Rital of Proof (15 page)

Once out of the bath, Avatar helped Green dry her long hair with the bristles of a newi plant. The small appendage branches were snapped off the mother plant. The spiny bristles were highly effective moisture extractors and were used for a variety of household applications.

Next, Green donned the white semisheer robe traditionally used in fastening ceremonies. The robe had a very special sash tied around it. Her family sash, which had been used by the Tamryns for generations.

"You look lovely, Green." Avatar theatrically dabbed at a tear at the corner of her eye.

Green frowned over her shoulder as she went out the door. "You can stop the overly sentimental act, Avatar, it does not suit you at all."

Avatar grinned broadly, not in the least repentant. Even though she questioned Green's choice of name-bearer, she could not contain her genuine happiness on her fastening day.

Green marched down the stairs to the formal room, a determined stride to her step. The room was a sea of people.

Jorlan had already been brought down. He awaited her in the center of the room.

Green's lips curled with amusement as she realized that his hair was still damp and slightly dripping onto his black shirt. The aqua eyes narrowed at her in icy defiance. Apparently all they could get was his head dunked underwater. He still wore the same clothes he had on at the Ritual of Proof.

She snorted.
Ah, Jorlan, what am I to do with you?

The noise level of the crowd increased markedly at her appearance. Half of the guests she did not even recognize. Discreetly, she motioned to her majordoma, Mathers. The staunch white-haired woman, who had been with her family for as long as she could remember, strode over to her with a forceful gait. The distinct sniff of utter disdain for the rabble of the crowd was obvious on her florid face.

"Where did they all come from?" Green hissed to her.

"I don't know, my Lordene. They seemed to arrive consistently, like a plague of popular sentiment." Mathers was the mistress of droll humor.

"They are
not to
stay the night. Is that clear, Mathers?"

Mathers's chilling grin spread across her face. "I dare say not, my Lordene."

Green gave her a look. The woman was enjoying her work far too much. She was going to absolutely adore tossing out the rarefied gentry. To confirm her summation, the servant literally rubbed her hands together in glee, and there was a slight gleam in her squinty eyes.

Mathers said simply, "Before or after the ceremonial meal?"

Green bit her lip. "After, I suppose."

Mathers chortled with anticipation.

"Have the kitchens prepared a—"

"Don't worry about that now. We've taken care of everything for you, Marquelle. This is your fastening day, you just enjoy it." '

Green's eyes moistened. Her people were very good to her. She loved them all and would never give them up—not one of them—without the best fight she had in her. And they knew it.

"Thank you, Mathers. Has the Septibunal arrived yet?" As a high-ranking member of the aristocracy, the Septibunal would oversee her fastening rite.

"Yes, Lordene. They are ready to observe the vows. Should warn you, that snip-butt D'anbere is here with them."

Green frowned. "I don't want that woman in my house. Show her out immediately. And please don't refer to her as a snip-butt, Mathers; she is a She-Count."

"Yes, Lordene," Mathers intoned by rote. Both of them knew Green might as well be talking to the wall. Mathers always referred to anyone she did not like as a snip-butt, and that was that.

"You can't remove her, Green." Anya came up beside them. "She is here in an official capacity as a stand-in council member. She must oversee the fastening."

"I have no doubt that she arranged that. Watch her closely, Mathers; under no condition is she to leave the formal room."

"Too late for that, I think." Anya nodded to the grand stairway. Claudine D'anbere was strolling down the stairs from the upper floors and there was a very self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"What do you think the snip-butt was doing up there?" Mathers's beady eyes got beadier.

A small worry-line furrowed Green's brow. "There's no telling."

She sighed. Whatever Claudine had been doing upstairs, she supposed she'd find out soon enough.

"Mathers, just in case, have my room thoroughly searched, especially the bed. She might have placed something between the sheets."

"The snip-butt!" Mathers blustered.

"Warn the servants to be careful, Mathers," Anya cautioned the faithful majordoma. "Being a venomous sort, she might have loosed a coil-winder or something like it."

Mathers nodded gruffly and marched away, intent on making sure her Lordene's chambers were scoured from top to bottom while the ceremony was going on.

"Shall we, my dear?" Anya held her hand out to Green to lead her to the center of the room to begin the fastening. "Or should I say 'daughter'?"

"I rather like the sound of that, Anya."

"So do I, daughter, so do I." Anya patted her hand as they reached the cleared circle where Jorlan awaited them. When she released her hand she backed out of the small space.

The Septibunal members came forward and formed a circle around the two of them. Green ignored Claudine, who was trying her best to catch Jorlan's attention.

Duchene Hawke nodded at Jorlan, indicating he should go on his knees in front of Green. When a full minute had gone by and Jorlan still did not kneel, several guests began buzzing.

Green nodded to his two attendants, who not so gently placed their hands on his shoulders and forced him down. He was strong enough to stop them, of course. Instead he made just enough of a display to show rebellion.

He stared mutinously at her.

Green sucked in her breath. With his pale aqua eyes, black hair and outfit, his sheer determined defiance, she had never seen him more beautiful. She knew she would never forget the way he looked at that moment.

Slowly, Green leaned forward to remove the familial sash of Reynard from his waist. Her fingers were remarkably steady, considering. She could feel the heat of his skin beneath the cool satiny texture of the Ramagi fabric. Accidentally, she brushed the hard muscle on the plane of his stomach as her fingers grazed the knot. The slight intake of breath told her that he was not immune to her touch. A good sign.

Avatar came through the circle, bearing the Tamryn sash on a pillow. Green switched sashes, taking the Tamryn one in her hand. She held it aloft and, with her voice clear, spoke directly to Jorlan and not the Septibunal as was custom. "With this sash, Jorlan Reynard, I give to you my name, the protection of my house, and my honor. I will accept in return your seed to bear my children, whom I will entrust to you—the most precious of my life—into your care." With that, she deftly tied the Tamryn sash around his trim waist. Now it was Jorlan's turn to respond. Except the new name-bearer remained silent. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched his Lordene. The guests would later attest that the force of his displeasure was palpable.

Despite everything, Jorlan must accept the vow for the fastening to be legal. Green met his challenging look with her own strength of will. Suddenly, surprising everyone, and in a highly unorthodox manner, she seized Jorlan by the chin and fastened her lips to his in a brand. "Do not shame your grandmother," she hissed into his mouth.

Jorlan started, stunned by her bold action. When she released him, she waited for what he knew he must do.

"I will bear your name," he bit out angrily. Green arched an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of the acceptance. "And... ?"

He gritted his teeth. "And I will...
obey
you in all things."

Green nodded slightly to him in acknowledgment, then held the Reynard sash high in the air. "Arise, Jorlan Tamryn from the House of Tamryn."

In a doubly symbolic gesture so beloved by the women, she rent the Reynard sash cleanly in two. Originally the action symbolized that the male's ties to his old house were torn asunder. Over time, the meaning had become blurred with the rending of the veil.

A great cheer filled the room as the damselles celebrated the symbolic rupture. "My servants have prepared a repast for you in the dining hall; please avail yourselves." Green went to take Jorlan's arm so that they might lead the way.

He yanked it away from her. "You have what you want from me in name only, Marquelle Tamryn. I suggest you be satisfied with that."

Green gave him a look that questioned his sanity. "I hardly think so,
Marqueller
Tamryn. I suggest to you that you eat a hearty meal—for you will surely need it."

His cheeks flushed bronze both from anger and... something else.

With that, she all but dragged him into the dining hall.

Chapter Seven

Jorlan was conspicuously silent during the ceremonial feast.

He sat next to her, glowering down into his plate of roasted tasteslikerooster with an expression that Green was surprised did not sear the cooked creature to cinders. Tasteslikerooster had been a favorite on Forus since the time of the
NEOFEM,
and was the first indigenous bioform the settlers had encountered. Since it had no intelligence to speak of and they were in need of an additional protein source, tasteslikerooster was the difference in that first year between struggling to survive and full stomachs.

Since that time, schools of them were raised specifically for consumption. It had a marvelous taste that lent itself to literally thousands of recipes. No one could recall why the Origin crew had given it such an odd name. Some of their researchers believed that "rooster" was a slang term among the crew for a particularly sensual male.

In any event, Jorlan's attitude was starting to cause comments.

Green leaned toward him, brushing her lips across his cheek. At least it looked that way to their guests. In actuality she was speaking to him in a low voice. "Are you going to sulk all evening, my wilding?" she whispered in his ear, giving the fold a little lick.

He Started at the delicate touch. Giving her an angry glare, he remained stubbornly silent.

"I see. Perhaps you would rather go upstairs and prepare yourself for tonight then?" Her mouth brushed| lightly at the soft skin under his lobe. He swallowed twitching slightly from desire. Pointedly, he looked away from her down the length of the long feastin table.

Green raised her eyebrow at his blunt action. "Very well; I shall signal for the waiting-servants now." She lifted her hand to snap her fingers.

Without looking at her, Jorlan's hand came over her capturing it in his grip. He placed both their hands c the tabletop, firmly holding hers down.
,

Green gasped. He had her neatly pinned. What was he doing? Name-bearers never disobeyed!

The guests were watching them very closely. If she tried to extricate herself they were sure to notice his behavior and she would be forced into doing something she did not want to do. Especially on their fastening night.

Name-givers had the right to discipline their name-bearers if they so desired. Although the practice was not generally applauded by the Slice, it was deemed a woman's sole right to decide what was proper for her name-bearer and her household. When a man fastened, whatever property he had, all of his belongings, and his entire future welfare belonged to his name-giver. Even the sons of aristocratic women did not have any say in the direction of their lives or their land.

It was a woman's world, after all.

Nevertheless, Green was not about to start their life together by having him disciplined. She wanted him to come to her willingly. She knew that wouldn't happen initially, but it was a span she was willing to endure. The end result would be worth it.

Her viewpoints were not going to stop her from taking a stand, though.

"Are you going to release my hand or do I—"

"What? Have me beaten?" He turned to her, aqua slits of challenge burning into her.

"I like your passion, Jorlan; it will be all the more enticing for me to turn it to a different direction later."

His mouth firmed. "If you think that to happen, than you had better think again."

Green met his look head on. "Do you really think I will allow this fastening to go unrent? Perhaps there is a psillacyb in the hameeri liquor you've been drinking?"

He glanced at his goblet, his complexion paling.

Green rolled her eyes. "Do not be foolish! I have no need to mesmerize you to my bed; you will be there willingly, soon enough. What's more—if past experience is a teacher—you will enjoy it."

"No."

Green shrugged. "Then that will be your choice, but somehow"—she ran her fingers along his rock-hard thigh, feeling the muscles instantly bunch—"I doubt it."

He exhaled noisily, refusing to respond.

"Are you going to release my hand?" Green's tone was clipped and direct. Discipline was out of the question, but displeasure was not. Jorlan needed to realize that
she
was firmly in control of her house. "I will not ask you again."