Jemson smiled at him. “Your part is quite simple, really, for so important a rite. We mingle your blood with Hanalea’s, and you drink the result. The rest we pour into the soil of the Fells, to bind you to the land and the Maker. A sacrifice, of sorts.”

I’m dreaming, Amon thought. Byrnes don’t do these sorts of things. He thought of his triple sleeping in the barracks. Thought of Raisa back at Fellsmarch Castle, unaware of the link being forged between them. Was it fair to do this without her permission? What if she didn’t want to be linked with him?

He licked his lips. “Will she…will she know?”

“She may feel something,” the speaker said. “Or she may sleep through. If she does wake up she won’t know what to make of it.”

“Do you really have blood of Hanalea here?” After a thousand years?

“It is taken from her descendants, the queens of the Fells.” The speaker rested his hand on the stoppered bottle. “This is the blood of the princess heir. I will speak words over it.”

Jemson paused as if to see if Amon had any more questions. Then said, “Bare your arm, Corporal Byrne.”

Amon did. He scarcely felt the sting of the blade, and watched, a little amazed, as his blood dripped into the basin, forming a small pool at the bottom.

Jemson lifted the crystal bottle and spoke some words in clan speech. Amon made out the words Raisa ana’Marianna and Hanalea. The speaker unstoppered the bottle and tipped a few drops into the basin. Then lifted it high, swirling the contents, reciting a long incantation.

Amon’s thoughts slopped around in his head, mirroring the mixture in the basin. He pressed his arm against his side to staunch the flow of blood and felt the wet seep through to his skin.

The speaker set the basin down, dipped the cup into it, and lifted it, dripping.

Jemson broke into Valespeech. “Amon Byrne, of the line of Byrnes, guardians of the line of Hanalea, we ask of you this thing: that you be bound to the line of queens, and specifically to the blood and issue of Raisa ana’Marianna, princess heir of the Fells. You will swear that her blood is your blood, that you will protect her and her line until death takes you. Will you?”

“I will,” Amon said, his voice sounding loud in the silence of the chapel.

“Then drink to signify.”

Amon accepted the cup and raised it to his lips, preparing himself for the salty taste of blood. But it was sweet, like summer wine. His surprise was so great, he almost choked. Thankfully he didn’t. He drank the full cup down and handed it back to Jemson.