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Ylandra waited patiently, only once deigning to glance towards Jeren. In the Sect Mothers gaze, she saw…what? Triumph? Somewhere she found her voice. It sounded like an out-of-tune pipe.Gilliad? Youve been using the magic, havent you? Since Father died? Since I…since I left… I drew my gun. There was no way I could hit him from there, and if I chased him, Max would die. I sprinted toward the house, his laughter carrying on the wind as he disappeared into the trees. Then he watched in amusement as I greedily lapped up every drop I could. Max was waiting for me at the bottom, his eyes riveted to my face. Is Denny here? Eventually, having heard more tales of woe and desperation from children, old women and young men whose eyes burned with a need for vengeance, she managed to excuse herself. She strode back towards the Feyna section of the camp where she and Shan made their home. A little patch of safety. The newer the arrival, the less likely they were to tread on Feyna ground, regardless of their charity. Jeren looked back, watching the people who had followed her here, on only a hope. He almost dropped both knife and sword. His eyes lingered on her face, then dropped down her nubile length. The perfect curve of her side. Without even the trace of a wound. Not even a scar. Flawless. We should leave them. Her only reply was a gentle nod and they slipped away in silence, hand in hand, to leave Indarin and Lara together at last. If you bite me, she scowled at him, mimicking his sternness from long ago, you know well end up fighting. Jeren stopped beside Felans statue and looked up into his emotionless face framed by Shistra-Phail braids. In his time it was unheard of for a True Blood lord to live amongst savages like the Fair Ones, but Felan had defied that convention. Jeren admired that in her ancestor, that he did what he wanted and lived his lifethe way he saw fit. He had been the finest ruler River Holt had ever known and had laid the foundations for all the good that came after him. After learning from the Fair Ones how to master his magic, and thus keep his sanity, Felan had created the pact that remained the only hope for sanity for any Lord of River Holt. It wasnt that he was bossy, not really, but he was always trying to protect her. She ought to be used to it by now, although for years shed let people do that without a fight. Having finally broken free of it, she wasnt eager to return. But this was Shan. She wriggled in closer against him, turning her face to his chest. The scent of him filled her nostrils, sweetly seductive. Is that the porridge-thing again? He sat at the feet of a marble statue. Although his choice disturbed her, she gave no reaction. He sat in the shadow of Biran, the infamous tyrant, but he faced Felan the Just and stared at the thing cradled in his own hands. Felans sword. Jo shakes her head, coldly.Where was he, eh? When things were going well? How often did you see him? What about those trips to TV studios or placements on newspapers or free entry to museums that owed him a favour? None of it happened. Too busy. Too busy living high and living well. No thought for you until he literally had nobody to wipe his backside and suddenly hes the uncle of the year? Bollocks. She gathers up her stuff, her face contorted. “Im going to work in the study. Snowdrop, dont be long. And Rowan, if you drink the last of the bottle you’ll find some methylated spirit in the garage. There’s cranberry juice in the fridge if you need a mixer. Yes, sir. Calvin took the cards and left..