Shield's Lady

cannot take you by force, Sariana. It is clearly stated in the Pact that the woman must be willing. Did Gryph rape you last night?”
    The beautiful little tea cup cracked and disintegrated between Gryph’s fingers. He didn’t move from his chair but his eyes were suddenly dangerous.
    “By the Lightstorm, I have done nothing against the Pact. I am a Shield. By definition that means I have obeyed the laws governing my marriage rights. Ask her.”
    “Ask me what?” Sariana was tense with a strange panic. “Will somebody please tell me what is going on here?”
    “Ask her,” Gryph ordered.
    Lord Avylyn turned to Sariana. “Sariana, you must tell me the truth. Did you give yourself willingly to this man?”
    Sariana was mortified. “How dare you ask such things in public or even in private. I know you westerners are far more liberal about—this sort of thing than those of us from the east, but surely you have some respect for a woman’s privacy.”
    Lord Jasso waved that aside. “This is no time for false modesty. Sariana, you are living in my household. As a member of it you are entitled to my protection.” He shot a defiant glance at Gryph who ignored it. “But if no law has been broken, then I must assume that you are , indeed, married to this Shield. Did you go with him willingly last night or did he take you by force?”
    Sariana wanted to scream. She felt as if she were caught in a nightmare. She jerked her gaze from Jasso’s concerned expression to Gryph’s implacable face.
    “Answer him, Sariana. But see to it that you answer him honestly,” Gryph said calmly. “Because if you try to lie, I will force the truth out of you. Believe me, I can do it.”
    Sariana took a step back toward the door. “You have all gone out of your minds. I don’t understand any of this.”
    Lady Avylyn looked at her with compassion. “Just tell us the truth, Sariana. It is very important.”
    “He did not rape me, if that’s what you want to know.” Sariana put a hand to her throat, wondering if she was losing her voice. It sounded so faint. “But I never agreed to marry him.”
    Lord Avylyn shook his head helplessly. “Don’t you see, Sariana? You already are married to him. You proved it a few moments ago when you opened his weapon kit. Everyone knows that only a true Shieldmate can open her lord’s weapon kit. The prisma locks are sealed to everyone else. A Shield gives the secret to his wife on their wedding night. It is the proof of their bond when she opens the kit the next morning in front of witnesses. Under Pact law, you are married.”
    “No,” Sariana said, feeling as though the walls were closing in around her. “This Pact law, whatever it is, is a western law. I am an easterner. Do you understand? I am an easterner.”
    Lord Avylyn looked at her sorrowfully. “I am sorry, my dear. But as long as you are living with us, you are subject to our laws and ways. You know that.”
    Sariana whirled around and fled as if all the terrors of the western frontiers were at her heels.

Chapter
    8

    SARIANA ran toward the only source of comfort and rationality she knew in a world that seemed to be turning upside down. By the time she reached the wide, carved doors of Etion’s bank, she was breathing hard. Before going in she forced herself to stop and draw several deep breaths.
    No one had much noticed a harried looking woman making her way through the streets of Serendipity, but once inside the bank she would draw unwanted attention to herself if she didn’t calm down and appear a little less frantic.
    The last thing Sariana wanted to do was embarrass herself or Etion. When she had caught her breath, she swept through the doors and into the building.
    The people of Serendipity carried on their banking with the same loud enthusiasm they applied to nearly every other activity. Rakken’s bank was no staid, solemn hall where business was conducted in hushed, reverent tones as would have been the case in the eastern provinces. Instead the building was full of lively, surprisingly organized employees who gossiped, argued and joked with their clients. As usual, there was color and drama everywhere, from the outrageous styles in clothing to the rather loud confrontations taking place at the loan desks.
    One of the secrets of Rakken’s success was that, unlike other easterners who had tried to conduct business in the west, he hadn’t attempted to impose eastern ways on his employees or his clients. As Etion