Page 30 of Heart of the Shadow King

FARAINE

I shut the door and lean against it, pressing my forehead to the cool stone. Gods above, how my heart pounds! Is it strange that I found it so terrifying to speak those words out loud? I’ve known for some time now what I felt for Vor, admitted it in the privacy of my own head. But somehow actually giving voice to my feelings felt bolder even than stripping away my clothes and giving my body over to his hands and lips and tongue. Which is foolishness, of course. What did we need of words? Surely my actions spoke loudly enough. Were not our two bodies, entwined together in the foam beneath the falls, confirmation of the love we share?

Then again perhaps not. Beautiful as that moment was, the physical act itself would mean nothing on its own. I cannot imagine what it would have been like if my marriage with the Prince of Cornaith had proceeded as planned. What was sacred in Vor’s arms would be profane with anyone else. The mere act of joining wasn’t enough. Not without love.

And now I’ve said it. Spoken it out loud. And somehow, it’s more real. Everything is more real now that Vor has given himself to me.

I turn and lean my back against the door, tilting my head. My pulse races, and my body, though exhausted, is still warm and alive in all the places he touched and tasted. A little sore too if I’m honest. I smile ruefully and push away from the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

My heart jumps.

Someone is seated in the chair drawn close to the dark hearth. A faintly glowinglorststone illuminates the edge of a hood and a small, hunched figure.

“Who’s there?” I demand.

The figure in the chair leans forward. In the same moment, thelorststone brightens, lighting up her face.

“You,”I breathe. I know that face. I don’t know how I know, but she’s familiar to me. A figure from a dream. Her features are handsome, lined with age, set with a pair of sharp, golden eyes.

Those eyes take me in now, slowly roving up and down my disheveled figure. “My, my,” the stranger says, raising one brow slightly. Her voice drips with derision. “Aren’t you looking . . . troldish.”

I cross my arms over my exposed bosom, suddenly aware of how very little fabric makes up this gown. It’s one thing to wear it among the troldefolk, paired with the elaborate collar which covered much of my flesh. Stripped down to nothing but the silky under dress, I feel almost naked standing before this woman. Thishumanwoman.

“Who are you?” I demand. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course.” The woman tilts her head a little to one side. “I’d hoped you would seek me out right away. It would seem you’ve had other things on your mind.”

I shake my head, ignoring the blush stealing up my cheeks. “Why should I seek you? I don’t know who you are!”

“Oh, is that so? Have you forgotten our conversation already?”

“What conversation?”

“Our little chat on the edge of death.”

As she speaks those words, she touches one of the many strands of crystals hanging from her neck. A stone lights up—anurzul, pulsing a deep purple hue. It draws my eye, and, as I look at it, it seems as though clouds in my memory part suddenly. Images come into focus, accompanied by voices which start out garbled and unfamiliar but slowly transform into recognizable words.

“You think driving a fewwogghafrom the streets will do any good in the long run, child?”

“Make no mistake, little princess—Arraog, the Fire at the Heart of the World, is stirring.”

“But you’re not just anyone, are you? You’re gods-gifted. Bestowed with divine blessings intended for divine purpose . . .”

It all floods back, everything I’d forgotten. I stare at the woman before me. “I . . . I thought I’d dreamed you.”

“Dreamed me? Oh, no. The dead do not dream, you know.” The old woman rises. Her clothes are just as ratty and worn as I remember, and her many strands of crystals clink delicately against one another as she moves. From the shadows beside the chair, she produces a crooked walking stick and leans on it heavily as she approaches.

I back up a step, but my heel hits the door. I brace myself, lifting my chin. After all, she is just a little old woman. “You still haven’t told me who you are,” I say.

She shrugs. “Eh, it doesn’t matter, does it? What matters more is what you promised me.”

“And what is that?”

“Why, to face the dragon, of course.”

My eyes widen. “I made no such promise.”

She snorts and taps the end of her stick sharply against the floor. “Damn. I’d hoped you wouldn’t remember that part. You do recall what I told you about Arraog, don’t you?”

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