Empire of Night (Age of Legends 2)

"I don't need you to commiserate with anything. Yes, I am worried, as I would be if it was anyone I know. While Simeon did express an interest, I made it clear his feelings were not returned."

"Was he angry?"

"I suspect it is impossible to be anything but a little angry when one is romantically rejected."

Ronan glanced away. After a few moments, he said, "Are you angry? With me?"

"I was confused, Ronan. I did not initiate the kiss. I did not give any indication that I expected it. Yes, I reciprocated--I was returning what seemed to be obvious interest on your part. Later, you acted as if I'd thrown myself at you."

"I didn't--"

"That's how you made me feel. Like a foolish girl who's been kissed once and presumes a marriage proposal will follow. Perhaps I ought to laugh and say that I am relieved, because I did not truly care for you at all. But I have little experience at lovers' games, and so I am honest. You may not have intended to hurt me, but I was hurt. Clearly, I'm not wallowing in misery. I only wish you had handled it with more sensitivity."

"There is more to it than--"

"Hello!" a distant voice called, weak and crackling. "Is anyone there?"

"Tyrus," she said, and raced back to the hut.

When they reached the hut, Tyrus was sitting up, the blanket tangled around his waist. He looked at her and, without hesitation, he said, "Ashyn," and she knew his fever had broken.

He glanced at Daigo. The wildcat stretched, his claws extending.

"Where's . . . ?" he began. Then he stopped. "Moria. She's--"

He went to leap up. The blanket started to fall and he grabbed for it, the movement too sudden, sending him nearly falling flat on his face. He cursed as he struggled to get his balance. His face was so pale he could pass for a Northerner. Ashyn darted forward to help him as Ronan riffled through the pile of clothing.

"I'm fine," Tyrus said, brushing her off. "I just need . . ."

His legs wobbled, and before anyone could grab him, he collapsed back onto the blankets, the one around his waist falling free. Ashyn turned away quickly.

"I need my trousers apparently," he said with a strained laugh. "We'll put that at the top of the list. My apologies, Ashyn."

She murmured that no apology was needed, but her cheeks flamed nonetheless. Ronan passed Tyrus his trousers, which Guin had cleaned--if haphazardly.

"We needed to undress you because of the fever," Ashyn said.

"I wasn't about to ask for an explanation."

She heard the swish and shimmy of fabric as he pulled his clothing on behind her.

"Now, with trousers acquired, I'm fit to get outside this . . . whatever it is. The smell is enough to send me back onto that pallet."

Ashyn turned as he swayed. "You truly shouldn't strain yourself--"

"I'm fine. I just need--" He took one step and dropped to one knee, catching himself before he fell completely.

"You've been poisoned, your highness," Ashyn said. "And four days in a fever. You cannot expect to get up and walk out of here."

"You sound like your sister. Except she'd inject more snap and less civility in the sentiment. Now, speaking of Moria . . ."

Again, he trailed off. The fever may have broken, but he hadn't quite recovered his wits, and he kept forgetting himself.

"Is she still . . . ?" He looked up sharply. "She was captured. Did you find her?"

"We could not," Ronan said. "Daigo could not either. We believe she was delivered straight to Alvar Kitsune, as a prize of war."

Tyrus nodded slowly, and Ashyn could see his mind turning. "Yes, that would make sense. If she's with Alvar, then she's with Gavril, which means she is safe. Whatever he's done, it's not as if he'd allow her to rot in a dungeon."