Indarin shook his head. “She didn’t dismiss you. She had no more choice than I did.”
“You didn’t look into her eyes. I saw what she thought of me.”
“Jeren loves you, Shan.” Indarin sat back, studying him intently. “What else did you think you saw?”
Shan gave a heavy sigh. The problem was he didn’t really now if he could trust his senses anymore. But his instinct had told him about betrayal before Jeren turned on him. Standing beside the bodies of the assassins, he had known. He had seen it all so clearly.
“It was Vertigern,” he said. “Who sent the assassins? Not Gilliad. They were Holters all right, but not Holtguards. They came from among Vertigern’s company. He wanted us out of the way. I wonder if he sent them or if they took it upon themselves to rid her of us for their leader. It worked either way. He got what he wanted.”
Indarin just kept staring, no longer focused on Shan so much as on his words, turning them over in his mind.
“He wanted access to Jeren. To guide her.”
Shan snorted. “At the very least. He thought to marry her once. Tell me, will they just ignore the fact that she was my mate? Or doesn’t it matter to them at all? Holter laws are not like ours.”
“Shan, be quiet.” Indarin surged to his feet, towering over his brother, suddenly the still and stonelike figure Jeren spoke of. “You left Naul with her. Can you connect to the cub as you did to Anala? Did you bond with him as your totem?”
His body went numb with concern. “He’s young. He doesn’t understand as much, but I can—”
“Just do it. Do it now. Find her.”
Shan shut his eyes, stretched out his mind. It was almost too far but Naul was strong, his devotion to Shan like a fire. His mind blazed brightly enough to be reached even over such a distance.
All around was chaos. Shouts and panic, people tearing everywhere. Cowering in the pavilion, Naul whined and tried to find Jeren. But she wasn’t there. Nowhere to be seen, her scent fading after such a long time. Elayne staggered in, bleeding from a dozen wounds, shouting orders to those who followed her.
Leithen bore down on her like a bear. “He couldn’t have come so close.”
“I don’t care how impossible you think it is. They used the River, came right up to the edge of our camp and we knew nothing. Gilliad was there. He took them.”
“And you escaped.”
“Barely.” She all but snarled the word at him.
“What were they doing down there? Jeren and Vertigern. What were they—?”
“It doesn’t matter!” She stripped off the armour, heedless of their gazes. Blood stained her tunic in a dozen places. “Get me a healer and get me a horse. We have to give chase. We have to get them back.”
Leithen nodded, sending Shistra-Phail and Holter alike scurrying off. Alone with her, he leaned in, his presence a threat. “What happened? You will tell me, Elayne.”
She wilted. “It was Vertigern, the idiot. He made a stupid deal and Gilliad double-crossed him. Because of course he did. The fool. Doesn’t matter, does it? He betrayed her. And now Gilliad has them both.”
The shock of it broke Shan’s connection like a thread stretched too far. He reeled back, falling onto his aching arms and crying out in anger.
“He has her. Gilliad has her. Indarin, you have to let me go! He has her!”
Indarin’s face drained of colour. But he didn’t move. How could he? Untie a captive and set him free? One infected by the Fellna sorceress, rapidly turning into a monster, able to kill any mortal being in countless ways within a single beat of a heart, even without the magic unleashed. No one would be so foolish. And his brother was not a fool.
Shan strained at the leather bonds, his arms wrenching. He tried again. As if he could tear himself free. But he had to. He’d break his arms to do it if he had to, sever a hand. Gilliad had Jeren. He had to save her.
“Shan, stop!” Indarin pushed him back. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“What do you care? You know what I am, Indarin, what I’m capable of! By the goddess, I killed Ylandra. They offered her to me if I’d leave Jeren. But I couldn’t. And I couldn’t let them take her back.”
Indarin seized him, dragging him up. His face drained of what little colour it had, his cheeks hollowed out. “What are you saying?”
“I killed her. She begged me, and I killed her. Before they could turn her into something like—something like me. Before they could do this to her!”
Indarin hurled him away with a snarl of rage.
Shan fell to the ground, rolled, his mouth filling with dirt, his mind filling with shadows. He gave in to the darkness, to use it, to welcome it, to make it part of him at last.
And something gave, tore, broke free. The darkness rushed in on him.
Even as Indarin shouted, the others rolled out of slumber, weapons at the ready.
But Shan didn’t care. The Fellna poured into the camp, a swarm of them, wild and hungry, ravenous shadows, enraged because he was enraged. In the centre the Enchassa stood with her arms open to him, her smile almost kind. The bonds holding his hands fell away. Indarin tried to grab him, but the Enchassa threw out her hand, knocking him back.
So powerful a foe. So strong an ally.
“It’s time.” Her voice shook the earth beneath them, sent the clouds scurrying through the sky to cover the moon. “Will you come?”
“Yes,” and his voice was just as terrible. Part of him wept inside. It didn’t matter anymore. None of it mattered, what he was, what he had been. The rest of him revelled in this newfound power, this strength and freedom. The wind howled through the trees, tearing the leaves off them like a winter wind. He stepped past Indarin, ignoring his protests. “These Feyna don’t matter. Leave them be and take me. We have much to do and little time. She is in grave danger.”
Chapter Twelve
The freezing damp of River Holt etched its way into Jeren’s bones. Not River Holt of the sunny courtyards and sparkling fountains. Not River Holt of the soaring towers and fragrant breezes. Not even River Holt of the brew-houses and whores.
Jeren was in the dungeons. She knew it even before she fully became aware of her own self. The damp permeated everything, breath fogged in the chill air, and the constant rumble of the waterfall shook the air.
She opened her eyes, but it made no difference. The darkness was absolute.
She tried to move, and found shackles weighing down her wrists and legs. Her head throbbed and as she lifted it, her stomach heaved, trying to escape where she could not. Her groan echoed off the hollow chamber.
“Jeren?” Vertigern’s voice was not far away, but not close either. “Jeren? Are you there?”
“Yes.” Her voice scraped on her throat’s insides.
“Oh god and goddess, thanks be. I’m sorry, Jeren. So sorry. I’ve been such a fool. Such a blind fool.”
Jeren growled, pushing her aching body up off the floor. He’d betrayed her without compunction, had it backfire and now would waste the rest of both their lives interminably apologising for it. Wonderful. She couldn’t wait.