“I have nowhere else to go. My forefather Felan counted himself most fortunate to number amongst your warriors.” Jeren spread her hands wide before her in perfect mimicry of Shan’s supplication. Several of his people softened their hardened expressions and Shan’s heart leaped. “I have read and cherished every word, Sect Mother. I pray you give me sanctuary here.”
She moved them, he could tell. His own heart twisted at the sound of her voice. And among the crowd he could hear whispers. “Just a child, really—we know Gilliad is a dangerous—what did he try to do to her?—if Shan, of all people trusts her—but she isn’t one of us, she’s one of them…”
But the doubt was still there, always there when it came to a Holter. She might win some of them, given time. Once they got to know her, he had no doubt they would love her, care for her as one of their own. Not all of them, though.
Shan had no choice. Some things were private and others could not remain so. Though he wanted to give her time, what time would they have if Ylandra refused to let Jeren stay? And she would. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Ylandra hated the Holters. And she hated Jeren. Hated her even more than another Holter. But why?
If he declared her his mate, here and now…even if the Sect Mother did not approve, she could hardly stand against Jeren then…
Shan drew in a deep breath and something tightened to a stranglehold at the base of his throat. He was taking the choice away from Jeren. He only hoped she would understand. If Ylandra wanted the high tongue of the gods, then he would give it to her.
“Estera cara’mae,” he declared boldly.
Silence slammed over the gathering. Jeren looked at him, confused, unable to understand what he had just said. But Ylandra did. Colour drained from her face, bleaching her skin as if she were snow-touched. Her lips moved, trembled and her eyes glistened in the moment before they turned to granite.
“You cannot mean this.” Ylandra’s hands closing to fists at her side. “She’s True Blood, serpent-born. Her brother murdered your sister!”
Jeren flinched back at the words.
“Whatever it takes, whatever the cost, Jeren must stay here,” he argued. “She’s his heir and his powers will pass to her should he die. She needs our protection.”
“Then she’ll swear the oath of obedience. If she’s willing to be Shistra-Phail, she will swear to abide by my will as Sect Mother.”
“I will,” Jeren cut in before Shan could intervene. “I swear it. I will obey the Sect Mother.”
That mollified the Sect Mother a little and a bitter chill of foreboding ran down Shan’s spine.
“Whatever it takes,” Ylandra echoed, glaring at him as if Jeren was of no further interest. A hint of malevolence stained her eyes. “Very well, I agree, if you will in turn agree to my terms.”
“Terms?” Indarin’s voice rang out across the silent crowd, the last person Shan expected to come to his aid. “I might agree he’s gone insane, Ylandra, but what’s this talk of terms when it comes to a man and his mate? You can’t impose terms.”
The word mate made Jeren’s gaze snap onto Shan. He opened his mouth, wishing he would explain, knowing he couldn’t say a word.
Later, he tried to tell her with his look. I will explain everything. I will make it up to you and hold you to nothing you do not want. Please trust me now, my love. Please, just this little while.
“Really?” asked Ylandra. “I invoke the duty of Service on Shanith Al-Fallion. I bind him as blood warrior and guardian of both this sect and the Sect Mother until such time as the threat is past. As such he must give up all other ties and devote himself solely to the protection of his people.”
As if the world had dropped from beneath his feet, Shan’s stomach lurched in panic and dismay. How he remained still, he could not tell. She couldn’t! But his voice fell still as stone in his throat.
“No!” another voice yelled, a woman outraged, but not Jeren. “You can’t do that to them.”
Poor Jeren didn’t know of the duty of Service, didn’t have a clue what this meant. She struggled to his side and her fingertips brushed his arm. Without a thought, Shan swept her into his arms. It might be the last time. He held her, the horror crawling up inside him undimmed by her presence.
“Shan?” she gasped at his tight grip. “Shan, what is it? What’s happening?”
But he couldn’t answer. How could he find an answer?
“Ylandra,” a Feyna woman shouted, pushing her way to the fore. Lara, little Lara, grown to womanhood now, moving like the fluid warrior she was rather than the awkward child he remembered. “Even you can’t be so cruel!”
“What is it?” Jeren whispered frantically, drawing Shan’s attention back to her and to her alone. “What has she done?”
“Jeren, I…” Words failed him. He just pulled her against him and buried his face in her hair. Its sweet fragrance engulfed him and he breathed it deep, hoping to keep it with him somehow, to keep her with him.
She went on asking what was happening, but he put her voice from his mind. He had to.
“You can appeal this,” Indarin was saying. Shan barely heard him over the uproar of arguing voices. “Springmoot is not long and Ariah is coming. The Seers too. Ariah can overrule—”
“Take care of Jeren,” Shan told his brother and allowed his arms to drop from her so Indarin could pull her back. “Please Indarin. You have to guard her for me. Help her.”
Jeren didn’t resist, though he saw panic in her eyes, confusion and pain. She didn’t understand. May the gods help her, she didn’t even know what this meant. How could she? And he couldn’t explain it now. There wasn’t time, not to tell her everything.
He cursed himself. “On your life, brother, keep her safe and train her well. Explain. Be kind.” He tore himself free from his heart’s desire, walked to Ylandra and knelt at her feet.
Jeren gave a single bewildered sob, but he didn’t dare turn around, not even for an instant.
“Very well, Sect Mother.” Venom poisoned his words. He couldn’t help himself, no more than he could defy her. It was duty. And duty was life. “I am yours. Bind me.”
Chapter Three
Lost and suddenly very much alone in the midst of the divided Fair Ones, Jeren swayed on her feet. The world rocked around her, pitching her about like a fair-day juggler’s balls. The raised voices and angry gestures swelled around her with the thunder of the waterfall at home. It was alien and terrifying, every horror tale her mother had ever spun about the Fair Ones. Every nightmare Gilliad’s stories had evoked. Here she was, lost in the middle of this angry chaos. And Shan knelt before the Sect Mother and pledged himself to her. Quiet words, said with bitter resentment, wrenched out of his mouth and he kept his eyes locked on the ground.
Ylandra waited patiently, only once deigning to glance towards Jeren. In the Sect Mother’s gaze, she saw…what? Triumph?
Indarin’s hand tightened on her arm, his fingers digging into her skin uncomfortably, but she didn’t flinch or squirm. Whatever was happening, it was wrong. It was so wrong. “Bind me,” Shan had said. What did he mean and why were they all outraged?
Shan’s voice fell silent and Ylandra took a collar of knotted thong from her belt, where it had hung by the knife-sheath. Woven with beads that glinted in the sunlight, the collar might have been a pretty thing in other circumstances, but now it made the block of stone inside Jeren’s body harden even more, weighing down inside her, crushing her spirit. The warriors murmured uneasily as Ylandra tied it around Shan’s neck and his head drooped to his chest.