Page 22 of WarBride

“And I will. But for now you must do as I bid. Let these women help you, let them see to your wounds. I will be along shortly.” She narrows her eyes, looking from me to them and back again, trying to decide whom she fears the least. “You are under my protection,” I say, hoping my voice is reassuring. “No man, woman, or creature in this whole encampment will dare lay a finger on you now.” For tonight at least.

The girl holds my gaze for a long moment. Then, with a short nod, she turns to the three women. They place her in their midst and guide her away, towering creatures, at least a head taller than she. But she lifts her chin imperiously, and though she is ragged and terribly mortal compared to their immortal beauty, still . . . I cannot explain it, but my eye is drawn to her. In a crowd of women, no matter how powerful their glamours, no matter how exquisitely crafted their perfections, I suspect I should still find myself seeking this girl’s face and form.

Grimacing, I glance down at my forearm, now bare to the naked eye. But I feel the constricting coils of thevelracord,tighter and more painful than I expected. It urges me to follow after her, to not let the girl out of sight. Only by sheer will do I refuse.

The moment the three women have disappeared with my bride, Kildorath turns on me. He steps in close, his shoulder against mine, and hisses through clenched teeth, “You’re a fool, Taar.”

“Careful, Kildorath,” Ashika warns with a dry chuckle. “Fool or not, he is your king.”

“What do I care?” Kildorath throws up his arm, turning to her and the others watching. “Our king should remember his duty to his people! He should not go buying himself a little human distraction while our companions’ remains have not yet been laid to rest with their forebearers.” He whirls on me once more. “You make a mockery of our sacred rites, you spit in the face of the Goddess, you—”

“Have done, Kildorath.” My voice is swift and final as a descending blade. “Speak no more or suffer your king’s wrath.”

He stares at me, breathing hard. Until this moment I would have said I could trust him with my life. Even when word of Shanaera’s death reached him, Kildorath sought me out, knelt before me, and swore his loyalty all over again, though I never asked it of him. He has been my faithful second and my friend for as long as I can remember. But this perceived betrayal may have pushed him too far.

Before anything dire can happen, Ashika steps between us. “What I should like to know,” she says, addressing me and planting her back firmly to Kildorath, turning herself into a living barrier, “is what you plan to do with the human. You cannot bring her home to the Hidden City. Humans are forbidden to enter there.”

I am well aware of the laws of our people. And I have no intention of bringing that girl anywhere near my city. “That ismy concern, not yours,” I say. “For now I want all of you to gather your things and set out for Cruor tonight. Go to the Luin Stone and await me there for one day but no longer. If I do not join you, you are to proceed to the Hidden City. Our people have been undefended for too long.”

Kildorath looks as though he will fight. I wouldn’t put it past him to challenge me for the kingship itself, so intense is his wrath. In the end, however, he turns away and sets to work disassembling hisdakath. His licorneir, Miramenor, a strong beast with a golden hide which shimmers with inner fire, approaches and bumps his shoulder, offering comfort. Kildorath pushes it away and refuses to meet its eye.

With a sigh, I turn to find Elydark approaching. He hung back throughout the ceremony, not joining the other licorneir in song. No doubt he disapproves of my recent choices as well. And no doubt I’m about to hear of it.

Vellar,he says, his eyes solemn, his song a rumble in my soul.What have you done?

I don’t know exactly.I run a hand down my face.I’m still trying to figure it out.

Thevelrabonds are divinely ordained. You cannot break them without severe consequence.

It’s nothing I don’t already know. But I can’t very well back down now.I’m not sure how sacred this bond is, made under duress.

My licorneir shakes his mane, the sharp blade of his horn flashing in the firelight.The ways of the Mother Goddess are strange. Even my kind sometimes struggle to understand.

That’s not terribly encouraging, brother-soul.

Perhaps not. But it is the truth.

9

ILSEVEL

The last thing—thevery last thing—I want is to cling to the terrifying man who bought me and beg him not to send me from his presence. Something tells me that would give decidedly the wrong impression.

Besides, when it comes down to it, who do I fear more: these tall, solemn-faced ladies? Or the battle-scarred warlord who, in recent history, has struck me unconscious, tossed me in a cage, bought me with silver, and performed some sort of unnerving handfasting ceremony with me entirely without my consent? The answer should be self-evident.

Nevertheless, I find myself oddly reluctant to step in among that trio of dusky-skinned, yellow-eyed beauties. There’s something indescribably deadly about them: like they might know how to draw out an excruciating death by hours or days. Even years if they wished.

But I’m not about to make a fool of myself. If they’re going to march me off to devour me with a side of blood wine, I’ll at least make a show of courage. I don’t know how much I believe the warlord’s insistence that no one will dare touch me. He seems confident enough, but the fae are tricky bastards. For all I know, this is part of some elaborate game, luring me into false security.I’ll stay on my guard. And the moment I see an opportunity, I’ll escape.

Wait for me, Aurae,I silently plea, like a prayer. Let any good angel that might linger in this place carry my voice to my sister.I’m going to find you, just . . . wait for me.

The world has somehow grown darker since the warlord took me out of the main encampment. More of the fires have burned down low, but none of the shapes surrounding them seem to be idling toward sleep. There’s an air of increased excitement and impending mayhem everywhere I turn. Thankfully the three women provide a sort of living shield around me. I only catch stray glimpses between their tall, robed forms—a leering mouth, a flash of tooth, a pair of forms contorted in strange, violent configurations.

We come to a small, stone building set a little apart from the tents. Figures come and go through its open door, but, at a single word from the tallest of my three escorts, everyone inside vacates at once. The women strip me of my stinking, torn clothes and make me stand in a pool of cold water, right there in the middle of the stone chamber. Streams of water summoned as though by magic pour from various pipes along the ceiling and douse me in an icy flood. It bites, and I yelp. Then I lean into it, welcoming both the pain and the discomfort. At least it’s a distraction from the faraway scream in the back of my head.

Ungentle and vigorous, the women set to work scrubbing me down with pumice stones and rough cloths. I utter a mewling protest, but they give me such looks, I immediately shut my mouth, hold out my arms, and submit to their ministrations. They are agonizingly thorough. I’m raw and half-frozen by the time they pull me from the water and apply soft towels to my skin. Then they set to work on other parts of my body—my ragged nails, my snarled hair, my feet, my neck.

When they pay special attention to my loins, suspicion rises, a cold knot in my throat. I swallow it down, let it burn up in the furnace of fury roiling in my breast. In my mind’s eye, I see again that dark warlord. His handsome face, so chiseled and fine, seems to fill the whole of my vision. I feel again the strength of his hand clasping mine as he made those solemn vows.

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