Jeren drew the sword. It slid through the air like water, its song bright and terrible.
His rage failed him. He stumbled, appalled by what he saw, what he had become and found himself back on his knees before her, staring up a line of magical steel into an implacable face he hardly knew but loved more than his life.
“Go,” she told him. “Indarin will take you to safety, maybe even find some way to help you. I don’t know. I don’t care. Leave me. And don’t dare come back.”
He bowed his head and felt his heart break. He had to obey her command. She was Khain’s bride. And worse. She was his.
He could do nothing but obey.
Chapter Eleven
It was all Jeren could do to stay on her feet and watch as Indarin selected five others to accompany them. They gathered the little they needed. All the time, Shan stood, head bowed, under guard and every instinct in her screamed to stop them, to tell him to stay and they’d find a way. Surely they could find a way to alter it. After everything they’d survived together, everything they had endured, surely.
She took a step forward, ready to open her mouth and say something, but Indarin turned back to her. One look at his stricken face sent her back into silence.
If his brother was willing to take this step, who was she to argue? Shan was dangerous now. No doubt about it. She knew what she had seen in his eyes. What he had tried to hide from her, even while making love.
“I’ll do everything I can,” Indarin said. “And you know Lara will find a cure, if any exists.”
“I know.” She forced out the words. They grated on her throat like barbs.
“And the other Shistra-Phail will stay and guard you. Leithen will lead them.”
“Leithen? Will they follow a Holter?”
Indarin shook his head. “They’ll follow him. He’s one of them, lest you forget. As well as a Holter. It may be the only way, Jeren. With Shan gone, with me gone—” he glanced towards the Holters’ section of the camp “—I hope things will be a little more secure for you.”
Politics. It all came back to politics. Gods, how she hated it. Loathed it. Her duty and what others wanted from her. Every single time something good came to her, the politics of the Holts and her duty to them conspired to steal it away. Her husband, her teacher, her friends...
“Very well,” she said. “He is a good choice. Until you return.”
And Indarin gave her a look, that look. He wasn’t sure he would come back. He wasn’t sure if he would ever see her again.
And that meant Shan as well.
Her heart stuttered in her chest, but she kept herself standing tall and strong. Not just a lady of a Holt, a leader. A Shistra-Phail warrior, one of the elite.
Indarin nodded solemnly and left. She watched him lead Shan and their companions—his guards—away. Though her eyes burned, she couldn’t shed a tear.
And Shan did not look back.
It was so hard to sleep that night, stretched out in a bed that felt half empty, in a pavilion that belonged to someone else. The material rippled overhead, the breeze coming up from the river. Outside the sound of the Shistra-Phail’s song of lament echoed on through the night and Jeren listened. Were they trying to comfort her, or themselves?
Leithen cleared his throat, his position outside the pavilion as fixed as the stars overhead. He would not move, so the Shistra-Phail had come to him to request his leadership. Dumbfounded, the River Holter had only swallowed, and looked to Jeren for confirmation.
But it had to be his decision. His alone.
She kept her face as still as stone, the best impression of Indarin she could manage.
“So be it,” he told them. “Go about your business then. Protect the Scion of Jern like a Roh and all will be well.” He nodded, to himself more than anyone else, pleased with his guidance, and gave a satisfied grunt to dismiss them.
She only wished she could emulate his peaceful acceptance and simple direction. Life was so clear for a member of clan Roh. There was only one rule. Protect the Scion of Jern.
She could protect herself. She knew that now. With her sword, with her knife, even with her magic if needs be.
But she couldn’t protect her heart.
Finally, her shell cracked and she wept for him, for herself, for the future she had lost forever.
She was still weeping when Leithen challenged someone approaching outside.
“I heard what happened,” said Vertigern. “I wanted to see her, to check if she is all right.”
By the goddess, she should have told poor Leithen to turn everyone away. He wouldn’t turn away a nobleman like Vertigern. Especially not Vertigern himself, who would have been her husband once.
Jeren struggled to her feet and wiped away her tears hurriedly. She couldn’t let him see her cry. Not him. Not any of them.
But somehow this was different. She couldn’t permit Vertigern to see. Especially not him. Something Shan had said during those nightmare moments stirred. Something she couldn’t believe.
Couldn’t allow herself to believe. Vertigern was ambitious, but would he really send someone after Shan?
She called out in a voice so smooth it surprised even her. “I’m still awake, Leithen. Let him in.”
Vertigern barely paused once she had spoken, pushing his way in through the weighted material door. She wondered if Leithen had a chance to step aside or had simply been pushed out of the way.
“I came as soon as I they told me what happened,” Vertigern said the moment he was inside.
Who had told him? How had the news reached him so quickly? Inwardly, Jeren reeled. He didn’t look upset. Why should he? With Shan and Indarin gone, who else should she rely on? Don’t show it. Whatever you do don’t show it. Instead she turned her back on him and walked purposefully to the desk. She took a seat, trying not to look like she cared. Naul yipped and jumped up at her, his paws scrabbling at her thigh. She glanced down and found a smile on her lips, impossible as that seemed. She buried her fingertips in his thick fur, scratching him thoroughly. His little tail wagged furiously.
Taking the moment she needed, she fussed over the wolf-cub. When she looked up at Vertigern, her face was as cold as any stone once again.
“Whatever you have heard, it probably isn’t what you think. The Ariah has need of them.” Please don’t know they took him away, that he was bound like a prisoner, like a slave.
Vertigern studied her face intently. He knew. Had to know. She swallowed hard, waiting for a confrontation. And if he said it what would she say in return? What rage would take her? For there was no doubt in her mind she could not allow him to say it out loud. Not even here in private. Vertigern had been a good friend, a loyal companion and a staunch support, but she would never allow him to say a word against her mate.
Never.
She glared back at him, waiting.
His gaze slid aside, to the patterns of light dancing across the undulating canvas of the pavilion. “As you say, Jeren. You’d know better than I.”
Which meant he did know. But he wasn’t ready to challenge her on it.
Not yet anyway.
But one day he would be. Vertigern was used to leading, not following. Not even her, not even now. And they were back in the male dominated world of the Holters. He’d expected her to fall in line without Shan and Indarin perhaps. He’d wanted to... to what?