Page 38 of HeartTorn (WarBride #2)

TAAR

Elydark hits his stride as we leave the courtyard behind. His speed is tremendous, all that power which was trapped inside during the hours of his bondage suddenly expelled in a rush of flame and fury. I mold my body to his, and we become one being of pure, rushing wind.

Shanaera is in my sights. Her undead mount is a massive thing. Even in life it was no match for Elydark’s speed, and now? We will run them down; I am sure of it. We will draw alongside them, and with a single slash of my blade, I will end the life of this abomination who wears the face of the woman I loved.

She looks back over her shoulder, strands of straggled hair whipping across her dead eyes. Though there are still many lengths between us, our eyes meet in a moment of electric connection. I feel her fear, her pain, her rage, her sorrow. I feel the roiling burn of virulium madness, the source of both her death and her ongoing existence in this hellish state.

But I feel as well, in that brief exchange, the heart of the woman she once was. The valiant warrior, willing to give up everything for the cause she believed in. Even me. Even her own soul. I gnash my teeth. She cannot be allowed to go on like this. I owe it to the Shanaera I knew to put a stop to this curse, to set her free.

But then the velra burns up my arm.

Stop! I cry to Elydark through our soul-tether. My licorneir comes to a halt, tossing his head, tearing at the earth with desire to continue the chase. I keep him at bay and gaze out across the distance as Shanaera, facing forward once more, urges her beast up a grassy incline. She reaches the crest just as the sun drops below the far horizon. There she pulls up her licorneir and looks back again. For a moment I see her silhouetted against the twilit sky.

Though I am probably imagining it, it seems as though she smiles in sudden triumph. She knows my weakness. She knows I cannot be far from Ilsevel. She only had to race me to the end of the velra, no farther.

“Shakh!”

I curse, even as Elydark paces beneath me. The temptation is strong to drive him forward, to continue this pursuit. But already weakness trembles in my limbs. If I go on, I risk too much. More than I am willing to lose.

She turns the dead licorneir’s head about and vanishes over the hill. The second licorneir, which kept pace at her heels, trails behind. I remain where I am a few minutes longer, watching that empty space on the horizon, while the sky overhead deepens, and the stars begin to shine.

At last, with another curse on my lips, I turn Elydark’s head around and urge him back to Rothiliar House.

The shamblers have gathered beneath a tree on the far side of the courtyard. All the life and spirit which had flared inside them at the summoning of Ilsevel’s song has vanished; they are once more dead things made animate by dark magic. All wearing the faces of my friends.

I dismount Elydark and stand for some moments at his shoulder, my hand resting against him for support. We exchange song without words. There are no words for what I must now do. Then, stepping forward, I proceed to decapitate the dead ones. They make no protest. They do not even lift their sightless eyes to meet mine. Each stroke is followed by the thunk of a head falling. The bodies disintegrate before they hit the ground, leaving behind nothing but motes of darkness and the last red gleams of residual necrolipha magic.

When my task is done, there is no pile of corpses left in gruesome testimony of what took place here. It is as though the evil wrought by the Miphates was nothing but a nightmare, and now I stand in the waking world, beneath a star-strewn sky. With a sigh I lower my sword arm and tilt my head back, letting starlight bathe my face. For a long moment I stand like so, simply breathing. And that act is in and of itself a prayer of thanksgiving.

A gentle lilt of song draws my attention. I turn to see Elydark, standing with the dappled licorneir who Ilsevel rode in on. Is it Nyathri? She feels familiar, but also different. Some vital change has taken place, as it always does when a new velarin bond is formed. Elydark touches her neck softly with his nose, singing to her in a language not meant for other ears. Their souls glow, luminous in the deepening gloom. I cannot help a small half-smile at the sight.

Finally I turn and face the house. Face the front steps where a slender figure sits with her arms wrapped around her upraised legs and her chin propped on her knees. Watching me. Her brow is fixed in a stern little knot that makes my heart ache.

I approach her slowly, though the velra urges me to run. Somehow I know I must not rush whatever moments come next. Ilsevel sits up a little straighter as I draw near but does not rise. She merely watches me until I stand several steps down from her, our faces level.

“Did you get her?”

she asks at last, her voice terse.

I shake my head.

She curses softly and looks away from me, across the yard to where Elydark and the other licorneir stand together. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

“Not tonight,”

I answer, my voice thick.

She presses her lips together tight, then nods.

“How are you here, Ilsevel?”

The question hurts as it passes through my tight throat. In my mind I still see her as she was in the valley: burnt, broken. Struggling for each breath. There is no way she could have survived that, and yet . . . “How is it possible?”

She nods toward the licorneir. “It was Diira. Nyathri, as you know her, but that isn’t her name anymore. She came back for me, and—”

I cannot wait a moment longer. I’ve held myself in check as long as I can possibly stand, but no more. Before she finishes speaking, I stride up the steps, catch her by the arms, haul her to her feet, and pull her to my chest.

My lips crash against hers, hard—too hard, too brutal. Yet she does not pull away. A little whimper vibrates in her throat, and her mouth moves under mine, trembling with emotion. I place a hand on her face, tilt her head back farther, and deepen the kiss, while my other hand presses into the small of her back, molding her against my body. She is so soft, so warm, so impossibly alive. It’s more than anything I dared hope or pray for throughout the hellish hours of this infernal day. If I could capture this moment and spin it into eternity I would.

When I break away at last, it is only to lift my lips a fraction of an inch from hers. “I’m sorry,”

I rasp, my voice husky and strange to my own ears. “I must be the most gods-damned fool ever created for not realizing sooner.”

“Realizing what?”

she breathes. Her eyelids flutter softly.

“That I need you,”

I answer at once, cupping her cheek, running my fingers along the line of her jaw, her throat, feeling the softness of unburnt skin beneath my palm. “Like I need air in my lungs. That I want you more than any dream which ever tormented my worthless soul.”

My other hand cradles her face as I gaze down into those flashing eyes of hers. “That I desire never to be parted from you again, from this day to the moment I expel the last breath from my lungs.”

She shakes her head. Tears shimmer between her lashes, spill over in shining trails. “The velra . . .”

she quavers.

“This has nothing to do with the velra.”

I lean in and kiss those tears from her cheeks, first one than the other. “I knew the truth from the instant I set eyes on you. In that temple, amid the fire and the death and the screams, I saw you. And I knew.”

Gods, I never believed something like this could happen! How does such feeling burst spontaneously to life in the midst of so much darkness? My hand shakes as I stroke hair back from her face. “I didn’t save you from Lurodos for some altruistic purpose. I took you because . . . because I wanted you for myself. I wanted you, Ilsevel. That is the truth, for good or ill. I brought you before the priest, spoke those vows, told myself it meant nothing, when in fact, it meant everything. Everything, do you understand? That is why the velra is so strong. Nornala refused to let me escape my own heart, even when I thought I wanted to.”

Ilsevel takes hold of my hands, pulls them away from her face. She steps back a pace, staring up at me. “But I was a stranger. I still am.”

“It doesn’t matter. My heart knows you. It knew you from the first. Only I was too stubborn, too frightened to admit it until . . .”

My voice chokes, the horror of what took place this dawn still gripping me fast. “ . . . until I saw you lying burnt in my arms. All but dead. Gods damn me, Ilsevel, I thought I would go mad!”

She does not resist when I draw her to me again, kissing her with ferocious need. I taste salt, and it sharpens my hunger. I need that touch, I need that proof of her reality here in my life. My lips pull and mold hers, while my hands press her against my body. I feel how easy it would be to crush the very life out of her. Yet her spirit is so strong, so vital, so far beyond the grasp of any power of this world. She is a being of pure fire. I want to bask in her glow.

“I love you.”

The words spill out the instant my lips break contact. I kiss her again, briefly, viciously, before another torrent bursts forth. “I love you, Ilsevel. And I defy all the demons of Ashtari and the nine hells to take you from me again.”

There’s something in her expression, something I don’t understand. I hook a finger under her chin, tilting her face back, trying to make her avoidant eyes look at me. “Ilsevel?”

She shakes her head, turning away. “Ilsevel, do you believe me?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Her answer hurts. But it’s no more than I deserve after everything I’ve put her through. “I’ll prove it,”

I say, careful to soften the roughness in my tone. “Whatever it takes and however long. I’ll prove it to you somehow.”

Though tears still shine in her eyes, she seems to be lit up inside with an otherworldly glow. Gods above, how did I not realize until this moment just how beautiful she is? “My father—”

she begins.

“I don’t care.”

“Your people—”

“I don’t care.”

She bites her lip, dropping her gaze. Then, very softly, so that I almost wonder if I heard her: “I think I love you too.”

I tilt my head, brow puckered. “You think?”

She shrugs a little, half-catching my gaze. “It’s . . . frightening. To say it, I mean.”

“Yes.”

I sigh. My chest feels too large, my heart too wild as it careens inside. “You don’t have to love me in return. Not if you don’t want to, not if you don’t feel safe. But I love you. And I’ll say it every day of your life if you will permit me to.”

I kneel before her then, clasping her small hands in mine. Moonlight shines upon us, like the face of Nornala herself. I draw a long breath, then let the words fall from my tongue in the ancient Licornyn language. As I pronounce them, they become song; a deep and abiding melody, as old as the stars themselves.

“With my faith will I honor you.

With my body will I protect you.

With my arms will I shelter you.

With my heart will I warm you.”

Does she remember? Does she recognize the cadence of the vows I made to her on our wedding night? I want her to hear it again, this time spoken from the depths of my heart.

“From this day forth, my mouth, my lips, my tongue,

My every waking breath,

Are dedicated to your pleasure and delight.

My life is yours,

And, should you require it,

My death.”

The velra cord flares bright, briefly visible in the ether between us, shining and golden. Ilsevel holds up her arm, turns it to observe how the cord wraps her flesh, then looks at my arm in turn. Her face is wondering, awe-struck, as she beholds the miracle which has bound us for the last week, seeing it anew. It is no longer a sentence to be endured but a blessing beyond all measure.

She gasps suddenly and turns away, putting her back to me. Her shoulders quake, and I hear a sob break from her lips. I’m on my feet in an instant, stepping close behind her. My hands grip her upper arms, and I drop my mouth close to her ear. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t deserve this,”

she whispers. “I don’t deserve your love. Taar, I—”

She breaks off in a yelp of surprise as I scoop her off her feet and into my arms. I stride up the last few stairs and through the broken entrance doors of the house into the cavernous hall within, leaving Elydark and Diira in the courtyard behind us. A stairway presents itself to my vision, and I run up it without pausing for breath on the landing. “What are you doing?”

Ilsevel squeaks in surprise as she clings to my shoulders.

I don’t answer. I approach first one door, then another, kicking them open. At the third chamber, I find what I’m looking for—a large bed, a little dusty, bathed in a pool of moonlight.

Smiling, I look down into my bride’s upturned face. “I’m going to show you exactly what you deserve, my zylnala,”

I say. “And I will keep on showing you, until you accept it as truth.”