Ah, but fear was a much stronger master than shame, especially here, where they knew fear intimately, where they had felt its claws and teeth in the shadows.
Holding her head erect, Jeren swept through the room and the guards hurried to follow. As she passed Ilydona sank back into a chair and buried her face in her hands.
Through the familiar corridors and chambers of River Holt, rooms where she had grown up, played, followed on her father’s coattails, Jeren marched with a purpose. She barely noticed the tapestries she had once pored over, the paintings depicting long dead ancestors or the trophies and prizes they had won in all their many battles and wars.
These familiar-as-her-own-heart things slid by her as she focused on what had to happen. She would kill her brother. Or be killed.
Because if she wasn’t, her fate would be so much worse.
Stairs wound downwards, and once on the ground floor, they headed onwards, towards the dungeons and the mausoleum. Through moonlit courtyards, past sparkling fountains where flowers waved in the breeze, past colonnades and gardens, into the deeper darkness.
With a roar, Leithen threw himself out of his hiding place. His battle cry shook the walls around them. Swords flashed as the rebels attacked. Jeren caught a glimpse of Elayne as she crashed into the first of Jeren’s guards, bringing him down in a heap. She didn’t pause. Elayne never paused in battle.
“Jeren, this way.” Leithen pulled her to the side, shielding her from the fight.
Six guards, Elayne and her companions, and before Jeren could shove Leithen aside and find a way to arm herself, it was all over.
“Nice to see you again, Jeren,” said Elayne, hardly out of breath. She grinned, jubilant in her victory. Jeren had never seen her so animated. “Shall we get you out of here?”
If they expected exclamations of relief and gratitude, Jeren would disappoint them. She couldn’t waste the time. Not now. Escape was not the plan. Not anymore.
“No. We’ve got a chance to finish this. We might never get this close again.”
Every eye in the place frowned at her, Elayne, Leithen, Shistra-Phail and Holters. “Jeren, we need to get you to safety.”
Jeren shook herself free of Leithen and scooped up a sword from one of the fallen guards. It wasn’t hers. It was an entirely mundane weapon, but that didn’t matter anymore. She weighed it in her hand, testing it. Briefly, she wondered where Felan’s sword had gone. And her sect knife for that matter.
“We’ve got to stop Gilliad,” she told them. “For once and for all, I have to confront my brother and make an end of it. Who’s with me?”
They hesitated, staring at her in her gown and jewels. Then Elayne grinned. “We are, Lady Jeren. To the end.”
The world was dark and fluid, made of shadows and tendrils of night. Shan shook his pounding head and found himself again. Bodies surged, one against the other, skin on skin, kissing, laughing, meeting and parting. Fellna bodies, lithe and elegant where before they had seemed skeletal. All was different inside the swarm.
Inside the swarm.
The Enchassa slid her hands up his chest and her tongue followed. Blind hunger tore through him and he wanted her, more than he had ever wanted anyone but Jeren.
But he couldn’t. He was here for one reason only, for Jeren. This was the only way to reach her in time.
“You’re stronger, Shan.” She purred the words just before she kissed him. “Stronger than before. Let’s see how strong.”
Her lips tore at him, teeth scraping his skin until blood flowed. Shan gasped as her hands continued to explore, as the other Fellna pressed in against them, murmuring their joy, their pleasure and pain combined.
“Come away with us,” the Enchassa said. “Come and serve him and live like this forever Shan. There’s no more pain when pain becomes one with pleasure. Serve him and I’ll make your life more than you can imagine, my Fair One.” She laughed and the sound rippled through him, from his head down to his groin and back. Pure pleasure, pure lust, all of it dark and twisted so as to bring his agony to a peak like ecstasy.
“I can’t. She’s in danger. Terrible danger.”
The note of the Fellna’s pleasure changed, sharpening to suffering. The Enchassa’s stroking fingertips stopped at his throat and closed on him, barbs of steel. “What has happened? Where is she?”
Other voices hissed around him, sibilant sounds that made his skin tighten. His head throbbed, as if his body was too tight to contain him. They were angry... no, they were afraid. Terribly afraid.
For Jeren.
“Her brother is insane. He wants—”
The Enchassa snarled impatiently, lifted her free hand and plunged it into his mind. Shan screamed, his body convulsing in shock, but the Enchassa didn’t pause. Neither to mock nor to gloat. She wanted information.
“Show me!” Her command sent the images exploding inside his memory, of Gilliad when he had captured Jeren, of the things he had planned to do to her, of the insanity that made him want to bed and impregnate his own sister. Shan couldn’t help it. Even if he had wanted to hide anything from her, he could not have managed it.
He would have let her see any secret if only the pain would stop.
Abruptly it did. She released him, sliding her hand out again, the wisps and shadows that formed it solidifying as it came free.
Shan fell to his knees, gasping, retching while the Fell rose around him, hissing and snarling.
“No, it cannot be.” The Enchassa shook her hand as if she could dislodge his memories like drops of water. “Gilliad has sworn to serve our Master. He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t dare.”
“Then you don’t know him well enough. He’d swear anything to get to Jeren. Anything at all.”
The noise grew louder, the Fellna enraged, arguing, terrified.
Afraid for Jeren, as if his own terror had infected them.
“No!” The Enchassa’s voice shook the swarm to silence. “He cannot. You’ll see. He can not!”
She waved her hand and the darkness rippled like the surface of a pool. Stillness spread from the centre out and in it, Shan could see a chamber and clustered around the edge... they looked like figures in repose, effigies of the dead. A mausoleum. The sound of roaring water filled the air. And suddenly Shan knew it, the mausoleum in River Holt, burial ground of the Scions of Jern, where Jeren’s ancestors were meant to rest in peace.
Transformed to the most evil place imaginable.
Jeren screamed, her body stretched out on the floor. Cruel chains entangled her wrists and ankles, forcing her out into a star shape. A figure crouched over her, tore her clothes to shreds, ran his hands over her flesh, hit her, hurt her.
Raped her.
“No!” Shan’s voice rocked the world of the Fellna swarm and they joined in again, responding to him as readily as they did to the Enchassa. His rage engulfed them all. “You have to stop him. He’s taken her. He’s going to do it. Stop him.”
The Enchassa bared her teeth, tears streaming from her eyes. “Yes. Stop him. The traitor. We must stop him.”
The swarm closed around them again, their anger reflecting back on him, into him and Shan lost himself in their rage. His mind slipped into the unity of the hive and they swarmed, taking him with them.
To River Holt.
To Gilliad and Jeren.
To save her.
Shan fell into the darkness and the hunger of the Fell consumed him as well.
Chapter Thirteen