Page 5 of Heart of the Shadow King

“Even the cost of your life?”

My words hang between us, along with many unspoken things. Such as my near certainty that it was he, my own brother, who tried to force my hand, to make me murder Faraine. I have no proof, and he knows it. He knows as well that I suspect him. Should evidence ever come to light, he cannot doubt how swift and violent my retaliation will be.

How can any brotherly feeling exist between us under such a shadow?

He continues to back across the empty throne room until he stands beneath the lastlorstcrystal. There he pauses and bows at the waist. “Whatever I do, I do for your sake, Vor.” His voice is quiet but echoes in the stillness. “You are Mythanar’s king. You are my king.”

The words are spoken from a heart which beats with true loyalty. Yet when I look at his face, I struggle to perceive my brother, my faithful companion, my friend. Treachery infuses every word, every gesture he makes. Or is it only my own paranoia? Is it possible I’ve breathed too muchraogpoison, and now it warps my senses, making me see betrayal in the face of one I love?

“Go,” I growl, my voice low and hard as bedrock. “Take your rumors with you.”

“I will, brother,” Sul replies, his eyes holding mine for one last terrible moment. “And I’ll serve you to the best of my ability. Whether you like it or not.”

With that, he turns and slips through the door. Only then do I allow an expletive to breathe out through my tightly-clenched teeth.“Morar juk!”I snarl. “Gods above and below damn and take us both.”

“Careful what you pray for. You never know when some god might actually be listening.”

I spring to my feet, a wordless cry on my lips, catching up my sword with one hand. The throne is a vast thing of black marble, carved in the image of coiling dragons and spreading wings. It takes up most of the dais, an effective screen for those needed to stand at the king’s back unseen: bodyguards or advisors, servants with pitchers ofkrilgeto refresh the king’s palate. I, however, had believed myself to be totally alone. “Who’s there?” I demand, brandishing my sword. “Reveal yourself!”

There’s a scuffling followed by a series of clinks. The next moment, a head covered in a deep, ratty old hood appears under the arch of one carved wing. I can discern nothing of her face save her jaw and part of her mouth. Even so, my breath catches. “Maylin.”

Though her garments are little more than rags, she wears a bounty of crystals strung on a many-stranded necklace. They lie across her shrunken chest, a queen’s ransom in glittering gems. They would look appropriate gracing the magnificent figure of Queen Roh, my father’s second wife. On this wizened little creature, leaning heavily on a crooked walking stick, they are pathetically incongruous.

She steps out from behind the throne and lifts her hooded head to gaze about the hall. It is a tremendous space, even by trolde standards. The last stirring brought down part of the ceiling on the south end, but otherwise it remains unscathed. The old woman shakes her head slowly, tongue clucking against her teeth. “Never thought I’d find myself here again. The last time I stood before this throne . . . well . . .” She shudders before turning to me. With a sweep of one hand, she pushes back her hood to reveal a wrinkled face with sharp cheekbones, pinched lips, and a jaw so sharp it might carve marble. Her eyes, blue and sparking like living sapphires, burn into mine.

My throat thickens. I’d know that face anywhere. Such a face no child ever forgets, regardless of the years, the separation, the pain. She’s aged, of course. But she remains my mother.

I let my sword arm drop. “What are you doing here, Maylin? You abandoned the Under Realm many turns of the cycle ago. Why return now?”

She tips her head to one side, thin strands of white hair falling across her narrow shoulders. “I brought you something. A present if you will.”

“I want nothing you have to offer.”

“You’ll want this.” With that, she reaches into the deep sleeve of her robe and withdraws a stone. It’s not unlike the gems on her necklace—pale blue, shining with a faint luminescence. Anurzulcrystal. The old witch holds it out, resting in the palm of her hand. It’s about the same length as my little finger, uncarved and unpolished. She hefts it a moment then tosses it to me.

I catch it before it strikes my forehead. “What is this?”

“You might call it a meter,” the witch replies, gripping her walking stick in both gnarled hands. “Or a gauge, perhaps.”

“I don’t understand.”

She smiles. A host of delicate wrinkles crease the face which has lived in my memory pristine and untouched by time. I cannot bear to look at her. Hastily, I drop my gaze to the crystal. There’s a deep stain in its center. Not something one would notice at first glance, but unmistakable now that I’ve seen it.

“One life,” the witch murmurs, her voice low and so like how I remember it. “One life entered the sacred waters under the watchful eye of the moon. One life entered, but two emerged, while the debt remains unpaid.”

My jaw clenches, teeth grinding. “I was prepared to pay the price. Any price the gods require.”

“And it will be paid. Sooner or later.”

She steps toward me. I spring back and half-raise my sword again. She stops, holding up one hand. “You may think me an unnatural mother, Vor. Perhaps I am. Perhaps the heart that once was warm and beating in my breast has hardened over time. But I am not without sympathy. I care about the fate of Mythanar and its people. I care about you.”

“You have a strange way of showing it.” The words fall bitterly from my tongue. “You walked away from all of us a long time ago and have not shown your face since.”

“There were many reasons why I left. Many more why I returned and made my home on the surface of your world, near enough to keep an eye on the goings on down below.”

“I care nothing for your reasons.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. You were but a child, forsaken by your mother. I did not expect you to forgive me then. I expect no forgiveness now.”

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