“Jeren,” he said, his voice travelling as clearly as hers did over the hushed and expectant crowd. “This is no time to let vengeance dictate. We have had losses, that is true, but revenge is not the way.”
Once she’d imagined that her life with Shan had given him new meaning, that he was no longer consumed with revenge and death, but she’d merely staved that off, hadn’t she?
Now she was going right back down the same path.
But no one else moved. And Jeren was ashamed to admit it, neither did she. It was Vertigern who spoke, who said the words they were all thinking.
“Not revenge for one person perhaps, but for a nation, for all of River Holt.”
Indarin gazed at them, one after another, but to her horror, his glance came to its final resting place on Jeren. “That lust for revenge almost destroyed my brother before. It could have cost his soul. I told him that years ago and my opinion has not changed. Now you would give up your own instead? Did I not say you do not have to become like Gilliad to best him, Jeren? Does no one listen?”
Lara stepped closer to him, her hands gently restraining. She caught Jeren’s eye and nodded slowly. No matter what Indarin thought, Lara agreed.
“Where is my brother, Jeren? What have you done?” Indarin gave a snarl of frustration and tore himself away from her, leaving them all behind him in rage.
Jeren pursed her lips together.
“We have to stop Gilliad,” she said and the roar of outrage nearly swept her from her feet. “You don’t understand!” She didn’t shout. The True Blood never needed to shout. She projected her voice just enough that they couldn’t fail to hear her. “You have no idea what he is capable of, but I do. We have to stop him. This fight is mine.”
She pulled Felan’s sword from its scabbard, the sword of River Holt, and it sang as it broke free. The hand-like hilt closed around her grip and its blade flashed silver in the morning light, as she held it aloft.
“We ride for River Holt!”
They cheered like madmen, their faces transformed in bloodlust and the rage of revenge.
Jeren turned away, leaving Vertigern to swoop in and issue commands to prepare for war. War she had never wanted. She sheathed the sword gratefully and then lifted her face to the door of the tent.
Where Shan stood, watching her, his face etched with heartache.
Chapter Five
For a moment Shan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to feel. All he could hear was the laughter roaring through his mind as the Enchassa enjoyed every moment of it. Oh yes, she loved this.
He’d decided to leave, to deal with the problem for Jeren. And at the same time, Jeren had made the same decision. This wasn’t fair. It was like the gods were laughing at the two of them, spinning them in circles just for fun.
Jeren stood before him like a frightened rabbit, staring up at him with eyes turned wide with her guilt.
“What have you done?” he asked in as quiet a voice as possible. She shook her head and to his amazement he saw her hand stray to the sword.
For comfort, his rational mind told him, to balance her magic with her emotions... that was all. Surely not because she felt in need of protection? From him?
“What I had to. What I should have done long ago.” Her voice trembled. She didn’t want this either, none of it. She’d fled the Holtlands and that life to make a new one with him. That was what she had said, wasn’t it?
Shan entwined her arm with his and drew her away from the camp, away from the chaos her announcement had caused.
“You used your magic, didn’t you? On me?”
She pulled away from him, defensive and angry. So very angry. “I did what I had to do. What I—”
“What did you think I’d do, Jeren? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d do it for you. I still will. I’d killed him in a heartbeat. For you.”
He swept away from her, shaking so hard he thought he’d break apart. That at any moment his anger would make him snap.
“It nearly destroyed you,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she reached out to him. “Hunting Gilliad. And yes, I know, you would kill him. You still want to kill him. I know that. But I can’t let you do it, Shan. It’s my responsibility. Three lives ended yesterday because of me, because he hates me. Three lives, two of whom had barely begun, and Indarin’s magic was wiped from his body. Because of me. Because of him. The Fellna have joined him. The monsters we stirred up—”
“We didn’t bring them into this!” His protests sounded hollow, even to his own ears. When had they not stirred up the Fellna? They’d been dormant until he and Jeren returned to Sheninglas, lingering in their dark halls and empty chambers beneath the earth. They’d taken Ylandra, and they still wanted him...
“Maybe we’ve taken you too,” the Enchassa sneered. “Maybe you just don’t realise it yet.”
Jeren took his silence for defeat. “But we did. And whether we did or not, my love, they’re involved now. We have to stop him, stop them.”
“And what if he kills you?” Shan grabbed her shoulders, shook her hard. “What if he has his way and destroys you? What if he has his way and does something worse?”
She froze in his grip, her eyes so hard and cold that he barely knew her. He felt it coming like ozone in the air but it surged up so quickly there was nothing he could do to stop it—magic, her magic, surging through her body.
Jeren’s hands moved faster than he could see, slapping his arms away with unnatural strength. When she spoke, her voice was all Scion of Jern. Nothing of his wife remained in the tones.
“Then someone else will take my place. This is the way it must be. I’m not going to argue this with you again. I’ve made my decision.”
And she had. It blazed in her eyes, and her body shook with rage.
There was nothing he could say. Nothing she would listen to. Stubbornness didn’t even begin to describe it.
“I’ll leave right away,” he told her.
Jeren stared at him, her mouth open a little, and confusion entered her eyes. “You’ll... you’ll what?”
He didn’t even say goodbye. There was no way to say it. Just headed for their tent and gathered his belongings.
“Shan?” She followed him, less certain now, more the woman he knew and loved. Part of him wanted to turn back, to gather her in his arms and hold her close. But his anger was too great. He couldn’t believe she’d done this, started the war they’d tried to avoid, the one which they knew would destroy them. “Shan, what are you doing?”
Didn’t she remember her vision? Didn’t she recall the nightmare she’d seen in Aran’Mor with herself as the Lady of River Holt?
“What you want. Making sure you go safely to your Holt. I’ll take care of it all. Make sure we’re never together again.” He snatched up his sect knife last of all and rammed it into the sheath.
“Shan, please—”
If he looked at her, he knew he’d see tears in her eyes. He could hear it in the tightening of her voice, the pain that stretched her words. But that didn’t matter anymore. Not to her. They didn’t matter. Only revenge did.
“I’ll make sure there’s nothing to stop you.” Not even Gilliad. Especially not Gilliad.
He turned and strode from the camp without so much as a backward glance. He had to. If he saw her cry, he’d never forgive himself.