Page 46

“There are some things, sister,” I say, turning away from Tassa’s studying gaze, “which are not yours to know.”

“What about Shanaera?”

A stone seems to strike my sternum, break through bones, and lodge in my chest. Shanaera was Tassa’s dear friend. It was Shanaera and Kildorath’s father, Markildor, chieftain of the Rocaryn Tribe, who took me and my sister in when we were discovered alone together on the banks of the Morrona River. Markildor heard our story and, when presented with the proof of Queen Ashtalora’s ring, believed we were who we claimed to be—the surviving prince and princess of ruined Licorna. He took us under his protection, raised us alongside his own two children. Tassa, Shanaera, Kildorath, and I were as close as siblings, closer even—bonded through suffering and survival.

Shanaera’s death affected Tassa deeply. I’ve not had the heart to tell her of thenecroliphonmagic and the undead I faced during this recent campaign. If I could, I would spare her that knowledge forever.

“I have not forgotten Shanaera,” I say quietly. “I never will.”

“You shame her memory, taking this woman as your bride.”

Guilt twists my gut. I push it down firmly. “I vowed to save Ilsevel’s life, and that is what I intend to do. Then she will be returned to her people, and we will not speak of her again.” I take a step toward Tassa, once more reaching for her hand. She turns away from me. “I swear it, Tassa. It will be like none of this ever happened.”

Her lips move, forming what looks like another curse. Before she can speak, however, movement across the clearing draws both our gazes. The door flap of Halamar’sdakathripples, and Ilsevel emerges. She’s clad still in the same rough Licornyn gown she’s worn this past week, shabby and stained with hard travel. Her hair is pulled loose from its braids and hangs in snarls past her shoulders. She looks exhausted, hollow-eyed, and much too thin . . . and yet . . .

My heart leaps at the sight of her, thudding first in my throat before plummeting to my gut where it churns in molten heat. Gods-damn thisvelrabond! A separation of mere hours with only the hides of thedakathbetween us, and a mere glimpse of her sleep-puffy face is like the rising of the sun over the wintery darkness of my soul. I cannot let myself forget that these feelings are false. But how will I keep my heart in check to the month’s end?

Of course the elders might declare a simple solution by the edge of Gantarith’s ceremonial blade. My teeth grind together. So help me, if the old priest goes anywhere near her with that knife, I’ll gut him on the spot!

Ilsevel catches my eyes across the clearing. At sight of my grim expression, she draws back a step, as though prepared to duck back into thedakath. Hastily I shake the violence from my head and call out to her in what I hope is a mild tone: “Good morrow, Ilsevel. Are you thirsty?”

She doesn’t answer, merely stands in that opening, one hand still gripping the hide flap. Her gaze flicks from me to Tassa, uncertain which of us to fear more. I leave my sister’s side and retrieve the cup ofjyretea I’d left behind me on the fire stones. It’s still steaming, so I offer it to Ilsevel. “Here. Drink. It’s a chilly morning.”

“Yes,” she says, her voice like frost, “I’d noticed.” She accepts the cup and lifts it to her lips. Her gaze shifts from me to Tassa. Swallowing a mouthful of tea, she lowers the cup again and murmurs, “Someone looks delighted to see me.”

I glance back over my shoulder. Tassa’s stare could skin alive azhorwolf, and it’s fixed with absolute intensity on my bride. I hate this, feeling so torn between the sister I love and the woman I can’t seem to get rid of.

“Don’t worry about her,” I say softly. “She will help you prepare for the meeting with the elders.” Saying as much reminds me. I turn back to Tassa and call out in Licornyn tongue: “Did you speak to Elder Halaema last night?”

“Yes,” Tassa replies. “The meeting has been called and the elders summoned from their beds and breakfasts. They know only that theirluinarhas returned and that he requires council immediately.” She narrows her eyes. “I did not mention your warbride. You can explain that on your own.”

I suppress a sigh. “And did Halamar summon Onor Gantarith as I requested?”

“I did.”

We all turn as Halamar steps into the clearing, appearing a few paces behind Tassa. My sister startles at his arrival and hastily moves to one side. Her scowl deepens when he offers her a solemn nod. One would never guess by the cool look on his face that there had ever been anything between them. How Ilsevel picked up on the truth in a single meetingwithout even understanding the language they spoke is beyond comprehension.

Halamar salutes me after the Licornyn fashion, pressing his fist to his heart. “Gantarith will be present for the meeting and has agreed to testify as to the strange nature of yourvelrabond.”

“And when will the meeting take place?”

“Within the hour.”

“In that case,” I say, turning to Tassa, “you had best make Ilsevel ready at once.”

She gives me a last long look, protests brimming in her eyes. At last, however, she shakes her head and says only, “You owe me, brother.”

“Whatever you desire, sister mine, including my kingdom, if you ask it.”

“Nobody wants your damned kingdom.” Leaving Halamar’s side, Tassa stalks across the clearing, making for the other side of thedakathwhere the stream flows. “Come then, bride of my brother,” she calls over her shoulder in human tongue. “Let’s see what we can make of you.”

Ilsevel, still standing in thedakathdoorway, shoots me an uneasy look. “Go on,” I say and nod my head after Tassa. “She won’t bite.”

Ilsevel looks unconvinced but silently follows Tassa. The moment she disappears on the far side of thedakath, I feel a nearly irresistible urge to follow. My feet take three steps after her before I realize what I’m doing and force myself to stop. Weakness trembles in my limbs, and I roll my neck uncomfortably. It’s not as bad here, beyond the influence of Cruor and thevardimnar. On this side of the Morrona there’s no dark magic in the atmosphere to take advantage of my vulnerability. But I feel the separation even so. And I don’t like it.

Halamar watches me. I meet his too-knowing gaze and struggle to keep my face as carefully blank as his own. “Do you have anything other thanumecakes to eat in this place?” I ask rather ungraciously.

His eyebrow tips. To my relief, he says nothing, but enters thedakathand comes back with a fatty cut ofleokasmeat and day-old flat bread. Quietly he sets to work frying the meat on the hot cooking stone. I watch him but scarcely see anything he does. My attention is distracted by the sound of voices and splashing coming from the stream.