Page 90 of Heart of the Shadow King

I drag in another gulp of air, hold it. Fight to ground myself in reality. Everything is hazy and uncertain, the world around me a dizzying confusion of shadows. A steady pulse beats against my ear. A heartbeat? Yes, and I seem to be resting against a broad, powerful chest, cradled in strong arms. Oh gods. Am I being carried again? That’s the last thing I want. But when I try to push against that hold, my limbs will not obey. I’m limp, small.

Moaning, I turn my head. I want to hide, to shield myself from my own shame. Instead, I inhale a powerful scent. Vor’s scent: stone and earth and heat. Which means these must be Vor’s arms. My mind is cloudy. What has happened? Struggle though I might, I cannot form a clear memory, and the crystals in the walls are all singing out at such a pitch. It’s like I can hear each one individually, no matter how small—not a harmony but a cacophony of voices, all hitting me at once. It’s torture. I should call upjorto protect myself, but . . . but . . . The feel of Vor’s arms around me. The scent of him, the throb of his heartbeat. How I have longed for these things! Things I won’t be able to feel throughjor.Is this pleasure worth this pain?

Vor stops abruptly. “I think this is it,” he mutters, talking to himself rather than to me. His breath is labored, his chest heaving. He looks around the cavernous space. There are fewlorstlights left, but his trolde eyes are better adapted to the dark. “Nothing looks familiar anymore, the damage is so great. But I think this is where the infirmary door stood.”

A pile of rock half-buries a doorway. If this is the infirmary, no one is getting in or out. Vor curses softly. Casting about, he spies a small alcove and hastens to tuck me into it. He startles when he catches my eye. He’d not realized I was conscious. A flood of fresh feeling rolls out from him. He is already pulsing with fear, but this new pulse is deeper, darker. Dread mingled inextricably with desire. It hits me like a fist to the gut, and I recoil. He steps back, and the pain immediately lessens. But now I want to cry out at the lack of his touch, hungry to maintain contact with him at whatever cost. I cannot speak. Cannot move. I can only look up at him, desperately holding his gaze.

“I must try to reach Hael,” he says, his voice carefully modulated but unable to disguise the horror underscoring each word. “And your brother. He’s in there too.”

I nod, though I hardly comprehend what he’s saying. Leaning against the wall, my skin is in direct contact with too manyurzulstones. Their screaming splits my awareness into two realms of existence—the physical realm I share with Vor, and the realm of soul where my gods-gift burns.

Vor looks as though he wants to say something more. His lips part. For a moment the fear pounding in his soul subsides, making room for both love and grief. Then the world shakes again. A small stirring, threatening a larger one to come.

“Go,” I say softly. “Get them out.”

Vor’s lip curls, teeth flashing in a determined grimace. He turns and hurls himself at the big blocks of fallen masonry blocking that door. I wish I could help him. In this weakened state, I’m not much use. I never was. Even after all that training, all that pain, sacrifice, and blood. What did I accomplish in the end? The people of Mythanar are trapped in stone. And still the dragon rises.

A flutter of sensation touches my awareness. It’s gone in an instant only to return a few breaths later. This time, accompanied by apull.My heart stops. My breath catches. I’ve felt this compulsion before. And I know who’s doing it, I know where it’s coming from. Should I answer? Dare I, after everything I’ve done already?

Can I possibly make something right out of all this wrongness?

Before I come to a decision, another quake rocks the world. I gasp, flinging out my arms for balance. Vor gives a wordless shout, turning toward me. He takes a step, but a shower of dust and debris falls between us, obscuring him from my vision. With a hideous groan, a great chunk of stalactite breaks, falls, smashes to the floor.

The stirring ends. Dust settles, streaming from the great blockade of stone between me and the end of the hall. For a moment, I hear nothing but the growling roar of stone settling all around me and the pounding of blood in my ears.

“Faraine!”

My heart gives a painful thud, relearning how to beat. Vor. He’s alive. He wasn’t crushed under that stalactite. He’s alive and maybe . . . maybe . . .

“Faraine, are you there? Answer me!”

Sounds of scrabbling, scraping reach me. He’s trying to dig through that barrier, trying to reach me. I listen, unable to make myself answer his frantic cries. Instead, I look down at my hands, scratched and bleeding in numerous places. It is the work of a moment to open some of those smaller cuts, to coax fresh blood to flow. I press both hands against the wall, offering up this small sacrifice. The screaming crystals erupt in my head, a catastrophic symphony of pain, pain,pain.I close my eyes, bow my head. Force my will, my spirit into that deeper space beneath the pain, down to the pit of emptiness.

From that pit, I summonjor.Wrap it tight around me. Harden my heart, my soul, my body from the inside out. The crystals hurt when they push through my skin. I don’t care. Not anymore. What is a little pain to me? Pain is a concern of the flesh, not stone. I blink slowly, crystal-crusted lids falling across faceted eyes. Theurzulcontinue screaming, but now their screams simply bounce off my protective covering. Nothing can touch me. Not anymore. I am indestructible.

I turn back to the wall of broken stone between me and Vor. His frantic voice cries out my name. He still thinks he can save me. But that time is past. Approaching the rock, I place one hand against it, feel theurzulwithin its broken pieces.Don’t come after me, Vor.My voice is flat, cold. It travels through the crystals, meaning carried in their resonance.

“Morar juk!”Vor growls. “Faraine, is that you? Wait there, my love, wait! I’m coming for you!”

I let my heavy eyelids fall once more, bowing my head as I send the feelings through the stone.Get Hael. And my brother. They deserve to be saved.

“What is this?” Vor’s voice deepens, a terrifying growl. “Faraine, what are you doing? What are you trying to tell me?”

For an instant, myjortrembles. The desperation of his voice is almost enough to undo me. But then the world shakes again. There is no time left. For what I must do, I must be hard to the core. Let no emotion weaken me, neither fear, nor anger. Nor love.

I say nothing. I simply turn and, as the walls of the palace undulate on either side of me, as the stalactites overhead break and fall, shattering unfelt against my shoulders, make my way through the ruins of this once glorious palace. Many silent, stone-wrapped trolde watch me with unseeing eyes as I pass, oblivious to the end of their world. That is my gift to them. And my curse.

Thepullcomes again, stronger than before. I run to answer. When I come to barriers, a swipe of my arm is enough to shatter stone, and I pass through in a cloud of dust, unstoppable in purpose. My fate is here. I am ready, eager to embrace it.

The palace gardens are swathed in deep darkness. All the lights of the living gems are doused, buried under rubble. The very air vibrates with the constant rumble beneath my feet. Several times, I lose my footing, nearly fall into one of the fissures breaking apart this world. Heat and smoke rise simmering from below. I lift my gaze to the Urzulhar. Thepullcalls me again but . . . where are the stones? Panic thrums, struggling to penetrate myjor.Surely, they must still be intact if they are calling to me like this. Surely, they’ve not been destroyed. Because if they are, it’s too late. I cannot hope to face Arraog without their resonance. I cannot . . . I cannot . . .

No thinking. No faltering. No weakness. Thepulldraws me on, and I follow it. I climb the last of the rise, using my hands as much as my feet. A terrible break runs up one side of the slope, and intermittent plumes of steam belch from its depths. I force myself onward until at last I reach the crest of the rise.

The Urzulhar.

They are gone.

Of the seven main crystals, only one remains upright and whole. The others are all either toppled or smashed into glittering shards. The minor stones have fared worse, broken pieces scattered everywhere. The troldefolk trapped inva-jorare still here, battered and partially buried. The stone-wrapped form of Queen Roh seems to stare out at me from her eternally fear-widened eyes, accusing and pleading by turns.

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