Page 32 of HeartTorn (WarBride #2)

TAAR

Not in many years have I been so tempted to ignore the song of my licorneir and allow my soul to reach for the darkness which even now reaches for me. The last time was after Shanaera’s death. In my guilt and sorrow over her loss, the draw of the vardimnar was almost more than I could bear. It took not only Elydark’s song, but also the restraining hands of Ashika, Halamar, and Kildorath to keep me physically at bay.

There are no such restraints now. As Elydark gallops into the stricken wilds, his song carving a path for us, the darkness seems to close in behind us, nipping at our heels. I hear whispers on the edges of my mind, like so many grasping fingers, eager to catch and pull me from the saddle. It’s all I can do not to give in to them.

You have betrayed your people.

You have damned your soul.

You belong to us . . . to us . . . to us . . .

It would be so easy to slip from the back of Elydark’s saddle, to let him gallop on, carrying his light and song with him, while the hell of Ashtari overwhelms and devours me. It is what I deserve.

But what would become of Ilsevel then?

I look down at her dark head, tucked against my shoulder, her face half-hidden by locks of snarled hair. If I give in to the vardimnar, Elydark will be hearttorn, lost to the wildness of his grief. The idea pains me, but it was a risk we understood when we formed our bond. We have seen it happen to others, and we know too well how easily the same fate may befall us. We’ve weighed the odds and chosen each other.

But Ilsevel? She didn’t choose me. She didn’t choose any of this. The velra does not affect her as it does me—my sudden death will not leave her crippled. She will, however, find herself alone in the wilds of Cruor with only a hearttorn licorneir for a companion. If Elydark does not kill her at once in a fit of madness, he will abandon her.

And the very next vardimnar to strike will take her soul as it took mine.

So I set my spirit hard against the tempting voices and ride on and on. I did not rescue her only to abandon and damn her. I have my marriage vows to fulfill, and I will do just that. And when she is once more safe with her own kind, when we are parted, and I know I will never see her face again, then will I turn and face what I have done. Then will I accept whatever consequences the elders deem appropriate for my sin.

The darkness passes as suddenly as it came. One moment all-consuming—the next, gone. The sky is still dark, the world suffused in the gloom of pre-dawn, but by comparison it seems positively luminous. Elydark resolves his song. His hoofbeats slow, slow, and stop. He blows hard, emitting white puffs of steam from his nostrils. The physical exertion was nothing for a being such as he, but the spiritual strain of singing against the dark takes its toll. I sing a note of sincere gratitude along our soul-tether. He responds with flicked-back ears and a stamp of a hind foot.

Only then do I look down at the delicate burden in my arms. Ilsevel has not lifted her head from its resting place. Her shoulders are hunched, her arms wrapped around me, clinging fast. It is strange to see her like this. She has been afraid almost from the moment I have met her, but fights so hard never to let it show. The terror of the vardimnar following her imprisonment is too much for her.

“Ilsevel,”

I say softly, her name like a gentle prayer on my sinful lips. “Ilsevel, the danger has passed. We’re safe now.”

“Safe,”

she echoes. Slowly she pulls away from me, and I begrudge the sudden cold patch on my skin. Tilting back her head, she gazes up into my eyes, and her face is so near mine, I can see the reflection of distant stars in the blacks of her pupils. “Is it true, Taar? Am I really safe with you?”

A rush of cold thrills through my veins followed by a sharp blast of heat. In that moment she isn’t safe at all. Neither of us is. Perhaps we haven’t been from the first instant we set eyes on each other, amid the fire and the screams of the ransacked temple. Did I want her then as violently as I do now? Maybe not. But the sparks were there, waiting only for the right gust of wind to fan them into an all-consuming inferno. How can either of us survive such a flame?

I cannot speak. Any word I might say is too dangerous. But neither can I stay here, with her nestled like this between my legs, with those eyes of hers imploring me to give an answer, either damning or cruel.

Choking on a curse, I dismount so quickly, I nearly knock her from the saddle in the process. She grabs a handful of Elydark’s mane. “Taar!”

she bleats, but I turn away and march through the tall grasses of the plain into which Elydark has carried us, beneath that distant sky. It’s foolish to walk alone in Cruor. Any moment the Rift might open again, spewing hell. Just now I don’t care. My legs break into a run, carrying me farther and farther, as though I might flee wife, vows, honor, and kingdom and disappear into the unknown.

The velra pulls me up short.

I stop as abruptly as though reaching the end of a noose, gasping out loud and dropping to my knees. Pain shoots up my arm. I clutch the offending limb, squeeze hard as though I might break the bone. Maybe Tassa was right. Maybe this is no sacred marriage bond, and I am drothlar—cursebound. Are the gods punishing me for my failure to liberate my people all these long, dreadful years? Or is this merely some cosmic joke at my expense?

Finally I breathe out, lift my head, and look around at where we have come. The land here is not unknown to me, a few hours east of the Morrona. It’s a lonely stretch of country, with plenty of dense forests in which we might hide from our pursuers. For I don’t doubt that, the instant the vardimnar lifted, my brave Licornyn, led by Kildorath, will cross the river and hunt us down. If they find us, there will be no ceremonial killing of my bride, only swift murder. As for me? They’ll bind me and Elydark in chaeora ropes and drag us back to the Hidden City to stand trial before the elders and the people we have wronged.

“Warlord?”

My shoulders tense. At the sound of her voice, speaking close behind me, the pain in my arm suddenly eases, but my chest tightens so that my heart struggles to beat.

She is silent for some while. Wind blows through the tall grasses in ripples which rush away before my vision for mile after mile under fading moonlight. Otherwise all is still. No birdsong. No distant howl of the zhor wolf. No ululating trill of the leokas as they bound in dappled herds across the sweeping plain. There is no life in this land save us.

“I’m sorry.”

Her words, when they come, are soft as a breath. But the grasses seem to catch them and whisper them back and forth amongst themselves: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“I would not have blamed you,”

she continues after a moment. “If you had left me in that pit, I mean. I . . . I knew what I was doing. I chose to save her anyway.”

She draws a little breath, and though I don’t look at her, I can easily picture how she pulls back her shoulders and sets her chin firmly. “I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions.”

I don’t turn. Don’t look. Don’t answer.

“I wish I could explain myself.”

She takes a step toward me, then seems to retreat again. “I simply could not let her die. If I must die instead, so be it.”

A little choking sound like a sob. She swallows and continues. “It’s probably too late, I know, but . . . but you could take me back. You could say it was the velra that drove you. It’s probably true. If we turn around now, you could still make peace with the elders, and—”

“No.”

My voice is sharp, like a blade honed to a razor’s edge. It nearly cuts my tongue as it bursts from my throat. I rise to my feet and turn, looming over her. Her defiant eyes meet mine, but her cheeks pale at sight of my expression. Rage burns in my head in explosive bursts, one after the other. But not rage only. There is passion as well, far hotter, boiling in my gut and lancing through every vein.

“There is no going back.”

I take several aggressive steps toward her. She starts to shrink but forces herself to stand her ground. “For days now I’ve been telling myself what is done can be undone between us. But it’s all a lie.”

My hand begins to stretch out, whether to catch her by the hand or the throat, I cannot say. I stop myself, fist clenching. “The truth is,”

I growl, “when I spoke those vows to you, I committed myself in some vital way that cannot simply be forsworn.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’d just declared undying love. But I haven’t. This is no lover’s confession, merely a statement of fact. Inconvenient and infuriating fact.

Ilsevel’s eyes seem to vibrate in her skull as she struggles to discern my features by the light of a few predawn stars. Her lips part, drawing in a strangled breath. Then: “Did you mean what you said? During the vardimnar?”

“What?”

I frown and turn my head slightly to one side. “What did I say?”

“That you would always be here for me.”

Something in my gut twists. “I never said that.”

“You did.”

“No. Because it’s simply not possible.”

A flash of anger replaces the fear in her eyes. “If it’s not possible, why did you say it?”

I throw up my arms. “I never did!”

You did, Vellar.

Elydark’s voice rings in my head, startling me. I jerk my head up, gaze past Ilsevel to where my licorneir stands some twenty yards away, impatiently flicking his long tail. I heard you, he says, in that wordless voice of his. You spoke not in words, but your very soul cried out the truth you will not now admit.

I stare at him, aghast. Is he saying that Ilsevel heard my spirit-song? That she and her damnable gods-gift could discern what I never would have dreamed of saying out loud: that I do not want to give her up. Not now. Not at silmael. Not ever. That I want to support and love her, to comfort her fears. That I want to be the one she turns to for every desire, every longing, every need.

It's just the velra, I sing back to Elydark. It’s not real.

The velra may influence your actions, he replies relentlessly. It cannot dictate truth to your heart.

I grind my teeth. Whose side are you on, anyway?

He begins to answer, but I snarl wordlessly and throw up my hands. This startles Ilsevel, who staggers back several paces. Ignoring her, I pivot on heel and crush grass underfoot as I storm away. Not far, however. The velra drags me to a sudden, painful halt. “Shakh!”

I bellow, shaking my fists at the sky.

Oh, gods, what have I done? All the threads of my life and being seem to unravel before me, and my fumbling hands can do nothing to catch and weave them back together. The alliance, the coming siege on the citadel, the very future of Licorna . . . I’ve compromised it all. And for what? For her? For . . . love?

It isn’t that. I don’t love her. I can’t. These feelings which have taken root inside me over little more than a week couldn’t be love. It’s nothing but a bizarre combination of lust and responsibility, and yes, some admiration as well. Not to mention the inevitable attachment that must form from having saved her life and being saved by her in return.

But to call it love is impossible. I knew Shanaera for years before I dared admit what my heart was trying to tell me. Only fools believe in an instantaneous connection. And those who act on that belief live to regret it.

No, I don’t love Ilsevel. I simply cannot bear the idea of my life without her. Which isn’t the same thing at all.

I tilt back my head, gazing up at the stars. They seem so much farther away on this side of the river. It’s as though the vardimnar keeps them at bay. Can Nornala even hear our prayers from this land? Would I know what to pray if she could?

Slowly I turn and look back to where Ilsevel stands between me and Elydark. Her arms are wrapped tight around her body, her cloak blowing in a sudden breeze. Her face is turned away to one side. She looks so small, so lost. And yet her expression, in profile, is as stern and defiant as ever. How this woman pushes me, challenges me at every turn! If she doesn’t make me want to tear my own heart out in fury, she makes me want to tear her clothes off in passion. I’ve never known anyone who simultaneously so infuriated and inflamed me.

But it’s not love. Surely not. She could never be the partner I need, never be the queen Licorna requires. She could never—

Suddenly Ilsevel’s hands drop to her sides. She takes several staggering steps back as though struck, then pauses, tilting her head to one side. She seems to be listening to something. The next instant she cries out, her hands upraised as though to ward off some invisible assault.

“Ilsevel?”

I take a few steps toward her. “Ilsevel, are you—”

To my surprise, she gathers up her skirts and breaks into a run, heading north, toward where the ground rises and falls in a series of low hills, scattered over with dark patches of trees and undergrowth.

“Ilsevel!”

Galvanized, I take off after her, my long legs soon overtaking her smaller stride. I catch and turn her around to face me, gripping her upper arms fast. “Are you mad?”

I demand. Fear laces my voice with harshness. “You can’t go running off like that! What if the vardimnar struck, and you were too far away for Elydark to protect you?”

She doesn’t hear a word I say. Straining against me, beating my chest with her fists, she shouts over and over again, almost unintelligible in her panic. Only a few words manage to get through: “That song! I must find that song!”

Elydark draws near, his soul bright with concern. I catch his eye, and he tosses his head. I hear something too, he says.

Is it Nyathri?

I’m not certain. I think . . . His nostrils flare, and a shiver of fire flickers down his neck. Something is very wrong out there, Vellar.

Everything is wrong in Cruor. But to see Elydark distressed like this is enough to put me on my guard. “Hush, hush.”

I shake Ilsevel a little to force her to look at me, catch and hold her frantic gaze. “We’ll go together. We’ll find this song of yours. Understand?”

She bites her lip, then nods. Still trembling, she allows me to assist her back into the saddle. When I mount behind her, she moans as though in pain and leans far over Elydark’s neck. I feel the urgency in her spirit; Elydark feels it too and responds by leaping into motion before I give him the command. I grab hold of Ilsevel for balance, pull her back against me. She ignores this, her gaze fixed ahead, her hands wrapped in handfuls of mane. She seems to be guiding Elydark, who responds to her silent direction without question. For the first time I feel like a passenger on my own licorneir. I do not hear whatever this song is that drives the two of them, but the unease in Elydark’s soul increases to distress and then to fear.

We come to the top of a small rise just as dawn begins to pink the horizon to our right. I look down into the shallow valley below and see the first of the dead licorneir.

My heart stops.

It lies pinned under an enormous net. A chaeora net—I recognize it immediately without conscious thought. The dark fibers braided with licorneir hairs seem to devour what little light there is in this shadowed place. The licorneir struggled valiantly, limbs and head all twisted and tangled up in the weave. The great beast lies still now, however.

At first I can do nothing but stare in horror. All sense seems to have gone out from my body. Even Elydark’s song is stilled, the dread with which his spirit had hummed obliterated in a moment of shock.

Ilsevel, however, leaps from the saddle and rushes down the incline, staggering, falling, rising again. Racing for that carcass. I shake off my stupor and dismount quickly to hasten after her. We reach the dead thing at the same time, our footsteps slowing as we draw near.

It’s a wild licorneir. I can see all the signs of velrhoar: the skeletal frame and burnt-out flesh. But I’ve never seen one like this. Along with the suffering of the hearttorn state, this beast has been pierced in numerous places and drained. All the blood is gone from its body, leaving it an empty husk. Someone has further desecrated the corpse by shearing its mane and tail.

“Who did this?”

Ilsevel whispers. She kneels beside the body, trembling hands reaching out to the once beautiful head.

Elydark appears at my shoulder, his head bowed and solemn. I look at him, sharing a knowing glance. We both know who must have committed this act. Only the Licornyn know how to braid chaeora ropes, but no Licornyn would dare defile a licorneir’s corpse like this. No living Licornyn, that is.

“Ilsevel,”

I say. “We must leave this place. Now.”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. Looking up from the first carcass, she spies another not many yards away. I have already seen it and seven more besides, all revealed in the light of the rising sun. This valley is littered with dead licorneir.

“Come.”

My voice is stern with command. “We can do nothing for them. Let us go before—”

“She’s still alive!”

The words rip from Ilsevel’s lips in a sob. She turns to me, eyes shining with horror and hope. “She’s still singing, Taar!”

Before I can prevent her, she sets out running again, making for one of the netted mounds not twenty yards away. “Stop!”

I cry and launch after her, hand outstretched. I take no more than five great strides, when the ground all around us ripples, erupts, and crimson-cloaked figures rise like corpses from their graves.