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Authors: Kelley Armstrong

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BOOK: Forest of Ruin
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ONE

“Y
ou'll be coming back with me, Keeper.”

Moria stared at the young warrior. Gavril Kitsune had escorted her across the Wastes after her village was destroyed, her people massacred. A massacre orchestrated, as she'd later discovered, by his father, the former marshal—a man long thought dead. Orchestrated and carried out with Gavril's full knowledge. If that betrayal had not been enough, she'd been taken in battle nearly a fortnight ago and held captive at Alvar Kitsune's compound, under Gavril's care. Locked in a dungeon at Gavril's command. And now, a mere day after her escape, he stood before her, with the emperor at his side, telling her she was going
back
?

Moria took a slow step backward, bumping into her wildcat, Daigo, and the emperor's son, Tyrus. Daigo pressed against her legs, growling, his fur on end. Tyrus stepped in front of her.

“Is this sorcery?” Tyrus said. “And do not tell me you aren't a sorcerer. When we were children, you swore you were not. Lied to me, as I now realize. I told Moria once that I knew you as well as anyone could, but you have proven that I did not know you at all.”

Gavril flinched at that. After everything, he actually flinched, as if wounded by his old friend's words.

Tyrus went on. “This is sorcery. It must be, to convince my father to let you take Moria.”

“It is not sorcery,” Emperor Tatsu said, his voice soft but firm. “It is war. I need a spy in Alvar's camp, and Gavril has convinced me he is not our enemy.”

“Then make
him
the spy,” Moria said. “If he is telling you he is innocent, let him prove it.”

“It is not that simple,” the emperor said. “Gavril's position is precarious enough. He must maintain the fiction of allegiance to his father.”

“Fiction?” She looked at Gavril. “Is that what it is? But of course. It's all a terrible misunderstanding. How wronged you have been, Lord Gavril. How poorly I have treated you, when you have been nothing but kind to me.”

He wouldn't meet her gaze as she spoke.

“There is no fiction here,” Moria said. “Only another kind of sorcery. The one Kitsunes are best at: lies.”

She turned on her heel to see Dalain, son of Warlord Okami, whose lands they were on. Her hand moved to her dagger, ready for him to block her path, but he dipped his chin and stepped aside, allowing her and Daigo to walk into the forest.

Behind her, she heard the clatter of swords—Tyrus starting to come after her. She knew that without looking. But his father said, “Let her go,” and to Moria's relief—and yes, a little to her dismay—Tyrus obeyed.

Moria walked until she was out of sight, and then she broke into a run, a headlong dash through the trees, her chest feeling like it was going to explode, her eyes threatening to fill with tears.

What sin had she committed against the goddess to deserve this? She might not be as pious as a Keeper ought to be, but did her petty rebellions truly warrant such punishment? Her twin sister missing, the children of her village missing, her emperor handing her over to a traitor, and Tyrus . . .

No, Tyrus had done the right thing, staying by his father's side. Filial piety above all, including any attachment to young women. Tyrus was honorable. Always honorable. And she loved him for it, even if she might desperately wish to hear his footfalls—

Boots pounded behind her. Daigo growled and she knew it was not Tyrus. She pulled her blade as she turned. When she saw who it was, her fingers gripped the dagger, and the urge to whip it with all her might was almost too much. Instead she shoved the dagger into her belt and kept running.

“Moria!”

She kept going, veering past a gnarled oak, over a stream, one boot sliding in mud, Daigo pushing against her to keep her upright.

“Keeper!”

She stopped then. Stopped and turned and saw him. A tall,
dark-skinned warrior, his figure as identifiable as his braids and his green sorcerer eyes.

“Wait, Keeper. We must speak.”

“Do not call me that,” she said through her teeth.

“I have always called you that.”

“And so you will no more,” she said. “The one who called me that was a boy I knew in Edgewood. A scowling, surly, exceedingly difficult boy . . . one who traveled with me and argued with me and fought with me. Fought at my side and told me his secrets. That boy is gone. It seems he never existed.”

Gavril sighed and pushed back his braids with an impatient hand. When Daigo growled he said, “I'm no danger to her, Daigo. I never was. I think you know that as well as she does, but you're both too stubborn to admit it.”

“Stubborn?” Moria stepped toward him, her dagger drawn. “You dare call me
stubborn
? As if I'm a child who has made a silly error?”

“Of course not. I—”

“You will tell me you had nothing to do with the massacre? I have heard that already,
Lord
Gavril—”

“Don't call me that.”

“Why not? That is your title now, as one of your father's warlords. Yes, you've told me you knew nothing of his plans in Edgewood. But only after repeatedly insisting that you were indeed responsible. But let's not discuss your role in Edgewood or Fairview or Northpond or the massacres there or my father's death. Let's talk about what you cannot deny. You said you are no threat to me. Yet within your compound, you left me in a dungeon—”

“I—”

“A dungeon. A cold and dark dungeon, without a word about my sister or Daigo or Tyrus, no idea whether they lived. In a dungeon with a guard who pissed on my blankets and spoiled my food and tried to
defile
me.”

“What did you say?” said a voice behind her.

Moria turned as Tyrus walked from the forest, breathing hard, as if he'd run ahead to cut her off. He had indeed defied his father and come for her. She felt only the first spark of mingled dismay and pleasure before she caught sight of his face—the awful expression as he bore down on Gavril, his sword out.

“Moria told me you had taken care of her,” Tyrus said.

“I did not wish you—” Moria began.

He glanced back, his eyes softening. “I know why.” He turned to Gavril again. “She told me you'd treated her well, because when she was captured, duty compelled me to make for the city, to warn my father of Jorojumo's betrayal rather than hunt for her, and the only thing that allowed me to do so was the conviction that you
did
care for her and
would
care for her. That whatever you had done, there was still honor and decency in you. If she'd admitted otherwise? I would have blamed myself. Now I discover not only was she mistreated but . . .” Tyrus seemed to choke on the words, gripping his blade tighter. “Unsheath your sword and defend yourself.”

TWO

G
avril shook his head as Tyrus challenged him. “I'll not.”

“You will!” Tyrus roared, and both Gavril and Moria fell back in surprise. “If you have one shred of honor left, you will defend yourself.”

“Then I have none, because I'll not fight you, Tyrus. I understand you are upset.”


Upset?
” Tyrus's roar rang through the forest again. “You threw her into a dungeon and allowed her to be—”

“I allowed nothing. I can explain.”

“Are you telling me you have an excuse? Does it involve sorcery or magics? Something that made Moria believe you abandoned her in a dungeon when you did not?”

“No, but—”

“Then there is no excuse.”

Gavril paused. “All right. Yes. There's no excuse. I made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Tyrus's voice rose. “A mistake is drinking rice wine before your host. Putting a Keeper into a dungeon, when she has committed no crime, fought in no battle? That is an act of cowardice and cruelty that has no excuse. You are no longer the boy I called my friend. You are a treacherous son of a whore, and either you draw your sword and defend yourself or I will cut your head from your shoulders.”

Gavril straightened. “Then do it.”

Tyrus raised his sword tip to Gavril's throat. “You mock me?”

“Never. I'll not stop you. I'll not fight you either. If this is the penalty I've earned, then I accept it.”

Moria rocked forward, dagger gripped. She ought not to interfere, but if she didn't, what stayed her hand? Was it truly respect for Tyrus? Or because she
wanted
Gavril's death? Wanted someone else to do it? Not Tyrus. Never Tyrus. He might be enraged now, but if she let him do this, he would suffer, more than Gavril.

“Defend yourself, Kitsune,” she said. “Please.”

Gavril's gaze flickered her way. His green eyes revealed nothing, but sweat trickled from his hairline and his braids seemed to quiver.

“Do you care at all?” she asked.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out for a moment. Then he collected himself and said, in his usual dispassionate way, “I was concerned for your well-being but I did what I thought necessary.”

“I'm not asking if you care about me. Do you care about
him
?” She nodded to Tyrus. “Was there ever anything in your friendship? Or were you merely using him, as the emperor's son?”

“Of course not.”

“Then prove it by showing him the respect of a fair fight.”

Gavril's mouth worked, but nothing came. Sweat dripped from his chin now. He turned his gaze back to Tyrus.

“I am sorry. I deeply regret any pain I have caused you—”

“Caused
me
!” Tyrus's boot shot out and he kicked Gavril square in the stomach, knocking the young warrior onto his back. “You betrayed my trust, but you betrayed
her
in every possible way. And it's
me
you wish to apologize to?”

Tyrus brandished his sword. Even standing behind him, Moria realized he could not bring himself to swing it—as enraged as he was, that went too far. Yet having said he would, if he failed to follow through, the loss of face . . .

“Tyrus!”

Moria lunged, as if he'd been about to make the fatal blow. She put her hand against his back, feeling the bunched muscles, smelling the stink of sweat—of rage and grief and fear—as she whispered into his ear.

“Please, don't,” she said, loud enough for Gavril to hear. “You'll suffer more than he will, and I'll not have that. Please.”

When Tyrus hesitated, Daigo leaped onto Gavril.

“Daigo!” Moria said. She gripped her dagger, ready to whip it if Gavril made one move to hurt her wildcat, but before he could move, Daigo had him pinned, his powerful jaws around Gavril's throat. And that's when Moria saw true terror in Gavril's eyes. The honest realization that he might die.

“Call off your wildcat, Keeper,” a voice said.

Moria looked up to see Lysias walking toward them, followed by the emperor.

Lysias said again, “Call him off. Please, my lady.”

“She cannot,” Gavril managed. “He is a Wildcat of the Immortals. Possessed by the spirit of a great warrior. Bond-beast to the Keeper. Not her pet. Not her hunting cat. She cannot command him.”

“I would suggest she try,” Lysias said.

“No,” Emperor Tatsu said as he walked into the clearing. “Gavril is right. This choice is Daigo's. Please sheathe your sword, Lysias.”

“Let me speak to Moria,” Gavril said, looking the wildcat in the eyes. “Allow me to explain, Daigo, and she will understand.”

“And therefore not deserve an apology?” Tyrus said, sword still in hand as he moved alongside Gavril and the wildcat.

“Tyrus . . .” Emperor Tatsu said.

“You think I misspeak?” Tyrus turned on his father. “Did he tell you how he cared for her? He put her in a
dungeon
, father. A squalid dungeon with a sadistic guard who tried to violate her.”

Emperor Tatsu hesitated before looking over, and while his face gave away no more than Gavril's, Moria knew this came as a surprise. He said slowly, “Mistakes were made, but I'm sure Gavril will ensure Moria is not touched.”


Touched?
Forgive me, Father. Let me be more blunt, if that helps. She was almost
raped
while under his care. Now you wish to send her back?”

“Moria can handle herself,” Gavril said. “She fought off her attacker, and this time I will be sure she is secretly armed with her dagger. I would never allow—”

“You
did
allow!” Tyrus bellowed. He spun on Lysias, and before the guard could draw his sword, Tyrus's blade was at his throat.

“Run, Moria,” Tyrus said. “Take Daigo and run.”

She stepped backward, her gaze on Gavril. He shifted, but at a look from Emperor Tatsu, he did not move.

“Where will she go, Tyrus?” the emperor asked. “Lord Okami has some of the best hunters in the empire. They will find her.”

“That depends,” Tyrus said. “You said yourself that I was safe here because the Gray Wolf is no slave to the emperor. Perhaps we'll test that. I'll put the case to him, and while I'm certain he'll send men, I would not be quite so certain he'll tell them to look very hard if I beg otherwise.”

Emperor Tatsu's lips curved.

“You laugh at me?” Tyrus said, prodding Lysias's neck hard enough to draw blood.

“No, my son. I'm pleased with you. While you may claim to have no head for politics—”

“Do not praise me!” Tyrus snarled. “You are trying to send a Keeper—our sacred Keeper, who has been nothing but loyal to the empire—back to a traitor. Do not cheapen my outrage by praising me.”

Emperor Tatsu dipped his chin. “I apologize.”

“Go, Moria,” Tyrus said. “I will come to you when I can, but your priority right now is your sister. Find her.”

Moria wavered there, torn between fear for his safety and fear for Ashyn's. As much as she cared for Tyrus, Ashyn was her sister.

“Go,” Tyrus said, his voice low. “I expect no less of you.”

She'd just started to run when something flew through the air. It struck Daigo and he let out a yelp. Moria saw a dart in his shoulder. She plucked it out, but he toppled, unconscious. She dropped beside him, her fingers going to his neck.

“It is but a sedative,” Emperor Tatsu called.

Moria glared into the dark woods, looking for the attacker. “You said it was only us out here. You lied.”

“I took precautions. Your wildcat is fine. Now come back, Moria.”

She peered into the forest, and it felt as if a dozen eyes watched her.

Tyrus turned to his father. “Have I ever asked you for anything before?”

“Tyrus . . .”

“I have asked you for one favor. Only one. Do you remember what it was?”

Silence. Then the emperor said, quietly, “You asked me to allow Gavril to visit his father in prison before his exile.”

Gavril's studied blank expression cracked. He looked at Tyrus, and even from where she stood, Moria could see the shock there. Shock and then pain.

“Yes,” Tyrus said. “Almost eighteen summers of my life, and I have asked only for one thing. Now I ask for another. Let Moria go. Whatever you need to do, find another way.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Yes, it—”

Lysias grabbed for Tyrus's sword arm, apparently thinking him distracted. Tyrus's sword swung and it caught the captain of the guard in the arm, blade cutting through to bone. Lysias did not stagger back. Did not fall, howling, to the ground. He
pulled his blade with his other hand and faced off with Tyrus. Blood gushed from his wounded arm. Lifeblood. Moria knew that, and she started forward instinctively, then stopped herself as Lysias's blade swung up. Tyrus countered, steel clanging.

“Tell him to give way, Father,” Tyrus said.

Another swing. Another clang.

“Father! Tell him now. He's badly injured, and he cannot fight me with his off-hand. I do not wish to hurt him.”

The emperor did nothing. He would do nothing, Moria knew, and not out of a callous disregard for his captain, but because he did not need to intercede. Tyrus knew Lysias. Knew him and respected him and cared about him, and it didn't matter if he could end this standoff with a single blow—he would never deliver that blow.

Moria caught a glimmer of motion and saw two men step from the forest. They quietly advanced on Tyrus.

“I'll go with Gavril,” she said.

“What? No!”

Tyrus started to spin toward her. Lysias lunged, but Tyrus countered with a clash of swords that sent Lysias stumbling back. One of the men from the forest pulled his blade and stepped up behind Tyrus. Moria did not warn him, but she readied her hand on her blade for the slightest sign that the man would do more than capture him.

At the last second, Tyrus saw the second man. He spun and Lysias tried again, but as Tyrus wheeled toward the other man, he kicked Lysias, and the weakened captain toppled. Tyrus's blade swung at the second man. It hit him in the shoulder, embedding itself in the lacquered armor, but slicing through
flesh, too, the man letting out a gasp. The other warrior from the forest rushed Tyrus as Lysias staggered to his feet, his sword still in hand. Tyrus spun so fast that Moria saw only blades flash and blood arc and she charged, shouting “No!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gavril dart forward. She wheeled on him, but he hadn't drawn his sword. He only moved into her path, stopping her before she leaped into the fray, and by the time he did, it was over.

Tyrus had two swords at his throat. One man lay on the ground, blood soaking his breastplate. Tyrus breathed hard, more rage than exertion, like a trapped beast, face hard, nostrils flaring, watching his captors for any twitch that would allow him to escape, knowing he'd find none.

Moria started past Gavril. He put his hand on her shoulder. She shook him off.

“Let me speak to him,” she said. “I can—”

“Stay where you are, Moria,” the emperor said.

She bent and laid down her dagger. “There. Now let me—”

Two more men stepped from the forest. Both had blades raised.

“I'm not going to try anything,” Moria said. She put out her hands and turned to Gavril. “Here. Bind me.”

“That isn't necess—” he started again, but before he could finish, one of the men had grabbed her and was taking a rope from his belt.

“No,” Tyrus said. “Don't. Father—”

“I'm fine,” Moria cut in. She smiled for him. “I can handle this. You know I can.”

There was an eerie calmness to her voice, as if her sister
was there, infusing her with her quiet reason. A moon ago, Moria would have been snarling like Daigo and fighting like Tyrus, taken down only at the end of a blade. But she'd watched Tyrus—always so calm, so even-tempered—explode, and it was as if he vented her rage for her.

She let the warrior bind her, and she kept her gaze—and her smile—on Tyrus. Behind her, the emperor called for other men, presumably from the forest, telling them to transport the wounded men quickly to Warlord Okami's compound.

“Tend to Lysias's arm first,” Moria said, in that same calm way. “He's lost a great deal of blood, so bind the arm before you go.”

“Yes, my lady,” one of the men said.

Emperor Tatsu ordered others to take Daigo back to the compound, and that's when Moria turned from Tyrus. “What? No. He must come with me.”

Tyrus flexed, but one warrior had taken Lysias's place and another had stepped up behind him, so that now three blades at his neck held him as tightly as any bonds.

“Daigo must go with her,” Tyrus said. “Gavril can tell his father he found them together.”

“And the moment Moria misbehaves, Alvar will kill him as punishment.”

“He's right,” Gavril said. “As much as I would like Daigo at her side, the risk is too great.”

“Then take me,” Tyrus said. “Gavril found the two of us and took me prisoner, too.”

“Then you would suffer the same fate as her wildcat,” his father said. “If Alvar knows she is attached to you, he will
kill you to punish her. If he does not, then he will kill you to punish me.”

“Why? I'm only a bastard prince.”

“Exactly. Killing you is not an act worthy of retaliation. In fact, given that the empire believes you betrayed it, Alvar would be lauded for executing you, and I would be unable to retaliate.” The emperor walked to Tyrus, who was still locked between the sword blades. He lowered his voice. “Alvar knows me well. He knows how to hurt me the most.”

Tyrus looked away. “All right. Then I will follow them. I will camp nearby and be there for Moria.”

“No, Tyrus.”

“Yes, I—”


No
, Tyrus. Another word, and I'll take you back to the imperial city and put you in my own dungeon. If that's what it takes to stop you.”

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