shell sprays the wall to the side of him, but miraculously, not one piece of shot hits me.
I listen as a squeal of pain comes from the soldier on the ground behind me. Rock salt. It’s loaded with rock salt, I think.
“Kyon!” Chandrum yells. He moves closer to Kyon, but Kyon fends him off with one hand, shoving Chandrum away. When Chandrum comes at him again, Kyon swings the muzzle of the Mossberg in his direction. Racking the weapon, a red shell casing pops out of it. Chandrum stops and backs up.
Kyon’s voice is controlled and deadly calm, “They touched her. No one has a right to touch her but me.”
Chandrum holds out his hand cautiously. “Has there been a Claiming Ceremony?”
Kyon doesn’t lower the Mossberg. “She belongs to me!”
Chandrum tries a placating tone. “We haven’t had the Claiming Ceremony yet. They’re Excelsior’s men!” Chandrum waves his hand in our direction. “They’re here on official business. Technically, the Brotherhood still owns her.”
“Technically,” Kyon says, “I shoot anyone who touches her without my permission.” Extending his arm straight out, he swings the barrel of the gun away from Chandrum, aiming at the soldier who now looks as if he’s seeing the devil before him.
The blond-headed soldier puts up both his hands, but it does no good. Boom! The soldier is lifted off his feet, thrown backward from the force of the shot. My hair stirs and my ears ring. Even though I knew it was coming—could see the intent on Kyon’s face—the noise still makes me jump. The smell of blood and spent shells assaults me, but I can’t move. I stare straight ahead at Kyon. It’s like I’m not here, though. For a moment, I’m back in the ballroom of the Palace in Rafe, and I’m helpless to stop anything happening to me.
Kyon lowers the gun and walks to me. I still can’t move. He’s gentle when he takes me in his arms and hugs me. My breath comes out in hacks from my tight chest. I can’t think. I feel numb, like I got shot, but I didn’t.
Tucking me to his side, Kyon leads me away from the carnage at my feet. I refuse to look at the wounded soldiers. I don’t want to know if they’ll live or not. I don’t want to know about them at all. Over his shoulder, Kyon orders, “Take care of them, Chandrum, and then meet us on the beach.”
“I’m not a curer—”
“Do it!” Kyon barks. “Call your people. I know they’re stationed all around here. There’s no stealth in any of them. I allowed them to get close so they could witness something for me. I’ve been watching them since before you landed.”
Chandrum swears under his breath, and then says, “I’m under orders to protect the priestess.” It’s the truth. They want me alive for now.
“I’ll remember that the next time I’m asked to intervene with Nezra.” I don’t get to assess the impact my half sister’s name has on Chandrum, because Kyon points me at the stairs and ushers me down them.
It seems as if it’s only ten steps later and I’m in the bedroom I share with Kyon. Am I in shock? He leads me to my dressing room. Opening the doors for me, he guides me to the automated seamstress. The cylinder rises up from the floor, trapping me inside.
“Please make a selection,” Oscil requests.
He speaks to the seamstress program. “Number one.”
My clothing is cut from me and shredded at my feet. The softest fabric I’ve ever felt touches my skin, weaving around me in silvery tat patterns of lace and cloud. The collar forms a high, stiff arc behind my neck, forcing my hair to fall over my shoulders and rest on each of my breasts. A deep V forms in front of the intricate, long-flowing gown. The bare skin between my breasts is exposed. Seeing it, my heart beats a misbegotten rhythm.
The sleeves of the gown come to a point over my hands and loop around my index fingers to hold them in place. I hardly blink when a shimmering silver veil falls over my eyes, clouding my vision. The walls of the automated cylinder disappear. A warm hand takes mine. Gently, Kyon guides me toward the doors.
“My shoes,” I murmur, trying to pull away from Kyon to retrieve them.
“We’ll come back for them later. You won’t need them now.”
Kyon takes me out through the bedroom to the beach. The warm air catches the thin veil covering