by Dara Joy
She viewed him speculatively. "Will you shame me?" The muscle in his jaw pulsed. He would not answer. "We shall see then, won't we, fil-Duchene Reynard."
"Think it over, Marquelle. We can avoid all this if you cast me aside, I will get my grandmother to forgo the insult barter."
"No, Jorlan. The contract will stand. You will be my name-bearer."
"Once they initiate the Ritual, they will never allow me to be your name-bearer." He spoke low, through gritted teeth.
"We shall see."
"In either case, you will get no pleasure from me."
"As I said, we shall see."
That night Jorlan rode his Klee over the hills and vales of the Reynard estate. Both man and beast were wild in the night.
Despite their reckless regard for safety, each of them was confident—for two very different reasons.
Sabir, in love with the freedom of the run, knew that the man anticipated each of his moves. He rode with him in flowing synergy, matching his rhythm. This man was as untamed as a Klee; he would never seek to master him.
And so Sabir was confident.
Jorlan, spirit flying, felt the same way. He would never be mastered.
He was confident Green would back down before the Ritual of Proof took place.
She would not risk the disgrace.
"It is for the best, you know."
Anya found her grandson later that evening sitting in the far corner of the solar. Since Marquelle Tamryn had left earlier in the day, he had been nowhere to be found.
She had expected that.
Since he had been a child, whenever he was troubled, he sought solitude. Only when he had worked through what was on his mind would he fully rejoin the life that was around him.
She had often wondered if the solitary life of a monkery was not more suited to him. It could never be, for two very important reasons: He was the last of the Reynard line, and his own nature would never survive it. Jorlan needed to experience all of the physical world.
There was something different about her grandson.
Something untapped.
"The best for whom?" he said quietly.
"For you and for us." She glided in front of him, her grav assists whirring lowly. The sound mingled with the shushing sway of the plants, the calming gurgle of the fountain. This had always been his favorite room. She knew why: It brought the outside in.
He stared directly at her. Not for the first time, she wondered where those aqua eyes had come from. No Reynard as far back as she knew had eyes that color. Nor had his father's side.
She remembered when he was born...
Loreena had said his birth was almost rhythmic. Her contractions did not follow the normal pattern. They followed the sound of the waves outside the oceanside cottage where she had gone to give birth. He flowed into life like a gentle wave upon the shore. There had been very little labor.
Her daughter had remarked that he had the dark slate eye color so prevalent in the Reynards; indeed, her own eyes were such a color. But, over the following month, they had started to change in hue, mystifying everyone. By the time he was a year old—the time of Forus's revolution around Arkeus—his irises were the brilliant aqua color so reminiscent of the waters of the moon. They remained so to this day.
Naturally, the family had kept that bit of oddity to themselves.
Lately, she had begun to wonder if there was any significance to it. Jorlan seemed to have deepened in these last years. He had always been inordinately mature for his age; there was a natural wisdom in him that did not speak of a twenty-five-year-old come-out who had lived an almost totally sheltered life on her estate.
He was an enigma. He constantly warred with his emotions. Anya knew that there was an enormously caring heart inside of him; a heart he shielded as if he were preparing himself for a heroic storm.
She inhaled deeply. Green Tamryn was the one to unveil him—in every regard. She had placed her faith as well as the person she loved most in this world in Marquelle Tamryn's capable hands.
The girl would not disappoint her. There was something of valor within that small frame.
"You will fasten with the Tamryns, it will ensure our lineage," she reiterated with conviction.
"And what about my happiness, Duchene?" He spoke so low she had trouble hearing him. "Does that not mean anything?"
Anya gave him a superior look. "You do want her. I am not blind."
He shot her an angry glare.
"You cannot hide much from me, my boy. You never could."
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"It will be better than you think."
He clenched his teeth. "My freedom will be gone forever!"
"Listen well: There is no such thing as freedom that is sought outside oneself. We are all bound by convention. While it is true you will be under the rules of the Tamryn household, you can still make your own peace within yourself."
"That is not all that I seek and you know it!"
"You must put aside those ideas. I have told you time and time again, they have no place in this society. You will only bring unhappiness upon yourself and others."
He sat silently in his chair.
Anya spun on the assists to leave.
"I disagree with what you have said about freedom, Grandmother," he remarked in a soft tone. "For I do not have the freedom to decide my own destiny. You have decided that for me."
"You would have chosen the same on your own."
With that she left the room.
Due to the situation with She-Count D'anbere, both Anya and Green thought that the waiting time for the Ritual of Proof and subsequent vows should be brief.
They arranged for a special meeting of the Septibunal, who were not scheduled to convene for another month, at the close of the Season.
Jorlan was not in agreement, but held his own council. He was certain that Green would renege on the bind when they faced the Septibunal. She would not risk the potential disgrace that would follow if she went ahead.
The day of the Ritual of Proof dawned bright and Green arrived in the special chamber designated for the rite. It was a large room. At the head, the seven members of the Septibunal sat on a dais. A quorum of seven was always needed—seven women to swear to a man's pure name.
Green was dismayed to see the room so full. Normally, when a special session was called, the chamber was empty except for the families involved. In their case, word must have spread rapidly. The woman who had forsworn a fastening and the man who had refused to be fastened were coming together in the most talked about ceremony of the century. Everyone wanted to see it.
Green glanced over the sea of faces, noting the prurient curiosity. Jorlan was the catch of the town. Many watched Green with envy, others with good cheer. All in all, the event had taken on the atmosphere of a spectacle.
She noted that only six Septibunal members had taken their seats. One was missing. So she was not overly surprised when Claudine finally took the seventh seat as a named stand-in for the absentia member, Marquelle Harmone.
Green now knew that Marquelle Harmone was in D'anbere's pocket. An important bit of information for later reference, when the lines were drawn.
Claudine caught her eye and grinned smugly. Three of the seven members would examine Jorlan. Think again, She-Count. Green was about to stop her nemesis cold. She wouldn't be getting her fill of Jorlan this day. Or ever.
A hush filled the room as the clerk rang a tiny glass bell seven times denoting that the Ritual of Proof was to begin.
Jorlan was brought in.
He was garbed in the formal Ramagi gold robe of the initiate-into-fastening, and nothing else. The brilliant red sash of the Reynard family was draped over his left shoulder and pinned to his waist with the Reynard insignia. His gleaming black hair brushed lightly against the silken fabric at his shoulders.
In stark contrast, his extraordinary azure eyes flashed in rebellion.
He was utterly breathtaking.
Many of the onlookers inhaled sharply at his appearance. Strangely, it was the fire in him that captivated the Slice. Rarely had a come-out been seen with such spirit! There was not a woman present who did not imagine what it would be like to fasten such a man.
Jorlan met Green's look with an insolent glare of challenge. Several women gasped.
The corners of Green's lips curved. She should have been angry at his behavior, but in truth she couldn't help admire his come-and-get-some attitude. Oh, she was going to come and get some all right—later that night, when they were alone.
The veil still thought he had outsmarted her. Well, he was in for a shock, as was everyone else.
The head of the Septibunal, Duchene Hawke, issued the beginning statement calling for proof. "We gather here, women of fine standing, to witness the induction of a man, Jorlan Reynard, into the line of Tamryn. Mar-quelle Tamryn, do you have the scroll of your family?"
Green stepped forward. "I do," she said in a strong voice.
"Show the assemblage the seal of Reynard affixed to yours."
Green pulled out the scroll and held it up for the Septibunal to see. Murmurs of approval rang through the assemblage.
Green began to put it away.
"Wait," Claudine called out. "I did not see it clearly enough to check the seal."
Murmurs rang throughout the hall. She-Count D'anbere was just short of calling Marquelle Tamryn a liar before the Septibunal.
Green's amber eyes narrowed. She was about to issue a challenge when Anya, standing at her side, forestalled her. "Careful. That is what she wants."
Duchene Hawke frowned down the dais at the She-Count. "Marquelle Tamryn, might you be so good as to show the scroll once more to our temporary member?"
The set-down from Duchene Hawke caused many to titter. Claudine bristled.
Green unrolled the scroll once more and approached the dais, leaning over the long table to shove it in Claudine's face. "Have a care, D'anbere," she said under her breath.
Claudine snorted. "I am shaking in my boots." She fingered the meteor-blade she always wore at her side. There were not many who could wield the deadly weapon. It was said Claudine had been designated a platinum-class warrior. While the meteor-blade was highly regarded for the discipline it took to wield, and generally revered for the Gle Kiang-ten level of form, martial skills were regarded by many women as necessary but uncivilized. The She-Count commanded her own army and had a rare love of brutal military tactics. Aggressive qualities reminiscent of rampant male testosterone were not generally lauded on Forus—even when the skill itself was appreciated.
But the meteor-blade was not about military skill. She-Count D'anbere would not know that, though.
Claudine waved her hand, brushing the scroll away in a dismissing gesture. Under other circumstances, Green would have been tempted to kill her for the insult to her family. But then, she was a stateswoman. Such actions were not her norm.
Duchene Hawke nodded at Green, indicating that the scroll was acceptable to the Septibunal. "Jorlan Reynard of the House of Reynard, step forward."
Two escorts on either side of Jorlan led him forward. It was clear his step was not lively.
Duchene Hawke raised her eyebrow at his insolence, shaking her head with a slight smile of her own. "Do you, Jorlan Reynard, grandson of Anya Reynard, direct descendant of our revered Founder, come before this council free in body and soul?"
Jorlan seared Green with a warning look. "I do."
"And do you now undergo the Ritual of Proof with a clear mind and body?"
Once he responded to this question, he would be led into a small private chamber where he would be made to disrobe so that three council members could verify that his veil was intact. The small membrane, which had a tiny break in it and grew over the head of his penis, could be ruptured properly only by the internal muscles and fluid from a woman's body.
And the first time, the act was quite painful for the male.
Jorlan hesitated, staring at Green. He was actually going to call her bluff! Green shook her head. I don't think so this time, my Jorlan.
Claudine leaned forward in her seat, watching the small byplay with interest. Her cruel eyes glimmered.
Green spoke up, loud and clear, shocking everyone. "The House of Tamryn forgoes the Ritual of Proof!"
Pandemonium broke out.
No one had forgone the Ritual in over four hundred years! The forgoing of the Ritual of Proof was a great boon to the House of Reynard from the House of Tamryn. Green was clearly stating that she relied solely on the honor of the Reynards as all the proof she needed. And their history books would say as much.
Jorlan's mouth parted in astonishment as he realized how she had bested him.
Anya's eyes filled with tears. "Green, I do not know what to say... "
"You do not have to say anything, it is what I want to do." She looked straight at Jorlan. "It was what I decided to do as soon as you signed the scroll."
Jorlan's nostrils flared in anger. She had outwitted him and he could not withdraw now. She had left him no way to withdraw.
Knowing that something was afoot, Claudine stood up. "She cannot forgo the Ritual of Proof! The Law demands it!"
"Only when the one to be fastened refuses to forswear his virtue." Duchene Hawke faced Jorlan. "Do you, Jorlan Reynard, pledge your virtue?"
Jorlan exhaled brusquely, hating this demeaning ceremony and everything it stood for. Why should he have to prove his worth by some thin piece of skin? "Yes," he ground out. "I pledge it."
"And how do you come to the House of Tamryn?"
Before he answered, Jorlan looked at them one by one, letting them know clearly his hatred for this travesty. "I come to Tamryn House pure, as is the honor of my family."
The assemblage murmured approval but Claudine overspoke them. "He is lying!"
"She-Count D'anbere! Impugn my family again and I will call a vote for an Honor Forfeiture." Anya pinned the She-Count to her chair. By the Bair-tin, the books of law and civilization, and depending on the severity of the forfeiture levied by the Septibunal, the She-Count could stand to lose a significant amount of property, wealth, and maybe even her title.
Claudine swallowed. Perhaps she had gone too far—for now. But there would come a time later... and she knew just how she was going to do it. She nodded curtly to Duchene Reynard and sat down.
"Green Tamryn," Duchene Hawke called out, "do you have something to say?"
"Yes!" Green called out. "Let me leave this room... "
Everyone held their breath for this was the last opportunity the Marquelle would have to refuse the Reynard seed.
"... and go on to the next! There, you may bring him to me dressed in the garb of his house—for the last time!" The crowd let out a raucous cheer. The coveted, resistant Jorlan Reynard had been bagged by the notorious damselle, Marquelle Tamryn!
The female escorts took Jorlan to another room where he would change into black pants, a loose black shirt, and black boots. His family sash would be draped once again over his shoulder and he would be paraded to the Tamryn estate for the final ceremony that evening.
Green watched them lead him off. The piercing look of loathing he gave her over his shoulder did not bode well for a happy fastening night.
She sighed.
His body she could win over. But his mind and heart were another story.
He did not have to love her to give her an heir... but it never hurt.
In the meantime, there was something she had to do before the ceremony that evening.
Outside, she retrieved Kibbee from the Kloo hand and headed in the direction of the western part of town.
An exclusive section, where women of means kept their personal pleasurers.
Chapter Six
Green let herself into the tastefully appointed town dwelling off of the Rue de la Nuit.
The discreet abodes in the center of town, with their enclosed rear courtyards, were the lodgings of favored plea
surers. Only the cream of the crop reached this private status. They were kept exclusively by their patronas and afforded every luxury.
In exchange, exclusivity was not only expected, it was demanded.
Green found River out in the courtyard, resting on a lounge chair. The magnificent pleasurer was fast asleep.
A light wind gently tousled his dark golden locks. Green took a moment to watch him as he slept. There was something about River that was very different when he was asleep—
The alluring sculpted features, normally guarded with a distrustful wariness, softened into clear, uncluttered comeliness. That he was a remarkable-looking man was never in dispute. It had been his sensational looks that had been his salvation.
But Green had always known there was more to River than his appearance. While his inner emotions mostly remained closed off from her, there had been times over the past few years when she'd had glimpses into his protected, hidden self.
The man was more complicated than he ever let on. Green often wondered if the smooth, even nature he affected was just that—an affectation. There was no way of knowing, for he zealously safeguarded his inner realm.
Only some things could not be hidden.
River had a wounded heart.
Despite the ordeals he must have experienced in his youth. Green knew he had never lost the compassion and intrinsic goodness within him. Even when he tried to cover it over by assuming the laconic attitude so favored among the Slice, it was evident to her.
He was a skilled, considerate lover. A few times, he had almost lost his control and shown her his real passion, but he always seemed to be able to pull himself back from that precipice. River knew never to cross that line. It was what made him such a valued pleasurer.
He was also a decent human being—in some ways far more honorable than his "betters." Many She-Lords cared for nothing but their own gratifications and used their stations to achieve whatever they desired, regardless of the price or cost in human terms.
Green would miss him.
She quietly walked over to the couch and stood over him. He was an extremely light sleeper; she was surprised she had been able to cross the courtyard without him hearing her. Once, during a nightmare, he had curled up so tightly that it had taken her hours to get him to uncoil and relax his body again. He had shaken the entire night while she held him. He would not speak.