“The pleasure is ours,” Corallin replied.
“Lords Arawn and Bevyn are in with the Shadowlords at the moment so please
have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” Argent indicated comfortable-looking
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chairs ranged along one wall. “May we get you anything?” she inquired. “Something
warm to drink to chase away the rain perhaps?”
“No thank you,” Lea replied. “I’m fine.” She glanced around as the man in the
brown uniform ushered Penthe into the anteroom.
“Ah, the Blackwind,” Argent said, and the smile slide from her beautiful face.
Penthe took one look at the women behind the desk and stopped dead in her tracks.
Her eyes widened. “You are of the Multitude!” she said.
Argent lifted her head. “Aye, Amazeen, we are Breitheamhtái for the Daughters.”
Penthe lowered her head. “I am unworthy to stand before you.”
“That you are,” Argent replied in a hard tone. “So sit and be silent. Your presence is
disturbing to us.”
Without another word the Amazeen scurried to a chair and sat down, not even
glancing Lea’s way.
Surprised by Penthe’s behavior, Lea barely acknowledged Giles’ goodbye as he left.
She looked to the trio of women and smiled tentatively at Argent. She was relieved
when the silver-haired woman gave her a bright, friendly grin.
* * * * *
Bevyn stood at attention before the lords of the High Council with the Prime
Reaper—Arawn Gehdrin—at his side. For the last half-hour he had been standing
rigidly as he was chewed out first by Lord Kheelan and then by his immediate boss
Gehdrin. He was tired. He was hungry. His need for Sustenance was overpowering and
the itching, burning, aching sensation caused from his lack of the daily dosage of
tenerse was making it hard for him to hold still for it felt as though a million biting ants
were crawling all over his body.
“We will be offering the Amazeen a chance to aid in our mission here on Terra but
we will not allow her to ever leave this fortress,” Lord Naois Belvoir was saying. “If she
refuses our offer, she will be permanently incarcerated here. We’ll have no loose
cannons at the Citadel.”
“Bringing her here was not the wisest move you’ve ever made, Lord Bevyn, but it is
reasonable under the circumstances,” Lord Dunham Tarnes remarked. “We certainly
could not have allowed her to run loose among the general population, not with her
abilities.”
“I understand she aided you on the train?” Lord Naois inquired.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Bevyn agreed, taking the Prime Reaper’s warning to heart that
he speak as little as possible while before the High Council.
“And you saw her dematerialize?”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
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“Fascinating,” Lord Naois observed. “That is a trick she must teach our men if
possible.”
His skin was on fire and itching so badly he had to dig his fingernails into his palms
to keep from moving. Though he kept his eyes straight ahead—at a point just above the
High Lord’s head—his eyelids were flickering as he tried to maintain his control.
“You are hurting, aren’t you?” Lord Kheelan asked.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Bevyn replied.
Lord Kheelan nodded and the Prime Reaper reached into his pocket and extracted a
vac-syringe, the contents of which he injected quickly and efficiently into Bevyn’s neck.
A long sigh of relief followed the hiss of pain the thick med brought to the Reaper.
“We can not have you greeting your lady in a state of severe discomfort,” Lord
Dunham said. “That would not be fair to her.”
“And she is the innocent one in this,” Lord Naois added.
Bevyn wanted to ask if he would be allowed to keep her but Arawn had already
cautioned him not to.
“More than likely they will not take her from you but let them be the ones to give
you the decision on their own terms and in their own time. If you piss them off, they’re
as liable to deny your keeping her as not,” the Prime Reaper had warned. “Don’t bring
it up.”
“Look at me, Lord Bevyn,” Lord Kheelan ordered.
Bevyn lowered his gaze and met the eyes of the High Lord.
“Do you love this woman?”
“With all my heart, Your Grace.”
“Will you be her friend as well as her lover, a faithful partner who will honor and
support her, respect her as your mate and cherish her as the only mate you will ever
have?”
“I will, Your Grace,” Bevyn said.
“Will you protect her in good times and in bad, through joy as well as sorrow, see
to her comfort in sickness and in health?”
Bevyn’s heart did a strange little jump in his chest for he realized these were closely
akin to Joining vows he was making yet he did not hesitate.
“Aye, Your Grace. I swear before all that is holy that I will,” he said, tears blurring
his vision.
“Then we entreat you never to leave her or to return from following after her for
where you go so will she go, and where you stay she will stay. Your people will be her
people and your goddess will be her goddess. Should you break even one of these vows
to us, we will remove her from your care. Do you understand?” Lord Kheelan asked.
“I do, Your Grace,” Bevyn said, his heart now pounding in his chest.
“At ease, Reaper.”
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Bevyn shifted his feet apart and put his hands behind him, his right hand gripping
his left wrist at the small of his back.
“Lord Arawn, escort Lady Lea into our presence,” the High Lord bid.
The Prime Reaper nodded and took one step back, pivoting gracefully on the ball of
his foot before striding to the door. He opened it with a smile. “Lady Lea, would you
join us please?” he asked.
Lea stared at the handsome man who stood in the doorway as she got to her feet.
He had dark hair and amber eyes like Bevyn’s, but appeared to be a few years older
than her Reaper. In his left ear was a small gold hoop and the tattoo on the left side of
his face was different from Bevyn’s, but he wore the same black silk shirt and black
leather uniform pants as did Bevyn. He was tall and muscular—another version of
Bevyn with a smile just as white and even.
“I am Arawn,” he said as she came to him.
“It is a pleasure, Lord
