The Staff and the Blade: Irin Chronicles Book Four by Elizabeth Hunter Page B

reshon chose you? Would you deny him?”
    “There is no choice in fate.”
    “So what you’re saying is that if your soul mate found you…” He paused until she stopped in her task and looked at him. “If he met you, Sari. Loved you. Chose you. You would still deny him because you think he had no choice?”
    “There is no choice in fate.” Her heart pounded, but she could not look away.
    “Do you know what my fate was?” His voice was low and intimate. “My fate was to be another male in the breeding line of Mikael’s warriors.”
    “Breeding line—?”
    “For centuries, my family has searched for the strongest warriors, male and female. The ones they deem the purest of Mikael’s line. They search the world. Language and homeland do not matter. When they find the strongest warriors, we are expected to mate and breed to produce warrior offspring. Like Einar choosing and breeding the best in his flock.”
    Sari’s mouth fell open. “Irin families do not breed their young like livestock.”
    “Y our family does not. My family does.”
    “But—”
    “We have no choice. We have only duty. I have never known any of my family to find their reshon. It is a luxury we are not allowed.”
    “And you?” Sari’s heart pounded.
    He leaned back and took the clippers from her hand. Sari shifted so that she held the ewe for Damien as he focused on the task. Despite the boil of emotions she felt from him, he was still firm and gentle handling the animal.
    She finally said, “You have been away from your family for two hundred years.”
    “Yes.”
    “They have not found a woman for you? In all that time? Or do you have a mate half a world away while you make bedding jokes with me?”
    “They found a woman for me,” he said. “But I refused to return home. I was no longer content with my fate .”
    “So you don’t believe in it either.”
    He glanced up with burning eyes. “I believe in fate. The fate the Creator chose for me—a mate chosen by heaven—not the fate of my family.”
    “And you have not seen them or written to them in two hundred years?”
    He looked down and continued working. “My mother writes. I do not answer. The singer they chose for me mated with another, but my mother has not given up. They will call me back to service soon.”
    “Who? Your family?”
    “The Elder Council. My family has more than a little influence in Vienna. Once they call me back into service, my family believes I will accede to what they want for me.”
    “And what do you want?”
    His shoulders slumped a little. “I want… peace. To be valued for more than my blood and training. Perhaps we’re more alike than you think, Sari. I suppose I want someone to choose me too.”
    ※
    Perhaps we’re more alike than you think.
    Sari stared into the small fire in her cottage, the brewing manual she’d been reading forgotten on her lap. Damien had not joined the village for the evening meal, though several lambs had been butchered and Ingrid and Matthew had celebrated the hard day of work with a feast.
    She had a feeling the cost of Damien’s honesty might be paid in isolation.
    Next to his age and experience, she felt like a child. And while she’d never been a sheltered girl—her parents believing industry and independence were more important than manners—she had been surrounded by love. Rich with it. Her parents loved her. Her sister did too. Her grandparents doted on them all. They were loud and raucous, and some might find them coarse compared to the fine manners or sophisticated parlors of the city scribe houses. But Sari knew they were fierce and generous with their affection.
    I want someone to choose me too.
    She suddenly wanted to give Damien a very long, very hard hug.
    Never one to deny an honest desire, Sari decided she would. She set her book to the side, carefully marking her place, and found her wrap. The warm woolen cloak had been a welcome gift from the women in the village, and she treasured it.