Page 12 of Heart of the Shadow King

I pull back. His feelings are too painful, throbbing against my skull. “Go,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “I cannot leave you like this.”

I reach up, stroke his cheek. “I understand.” My voice is heavy, but my words are true. Of course, he must choose his people, his kingdom. He could never be the man I loved if he were to choose otherwise. “I understand,” I say again, more firmly this time, “and I will look for you atlusterling.”

“Hael will stand guard over you until then,” he says. “She is at watch even now. You will be safe.”

“I know.” I let my hand slip from his cheek to his chest, right above his beating heart. Then, tipping back my head, I grant him a last gentle kiss. “Go,” I murmur against his lips. “Be the king Mythanar needs.”

Though his reluctance is palpable, he lets me go and backs away. He does not break my gaze until he reaches the chamber door. There he turns at last to face the world. I have a glimpse of Hael standing in the outer passage just before the door shuts behind him.

And I am alone. Again.

“Damn,” I hiss, tears springing to my eyes. Teeth clenched, I stare up at the stalactites overhead. I wanted him to choose me. Gods on high, I wanted him to see me, to know me, and, in that knowing, to choose me. To believe I am strong enough to withstand whatever fate may come.

But he cannot. The loss he experienced at my death is still too recent, and he is afraid.

I, however, am not. Not anymore. Any fear I might harbor of his court and their scorn is counterbalanced by a much worse fear of freedom lost. I cannot live this way.

My fists clench even as a rush of determination burns in my breast. If Vor is unwilling to risk my life, I will have to risk it for both of us.

6

VOR

“There you are, brother. I was beginning to fear I’d have to step in for you.”

I halt under the arched entrance of the Kathu Grotto, gazing into the dim space. I had expected it to be empty save for Umog Zu, the priestess, who waits on the edge of the pool. I was not prepared to meet my brother’s gaze.

Sul stands between me and the priestess, his face half-lit in the dim glow emanating from the smalllorstcrystals inset in the wall. His eyes are bright and a little too sharp, and his words ring in my ears. Ordinarily I would not take those words for anything serious. Now, with unrest running rampant through our stricken city, whispers have reached my ears. Whispers that old King Gaur’s half-blood son is not trolde enough to rule the Under Realm. Whispers that his full-blooded second son would make a better king in these dire times.

“You must make a demonstration of strength,” Lord Gol, one of my ministers, urged me only thislusterling.“Perform theVulug Ugdth.Let your people see you summon the strength of your forefathers and prove your power. Open up the galleries, bring the city folk in to bear witness. They will see and they will talk, and word will swiftly spread throughout the Under Realm, putting to rest this dangerous chatter once and for all.”

“And what if I fail?” I asked, my voice cold and hard.

Gol merely raised an eyebrow. “I would advise Your Majesty to succeed.”

Easier said than done. TheVulug Ugdth—the Song of the Dead—is an ordeal I’ve not yet attempted. The last time this ceremony was performed in Mythanar, it was my father who took up the Death Stone. This was following the Triune Devastation, a great tragedy in our recent history. Three mighty cities were lost on the same day to the worst stirring ever to shake the Under Realm. Countless lives were lost. In the aftermath King Gaur took it upon himself to perform theVulug Ugdthas a means of reuniting his people. He entered the sacredyunkathuwaters and, before the eyes of his court, channeled the resonance of all those lost souls, guiding them to their final resting place in the Deeper Dark.

I remember how strong he looked, holding the Death Stone aloft over his head. But as the hours passed, his arms began to quake, and sweat beaded his brow. I feared he would drop the stone, and the ceremony would be spoiled, leaving all those dead souls doomed to wander the caverns of the Under Realm without rest. But in the end, the glowing heart of the Death Stone darkened, indicating the safe passage of the dead. Though Father stumbled as he climbed back out of the sacred pool, he did not drop his burden.

When Gol presented his idea, memories flooded my mind. The sight of my father’s great body shuddering under the weight of that stone. The long, aching, terrifying hours as I and the rest of King Gaur’s court listened to the endless chant of theVulug Ugdth. Wondering, hoping, fearing . . .

Somehow it had not occurred to me that I might one day stand in my father’s place. That more tragedy would befall this kingdom, and I, as its king, would be required to uphold the ancient traditions and be the symbol of strength and god-ordained leadership my people need. Is it a role I can live up to? Or will my half-human blood betray me?

These fears echo in the back of my head now as I stop and meet my brother’s gaze. “What are you doing here?” I growl, the words nearly lost to the thunder of the falls.

Sul’s brow puckers, an innocent expression. “It is tradition for the king’s nearest male relative to attend him at sacred ceremonies.”

He needn’t remind me. We both know the traditions well enough. It was Sul who stood beside me in the moments before my wedding swim as well. Of course, he should be with me.

Ignoring the knot of tension in my gut, I step into the damp darkness of Kathu Grotto and allow Sul to aid me as I shrug out of the gem-encrusted ceremonial robe. I stand with only aparicloth draped about my loins, my body bare, exposed to all the waiting eyes of my court and kingdom. They must see me perform this feat without trickery of any kind. They must see that it is by my own strength I bear the deaths of my people and usher them on to their final rest.

Turning from Sul, I face Umog Zu, who stands with the falls behind her. Beyond that curtain of water awaits the great hall where my court is gathered. Lords and ladies of the realm, priests and priestesses, not to mention the city folk packed into the upper galleries.

And the dead. Let us not forget them. Hopeful, waiting. Desperate.

I cannot fail them.

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