Moria knew all the guards by name. All the villagers, too. There was none named Liam.

“Do you want to try leading us through this forsaken place?” a third voice said. “You should thank the spirits I’m here.”

They heard many accents in Edgewood, which drew guards from all corners of the empire. She’d only heard this particular one once, from a tradesperson. It was a guttural accent, not soon to be forgotten.

So who were these men? Not a rescue party. Even if someone from the village had escaped across the Wastes, it would be many moons before help returned.

“I told you I heard a girl’s voice singing,” the first voice was saying again, as the others complained about tramping over rough terrain.

“I think you’ve been away from women too long,” another replied. “You’re hallucinating. Next you’ll see a pretty maid skipping along the stream.”

“Mmm,” another said. “Is she swimming in the stream, too? Unclothed? If he is imagining that, I don’t blame him. It has been too long. They should have let us loose on that village before—”

“Enough.” A man she hadn’t heard yet, his voice quiet but firm. “All of you. If one of those guards did survive, we won’t hear him with all your jaw flapping.”

Gavril shifted, his hand on her back, his leg tensing over hers. On her other side, Daigo squirmed closer, too, leaning against her, one paw resting on her outstretched hand.

“Don’t move,” Gavril whispered in her ear. “Whatever happens, don’t move.”

It’s not like I could anyway. With you and Daigo practically on top of me.

She made a noise of agreement. Gavril eased back. Then he let out a curse. He looked around frantically, and began wriggling out of his tunic. She didn’t avert her eyes. He’d told her not to move.

He winced as he tugged it over his head wound. Then he handed it to her.

“Cover your hair.”

“What?”

“Your—” The crack of a twig, telling them the men were almost on them. Gavril cursed and grabbed her hair, twisting it up over her neck, then slapping the tunic down over it. He adjusted it until her face was shadowed under the folds.

Moria lay still and tried not to breathe too deeply. She could smell the tunic. It wasn’t pleasant. However, the brief sight of Gavril without it had been quite nice, so she remembered that and ignored the rest.

She saw a flicker of movement through the trees. Then all went dark as Gavril fussed with the tunic, pulling it farther over her face. She waited until he turned away, then tugged it back enough to see again.