Forest of Ruin (7 page)

A
shyn blamed the dream on the talk of young men and women and the yearnings of the body. While her sister was much more aware—and interested—in those yearnings, Ashyn was not unfamiliar with them. Nor, if she admitted it, did she find them unwelcome. Yet it was certainly uncomfortable and confusing when she'd find her gaze lingering on a young man she would never consider romantically interesting, because unlike Moria, Ashyn could not fully untangle the two. She wanted someone she could kiss and, yes, more, when the time was right, but she also wanted someone she could talk to, laugh with, and love, and the thought of one without the other confounded her.

That night, she dreamed of being curled up on a sleeping pallet, another body beside hers, lean-muscled and hard, her fingers running over his nakedness, exploring as she kissed him and as he whispered in her ear, telling her how much she
meant to him, how much he cared for her, how he'd always cared for her, and she was whispering back, telling him not to talk so much, not now, that she wanted him to kiss her and to touch her and—

She woke then, at some noise or disturbance, hearing herself make a sound not unlike Tova's growl as she pulled the blankets back up and tried to snuggle back into the dream, that delicious dream. It was the first time she'd ever experienced such a thing, though she remembered Moria talking about similar dreams, and she remembered how she herself had felt stabs of confusion and relief and envy, all rolling together—confusion because she didn't quite understand, relief because she suspected she would not enjoy such dreams as much as her sister, and envy because, well, because she might not enjoy them as much as her sister. But now, having had her first, all she wanted to do was return to that dream, and it made her ache and sigh and struggle to reclaim it, to find him again. For there was no question who
he
was—it was not some mysterious figure haunting her dreams. Her heart and her desire never changed, no matter how often she might fervently wish they would.

Ronan.

Always Ronan, much to her dismay when she woke and recalled the dream. But for now, lost in that warm fog of half sleep, she had no problem admitting to herself who it was, and envisioning him there, in her blankets, enjoying the dream, feeling the heat and the—

“My lady?”

Now Ashyn did bolt upright, as Tova growled and rose
from her side. A figure appeared in the entrance to the small cave where Edwyn had put her for the night. It was a young man, and all she could see was his outline. A little under average height, but well-formed, with tousled curls, and her first thought was
Ronan
. She blamed the dream, because Ronan would never call her “my lady.” She was Ash, unless he was annoyed, and then she was Ashyn.

The young man standing in the entrance was Ronan's stature, but Northern in his coloring, with light hair, blue eyes, and skin as pale as her own. She knew him, too. Tarquin, the guard Edwyn had assigned to watch over her cave as she slept.

“Hmm?” she said.

“You called out, my lady.”

Her cheeks flamed red-hot, and she was glad for the darkness. “Did I?” she managed to say in as calm a voice as possible. “I must have been dreaming. It has been a very difficult fortnight. My dreams are often unsettled.”

“Yes, it did sound unsettled.” He lit his torch and ducked to step into the low cave. “I could summon the healer with a sleeping draught.”

“No, I am quite fine. But thank you for asking.”

He lifted the torch, and she realized she was still sitting up and her bedclothes were . . . less than adequate, having been borrowed from a woman significantly larger than Ashyn. She tugged the blanket up, but not before Tarquin had gotten a good look, and he stopped short, staring even after she covered herself, and continued to stare, as if he'd never seen a girl on a sleeping pallet. She dropped her gaze, trying to be demure, only to discover that she'd dropped it to his breeches, where she
could see the proof of his thoughts.

She tore her gaze away as her cheeks flamed.

“I—I'm sorry, my lady,” he stammered. “I did not mean to intrude. I only wished to be sure you were well and did not need my assist—”

He stopped there, and when she looked over, his face was as red as hers must surely be.

“I do not,” she said evenly. “But again, I thank you for offering.”

“Then I'll leave you to your sleep. If you need me—I mean, if you require assist—that is, a sleeping draught . . .”

She tried not to smile as she lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you.”

She did smile then, offered it to him along with the thanks, and when she did, he stared again and said, “You are beautiful, my lady.” Then his eyes widened, as if in horror, and he said, “I did not mean—that is to say—”

“There is no harm in a compliment. Thank you, Tarquin.”

And there was no harm in it. If anything, it was welcome. Ashyn had grown up knowing her looks would not appeal to many young men in the empire. Either she was too pale and odd in her appearance, or she was exotic and desirable because of that and no other trait.

Even when young men in Edgewood did find her looks to their taste, there was another who looked exactly like her, and whose brash and bold personality always outshone Ashyn's quiet timidity. The only young man who'd sought to court her was the scholar Simeon . . . who'd then named her sister and the prince as traitors. Not quite a pleasant memory. So to have
a Northern boy tell her she was beautiful? It was a small thing, but it felt warm and comforting, even if her return smile held no hint of invitation.

“I—I'll leave you, my lady,” he said, backing up . . . and hitting the cave wall.

She tried not to laugh. “Thank you again, Tarquin. I will see you in the morning and—”

A cry sounded beyond the cave. Tarquin raced out. Tova lunged in front of Ashyn as she pulled her dagger from under her sleeping pallet, grabbed her cloak, and started for the cave entrance. Tarquin stood a few paces outside it, his sword drawn.

Edwyn said they had only a few warriors in their group, and most had gone seeking news of her sister, but he'd kept two behind, leaving one to guard Ashyn. From the way Tarquin held his sword, though, he might be a trained warrior, yet he was not an experienced one. When Tarquin saw Ashyn, standing in the entrance, dagger raised, his eyes widened.

“My lady,” he said. “Go back inside. I will handle this.”

“I am trained with my dagger.” Not untrue, though she'd come to realize she needed much
more
training.

“Perhaps, but my orders—”

Another cry, and they both went still.

“Is that an animal?” Ashyn whispered. “Or a bird? I'm unfamiliar with this area.”

“It does indeed sound like a beast, my lady, and these forests are filled with them. I would ask that you retreat into the cave while I investigate.”

“And if it circles past you and comes into the cave?”

He hesitated.

“I will accompany you,” she said. “Let me pull on my boots and cloak.”

“I truly ought to—”

“Abandon me?”

He paused again, and she said, “Give me but a moment.”

T
he other caves were silent. There were perhaps four of them, in addition to the one with the dragon skull. The settlement was hardly a village—simply caves in the mountainside big enough for temporary lodgings, which meant they were spaced far enough apart that Ashyn could not even see the other entrances. A cry would bring Edwyn and the others, she'd presumed, but the cry they'd heard had not. Did that mean they could not hear well enough, sleeping in their caves? Or that they'd heard and recognized the sound as a harmless animal? The high probability of the latter is what kept her from suggesting they call for aid. They would investigate first.

The night had gone quiet. Unnaturally quiet, she realized when both she and Tarquin stopped simultaneously, and without their footfalls she could not hear anything. Goose bumps prickled along her arms, and when Tarquin resumed walking,
she stayed where she was, surveying the silent forest.

It ought not to be silent.

She'd encountered such a quiet wilderness once before. The Forest of the Dead.

Tarquin turned. “My lady?”

“It's too quiet,” she said.

He looked about and frowned. “It is night, my lady.”

“And it is always this silent at night? It was this silent earlier?”

He tilted his head as if listening. “I can hear water, my lady. And the creak of trees in the wind.”

“But beasts? Birds?”

“I saw an owl at dusk. Perhaps that is what made the cry. I heard one a few nights ago, and it was a terrible shrieking sound. The owls in the North are very different. As is the silence. You've not heard quiet until you've been out on the ice, my lady.”

It
was
too silent. But Tarquin didn't realize that, just as none of the villagers of Edgewood had thought the Forest of the Dead unnaturally silent. It was Ashyn. She sensed . . .

What do I sense? Spirits?

She continued after Tarquin as she sent up a silent and polite query to the spirits, in case that was what she sensed. They did not answer. Beside her, Tova was looking about and walking so close his fur brushed her cloak. He sensed it as well.

She recalled the trip from the imperial city, when they'd discovered mummified monks possessed by spirits. She'd detected something then, too. Was it the same? In a way, yes. A disturbance in the second world. She'd felt it even before
the possessed monks, when she'd first encountered the shadow stalkers. This was the same . . . and yet not the same. Interesting.

Another manifestation of Alvar's magics? Or was she overly quick to jump to that conclusion?

“May I take the torch, Tarquin?” she asked. “So you may be ready with your sword?”

He handed the torch over wordlessly, and Ashyn lifted it high as she walked, peering into the dark forest for signs of shadow stalkers or anything else. When a bat flitted overhead, she ducked with a yelp and Tarquin spun so fast she was nearly impaled on the tip of his sword. They both stumbled to apologize, and then laughed, softly.

“Continue,” she said. “I will be more careful.”

“As will I, my lady.”

Tova harrumphed and glanced back toward the caves, as if wishing they'd brought someone more experienced on this excursion. Ashyn made a face at him. She'd relaxed now, seeing the bat, proof that the forest was simply quiet, perhaps from the lateness of the day. She knew from her reading that many supposedly nocturnal creatures were actually crepuscular, most active at twilight and dawn, so the deep night would be quieter.

Yes, she was overreacting. It was not only Moria who let her imagination run away with her these days. She truly ought to—

A scream rang out and Ashyn fell back, Tarquin leaping in front of her, his sword at the ready, the blade quivering slightly. The sound stopped. They both turned in its direction.

“Someone is hurt,” Ashyn said. “Just over there.”

Tarquin looked toward where they'd heard the sound, then back at the caves.

“It is farther to return,” she said. “It sounded as if a woman was being attacked. If whatever did so—human or beast—sees us fleeing . . .”

“It will give chase,” he said grimly. “And yes, if we can help her . . .”

He started forward, motioning for Ashyn to stay at his back. When another scream came, he broke into a jog with Ashyn at his heels. Tova ran into the lead. The hound leaped over a bush as another scream came, so close she swore she felt it. She raced forward, almost passing Tarquin before he picked up speed to stay ahead. Tova had disappeared. Ashyn strained for some sound of him, some—

The hound growled. And something growled back. Tova snapped and snarled and there was a clang like metal, and in Ashyn's mind, she saw a sword. She ran, passing Tarquin now and barreling through the thick brush until she could see Tova's pale fur ahead, and she pushed into the clearing where he stood and . . .

A fox. That was what had growled. A young fox stood a few paces from Tova, its tail puffed as it snarled. It lunged and seemed to stop short, and Ashyn heard the metallic clang again.

“It's hurt,” Ashyn said, moving forward carefully as Tova growled.

The fox had something around its leg. Wood and metal and rope.

“A trap,” Tarquin said. “It's not unlike the ones we use in
the North for our foxes. For their fur.”

“And they simply capture the poor beast and leave it to die?”

He shook his head as he moved forward, his sword lowered. “It ought to have killed it mercifully, but the trap was damaged. See over here . . .” He pointed out the problem, though all Ashyn truly cared about was the poor beast, whining now, bloodied and in pain.

“Can you free it?” she asked.

“I can.”

“Should you?” She lowered her voice. “Will it survive?”

“I'll see.”

He put his sword back into his belt and approached the fox with care, his fingers extended. Ashyn tensed, ready for the fox to bite his hand, but Tarquin kept his gaze lowered, crooning under his breath, and the fox only sniffed at his fingers.

“You know animals,” she said. “You're good with them.”

“We have Northern dogs. That's what my family does—raises and trains them to pull sleds over the ice.” He hunkered down beside the fox. “It's not going to like me taking off that trap, though. Perhaps if you speak to it, try to comfort it.”

“I think you'll be better at that. Tell me what to do with the trap.”

“It's bloody, my lady, and you ought not—”

“I can do it. Comfort the beast. And try not to let it bite me.”

He smiled. “It won't. I'll make sure of that. Now, take your dagger . . .”

He talked her through removing the trap. As he'd said, the
fox did not like it, and he had to subdue it. Once it was free, though, the beast made no move to escape, but lay on its side as they both examined the wound.

“It's the foreleg, which is better than the rear,” Tarquin said. “They can survive with only three if this one does not heal.”

The fox whined, as if understanding, and Tarquin absently rubbed it behind the ears. At first, the fox tensed at the touch, but then it relaxed and closed its eyes, as if enjoying the scratch.

“You have a new friend,” Ashyn said.

He laughed softly. “It's a wild beast, my lady. Best left wild. And it would not like my dogs at home.”

“What are they like?” she asked as they continued examining the wound. “I've heard of Northern dogs, but never seen one.”

“Your hound would make a good one,” he said. Then he looked at Tova. “No offense. I know the legend, that he is a warrior in beast form. I meant only that his size and thick fur would serve him well. Our dogs do not grow quite so large.”

The fox whimpered, and Tarquin resumed scratching it while he bent beside Ashyn.

“We should clean the wound,” Ashyn said. “Would it let you carry it back up to the caves?”

“I can try, my lady. It's small. Likely a young one and a vixen. Here, move your hand under the leg while I lift.”

When she didn't do it the way he meant, he took her hand, blushing madly and stammering as he showed her how to brace the injured leg.

Tova growled.

“Yes,” Ashyn said. “We're taking the fox with us. I might even make you share your food.”

Tova's growl sharpened, and she laughed.

“That growl might be for me,” Tarquin said. “Warning me I ought not to touch his Seeker. He—”

Something leaped at Tarquin. A shadow come to life seemed to jump from the forest in a single bound. Tarquin spun and it pounced, and he fell back with a scream. He dropped the fox and Ashyn grabbed for him, but Tova lunged between them and she stumbled into the torch, planted in the ground, extinguishing it as Tarquin let out a scream more horrible than the fox's and then—

And then blood. Blood sprayed and Ashyn screamed and something hit her and she looked down to see Tarquin's hand lying at her foot. She could see other . . . other pieces of him, and she staggered back, still screaming, until Tova grabbed her cloak in his teeth, and she saw something else in the forest, running toward her, a black shadow with red eyes.