Mortal

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

SOME TIME AGO, Jonathan and Feyn had retreated to the ridge at the clearing’s perimeter to speak the business of Sovereigns. Jordin hung back, replaiting her horse’s mane, if only to keep her fingers busy while keeping her promise to never let Jonathan out of sight.

She saw the way they stood together looking out over the eastern hills, speaking in tones that didn’t carry back to her even with her Mortal ears. They were making arrangements, no doubt. The first of many discussions she would not be privy to.

She watched the way he looked out over the hills as though with new eyes-a Sovereign’s gaze, surveying all that he would rule. Feyn nodded intermittently, seeming to do the same, though Jordin saw the way she glanced sidelong at him while he was talking.

Jonathan might see more in her eyes, but to Jordin Feyn appeared cold and distant. Calculating. Perhaps it was that way with Sovereigns.

Was this to be her life, then? Standing by as he stood by Feyn’s side? It wouldn’t matter-Jonathan loved her as a woman. Nothing else mattered.

He would have her loyalty forever. And for his compassionate heart and eccentric ways, he would have her heart as well. He was all that Jordin had ever known to be beautiful and right…

The only truly beautiful thing in this world.

And so she would stand by and protect him regardless of the cost to herself, filled with the awe of having heard those words. I love you. The revelation that he could not marry her changed nothing.

She glanced up and saw that he was walking back, leaving Feyn seemingly to her own thoughts on the ridge. She straightened, aware of the butterflies in her belly. She was ready for the days ahead, whatever challenges they brought. For the move to the Citadel-shored up already against the pervasive smell of Corpse in the city.

Jordin gave him a small smile as he approached the horses, but his mind was either lost on his discussion with Feyn, or distracted by whatever task lay ahead of him.

He flipped open one of the saddlebags on his horse. “Never underestimate the cost of sovereignty, Jordin,” he said quietly.

He said it as one who had taken a great weight on his shoulders. The look she saw so often on Rom’s face. Roland’s. And they were coleaders of only twelve hundred. What would become of Jonathan the day the world descended upon his shoulders?

“Jonathan…” She came round her horse and saw that he’d withdrawn a length of old bridle leather. “However I can serve you, I will. I will be there. I will never leave you.”

When he looked up, sorrow was pulling at his face.

“You said that you would follow me always,” he said.

“Yes. Always. What’s wrong?”

“Even if where I go is difficult to understand?”

“Yes!”

He studied her for a moment, then turned the leather length in his hand. “Then bind yourself to your word. Join with me.”

Her heart stuttered. It was the way the Nomads bound themselves to one another on the day they made pledges and took their mates.

“Bind myself to you? Now?”

“Put your hands out,” he said gently.

She lifted her hands in front of her, wrists together. Jonathan wasn’t given to convention-he was the son of the unexpected. It was one of the things she loved about him, trusting that he had a purpose even in his most erratic actions.

She watched as crossed the tether and looped one end twice more, and then the other, twice more. But he was binding her arms together, not him to her. With a soft, confused laugh she looked up at him.

But this time, his face was twisted with emotion, lips pressed together in an effort to control them. She’d seen Jonathan cry many times, unbeknownst to so many, and knew the expression well.

“Jonathan?”

A tear coursed down his cheek as he finished with the leather, tying it in a hard knot.

“What are you doing?”

Tears wet on his face, he took her neck in his hands, leaned in, and kissed her.

“I love you, Jordin,” he whispered. And then his arms went around her and he lifted her off her feet.

Was it possible that he had changed his mind? Was this what he and Feyn had spoken about? Was it possible he had gone back to Feyn to discuss terms, to say that he loved her and could not marry another?

“Jonathan?”

He carried her to one of the closest trees, a bent and gnarled olive. Eased her down by the trunk, which hadn’t grown but a couple feet around. Pressing her arms up over her head and against the tree, he produced another length of cord and began to bind them to the trunk itself.

Her first impulse was to jerk away, but she could not defy Jonathan. He had his purpose and she would simply trust him. Hadn’t she just sworn to follow him regardless of where it took her? Then this was a test…

From the corner of her vision she saw Feyn returning from the ridge, eyes on them. A bell of alarm attempted to shatter her resolve. What was happening?

“Jonathan… Please.”

He seemed not to hear her. She began to twist, to try to pull her hands free, but they were bound too tightly by the first rope.

“Stop, Jonathan. Please!”

But he was fixated, working quickly with the rope until her bound hands were coiled to the tree trunk above her.

He stepped back, eyes pleading with her to understand. “I love you, Jordin. You will soon understand, I promise you. Follow me always.”

Feyn stopped beside him. “It’s time,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. Then Jordin knew…

They were leaving her!

Panicked, she jerked against the rope, but it was bound too tightly.

“Jonathan!”

He took one last look at her, eyes filled with longing and sorrow, and then turned.

“Jonathan!” she screamed, feeling the veins in her temple throb with the effort. She watched helplessly as Feyn untied the black stallion and swung into the saddle. As Jonathan returned to his horse and did the same.

They left her bound to the tree, with only Jonathan’s own tears as consolation.