let her go with him if I doubted that for a moment.”

“Nor would I have suggested it if I had doubts.”

However confused Ashyn felt about Gavril—seeing him fighting at Tyrus's side, tending to her sister's wounds—she did not question his loyalty to Moria. That felt naive, after all he'd done, but she'd seen his face when her sister was hurt, seen his terror when they'd been trying to staunch Moria's wound, and when Ashyn had suggested he go with her, it was as if everything between them had vanished, and he was once again the young man who'd traveled with them through the Wastes.

Ashyn looked over at the young prince, now more than a friend to her sister. That, perhaps, in its odd way, had her most unsettled of all. So much had happened during their separation, and while most was larger and far more significant, this was what stuck in her mind. Her sister had fallen in love, and Ashyn had not been there to witness it. She'd missed Moria telling her of their first kiss. Missed Moria confessing her feelings. Missed the joy and excitement of sharing her sister's first love. They'd shared every landmark in their lives, and now . . . Life was changing. For both of them.

How did Ashyn feel otherwise about what had transpired? Pleased. She'd said she was happy for her sister, and she truly meant it. Tyrus was a worthy partner for Moria, and Ashyn would not have said that of anyone else. Except perhaps . . .

That only complicated matters, didn't it? Best to put it aside and leave it uncomplicated. Tyrus loved Moria, and Moria loved Tyrus, and their feelings were clear to anyone who saw them together.

“We'll be reunited with her soon,” Tyrus said.

“I know.”

“When we get her back, I'll not . . .” He glanced over. “I know you have been parted nearly a fortnight, and I know how painful that was for her, so I am certain it was the same for you. Things may have changed between Moria and me, but when she comes back? She's all yours.”

Ashyn smiled and leaned her head briefly against his shoulder as they walked. “Thank you. I'm sure I'll want to steal her away and let her regale me with tales of her grand adventure, but I'll not keep her to myself for long. I did mean what I said. That I'm happy for you. Thrilled, in fact.”

They both looked up to see Ronan jogging toward them. Tyrus strode forward, Ashyn hurrying to keep up. Ronan cast her a quick glance. They'd had little time to do more than exchange a few words. Ashyn desperately wanted to speak to him, to hear what had happened, if he'd returned to his brother and sister and then somehow found the others. But it had not been the time. Tyrus needed Ronan scouting, with his full attention on that. She'd resisted the urge to ask Tyrus how he'd found Ronan. She wished to hear the story from Ronan himself. Which meant it had to wait.

“I've spotted riders,” Ronan said. “Three, possibly four. Scouting, I presume. They've broken from the main group and they're headed in this direction.”

“How far?” Tyrus asked, straining to see against the bright midday sun.

“Perhaps a thousand paces. And riding fast.”

Tyrus cursed. “And the rest of the troop?”

“Still distant enough that I cannot see them.”

“Which means they cannot see us if we raise extra dust. All right then. Stay back here. Alvar is about to lose his scouts.”

Ashyn would play no role in planning the attack, nor in executing it. Her sole task was to survive it. And, preferably, not to be taken hostage.

Tyrus had found her a place to hide with Tova. Which made her feel completely and utterly useless, and only strengthened her resolve to improve her battle skills. From her spot, she watched as the others found places of their own to hide, one of the warriors taking the horses and riding off to the other side of a distant outcropping of rock.

Then they waited. The scouts were riding hard, presuming that on the open ground they'd see trouble. There were four of them. An easy battle. Still, Ashyn gripped her dagger. She would not blindly run in at any provocation, but if there was a situation where she could safely help, she would not stay hidden behind a rock.

The riders closed in. From her place, she could see Tyrus and Ronan together. There was a rock in front of them, but not large enough to do more than throw them into shade and shadow, and they had hunkered down in the long steppe grass. Dalain and Sabre each had half of the Okami men hiding in other patches of grass. They were all far less hidden than
Ashyn, and as soon as the riders drew near enough, they'd need to leap up and charge before they were—

A shadow passed overhead. Ashyn craned her neck and at first saw nothing but the brilliant blue midday sky. Then the sky itself seemed to ripple, and she smiled and whispered, “Zuri.” On the ground, the dragon whelp's camouflage was imperfect. If the light hit her at the proper angle, she'd blend with her surroundings. Otherwise, well, an iridescent white dragon was rather easy to spot. In the sky, though, with the sun blazing, she was all but invisible, and Ashyn watched in wonder as the dragon soared and swooped, visible only by that telltale ripple.

Zuri let out a cry, not so much a roar as a yowl. The riders looked up, and Ashyn's heart stopped as she frantically searched them for signs of bows and quivers. There were none, and as the warriors continued peering into the sky, she looked toward Tyrus, hoping he could take advantage of their distraction. Then Zuri let out another of those yowls, and Ashyn realized what she was doing: searching for Tyrus.

“No!” Ashyn whispered, and she motioned for Tyrus and Ronan to hide themselves better. They weren't looking her way, though, and a moment later, Zuri spotted her quarry. She let out a victory cry and swooped down to perch on the rock partially hiding Tyrus. She squawked and danced in place, wings fluttering, head bobbing, clearly very pleased and relieved to have found her master and eager for him to recognize her triumphant return.

The scouts, not surprisingly, stopped in their tracks to stare, unable to believe what they were seeing. The shock wouldn't
last long, though, before they realized the young dragon was very intent on something in the long grass.

Tyrus whipped a chunk of meat. Zuri let out a joyful squawk and dove after it. She caught it in midair and gulped it down, and before she could zip back for more, Tyrus threw another piece that landed in the grass, meaning she had to hunt for it. This would have been an excellent idea, except apparently the dragon whelp had eaten quite enough and wasn't interested in food that required work. She gave a cursory look and then flapped her wings, taking to the air and heading back for Tyrus.

Ashyn saw the prince flatten himself face-first on the ground, doing his best to hide, but the dragon spotted him with a chirp, dove, and grabbed his ponytail. She didn't get far with it, yet it was enough for the scouts to spot him. They lifted their heels to spur their horses . . . and twin shouts rang out from either side, as Dalain, Sabre, and their men burst from the long grass, having crept up behind the scouts while the dragon provided a distraction. Ashyn breathed a sigh of relief as they charged.

Three scouts wheeled their horses to face their attackers. The fourth, though, spurred his forward, blade out, battle cry on his lips as he ran straight at Tyrus. The prince leaped up, as did Ronan. Zuri heard the scout's cry, turned in midair, and saw him charging Tyrus. She let out a shriek—pure rage—and shot down at him, jaws opening. One day, if the legends were true, her breath would freeze a man in his tracks, but while Ashyn saw the whelp's throat expand and contract, all that came out was a puff of white air, and the scout was running at
her, his sword out, pulling it back, the dragon low enough for him to strike.

Ashyn tore from her hiding place, dagger raised, but Tova was already leaping past her. He launched himself at the horse, his fangs sinking into its rump. The horse screamed and reared and the scout flew off its back, Tyrus on him the moment he hit the ground.

The fight was quickly won. Then it was Ashyn's turn to do her bit, tending to the dead and the wounded. Fortunately, their side had incurred only minor injuries. Tyrus came over while she was checking on the lead scout, ensuring he was dead. From the extent of his injuries, it seemed certain, but she still checked. As Tyrus saw those injuries, he stopped short and turned away. When he turned back, he seemed himself, but she'd not missed the look in his eyes.

“Chewing ginger or mint leaves will settle your stomach,” she murmured as she rose.

“Moria told you then.”

“Moria told me nothing. She would not, if it was said in confidence, though back on the road from Fairview, she did ask what settles stomachs. Having seen your expression, I now know why. Your secret is as safe with me as it was with her.”

“Thank you. I came to say that the rest of Alvar's men will head this way once they realize their scouts are missing. By then, I plan to be long gone. We'll split up, making us more difficult to track. Ronan? I'd like you to go meet up with Gavril and Moria. If they're safe at the farmhouse, keep them there and I'll join up after nightfall. Take one of the horses. Ashyn? Would you like to ride with Ronan?”

She hesitated. “I ought to tend more to—”

“My apologies,” Tyrus said with a smile. “I forgot I'm not speaking to Moria. Ashyn, I insist you go with Ronan. You and Tova can watch his back, and your sister may need your healing skills more than Dalain's men do.”

“Yes, your highness.” A quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Tyrus.”