Forest of Ruin

by Kelley Armstrong

  "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.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Ashyn honored that pledge to keep her thoughts of Ronan pure and untainted by any romantic longing . . . by sharing a sleeping pallet with him. Moria would laugh at that, but for Ashyn it was, in her way, a statement, as much to him as to herself. That they could share a bed, like friends, and she would not lie awake hoping he would slide her way, that his hands would wrap around her, that his lips would find hers . . .

  No. There would be none of that. And there wasn't.

  They'd staggered back from the dragon's den, drunk and flushed, only to discover that the bitter wind on the steppes made Ronan's pallet outside her tent completely unsuitable. He'd come inside to see if there was a way of rearranging her pallet to make room for his, but the tent was not big enough, and in their intoxicated exhaustion, they'd just collapsed onto hers, Tova curled up at their feet.

  Ashyn did wake once, hearing a noise, and Ronan was no longer on his side of the sleeping pallet, but curled up against her back, his hand on her hip, his face in her hair, his breath warm on the back of her neck. She accepted that. She even allowed herself to enjoy it. But she did not press against him, hoping to wake him and, well . . . just hoping. Instead, she lay there, fingering her bracelet and thinking about their night, about all of it, everything he'd done and said.

  Would things change once they got back to the city? Once he'd returned to his family and fulfilled that obligation?

  She'd like to say yes. That the way he'd looked at her and spoken of her meant that this was simply temporary. But after their first kiss, he had reunited with his family . . . and then told her he'd made a mistake.

  Was she, to him, like the shopkeeper's daughter? A pointless fancy for a casteless boy? She'd told him none of that mattered, but it did, to him. If he got caste from the emperor, would that change?

  If he returned home. If his brother and sister were safe. If he got caste. An endless string of ifs, like mountains to be climbed, and there was no way of seeing how many more waited, whether there was indeed an end.

  Was that what her dreams of Ronan amounted to? Endless obstacles? And perhaps, if they did end, the biggest one of all: the realization that, as much as he enjoyed her company, he had other plans, other dreams, of a lover he could marry, children of his own.

  Ashyn could not wed, and could only have a child with the dispensation of the emperor himself. She might dream of a lifelong love, an informal partnership, but a man could want more. Even if she was happy to say, "Don't worry where this will lead--let's be happy together for as long as we can be," it might not be enough for him.

  Was it worth risking her heart? Risking her dignity? Risking the pain of rejection?

  Ronan shifted in his sleep, his hand gripping her hip, his face burrowing deeper into her hair, his sleepy voice whispering softly.

  "Ash, my Ash . . ."

  Ashyn smiled and let her hand rest on his with a soft squeeze. Yes, it was worth it. This was about her. Her choice. Her heart to let break. And if it did, she would still have the memory of a boy in a dragon's den, one perfect night when anything had seemed possible and nothing else had mattered but them.

  It was enough. Her heart. Her choice. Her Ronan.

  When Ashyn woke, she was alone on her sleeping pallet. Well, Tova was there, but Tova was always there. Ronan was gone, which did not come as any surprise. He'd have slipped out with the dawn, before anyone realized where he'd spent the night. She stretched and immediately regretted it. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with sawdust. Her head pounded. Moving hurt. It just hurt.

  She reached for her waterskin, opened it, and drank slowly but deeply. Alcohol dehydrated, as she knew from her healing studies. Preferably the water should be taken much sooner, but the problem with drinking to the point where she required water? She was past the point of being able to remember that she needed water.

  "Mmmph," she said, lifting her head. "I hope today's preparations don't require movement. Or clear thought."

  When Tova didn't make any answering noise, she lifted her head--gently--to see him still sprawled at her feet. His chest rose and fell in deep sleep.

  "You didn't get into the wine, did you?" she said, laughing under her breath.

  She shifted down her pallet to pat his neck. When he still didn't move, alarm darted through her and she sat up quickly--too quickly--nearly vomiting as her stomach rocked. Tova opened one eye and snarled a yawn.

  "You're fine," she said. "Just as tired as I am. Do you think we ought to get up?"

  He snor
ted and closed his eye.

  "Good idea," she said, and stretched out with her head on his flank. "We'll sleep until we're woken."

  She didn't even get her blanket pulled up before someone scratched at the door. It wasn't Ronan. He would walk in saying, "You dressed?" without actually giving her time to fix the situation if she wasn't.

  "Who is it?" she called.

  "Edwyn."

  She groaned under her breath and murmured to Tova, "That didn't take nearly long enough." Then she called, "I'll be out shortly."

  "May I come in? I must speak to you."

  She looked down at herself. She still wore her clothing from yesterday.

  "Yes," she said.

  She sat up and tried to run her fingers through her hair, but as the sunlight hit her, she winced and shielded her face. Edwyn gave a soft laugh and closed the tent flap behind him.

  "More wine than you are accustomed to, child?"

  She flushed.

  "You seemed to be having a good night," he said, "and I was very glad to see it. You deserved that after everything you've been through." He glanced down at his hand and Ashyn saw a scroll in it. "I . . . I have news that will make your day less pleasant, I fear."

  She rose. "What is it?"

  "Ronan has left, child. He placed this scroll outside, and I will admit that I read it before I realized it was for you."

  "No, that's not--there's a mistake. He wouldn't . . ."

  Wouldn't leave because he'd promised not to. Last night. When he'd been drunk. Then morning came and . . .

  No, he still wouldn't sneak off.

  Wouldn't he? She remembered when he'd left her behind in Edgewood. She'd found a small group of survivors, and he'd said he'd wait outside. When she'd come out, there'd been a note--and he'd been gone.

  She unfastened the scroll. Inside was writing in a familiar hand. Ronan's.

  I couldn't stay, Ashyn. I know I said I would, but I must get home to Aidra and Jorn. You know why. I explained it last night. I tried to justify . . . but in the end, I couldn't. Your grandfather will take care of you, and you'll awaken dragons, Ashyn. I wish I could be there to see it. But my brother and sister need me. You do not. I will see you in the city.

  She reread the note, looking for some sign that it was a trick, that someone had taken Ronan in the night and left this note. But it was his hand, and it said things no one else could know.

  Ronan had said he'd stay, and he'd changed his mind. Was she truly surprised?

  Ashyn rolled the scroll and tucked it into her pocket.

  "I know I was not always kind to him," Edwyn said. "And I hope that played no role in his departure. If it did, then I sincerely apologize, child. I was harsh toward him yesterday, because I knew he was no warrior, and I feared you did not realize it, and he was misleading you."

  "He was not."

  "Either way, I feared he was using you for his own purposes. That he was feigning devotion to you. That is, I admit, why I showed him the treasure in the dragon's den. I almost hoped he would fill his pockets in the night and leave. He did leave, but my guard has told me no one went in there since the two of you during the festival."

  "We were just--"

  "--taking a closer look. Marveling at it all. And, perhaps, finding a private spot."

  Ashyn shook her head. "It wasn't like that. We are only friends."

  "You are still friends," he said gently. "That letter was not a good-bye, Ashyn. It was a temporary leave-taking for the sake of his family. One cannot argue with that."

  "Family above all," she said.

  "Yes." He reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "Which is why I apologize if I hurt you by being unkind to him. I truly was only trying to protect you."

  "He didn't steal anything last night. He just . . ." She looked down to see the bracelet. "I'll put this back, of course. He was playing around and found it for me. As a joke."

  "No, child. As a gift." His lips twitched. "Even if it was not his to give. Keep it, as a reminder that he is waiting for you in the city, once this is done. Now, while you probably do not feel much like eating, I'll have the cook make something bland. We have a full day of preparations ahead of us. Because tonight . . ." He looked at her, his eyes sparkling.

  She managed a smile for him. "Tonight I wake dragons."

  TWENTY-SIX

  Moria lay in the long grass, watching two men at a night's campfire. They were dressed in drab clothing, blending with the endless brown of the steppes, but her eye caught almost-hidden ornamentation. Shimmering, jeweled rings. A bright-colored tunic under a cloak. Tasseled boots. Braids woven with golden thread. Not merchants themselves--their clothing was of inferior fabric and construction. These were the kind of men merchants loved, because they had money and no taste.

  Both men bore swords, though--the dual swords of warriors.

  "Mercenaries?" she whispered to Gavril, who was stretched out beside her.

  "Imperial bounty hunters."

  "What do they do?"

  "Hunt bounties for the empire."

  When she gave him a look, his lips twitched. Not mocking her outright. Nor calling her a fool. Gentle teasing instead. They'd been searching all day and into the night for the camp where Alvar might be keeping his shadow stalkers. While they'd passed settlements and hidden from two wagon trains, these were the first warriors they'd spotted.

  Gavril's mood was not unlike what she remembered after a few days in the Wastes, when he'd begun to relax, to tease, and to talk. There were still snaps and snarls and glowers, yet that was Gavril, like the weather of the Wastes themselves--never what one would call easy, but the sunny patches almost made the storms worthwhile.

  Gavril did occasionally sink into his grief, but it was quickly shaken off, which did not make it any less genuine. Sometimes, that was the only way to handle grief. One started falling into the pit, and then had to slingshot out of it and carry on. So it had been with Moria after her father's death, and so it was now with Gavril and his mother's.

  "An imperial bounty is a price set on the head of a criminal," he continued. "These hunters try to collect it. Most are little different from mercenaries. If you see those forelocks, though? It marks them as an elite corps, permanently employed by the emperor."

  "One would think an elite corps would dress better."

  A soft chuckle. "True, but bounty hunters are a culture unto themselves, with their own rules and codes and, yes, manner of dress. They're hunters, so they need to blend in. Yet they're arrogant. The jewels and such advertise their success."

  "Do you think they hunt for us? Toman sounded as if he expected a bounty, but it was not clear one existed. Would the emperor do that? Lay a bounty on our heads when we were declared traitors?"

  "He'd likely have had no choice. Despite Toman's threats, though, I believe that Emperor Tatsu would have made it clear he wanted us alive--saying that we needed to answer for our crimes."

  She nodded. "Thereby ensuring our safety as best he could."

  Moria eyed the two. The one without rings looked only a few summers older than her. The other seemed a couple of decades older. A bounty hunter and his apprentice, she supposed.

  She told Gavril her plan. He thought it mad. Naturally.

  "Would you rather hunt for your father's camp while we are being hunted?" she asked.

  He grumbled.

  "All right," she said. "I'll take the older one, if he's too much--"

  Gavril was off before she could finish.

  Gavril crawled through the grass until he was about fifty paces from the campfire. Then, when neither man was looking directly his way, he rose and began walking toward them.

  "Draw your blades and I'll draw mine." Gavril's voice echoed over the plain. "If you are imperial men of honor, you will rise and meet me as such, with your hands folded at your waist."

  Neither moved. Gavril stopped. He wore his sleeveless tunic, his cloak left with Moria, and his clan tattoos were on full display. Yet they were not as easi
ly seen as others--black ink against dark skin, spots of green the only color.

  Gavril raised his forearms and said, "I'd hope you would recognize the man you are hunting, even in the night, but shine your torches if that helps."

  The two looked at each other, confused. Was it truly so difficult to identify Gavril? It was not as if the empire was filled with tall, green-eyed, dark-skinned, inked young warriors.

  But they still apparently needed to shine their torches, and when they did, the young bounty hunter let out an oath.

  "Gavril Kitsune?"

  "You sound surprised."

  "We--"

  The older man shushed his apprentice with a look.

  "Were you hoping to find my father out here?" Gavril said.

  "Our target is our concern," the older man said. "But since you have foolishly presented yourself, we'll gladly accept you as an alternate. The bounty on you is as high as the one we sought." The man smiled, teeth flashing in the firelight. "And the public acclaim will be significantly higher."

  They weren't hunting Alvar or Gavril then. Was it Moria herself? It didn't matter. They still needed to be dealt with.

  "I wish to surrender," Gavril said.

  The older man chuckled. "I don't blame you."

  "I do not appreciate being mocked," Gavril said. "Whatever my father has done, it does not change the fact that I am a Kitsune and a warrior, and I expect to be treated as such. You will escort me back to the imperial city, where I will explain everything to the emperor. I will not be taken in chains or bound in any way. I am still--"

  "Yes, yes, come along, boy. We'll treat you properly. Eat with us and then we'll head out. It's a four-day hard ride to the imperial city. I don't suppose you're hiding a horse out there."

  "I am not, but I'm certain you'll lend me one until we can acquire another."

  "Of course, my lord."

  The moment Gavril got within striking distance, the older man drew. The younger hesitated, perhaps honestly thinking his master intended to accept Gavril's demands. By the time the older man had his sword out, Gavril's was slashing. The younger man drew his--but a dagger in his shoulder sent him staggering, his blade falling into the fire, sparks exploding.