Page 80 of Heart of the Shadow King

My thoughts careen wildly from blind panic to bargaining to self-condemnation, all without the relief ofjorto shield me. This room is a truly effective prison for one with my powers. It must be the chamber Maylin spoke of, the one Gaur equipped to contain her. Did she too hang here in the dark while others prepared her fate?

Maylin . . .

She tricked me. It’s so clear now. Perhaps if I wasn’t so blinded by my own arrogance, I would have seen the truth from the beginning. But I see it now: She never intended for me to face the dragon. How could she? My gift is unsuited for such a mighty task. She did not seek to save the Under Realm; she only wanted vengeance. Against Gaur. Against Mythanar. Against all those who used her, who wrung her out like a rag, squeezing every last drop of power from her soul. They took her love and bled him out before her eyes. Is it any wonder she longed to make them pay?

So, she used me to accomplish her dirty work. Manipulated and molded me into the perfect weapon for her malice, all the while feeding me pretty stories and promises. Only to abandon me. To flee the scene of our crime and leave me to take the blame.

Well, what does it matter? It wasn’t she who sent that spell blasting across a city full of innocents. It wasn’t she who channeled the power of Hael’s lifeblood, who drew on the profound resonance of the Urzulhar. Yes, she may have orchestrated events. But no one forced me to comply. I have no one to blame but myself.

Oh Vor! Vor, why don’t you come? Come and kill me if you must, only come and put an end to this torment. My soul cries out for him again and again to no avail. Because Vor is gone. Far from this world. Perhaps he is dead. Perhaps I cannot hope for deliverance. But is that not better? I would rather die a slow, torturous death, than let Vor see what I have done. What I have become.

The door opens.

Blinding light spills through, stabbing my eyeballs, piercing my skull. I gasp and twist in my chains. Someone stands in the doorway. I know him, even before my shocked vision clears. It could only be Vor. Who else? Whether he’s real or an illusion conjured by my tormented brain I cannot and will not guess. All I know is he’s here, holding alorststone in one hand. Looking at me like he’s never seen me before. Like I’m some dark thing crawled out from the pit of hell.

“Gods, Faraine,” he breathes at last. “What has he done to you?”

The sound of his voice cuts me to the quick. In that moment, I know it’s true. He’s really here. Returned to me, the answer to all my most desperate prayers. I could curse the gods for listening.

Turning slowly, chains creaking, I lift my heavy head and peer at him through snarled locks of hair. The look on his face . . . he’s not looked at me like that since our wedding night. Since that horrible moment when everything he believed to be true about his bride was revealed to be a lie. When he discovered an imposter lying beside him in his bed.

I deserve it. That horror, that shock. I am not what he let himself believe—a pure princess, a true and loyal wife. No. I am a monster. A murderer. Covered in my victim’s remains.

I don’t know how long we remain in this state of suspended silence, staring at one another. I cannot find the strength to speak. I can do nothing but drink in the sight of him, a sight for which I’ve thirsted. Gods above, why must he be so beautiful? Stripped of his armor, wearing nothing but a loose black undershirt, the ties undone to reveal the swell of his powerful chest. Hazards of war have lined his face, but nothing can alter the magnificence of his form. Even now, chained up, haggard, filled with self-loathing though I am, I cannot help the jump in my heart and the warmth which floods my veins at the mere sight of him.

He steps into the chamber. The hand which holds thelorststone trembles, casting wavery pale light into all but the darkest corners of my prison cell. He is alone; that is a mercy at least. I could not bear to face him in front of witnesses. His eyes move slowly down my elongated body, noting the unusual rips and tears in my gown, all those places wherejorcrystals protruded. The crystals are gone now, leaving only bare flesh to be glimpsed through the holes in my garments. Flesh covered in blood, dust, dirt, and debris, hardly a tempting sight. It must be only my deluded desperation which tries to convince me of the lust momentarily flashing in the depths of his eyes.

He approaches me slowly, one hand outstretched to touch the manacle clutching my right arm over my head. His fingertips trail ever so lightly against the flesh of my wrist. A thrill shoots straight to my core. I catch my breath, close my eyes, ashamed and humiliated.

“Please, Faraine.” His voice rumbles softly, a low growl. “Please, tell me none of it is true.”

When I try to speak, no words will come. My lips move without sound.

“Sul is here. He risked everything to break his banishment. And he tells me it was you. All those people throughout the city. The streets filled with bodies, trapped in stone. He says you colluded with Targ. Used your gods-gift to cast theva-jorspell.”

Were my gift not suppressed by this cursed lead, his pain would overwhelm me. It might even kill me. As it is, I feel only my own pain, my own shame, threatening to drag me into its depths and drown me.

“Say the word, Faraine,” Vor urges. “Tell me my brother lies. Tell me, and I will even now march from this chamber and slay him where he stands for daring to lay a finger on you, for daring to let such slander cross his lips. Say it, my love. Let me be your vengeance.”

Slowly, I open my eyes, gaze up into his beautiful face, which so earnestly studies mine. I would give anything, absolutely anything to be what he needs. What he wants. What he desires. To transform myself into the woman he thought he loved.

“Faraine,” he says again, his voice dropping to a painful rasp. “Lie to me. Grant me that grace at least.”

But I cannot.

With a strangled groan, he turns away, both hands gripping the hair close to his scalp, as though he would tear his own head from his shoulders and dash it to the floor. Then he half collapses against the wall, arms stiff, breath ragged. I stare at his broad back straining the seams of his shirt, stare at the strands of white, silken hair flowing across his shoulders. Even in this attitude of defeat, his strength and breadth awe me. Here is a warrior who could rip his foes in half with his bare hands. A man among men, be they mortal or fae. Yet I have done this to him. Brought him low, nearly broken him. I want to cry out his name, to beg his forgiveness. But I haven’t the courage.

“Sul wants me to kill you.” Vor’s voice is softer now, speaking the words with careful control. “He claims you have used witchcraft to manipulate me. To drive me into your world to serve your father while you in turn tore my world apart. He says he tried to stop you, but your control over me was too strong. Only when I was gone, was he finally able to return and make his play against you, marching into Mythanar with warriors he’d gathered from across the Under Realm. They have taken precautions, he says, to prevent your witchery from overcoming their wills. Long enough for him to take you captive.” He turns at last, pins me with his gaze. “But he was too late. By the time he arrived, you had already done it. Made Hael your sacrifice and entrapped my city in stone.”

My dry lips part. “Hael?” I croak painfully. “Is she . . . ?”

The shadows cast by thelorstdeepen around his eyes. “Alive.”

I breathe out a sigh, drop my chin to my chest. At least I don’t bear that death on my conscience.

Vor takes a swift step forward, catches my chin in his hand, and forces me to look at him. His eyes are hot, blazing with dangerous fire. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it passion. But I do know better. This isn’t passion. This is hatred. And horror. “I have no means of protection against you,” he says. “Only your death.”

My heart jumps to my throat, throbbing.

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