Free Forest of Ruin by Kelley Armstrong Page A

both easily recognizable and easily mistaken for her supposed-traitor sister. And Ronan was here, deathly ill, and she did not know these people well enough to leave him in their care.
    Edwyn said he would send scouts to make contact with those he knew in the imperial city and elsewhere. They would seek news on Moria and Tyrus, and in the meantime, Ashyn would stay where she was, while Edwyn prepared her for the dragons. That was the important thing. Alvar Kitsune might be lying low for now, but he would make a move soon. Edwyn was sure of it.
    â€œTraitorous sorcerer that he is,” Edwyn said after he took a drink from the waterskin. “He’ll keep to the shadows for as long as he can. Alvar Kitsune plans to lead the emperor on a terrible chase, horror and destruction in his wake. But this dragon knows this fox, and Tatsu’s trying to run him to ground rather than launching his army to an empty battlefield. When we bring Jiro Tatsu an actual dragon . . .” Edwyn smiled. “That is when things will change.”
    â€œWill one dragon truly make a difference?”
    â€œIn battle? It would help, but it would not guarantee easy victory. What matters here, child, is not the beast itself but the symbolism.”
    Ashyn nodded. “The dragon has woken dragons. The goddess has chosen her champion.”
    A smile crinkled his face. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
    â€œCan you tell me about her?”
    That smile broadened, lighting his blue eyes. “With pleasure, child.” He passed a plate of dried persimmons. “When she was a child, she used to . . .”

TEN
    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 shemeant 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,