Forest of Ruin by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page A

Keeper whore, and he does not appreciate hearing her maligned.”
    Gavril opened his mouth, but Moria whispered, “Do not argue. Just lay down your weapons. You’ll not be able to keep them. Nor to fight.”
    They both set their blades at their feet. The bandit leader approached. He looked to be from the steppes—almost as light-skinned as Moria, with shaggy, brown hair. Not nearly as intimidating as Alvar’s man—Barthol—but Moria knew better than to put much credence in appearances. She’d learned much since Edgewood.
    â€œBind them,” he called to the others, then scooped up their weapons and examined them like a merchant eyeing new goods. Which was apt, given that Moria doubted she’d see her dagger again.
    Two other men approached with ropes. Gavril and Moria held out their hands as the leader walked through the camp.
    â€œGood horses,” he said. “Take them. Oh, and what do we have here?” He lifted Moria’s cloak. “This is particularly fine. I believe I’ll keep this for myself.”
    Gavril’s mouth opened in protest, but Moria stomped on his foot to silence him.
    â€œYou’re in no position to demand anything, Kitsune. He’d likely cut it to shreds if you tried.” She gave him a look. “And you call me the impetuous one.”
    â€œYou’ve changed.”
    â€œI’ve had to,” she said, and let one of the men lead her away.
    The smell of sweat did not particularly bother Moria. If one engaged in physical activity, it was rarely convenient to draw a bath immediately after. So long as bathing—even with a bowl and cloth—was a regular part of one’s routine, the smell rarely escalated to a stink.
    In the Wastes, with no access to spare water, both she and Gavril had reeked. She’d grown accustomed to it quickly enough, and would only notice when she woke in the night, confused and unsettled, and then the smell was actually comforting. Gavril was there, and whether they were tolerating each other or barely speaking, if danger came, he’d be at her side and she’d be at his.
    Gavril was there; she and Daigo were not alone; all was well.
    Had someone asked exactly what she’d smelled, waking up those nights, she’d have said it was simply the stink of an unwashed body. Now, having been put in a wagon by the bandits and left to sleep, side by side again, Moria realized she recognized Gavril’s scent as well as Daigo might.
    And now she smelled it again, tossing in her sleep, and it tormented her with memories. Gavril in the palace court whenshe confronted him about his father. Gavril admitting he knew who had massacred her village. Gavril holding her at sword point before he escaped. Gavril in the dungeon. Gavril turning his back on her, telling his father he did not care what happened to her. Telling his father she was a foolish, stupid child, and leaving her in that dungeon, to the guard’s torments.
    She dreamed she was back in that cell, fighting off the guard—Halmond—pulling back the knife to stab him. Only in the dream, he wrested it from her fingers and slammed it into her gut, and she gasped, her eyes closing and then opening to see, not Halmond holding the blade, but Gavril.
    Moria shot upright, screaming, still feeling the agony of the blade buried in her gut, and then she saw Gavril, right there, his hands on her shoulders, saying her name. She fought wildly, half asleep, seeing Gavril’s face in both dream and reality, his cold and empty expression as he plunged the blade in deeper, and then the other Gavril, his eyes wide with alarm, her name on his lips, his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he said. “It’s me. I’m here.”
    She kicked and clawed, biting his hand and struggling with everything she had while he fought to restrain her, muttering, “Not the right thing to say,