Crusader. Novel by Sara Douglass

saved her from Niah and WolfStar — and, dammit, no-one fought harder in that battle than Zenith! —

and, oh gods, the joy when we succeeded!”

StarDrifter had to turn away for a moment, his chest heaving, gulping down his tears.

When he finally had himself under some control, he turned back and continued. “Zenith and I

became close after that. Very close.”

Axis narrowed his eyes. “You fell in love.” It was not a question. More than anyone, Axis

understood the SunSoar attraction each to the other. Stars! He could remember the leap in his own

blood when his grandmother, MorningStar, smiled at him with seduction in her eyes.

“And so you became lovers,” Axis finished, and his tone was hard. His daughter had

slept with his father. As with Azhure, his Acharite blood rebelled at the images now tumbling

through his mind.

StarDrifter laughed, low and harsh and bitter, noting well the expression on Axis’ face. “No. We

have never slept together. Zenith could not … could not bear me to touch her.” StarDrifter paused, his

eyes locked into those of his son. “For the same reason you now wear such blatant disgust

on your face, Axis. She could not lie with her grandfather, despite what she felt for him. Every time I

laid a finger on her, she would shudder with revulsion.”

Such relief flowed through Axis that he could almost manage some sympathy for StarDrifter’s

frustrations.

“That must be —” he began.

“But she can overcome her revulsion enough to sleep with WolfStar!” StarDrifter screamed.

Horror overwhelmed Axis. “But… but…”

He felt Azhure take his hand, and finally understood the depth of anguish she, too, must be

feeling.

“How?” Axis finally whispered. “Why?”

“She says,” and StarDrifter’s voice was as cold and impersonal as the interstellar wastes, “that she

does not view WolfStar as her

grandfather. She says that she finds some comfort with him. Him! Her rapist!”

“I’ll put an end to this!” Axis said, and half turned away.

“No.” Azhure stopped him. “No. I must. This must be said woman to woman. Besides,” her

mouth quirked with utter sadness and a guilt far deeper than Axis’, “Zenith is paying for my sins, not

hers. Stay here, Axis, StarDrifter. Let me do this.”

And she was gone.

Chapter 42

Of Commitment

Zenith sat on the small stool by the fire and tried to let some of her companions’ good cheer

raise her spirits. She and WolfStar were sharing a fire with three Ravensbundmen and a

farming couple from northern Ichtar: Zenith suspected they had some Ravensbund blood in them as

well, for few Acharites were ever comfortable in the presence of either the northern hunters, or two Icarii

Enchanters.

But as the Ravensbund cared neither way about their companions, so Zenith presumed it was with

this couple. Not even the reputation of WolfStar appeared to concern them.

The Ravensbund were sharing a pot of Tekawai tea, turning the pot its ritual three turns to honour

the sun, then pouring the fragrant tea into small porcelain cups that carried the emblem of the blood-red

sun.

Maybe that is why they are so comfortable with us, Zenith thought, for we are of SunSoar blood,

and the Ravensbund are pledged to the StarMan.

The peasant husband was strumming a small lute — badly. His wife was singing some rollicking

peasant ballad to his accompaniment — equally as badly.

Zenith could feel WolfStar’s irritation grow, and she placed a hand on his arm to forestall his

otherwise inevitable blast of sarcasm. She had discovered that she had a gentling affect on him. This

amazed Zenith, for she had not known that anyone could gentle the otherwise self-consumed WolfStar.

He would stay his voice and his hand for her, when otherwise he would let fly, and for her WolfStar

would sit still and bland when otherwise he would prefer to pace and fidget and bemoan

the fates that had brought him to this sorry, useless and utterly magic-less pass.

Zenith had no idea of the depth and professionalism of WolfStar’s manipulation.

A small movement caught Zenith’s eye, and she turned her head slightly.

WingRidge CurlClaw was talking quietly to another member of the Lake Guard just at the outer

limits of the fire’s warmth. There were always at least three or four of the Lake Guard about WolfStar, or

standing guard at the door and window of whatever chamber he lay in.

WingRidge caught Zenith looking at him, and he nodded a silent greeting.

Zenith smiled, then looked back to WolfStar. He was, at least to outward appearances, dozing. His

physical condition had improved markedly, but he still tired easily. The flight from Sanctuary, and the

subsequent hours spent in the frigid storm, had wearied him to the point where he had slept on and off

during these past five hours since the Skraelings had taken root and sprung into this magical avenue.

Zenith let her eyes slip down his body. Did she love him? No, but she felt a closeness to him that she

could not achieve with StarDrifter; a companionship almost. WolfStar had shown her a gentler side to his

nature that she’d not known existed.

She and WolfStar shared the same night, the same experiences and pain and humiliations, and even

though WolfStar had been responsible almost entirely for her pain and humiliation, she nevertheless now

felt such a bond with him that she knew she could not leave him.

Certainly not now they’d again shared a bed.

She’d let him make love to her, finally, in those hours when they’d huddled together in their own

warm, intimate space under a tarpaulin while the ice storm raged overhead. There had been no words,

only gentle touches and long pauses, and the final turning to him to offer him her mouth.

Zenith had wanted WolfStar to hurt her, to hurry her, or even to force her, for then she would have

been able to loathe him. Then, she thought, she would have been able to turn her back on WolfStar, and

look to StarDrifter.

But WolfStar had not hurt her, or hurried her, and he certainly had not forced her.

He had, unbelievably, been hesitant and unsure.

After they had done, Zenith had cried, and WolfStar had held her and comforted her, and Zenith

knew she would learn to enjoy him and desire him as a lover.

He was WolfStar, but something, somewhere within him had changed.

Or is it me? Zenith wondered, and had to bow her head and blink back her tears, because she

didn’t want to change, she didn’t want to respond to WolfStar, she only wanted to run to

StarDrifter and let him hold her, and let him protect her from all the hurts of the outside world.

And what hurt most of all was that that could never, never be.

Not now.

Zenith knew StarDrifter would accept her without question, recrimination or a single hint of

revulsion.

It was she who could not now go back. A chasm had been created the instant she allowed WolfStar

back into her body, and it was a chasm Zenith knew she would never be able to bridge.

She lowered her head still further and wept.

Now she had no-one to loathe but herself.

It was quiet. The Ravensbundmen had finished their tea and were huddled as still as rocks under

enveloping blankets. The peasant couple were asleep in each other’s arms. WolfStar had drifted into a

deep sleep, and lay half slouched against the wheel of the cart, half against a pile of blankets. Of them all,

only the Lake Guard stood wakeful, their eyes relaxed but nevertheless watchful.

A hand fell softly on her arm, and Zenith jerked fully awake from her light doze. She opened

her eyes and saw Azhure, crouched down beside her.

Azhure put a finger to her lips, and then pointed to a spot ten or twelve paces distant from the fire.

Come with me.

Zenith hesitated, glanced at WolfStar who had not stirred, then rose grudgingly and followed Azhure.

The last thing she felt like right now was a mother and daughter chat.

The Lake Guardsmen followed her with their eyes, but did not move after her, and Zenith

wondered at what point they would. When would she become so associated with WolfStar (so

much an extension of WolfStar) that she would require watching in her own right?

“I needed to talk with you,” Azhure said as she drew Zenith close to the first row of ghost trees.

Above their heads the leaves moved gracefully, humming a sweet, soothing lullaby.

“So it would seem,” Zenith said, her tone unresponsive. She would not meet her mother’s eyes.

“I don’t blame you for your reaction, Zenith,” Azhure said. She reached out and took both her

daughter’s hands. “I cannot say how much I regret what I said and did in Sigholt when —”

“Then don’t.”

“Zenith …” Azhure stopped, not knowing what to say or how to say it. “StarDrifter has told