Page 81 of Heart of the Shadow King

“Sul says it is the only way I can be free of your spell. He tells me I must kill you. With my own hands. That, or you will haunt me even from beyond the grave.”

His hand moves from my chin, sliding across my cheek to the base of my skull, fingers tangling in my hair. Fear and longing war in my blood. When his gaze drops to my lips, my breath catches.

“I fear you will haunt me even so,” he growls. “Until the lastlorstgoes out. When the final stone crushes the gasping breath from my lungs, you will be with me, those strange eyes of yours compelling me even unto death. Making me forget who I am. Making me forget what I owe these people entrusted to my care. Making me forget everything save how much I need you. All of you.”

His face lowers to mine, his lips hovering in that little space between us. I breathe in his air. It is life to me. Bound as I am, I can neither move to claim him nor to flee him. I am trapped in this suspense of longing, lust, and shame.

“Tell me I’ve got it all wrong,” he whispers. “Tell me you’ve never altered my feelings. Tell me everything between us is true.”

How can I? I do not trust myself. I could never ask him to trust me. Not again.

“You should kill me, Vor.” I breathe the words against his lips. “You should kill me for what I’ve done. Kill me and be free.”

He yanks back. His pale eyes search my face as though trying to see through a mask, to discern the hidden secret of my soul. Whatever he sees sparks anguish. He turns away, pulling his hand from my hair, leaving a cold empty space at my neck. Retreating several paces, he puts his back to me once more.

“I could never kill you, Faraine,” he says at last. “To kill you would be to kill myself. I do not deserve such mercy. So, I will live on. And do what I can for the remnants of my people. Which means you must live as well.” He smooths back his hair with both hands, draws a long breath. Exhaling slowly, he straightens his shoulders and turns to face me once again. In this moment, he looks like a man who has enteredjor,so hard and immobile has his face become. “Arrangements will be made for your departure. You cannot be here, and I cannot kill you. So, you must go. Until all is ready, you will remain in this chamber. For your own safety. And for mine.” His eyes rove to the chains above my head, his expression considering. But he doesn’t dare unbind me. Not after everything I’ve done. Instead, he asks, “Have they seen to your needs?”

As foul and begrimed as I am, I wonder why he bothers to ask. I shake my head.

“I will send a servant,” he says. “I don’t know how long it will take to prepare your journey. I won’t leave you like this in the meanwhile.”

If only I could protest. If only I dared remind him I have nowhere to go, no home, no shelter. No place where I can flee what I have done or who I have become. There is no life for me beyond these four walls. It would be better if it ended here and now.

But I say nothing.

“I fought so long, Faraine,” he whispers, his soft words resounding in the profound stillness. “I wrestled in my soul over the bitter choice: my kingdom or my bride. In the end, it seemed there was no choice at all. There was only you.” He bows his head, a foul word spitting from his lips. Then, in a ragged snarl: “I should have been wiser. But you made me a fool.”

With those words, he turns for the door. And this is it, the last sight I will have of him. Though I fear it will tear my heart in two, I lift my head, gaze after those bowed shoulders and that retreating back as he makes his escape, carrying thelorstlight with him.

The cell door slams.

Darkness closes in, claiming me once more.

34

VOR

“I take it you didn’t kill the witch then.”

I climb the last turn of the stairway leading up from a dungeon cell I had not previously known existed. A cell created right here in my own palace for the express purpose of containing my gods-gifted wife and those like her. What a strange world I’ve returned to.

Sul leans against the wall outside the stairwell. His manner is so easy and familiar. I don’t for a moment know what to make of it. I slump against the wall beside him, tipping my head back to stare up at the ceiling. Innumerable ragged cracks run through the stalactites overhead. It won’t take much of a stirring to bring them all down. This whole palace will soon be nothing more than a pile of rubble. The truth is, I’ve known my entire life this end was coming. I knew, but I didn’t really believe it. We dreaded the doom of our world for so long, we grew complacent. Now it is upon us, but who is left to care?

Sul looks at me long and hard, his arms crossed, his chin tucked. When I offer him no answer, he says, “She didn’t deny it though, did she?”

I shake my head.

“So, you believe me at last.”

I do. Even before I saw her, I believed him, though I wanted to pretend otherwise. Because I know her power and its strange connection to the Urzulhar. I’ve seen the wonders of that power in action. How could I not suspect Targ would jump at the chance to use such a magnificent gift? But I was so distracted by worry for her safety, I never stopped to consider how dangerous she might be.

I close my eyes. My mind reels with the revelations my brother shared in the throne room, witnessed by his silent retinue. Apparently, Sul has for many turns of the cycle been a member of a secret order established to stand against the Children of Arraog. They have long been working in opposition, since the time of the Triune Devastation, when the three cities fell to ruin on the same day. Sul informs me that disaster was wrought by the previous gods-gifted woman thought to embody the Fist of the Deeper Dark—my mother.

Damn me, am I fated to spend my days embroiled with powerful, problematic women?

“We suspected your Gavarian princess might be another like the former queen, though we had no proof of her specific power,” Sul explained. “The way you reacted to her—how hard you fell for her, despite her distinct lack of charm—how you held onto her even following the revelation of her betrayal—all seemed to indicate the influence of witchcraft. There are numerous accounts of the previouskurspari-glurmanipulating the feelings of others. We believed the princess was doing the same. Old Hirsh”—he indicates the milk-eyed man who escorted me—“was for slipping lead into your drink to build up your defenses against her influence, but I feared it would cause you great harm, half-human as you are.”

“So, you slipped meraoginstead,” I growled. “First into my drink; then into the mouth of a bathhouse whore.”

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