Page 33 of Vow of the Shadow King

“Forgive me, Your Majesty! It’s Hurk and Jot. They beg leave to speak with you at once.”

My blood runs cold. Roh, her quick gaze studying my face, lets out a little breath. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

I don’t bother to answer. I don’t bother to tell her these are the names of the two guards who accompanied Sul on his journey to Hoknath. “Send them in,” I say instead. My knees suddenly weak, I sink back into my chair, and assume an easy manner even as my heart gallops painfully in my chest.

“What are you doing?” Roh growls, as the door opens to admit the newcomers. “We’re not done, you and I!”

I silence her with a gesture as two figures—one male, one female—stagger into the room. The female holds her companion up, his arm across her shoulders, but they both look the worse for wear. His left leg hangs limp, the bone obviously, painfully broken. His skin is sickly gray, shiny with sweat.

I jump up at once, hasten around from behind my desk. “Jot! Hurk! What has happened? Are you all right?”

Hurk tries to offer me a smile through his pain. “I’ve been better, Your Majesty. I wanted to deliver this word in person, then I’m off to Madame Ar.”

“What news of . . .” I try to speak my brother’s name, but it freezes on my tongue and lies there, a cold, hard lump. “. . . of Hoknath?”

Jot shakes her half-shaved head, floppy white curls falling over her left ear. “We never made it that far, Your Majesty. We were taking the riverway, but the cavern was flooded from the stirring. Prince Sul thought we could make it, but then the ceiling began to give. Sul kept our craft from breaking against a boulder, but he ended up in the water. Hurk and I barely made it out alive. We had to shore the craft and crawl back. I was sure the whole thing would come down on top of us long before we made it out.”

“And my son?” Roh demands, drawing the two guards’ gazes her way. “What became of him?”

“We searched as long as we could.” Jot hangs her head dismally. “But then Hurk here . . . he wasn’t going to make it, not with his leg like this. I had to get him back, you see? There was no sign of the prince.”

Roh turns her head sharply, fixing her stare on me. As though I’d planned this, as though I’d somehow rigged the riverway to murder her son. I feel every accusation she silently hurls at me.

“We’ll find him, Roh,” I say. My voice carries all the kingly confidence I can muster in that moment. “I will go personally. I will bring him home.”

She holds my gaze hard. Her pupils are large black disks, like hollows in her pale face. “If you don’t,” she whispers, “may you never find your way again in the Dark.”

With that, she turns and sweeps from the room. Targ, who stood all this while silent and still as a boulder, reanimates, gathering his powerful limbs and rolling into motion behind her. He never so much as glances my way.

I wait until they are both clear of the room before turning to Jot and Hurk once more. “Jot, are you fit enough to accompany me?”

“I . . . I think so, Your Majesty,” she responds, but I hear the dreadful hesitation in her voice. She’s not what I need. Not now. Not when Sul’s life is on the line.

“No, never mind. Get him to the infirmary,” I say, waving them off. “Have Ar look you over as well. Yok!” The boy’s face appears in the doorway, his expression drawn, his eyes wide. “Yok, I need you to find your sister and send her to me. At once, do you hear?”

13

FARAINE

I press my palm flat against the wall, lean my weight into my arm, and close my eyes. My other hand grips my pendant hard, searching for the warmth in its heart. It responds to my call with a gentle pulse. It almost feels like a greeting.

Taking hold of that pulse, I channel it from my palm, into my wrist, my arm, my heart. There it swirls for a moment before continuing down my other arm and into the wall. It’s a subtle sensation, a faint whisper of vibration. So faint, I could almost believe I made it up.

But no. Deep down inside the wall something answers. Somethingstirs.This is nothing like when the assassin pinned me to the wall and held his knife to my throat. Then, both his feelings and mine were such a wild storm, the crystals embedded in the wall had seemed to scream out in response. Now my heart is quiet, calm. When I reach for the crystals, they barely whisper in response. But theydorespond.

I open my eyes, drop my hand, and take a step back. The wall is smooth, slightly curved, and etched with delicate patterns of cave flowers and creatures for which I have no names. Just a wall, though. Just unyielding stone. No one would guess the amount of life vibrating within.

Frowning slightly, I pluck at my pendant, hold it up to the level of my eyes. No matter how I turn the question round in my mind, I cannot come up with an explanation for how this crystal of the Under Realm came into my possession. It’s almost as though . . . as though someoneknewabout my gods-gift. Knew how my powers would react to the stones of this world. But that’s a wild thought, surely. No one knows or cares about my gift.

With a sigh, I drop the crystal to rest against my breast. All these questions without answers are going to drive me mad. I feel itchy in my own skin, uncomfortable, desperate for a change of scene. I cast a glance around the room. It’s far less human in style than the queen’s chambers had been. My gaze lingers for a moment on the narrow bed which stands along one wall. It’s covered in white furs and thick blankets and is much smaller than the big bed in the bridal chamber. Room enough to sleep only me.

Vor has not come. It’s been days now. Orlusterlings,I should say. Too long. Agonizingly too long.

Cursing softly, I begin to pace the room. Unsettled frustration burrows deeper and deeper into my soul, turning to anxiety, even panic. I cannot take much more of this isolation! What would happen if I opened the door and told Hael to summon the Shadow King? Would he come? If he did, what would I say?

I close my eyes. Let my mind still, let the storm of emotion fade. Vor’s face appears in my memory, illuminated by a singlelorstcrystal. I hold onto that image, let it pull me deeper. I feel his strong hand warming my lower back, pressing me against his body. The warmth of his lips hovering over mine, no more than a breath between us. I touch my lower lip with the tip of one finger, trying to recall the sensation, that brush of connection. That instant—there and gone again—when he’d dared lower his mouth to mine.

Our first kiss.

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