Cynara had wondered if shaauri could love.
Ronan bowed. “Sh’eivali, I honor you greatly,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “I ask that you do what you can to preserve my lifemate from harm and find a way to return her to her own people in the Concordat. Sihvaaro will aid you.”
“We hear,” Riko said.
“We hear,” the others echoed.
There was no further speech, no expressions of good luck such as humans used, no cries of encouragement. Ronan met each gaze in turn, conveying respect and affection. Hanno was last. To her he sent all the love in his heart, and smiled.
He turned away before they could see the tears in his eyes, that shameful badge of his inescapable humanity. He moved with slow, measured steps to the center of Da’amera-ja and sat cross-legged on the gravel to begin his preparations. Cynara pushed at the fringe of his consciousness, protest and anger and outrage. He cast her out. One distraction could see him dead, and Cynara in Darja hands. He must be all warrior now, single-minded for battle like any ve’laik’in.
He must cease to be human.
Minutes passed in silence. Even the enemy respected this time; it could last for hours if he wished. But he did not. He repeated the chants of the Eightfold Way until only that endless, perfect circle existed.
He opened his eyes and rose to his feet. Arv’Darja had sent its champion, a deceptively small ve’laik’in whose stance and confidence told Ronan that he was among the House’s best fighters. He wore no covering but his own fur, as required by tradition.
No one would object if the pitiful human retained his garments over naked skin. Ronan stripped off his shipsuit and tossed it to the edge of the arena. He bowed to his opponent and then turned to acknowledge the leaders of his House.
Samit no longer stood to the fore. Lenko had taken the place of honor to preside over the combat, and his eyes glowed with satisfaction.
Ronan bowed again, cold as winter’s kill. He knew that Cynara stood in the custody of his friends, safe and restrained. More than that knowledge he did not seek. He waited calmly for Lenko to bid the challenge begin.
Someone shouted. The voice rang so clear that all ears flattened in shock, and every face turned toward it.
Sihvaaro stepped into the arena and set himself before Lenko, hands folded at his waist. He bowed.
Ronan’s detachment faltered. He could hear only fragments of the conversation between Sihvaaro and Lenko, but what he understood was enough. He abandoned his position and ran to stop his teacher.
Sihvaaro bowed to Lenko once more and turned to face Ronan. His eyes were eloquent, full of pride and sorrow and a calm that could not be touched.
“It is done,” he said softly. “Aho’Ain’Kalevi Lenko has given me leave to fight in your place, ina-ma.”
“No.” Ronan charged past Sihvaaro, but the shaauri stepped neatly into his path and hurled him to the ground. Ronan was on his feet instantly. Sihvaaro held him with a grip like a koinno’s jaws.
“You cannot,” Ronan begged, the air gone poisonous in his chest. “There is no precedent—”
“Nevertheless, Lenko has agreed. You must obey.”
“If he agreed, it is because he believes you will be defeated,” Ronan said desperately. “He wants to be rid of you as well. Arv’Darja will still win the right to take my lifemate, and you will die for nothing.”
Sihvaaro’s eyes lit. “So that was not only a deception. I am pleased.” He touched Ronan’s chin. “There is little time left. Hear me, ina-ma. When the challenge was given by Arv’Darja, I tried to convince Lenko to expose our mutual Kinsmen enemies by helping to lay a trap for them, as you wished.”
“Cynara—”
“Lenko refused, as I expected. He only wishes to be rid of all humans, at the expense of the welfare of shaauri-ja. But he is far too conservative to take direct action against your lifemate, and I have planted enough doubts in his mind that he would never share suspicions about your Concordat intelligence with the Kinsmen. He is happy enough to let Darja rid him of all his problems.”