Forest of Ruin (24 page)

“I
did not leave you.” Those were Ronan's first words when they were away from the others.

“What?”

“I mean that I did not leave you by choice.” He glanced at her. “And I can see that comes as a shock. I had hoped . . .” He looked forward, tugging the reins to turn the horse a little to the north. “I had hoped you would know better. But given how many times I have left or said I wanted to leave or that I should leave . . . I do not blame you for not believing me when I said I'd never leave you, Ashyn. You considered my history, and you decided I'd changed my mind.”

“Um, no. I read the letter. In your hand. Saying things that only we could know. Are you telling me you did not write it?”

“Under duress. They threatened Tova—”

“Tova?” She looked down at the hound, who glanced up.

“At that point, I thought Edwyn was truly your grandfather,
so I'd not have believed a threat against you. But they said that if I did not write the letter convincingly, they'd kill your hound. Moreover, I feared that if you did not believe I'd left willingly, you might stir up trouble, and that would be more dangerous for you.”

“So you wanted me to believe you'd gone. You wrote a letter designed to convince me of it, saying things no one else could know. And now you're disappointed that I believed it?”

“I would not say I am disappointed . . .”

“You are mortally disappointed.”

He turned to her then, saying hotly, “I am not—”

“Yes, you are.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, much as she had Tyrus's, a sisterly kiss that could not be mistaken for anything else. “You wanted me to logically accept you'd gone, but deep down, to wonder and to pine and to hope—”

“I did not expect you to pine.”

She grinned at him. “Yes, you did. You may say you're only a thief, but you wish to be the hero. My hero. Saving the poor and helpless girl, who will ache for you every moment you are gone.”

“Now you mock me.”

Her grin grew. “I've been mocking you for a while. Did you only just notice?” She rode closer and reached to squeeze his hand. “I'm teasing you because you are being very foolish, disappointed because I believed a letter that you wrote in a way that ensured I
would
believe it. But if you want the truth, Ronan, if not for that letter, I'd have suspected a trick. Even with the letter, I did not wish to believe you'd gone. However, given that you'd also just told me a story about being distracted by a girl and blamed that for your brother's death . . .”

He nodded. “All right. I concede your point.”

They rode in silence until she said, “I did miss you. Terribly. You can ask Tova.”

He smiled over. “Thank you. I'm sure I
would
have missed you, too, if I hadn't been going mad with worry, knowing you were about to be sacrificed to raise dragons.”

“I thought you believed I was safe?”

“I did when they made me write that letter. Then I was supposed to return to the city. I had no plans of doing that, of course.” He glanced at her. “I said I'd never leave you, Ash, and I meant it. I planned to walk far enough so they'd think I'd left and then circle back to watch over you.”

“Which didn't happen, because they didn't trust you to simply walk away.”

He made a face. “Of course,
you
see that. I didn't. Once I was far enough that I couldn't shout and alert you, they jumped me. That's when I learned the truth—I overheard my captors speaking about the ritual. I realized they needed your blood, enough of it that you would not survive. I also discovered that Edwyn wasn't your grandfather. Apparently, he knew your family in the North, but only because he tracked them down, knowing you and Moria could wake his dragons. He knew enough about them to fake it. You'd had no contact with your mother's family, so he could make up stories about them.”

“Which I believed.”

“Because you were desperate for family, as he would also understand. But this means that you do have family in the North, which I hope comforts you.”

She nodded. “It does.”

“And I have bigger news, unless Moria told you. Which I doubt, because you had little time together and perhaps I should allow her to—”

“What is it?”

When he hesitated, she bumped her leg against his. “You cannot set that up and then leave me dangling, Ronan. What is it?”

“When they took me, we stopped briefly for supplies in a camp of Alvar Kitsune's, a half-day's ride from here. It is where he keeps the children of Edgewood and Fairview and Northpond.”

They found Gavril and Moria at the abandoned farmhouse. Moria was eager to start the journey back to the children, but Ashyn pointed out that they had no idea where to find Tyrus and therefore had to wait for him to come to them.

“Moria cannot travel anyway,” Gavril said as Moria returned to her sleeping spot. “She lost more blood. Her wound opened, and she was too stubborn to tell me.”

After they got a fire going, Gavril glanced over and said, “Are you asleep yet, Keeper?”

She didn't answer, but although her eyes were shut, they knew she was not.

“I'm going to tell your sister my story,” he said. “If you wish not to hear it . . .”

“I said I would,” Moria replied. “Go on.”

Gavril looked over at Ashyn. “Do
you
wish to hear it? I am not trying to excuse my actions. I was not held captive nor tricked nor manipulated by magics. I made choices. Poor ones.”

“I'd like to hear it.”

“You have probably deduced that I did not end up in Edgewood by accident. That was part of my father's plan. Though he was not in the forest—nor had he been since his exile—he wished to make a symbolic first strike from there. I was to be nearby when he did. I'd requested the post. Initially, Emperor Tatsu refused. He thought I was punishing myself, but eventually I convinced him that this was my way of facing my father's crime. He relented, albeit grudgingly.”

He pulled his legs in, one arm going around them. “As for what happened in Edgewood, I was told my father would take the village captive. The massacre . . . The shadow stalkers . . . I knew nothing of them, and I say that not as an excuse but as an admittance that I was foolish and naive and trusted my father, despite a childhood that should have taught me otherwise. Even after what happened, I was convinced that the magics had gone wrong or my father had been betrayed and these horrors done in his name. That is what I expected to hear when I joined him.”

“And you did not.”

“He made no attempt to deny what he had done, and if I was appalled, then he was disappointed in my lack of spine. It was then that I realized what he truly is.”

“Yet you stayed.”

“Because that seemed the best way to thwart him. Stay and be the son he wanted, which would allow me to be a full party to his plans, and take them to the emperor.” He looked back toward Moria, who was sitting up now, watching him. “And there is my greatest and most shameful confession, Keeper. I
wanted to march to court and throw myself at the emperor's feet and not only win his pardon but his thanks. I would be both martyr and hero. Betray my own father and save my empire. You may laugh now.”

Moria's voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I never would, Kitsune.”

He nodded, his gaze down, and Ashyn looked away, feeling as if she'd intruded on something private between them. She looked at Ronan. He was listening but remaining silent.

After a moment, Gavril continued. “Needless to say, it has not exactly worked out as I planned.”

“Because I got captured by Lord Jorojumo,” Moria said.

“Which I proceeded to make a mess of, as I did the rest of it.”

“You did not—”

“I did, Keeper. Perhaps there was no good way to handle it, but there must have been a better one. I failed to find it.” He raised a hand against her protest. “I'll stop there. Wallowing in self-pity is neither productive nor flattering. I am . . . out of sorts.”

“With reason,” Moria said, her voice softening again.

“Thus ends my story. The only thing I hope you will take from it, Ashyn, is that I know what my father is, and I will no longer feel any filial duty toward him. If that damns my spirit, then so be it. I turn my back on him, completely and unequivocally, and I hope that you will believe me when I say that I can be trusted not to betray my empire. If you are concerned about my resolve . . .” He looked toward Moria again. “Speak to your sister. She can detail what he has done and you will realize any
duty I still felt toward him is gone now.”

“I understand.”

He looked over, as if sensing that Ashyn meant more than simply that she understood his words.

“I'm sorry for what you've gone through,” she said. “For what your father put you through. For what you've suffered.”

His face hardened then, and she knew she'd said the wrong thing. But he kept his voice low and steady as he said, “I appreciate the sentiment, Ashyn, and I know you mean well, but I have inflicted more on others than I've suffered.”

“I don't believe that.”

She said the words gently, but at a noise from Moria, she saw her sister shake her head. Others might take comfort in her words. For Gavril, if anything, they made him uncomfortable. He wanted to accept the blame, and she should let him.

A
little later, as they sat around a fire inside the farmhouse, Ashyn recalled another moment, seemingly a lifetime ago. The four of them, traveling from Fairview to the imperial city. Ashyn twisted the silver and garnet ring on her finger and remembered the night Moria had given it to her, along with their father's note, and they'd cried and grieved together.

Before that, though, the four of them had sat around a fire not unlike this, Ronan and Moria deep in conversation about . . . What had it been? Oh, yes, quills. Moria and Gavril had killed some twisted beast in the Forest of the Dead and she'd been showing Ashyn the quills, and Moria and Ronan had gotten into a deep discussion of how they could be used for nefarious means.

Ashyn had been content to sit and listen to them. Gavril had, too, offering a comment here and there, but mostly just
listening and looking happier and more at peace than Ashyn had ever seen him. There had been something perfect about that night. Their journey had been terrible—the massacre, their father's death, the trip across the Wastes, and then, sent with a missive to the emperor, a missive that would decide the fate of Edgewood's children. There should have been no place for laughter and conversation and, yes, peace on such a journey. But around that fire, they'd found all of it. A camaraderie and a comfort Ashyn had never felt with anyone outside her family. And now, remarkably, they had it again. One magical night when it felt as if everything that had come since the last one did not exist, or if it did, it did not matter.

Moria and Ronan were talking about dragons this time. The uses for a young dragon and whether Zuri could be trained for them. As one might expect, Moria imagined martial applications while Ronan envisioned her as a spy. Gavril pointed out that Zuri was a very small dragon and would take many summers to be more than a pet—if indeed, she even decided to stay with Tyrus. They told him to save his logic—they had no use for it, and he'd laughed then, and he'd joined the debate, and Ashyn had rested, seeing them happy and feeling that wash over her.

It should be like this always
, she thought as she watched them.

Of course, it could not be, and even to think that felt uncomfortable. A war simmered beyond those walls, and while they could not see it, nor could they escape it—it was their war, as much as anyone else's. Perhaps even more theirs, because they were the ones on the front line, facing Alvar, who seemed
more interested in engaging
them
than facing Emperor Tatsu's armies.

And it was not simply the four of them anymore. They had allies, the most important being Tyrus, who was as much a part of this now, and as much a friend to Ashyn and Moria as Ronan or Gavril were. A new configuration. Different yet even stronger than before.

Conversation twisted and turned, and sometimes Ashyn took part, but mostly she was content to listen, and eventually she caught Gavril giving her pointed looks, and she realized he was saying it was time for the evening to end. Tyrus would arrive soon and they needed to leave at dawn. Moria had to get some sleep, and Ashyn was the only one who could make her get it. So, with no small reluctance, Ashyn brought the night to a close.

After Ashyn convinced Moria to go to sleep, she headed off to perform her nightly ablutions. Ronan went with her, possibly because when Ashyn wandered off in the night, trouble seemed to follow.

The stream was a good distance from the house. When Ashyn had finished, Ronan said, “If you're not tired, I'd like to walk a little.”

“Certainly. Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, but she could tell it was—after chattering nonstop at the fire, he'd barely said a word since they set out. It was a silent walk for at least fifty paces, before he pulled something from his pocket. When he held it out, her breath caught.

It was the dove bracelet.

“I took this.” He wrapped his hand around it, as if hiding it from view. “I know you might not wish it back. In fact, I'm quite certain you don't. I took it as a reminder of . . .” He shrugged, still looking away. “Of that night. In the dragon's den. But for you, I suppose it would be a reminder of the rest. Of Edwyn and . . .” He looked at her then. “How are you doing? You never complain, but I know you must be upset.”

“I've been too busy to be upset,” she said with a wan smile. “If anything, I feel foolish, but I won't whine about that.”

“You never whine, Ash. You can talk to me about anything, at any time. But I understand if you don't want this back.”

“Can we trade?” she asked.

He looked over, frowning.

“A trade,” she said. “I have something for you, in return for that. But if I take it, then you must take what I offer. Unconditionally.”

“I will take whatever you offer, Ash. Unconditionally.”

She reached into her deepest pocket and took out her fist, bulging. Then she opened it. Jewels and coins tumbled from her overflowing hand. Ronan saw that, threw back his head, and laughed.

“You took—”

“
Stole
is the proper term,” she said. “Yes, I stole it, and I do not feel a flicker of guilt. Edwyn and his people owe us, and therefore, by extension, their dragon does. Do not argue with the poor logic of that.”

He grinned. “I see perfect logic in that. I simply cannot believe that you took it.” He bent to pick up the pieces that had
fallen. Then he stopped and looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “You did not take them for yourself.”

Before she could answer, he went on, “No, that is a foolish question. You have no need of gold and jewels. You are the Seeker—the empire will provide whatever you require. And you would never fill your pockets with pretty baubles. You took them for me.”

She took a deep breath. “It is not charity, Ronan. I know perhaps it feels like that, and I hadn't considered it that way. I simply wanted you to have—”

He cut her off with a kiss, making her jump, and when she pulled back, he was smiling. “I know you did not intend charity, Ash, no more than I intended this”—he lifted the dove cuff—“as a reminder of troubles. Our intentions were both good. I was simply surprised. And . . .” He seemed to struggle for more, and then settled for kissing her cheek. “Thank you. If you will take the bracelet, I will take these.”

They exchanged their thievings. She put on the cuff, and when she looked up, he was right there, his face over hers.

“There is more I wished to say,” he said. “When I was taken captive, I realized how much you meant—no, that's not right.” He met her gaze. “I've long known how much you meant to me, Ash, and I tried to tell myself it was simply friendship, but it has not been friendship for a very long time, and when I was captured, I made a vow that if I ever saw you again, I would not waste another moment—”

“No.”

The word was soft, but he flinched nonetheless. “You are saying . . . ?”

“I am saying no. I can see where this is heading, and I will not allow it to head there.”

When he pulled back, the look on his face was almost enough to melt her resolve. “All right,” he said slowly. “I cannot pretend I don't understand. I hurt you and abused your affections and I do not blame you for refusing me now, but the reason I retreated—”

“I know why.”

“Then you know it was certainly not a change of heart. Can we then—”

“No.”

His gaze dropped, and he nodded slowly. “All right. That is your choice—”

“It is.”

“Because of what I did.”

“No, because of what you
think
you did.”

He looked up.

“You think that you got your brother killed because you were smitten with a girl. Because you were paying attention to her and not him. In truth, your brother died because a cart lost control and because he was simpleminded and because your father did not know better than to entrust his care to another child. You
were
a child, Ronan. Leaving Eder outside while you visited a girl is something any boy of thirteen summers could have done, and what happened was a tragic accident. But you were not driving the horse.”

“I was responsible for Eder.”

“Yes, you were. And now you are responsible for Jorn and Aidra, and if anything should happen to them while you are
on the road with a lover, you would truly never forgive yourself. So you are not on the road with a lover. You are on the road protecting a Seeker and an imperial prince while fighting for your empire.”

He went quiet, processing her words. “And when I am home again? Do I dare to hope that anything will change then, Ash?”

“You can hope.” She smiled and lifted up to kiss his cheek. “I'd not want to make it too easy.”

When she moved back, he caught her face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss, and it was nothing like the kiss at the gate, the one that haunted her dreams. That had been a sweet and pleasant surprise. This was . . . Well, not to be too blunt about it, but this kiss was not sweet. It was fire and passion, starting as a spark, hungry but contained. Yet the moment she reciprocated, it turned into a blaze that consumed all thoughts except “Oh,
this
is a kiss” and “I want more of this.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and when they finally parted, they were both short of breath, and Ashyn had to disentangle herself quickly before she completely forgot her intentions.

“I do not believe that is what I had in mind when I said we would wait,” she said.

He grinned. “So now it is not merely hope? We are only waiting?”

She flushed. “I didn't mean—”

“Too late.” He caught her hand. “We are waiting. Which means one kiss like that per day. So that we do not forget what we are waiting for.”

“I don't think—”

“I do. One kiss. Each night. No more and no less, until we are home in the city.”

She smiled. “And then less?”

“It depends on how I like the rest of the kisses.” He winked at her. “I wouldn't want to make it too easy. Now come on. You've had your kiss, and Tova is telling us we need to get back to the farmhouse.”