Page 28 of Vow of the Shadow King

My brother blinks. Then he angles his head to one side. “So that’s it then. You’re sending me away. To Hoknath.”

“I require news of our sister city’s situation. I need someone I can trust to retrieve that information. You are the logical choice.”

Sul scoffs. “Be honest, Vor. Is this some precursor to my ultimate banishment? Are you trying it out for size to see how it feels?”

“My only concern is for my kingdom.”

“Morar-jukit is!”

“And what does that mean? Speak plainly, brother.”

“I think I’m speaking plain enough.” Sul takes a step closer. Now his face is mere inches from mine. His brow is dark, his eyes spears of accusation. “It’s been a long time since Mythanar and the Under Realm was your first concern. Since the moment you snatched that mortal wench off her feet and placed her before you in your saddle. As long assheis here, you’re not the monarch your people need. And you know it.”

His words lance into my head, red hot and burning. Perhaps all the worse because they are true.

I keep my voice low and hard. “If you set off at once, you may be back by tomorrowdimness. I shall await what news you bring with interest.”

Sul draws a long, ragged breath, his nostrils flaring. Then he steps back, runs a hand through his hair, smoothes it back from his forehead. “My King,” he says and offers a salute. Only the faint curl of his lip betrays his true state of mind.

The next moment, he turns on heel, marches down the passage, turns the corner, and vanishes from sight. I remain alone. Standing beneath the vaulted ceiling under the cold, revealing light of thelorstlantern. Feeling the weight of an entire nation threatening to bow me under it. Never in my life have I felt so alone.

How long can I stand it before I must inevitably break?

11

FARAINE

If my calculations are correct, it has now been five days since my near-death by execution. Or fivelusterlings,as they are called here in the trolde world. How theirlusterlingsequate to my understanding of a day—whether the cyclical hours of dark and light are comparable—I cannot say.

What I can say is that it feels like forever.

I stand on the balcony outside the window of my new residence. Once we were dug out of the former queen’s chambers, Hael placed me in a single room of the same wing, but a floor higher. The furnishings are all distinctly troldish—strange angles carved from solid blocks of stone. It’s uncomfortable to my sensibilities, so I spend much of my time on this balcony overlooking the courtyard far below. Occasionally, I see movement—messengers in household livery, guards in bristling armor. The sweep of a long robe, the flutter of an elaborate headdress. All the people of this palace, going about their lives. Now and then, a wave of emotion rises high enough to strike the edges of my gods-gift. Always the same emotion:fear.

Sighing, I bend to rest my chin on my forearms. A breeze whispers across my face, wafts strands of hair against my cheeks. Not for the first time, I wonder where that breeze is coming from. My gaze lifts to the high cavern ceiling where thelorstcrystals gleam. Are there air shafts overhead, leading from the world above?

Another movement in the courtyard below draws my gaze. My heart quickens with momentary hope only to be disappointed. Yet again. It’s just another house guard, marching by on his way to or from his post. Not Vor. Never Vor. No matter how many hours I’ve lingered here at this very rail, I’ve yet to catch a glimpse of the Shadow King.

At least he hasn’t followed through on his vow to send me home. Not yet.

A murmur of voices sounds in the room behind me. I turn, peer back through the wafting curtains which cover the open door at my back. Someone has entered my little chamber. Not Hael, of course. My bodyguard has been as determined as ever to keep her distance from me. I think she feels guilty. Though she’s not questioned me in detail as to what happened between Vor and me, she watches me from the tail of her eye whenever she’s in the room, averting her gaze the moment I look at her directly. It’s always a relief when she leaves, though it does mean a return of my isolation and boredom.

It isn’t Hael who enters now, however, but the squat and familiar figure of my chambermaid. She carries a silver platter in her block-shaped hands and doesn’t so much as glance my way. She’s been as cold and unfriendly to me these last two days as she was at our first meeting. But at least she’s alive. Right now, that’s all I ask in a potential companion.

Stepping hastily into the doorway, I push back the curtain and fix the trolde maid with a determined smile. “Hullo,” I say, my voice falsely cheery.

She looks up. Her eyes narrow beneath the severe ledge of her browbone. It’s not at all a friendly look.

I step into the room, moving slowly so as not to seem threatening. “Is that tea?” I ask, indicating the platter. I know perfectly well what it is. Every day at approximately this time, the same girl has entered with the same silver pot, cups, assortment of rolls and biscuits, all very familiar to my pallet. She’s set them down on that same stone table and scuttled from the room without a word or a nod for me.

She grunts now, turning to do just that. But the last few days have made me desperate. I spring forward several paces, hold out one hand, and bark, “Wait!”

My voice comes out sharper than I intend. But it does the trick. The trolde woman stops. Slowly, her heavy head swivels on her thick neck, and her pale little eyes peer back at me.

“What is your name?” I ask.

She blinks, uncomprehending. But of course, she doesn’t know my language. Still, she has stopped. That must count for something.

“My name is Faraine,” I say, touching my chest. No point in giving a title—princess, queen, prisoner.It’s all the same to her. But a name is as good a place as any to start. “Faraine,” I repeat, and offer what I hope is an encouraging smile.

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