Page 74 of Heart of the Shadow King

He knows I could crush his skull with one hand and not break a sweat. Yet he goads me, layering his speech with unsubtle insults. I don’t know which I find more offensive, his use of the wordtrollorson.Both bring bile rising in my throat.

But our agreement, written and signed, keeps me in check. So, I stare ahead into that blinding glare, my gaze fixed on the indistinct silhouette of the king. I won’t blink, I won’t squint, no matter how my trolde eyes suffer. “Larongar,” I say in a loud voice so that all those gathered may hear, “I have honored the terms of our alliance and put your enemies to flight. Now you must in turn honor the familial bonds which unite us. Send your Miphates with me to Mythanar that I may make use of their power according to my need. In this way, we shall forever establish goodwill and friendship between Gavaria and the Under Realm.”

Larongar breathes out a gusty sigh. “Well said, well said, my boy. Very pretty, indeed. And you know, I am more than eager to offer you the loan of my mages for your little problem. Only I can’t just yet.”

I knew it was coming. I knew it all along. Nevertheless, hearing the refusal slip so glibly from his tongue sets my blood to boil. It is just as well I’ve left Lady Parh on the other side of the gate, or she would have laid into him at once. As it is, Artoris clears his throat and shifts in his saddle. “Your Majesty,” he begins, but I turn a sharp look his way, cutting him off abruptly.

“No,” Larongar continues, “I’m afraid I have a few more small tasks for you and your impressive fellows before I may deem Gavaria well and truly saved.”

“It will be my honor to perform whatever deeds are necessary,” I answer coldly, “when I return with your mages from the Under Realm.”

“Ah, that just won’t do, son. By the time you return, Ruvaen will have blazed a trail of destruction across half my kingdom. No, no, I need to see the pretty fae bastard soundly beaten and ousted from this world.”

I feel the magic of the written agreement tightening around my neck. But I’ve not yet shown my hand, and the knowledge brings a smile curling to my lips. I signal Lur, who slips away from my side, riding back through the gate while I hold the king’s attention.

“Larongar,” I say softly, “I have your child in my keeping.”

“Yes.” The king smiles. “My pretty daughter, myIlsevel,as it were.And she’s made you a good little wife, has she not?”

My stomach knots. I’d almost forgotten that Faraine’s name was legally changed for the sake of fulfilling the contract. “Not her,” I answer.

Larongar snorts. “You mean that son of mine, then. Yes, I thought he might serve well to sweeten the deal. So, what are you saying? If I don’t send my mages, you’ll have the boy killed?” He leans forward in his saddle, his teeth flashing in the harsh light of the rising sun. “Somehow, I don’t think our agreement will allow you to take such drastic measures. But even if you can, what does it matter? Theodre is a wastrel and an idiot.”

“Not him.”

In that moment, the air beneath the gate arch stirs. Parh appears, followed by Lur, who leads the two morleth bearing the sling behind her. I dismount, allowing my own morleth to flash out of existence, and stride swiftly to the sling. Ilsevel is so frail; lifting her in my arms is like bearing a cloud. I must take care not to let her float away.

I turn and face Larongar. The light of the rising sun shines full on his daughter’s face, which tips back from my shoulder and lolls across my arm. Her dark hair trails in tattered ribbons, and her skin looks ghastly gray as the curse strives to break through the stasis spell and end her life.

Larongar swears softly. Murmurs run through his company, voices laced with disbelief. The king holds up a hand and barks for silence. Then his gaze shifts from the girl back to me. “Is it really her?”

He knows better than most how easily a disguise spell might be wrought. I sneer at him and toss my head to indicate Artoris. “Ask your mage.”

Larongar turns to the Miphato, who looks pale and sick as he clings to his saddle. “Well, Artoris?” the king roars.

“It is,” the mage answers. “It is Ilsevel. The true Ilsevel.”

Larongar curses again and runs a hand down his face, pulling at the skin beneath his empty eye socket. “And how did you come by her, Shadow King? Have you had her all this time?”

“I have not. The gods saw fit to place her in my care.”

“Yes? And what have you done to her?” Rage flushes the king’s cheeks beneath his beard, and a vein stands out on his forehead. “Have you punished her for her sister’s deceit? It was not her fault, you know.”

“I know where the fault lies on that score,” I answer through clenched teeth. “Ilsevel sustained a wound at the battle of Evisar. A magicked wound, requiring witch-healing.”

Larongar turns to Artoris again, who nods in confirmation. “Hand her over then,” the king says. “I know a witch. I’ll take her there at once.”

“Send the Miphates with me,” I reply, “and I will give her to you.”

“No!” Larongar’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword. “You do not make demands of me, boy! You signed that agreement with your own name, sealing your fate. You’ve taken your bride and had your fun with her. Now you’ll do as you vowed.”

“I signed an agreement for Ilsevel.” I look down at her, at the line of her throat exposed before me, and the spreading spider-veins of the curse across her breast. “She is mine. To do with as I please.”

“You already have Faraine.”

“But the name on the contract was Ilsevel.”

“Faraine is Ilsevel!” Larongar bellows. His horse prances and tosses its head beneath him. “By the laws of our land, she took her dead sister’s name! She fulfills the contract.”

---