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.
"It'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, apparently."
Moria scuttled backward as Gavril crouched there, his hands raised, talking to her in what he must have thought was a soothing tone, but sounding more like he was trying to calm a spooked horse.
The floor rattled. She could feel the vibrations, and they scattered most of the dream, leaving her staring about in confusion. Vibrating wood floor. Low wooden ceiling. Dark, cave-like space lit only by the moon shimmering through a hole in the roof.
They were in a wagon. They'd been tossed in here, their bindings removed, apparently deemed unnecessary given that they were surrounded by mounted and armed men.
"We're in a wagon," Gavril said.
"I see that," she snapped. She continued looking about, orienting herself. There were blankets on the floor. She tugged on one and backed farther from Gavril. Then she lay down and pulled it over herself. When silence fell, she could hear her teeth chattering as she shook convulsively, as much from the dream as from the chilly night.
Gavril took the second blanket and passed it to her. When she ignored it, he started to stretch it over her.
"Don't," she said.
"Until the dream passes," he said, and pulled it onto her. "Was it about your father?"
"It was about many things."
"We ought to talk--"
"No."
A hiss of air expelled through teeth. "I know you think I cannot explain, and you are correct," he said. "There is no excuse. I do not expect you to understand, but it would help me to say my piece."
"Yes, it would help you." Moria rose, sitting, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "You think I'm punishing you, don't you? Not allowing you to explain."
"I understand that I deserve your anger."
"Do you? After you left the city, I wouldn't speak to anyone of what you did. I could say I had made up my mind about you and would not waste time discussing the matter, but Tyrus determined the truth. He wanted what I wanted: an explanation, an excuse. To have you return and say, 'This is not as it appears.' Because no matter what you'd done, we both remembered another Gavril. He remembered his childhood friend. I remembered a boy who fought at my side through the Wastes." She lifted her gaze to his. "But you are not that boy."
"I--"
"If you explain yourself to me, I'll see that boy again, and I'll realize it's not as simple as I thought. That you are not one thing or the other. That you can be both. That I can trust you with my life, and that I can trust you not at all. And how would that help me? Am I safer to be on my guard at all times? Or to rest certain that you will always have my back?"
"I have your back, Keeper. Always. Yet you are safest to pretend otherwise, to watch it yourself, and work with me, as best you can, to escape this situation. Then you may decide what you wish to hear. I will wait for you to do so. I will not ask you again."
"Thank you."
She tried to hand him back his blanket, but he said, "Keep it. I'm sitting watch anyway."
"Wake me at dawn so you can sleep."
SEVEN
Gavril did not wake her, but the morning sun did, and she insisted he sleep. They needed to keep their wits about them, which meant they both needed to be rested. He slept fitfully. When he stopped tossing, she shifted closer and saw that his eyes were open.
He pushed up, gazing around.
"We're in a wagon," she said.
He gave her a look, and she countered it with a faint smile. He did not