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“Will your priest be able to break this do you think?” I ask, holding up my arm and turning my wrist. I can neither see nor feel any sign of thevelratonight. But I do not doubt its presence.

“I don’t know,” Taar replies, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Are you afraid you’ll be stuck with me through the rest of the month?”

He glances my way, the corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly. “It would not be . . . ideal.”

Maybe it’s just the fuzziness of theleoliiplaying with my perceptions. But there’s something in his gaze that makes molten liquid trickle down my spine and pool in my gut. I find my eyes dropping momentarily to his lips, but hastily force them back up again, hoping he didn’t notice. Something tells me he did.

He looks away again. Picking up a stick from his supply of kindling, he prods our little fire in the clay pot. “So tell me,” he says, his tone shifting to something more distant than it was a moment before, “where do you want me to take you once you are free?”

That warm liquid in my gut hardens to stone. He’s only voicing the very question I’ve asked myself again and again, but how am I to answer? I know what I must do—return to Beldroth and let my father know I’m alive, safe, and ready to marry the Shadow King, if he’ll still have me. But I can’t very well ask Taar to drop me off at the doorstep of his enemy. A border town like the one near Lamruil’s Temple is probably my safest bet. But how can I prove to the people there my identity? I have nothing on me to verify such a wild claim, no token or sigil, not even a convenient birthmark.

Taar is still waiting for an answer. I shrug lightly. “I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve been so focused on simply getting through each day. I still have a little time to decide, don’t I?”

He grunts. I can’t tell if it’s in agreement or otherwise. After another silence he says, “Where did Mage Artoris intend to take you?”

I catch my breath. Gods-damn me black and blue, I’d almost forgotten that I’d been foolish enough to tell him about Artoris, about that stupid letter. He’s not mentioned it since that night, and part of me hoped I’d simply dreamt that whole encounter.

“Evisar,” I say at long last.

Taar is suddenly tense beside me. Though the fire continues to flicker, and his presence is so huge and warm, I feel cold. Chilled right to the bone. “Why would anecroliphonmage want to take you to Evisar?” he asks.

I look up to find his dark eyes staring so hard into mine. “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I . . . I don’t know.”

His jaw works. He seems to be thinking through and discarding any number of harsh words, either demands or accusations. I try to keep my face as open as I dare, to give the appearance of honesty, even when we both know I’m holding onto more secrets than either of us dares acknowledge.

“You did not want to go with him,” Taar says at last, slowly. As though he’s trying to make sense of the words he’s saying. “You resisted. I saw you.”

I nod.

“Then why . . .” He stops and once more carefully reshapes his words. “You told me you asked him to come. To run away with you.”

I look down at my hands, empty in my lap. They look like such lifeless, useless things, and yet only a short time ago I believed I could clench and shake them against the whole mad world!

“He did not want to take my sister. When the attack came.” I stare into the fire again, seeing once more the licking flames burning across the rooftops of the temple buildings. The screams of the dying priests echo in my ears, along with the savage roars of the virulium-maddened Noxaurians. “He would have left her to die, and I . . . I learned what kind of man he really was.”

There’s nothing but silence between us for some while. I can almost hear my words grinding through Taar’s brain as he seeks to make sense of them, to make sense of me. I know it doesn’t all add up, but even now he doesn’t press me for answers I’m unwilling to give. I am, as I have always been, utterly at his mercy. And yet he remains merciful.

“So,” Taar says after what feels like hours, “you do not care for him anymore.”

My lip curls, undecided whether it wants to smile or sneer. “I don’t think I ever really did.”

Taar takes this in without comment. The fire crackles in its pot, casting an eerie red glow about this small chamber. A far cry from the tapestry-lined room of stone and brocade in which I lived my coddled life up to now. Even the stark quarters at Lamruil’s temple were luxurious by comparison. But I do not wish to be back in either of those rooms with all their easy comforts close at hand. What prisoner would long for her prison, even a prison of silk and lace?

“I’m tired,” I say suddenly. Taar offers no reaction, so I add, “I will sleep now. Good night, warlord.”

There is little enough room to lie down, but I turn away from him, curl on my side in my sodden clothes and damp cloak, shivering with both cold and exhaustion. Sleep is far from me, however. Instead I find myself straining to listen through the howling wind and rain outside for some far-off song. A broken song, full of guilt and loss and pain. A song which, I’m almost certain, might be made whole, if only I could hear the right harmony to sing into its brokenness.

“Good night,zylnala,” Taar says softly after what feels like a long, long while.

14

TAAR

My gaze travels to her small form, curled up on her side on the shepherd’s fleeces. Even through the wet folds of her cloak, I can see the shivers that quake through her every so often and wish I might warm her properly. This small fire radiates precious little heat, not enough to dry our clothes. Wearing little as I am, my skin is already dry, and other than the damp locks of hair hanging over my shoulders, one couldn’t tell I’d just stood out in a thunderous downpour. But she might catch a chill. Humans are such frail creatures.

Only I can’t say she’s given me an impression of frailty over these last seven days of our acquaintance. Indeed, she’s proven unexpectedly resilient, facing each new challenge with a mingling of stubbornness and pride that makes for quite a convincing facsimile of courage.