“Keep still and silent, Holter. I’ve no reason to love your kind, nor any inclination to start trying. Bite me again and I might just throw you to the wolves out there to see how you like it.”
Outside, she could hear distant voices, a search party. She jerked forwards, eager to call out for help.
“They are looking for you, but only to kill you, little one.”
He must have felt her shudder. Slowly, as if testing to see what she’d do next, he released her.
Jeren bowed her head and fought to keep from crying. Part of her wanted to scream that it couldn’t be true, that her brother would never allow it. And yet…and yet…
She held her tongue instead.
His voice gentled. “You should rest. The Snow Child almost claimed you.” A bitter laugh shook its way out of him. “She almost had us both. It’s only thanks to Anala and the owl that we’re alive at all.”
“Anala?”
He nodded towards a beast sleeping by the cave mouth. A large dog of some kind. More than just a dog.
“She’s half-wolf, isn’t she?” Jeren blushed violently, hoping the shadows hid her as completely as they hid him. Though she strained to see her rescuer, she could only make out the vaguest of details. A slender man, broad-shouldered, tall. And strong. She didn’t need to see him to know that. She could recall the feel of his body as he carried her, as they huddled together, the way she had fitted against him. She couldn’t see his face through the darkness, but somehow she knew he wore a grin. “What do you find so funny?”
“Anala isn’t half-wolf. She’s all wolf.” His voice warmed with amusement and it acted on her exhausted senses, making the iron-hard tension ease.
“And the owl?”
“I think she came for you.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She wondered what Mina would say to that idea. Lady Jeren of River Holt with a warrior totem at her beck and call, like one of the Fair Ones out of the stories.
And then it struck her. The memories flooded over her, jumbled and incoherent, frightening.
“My…my companions—” she began and stopped. Her throat tightened as she realised the inevitable answer. “Are they dead?”
“You were the only one alive when I got there,” he told her and moved back, further into the shadows.
Mina was dead. Mina Roh, her guardian, who had watched over her all her life. It left a hollow place inside her, a place she never imagined could be emptied so easily.
“Who are you?” Jeren asked.
“Shan,” he told her. “You can call me Shan.”
She shivered, sick with loss. “They were all dead? You’re certain? I travelled with a woman, a lady…”
“Your companion broke her neck, little one, when your carriage left the road.” Her eyes were unaccustomed to darkness, and it hid him from her. It would have been easy to start a fire, but he hadn’t done so. Why?
Oh, but what did it matter now? Mina was dead.
She pulled her arms closer around her chest. “She…she’s dead. You’re sure?” In her own voice she heard the desperation of a child.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “Had I left you there, you would have joined her. Men were coming to kill any survivors.”
Her body tensed. Maldrine’s men? Who else would dare? Suddenly she found herself eager to hear of vengeance. “Did you kill them? Are they dead?”
“No,” he said. “I took you and left. Thus, we are both alive. Anala thought I was a fool to get involved.” The timbre of his voice resonated through her, tainted with pain. That wasn’t a good sign, Jeren thought. It wasn’t good at all. He’d been wounded saving her. And yet, he hadn’t saved the others. Mina was dead. She shook aside her concern for his obvious pain as an irritant in the way of her anger.
“You should have killed them. You should have stayed like a man and fought.”
He wasn’t annoyed. He seemed more curious than anything else. “For what purpose? To defend a pile of corpses?”
“For honour…”
“You’re young to speak of death in such a way. There’s no honour in fighting without reason. Why do they want you dead?”
Jeren retreated into herself, recoiling without moving. How could she tell him the truth? The best scenario would be that he would hold her hostage. River Holt would ruin itself in order to win back Lord Gilliad’s little sister. Gilliad wouldn’t even have to enforce the collection of the ransom. She knew her people loved her. Her brother on the other hand…
No, she didn’t want to think about that.
“I…I’m Jeren…” she began slowly. When he gave no reaction, she drew in a wavering breath. If he didn’t recognise the name, there might be a chance. Although she’d always been taught not to lie, she now had no choice. But could she look into the shadows where he nestled and spin falsehoods to the man who had saved her? At least she didn’t have to look into his face, his eyes. That would be impossible. She hung her head and continued, “I’m servant to the Lady of River Holt, Lord Gilliad’s sister. She was with me, in the carriage…”
He surged forwards as if to leap to his feet, but then fell back, with a gasp of pain. His anger came out in his voice. “She looked nothing like him!”
Jeren shied back again. He moved so fast, even wounded, and his voice held such hatred. She nodded slowly, biting down on her lower lip. “You know Lord Gilliad?”
Of course he did. There could be no other explanation for that reaction.
The seed of madness had lurked within Gilliad all his life. Even as a boy, her brother had cared for nothing but his own pleasures, and everyone had quickly learned to deny him nothing. His rages were legendary. If he didn’t have what he wanted, someone would always have to pay. Except for Jeren and their father. Her father had recognised the trait and sought to curb it. He had failed, as she had failed.
She thought of the Shistra-Phail warrior in the cells, of his madness, of the glee her brother had taken in it.
But who would believe her if she told? The River Holters’ loyalty to the Scion of Jern was as much a part of them as their skin. Shan must have seen it firsthand to react in such a way.
“I know he’s a curse to the world,” said Shan, “as are all True Blood. The magic in their veins makes them serpent-born.”
Gods, was that what he thought of them? She closed her eyes, thinking of her gentle father and the way he had held her, spun her around until she was dizzy and laughing. The image shifted in her mind, to Gilliad watching her with jealous eyes, to Gilliad as he had become, his grip on her arms when he had turned her around to face Maldrine. How wrong was Shan, if of all her family, he only knew Gilliad?
Jeren’s voice cracked as she spoke, deadened with exhaustion, though she took care with her words. “He’s the Lord of River Holt now. His sister was to marry the Lord of Grey Holt’s nephew. But Gilliad became reluctant…recently his behaviour…” She struggled to find a polite way of saying Gilliad was spiralling towards madness. It was too hard to express that, even to one who clearly hated her brother. After all, she was a River Holter too.
“Small group for a wedding party, wasn’t it?” he asked. His voice sounded sharper, as if he sensed the further concealment within the lie. She glanced away, hiding her secrets. However he took her silence, she didn’t know, but he conceded, his voice gentling. “Jeren, I wasn’t lying when I said you should rest. In the morning, you can decide what to do. I won’t keep you here.”
She stared at him, trying to figure out what that meant.