everyone died around them, they kept going. This is what courage means: to keep fighting even in the darkness, even when all but a sliver of hope is lost. An enemy can take your treasure, your land, even your life, but one thing he cannot take: your choice to fight back." She sniffed, tears in her eyes. "And I will fight back, Bayrin. I won't give up. Ever. Not so long as any of our people live, even if only you and I are left."
She trembled, and her tears fell, and when Bayrin reached out to wipe those tears, he found himself embracing her. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and his lips touched her forehead, and without knowing how, he was kissing her. Her lips were soft, warm, salty with her tears but sweet too. He cupped her cheek and kissed her for long moments, as if melting into her; he knew nothing but her softness, her scent, her hair around his fingers, and her body trembling against his.
Suddenly she gasped, pulled back, and gaped over his shoulder. A white figure, like a snowy animal, reflected in her eyes. Bayrin spun his head around and saw it there. The breath left his lungs.
It was no deer or horse, but a great white lion. Its mane seemed woven of moonlight, long and white, and its eyes shone silver, narrowed like two crescent moons. Its breath plumed and its tongue lolled, blood red. It met his gaze and held it for long moments, then turned and began loping away.
"It wants us to follow," Mori whispered. She rose to her feet and pulled Bayrin up too.
"She's scared of spiders," he muttered, "but vicious predators with dagger-like teeth? Those we follow."
They walked through the mist, following the white lion along palisades of pines. Its mane glowed like a beacon. When they fell behind, it would turn its head, stare, and wait. They followed for what seemed like leagues—over a cliff that overlooked the sea, along a fallen log that bridged a river, and into a valley like a bowl of mist. Dusk fell. Fireflies emerged to float through the mist, little moons behind clouds. The lion glowed ahead, and Bayrin and Mori followed in the shadows, crickets chirping around them.
As he walked, Bayrin touched his lips, still feeling Mori's kiss. Though Requiem burned in the south, and an island of magic rolled around him, he couldn't stop thinking of her lips against his, the softness of her hair, how her body had trembled against him. Bayrin had kissed girls before—Tiana, the kitchen maid in Requiem's palace, and Piri, the daughter of a winemaker, and a third girl who'd visited from the east and whose name he never learned. But none of them had felt so delicate in his arms, a flower he wanted to protect from the frost. He glanced at Mori as he walked, and when he saw her soft smile, again he felt it, that warm melting of his heart, like butter over fresh bread.
Mori… the girl he used to taunt, whose braids he would tug, whose tears he would mock. The girl who'd always tag along when he'd go hunting with Elethor, then cry whenever he caught a deer. The girl he'd scare at nights by squawking and pretending to be a griffin. How could he now feel this way toward her, the way he felt toward Tiana or Piri, but a hundred times stronger?
He realized that the lion had stopped walking, and Bayrin stopped too and looked ahead. In the darkness, a mountain rose from the pines, black against the stars. The lion stood at its feet, gazing up toward the peak, then turned toward him and Mori. Fireflies haloed around its head. Owls hooted in the darkness, crickets chirped, and wind rustled the trees, a night music like soft pipes in the temples of Requiem.
"Child of the Moon," Mori whispered, silver in the night's glow. She approached the lion and touched its head, gingerly at first, then warmly. She stroked it with a soft smile. "I am Mori Aeternum of Requiem, a child of starlight. I come seeking your help."
The lion's glow blazed, like a moon emerging from clouds. Mori pulled her hand back and gasped. The light coiled around the lion, a hundred fairies of silver, and it stood upon its back legs. Its back straightened, its front legs became arms, and soon it stood as a man. His skin was milky, his beard long and white.