She nodded and crouched beside it, warming her hands. Without looking his way, she said, "I saw you start it."
Silence. Then, belatedly, "So?"
She looked over. "I saw how you started it. Not with tools. With sorcery."
Panic lit his green eyes, but only for a moment before his face set. "Watch your words, Keeper. If you were a man, that accusation could earn you a blade between the ribs."
"It's not an accusation. It's a statement. I wondered how you started the fire in the woods. Now I know."
"You know nothing," he said.
She straightened. "Your father was rumored to be a sorcerer. Apparently, it was more than rumor. I care not whether you are one or not. Whatever you may think of me, I'm not an ignorant village girl. I am the Keeper. My world--"
"--is filled with childish nonsense," he said. "I've heard your stories. You fill your head with monsters and magic and--"
"I saw monsters," she said. "And now I've seen magic."
"You saw nothing." He stepped closer, towering over her. "If you claim otherwise again, Keeper, you'll wish you'd held your tongue."
"Are you threatening me?" Her voice was edged with a growl that he seemed not to notice.
"I am warning you against spreading lies about me. I am suggesting you hold that tongue of yours or--"
Before he could finish the sentence, her blade tip was digging into the bottom of his jaw.
"I am the Keeper of the Forest, boy," she said. "Do you think those pretty patterns on your arms give you the right to threaten me? They do not. Even if your father was still marshal, they would not. I will take your glowers. I will take your insults. I will take your warnings that you'll abandon me by the roadside if I do not keep pace. But you will not call me a liar. And you will not threaten me."
He'd gone still, his expression unreadable. She tensed, ready to defend herself if he reached for his sword. Even the spirits would not know if he left her here, gutted, in the sand. So she waited. But after a moment, he dropped his gaze.
"My apologies, Keeper." His voice was low, his tone hard to read. It was not obviously mocking. Perhaps it was even genuinely contrite, though she doubted it.
She lowered her blade and stepped back. Gavril reached as if to rub his throat, before stopping himself. A bright red drop of blood fell on his tunic, but he didn't look down at it.
"We have both seen things no one should see," he said finally. "It is difficult for me and an immense tragedy for you. We are anxious and wary. You clearly thought you saw me light the fire by sorcery. I did not, but I accept that is what you believe you saw. I am overly sensitive to the charge, given the rumors about my father. With this situation and my current state--yes, I am tired, I'll admit it--I overreacted. I do apologize. There is no excuse."
On the scale of apologies, none was considered greater than that: I have no excuse. She made a noise that he could take as acceptance, though she intended no such thing. Then she lifted the rodents from where she'd dropped them by the fire.
"We'll need sticks."
"I'll roast them," he said.
"You only need roast your own. But save some for Daigo. He doesn't eat scraps. He isn't a house pet."
"I know. I'll share mine."
He reached to pat Daigo, but the wildcat snapped at his fingers and then stalked off with Moria to find a roasting stick.
Thirty-two
After that, Moria was quite willing to drop the subject of sorcery. Gavril would not. As they ate, he felt compelled to explain his reaction to the charge by detailing his father's experience. How the accusation had dogged the Kitsune family even before his father became marshal. How it arose from the fact that their family came from the Katakana Mountains, said to be the birthplace of sorcery, so the charge was as inaccurate and offensive as saying all Northerners were stupid and lazy.
He explained how his father's enemies had used the slander to belittle his accomplishments by saying he'd used enchantments to gain his position. How those same enemies whispered the rumor in the ears of all the court, season after season, and the Kitsune clan believed it was those rumors that had led to his downfall. Given all that, could Moria blame Gavril for reacting too strongly?
Yes, she could. Because she'd seen what he'd done, so she knew the rumors were not baseless. He insulted her intelligence by denying it. She ate as quickly as she could, saying little, then retired for the night.
The next day, their walk began in awkward silence. It did not last, though, no more than his angry silences would. They were too much effort to maintain, and as the day passed, he would usually reach the point where he forgot that she was the last person in the empire he'd wish to traverse the Wastes with.
That did not mean, of course, that he would launch into friendly conversation. Moria had begun to suspect that particular social skill was one he'd never mastered. Instead, their discussions would be much like the current one, which had begun when she'd noticed a flock of birds winging past and wished aloud that she were skilled in archery.