Jerad interrupted. "No, we will do this now."
"That is highly irregular." Shegarth looked astonished. "She needs attention Jerad."
"I ask that the Magistrate Council does not question my motives. Grant me that this bonding will commence immediately."
"So be it then." Shegarth motioned toward an open doorway and the crowd parted.
An older woman approached, placed blue velvet cloaks, lined in gold satin around each of their shoulders, and fastened them about their necks with lavender, bloom clasps. The weight of the garment nearly caused Sera to fold to the ground.
"Let those present, hereby witness, the Vows of Permanence between Jerad, descendant of Antheia, Third Corridor of the Tenth Zone to..." Almost as an afterthought, Shegarth paused and looked back toward the Council for objection, then scanned the crowd.
Petri, younger brother of Sondra, stepped forward. He was leering at Jerad and opened his mouth to speak. Jerad narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth expressing a silent warning toward the adolescent to hold his tongue. Petri sneered, but said nothing. Shegarth tossed a glance between Jerad and the young Noble. Upon seeing that there would be no protest, he continued, "What is your name lady Noble?"
Sera threw her head back.
What the hell was going on?
Jerad spoke on her behalf, proclaiming loudly to the assemblage, "Her name is Sera!"
While still supporting Sera with his left arm, Jerad closed his right hand on the stem of the bloom she was holding. He raised it between them. Sera’s hand dropped. Jerad motioned to Shegarth by jerking his head toward her fallen limb. The Chancellor lifted Sera’s left hand and closed it around the stem of the bloom, just below and touching Jerad’s hand. She felt the tips of the thorns pressing into her skin. It was uncomfortable. Sera struggled to maintain awareness and mulled over the idea that she was going to spend her entire time on Protogio with her head in a fog. She also wondered how much more damage her body would sustain before she was dead or rescued. At the moment not much else mattered. Everything around her was moving sluggishly, or was that just the way she felt?
Sera forced her attention to the rose that the two of them where holding. The realization of what Jerad was about to do came belatedly and she had no time to muster enough strength to protest. She was about to suffer another wound. Jerad closed his fist around hers, and then, he bore down on it. She felt the thorns pierce her skin.
What the…
Jerad gently opened her palm, and plucked her hand from the bite of the thorns. He turned the thorns toward his right palm and closed it around the stem. The Chief Magistrate fisted Sera’s now lanced palm around Jerad’s. Then he placed both of his hands around Sera’s hand. He exerted pressure on it. Jerad offered only a slight tick in his cheek when the thorn’s penetrated his own palm. The result was a mirror image of Sera’s punctures.
The bloom was removed and placed on a sham. Blood seeped from where the thorns had broken through their skin. With the help of Shegarth, Sera’s palm was pressed against Jerad’s palm, the blood of their wounds mixing.
"Sera," Jerad called to her in a hushed voice, and she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. He pulled her close and spoke softly against her lips.
"My loyalty for your trust, my strength for your honor, mind nurtures heart and flesh becomes one. Wherever you go I shall follow. Meaningless is one life without the other. My blood with your blood, Sera."
Sera was losing consciousness and her thoughts floated back to the woods recalling those last few words and how that utterance had terrorized her. Now Jerad spoke them to her affably.
"Speak the words, Sera," Jerad pressed the side of his face against Sera’s cheek.
Sera shivered uncontrollably. She was cold. His cheek was warm and soothing against her face and she nuzzled against him.
What had he asked her to say?
Perplexed, she tilted her head back. "My blood with your blood, Jerad?"
It was a question, not a response, but it was all that Jerad needed. Shegarth furled his eyebrows at the incompleteness of the vow.
"It is enough to seal this," Jerad warned. "Be done with it!"
"Very well," Shegarth sighed. "By order of the Magistrate Council of the Tenth Zone, I seal this bonding of our Noble Jerad, descendant of Antheia, Third Corridor of the Tenth Zone to..." He paused, and then shrugged. "...to the Noble Sera."
Jerad lifted Sera into his arms. He swiftly carried her limp body toward one of the Grandstage exits, the flurry of sounds behind him becoming indiscernible and fading. Shegarth finished his declaration as Jerad disappeared with Sera through a postern.
"The ceremony of the Marks of Permanence will commence at three quarter set on the fifth rise from this determination," Shegarth called after them.
The crowd, were they cheering or jeering? Sera really did not want to know. She had gone numb and was no longer extant with her own body. Whether it was from shear terror or shock, she was paralyzed to intentional movement.
The world for Sera went silent.
Chapter Six
Sera became semiconscious as she was placed on a flat, cold surface. There were blurs of motion, people moving quickly around her. She watched through slotted eyes, catching a glimpse of shears, which the voice referred to as clips, passing hand to hand over her, and her top being cut away. Her head was tipped back and liquid drops were placed in her nostrils. She reflexively inhaled, noting a slight burning sensation in her nose and throat. White light radiated from a glowing dome on the ceiling above her. An unfamiliar female leaned over her then faded. Sera closed her eyes. She opened them again and two blurred, but familiar, male forms, speaking her language, began to take shape over her. She tried to reach for one of them, but her arm was like lead, and she could not lift it.
"She’s rousing," a voice echoed.
"Holy shit! Look at these wounds."
Alarm bells resonated in her ears. People were rushing.
Bleep, bleep, bleep…
The ceiling above her, it was white, it was blue.
A recessed light in the ceiling, no, a dome light.
"What’s happening to me?"
A crash... flames…
blood... my blood with your... I must be... I feel so woozy... I’m hurt...
I’m dying.
The tocsin warnings abruptly ceased. The two males evaporated, and the female re-appeared. The obscure voices of those in the room became more intelligible. On her left, a thick bandage was being pressed against her abdomen.
"The bleeding is heavy. A bit deeper and the blade would have pierced her liver." A male was speaking. She knew the voice.
It was not her language.
"You should let me do this, you are in no condition." It was a female voice. She did not recognize it.
"Ochi. I am responsible for her. I will need bergamot to relax these muscles."
Sera arched her back and moaned as a rush of pain struck her. She began to writhe as fingers delved into her wound. Through the lashes of her heavy laden lids she watched the clips pass over her once again, and then her pants were cut from her body. She tried to resist by reaching for her rent trousers, but someone had clasped her wrists and held them down.
"Lie still Sera. The belladonna drops should take affect soon."
Sera’s body began to relax, intoxicated with the affects of the drug. The pain dulled. She slackened against the surface beneath her. Her eyes closed, and she drifted into blissful, muzzy waves.
"Twine... several," the male voice ordered, pausing between words as items were exchanged. "Clips, swab, stitch, clips..."
Sera was aware of the urgent commands, as she moved in and out of her stupor. Her eyes fluttered open to see the curved needle, with thread attached, moving quickly up and down, then scissors cutting and the same being repeated over and over again until her skin was sutured shut. A powder the male referred to as calendula, was brushed across her closed wound followed by a cold, sticky sealant. A linen cover was draped ov
er her.
The woman moved to the man’s side. Sera squinted to sharpen her vision. The woman was fair skinned. She had sandy wavelets of hair falling to the small of her back. It was pinned with a decorative clip behind one ear. She wore an ivory colored blouse with many closely spaced tiny, copper buttons down the front. There was blood on her clothing.
My blood?
Sera’s attention wandered from the woman to the man. He sat facing away from her. He wore no shirt. Thick, defined muscles graced him from his broad shoulders down the length of his back and tapered to narrow hips. A single, thin scar crossed his right shoulder blade. The woman was attending to him.
"You look like agelada dung," the woman remarked.
He flinched as the cloth bandage was removed.
"The material is stuck to it. Ack, this is severe. You could have died from this." She shook her head. "It is infected."
She examined a couple of vials containing liquid, and prepared a medication. After drawing the liquid into a metal syringe, she pushed the needle into the male’s shoulder and pressed the plunger. His shoulder twitched.
"Still yourself, it’s just a bit of quassia for the fever and coriander for the infection." The woman finished injecting him then dropped the hypodermic into the slotted opening of a metal container.
The man placed a hand on the woman’s arm. "How are you cousin?"
"I am well." She rummaged through her supplies, picked a couple of items and continued to attend to his wound. They conversed for awhile, about events and people, but the woman’s attention soon strayed toward Sera.
"Who is she, Jerad?"
"I found her at the margin of the Eighth and Seventh Zones, near Eksaf ‘anise."
"From your actions in the Grandstage, I guess you intend to keep her."
"It is fated, Ezra."
Ezra studied Jerad then tipped her head sideways as she considered Sera again. "Your consort is a near reciprocate of you, Jerad."
Jerad turned to Sera. "How so?"
"Her coloring, her hair is nearly the color of your eyes, her eyes nearly the color of your hair."
Ezra’s eyes moved to the bandages on Sera’s belly. "She will bear the same scar on her belly as you. Hers on the left mirrors yours on the right. It seems there is destiny to be revealed in all of this."
Jerad did not remark. He reached for Sera and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. He had not noticed how she emulated his image. A surge of affinity engulfed him. He and his Starbird were woven, two halves found wholeness, two hearts blended as one.
"You are an astute woman, Ezra, but I beg you to keep this observation of yours hushed for the time being."
The medication they had given Sera was making her groggy, but she fought to stay awake. She continued to watch as the woman wrapped a bandage around the man’s trunk. She was suddenly aware of a stinging on her palm. Sera turned her hand over, held it close to her face, and attempted to focus on the three punctures and three small streams of blood, now smeared.
She couldn’t remember how she had hurt her hand.
Jerad pulled her hand away and wrapped it in cloth.
His head dropped. "Aryan will not concede well with Sondra’s death. Where is he Ezra? I must see him."
"He is expected home from the Second Corridor this luna. I saw Petri ride out on his charger, likely to hasten his return," Ezra paused. "Aryan finds great comfort with his falcons. He will likely go to them."
A line of worry crossed her face. "Please do not seek him out, Jerad. He must have this space of time to acknowledge what has happened."
Ezra once again turned her attention to Sera. "She looks very confused. I will stay here with her."
"Ochi. She will find greater comfort in my chamber."
"Jerad, she needs to remain in the infirmary."
"You have always been a prudent physician Ezra, but I will care for her in my residence. I have all the reserve I need there to ensure her recovery."
Jerad?
Sera’s thoughts began to race. The events in the Grandstage flashed in rapid sequence. She came to full comprehension of what had happened.
A noisy crowd… The point of a knife slicing her… The resistance of a blade sinking into flesh… A flower... Thorns...
Jerad?
"Oh my god," Sera mumbled and made an effort to sit up. Jerad placed a hand on her chest to stop her. She resisted, grabbed his arm and pulled herself upright. She tried to speak but only managed to grunt at the dull burn and tugging in her side.
"What is it Sera?" Jerad grasped her shoulders to steady her.
Sera pulled at his right hand and held it with both of hers. She turned it over to look at his palm and found the puncture wounds smeared with blood. Her head fell back and she stared up at him with much bewilderment.
"Jerad, why?"
They were the only words that Sera could manage to impart from her quivering lips.
Jerad freed his hand from hers, placed a hand behind her head, and the other on her back. Sera relaxed into them, and he lowered her down.
"Sleep now Sera. We will talk later."
Chapter Seven
The room was dimly lit by the lamp on the stand next to the bed. The white glimmer orb had been covered with a thin cloth to subdue the lighting. It was luna. Sera was lying on her back and covered with a quilt. The thick mattress beneath her was part of a fluted four poster bed supporting a wrought iron canopy. It was curtained by deep green and burgundy draperies with an under layer of ivory sheers, which were knotted around the top of the posts, and hung down to the floor at the four corners. The top was open, and the ceiling above her was made of a glossy, slatted wood that looked like a dark maple. A large clothespress, with decorative carvings and golden accents stood against a wall. It had mirrored doors and was made of the same wood as the bed. It was definitely a masculine room. Jerad said he would take her to his dwelling. It was where she assumed she was now. She thought it might be a guest chamber, but Sera retracted the thought, knowing Jerad would put her nowhere except in his bed chamber, more precisely, in his bed. She wondered where he had slept. A turn of her head to the other side of the room gave her the answer. A plump pillow and casually thrown blanket were bunched together on a chaise in the corner, one dusty boot on each side, his clothing in a heap on the floor next to it.
Sera attempted to stretch. Her movement was shortened by a ripping pain. Each time she tried to move it would again tear through her. She tapped her fingers on the covers, and remained motionless, drawing shallow gulps of air, until the discomfort subsided.
She had been given a drug that blunted the pain. It caused her to float into a dreamlike state. She heard voices speaking in her language. She recognized faces and the ceiling of a familiar room. Then it was gone. The elixir must have been quite powerful for her to have such lucid visions, but it apparently had worn off. She wasn’t feeling very dreamy at the moment. In fact, she was feeling downright irritable.
The wound was long, about six inches. She could feel its depth beneath the stitching. She recalled the bite of the knife as it sliced, and how the assault turned self-defense into murder. At least that is how Sera viewed it, as she pondered to no resolve, how she might have instead disarmed the woman.
What did I do to provoke her into attacking me?
It was her eyes that Sera would never forget--a dark jade and filled with rage. Her pupils dilated as her breath, her blood drained from her.
Sera stared into the eyes of a dying woman, one whose life she was responsible for taking.
My loyalty for your trust... flesh becomes one.
Sera ran her fingers through her hair as a lump squeezed control in her throat. She released a sob. The conversation between Jerad and the horsemen on the path now made sense. Mekal and Thalia more than hinted that there would be trouble, and Jerad sent his sister Phoebe to prepare for a ceremony. The woman who attacked her had been rejected by Jerad. That was what incited her fury toward Sera. The bloom was not a gift as
Sera originally thought. When she accepted it from Jerad, she was also consenting to a betrothal. How could she have been so foolish to not realize it? She could have died, and most certainly would have, if Jerad had been unable to stitch her up. He saved her life. Yet, he was responsible for her present condition.
I trust you will not disappoint me.
Simple as that, disappoint. He knew what was going to happen. They all seemed to know, and she had been put on display for their entertainment.
I will be so disappointed if she cuts you to pieces, Sera.
Sera had every right to be angry with him, and she most certainly intended to be. He had become a real pain in her neck, thorn in her side, or hand, or something.
Sera let out an exasperated breath.
She didn’t feel very angry--a little peeved, maybe.
How could she not be angry?
He certainly deserved her wrath.
She hurt all over.
His fault.
She’d been forced to kill someone.
His fault again.
She was wedded to him and through duplicitous means no less.
His fault! His fault! All his fault!
She had to get out of that bed. She needed answers, but when she attempted to sit, the muscles of her belly screamed in protest. Sera threw her left hand to the edge of the bed, pulled to her side, and groaned. Again, she panted short breaths until the throbbing diminished. It was then she noticed that her left palm, the one which bore the thorn piercings, was covered with a small, satin sash, embroidered with several lavender buds. It crisscrossed over the back of her hand and wrapped again around her wrist, where it was tied in place with a knot.
My blood with your blood.
Well, they were both certainly bloody enough.
Sera repeated those words to him only because she did not understand what Jerad wanted from her. She never meant to put a seal on a ritualistic decree.
This is outrageous, ridiculous and totally unacceptable!
Sera worked herself into a lather. She had an urge to unwrap the cloth and choke him with it. It was just the effect she needed. She pursed her lips and gritted her teeth. She clenched the blanket in fisted palms.
The Third Corridor Page 9
