It was like a punch to the gut.
Shan was right. Maybe not about everything, but Vertigern had wanted Shan and Indarin gone. And now they both were.
Well, why was she surprised? She always knew he was a man with ambitions. A man driven by those ambitions and a need for power. She’d hoped Elayne might temper it, but apparently not. She clenched her teeth, and absently wondered if he could hear them grinding together.
And what he’d make of it if he could.
“I was getting ready to retire, Vertigern.” It was a lie but what did one more matter now? She’d lied to Shan when she sent him away. She could lie to the gods themselves now without shame. “What do you want?”
It came out more bluntly than she might have wanted under more politic circumstances, but she didn’t care.
“I—I wanted to show you something.”
“What?”
“It’s a secret.”
She scowled, her patience almost gone. She was too tired to think, let alone argue. “Secrets are usually costly. What is it?”
“I can show you. But it’s got to be kept quiet. If anyone found out—”
“All right, I understand.” If she did this, maybe he’d let her be and she could sleep. She grabbed her weapons, strapping them around her body with practiced ease. Her cloak came as an afterthought, a shield against the darkness, against the cold she felt growing inside her.
But for herself or Vertigern, she didn’t know.
They moved through the sleeping camp like ghosts. No one challenged them or greeted them. No one at all.
They left the perimeter of the camp, and the lights faded behind them. Vertigern walked on silently, lost in thought. He closed and reopened his fists at his side, over and over. What could he be so stressed about?
The sound of the river grew louder, the water rushing by just down the incline to the bank. They stood right beside the Silver River itself, the sound only an echo now of the Alviron falls upstream.
“Jeren? Vertigern?” Elayne’s voice came out of the darkness. She jogged up to join them. “What are you doing?”
“Go back, Elayne,” said Vertigern, his unusually gruff tones making both the women stare. “You’ve no place here.” Now that wasn’t like him.
Raised as a minor noble, Vertigern was a charmer, a man who lived by oiling his words. And he adored Elayne. Jeren had never heard him be so short with her, ever, even before he had finally admitted he loved her.
“No place?” Elayne froze, her eyes wide with hurt. “If nothing else, I’m your bodyguard, Vertigern. In fact, neither of you should be out here without some sort of security. What are you up to?”
The tone said she didn’t want to know, that she suspected the worse. Vertigern had been Jeren’s betrothed, and no matter how much they liked each other, Jeren knew Elayne could never forget that. He’d left his home and his people to come after her when he thought she was in danger. More than he had ever done for the woman who, although his lover, would always be socially beneath him.
“Vertigern wanted to show me something,” Jeren said, reaching out a comforting hand. “Nothing more.”
A soft sigh of relief escaped Elayne’s lips and she smiled. “Then I... I feel somewhat foolish, but I mean it. You shouldn’t leave the camp alone. What if something happened? Where are you taking her?”
“Go back, Elayne,” Vertigern repeated, backing away from them now. “Please.”
This was wrong, so very wrong. Every nerve in Jeren’s body tingled with alarm. Why was he acting like this? Why to Elayne of all people?
“What is going on, Vertigern?” she asked.
But another voice answered, a voice that made her heart leap in terror. “He’s fulfilling his part of the bargain, of course.”
Gilliad stepped from the shadows on the river bank.
Jeren pulled the sword from its scabbard while beside her Elayne drew her own weapons. But Vertigern didn’t move. Not as Gilliad’s men came flooding up from the riverbank. Water sloshed against the dark barges moored there.
Vertigern finally raised his head, looked Jeren in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“But why?” Elayne shouted. “Vertigern!” Her voice cracked on his name.
“For his sister, of course.” Gilliad laughed. “Isn’t that just precious? He hands over my sister in return for his own. But of course, my wife is not something to bargain with.” He turned his back. “Take them.”
Holtguards flooded the riverbank. Elayne shouted the alarm and launched herself into attack. Vertigern roared at the betrayal, but Jeren didn’t listen. Gilliad was there, right there. He didn’t even bother to fight. He didn’t need to. He just watched as they struggled to win their way free, and failed.
There were too many. Far too many.
“Run,” shouted Elayne. “Jeren, you have to run!”
It was the last thing Jeren heard. Something hard struck her head and she went down, the world dwindling to darkness and despair.
It was dawn before Indarin called a halt. Shan didn’t know if he should give thanks or resent it. With the rapid pace and the darkness of night he didn’t have time to think and for that he was grateful. His body ached, his arms straining from the position in which they were tied, but he didn’t care. It was nothing to the misery inside.
Nothing compared to that.
While the others ate cold strips of dried meat and bedded down for the night, he sat in silence, staring into the darkness. Jeren was somewhere out there, far away now. No one moved like Shistra-Phail on a forced march. Every moment took her further away.
Which was probably just as well.
Already the distance helped his mind, his body coming back to something more like itself once more. His blood didn’t boil and surge, his emotions didn’t run wild. He felt calm and focused.
And empty inside.
Indarin hunkered down in front of him and offered him a strip of meat. “Here, you should eat.”
“You’d have to untie me. There’s no need.”
But Indarin held the meat up to his mouth and reluctantly, Shan took a bite. It was hard to work his teeth through it, harder to chew, but his mouth flooded with juices as the need for food struck him. He swallowed it down, and took another mouthful.
So Indarin fed him like a captive animal. What did that matter? He was dangerous to the Feyna now. He could turn any time, and until they found this mythical way to stop that, or until they executed him, no one could risk letting him go free for even a second. Shan knew that, accepted it, and would have done the same in other circumstances.
“How are you feeling?” asked Indarin.
“Fine. Nothing to worry about, not yet. Did you send word to the Ariah?”
“Yes. Ladrin sent his hawk ahead with a message. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
Shan laughed, a bitter, miserable sound even to his own ears. “I’ll look out for the blades first. Or would a noose be quicker?”
Indarin’s face fell and he squeezed Shan’s shoulder firmly. “I will find a way to help you Shan. Whatever it takes. I am not going to let you die.”
“You won’t have a choice, big brother.” It was true. Lying about it wasn’t going to help. Keeping on pretending that things might be otherwise would do no one any good. The speed of the transformation may have slowed, but it was still happening. He could feel it. And the longer he fought it, the harder it became to withstand.
Like a parasite, eating away inside him, gnawing on everything that made him himself. It might have been quicker with Jeren, but at least then he had something to fight for with her.
“Vertigern will be celebrating. He always wanted to be her closest advisor. And more. I suppose he got on the first step when she dismissed me. She’s better off anyway, with her own people.”