as your grandmother. We already know that we are compatible in other ways. I can promise you will have great pleasure in my bed."
Jorlan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He gazed pensively into the mesh-pond. Green gave him some time.
"What if I tell you I know of this pleasure already?" he spoke quietly.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Green blanched.
He nodded silently as he stared over the flower-strewn lattice.
Green trembled and turned from him to gather her thoughts. A man without a veil could not go through the Ritual of Proof! The aristocracy held great store by the Ritual. It was the only way to know that his seed was a name-giver's alone. Such a thing became crucial in matters of inheritance. One never wanted an unscrolled child in one's household, making claim to a line. It just wasn't done.
Green's thoughts tumbled over one another as she sought a solution to this dilemma.
Regardless of what transpired, Jorlan was in grave danger from Claudine D'anbere.
"So you see," he spoke softly, "you must cast me aside and have me stricken from the scroll. I'm sorry, Green."
Green paused in her frantic thoughts and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. What if he is misleading me so I will revoke the contract? She viewed his features carefully as he stared straight at the pond.
A tiny, tiny muscle twitched in his jaw.
I don't believe it. There was no way he could feign his innocent response to her touch; to her instructions. Am I willing to gamble my house on him?
Yes, she was.
In fact, she already had. The price she had paid to save him had almost emptied her coffers.
Nevertheless, even if she had read him wrong, she would still take a chance on him. She could never live with herself if she let him fall into Claudine's hands, which is exactly what would happen if she revoked the contract. She had promised the Duchene that she would take care of him. And she would.
If what he said was true, there would be no future for him in the Select Quarter. He would be ostracized from polite company. Even though Jorlan thought he wanted that. Green did not think that he realized what such a life entailed. He was condemning himself to loneliness and sorrow.
After Anya was gone, he would be open game for every unscrupulous social climber looking to secure the hefty Reynard estate. Since he was the last of his line, conceivably the estate might come under the jurisdiction of the Septibunal to govern for him in his behalf. They would not hesitate either to control him, order him to fasten, or send him to the monkery.
Jorlan's passionate, sensitive nature would not fare well in a monkery.
Despite his opposition to the idea of the binding, he wanted her. Every intuition she had told her so.
Once he secured her name, he would never have to worry about those things, regardless of what happened to her. She would make the proper provisions for him.
"Your grandmother will be ruined by this; you do realize that?"
Jorlan inhaled deeply, and stared unblinking at the mesh-pond. The corner of his eye moistened, but he held firm. Green couldn't help but admire the strength of his beliefs. It was unusual in a man. He was unusual. Most men were led by other things.
It made her decision all the easier.
"It changes nothing, Jorlan. The fastening will occur as contracted."
He sucked in his breath. "You will let me shame you at the Ritual of Proof?"
She viewed him speculatively. "Will you shame me?" The muscle in his jaw pulsed. He would not answer. "We shall see then, won't we, fil-Duchene Reynard."
"Think it over, Marquelle. We can avoid all this if you cast me aside, I will get my grandmother to forgo the insult barter."
"No, Jorlan. The contract will stand. You will be my name-bearer."
"Once they initiate the Ritual, they will never allow me to be your name-bearer." He spoke low, through gritted teeth.
"We shall see."
"In either case, you will get no pleasure from me."
"As I said, we shall
Jorlan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He gazed pensively into the mesh-pond. Green gave him some time.
"What if I tell you I know of this pleasure already?" he spoke quietly.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Green blanched.
He nodded silently as he stared over the flower-strewn lattice.
Green trembled and turned from him to gather her thoughts. A man without a veil could not go through the Ritual of Proof! The aristocracy held great store by the Ritual. It was the only way to know that his seed was a name-giver's alone. Such a thing became crucial in matters of inheritance. One never wanted an unscrolled child in one's household, making claim to a line. It just wasn't done.
Green's thoughts tumbled over one another as she sought a solution to this dilemma.
Regardless of what transpired, Jorlan was in grave danger from Claudine D'anbere.
"So you see," he spoke softly, "you must cast me aside and have me stricken from the scroll. I'm sorry, Green."
Green paused in her frantic thoughts and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. What if he is misleading me so I will revoke the contract? She viewed his features carefully as he stared straight at the pond.
A tiny, tiny muscle twitched in his jaw.
I don't believe it. There was no way he could feign his innocent response to her touch; to her instructions. Am I willing to gamble my house on him?
Yes, she was.
In fact, she already had. The price she had paid to save him had almost emptied her coffers.
Nevertheless, even if she had read him wrong, she would still take a chance on him. She could never live with herself if she let him fall into Claudine's hands, which is exactly what would happen if she revoked the contract. She had promised the Duchene that she would take care of him. And she would.
If what he said was true, there would be no future for him in the Select Quarter. He would be ostracized from polite company. Even though Jorlan thought he wanted that. Green did not think that he realized what such a life entailed. He was condemning himself to loneliness and sorrow.
After Anya was gone, he would be open game for every unscrupulous social climber looking to secure the hefty Reynard estate. Since he was the last of his line, conceivably the estate might come under the jurisdiction of the Septibunal to govern for him in his behalf. They would not hesitate either to control him, order him to fasten, or send him to the monkery.
Jorlan's passionate, sensitive nature would not fare well in a monkery.
Despite his opposition to the idea of the binding, he wanted her. Every intuition she had told her so.
Once he secured her name, he would never have to worry about those things, regardless of what happened to her. She would make the proper provisions for him.
"Your grandmother will be ruined by this; you do realize that?"
Jorlan inhaled deeply, and stared unblinking at the mesh-pond. The corner of his eye moistened, but he held firm. Green couldn't help but admire the strength of his beliefs. It was unusual in a man. He was unusual. Most men were led by other things.
It made her decision all the easier.
"It changes nothing, Jorlan. The fastening will occur as contracted."
He sucked in his breath. "You will let me shame you at the Ritual of Proof?"
She viewed him speculatively. "Will you shame me?" The muscle in his jaw pulsed. He would not answer. "We shall see then, won't we, fil-Duchene Reynard."
"Think it over, Marquelle. We can avoid all this if you cast me aside, I will get my grandmother to forgo the insult barter."
"No, Jorlan. The contract will stand. You will be my name-bearer."
"Once they initiate the Ritual, they will never allow me to be your name-bearer." He spoke low, through gritted teeth.
"We shall see."
"In either case, you will get no pleasure from me."
"As I said, we shall
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