Page 52 of Heart of the Shadow King

“Excellent.” The queen lifts her gaze from me to the silent woman at my back. “Hael,” she says, before speaking a stream of troldish I do not understand.

Hael responds, her words uttered in a low growl.

“Good, good,” Roh says, slipping back into my own tongue. I’m half-tempted to reach for my former gift, to try to read her. Before I can make up my mind to attempt it, the queen inclines her head. “I will leave you to your business then,Aruka.Morar tor Grakanak targhed.”

With this blessing, she moves past me up the hall. Targ follows behind her, his every footstep rumbling the ground beneath his feet. He spares no more than a fleeting glance for me, but in that glance I feel once more that absolute hardness at his center.

Then they are gone. I am alone once more with just my bodyguard for company. “What did she say?” I ask, turning to peer up at Hael. “What did she want from you?”

Hael’s gaze coldly meets mine. “She asked if I remember the great truth of our people.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That the trolde spirit is a spirit of stone.”

“And what did you reply?”

Her eyelids drop, her gaze fixed on the floor at my feet. “I told her I never forget.”

Her words fall like great blocks of granite between us. I feel them blocking any way I might reach her. But I gave up trying to reach her long ago. If Hael’s true spirit is stone, why should she not embrace it? A spirit of stone is better than the alternative, is it not? Especially in light of all the loss she has suffered.

I turn and continue to the garden. Hael follows, keeping a wary eye on me but allowing me my freedom. It is easy enough here among the twisting pathways and outcroppings to forget I have a bodyguard at all.

I am nearly to the upper gardens when I notice the mothcats have not come to see me. This is a surprise; ordinarily they are all too eager to swarm me for attention. Even Cheep keeps out of sight. I touch a crystal and send out a pulse. Maylin has taught me how to summon, and mothcats are particularly sensitive tourzulinfluence. A few of the little beasts spring into view, but they disappear again almost at once. Strange. Something must have happened to make them nervous. A predator in the garden? A cave devil? Surely not. But something feels off, and instinct tells me not to ignore the feeling.

I am just beginning the final climb to the Urzulhar when a suddenpulldrags my attention to one side. It comes from the lake. I turn my head, grimacing. I’ve not been down that way since Vor left. The memories are too strong, making it difficult to hold onto myjor. But the pull comes again, unmistakable and insistent. It’s Maylin. I’m sure of it. She wants me to meet her there.

Breathing a curse through my lips, I change course. Soon the lake comes into view. The old witch stands silhouetted against the falls, her back to me as though unaware of my approach. What does she see when she gazes out across those gleaming waters, watching the cascades churn up foam and sparks of light? Vor once said this was a favorite haunt of hers. She would bring him here when he was small, even taught him to swim, a distinctly un-troldish pastime. It’s difficult to imagine this hard-edged woman demonstrating any warm or tender feeling, even for her own child.

The heat from the lake makes my skin prickle. I drop my hood and slip the cloak from my shoulders, leaving it on a stone bench as I move to stand beside the old woman. We are silent for some moments, she lost in her thoughts, me in mine. The memory of Vor and I tangled up with one another beneath the falls feels terribly far away. Though the pleasure we knew was real and profound, I cannot recall it with any clarity. I can’t even remember what it felt like to have his lips on mine. It’s like he’s—

“If you dwell on such feelings, you’ll undo all your good work.”

I startle at the witch’s sharp tone. My brow tightens, and I refuse to look at her as she turns, tipping her head back to look at me from under the edge of her deep hood. She studies me for some time in silence before heaving a sigh. “You’re still young,” she says, as though absolving me of guilt. “Young and fiery and in love. It cannot be helped.” She stretches out her crooked stick then, tapping me sharply in the shin. “But you’ll have to work twice as hard until you learn to control thejor.To keep it strong and ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice.”

“I am ready,” I say, resentment tinging my voice.

“Hmmm.” She tilts her head to one side, eyeing me closely. “Show me then.”

I stretch out my arm. My garment is a simple, sleeveless white gown, loosely belted at the waist. It allows me freedom of movement and does not easily tear when crystals suddenly erupt across my skin. I hiss through my teeth. My bones seem to vibrate with the frequency of the stones under my feet and in the lake. It’s almost, but not quite, painful.

Maylin watches, wordless. When the transformation is complete, she walks around me, tapping her stick against my limbs, my back, my chest, my head, seeking for weak spots. But I have been thorough. Crystals cover every inch of my body. “I can sustain it much longer,” I say with some pride. “Up to an hour. Maybe more.”

The witch grunts and comes to a stop in front of me, both hands gripping the head of her stick. “Good,” she says. “This is good. A worthy beginning.”

My heart is too deeply wrapped in stone to feel any warmth at her praise. I let the words wash over me—being, but not feeling. Maylin notices and grunts again, satisfied. “You have learned well, child. You have proven yourself to be everything I expected and more. You are ready now for your next lesson.”

I raise my brows slightly. “And what lesson is that?”

“You must send this power outward. It’s time you learned how to transform other living things to a state of stone. It is time you learnedva-jor.”

My heart gives a sudden kick. “I . . . I don’t want to kill anyone. Or anything.”

The old witch snorts. “You won’t.Va-joris neither life nor death, merely existence. Your tender conscience may rest easy.”

I shift my fractured gaze down to my glittering hands. Small crystals jut from each knuckle, harsh and yet beautiful. “I’m not certain I’m cut out for this.”

“You’re not. Which is why you must practice.” Maylin turns from me and lifts one of the crystals strung from her heavy necklace. A pulse goes out from it, apullnot unlike what I used to summon the mothcats. This pull is stronger, however. And what it summons is no mothcat.

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