"He's sound asleep."
As if on cue, Tyrus groaned. He writhed under the sheet, moaning. Ashyn quickly wet a cloth and pressed it to his forehead.
His eyes opened, and he smiled. "Moria . . ."
She'd corrected him the first few times he'd woken, fever-fuddled, mistaking her for her sister. He wouldn't listen. Daigo was at his side, and when she leaned over him, he saw Moria. The few times he'd woken while Ashyn was out, he'd flown into a delirious rage, attacking Ronan and Guin, as if they'd stolen Moria from him.
"Moria," he said again now, reaching for Ashyn's hand, fumbling to find it, as if his vision was as fuzzy as his mind.
"I'm here," she said, and clasped his fingers in hers.
She sat beside him and held his hand. He never noticed that she didn't act or sound like Moria. She looked like her, and that was enough. His eyes fluttered open and closed as he murmured things she couldn't make out, fevered mumblings, clasping her hand so hard it almost hurt. Then he drifted off again. She waited until his grip relaxed and slid free.
"He loves her, doesn't he," Guin said.
Ashyn looked at her.
"The prince," she said. "He loves your sister."
Now it was Ashyn mumbling something unintelligible. A few days ago, she'd have said only that Tyrus cared for Moria and she for him. Now . . . ? Was it love? Perhaps, but it seemed an invasion of Tyrus's privacy to speculate, especially with Guin.
"It's very romantic," Guin said. "I hope they don't die."
Ronan turned on Guin. "If you don't stop that, I swear I'll send you back to the spirit world. Moria is Ashyn's sister. Tyrus is our friend. We care about them. We do not want them to die." He turned to Ashyn and muttered, "I can't believe I needed to explain that."
"I don't want them to die either," Guin said. "That's what I said."
"How about you don't mention the possibility of their deaths at all."
"But it is a possibility. A very real one. I'm only--"
"Stop. No one needs the reminder."
Guin looked confused, and as much as Ashyn agreed with Ronan, she said, "I'm glad you don't want them to die, Guin. That's . . . kind of you."
"Thank you. I know people think romantic stories are better if the lovers die, but I can assure you, there is nothing romantic about death. I would rather see them live. The dashing bastard prince and the brave and beautiful Keeper." She pursed her lips. "Perhaps not beautiful. Quite pretty, though, for a Northerner." She glanced at Ashyn and said, "And, of course, you're pretty, too," in a halfhearted way, as if she was not Moria's identical twin. Guin turned to Ronan. "Do you think I am?"
"What?"
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
"It's not a question I've spent a single moment contemplating."
Guin rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking if you're attracted to me. That would be very awkward. I'd need to remind you that you're a lowborn boy, and that I could never return your attentions."
"Goddess be praised," Ronan muttered.
Guin turned to Ashyn. "Do you find the body I'm inhabiting pleasing?"
Ashyn stared at her as Ronan choked on a laugh.
"I don't believe I understand the question," Ashyn said slowly.
"I'm asking if I've chosen an attractive form. I had to act quickly when the vessel was free, and I did not have time to properly assess it. I do not recall any obvious deformities, and from what I've seen when I disrobe--"
Ronan coughed.
"We do not require details. If you're asking if the girl you inhabit was pretty, she's . . ." He glanced at Ashyn for help.