Moria ran through the forest following Daigo, leaping over logs and skirting fallen trees until she ran right into him as he stood there, peering into the darkness. He stayed stock-still, only his tufted ears moving, pivoting until he heard what he was searching for—the sound of pursuit, she presumed. Then he took off again. She managed to keep pace until she heard the sound of running footfalls and stopped short. They were heading toward the footfalls.
“Daigo . . .”
He stopped.
“I hope you know who that is,” she said.
He huffed, as if offended she’d question him. Moria still lifted her dagger, poised, watching in the direction of the footfalls until a cloaked figure appeared. It peered into the darkness.
“Moria?”
She heard that voice, and she raced forward, Daigo barely getting out of her way in time. Even before the figure pulled down his hood, she knew who it was. She tucked away her dagger as she ran, and when she finally reached him, she threw her arms around his neck. He caught her up in a hug, swinging her off the ground and embracing her so hard she gasped for breath, gasping and laughing, tears prickling as relief washed through her.
“You’re all right?” Tyrus hugged her so tight she couldn’t back up to look at him, and had to settle for nodding into his shoulder. She tried to say yes, but the word caught in her throat.
He released his grip, and as she pulled back to look at him, those threatening tears filled her eyes and his face wobbled in front of her.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “They wouldn’t tell me . . . No one would tell me if you were . . .”
She couldn’t get the rest out. So she kissed him, which seemed a perfectly reasonable alternative to speaking.
He kissed her back, deep and hard, his arms tightening around her again, and it was the kiss she’d barely dared to remember, lying in her cell, not knowing if he lived. It was the same . . . yet not the same.
The first time, if someone had suggested she’d been holding back, she’d have drawn her dagger at the insult. No matter what Tyrus said, she’d been certain no part of her had not been fully engaged, not fully committed to being with him.
But he’d been right. There had been a ghost between them, a little part of her still hurt and bewildered by Gavril’s betrayal, still thinking he had some excuse, and even though she had hotly denied any romantic feelings for him, there’d been some confusion there, that part that hadn’t quite figured out what she did feel. Now it was gone.
Gavril had done what she suspected and, worse, had been willing to lie about it to lure her back into captivity. He was nothing more now than a reminder of how easy it was for some to deceive and how easy it was to be deceived.
Everything she’d felt during her imprisonment—fear, shame, rage, helplessness—evaporated in Tyrus’s kiss and his embrace. He was here. He was alive. She was free. Perhaps that did not mean the world was right again, but it was right enough.
Unfortunately, one member of their party did not share her conviction. It was a gentle nudge at first. Then a growl. Then a knock, hard enough to make them both stumble, their kiss breaking.
“Enough, Daigo,” Tyrus said with a growl of his own. He reached one hand into Moria’s hair, pulling her to him, his lips coming back to hers. “We’ll leave in a few—”
Daigo grabbed Tyrus’s cloak and yanked him so hard he landed on his rear. Tyrus twisted up, growling in earnest now, and Moria had to laugh at the two of them, scowling at each other.
“He’s jealous,” Tyrus said as he got to his feet, brushing himself off.
Daigo snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Are, too,” Tyrus said. “I’ll wager your greeting wasn’t nearly so effusive.”
“Because I already knew he lived,” Moria said. “And because he doesn’t kiss half as well as you.”
Tyrus laughed. “He is right, though, as much as I hate to admit it. We ought to get moving.”
“Is Ashyn nearby?” Moria asked as she took out her own blade.
Tyrus shook his head. “She left with Ronan to check on his brother and sister. They’ll meet us near the compound of Lord Goro Okami. It’s . . . It’s a long story.”
“But she’s safe?”
He nodded. “She’s with Ronan. I was at Lord Okami’s the day before last to speak to him. His men will be watching for her. With any luck, she’s already there.”
Moria peered into the forest. “So you’re alone?”
Daigo growled.
“I meant the two of you, of course,” she said, giving the wildcat a look. Then she turned to Tyrus. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
Another growl from Daigo.
Moria rolled her eyes. “Thank you for taking care of each other.”
Tyrus grinned and leaned in for a quick kiss. “And thank you for getting yourself out of there. The ancestors were smiling on us today, because I had no idea how I was going to manage the actual rescue part of my rescue plan. I’m sure Daigo didn’t either, however much he might like to claim otherwise. Now, let’s get out of this forest before someone sounds the alarm.”
“Did anyone see you leave?” Tyrus asked as they walked.
“Gavril.”
Tyrus’s face tightened. He tried to hide the reaction, but Moria caught a glimpse of it before he said, carefully, “So he helped you escape, then.”
“Hardly. He was trying to stop me.”
A flutter of relief, followed by a flash of guilt and then worry and finally something like disappointment. As a romantic rival, he would want Gavril kicked from Moria’s mind. But Gavril was more than that. He was a boyhood friend, and Tyrus still hoped for some sign that the Gavril he remembered lived, that he’d not lost his honor, not betrayed them and held Moria captive.
“We’ll speak of that later,” she said, taking Tyrus’s hand and entwining her fingers with his. “For now, I’m not surprised we haven’t heard him raise the alarm. He’ll not want his father to think he let me escape. He’ll pretend he was occupied and did not see what happened.”
“Does he fear his father?” Tyrus asked. “Perhaps that’s why—” He cut himself off. “I’m sorry.”
She tightened her grip on his hand. “I know. It would be easier to think he’s held there, as much a prisoner as I was. But he’s not, Tyrus. I’m sorry. We’ll talk more later, but Gavril isn’t cowering in his father’s shadow. He’s free to come and go, and he chooses to stay and play his role—as heir—in his father’s plan.”
Tyrus nodded. “As he must.” And that, Moria knew, was how he would make sense of this. Gavril was doing his filial duty. It did not make him a good person or mean that he was not now Tyrus’s enemy, nor that he was less culpable of the evil he might do. It was simply the only way to accept that his old friend could do these things and not be a monster. Which was what Tyrus needed. What they both needed.