rage.
Darrien simply crooked his finger, and she had to obey. He eased the knife from her belt, somehow making that simple gesture lewd. He tossed it in the air, then caught it and checked its balance before slipping it into his clan belt.
Ilyenna paused at the door, casting a final glance back at the hall. Her father and Bratton were fighting bare-fisted against the Tyrans, who beat them back with axe hilts. Her clan’s cries grated against her ears.
At the front of the clan house, three men waited. Darrien climbed upon a magnificent bay gelding, then kicked a muddy foot out of the stirrup. She looked up at him. She’d exchanged safety with the fairies in the hopes of saving her clan. She’d failed, except to save her father and brother. Perhaps that knowledge would make her fate easier to endure.
Grateful she wore her riding leggings, Ilyenna hiked up her skirts and hauled herself up behind Darrien.
He glanced back at her. “Put your arms around my waist.” She ground her teeth and gripped the cantle tighter. “You promised to submit. Shall I tell my clanmen to continue boarding up your clan house?”
Her skin crawling, she pried her grip from the saddle and wrapped her arms around Darrien’s waist.
“Now lean your head against my shoulder.”
“You swore I wouldn’t have to submit my body.”
He turned so she could see his profile. “I am not asking you to my bed, Ilyenna. Just your head on my shoulder.”
She kept her head erect.
He nodded to one of his men. “Burn it.”
Tears smoldering down her cheeks, she laid her cheek against his shoulder.
He laughed dryly. “And so you have learned your first lesson.” He dug his heels into his gelding’s sides, taking her away from the family and people she loved.
6. Tiam
Darrien and his men kept a pace meant to cover ground quickly without killing one’s horse. Dividing the hour into quarters, they galloped, dismounted to walk, remounted to trot, and then slowed back to a walk. Then they began all over again. Her knees chafing, Ilyenna wished for Myst and her own saddle.
You’ve no horse. You’re a tiam now, she silently chided herself. The notion was as bitter as the feel of her body pressed against Darrien’s. She had no clan, no possessions—nothing but her name, her honor, and her wits. A lamb at the mercy of wolves.
Her only consolation was the hope that some of her mark might rub off onto Darrien.
He reached into a saddlebag under Ilyenna’s leg, pulled out long sticks of cured meat, and began eating. The smoky aroma sent her mouth to watering. It had been a long time since she had eaten Enrid’s bread. She forced herself not to listen, not to smell. Instead, as they traveled steadily downward and into warmer country, she concentrated on the shrinking forest and mountains of her homeland. How long before she could see them again?
She watched Darrien drink loudly from his waterskin, the crumbs of an oat cake scattered across the front of his shirt. Her throat nearly cracking for want of moisture, Ilyenna worked her tongue over the roof of her mouth. A warm wind gusted from the south, thawing the chill from her bones. Winter had lost its grip.
She closed her eyes. She should’ve gone with Chriel. She searched the trees, looking for any signs of fairies, listening for the sound and power of winter. But it was gone and had taken her powers with it. Ilyenna was truly alone.
Darrien pulled his horse to a stop. Ilyenna scrambled down, careful to keep him in front of her. A tiam wasn’t supposed to walk before her master. When she was sure he and his men weren’t looking, she scooped up a chunk of melting snow and began sucking. With one eye on him and one on her surroundings, she searched for any signs of food.
She saw some green shoots poking through the snow. Wild onions. Bending down, she worked them loose. Darrien turned just as she pulled them free. In two strides, he stood before her. He held out his hand. “I see you found
Darrien simply crooked his finger, and she had to obey. He eased the knife from her belt, somehow making that simple gesture lewd. He tossed it in the air, then caught it and checked its balance before slipping it into his clan belt.
Ilyenna paused at the door, casting a final glance back at the hall. Her father and Bratton were fighting bare-fisted against the Tyrans, who beat them back with axe hilts. Her clan’s cries grated against her ears.
At the front of the clan house, three men waited. Darrien climbed upon a magnificent bay gelding, then kicked a muddy foot out of the stirrup. She looked up at him. She’d exchanged safety with the fairies in the hopes of saving her clan. She’d failed, except to save her father and brother. Perhaps that knowledge would make her fate easier to endure.
Grateful she wore her riding leggings, Ilyenna hiked up her skirts and hauled herself up behind Darrien.
He glanced back at her. “Put your arms around my waist.” She ground her teeth and gripped the cantle tighter. “You promised to submit. Shall I tell my clanmen to continue boarding up your clan house?”
Her skin crawling, she pried her grip from the saddle and wrapped her arms around Darrien’s waist.
“Now lean your head against my shoulder.”
“You swore I wouldn’t have to submit my body.”
He turned so she could see his profile. “I am not asking you to my bed, Ilyenna. Just your head on my shoulder.”
She kept her head erect.
He nodded to one of his men. “Burn it.”
Tears smoldering down her cheeks, she laid her cheek against his shoulder.
He laughed dryly. “And so you have learned your first lesson.” He dug his heels into his gelding’s sides, taking her away from the family and people she loved.
6. Tiam
Darrien and his men kept a pace meant to cover ground quickly without killing one’s horse. Dividing the hour into quarters, they galloped, dismounted to walk, remounted to trot, and then slowed back to a walk. Then they began all over again. Her knees chafing, Ilyenna wished for Myst and her own saddle.
You’ve no horse. You’re a tiam now, she silently chided herself. The notion was as bitter as the feel of her body pressed against Darrien’s. She had no clan, no possessions—nothing but her name, her honor, and her wits. A lamb at the mercy of wolves.
Her only consolation was the hope that some of her mark might rub off onto Darrien.
He reached into a saddlebag under Ilyenna’s leg, pulled out long sticks of cured meat, and began eating. The smoky aroma sent her mouth to watering. It had been a long time since she had eaten Enrid’s bread. She forced herself not to listen, not to smell. Instead, as they traveled steadily downward and into warmer country, she concentrated on the shrinking forest and mountains of her homeland. How long before she could see them again?
She watched Darrien drink loudly from his waterskin, the crumbs of an oat cake scattered across the front of his shirt. Her throat nearly cracking for want of moisture, Ilyenna worked her tongue over the roof of her mouth. A warm wind gusted from the south, thawing the chill from her bones. Winter had lost its grip.
She closed her eyes. She should’ve gone with Chriel. She searched the trees, looking for any signs of fairies, listening for the sound and power of winter. But it was gone and had taken her powers with it. Ilyenna was truly alone.
Darrien pulled his horse to a stop. Ilyenna scrambled down, careful to keep him in front of her. A tiam wasn’t supposed to walk before her master. When she was sure he and his men weren’t looking, she scooped up a chunk of melting snow and began sucking. With one eye on him and one on her surroundings, she searched for any signs of food.
She saw some green shoots poking through the snow. Wild onions. Bending down, she worked them loose. Darrien turned just as she pulled them free. In two strides, he stood before her. He held out his hand. “I see you found
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