Shan retreated further into darkest part of the cave. Jeren closed her eyes and closed off the world outside. The last thing she wanted to do was dwell on her own situation, to think about Gilliad and Maldrine, or the deaths of her only friends. She hated lying to Shan, though she could not say why. Perhaps, if he knew her true identity…
No. Now was not the time to think on such things. Instead, she focused on Shan and, as she always did when distressed, she allowed the magical faculties she inherited from her father to surge to life, sensing him out, feeling what he felt.
Like a firefly in the darkness, Shan’s body filled with shimmering light. His emotions were laid clear to her. Unused to pain, or to bearing physical damage, he would endure it, but deep down, he was afraid. And that was also alien to him.
“You’re hurt.” She struggled to bring her abilities under tighter control. Opening her eyes, she could almost see him now. Sunrise started to filter in from the outside. She welcomed its arrival at last. She longed for a new day to put the horror of the last one behind her, for warmth and light to drown the shadows clinging to her heart. “Let me help, Shan. I studied with the Holt’s healers and helped them on a number of cases.”
“You’re a healer now?” He shuffled farther away from her.
“What are you so afraid of?” she persisted.
His voice came out harsh with false bravado. “I’m afraid of nothing, least of all you.”
“Then why hide?”
Sunlight crept through the cave mouth. Anala scrambled to her feet at their raised voices, her claws scratching at the bare stone. The owl cried out in alarm at the sudden movement. Light stretched across the floor, illuminating his finely crafted, well-worn boots of soft grey leather. She could see the dried blood caked on his calf and fresh blood staining the soft fabric around the arrow shaft. Its broken stub projected like a jagged tooth.
Jeren stilled as the sun revealed yet more of him. He wore a tunic of the same grey-white suede. Even his skin was pale. His fingers, long and elegant, curled helplessly at his side.
Jeren’s jaw fell open. A cry of alarm came stillborn to her lips as she looked on skin as fair as one snow-touched, the veins a tracery of blue, like lines in marble. His white-blonde hair was finely braided, each strand no thicker than a child’s bracelet. His silver eyes slanted beyond those of a human and his long lashes were the same white gold. Paler than an albino, as handsome as the images of her god, this Fair One warrior had saved her life. He was younger than Haledren, broader in the shoulders, but just as pale and beautiful, heart-wrenchingly handsome—and just as unapproachable.
The image of what her brother had done to the captive warrior burst like wildfire in her brain—his ruined face, the snarl of his mouth, the monster behind just such an austere mask of perfection.
“Jeren,” Shan whispered. His expression showed he recognised her alarm. In his musical voice she could now hear more than pain, she could also detect the first hint of panic. “Jeren, remember they’re close…little one, please…”
She couldn’t help herself. His endearment was the final straw.
Her scream pierced the spell, and she burst from the cave, running as fast as her exhausted body would allow.
She threw herself across the open ground, dragging herself through the snow. Her breath plumped like smoke in front of her and the cold stabbed into her lungs. But she pushed herself on, through the trees, away from safety, into the open, freezing air.
Suddenly men were running towards her. The primal part of her soared with relief before she recalled why they had been hiding. They weren’t going to help her. They worked for Maldrine.
They came at her, three of them, grinning triumphantly, knives bared. Jeren tried to stop, skidded on the treacherous ground and fell in a confused heap.
“Call the other parties in,” one of them said. “Tell them we have her.” The youngest took off at a run, leaving her alone with two men more akin to animals.
“Never had a True Blood before.” The nearest laughed.
“Don’t play with her, Dervin. She’s as good to us dead and less trouble. Kill her and have done with it.”
But Dervin didn’t listen. He grinned as he came at her. His stained teeth were broken and his eyes yellowed from drink. Jeren scrambled back, her eyes darting from knife to face and back again as she fought through mindless panic.
“Can’t waste a chance like this, Kelleran. Dead ain’t as much fun.” His hand closed on her shoulder, forcing her down. Jeren gulped air, attempted to push him back.
“There’s a monster…” she tried to tell him.
He struck her a blow to the face that sent her to the ground. The world turned red and black and light burst behind her eyes. She tried to pull herself up, to defend herself somehow, to do something, anything.
The snow erupted in a new kind of fury. Kelleran never stood a chance. His head landed beside her with a muffled thud. His eyes were caught in a moment of sheer terror. Hot blood splattered across Jeren’s face. Dervin pushed her away, his hand scrabbling after his sword.
Shan didn’t move like a mortal. He seemed to dance on the air, part of the frozen landscape. True, he relied too much on his good leg, and she knew exhaustion rode him as surely as it did her, but it would still take a far greater swordsman than Dervin to best him. The thug’s sword jerked no more than a foot from the scabbard before the Shistra-Phail’s blade sliced into his arm, severing bone.
Jeren rolled aside as the hulking man dropped to his knees, howling. His forearm twitched on the ground. White with dread, he looked up into a face like the Avenger’s own.
“You should never have touched her,” was all Shan said.
Then his blade descended. Jeren turned away with a strangled sob. She heard the corpse fall, but she couldn’t look, couldn’t bear to see the carnage Shan wrought on her behalf.
Silence settled around them, stillness.
His hand on her shoulder felt tender. “Jeren.”
Another sob escaped her.
“Jeren. We must go. Now!” Urgency shot through his soothing tones. Shan pulled her to her feet and buried her face in his chest. He felt warm, the only warm thing left in this frozen nightmare, and she clung to him.
“Jeren, please, little one. More of them will come. I can’t take them all on, not here, not now.”
“You killed them. You just…killed them.”
Outrage filled his voice. “He would have…” He stared down at her with a kind of rapt wonder. “Jeren, have you never seen a man killed before?”
She shook her head. Her father had forbidden her to attend public executions. He said it was something a girl shouldn’t see. Gilliad hadn’t felt the same concerns, of course, but then, he didn’t really like to kill. A prisoner could entertain him so much more than a corpse.
Shan sighed a curious word and pulled her close again. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.” He stroked her hair, his hand sending warmth rippling through her. “Trust me now. We have to leave if we’re going to live.”
No one had ever asked for her trust before with the clear intention to uphold it. She nodded and squeezed his hand. It was just like squeezing stone. She couldn’t believe what he had done, the speed, the savagery. Her body shook but she pushed the fear down. He had saved her life for a second time. She glanced down and saw blood trickling out into the snow beneath them. Shan’s blood. She dragged in a breath and centred herself.
“I need to tend your wound. You can’t go far with that arrow in your leg. You’re just lucky you didn’t open an artery. As for the risk of infection…”
Jeren allowed him to lead her back towards the cave as she talked. Shan nodded as if he listened, but she could tell that his mind strayed elsewhere.