Page 46 of Vow of the Shadow King

In a surge of terror, I push the door further, step into the room, and fall on my knees beside the prone figure. It’s not Faraine. It’s a tall, ungainly form in guardsman uniform.

“Yok!” I cry and roll him onto his back. Terror surges in my veins. Did someone break in, overpower this boy, and kidnap Faraine? Another assassin, bent on her destruction? Or was it Targ and his cultists? Are they—could they—?

I see again that sacrificed woman. A scream threatens to tear my throat in two.

“Yok!” I roar, and yank the boy upright, shaking him by the shoulders. “Wake up, man! I need you!”

Yok groans. His brow puckers. With tremendous effort, he manages to raise one eyelid. “My—my King?”

My fingers dig into the boy’s shoulders, leaving dents in his chainmail. “Where is she?” I growl. “Who took her? Tell me, Yok! Tell me what you know!”

He shakes his head. “No one took her,” he groans. “I swear.”

“What?” Something icy shoots through my heart. In that moment, I can’t tell if it’s relief or another surge of terror. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“She wanted to go for a walk.” The boy forces the words out painfully, one after another. “But . . . but I thought she should stay. She’d been out once already, and she didn’t seem well, so . . . so I insisted. But then she took my hand and . . . and . . .” He looks blearily around the room, his gaze unfocused. “How did I end up in here?”

I drop my hold on him, little caring when he falls back on his elbows. “Where did she go?” I demand. “Did she tell you?”

“She said something about the gardens—”

I don’t wait to hear the rest. I’m already bolting from the room as fast as I can.

19

FARAINE

I find my way to the gardens by luck alone.

Every now and then I stop, hold my pendant, and seek inside for the pulse, thepullwhich I’ve felt before. There’s nothing. My perceptions are blocked. And my heart aches with each feeble attempt to beat against the encasing stone.

Cursing bitterly, I drop my pendant, let it bounce against my breastbone as I hurry on through the twisting passages. There doesn’t seem to be another living soul anywhere near. The denizens of the palace must have retired atdimness. That, or I’ve somehow been plucked from my former existence and dropped into an empty world, abandoned to my solitude. Either way, I wander lonely as a ghost through these cavernous halls.

I take turns at random. Perhaps some inner instinct guides me for after nearly an hour I descend a short stair, step under a tall stone arch and, to my surprise, find myself gazing out upon the palace gardens. Even indimness, it’s a startling sight. The gemstones are alive with their own, inner glow, not as bright aslorst, but enough to offer a gentle aura. Blues and violets, a few patches of gold and scarlet. Strange lichens climb the larger boulders, creating luminous abstract patterns that dazzle the eye. Mushrooms nearly half my height bob gently, though there is no breeze. Their gills ripple, and their speckled caps reflect the low light around them. Here and there, tiny flying creatures—olk,Vor called them—flit across my vision, trailing glittering dust in their wake. The air hums with their soft music of their wings.

It's wondrous. More beautiful than I remembered. For a moment, I can only stand there, awestruck. Then my heart gives another painful throb. The pressure in my chest is mounting. If I cannot find relief soon, it will burst, shatter my heart, and leave me an empty husk on the ground.

I lift my gaze to the higher regions of the garden, to that outcropping I spied the last time I was here. There stand the tall blue crystals, big as trees, pale and lustrous. My breath quickens with sudden hope. Setting my teeth, I plunge into the garden, take the first path I come to, and stagger on as fast as I can. The ground is rough. Tiny gravel stones tear into my bare feet. I hardly notice. It’s like it’s happening to someone else, someone wholly disconnected from me. I have my goal in sight and can think of nothing else but to reach it as swiftly as possible.

The path branches. I growl in frustration but choose the way that seems most likely to lead up to the outcropping. It winds off into a grotto, however, and I’m obliged to retrace my steps. I search out another path, slowly making my way deeper and deeper, higher and higher.

The creatures of the garden are alert to my presence. The littleolkflutter closer, tiny beaks snapping, six feathery wings fluttering. One flies past my face, trailing dust that makes me sneeze. The little catlike beasts appear as well, eyeless faces lining the openings of their cave dens, ears pricked, noses snuffling.

I come to another split in the path. Both branches seem to lead back toward the palace. I curse softly. My goal lies beyond, up a steep incline, with no visible trail leading up to it. There’s nothing but rough stone and sharp gems between that tall circle of crystals and me. I drag a long breath into my lungs.

Then I leap forward, clamber up and over an onyx boulder. My foot slips as I’m descending the other side. I fall hard to the uneven ground below, and pain shoots through my wrists and one knee. Hissing, I pick myself up. My knee is a mess of lacerations, and my palms have faired little better.

Prrrrlt?

I start, turn my head sharply. One of the little cat-creatures is perched on the stone behind me. Its eyeless face is level with mine, tilting first this way then that. It burbles softly. By the glow of the nearest crystals, the orange streaks in its colorful coat gleam like ribbons of fire.

I blink. The creature twitches its ears. For a moment, all my urgency filters away. There’s just me and this animal. Studying one another. Slowly, I stretch out a hand. The creature responds, elongating its neck so that its dainty nose can just sniff my fingertips. As though deciding it approves, it rubs its cheek against my finger and allows me to stroke the top of its head. Its fur is almost shockingly soft and silky. Amazed, I tickle under its chin. A loud thrum of a purr erupts from its throat. The vibration ripples up my arm, strikes my chest, bouncing off the stone around my heart. It’s unexpectedly soothing. For one lovely moment, I can breathe.

Then, for no discernable reason, the creature chitters abruptly and scampers away into the rocks. I watch its long, bushy tail flick out of sight. The stone in my chest feels heavier than ever, so heavy, I wonder if I’ll even be able to get to my feet.

Somehow, I manage to gather my limbs beneath me, push upright, and continue my climb. I’m close now. So close. Close enough that I can start to feel the hum of the tall stones even without the aid of my gods-gift. Soon I’ll be among them. Soon I’ll be able to take that hum into my body, into my soul. My pace quickens as I climb. I stumble often and am obliged to use my hands to pull myself up the steeper portions of the rise. Dirty, exhausted, I stagger on. My feet leave drops of blood behind me with each step, but I don’t stop, can’t stop. Not until I pull myself to the top of the outcropping and stand at the base of the stones.

They are . . . enormous. Much bigger than I’d realized when looking at them from afar, at least four times a trolde man’s height. It would take three of me standing in a circle, fingertip-to-fingertip, to span the girth of the smallest of them. Seven main stones stand in a near-perfect ring, with other, smaller, but still impressively sized crystals in between. They’re uncut, unpolished, and perfect. Their blue is as clear as a summer sky with hearts of dusky purple and deep indigo. But more impressive than the look of the stones is their voices. Their low pulsing tones, so profound they pierce through the stone in my chest to stir my heart. My own little crystal vibrates in response, buzzing like an insect.

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