Forest of Ruin (Age of Legends 3)

"For my father's sake, I pretended to dismiss your intellect."

"You've always made your opinion of it perfectly clear."

He sighed. "I've needled you, but I do not think you a fool. Your intelligence is above average. Not as high as your sister's . . ."

"You do not even know how to pay a compliment without lacing it in insult."

"Your sister is simply more book-learned than you. Perhaps that does not imply a difference in innate intelligence. You were wombmates, after all. One might presume your fundamental capacities are as identical as your appearance, and the difference lies in what you do with those then."

"Enough. Stick to insults, Kitsune. They're shorter." She lifted her hands. "Now untie me so I may ride." When he hesitated, she said, "I gave my word that I'd go with you. You will untie me, and you will return my dagger."

"I cannot--"

She smashed her fists into his gut again, and when he stumbled, she leaped on him, toppling him to the ground. Before he could strike, she was crouched on his chest, her bound hands at his neck, the rope cutting into his throat.

"You will untie me, and you will return my dagger. I do not need either to kill you." She pressed down harder, making him gasp. "Nod when you agree."

He shook his head and managed to say, "You will not find him."

"As hard as it is for me to be separated from Daigo, I will not attempt."

"You'll return and try to free Daigo and Tyrus. Then you'll go after your sister."

"Truly? You do think me a fool. A mad child who believes she can outwit the emperor and free an imperial prince from captivity. Then they'll run off together through the empire, hoping to trip over her missing sister by sheer luck, apparently."

"I know you, Moria. You are impetuous and obstinate, and your actions often ill-conceived."

"Enough with the flattery, Kitsune. I am no longer the child who flits after butterflies. I have endured enough in the past moon to ensure I'll never be that girl again."

A look passed over his face. Something almost like grief, gone too fast for her to see more than a flicker.

"I would have it any other way, Keeper," he said, his voice low. "I know you have suffered greatly."

"Spare me false sympathy. You do it as poorly as flattery, and I require neither. I am not the girl I was, and I will not dash off into the forest at the first opportunity. Nor will I ram my dagger into your back the moment you turn it. I could kill you now if I wished. I do not, for the same reason I sto

pped Tyrus from ending your life. Because we would suffer for it much longer than you would. It's no small thing to take a life. I understand that now."

Another flicker of emotion. "You've taken--"

"It is a war, Gavril. That's what happens when you launch one. Now, do I get my dagger?"

Silence. Then, "If I return it, will you let me speak as we ride?"

"I cannot stop you from speaking. However, if you insist on defending your actions, you may not want to return my dagger, or my impetuous nature might win out."

More silence.

"I wish my hands freed," she continued. "I wish my dagger returned. And I do not wish to hear your voice. If you can grant these, you will find you have a riding companion as quiet and courteous as Ashyn. If you cannot, you will be reminded that I am not my sister."

Gavril agreed.

They stopped for the night. They had no tent to sleep in. No blankets either. When Moria went to lie on the cold ground, Gavril said, "I have something for you."

She turned away, ignoring him. He rustled in his horse pack, and when he came and crouched in front of her, she kept her eyes shut. But then she caught a whiff of tanned leather and ermine fur and campfire smoke.

Her eyes flew open to see him holding her cloak. The one she thought had been left on a bloodied battlefield when she'd been thrown into the dungeon.

The last gift from her father. She'd been wearing her old cloak when she'd fought the thing that had possessed her father's corpse. The shadow stalker had grabbed her right before she banished it, and the last she'd seen of her cloak, it was clutched in the gnarled, misshapen claw of the monster her father had become. Covered in his blood. She'd refused to return for it, and Gavril had insisted they take a new one from her father's shop. He'd found this on the shelf. A wrapped gift from her father. Her Fire Festival present, complete with the last words she'd ever have from him.