Page 8 of Vow of the Shadow King

I fall.

Tumble, careen through darkness. Through shadow, through heat, through smoke.

My arms flail uselessly, struggling to grasp something, anything. My fingertips brush stone only for the skin to be ripped away as I continue my endless plummet. A sound like rushing wind roars in my ears, underscored by the keening of a thousand mourners, their voices upraised in endless woe.

There’s no escape, no hope, no help.

And down below me . . .

Far beneath the heat and the darkness . . .

Something watches.

Something waits.

Suddenly, a voice breaks through the rushing in my ears. Though I cannot understand the words, something in my heart jolts with recognition. It’s like a delicate, shimmering thread has unfurled before me. When I reach out and take hold, that thread solidifies, becomes a stout rope. I wrap myself—my body, my consciousness, I don’t even know what—around it and hold on with everything I have.

Now, the rushing stops, the mad descent forestalled, for the moment at least. Slowly, slowly, the rope draws me back up through the mist and black obscurity until faint gray light penetrates my eyelids. I’m lying on a soft pillow. My body is perfectly still. No tumbling. No rope either. I lie with my eyelids cracked, and a flickering glow filters through my eyelashes.

Voices murmur on my left. Two voices, one male, one female. One I would recognize anywhere, despite the growling intonation of trolde language. The other I don’t know. Elderly, animated, it dominates the exchange, with the other only managing to insert a few blunt words here and there.

Summoning all the strength I possess, I part my eyelids a little further. Two blurry figures stand at my bedside. One is short, for a trolde at least, and a little hunched. The other is the unmistakably broad and powerful form of Vor.

Fear lurches in my heart at the sight of him. Fear and . . . something else. Something stronger. And more dangerous. Something I don’t care to acknowledge.

With a last flurry of grunting talk, the smaller of the two figures reaches out and pats Vor on the arm. A strangely maternal gesture, incongruous with the intimidating size of the recipient. Then she seems to be gathering various tools into a bag, which she snaps shut before vanishing from my narrow range of sight. I hear a clunk, possibly the door shutting.

My heartrate quickens. I wish I could make myself sink back into unconsciousness. My body aches all over, and my head rings with pain. Meanwhile, the source of that pain—the source of that throbbing, stabbing ache between my eyes—even now draws a chair up to my bedside and takes a seat.

My husband.

I tense. I wish I could physically recoil from him. At least his emotions are currently held in check. When we encountered one another in the garden, the wave of his feelings had bludgeoned me as brutally as a blow from his fist. Gone are the days when I felt nothing but peace in his presence. Perhaps it was all a dream.

Is he going to sit there and wait until I wake up? Dear gods, I hope not. Vor is the last person I want to speak to just now after everything that’s happened. Dropping my eyelids, I lie in complete darkness once more, my breath shallow, my chest tight. Maybe he will grow bored and leave. I count the seconds and then the minutes passing. He shifts position only once. Either he knows I’m awake and is toying with me, or he really has determined to wait around until I regain consciousness. Hesitantly, I extend my gods-gift toward him. So many complicated emotions roil through his spirit. He’s calmer now, at least. Mostly.

I frown. There’s something there, something underneath the turmoil of fear, mistrust, concern, impatience. Those feelings, all readily recognizable, simmer along the surface of his being. But there’s something deeper. Something dark, coiled around his core. Cautiously, I peer through my lashes. Peer at this man who ordered my execution only to stop it at the last possible second. This man I thought I loved.

Suddenly, Vor rubs both hands down his face, pulling at the skin under his eyes. Then he turns, looks straight at me. His expression tightens, his brows drawn together. And I realize that while I’ve been studying him, I’ve unconsciously opened both eyes. For a series of long, silent moments, we stare at one another.

“You’re awake,” he says at last.

I blink once in acknowledgement. Then, gritting my teeth, I push my elbows under me, force my body into an upright position. One sleeve catches and pulls off my shoulder, slides down my upper arm. A wave of heat rolls out from Vor and hits me. I look up sharply, momentarily catching his eye. He turns away at once, stares fixedly at something on the wall across the room. The impression passes. I’m left shivering in its wake.

Hastily, I tug my sleeve back into place. “How long have I been unconscious?” I ask. My voice is rough and dry in my throat.

“An hour.” Vor glances at me, looks away. Swallows. Faces me again. “Maybe two.” Shifting in his chair, he rests an elbow on one arm. His fingers rub together nervously. “Ouruggrhahealer says it was not loss of blood that caused your fainting spell, but shock. A few more hours of quiet, and you should feel much better.”

My hand slips to my neck. There’s a sticky puckering right where the assassin’s blade grazed my skin. My jaw tightens. “Shock,” I repeat softly. “Yes. Of course.” I drop my hand back into my lap. “Did they catch him? The man who . . .?” I can’t quite bring myself to finish.

Vor’s face darkens. “He is not yet conscious. He’s under watch until he can be questioned.” Another long, painful silence falls between us. I’m still struggling to think of something suitable to say when Vor turns abruptly to me again. “I owe you an apology.”

My eyes flick to meet his. “What?”

He drops his gaze, his forehead puckered. A line deepens between his brows. “I had assumed you would be safe. In the holding cell. I thought security measures down there would be sufficient.”

“So . . .” I pause, pull my lips in and bite down hard. “So, you locked me away in a box-sized cave without light for myprotection?”

Another flash of feeling rolls out from behind his barriers. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was shame. “I admit,” he says, “I neglected to consider how much worse the darkness would be for you than for one of my own people.”

---