She managed to look indignant, even through the agony.
“Gilliad, I would never betray you! I’m your sister.”
“You’re also his heir, my lady,” Maldrine interrupted. “Perhaps you thought with Grey Holt at your back, you’d fancy ruling River Holt yourself.”
Clearly the thought had never occurred to her. Shan flinched inwardly. Just what he needed, to get mixed up in True Blood politics on top of everything else.
Jeren’s temper snapped. Despite her wound, she broke away from Shan, standing on her own in an effort to reach her brother, consumed with more bravery than sense. “Maldrine hired mercenaries to run our coach off—”
Gilliad grabbed her chin in a vicelike grip, silencing her. Her legs almost gave out but he grabbed her, holding her up. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Jeren. Maldrine is my truest friend. You, on the other hand…” He turned her to face Shan, cradling her against him in a less than filial way. He stroked her cheek gently, his knuckles grazing her skin, and fixed his malicious eyes on the Shistra-Phail. Jeren’s face was frozen, horror and disgust warring with the need to show no emotions whatsoever. Just like Shan’s own. Her expression was a mirror of his.
Don’t antagonise him. Don’t make this worse.
“Don’t worry little sister,” Gilliad purred. “We’ll take you home. The finest healers will attend you.” He raised his hand to his lips, licked her blood away slowly and smiled like one of Andalstrom’s own demons.
Light flared in his dark eyes and Shan felt the air hum with the raw electricity of magic’s taint. His stomach convulsed in apprehension, and he would have started forwards, but it was already too late. Jeren folded up like a crumpled rag, falling at Gilliad’s feet.
Shan waited for the next move, holding himself still as a statue though everything in him screamed that he had to help her. He couldn’t move. To move might mean death for them both.
Instead, his game with his sister now done, the Scion of Jern ignored him, turning to Maldrine instead.
“I want the dogs that hurt her rounded up and impaled,” he told his captain. “Alive. No one harms anything of mine, especially not my blood kin. Bring the wolf’s pelt. As you said, it’ll make her a fine cloak for the winter.”
Flint-eyes, on the other hand, had not taken his eyes off Shan. Such a hunter never looked away from a beast at bay.
“And him?”
Shan closed his eyes, ready for the blade that would end his life. Perhaps it would end the pain. Perhaps one day Jeren would be able to forgive him the cowardice that sought peace in the arms of the Death Maiden.
“Shanith Al-Fallion is an old friend. I think we should make him a very special guest in River Holt. You can give him Haledren’s old cell. He’d like that.”
Haledren? Shan jerked back to this world of torment as it lurched deeper into nightmare. Gilliad had imprisoned Haledren? Goddess, had Jeren known? Why had she said nothing? He’d spoken about his search enough times.
Gilliad laughed at his expression and Shan forced his alarm back into the sickened pit of his stomach, smoothing his face and turning the agony in on himself. His gaze fell on Anala’s body and on Jeren’s, slumped at her side.
Far off, he heard birdsong. It sounded like laughter.
“So is this the famous Shistra-Phail stoicism?” Maldrine asked. Shan didn’t answer him. The guards approached warily. He still held the spear he had pulled from Anala’s body. It seemed that the only fool in this scene was himself. “Bernat,” Maldrine commanded, “skin the wolf.”
Shan’s pale eyes snapped up to Flint-eyes’ face.
Maldrine flinched and Shan saw beyond the confidence. He could smell fear. River Holt’s Captain shouted his commands just a moment too late.
The first guard fell with his guts tumbling before him. The spear struck the second and broke with the force. Shan’s sword sang in the air and the Dance consumed him. A bolt took him in the shoulder, another in the side. His feet slid in blood sodden mud and he advanced on Flint-eyes.
The crossbow in Maldrine’s hands discharged with a jarring twang. The bolt punched into Shan’s stomach, and he went down, all power snatched away. The guards were on him in seconds, pushing him into the dirt, holding him there.
“Gilliad told me about your kind.” Maldrine masked his shaken nerves with pointless talk. “You take on the attributes of your totem animals. Your wolf would have been proud of her pup.” He reeled the skittish horse around. “Bind him securely and bring him to the Holt.”
Chapter Eight
On the day Jeren finally hauled her aching body from bed, Gilliad arrived late—too late to watch the effort it took her. For that small mercy, she was glad. He’d take far too much pleasure in it. Sitting on the balcony, overlooking the Citadel and the Alviron Falls beyond, she found that she loathed the view, one of the most beautiful sights in the Holtlands. Evening fell with agonising slowness, and the lights flickered to life, turning the Holt into a sea of jewels below her. She didn’t look at them. She gazed out across the stronghold to the waterfall, into the twilight covering the lower realm. Only a few days had passed since her return. It seemed like a prison term.
“A delegation from Grey Holt is arriving tomorrow.” Her brother’s voice came from behind her. It made her insides jump, but she forced herself to remain still. “You’ll join us for dinner in the Great Hall. Vertigern was your betrothed. You’ll show yourself, we’ll apologise, say the match is no longer possible and make reparations.”
“No longer possible?” She rose to her feet, relieved to find some strength had returned. She turned and saw Gilliad leaning on the doorframe, his victory over her complete. “What are your intentions, brother?”
“What kind of neighbour would I be to Grey Holt if I allowed the Scion of Tyr’s nephew to marry an avowed traitor?”
“How have I betrayed you?”
“You knew I doubted the wisdom of the marriage. You left anyway.” He advanced on her slowly.
Jeren made herself hold her ground. “I was carrying out our father’s wishes.”
His open palm struck her with a loud slap. She cradled her stinging face, staring at him wide-eyed.
“I am the Lord of River Holt and I had other plans for you. You went against my will. That is treachery.”
Jeren drew in a strangled breath of frustration. “Do you intend to charge me with this? Do you think you can convince anyone else of this madness?”
That single word did it. She knew the moment she said it. This time he struck with his fist. She tumbled back against the parapet, her head spinning in shock and alarm.
As Gilliad bent over her, she kicked at his leg. His knee buckled. She almost made it past him, as quick as her owl in flight, but he seized a handful of her hair, his nails raking into her scalp. He heaved her back against his iron body.
“So your Fair One lover has taught you a thing or two, has he?” he growled.
“You’ll never know what he taught me. You couldn’t understand it.”
“I know the Fair Ones, little sister. They’re closer to animals than you realise. You think you know them from Mother’s stories? I lived with them. You think your precious Shan is a prime example? Remember Haledren. So composed, serene before, and afterwards…think on it, Jeren, you saw him afterwards.” Spit flecked on his lips and his eyes turned bright with malice. “It’s highly entertaining. You spoiled it, going down there. We could have made him last much longer. If you want to see madness, Jeren, that’s the finest example I know.”