Page 23 of Vow of the Shadow King

Suddenly, I gasp. My body goes rigid. I feel as though the top of my head has been opened. A bath of liquid sunlight pours into my mind, flushes through my soul. I see it, feel it, perceive it with every sense so vividly. It’s painful and glorious and purifying. All the dark and dirty particles of poison are swept up and sent rushing out through my extremities, out into the atmosphere where they dissipate to nothing.

The vision ends abruptly, like a sudden dousing of light. I drag a painful gasp into my lungs. Despite the dust in the air, it feels like the first clear breath I’ve drawn in days.

“What was that?” I demand, shaking my head and looking once more at Faraine.

She steps back from me. Her hands drop away from my face. There’s a strange, far-off, unfocused look in her eyes. She sways heavily.

“Faraine?” I say. She seems to hear me, seems to tip her head my way.

Then she collapses to the ground at my feet.

9

FARAINE

I don’t faint. I wish I could. It would be easier when the pain hits simply to step out of awareness entirely. To float off into some other plain of consciousness and wait until the pain dissipates, or at least until I’m more ready to face it.

Instead, my body simply . . . folds up. I cannot move. Cannot speak or offer any form of reaction. I can only lie there while pain like waves churned up by a storm crash on the shores of my senses, battering me, pulverizing my bones. I am naked, helpless, defenseless. Unable even to gather myself and flee the onslaught.

Somewhere, through the howling gale-force winds, through the roar of ceaseless thunder, I hear Vor’s voice shouting my name over and over again. His panic is palpable. If only I could say something, do something. Give him some sign that I heard so that he would just, please, stop that gods-damned bellowing!

But I can’t. And maybe it’s for the best. The irritation gives me something to hold onto. My soul—that pale, naked thing lying on the shores of my mind—reaches out and clings to his voice like an anchoring chain as another wave of pain hits, and another, and another. Each crash and roll tries to wrench me back into that eternal sea of torment. I cannot fight, cannot hide. I can do only what I have always done:endure.

All storms must cease eventually. And sometimes, the greater the storm, the more swiftly it blows itself out. Such is the case here. The wind lessens, the waves retreat. The clouds of my awareness part, allowing me to feel something other than agony once more. I find myself cradled in Vor’s strong arms. Apparently, he’s forgone his vow never to touch me again in favor of shifting me into a more comfortable position. Which is just as well, for I seem to have landed with one arm twisted awkwardly underneath me. Now, on top of the other sharp pangs still rippling through every muscle and sinew, I’ve the added unpleasantness of returning blood flow through that arm. Somehow, it feels like an extra spite from the gods.

Vor seems to have gathered blankets and cushions from the ruined bed and mounded them together into a makeshift pallet. He eases me onto it now, resting my head on a pillow. His large hand lingers, cupped around my skull, fingers tangled in my hair. My wide-open eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling. I cannot see him save for a blurry impression of a face, half-bathed inlorstlight. It doesn’t matter. Ifeelhim. All his tenderness, concern, and anxiety, like a pulsing aura which gives him shape and form to my senses.

And underscoring all those feelings is another, deeper emotion, which sparks from the tips of his fingers as he slowly brushes a strand of hair off my cheek:longing.He cannot hide it. Not anymore. I’ve been inside his head now. All the way down to where that darkthinghad festered. That poison. That twisted parasite wound tight around his soul, fusing with his emotions. It was like a strangler vine, wrapped around a living tree, creeping along every bough and twig until the tree inside was dead and rotten and only the vine remained. An ugly, twisted parody of the proud original.

When I’d looked at that darkness winding around Vor’s spirit, I knew I could dosomething.A layer of calm would give him only temporary relief. What he needed wasn’t another layer. What he needed wascleansing.But is it possible?I’d wondered. Could I push my calm inside him? Hard enough, deep enough, that it drove the darkness out?

Apparently, I could. At great cost to myself.

I wish I could sigh. I wish I could close my eyes. Anything to relieve some of this tension from my rigid body. For the moment, I have no such control. I can only lie in the position in which he has placed me.

I let my gods-gift reach out tentatively to Vor. He’s been silent for some time now. Pacing the room, shuffling around, moving stones and broken pieces of furniture. I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s a relief to have a little distance from him, a chance for my scalded senses to recover. But will they recover? Will I? Or have I pushed my powers too far this time? Is this to be my existence? This trapped awareness within an inert body-prison? A thrill of panic stirs in my gut. Desperately, I try to move something: a toe, a nostril, an eyelash. But the paralysis is complete, and my vision remains cloudy.

Suddenly, Vor reappears beside me. I cannot see him save for a blurry silhouette, but the shape of his feelings is strong. “I found it,” he says, kneeling. His voice, a deep, earthy rumble stirs something warm and liquid in my core. The next moment, he reaches out, hesitates. Then he breaks his vow one more time to take my hand, open it, drop something into my palm, and curl my fingers over it.

My breath catches. My necklace! I’d know it anywhere, its silver filigree setting, the broken chain, the stone itself warm down in its core. For a long moment, I can do nothing but hold it. Then, with a supreme effort of will, I tighten my fist. Just a little. The throb in the stone’s heart quickens under my palm. Its resonance works down inside of me, and my body responds. I begin to . . . tounlock,somehow. Muscles tense, relax, and every limb goes limp. Finally, I draw a long, long breath. Hold it. Let it out in a measured count to ten.

Vor’s awareness shoots to me, his eyes intent. “Faraine?”

I cannot answer. Not yet. By now the unlocking has spread all the way to my toes. When I try to move them, they respond. Next, I flex my calves, my knees. I draw another long breath before attempting a blink. First one eyelid. Then the other. Then together. With each rise and fall of my lashes, the world comes into better focus.

Vor’s worried face hovers above me. His eyes are no longer terrible black voids, but bright and silver, ringed by incredibly long lashes. His mouth is full and sensuous, lips parted to release short, tense breaths. Pale hair falls across shoulders so broad, so strong they might bear the weight of mountains. “Faraine? Can you hear me?”

Part of me doesn’t want to answer. I’d much rather close my eyes, turn my head, and sink into proper sleep. Though the paralysis seems to have passed, my body aches from my ordeal.

But I must face him. Now or never.

“Yes. I can hear you.” The words emerge raw in my dry throat. I cough. The convulsion sends new sparks of pain bursting through my body. Rolling to one side, I wait for it to pass. Vor’s anxiety redoubles, pressing against my senses. He reaches for me but stops himself. His hand hovers in the air above my shoulder. By the time the spasm has passed, he’s already withdrawn from me again.

My eyelids fall again. In that moment, in the darkness of my head, I see the ugly twist of his features looming over me, feel the heat of his breath right before his lips crashed into mine. The black voids of his eyes. His hands scorching my flesh with their fiery touch.

Shuddering, I turn away. “Water,” I say, thickly. “Is there water?”

“I’m sorry,” Vor answers. “I tried to get through to the washroom, but the wall is unstable. I found the remains of a meal, but the ewer was smashed.”

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