Page 13 of Heart of the Shadow King

My gaze fixes on the Death Stone clasped in Umog Zu’s hands, held before her heart. It is a sphere of polishedurzulcrystal without blemish. In its depths shines a pale light which sometimes seems to flicker as though living. It looks so delicate, like an iridescent soap bubble ready to float away. But though the priestess stands immobile as a statue, her arms visibly strain. It is said the one who bears the Death Stone bears the weight of all the undead souls not yet laid to rest.

I moisten my dry lips. Part of me wants to turn to Sul for support. But distrust stands like a wall of marble between us. He has become a stranger to me, all the more dangerous because he wears a familiar face. He may stand at my right hand; but in truth I am alone.

Alone . . .

An image appears in my mind’s eye. Faraine. My wife. Gazing up at me with such hurt and confusion in her face. Her voice rings in my memory:“Your queen should be with you.”She’s right, of course. And were it not for this terrible fear burning in my gut, she would be beside me even now, her hand clasped in mine. Lending me that quiet strength of hers which so many have underestimated. Was I a fool to deny her, to leave her hidden in her chamber? No, for I feel Sul’s sharp eyes upon me. How could I place her back within his sights, suspecting him as I do? Until I can be sure she will be safe here in my court, I must take care to—

“Morar-juk!”Sul’s voice hisses softly, but the stones of the grotto catch it in echo until it fills the space. “What isshedoing here?”

I whirl in place. And gape in absolute shock.

Faraine stands in the arched entrance on the far side of the grotto. The very entrance where she, while disguised as her sister, appeared in herwokhgown, prepared for her bridal swim. It is no humble, shapelesswokhshe wears now, however.

My mouth goes dry. A stone drops in my gut, turns to magma, and spreads through my veins.

She is . . . magnificent. Clad in a silver gown that hugs every curve of her body as though painted on, with a slit up the front that ventures far past the knees. A headdress shaped like dragon wings crowns her brow, and a wide collar of intricate gold work extends beyond the width of her narrow shoulders. Panniers of a matching style emphasize her womanly shape, draped with strands of gold and red gems which shimmer and glint at every move of her lovely form.

The look is distinctly troldish. A few days ago, I would have said it was too much for her, that it dominated her petite frame and swallowed her. Now nothing could be further from the truth. She holds herself with the grace and dignity of a true queen. No garments nor jewelry can overwhelm her, for she herself is too great a force. She would be a shining ornament in the court of any fae king. I have seen her unclothed, gloried in the beauty of her nakedness. But somehow seeing her like this, adorned in traditional troldish garb, is more erotic to me than any displays of mere flesh. She is a vision of heaven to which a man like me may only aspire.

For an instant I am too stunned to think, to breathe. Her eyes, blue and gold, capture me in their strange depths. My soul cries out to enfold her even as my body burns to possess her.

Sudden movement snaps me from my daze.

Sul is in motion, striding across the grotto. “Kurspari!”he growls. “What are you doing here? This is a sacred place.” The stream of troldish words assault her like sharp stones flung at her tender flesh. She does not understand them, only the angry tone in which they are spoken. But she refuses to shrink away. She stares Sul down, chin high, fists clenched. Sul raises his good arm.

I don’t know when I decided to move. There was never any conscious decision made. I am simply there, gripping Sul’s forearm hard enough to crack bone. I wrench him off his feet and slam him against the wall. His pained gasp of breath hisses through my ears as I lean in hard, driving his face and body into the jagged stones.

“If you touch her,” I snarl close to his ear, “I will break this arm too.”

His pale eye rolls to peer back at me through strands of his hair. Pure terror sparks from its depths. Sul has never looked at me like that before.

“Vor!”

Faraine’s voice slashes through my senses. With a painful wrench, I tear my gaze away from my brother to find her drawing near, one hand outstretched. “Vor, don’t hurt him.”

I draw a ragged breath. I want to tell her to look away, to close her eyes if she cannot bear to see me commit violence for her sake. I want to snarl at her:See? This is what happens when you will not heed me! To keep you safe, I must become a monster. I must destroy that which I love for the sake of that which I treasure above all.Is it true? Is this what I’ve become? Would I truly choose Faraine over everything—family, blood, history, loyalty? My very kingdom?

Hael enters the chamber, gripping the hilt of her sword in one hand. She takes in the scene, her quick gaze flicking from Faraine to me to my brother. Her eyes flash, and I wonder if she will throw herself at me in Sul’s defense. Instead, she freezes, her sword half-drawn.

Sul struggles in my grasp. I meet his eye, see the fear replaced by cunning calculation. “Gods, brother!” he gasps, his mouth twisted in an unsettling smile. “I was only going to suggest your lovely bride take a seat in the gallery.”

I hear the lie underscoring his words. I want to grind the truth out of him, to make him confess then and there to all he has done. But Faraine is watching, and the dead are waiting. I must, for the moment at least, be the king and nothing more.

Growling, I drop my hold on Sul and step back two paces. He lets out a gasp and grimaces, shaking his twisted arm as he rounds on me. “Well. Now that little interlude’s over and done with, shall we get on with things? Umog Zu has been extraordinarily patient.”

I glance at the priestess. She stands exactly as she did before, eyes closed, skin gray as stone, the crystal in her hands. It’s impossible to know if she’s even aware of what just took place. I turn from her to Faraine, who has drawn near to my side. The sweet scent of her hair fills my nostrils. Though I try to stop myself, my gaze sweeps down her figure, every curve displayed to advantage in that fitted gown. My gut tightens, fills with heat. “What are you doing here, Faraine?” I demand, dropping my voice so that the others won’t hear.

Her expression is serene. She’s not flinched this whole time, not even when Sul loomed threateningly over her. “I told you,” she answers, “I will not be imprisoned. Not anymore.”

The heat in my gut is ready to burst. I don’t know if it’s lust, passion, or pure rage. I feel the watchful eyes fixed upon me, feel the pressure of my whole court, my whole kingdom, waiting for me to make my appearance through the falls. The next few hours are crucial. I will not be able to protect her while caught in the grip of theVulug Ugdth.“You must go.” The words stab from my lips like sharpened spearheads. “Now.”

She looks me in the eye without blinking. “Am I your queen?”

All the air seems to rush from my lungs. Of course she is my queen. In every sense except that which my kingdom will acknowledge. But how can I bear to send her from me? To betray every vow I made when I held her, and we sat together beneath the arc of eternity?

I take hold of her bare upper arm, my fingers gripping hard. Drawing my face down close to hers, I breathe through gritted teeth, “You are the most trying of women.”

Her smile is as brilliant as the sun of her world. “So long as we understand one another.”

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