Page 47 of Vow of the Shadow King

They can help me. I know they can.

I step in among the stones. In the very center, there’s a smooth place, obviously polished by hand, approximately six feet in diameter and flat as a table. After traversing that rough terrain, the relief of stepping on such a smooth surface is tremendous. I stand in that center, close my eyes, extend my arms. The vibrations around me intensify, fill my senses, work down into my bones. It hurts. Like plunging burning hands into ice cold water. A blissful pain.

It’s not enough, though. The stone in my chest vibrates, but it does not crack, does not break. My heart remains trapped.

I fall to my knees. Right there, in the center, with the great crystals towering above me. I press my palms into the flat surface. The vibrations flow through me. A song, an anthem. A hymn of life and death and all the complexities in between, dancing through my veins, through my soul. I close my eyes, feel how it ripples out from me, out across the garden, across the city, across the whole of this vast cavern. The resonance connects each and every living creature, every stone, every gem. On and on, the heartbeat of song, reverberating from one being to the next, forever.

“Please.” My lips form the soundless plea. “Please, help me.”

I bow, press my forehead to the stone. The pulse increases, quaking my skull. Still, it’s not enough. The stone around my heart is too hard, too strong. I’ve got to get closer, I’ve got to . . .

Not stopping to question what I do, I strip off my linen shift, toss it carelessly to one side. Naked, I press my body flat into the ground and let the resonance enter me. Overcome me. It pounds against my imprisoned heart. The stone cracks. I gasp, shudder, but only press myself harder, harder. Now I feel it, the hard outer crust chipping away, one flake after another. Inside, my trapped heart roils, churns.

Then suddenly—it erupts.

All that feeling. All that pain. And not just my own. Everything that had been contained. This is the pain of those trolde men and women in the chapel: their fear, their terror, their desperation. Their despair. I understand now what I saw in that dark chapel. How the blood-fed crystals drew the worshippers’ emotions from their bodies. Trapped them, held them. Left them cold and hard. But that feeling must go somewhere, and those crystals were not strong enough to contain it all. So it had sought a new place of shelter and found it . . . in me.

Now it rolls out of me. Pulse after pulse, as the stone around my heart disintegrates. I’d not realized how that stone protected me, shielded me from these emotions that don’t belong to me. If I’d known, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so desperate to free myself. Perhaps I would have embraced the stone, given thanks for its weight.

Too late now. I can do nothing but lie here. Exposed. Shuddering. As the music of the crystals flows through me. It will kill me. I’m sure of it. My physical form is simply not strong enough for this.

Faraine!

Some part of my consciousness, deep down under the pain, pricks with awareness. I know that voice. I know it but cannot place it. Is it . . .?

Faraine! Faraine!

Echoing. Faraway.

Across the worlds.

And then . . .

Right here, close to my ear: “Faraine!”

Vor!He’s here, beside me. I would recognize the shape of his soul anywhere, in any plain of existence. His hands are on me. That touch is enough to jar my awareness back to my body, and I’m relieved to find that, though every bone in my skeleton aches, the pain is not what it was. It has moved out from me, poured into the tall crystals, and my heart beats freely in my breast once more.

“Faraine, can you hear me? Speak to me!”

I pinch my brows tight. I want to open my eyes but can’t seem to remember how. Neither can I utter a word. When I try, nothing but a pathetic moan emerges from my lips.

“You’re alive!” Vor’s voice breathes against my ear, his lips pressed close to my temple. He’s caught me up in his arms, holds me tight against him, rocking me slowly back and forth. “Praise be to all the gods, above and below!” he rasps.

He keeps talking, murmuring in troldish. Prayers, I think, by the rhythmic cadence. I don’t try to decipher the words, for suddenly I realize that I’m leaning against his naked torso. My right hand is pressed flush against a hard, muscular chest. Frowning, I manage to pull my head back, pry my eyes open, and take a look. First at him. Shirtless. Magnificent. Then down at my own body. Loosely wrapped in a trolde man’s shirt.

Oh, gods.

“Vor,” I gasp. My whole body flushes with embarrassment. “Vor, I—”

A bolt of lightning seems to shoot through him. He pulls back, stares down at me, his pale eyes shining in the light of the crystals. “Faraine? Yes, what is it? I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

“I . . . I . . .” I swallow. My throat is dry, and my voice seems very loud, ringing inside my skull. “Where is my gown?”

His eyes flash. I get the distinct impression he’s refusing to let his gaze drop. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I found you here. Like this.” His arms shake, but he tightens his grip on me. “Who did this to you, Faraine? Who brought you here? Was it Targ?”

“What? No.” I shake my head then look blearily around. Ah! There it is. My shift, tossed aside and caught in some of the lower crystals. I work one arm free of Vor’s grasp and point. “There. Please, may I have it?”

Vor turns where I indicate. Then he looks down at me, brow puckered with concern. “Can you sit on your own?”

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