Page 30 of Vow of the Shadow King

I preemptively clear my throat then take a stab at the word.

“No.” Hael shakes her head and touches her own throat. “A softer sound. In the back.” She opens her mouth wide and makes a soft, rasping noise. I widen my jaw and try to mimic her, and there we sit with our heads thrown back, making inarticulate, throaty growls at each other. If someone walked in on us now, we would appear positively mad.

A little giggle burbles up inside me. It’s so unexpected, I hiccup, trying to swallow it back. Hael prickles. Is she irritated? No, for one side of her mouth twists. “We look like a mother coaxing her babe,” she says.

“Really?” I rub my poor throat ruefully. “I thought we looked rather like a pair of dogs getting ready to howl at the moon.” Hael tips an eyebrow, not understanding the analogy. They don’t have a moon in the Shadow Realm, after all. Or dogs, apparently. “Never mind.” I wave a hand. “Am I close?”

“Yes, Princess. If you can just pull the sound out from below your chest a bit more.”

I draw a long breath and take another stab at it.“Makrok!”

“Ah! That was good!”

I shake my head, rubbing my throat again. “I don’t think I could ever shout that from the depths of a dark pit. I’d go hoarse long before anyone heard me. Do you have any simpler words I might try? How about a greeting?”

Hael agrees, and the word—hiri—proves much easier for my human vocal cords to manage. We progress through a series of simple vocabulary:me, you, need, eat, drink,and a particularly choice word that pertains to answering the call of nature. By the end of all this, my voice is raw. As I’ve already drained the pot of tea, I beg another. Hael goes to the wall and pulls a rope hidden behind a tapestry. It must be connected to a bell somewhere, for not half a minute later, the door opens, and my maid appears.

Horsescat.The word pops into my head before I can stop it. I bite back a giggle, and instead whip out one of my other new words for a try:“Hiri.” I pause, watching the effect on my subject. She doesn’t even blink. I continue: “Would you be so kind as to bring a fresh pot of tea?”

The maid’s gaze swivels from me to Hael.“Kurspar-oom,”the captain barks.“Mazoga.”

The maid inclines her head and begins to retreat, but Hael speaks again sharply, stopping her in her tracks. Another stream of incomprehensible troldish follows. From the maid, I feel a faint flash of fury. It’s gone before I can be certain of it, however. When Hael is done, the maid hastens from the room, shutting the door behind her. “What was that about?” I ask.

“I simply reminded her that you are the king’s guest. As such, you must be afforded appropriate deference.” Hael’s eyes gleam. “I told her if I find out she’s been using coarse language while on duty again, I will have her replaced and sent to work in thescorlors.”

I nod solemnly. But my heart warms a little. Hael defended me. Me! Dare I call this progress? Do I now have an ally in Mythanar?

The maid returns shortly thereafter with a fresh pot of tea which she exchanges for the empty one. Hael maintains a stoic silence, but I attempt a tentative,“Salthu,”in thanks. The maid flashes me a short glance. At a low growl from Hael, she bobs a curtsy before turning for the door. Hael halts her with a word. She looks back, warily. Hael speaks another stream of harsh-sounding troldish. The maid seems to consider. Then she says in response,“Yrt.”

Hael waves a dismissive hand. When the door shuts behind the maid, she turns to me. “Her name is Yrt.”

I consider this as I lift the warm pot and swirl the brew inside to loosen the leaves. Curling steam escapes the spout and carries an inviting aroma to my nostrils. “I’m starting to detect a pattern to your troldish names,” I muse as I pour a dark stream into my cup. “They’re all quite short, aren’t they?” Hael grunts, a questioning sound. I elaborate: “Vor. Hael. Sul. Yrt. Nothing longer than a single syllable. Am I right?”

“For a trolde, a longer name would be considered”—Hael pauses, choosing her words—“I believe you would call itpretentious. They would be seen as trying to mimic the elfkin with their long, elaborate names. No one wants that.”

I sip my tea thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that among the fae each is given two names—a secret name and a name used by the public. Is this true?”

“Only among elfkin,” Hael says. “We trolde are not so susceptible to the kind of ensorcellment that would make our own names dangerous to us.”

“And do your names bear meaning? Yours, for instance—what doesHaelmean?”

My new bodyguard eyes me narrowly. She doesn’t appreciate my attempts at bonding. If she could, she would end this conversation here and now, but some trolde concept of decorum keeps her in place. “My name,” she says at length, “refers to the single drop of water poised at the tip of a stalactite.”

I raise my brows in surprise. “That is unexpectedly poetic.”

Hael grunts again, but I’m almost certain her pale cheek flushes a soft lavender. Perhaps there’s a gentle side to her nature after all. And the trolde language itself, which has seemed like nothing but a series of growls and grinding consonants, may possess more beauty than I first suspected.

What would it be like to remain here in the Shadow Realm? To throw myself into the learning and knowing of these people and their ways? It’s a more exciting prospect than I like to admit. Even as I’ve fumbled through these first few, halting words, I feel a whole new world opening before me. A world much broader and more enticing than anything I could ever have known back home.

A world that was meant for Ilsevel.

A dart of guilt pricks my heart. I set down my teacup, drawing a short breath. But I’m not going to let this feeling drag me down. Not now, not when I’m just starting to find my feet. Ilsevel is dead. I am not.

The silence has lingered too long. I glance up to find Hael’s brooding gaze upon me. Suddenly self-conscious, I touch a hand to my chin, my cheek. “Have I spilled something?”

“No.” She gives her head a short shake. “It’s your turn, Princess.”

“My turn?”

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