Page 61 of Vow of the Shadow King

VOR

Deeper Dark devour me, what have I done?

Everything about this is a mistake. The shape of her in my arms, the warmth of her back pressed against my chest. I’m acutely aware of her round softness perched between my legs, and that awareness is not helped by the way her skirts flutter and part at every other plodding step of the morleth.

At this rate, I will be undone before we have even cleared the palace grounds.

My throat thickens. I face forward, refuse to let my gaze drift down. Not too often, at least. It doesn’t make much difference. Not with the sweet smell of her hair just under my nose and the soft music of her voice every so often gracing my ears. I could grow to crave such delights. Which is dangerous. These are not delights meant for me. But I’m in no mood to be cautious.

We approach the gate. I hail the men on watch. They stare at Faraine, openly curious to see her with me. They’re terrible gossips, the palace guard. No doubt rumors will fly before the hour is through. It doesn’t really matter. She’ll be gone soon enough, and any rumors stirred up today will die a natural death.

“Open the gates and keep them open,” I say to the man in charge, who struggles to keep from gaping too obviously at Faraine. “We shall return shortly.”

“Yes, my King,” he replies and adds an extra salute for good measure. He barks a command and the portal is opened. Knar tugs at his reins and tries to snap the blade of the guardsman’s lance off. The guard lets out a yelp and yanks his weapon back out of reach.

Faraine giggles softly. My blood warms. That sound . . . it’s enough to break any remaining vestiges of resolve I have left. But I must take care. With her gods-gift, who knows how much she can perceive of my feelings?

Hastily, I nudge Knar into motion. The morleth stomps under the arch, and we emerge at the top of a steep road leading precipitously down to the lower city. Faraine gasps. Her hands on the pommel tighten. “Are you all right?” I ask

“Yes! I just . . . When I came this way before, I was in a litter with the curtain drawn. I did not realize how very steep this road is.”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No! Merelyaware,as it were.”

“You’re quite safe, I assure you. Knar is steady. Though he does not like being out under thelorstlights, he will behave himself.” I tighten my arm around her. “I won’t let you fall.”

“I know,” she responds and settles the back of her head against my shoulder once more. When I look down, I can see the whole lovely line of her throat to her collarbone, down to the bare skin between her breasts revealed by her gown’s plunging neckline.Gods help me.

I spur Knar forward. Morleth prefer walking on shadows to solid ground, but he’s sluggish at this time of thelusterlingand plods along on the paving stones. “This road is called thearuk-dra,” I say, determined to make the lightest, most impersonal conversation I can manage. “It is the primary highway through the city and leads directly to the very center where the Temple of Orgoth stands. There, the road branches into six, all of which lead to the chasm bridges.”

Faraine nods. Her fingers are still tight on the pommel, but her body relaxes as she accustoms to the morleth’s steady gait. “Who was Org?” she asks after a silent moment.

“Pardon?”

“You said the Temple of Orgoth. I’m curious who the temple was named after.”

It’s a good question. A glow of pleasure warms my chest at her interest in my people and their history. I proceed to tell her about Queen Org, the first ruler of the Under Realm, who united the warring tribes of the troldefolk. It’s a long tale, but an exciting one, and Faraine listens with great attention, asking pertinent questions here and there. I tell her how Org discovered the Urzulhar Stones and recognized them as sacred—seven great crystals, representing each of the seven gods. She established her seat of power there. But she never forgot that the true trolde god wasMorar tor Grakanak.So, to him she dedicated the temple at the heart of the city.

“It is the oldest temple in all the Under Realm,” I say to conclude my story, “and Mythanar is the oldest city. And the greatest.”

“How many cities are there throughout the Under Realm?”

“Forty-eight of comparable size to Mythanar. That’s not including the smaller towns and villages along the riverways, of course.”

Faraine shakes her head slowly. “I had no idea your kingdom was so great! Gavaria certainly doesn’t boast half that many cities.”

“Gavaria is a human kingdom,” I respond with a smile. “The Under Realm, you must remember, is vastly older. Older perhaps than your entire world.”

I point out examples of interesting architecture along the road we travel. Something tells me our troldish buildings must all look the same to her human eyes, but she asks intelligent questions and seems determined to learn. When the road begins to level out, she sits up a bit straighter in the saddle. That I don’t care for. I fight the urge to pull her back against my chest so that I may feel her and breathe her.

We reach the temple at last. I’m obliged to point it out to her, for it is nothing but a great stone mound, without discernable feature. Various entrances dot the surface of the dome seemingly at random, leading into the catacomb interior.

“There are no lights permitted inside,” I explain. “Light too easily disturbs worship of the Deeper Dark. And see there?” I swing my arm to indicate the many smaller domed structures surrounding the temple. “Those are residences of the priestesses, who sometimes need reprieve from the more intense darkness.”

Faraine looks on in silence for a moment before tilting her head to one side. “Those do not look like priestesses to me.”

I follow her line of sight to where a trolde family sits in front of a domed stone domicile. A squat, maternal figure, her skin hard withdorgarag,stirs something in a pot over a fire. Several small children, some stone-hided, some smooth and pale, wrestle in the dirt around her. One of them climbs to the top of the dome, beats his chest, and hollers until his mother finally stops stirring long enough to bark at him to come down.

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