Page 23 of Heart of the Shadow King

I stare into his face. The face of this man whom I once trusted with my life. And I do what must be done.

“Sul Gaurborg, king’s son, Prince of the Under Realm,” I say, “you are hereby banished from Mythanar. You will be escorted to the boundaries of my kingdom and sent forth into the outer worlds, never to return on pain of death.”

Sul’s eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting this. Trial and execution, yes. Not banishment. “No, Vor,” he says, taking a step toward me. “Let me have my say before the ministers. Let me face thedrurwith honor and so prove my loyalty.”

“That will not be. You lost your right to any such honor when you threatened the life of my wife and this kingdom’s alliance with Gavaria.”

“A false wife! A false alliance! Wrought with entrapments and sealed with lies. You are a fool, my brother, to take that human whore to your bed!”

The drive for murder is strong. But I must maintain control. I turn from my brother and address Hael. “Escort the prince from Mythanar and send him through the Between Gate into the worlds beyond.”

“Which world?” she asks.

“I don’t care. He is never to return to the Under Realm. Seal the gate behind him.”

Hael looks sick. I’m well aware of her heart where my brother is concerned. But she bows her head at last. “It will be done as you say.”

With that, she turns, latches hold of Sul’s arm, and drags him from the chamber. My last sight of my brother is his wide eyes flashing as he cries out, “I will always serve you, Vor! I will always help you, even when you refuse to accept it. Someday you’ll see the truth. You’ll see the truth, Vor! I only hope it isn’t too late.”

His voice fades as Hael hauls him down the passage, leaving me in this empty, echoing chamber with nothing but the crackling moonfire and my own accusing heart.

11

FARAINE

I wake to the unsettling sight of a square-jawed trolde face very near my own.

I suck in a breath, and my head jerks back against my pillow. Two large, pale eyes blink one after the other from behind a pair of thick crystal lenses. “Arh!”a deep but distinctly feminine voice growls.“Lar ek-yam!”

My befuddled senses clarify, and I begin to take in my surroundings. Oh, right. I’m still in the infirmary. And this woman is the healer. Madame Ar, I believe her name is. I’ve seen her once or twice, though we have not been formally introduced. Blinking hard, I let out a breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. “What happened?” I manage to ask.

The healer growls something in troldish before answering in my own language. “You fainted, little princess. Again.”

I grimace. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. My body can scarcely take any level of exertion without simply folding up on me. One would think I’d get used to it after all this time, yet the embarrassment still stings.

“It’s not a troldish trait,” Madame Ar continues, stepping back another pace and folding her arms across her block-like chest. “All this sighing and sagging.”

“Yes, well.” I push myself upright on the bed, grinding my teeth as the room pitches around me, and wait for my stomach to settle. “Don’t take me as your example for human woman. Most of us don’t drop to the floor at the least provocation.”

“Perhaps.” The healer shrugs. “The last human queen was a frail little thing as well. Always in and out of my chambers, pale and limp. She got stronger though. With time.” She tips her head. “As will you, I trust.”

I frown. The last human queen was weak? Like me? I know little about her, this woman who was Vor’s mother. Only that she was unhappy in the Under Realm and eventually abandoned her child and husband, never to be seen again. Did her unhappiness contribute to the weakness Ar observed? Or was she simply a delicate constitution? Too bad these troldefolk will never know my sister, Ilsevel. She would have given them a better eyeful of human females and their fortitude. I’m a rather pathetic example.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit a moment, gripping the mattress. My eyes flick across the domed room to where Lord Rath lies. His eyes are closed. From the way his chest rises and falls, he looks to be asleep. Sedated again, perhaps. “How is he?” I ask.

The trolde healer shoots a swift glance her patient’s way. “The poison seems to be gone from his system.” She eyes me again narrowly from behind her crystal lenses. “And you had something to do with that, did you not?”

I hesitate. But my powers have never been a secret. Besides, something in her expression tells me she knows the truth already. So, I nod.

“I thought as much. The last queen had a knack for treatingraogas well. Not something the priests or priestesses could replicate, no matter how they tried.”

I gape at the healer, uncertain if I’ve heard correctly. Did she just imply that Vor’s mother had powers similar to mine? No, that cannot be. Gods-gifts are rare. I’ve never heard of the same gift manifesting twice within the same century. Of course, the former queen might very well be from a different century; time does not move at the same rate between worlds, after all. In truth, I don’t know how old Vor himself is, at least not by a human count of years. It hardly seemed to matter, trying to define him by such standards.

But what are the odds that his mother possessed this same capacity for accessing the feelings of others? It’s too unlikely. I cannot fathom it, not now. “Where is Vor?” I demand abruptly instead.

“No one has seen him. Not since he went stomping off to confront Prince Sul.”

“To what?”

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