Page 82 of Heart of the Shadow King

“Yes. It was a mad attempt to force your hand and ultimately restore your reason. Hirsh was against it. But we knew you had to be the one to kill her or her spell over you would last beyond the grave. It is powerful magic, Vor. See how it controls you even now! How you refuse to do what must be done even in the face of this great tragedy.”

He’s right of course. It doesn’t matter what evidence he presents. Not even the sight of all those enstoned bodies lining the city streets, filling the palace halls and grounds. It doesn’t matter. Because I could never hurt Faraine. Not willingly. From the moment I first laid eyes on her, I’ve been a lost man. Before we’d exchanged more than a handful of words, my heart was no longer my own. No hurt, no pain, no lies have ever changed that. I don’t think they ever could.

Only now I must wonder if any of it was real. Did Faraine plant these feelings in me in that same instant she filled my soul with her restful calm? Has she been playing me all this time? Butwhy?It doesn’t make sense. Sul’s accusations, Faraine’s silence, the evidence of the ceremony and its victims . . . all form a compelling argument. But they cannot answer that one simple question: Why would she do it? Why would she play such an elaborate ruse? Why would she seek to destroy my city, my people? Even if she bore them some vendetta, it’s a great deal of trouble to go through for a people already facing the end of their world.

“What will you do now, Vor?”

Sul’s voice drags me back to the present. I turn to him, meeting his silent gaze. Though his face is carefully masked in an expression of unconcern, fear simmers behind his eyes. He knew what was coming. He saw it more clearly than I. He saw the destructive path down which I trod with such swift surety, and he did what he could to stop me. All to no avail. Now Mythanar suffers the consequences.

“There are survivors,” I say at last, my words heavy and low. “I passed some on my way up to the palace.”

“Yes. Those farthest from the Urzulhar were only partially caught injorand able to break free.”

“Then we are not wholly lost. We must preserve what is left of our people.” I draw upright, square my shoulders. Prepared to face the coming end. “Take your men into the city, Sul. Gather all who remain and guide them to the Between Gate. You must find a new home for them in worlds beyond. The human world . . . the caverns beneath their mountains are uninhabited. You may be able to carve out some sort of life.”

Sul watches me closely, offering no response or reaction to my words. I instruct him on the route to take back to the Gate, warn of the flooded passages and cave-ins I encountered on my way through, and he listens to every detail I have to offer. Only when I’m finished does he say, “And what of you, Vor?”

“I shall remain until the end,” I answer. “I’ll not abandon my city. Not again.”

Sul’s face is set in hard lines. He is so much older than when last we met. Time spent in exile, wandering the outer worlds has aged him. I had commanded the Between Gate be warded to prevent his reentry, so in the end, he traveled the long way round. A perilous voyage across the Hinter Sea brought him finally to the shores of our world. What was mere weeks for me was many turns of the cycle for him.

But he is still the same brother I once knew. He still boasts that insufferable charm and biting tongue. And he is still loyal to me.

I reach out, clasp his forearm fast. “When I am dead, and our world has fallen, you will be king of the troldefolk.”

“Vor—”

“You will guide them into their future. Be the leader they’ve needed all along.”

His hand grips my arm in response, his fingers tight as though unwilling to let go. “I never sought kingship, Vor. I haven’t the stomach for it. I’m not the man you are.”

“No. You are trolde through and through. The trueborn son of Gaur. It is right that the crown should fall to you.”

Sul grimaces, drawing a long breath through his teeth. Then, with a sharp tug, he drags me a step closer to him, gazes earnestly into my eyes. “If you must die, brother, at least do it free. Save yourself from this curse. Do what must be done.”

His words are like knives through my heart, a dangerous and deadly urge. Releasing my hold, I back away, putting both distance and shadows between us. “Go,” I say firmly. “Save our people.”

Sul remains for the count of three breaths. Both of us know the truth: this is the last time we will see one another alive. Despite all the bitterness between us, we neither of us want to let the other go. Not now. Part of me can never forgive Sul for what he did in slipping me that poison. Part of him will never forgive me for letting myself be drawn into a witch’s trap, just like our father. None of that matters now. What matters in the end is that we are kin. Blood born of blood, the last of our house in a world about to end.

Finally, Sul salutes, turns and strides down the passage, prepared to carry out my final command. Just before he reaches the bend in the corridor, however, he looks back. “Do one thing for me, Vor.”

“Yes?”

“Make sure Hael lives. Get her out before the end.”

And there it is. As good as a confession. With those few words, I hear the truth of my brother’s heart, the love he’s carried all these turns of the cycle for a woman he could never hope to deserve.

“She will live, brother,” I say. “And she will find you in the worlds beyond. I swear it.”

Sul nods. Then he pivots on heel and is gone.

I discover Madame Ar in the infirmary, standing at one of her worktables. Her body is hunched over some experiment, but her head is lifted in surprise. It’s difficult to discern her expression through the layers ofva-jorenwrapping her body. Did she fight the spell of enstonement when it struck? Or was the wave of magic simply too swift and terrible for her to feel anything at all?

I stop a moment by her side. Of all those I’ve encountered lost to this dreadful spell, this one hurts the most. Ar had always seemed impervious either to harm or change. She was present at my birth even as she was present at the birth of my father. It would not have surprised me if she outlived me, my children, and my children’s children.

In the end, not even Ar could avoid the dark fate coming for Mythanar.

I touch her hand once, reverently. Then, turning from her, I continue to the recovery room where Sul’s men brought Hael following her ordeal. The beds in the long hall are all full, most of them with enstoned individuals caught in the spell while they slept. In one bed halfway down the room, however, the blankets shift and stir. “Hael?” I say, hastening to touch her shoulder.

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