“I’m part of you, Shan. Where else would I be?”
“With Gilliad?” Her laughter echoed around his head. “Jeren saw you there. She told me.”
“Of course she did. Jeren tells you everything, of course.” Sarcasm dripped like venom from the words. “Just as you are so completely honest with her.”
“I don’t lie to her.” He clenched his fists.
“Only by omission. You’re hardly going to confess our little trysts, beloved.”
No. Not if he wanted to stay with his people, with his mate. Not if he didn’t want to be placed under guard for the rest of his miserable life. Or worse. If the Seers took charge of him it would be much worse.
When he didn’t reply, the Enchassa purred through his mind. Large parts of his brief captivity were blurred, indistinct, but he knew that somehow she had winnowed her way into his mind, perhaps even into his soul, and lodged herself there. Like a cancer, she tainted his every thought. She fed on fear, on confusion and all those doubts.
“Her love of duty is as strong as yours. It’s one of the things that makes you both such a perfect match for the other. And one of the things that divides you. She can’t take much more. Sitting here idly, waiting for her brother to kill again. Waiting for the war to come to you. She won’t do that, Shan. She wants revenge as much as anyone else. But there’s more. She wants justice too. If you don’t lose her to one, you’re going to lose her to the other.”
“No.” And yet the word had no force behind it. A plaintive mew, nothing more. He bit on his lower lip and closed his eyes. He would not... could not lose Jeren.
And yet, he couldn’t keep her. Not against her will. And he knew—gods help him, he knew—she was going to have to confront her brother. Devyn’s death, this kidnapping, all combined to take it one step too far. More personal attacks would follow. Not just assassinations, but systematic assaults designed to get to her through those she loved, through those she trusted.
And here he was, doubting her.
Perhaps he should be the one to leave, to take the fight to Gilliad. Once he had sworn to do so, for Falinar’s sake. His murdered sister had seemed to rest quiet in her grave since he had forsaken his vengeance for Jeren. But now... now he feared she stirred again.
“He didn’t just murder her, Shan,” the Enchassa reminded him gleefully. “He raped her, tortured her. He desecrated her and in the holiest place of all. In Aran’Mor. Poor Fa.”
“What do you want?” His hands clenched tighter as rage tore through him. “What do you want from me?”
Misery, torment. He knew the answer. She wanted him to suffer. It was all the Enchassa ever wanted. He’d tried to kill her, he had escaped her, and yet she would never let him go.
“I want you to be true to yourself.” Her voice even sounded like Falinar’s and tears needled the corners of his eyes. “If you want to protect Jeren, truly want to keep her from throwing herself into a war she cannot win, then you know what you have to do.”
And he did. Gods help him he did. He would have to do what he should have done all along, what he had intended to do from the very first. He would do it now. Without telling her, without giving her a chance to stop him. He had to, no matter what it did to her, no matter what happened to him. Gilliad of River Holt had to die and Shan had long ago sworn that it would be by his own hand. For all he had done to Falinar.
He got to his feet, the tension draining out of him as the Enchassa departed, her work done. His hands unfurled, blood covering them from where his nails had cut deep into his palm. But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt no pain, no fear, no concern for what the morning would bring. He would not lose Jeren to Gilliad.
He would kill her brother himself.
Chapter Four
Jeren stepped into the tent expecting to find Indarin alone, but instead found the Ariah sitting at his side, holding his hand and scowling.
“I’m sorry,” Jeren exclaimed and made to retreat. But Lara just looked up with exhausted eyes.
“Jeren?” Her eyes were rimmed with red. “I’m... I’m sorry. He couldn’t be alone. So I stayed.”
Awkwardly, Jeren nodded. Indarin didn’t react. He stared at the roof of the tent without blinking.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s trying to will himself to die.”
“To... why?”
“Because he says he has no value anymore. He’s a Shaman and he doesn’t have any magic left in him. And he’s a stubborn fool who won’t listen to reason.”
Jeren couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Yes, I’m aware of the family trait.”
Lara stared at her for a moment and then nodded. “Can you... can you talk to him?”
“I’ll try. Will he listen?”
It was enough for Lara it seemed. She released his hand, replacing it on his chest with gentle reverence and got to her feet. She smoothed down the white gown she wore and tried to compose herself, fussing over her appearance to hide how upset she was.
And she was upset. Far more than was appropriate for the Ariah trying to deal with a stubborn Shaman.
But not too much for Lara, trying to convince the man she secretly loved to live.
“You should get some rest,” Jeren kept her voice soft, gentle. “Leave the Seers and the Shistra-Phail to themselves for one night. Don’t worry about the Feyna and the Holters. Just for tonight, sleep.”
Lara flinched. She started to glance back at Indarin but stopped herself. “And him?”
“Let me deal with him.”
If she couldn’t solve her problems with Shan yet, at least she could do something about Indarin. Oh, yes, dealing with at least one of the Al-Fallion brothers was going to be her pleasure.
Jeren waited until the Ariah left them, letting the minutes tick by until she was sure there was no way she would still be within earshot. She took her time, approaching Indarin, her anger growing inside. She couldn’t get Shan to talk to her. She couldn’t make Gilliad stop from here. She could do nothing but what was within her power, here and now.
Standing over Indarin, she looked down into her teacher’s face. He was pale, even for a Feyna. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes distant.
Jeren slapped him with all her strength. His head snapped to one side but he didn’t react.
He didn’t want to live without magic?
Well, too bad.
She hit him again.
“Get up and stop this.” She raised her hand a third time, but his lashed out catching her wrist.
“Let me be, Jeren.” His voice came out as a croak, wasted.
“I’m sure it’s not fitting for the student to strike the teacher in this way, but I’m willing to keep going if I must. Get up.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re needed, Indarin. That’s why.” She wanted to plead, but that wouldn’t work with him, would it? That was what the Ariah had been trying.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Needed for what? What kind of Shaman do I make with no magic left?”
She almost hit him again. “The same as you were with it, if I’m any judge. You never used it.”
Indarin stared at her, open mouthed. Finally he found words, and not what she expected. “I suppose I asked for that.” He chuckled to himself and sank back onto the low cot. For a moment he lay still again, but then he let out a long sigh. “I never wanted magic. I wanted to be like my brother and sister. A warrior. I only just managed to keep from being a Seer, you know. Much like you. I couldn’t have stood that. At least, as Shaman, I still had a place amongst the Shistra-Phail. But now? What do I have?”