Page 40 of Heart of the Shadow King

I stand on my balcony, leaning against the rail, and look out across the city below me. The lights in the distant cavern ceiling are beginning to darken as Under Realm night sets in. The streets and dwellings fall into deeper and deeper shadow and will soon be entirely obscured from sight.

But my gaze is drawn elsewhere. Toward the palace gardens. Particularly to the circle of tall crystals standing on their high promontory, gleaming softly with their own living light.

My fingers play with the pendant hung on its chain around my throat. Part of me knows I shouldn’t even contemplate venturing out to the garden at this hour, searching for some mad old witch among the stones. In the full light oflusterling, her wild proclamations bear a stain of lunacy. Who’s to say she is who she claims to be? I admit, it would be difficult to manufacture such a striking likeness to Vor. But I myself have worn a false face. I know better than anyone how easily it might be done.

Still, what if she is who she says she is? And what if the rest is true as well?

What if I am destined to save this world?

This is folly. All these wild ideas and imaginings, nothing more than my own foolish desires trying to mislead me. I hate being left behind while my husband marches into unknown dangers. I hate being useless, listless. What I wouldn’t give for some great purpose upon which to fix my whole heart and being! What I wouldn’t give to be . . .more . . .

My pendant hums.

I catch my breath and look down at the stone. It’s been so still since my return to Mythanar, I’ve ceased to expect anything else. But it hums in my palm now, a gentle, soothing sound. Then it gives a sharppull. I gasp and stagger, my hipbone hitting the balcony banister. My gut churns as the courtyard and the whole city below me seem to pitch and spin. I push back, choking on a scream. My back hits the window frame, and I stand there, frozen, while my heart throbs ten painful beats.

Slowly, I look down at my pendant again. The dark in its center whorls, then goes perfectly still. Did I imagine it? Before the question has even fully formed, another pull yanks at me. I grip the window frame with one hand, refusing to let myself be moved. I’ve felt this before—this insistent tug on my spirit. It wasn’t long ago I followed it through the palace down into a dark chapel where theva-jorceremony was performed. Not an experience I wish to repeat. Targ and Roh had seemed to wield some control over theurzulcrystals in that chapel. What if they are sending out this pulse? What if they are trying to lure me back into that place of darkness? Now that Vor is gone, they must think I’m vulnerable.

But this doesn’t feel like Roh. Or Targ. I can’t say how I know, but the vibration is off. It’s like listening to a familiar song sung by an unfamiliar voice.

A third pull. I open my eyes, and my gaze flicks to the Urzulhar Circle. It’s calling me. I’m sure of it. Which means . . .

“Maylin,” I whisper.

She’s there. Just as she said she would be. And growing impatient.

Hastily, I send my awareness down inside myself, searching for any implanted feelings that don’t belong to me. I detect no outside influence, just my own fear, anxiety, stubbornness. And curiosity. Yes, plenty of curiosity, which intensifies with every passing moment. When the pull comes again, I don’t hesitate. Stepping through the window back into my bedchamber, I cross to the door, yank it open.

Hael is there. Standing directly across from me.

I catch a breath. My mouth opens, ready to mumble some explanation for my sudden appearance. Then again, why should I? I’m not a prisoner. I’m free to come and go as I wish. Is it a queen’s duty to explain her every move to her bodyguard? Closing my mouth, I tuck my chin and hasten into the passage without a word. Hael falls into step behind me. I don’t bother looking back. I’ve learned the halls and corridors of this wing of the palace well enough by now and don’t need to depend on someone else to guide me. I descend a winding stairway and emerge in the hall below. It’s busier than I like with troldefolk coming and going.

Everyone stops when I step into view. Numerous pale trolde eyes fix intently upon me.

I freeze, teeth grinding. But I won’t be shrinking and timid. I won’t give them that satisfaction. Lifting my head, I gather my courage and keep going. The long train of my skirt whispers on the floor behind me. My tread is steady, dignified, as befits a queen. I force myself to meet the gazes of those I pass. Some deign to bow or drop curtsies. Others merely stare. I offer no more than a short nod to each.

It's a relief to reach the gardens at last and step out among the crystal formations. No one else is here save for Hael, trailing in my shadow. But the mothcats come leaping like dogs to a whistle, their whiskered muzzles sniffing, their large ears twitching. Though they all look very much alike, I recognize one little beast which leaps to my shoulder, purring and rubbing against my cheek.

“I think it’s high time I gave you a name,” I say and scratch its dainty chin. “What would you like to be called?”

With a little chitter and a piercingcheep!it springs from my shoulder to the top of my head then down to the other shoulder. Its long tail wraps around my neck, the tip flicking under my nose. I laugh and push the tail away. “All right! Until I think of something cleverer,Cheepit is.”

The creature seems pleased. It rubs my cheek again, its whiskers tickling my ear. A bubble of laughter escapes my lips. In that same moment, my crystal gives the sharpestpullyet. I gasp. Cheep’s little body freezes. A shiver runs from the tip of its pointed nose to the end of its fluffy tail. When anotherpullcomes hard on the heels of the first, the mothcat leaps from my shoulder to the nearest stone outcropping and vanishes. The other mothcats hurry after, disappearing in a flash. I frown. I knew the mothcats were sensitive to crystal vibrations, but this reaction? It’s hard to misinterpret. They’re afraid of whatever calls me. They’re afraid of the witch.

But I can’t turn back now.

I continue my ascent into the higher reaches of the garden and finally step once more into the circle of those great stones. They pulse gently in greeting. Though my hand trembles, I reach out and touch one of them. There is none of the terrible power which had rippled through them the last time I stood in this place. They seem almost gentle.

“So, you’re here at last, are you?”

I press my lips together, determined not to show surprise. Instead, I turn my head slightly, watching as the hooded figure steps out from behind the farthest stone and into the circle. Her hood and robes look particularly threadbare in the luminous glow of the Urzulhar, but the crystals on her many-stranded necklace gleam like stars. She stalks toward me, her crooked stick clacking. When she reaches the center of the circle, she pushes back her hood. Once again, I’m struck by the incredible similarity between her and Vor, though I’ve certainly never seen such a look of disdain souring Vor’s features.

“Took you long enough,” she says.

I don’t answer. My attention fixes on the pulse of her small stones. They vibrate in syncopated rhythm with the stronger pulse of the great stones. “Did you send that . . . that summons?” I ask.

“I did. You obviously weren’t motivated to move on your own. Have I failed to impress upon you the urgency of our situation? You have much to learn and very little time in which to learn it.” She sneers, leaning heavily on her stick. “Young people always think they’ll live forever, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

“How did you do it?” I persist. “How could yousummonme like that?”

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