Page 48 of Vow of the Shadow King

“I think so.” I’m still quivering, but the pain is manageable.

Vor sets me down reluctantly, his arms disinclined to let go. I’m painfully aware of my own naked flesh pressed against the smooth stone. His shirt is large at least and covers most of me. Vor hastily fetches my shift and hands it over, keeping his eyes averted. When I have the garment in hand, he turns his back to give me privacy while I dress myself.

I hesitate. I shouldn’t of course. Not when he’s being so gentlemanly. But I cannot help letting my gaze linger on his muscular shoulders, his tapered waist. My stomach fills with heat which spreads to other parts of my body, warming my cheeks last of all.

I tear my gaze away, slip Vor’s shirt off, and pull my shift over my head. My fingers tremble as I do up the front ties. It’s not a lot of covering—my arms are bare, as are my legs below the knee. But it’s better than nothing. Better than how he found me.

“I . . . um. Here.” When Vor turns, I awkwardly hold out his shirt.

He takes it but doesn’t put it on right away. Instead, he stares at it, as though I’ve just handed him something strange and he cannot puzzle it out. Finally, he lifts his gaze to mine. “There was blood,” he says. “All the way up here. I thought . . .”

Fear radiates from his words. It’s so sharp, I nearly take a step back. “Oh, that!” I say hastily. “I did not stop to put on appropriate shoes. The ground, you know. It’s very rough.” I point to my bare, bloody feet and grimace ruefully.

Vor shakes his head. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “What are you doing out here, Faraine?” he says at last. “I thought you’d been taken. Another assassin maybe. Then Yok . . . he said you wanted to go to the gardens. I raced here as fast as I could, and when I saw the trail of blood . . .”

There’s something dark in his eye. Something he dares not articulate. “It’s hard to explain,” I say lamely.

“Hard to explain why you would incapacitate your bodyguard to go for a stroll? Barefoot? Naked? In my gardens?”

A flush roars up my neck. I bite my lip, uncertain where to begin. Finally, I say the only thing I can think of in that moment: “My feet hurt.”

He is silent. A long, terrible count of ten breaths.

Then suddenly, he steps forward. Before I have a chance to comprehend what is happening, he scoops me off my feet. A cry bubbles in my throat as I wrap my arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I know a place where you can bathe your feet. It’s not far from here.” With those words, he steps out from among the tall crystals and begins to pick his way down the rise. I feel a momentary dart of pain, reluctant to leave the crystals behind, but that feeling is quickly subsumed in the undeniable pleasure of being cradled against Vor’s chest. He’s so strong, moves with such easy, effortless grace. The sheer power of him is enough to make my head spin and my newly-released heart pound in my throat.

I should resist. I should fight this, demand he put me down. I shouldn’t let myself feel what I’m feeling. If I were wise, I would plant my hands against his chest, push as hard as I can, force him to release me.

But I am not wise. Besides, do I really want to crawl back through this stone garden on my bloodied hands and knees?

With a sigh, I give in and rest my head against his shoulder. I don’t ask where we are going or how long it will take to get there. All I want is to live in this moment. To listen to the pulse of his heart, to feel the rhythm of his breath, and let it sink into my soul like the living song of the crystals.

20

VOR

She’s so light. It’s like carrying a dream.

The relief flooding through me is almost more than I can bear. I must summon all my strength simply to keep my knees from buckling and my body from sinking to the ground, trembling as I cradle her against me. She’s alive! Warm, alive, here in my arms. Her soft breath stirs against my skin, her graceful arms drape round my neck, and her hair, soft and sweet as spun-silk, brushes my jaw.

When I saw her lying in the center of the circle . . . naked, still, her limbs spread wide . . . Oh, gods above and below! For a terrible, endless moment, I’d thought she was dead. Sacrificed. Like that poor woman in Hoknath.

Then she’d moaned. The sound shot fire through my veins. I’d leapt forward, her name bursting from my lips. In a trice, I’d ripped the shirt from my back and wrapped her body in it even as I drew her into my arms.

Now, I pick my way carefully down the incline, away from the Urzulhar Circle, taking care not to jostle her. She feels ephemeral in my grasp. As though one wrong move on my part, and she’ll slip away, vanish from my life and existence. I long to crush her closer, to prevent her from escaping, but equally fear harming her, breaking her.

I should never have let myself come to this. I should never have allowed my heart to open itself up to this terrible vulnerability. If I’d been wise, I would have sent her home with Lady Lyria. How could I have let her remain in Mythanar? Avoiding her was no use. Avoidance only made my heart long for her more. The simple knowledge that she washere,within the walls of my home, breathing the same air I breathed was exquisite torture.

My teeth grind so hard, it sounds like a growl. I dare not speak, not even to demand what in the nine hells she was doing, lying there among the sacred stones! If I open my mouth, it won’t be any of the questions burning on my tongue that pour forth. No, it will be confessions. Declarations. Words I have no business articulating.

So I clamp my jaw tight, refuse to utter a sound. She’s peaceful at least. Still and silent as I bear her down to the lower levels of the garden. The last time I carried her like this, she was in pain, resisting me up until the moment she lost consciousness completely. Now, she tucks her head under my chin and simply holds onto me. Like she trusts me. Like I can help her, comfort her. It’s the most beautiful sensation I’ve ever experienced.

I know what I should do. I should carry her to her room, set her on her feet, back away, lock the door, and set a double watch in place. Instead, it’s as though my feet have a will of their own. They carry me and her unhesitatingly to a certain path, winding between blossoming amethyst clusters and formations of gleaming anthracite. Soon, a distant murmur of water fills the air. That murmur grows to a dull roar.

Then I emerge through the stones onto the shore of the lake facing the crystal falls.

Faraine lifts her head from my shoulder. She gasps. “What is this place?”

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