Mercedes Lackey - Elvenblood

Finally, with the alicorn reduced to powder, and her temper smoldering under the influence of the wine, she decided she'd had enough. Let Gildor explain why he hadn't presented her with the contract. She had gone out of her way to observe the formalities; she had obeyed far more than the mere letter of her orders.

She stood up abruptly, and the chair she had been sitting in fell over as she shoved it violently back. Gildor and Jaene suddenly turned to stare at her as if they had only just noticed that she was there.

"It is very late," she said, rather thickly, as the wine made speech a bit difficult. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am not often abroad from my father's house and am unused to such late hours. I must go."

The moment the last word left her lips, the room changed.

The glade, the sky, and Jaene all vanished, leaving only the table in the middle of a room paneled with dark wood, floored with black marble. The table had not been set for three, but for two—Jaene's place setting and chair vanished with the human. Two servants stood to one side. Gildor blinked with confusion.

And a tall and powerful elven lord stepped out of the shadows.

"Lord F-father?" Gildor stuttered. "Where's Jaene gone? Where's the glade?"

Lord Lyon ignored his son's questions, turning to regard Rena with a slight bow of amusement. "Forgive the deception, child. Gildor insisted upon the slave's presence, but of course, I would not have inflicted such an insult upon you. It would have been unacceptably rude."

Oh no, of course. Not while you could create an illusion instead, one good enough to fool Gildor. I thought you were a better mage than this silly setting showed.

But she bowed her head, meekly, and clasped her hands in front of her. She was afraid to speak, lest her own mouth betray her, but the effect of the wine was swiftly burning away with her anger at such a double-deception. She had been used. She had to endure it, but she didn't have to like it

Now Lord Lyon turned to his son. "Let this be a lesson to you, Gildor. No slave must be permitted to eat with her masters, ever" he said sternly. "And no slave should be given the kinds of liberties you would have given this Jaene, and have given her in the past; it makes them proud and insubordinate. I had her sent away while you were eating; once you learn how to keep your females in line, you may have her back."

Once you learn to curb your hounds, you may have them back. And apologize to the Lady who just had her dress drenched with piddle.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gildor flush and bow his head. "Yes, Father," he murmured submissively. But he did not apologize to Rena. Not that she expected him to.

"My apologies, if your feelings were abused, dear child," Lord Lyon said smoothly. "But you have displayed a proper maidenly modesty and forbearance that do you credit. Here."

He held a scroll-tube out to her, this one just as elaborately decorated as the one she had brought, but with designs of moonbirds and winged stags together. She took it automatically, and although it was cool, it felt as if it burned her hand as she clenched her fingers on it.

"Please convey the contract to your noble father, with my thanks," Lord Lyon said, as Gildor stood dumb. The older man took her free hand, and kissed the back of it, a mere brushing of lips across the skin. Tell him for me that he has just such a daughter as both of us hoped, and I am pleased to welcome you to my family."

That was the signal that she could escape; she murmured something appropriate, and took her chance to flee.

Her escort met her outside the door, and ushered her toward the Portal with what would have been unseemly haste if she had not wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible. She wanted to fling the horrid tube away from her, but before she even entered the Portal, the chief of her guards took it from her nerveless fingers, then sent her through with a none-too-gentle shove.

Attendants swarmed her on the other side, a display of special attentions she had never been granted before, and which was probably due entirely to a message from Lord Lyon that she had been a good and obedient little girl, doing precisely as she had been told. They hurried her off to her rooms, and once there, fussed over her as if she were some kind of prize object.

She let them; exhausted by the tension and the need to keep her own emotions in check, she was too tired to think clearly.

It's over. That was all that was important, for now.

They bathed her, not permitting her to do anything for herself, in a bath foaming with perfumed oils. They dressed her in a silken nightgown she had never seen before, a gown luxurious enough to wear as a dress. They combed out her hair, shining each strand with soft cloths lightly moistened with scent. They rubbed scented creams into her hands, her feet, and her legs. They gave her tiny dainties to eat—just as well, since she hadn't had more than two bites of dinner to hold off the effects of all that wine. They handed her an exotic drink to soothe her throat and her nerves, foaming, sweet, and warm. That was the only thought in her mind, as they pampered and preened her, and finally put her to bed. It's over.

She fell asleep immediately, before the lights went out, while they were still crowding the room, putting things away.

But when she woke, with dawn still an hour away, alone in her room, it was with cold dread. It wasn't over. She had been sealed to Lord Gildor, and last night signaled the preparation of the sacrifice. That was why all the pampering. There would be more such, an attempt to make her into as comely a creature as possible without an actual Change. There would be less in the way of freedom, not more.

She had been maneuvered into precisely the position she was most afraid of.

And this was only the beginning; after the wedding it would be worse. She had deceived herself, with her thoughts of greater freedom as the er-Lord's lady.

If living under her father's roof had been difficult, living under Lord Lyon's would be harder still. There would be no Lorryn to whisk her away on occasional escapes. Lord Lyon would have her watched, every moment, to make certain that she was the obedient little fool he thought she was. Every book she read would be scrutinized, every exercise of her powers weighed and measured. Every hour of her day would be spied upon. She would have no secrets, for Lord Lyon would be certain that a secret meant a secret plot against himself. There was only one ruler in that House, and Lord Lyon would permit no other.

If she wanted to survive, she had only one choice: She must conform completely. She must become a copy of her mother, serene, obedient, and dead inside.

There was only one person who could possibly help her—

Lorryn! He's clever, he'll think of something!

Just as she thought that, there came a faint tapping on her door. Three taps, a pause, then two, then one.

She flung herself out of bed and ran to let her brother in.

For one joyful moment she was certain he had heard of what had happened and had come to tell her how to extricate herself from her plight. But as he slipped inside and shut the door quickly behind him, he turned toward her with a face as pale and as fearful as her own.

"Rena, you have to help me," he whispered hoarsely, his voice choked with tension, his eyes huge and dark-circled in his white face. "I don't have anyone else to turn to!"

The shock was worse than being plunged into ice-cold water. Lorryn? Helpless? With no one to turn to?

And I do? She thought, and shook her head. "I was—Lorryn, what on earth could I do to help you? What's happened to you?" Possibilities swarmed her mind. Had he been indiscreet with someone who had a powerful father? Had he gambled disastrously and lost? Had he gotten into a quarrel with another er-Lord—oh, dear Ancestors, had he quarreled, fought, and the fight ended fatally? She blurted the first words that came to her lips. "Did you get in trouble with—