Rital of Proof (12 page)

Green had never seen such natural beauty in her life. And it was now hers.

"I must speak with you about something, Jorlan. May we go somewhere out of the view of the servants?"

Jorlan arched his brow, giving her a sensual look from beneath his jet-black lashes. "Of course," he whispered.

Obviously, he had completely misinterpreted her request as her desire for them to experiment some more. And he was not opposed to it in the least, she noted, taking some comfort from the reaction.

She hoped she had the strength to guide him in the ways he needed.

"We can go over to the mesh-pond again. Come." He took her hand in a natural gesture and led her through the gardens. Green marveled at how warm his grip was, how sure. His large hand completely surrounded her smaller one, but the hold was not overbearing. It was comforting and right.

He brought her to the same bench they shared the other day and sat them both down.

"Now, what is it that is so important that you need to speak to me about?" He leaned forward, getting closer to her.

A droplet of the cool water fell on her mouth. His pupils flared as he noticed it. Slowly he reached up to let his fingertip glide across her lower lip, wiping it away. "Excuse me," he murmured in a raw voice.

Green's hand captured his wrist, stopping his action. "I have something to show you."

His mouth lifted at the edges. "Really?"

"Yes." She reached into her pouch and retrieved the scroll. His brow furrowed in confusion as he watched her.

Unwinding the ancient pattern, she showed him his name next to Anya's seal.

At first he did nothing but stare silently at the parchment.

Then he raised his eyes to hers. He tried to hide the hurt shadowing them, but could not. "Why?" He spoke hoarsely. "Why did you do this?"

She observed him coolly, shielding the truth from him. "Because I can. And because I want you."

Jorlan flinched as if slapped.

"And because I want you, this is the only way I can have you." She finished succinctly.

He clenched his jaw. "I made it plain to you that I did not want to be bid on! I ask you again: Why did you do this?"

"You knew it was only a matter of time. Your grandmother had to accept a bid for you eventually. Surely you realize this? You are the last of the Reynard line. You have a responsibility not just to your family but to our community. Your ancestress was the Captain. Your line must continue."

"No! It was to be my choice—not hers! I never wanted this, Green. You must release the bind. It is not that I don't... care for you; it is simply not the path I see for my life."

"I'm sorry, Jorlan, I cannot. You know as well as I that once the scroll is signed, it is irrevocable for you." She placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of compassion. "Perhaps in time you will see this is for the best."

"I will never see it that way, Marquelle Tamryn." He yanked his arm away from her hand.

"Think again. There will be much you can gain from this alliance. My name will protect you always and, in some ways, you will have much more freedom than you do now to pursue your pastimes. I am not as conventional as your grandmother. We already know that we are compatible in
other
ways. I can promise you will have great pleasure in my bed."

Jorlan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He gazed pensively into the mesh-pond. Green gave him some time.

"What if I tell you I know of this pleasure already?" he spoke quietly.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Green blanched.

He nodded silently as he stared over the flower-strewn lattice.

Green trembled and turned from him to gather her thoughts. A man without a veil could not go through the Ritual of Proof! The aristocracy held great store by the Ritual. It was the only way to know that his seed was a name-giver's alone. Such a thing became crucial in matters of inheritance. One never wanted an unscrolled child in one's household, making claim to a line. It just wasn't done.

Green's thoughts tumbled over one another as she sought a solution to this dilemma.

Regardless of what transpired, Jorlan was in grave danger from Claudine D'anbere.

"So you see," he spoke softly, "you must cast me aside and have me stricken from the scroll. I'm sorry, Green."

Green paused in her frantic thoughts and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
What if he is misleading me so I will revoke the contract?
She viewed his features carefully as he stared straight at the pond.

A tiny, tiny muscle twitched in his jaw.

I don't believe it.
There was no way he could feign his innocent response to her touch; to her instructions.
Am I willing to gamble my house on him?

Yes, she was.

In fact, she already had. The price she had paid to save him had almost emptied her coffers.

Nevertheless, even if she had read him wrong, she would still take a chance on him. She could never live with herself if she let him fall into Claudine's hands, which is exactly what would happen if she revoked the contract. She had promised the Duchene that she would take care of him. And she would.

If what he said was true, there would be no future for him in the Select Quarter. He would be ostracized from polite company. Even though Jorlan thought he wanted that. Green did not think that he realized what such a life entailed. He was condemning himself to loneliness and sorrow.

After Anya was gone, he would be open game for every unscrupulous social climber looking to secure the hefty Reynard estate. Since he was the last of his line, conceivably the estate might come under the jurisdiction of the Septibunal to govern for him in his behalf. They would not hesitate either to control him, order him to fasten, or send him to the monkery.

Jorlan's passionate, sensitive nature would not fare well in a monkery.

Despite his opposition to the idea of the binding, he wanted her. Every intuition she had told her so.

Once he secured her name, he would never have to worry about those things, regardless of what happened to her. She would make the proper provisions for him.

"Your grandmother will be ruined by this; you do realize that?"

Jorlan inhaled deeply, and stared unblinking at the mesh-pond. The corner of his eye moistened, but he held firm. Green couldn't help but admire the strength of his beliefs. It was unusual in a man. He was unusual. Most men were led by other things.

It made her decision all the easier.

"It changes nothing, Jorlan. The fastening will occur as contracted."

He sucked in his breath. "You will let me shame you at the Ritual of Proof?"

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.