Page 54 of WarBride

Elydark responds by pulling up abruptly, half-rearing and tossing his horn.You are wrong,he says.You are wrong, brother-soul. You are bound to her by the vows you made.

Vows spoken under duress are not binding.I speak the truth with absolute conviction and drive my heels into Elydark’s flanks, determined to leave this place. I must go, and quickly. I must get away from her before . . . before . . .

Another searing pain races up my arm, bursts in my head, and ripples through my body. With that pain, something else awakens—something dark and deep. Head swimming, I look down at the stitched-up cut on my bicep. Am I seeing things? Is the skin beneath those stitches blackening before my gaze? Darktendrils shoot out from it, eating into my flesh, crawling up my shoulder.

Virulium.The truth hits me like a blow. Lurodos slashed me with a blade stained with his own poisoned blood. And now that poison is spreading.

Vellar?Elydark’s voice bugles in my mind, frantic and furious. But I cannot answer. My eyes roll back in my head. I slip from the saddle, fall, and collapse in the dirt on the side of the road, even as darkness swarms in to claim me.

19

ILSEVEL

At some point, I suppose, I’m going to have to come up with some sort of plan.

My feet move of their own accord, one step after the other. They don’t seem concerned with avoiding the puddles in the road, but splash through them, soaking the hem of my gown. I feel strangely disconnected from those feet, from this body. From this whole world. But soon I’m going to have to face other people again, going to have to give them my name, tell them my story.

Or what if I don’t? By now everyone in this part of the country must know about the temple’s destruction. Soon word will spread, and my father will hear of my disappearance and presumed death. He will rage at the loss but not mourn, and swiftly turn to scheming up ways to salvage the alliance with the Shadow King. My mother might shed a tear, and Faraine will certainly weep for the loss of her two sisters. But does that necessarily mean I must return to them, to offer them comfort? To step back into the role King Larongar determined for me?

Will I marry the Shadow King after all?

Bitterness burns in my belly. All my desperate scheming, and what did I accomplish in the end? My letter brought Artoris to the temple and, with him, the fae. Had I never written to him, had I simply submitted to my father’s will, married the man he chose, stepped into the life ordained for me . . . so many lives would have been spared.

Perhaps it is best for me to return. To learn the meaning of submission, to bow my head, lower my voice, and be the version of myself that is needed. Like Faraine. Gods, why could I not have modeled myself after my elder sister to begin with? If I had, maybe Aurae would still be alive.

Besides now I’ve seen the ravages of the fae invaders for myself. I’ve looked into the eye of Prince Ruvaen and known him for the monster he is. My teeth set in a grim, fierce smile. If marriage to the Shadow King is the only revenge within my grasp, so be it. I will marry him. And he and his monstrous warriors will sweep through the ranks of the fae, slaughtering them like pigs. So will my sister’s death be avenged.

Plod, plod, plod.My heavy feet carry me down the center of the street into the town. All is strangely silent. Perhaps the rain drove everyone inside, though I’m not sure this accounts for the ghostly stillness in the air. Someone will spot me soon though, surely. Will it be difficult to convince them of my identity? I lift my head and look to the ridge across the valley where Lamruil’s temple stood. Smoke still rises from the ruins. That conflagration must have been visible for miles around. Perhaps the townsfolk fled into the surrounding forests when they saw it, fearing the fae would set upon their town next.

I proceed to the center of town where the largest of the houses stand in a square, facing one another. All their windows are empty, their doors shut fast. No one steps out to greet me. “Hullo?” I call, my voice echoing strangely. No response save for a cold wind, which snaps through my cloak.

With a sigh I turn to the largest house, a three-story structure built of local stone, shingled instead of thatched, with proper glass panes in the front windows, likely the home of the town elder. It seems as good a place as any to wait for the townsfolk to return. I take a step toward that fastened door, intending to knock, hoping someone inside will hear me.

Before I can take a second step, however, a bugling cry echoes up the street behind me. My heavy heart lurches. I whirl on heel. To my utmost surprise, the big red unicorn gallops down the street, heading straight toward me. Huge and powerful, the glow of his spirit so bright, bursting out of the confines of his physical flesh in tongues of flame, he is a magnificent creature in any setting. But here, in contrast to these gray buildings and this potholed street, he is positively terrifying.

Taar is not with him. My brow tightens. Something must be wrong. The last I saw him, the warlord had turned this beast’s head about, and they were galloping swiftly across the damp landscape, eager to see the last of me and my world. Why would the unicorn return alone?

I brace myself, clutching the bag of supplies Taar gave me against my chest, and wait for the unicorn to draw near. Some small part of me half-expects the mighty creature to run me through the heart with his horn, though for what reason, I can’t say. I’ve gotten the distinct impression the unicorn does not care for me. Call it a hunch.

To my relief, however, he stops a few paces from me, tosses his fiery head, and trumpets another bugling cry that echoes up and down the fear-frozen street. I scowl up at him. “What?” I demand.

The beast lowers his head again, looking at me. In his burning eyes, I feel rather than hear a strange but undeniable . . . song. Like the music of his soul, full of meaning far deeper than words, meaning just beyond my ability to fully grasp or comprehend. I can only pick up bits and pieces: fear, tension. Distress.

“Has something happened to your master?” I ask.

The unicorn snorts fire and paws at the ground with one hoof. I bite the inside of my cheek, uncertain what to do. I only just parted from the warlord less than half an hour ago. What could possibly have befallen him between now and then? Did he runinto a party of Miphates? Surely I would have heard or seen something.

But I can’t deny the reality of this massive unicorn, standing here, huge and burning and . . . andsingingat me. Singing a song I cannot hear but which I feel in my bones. It’s eerie and a bit painful and absolutely impossible to ignore.

I glance around at the empty town once more. Still no sign of anyone. What am I supposed to do? Will I simply enter one of their houses, pop my feet up on a stool, and wait for the townsfolk to return? Or I could go with this unicorn and . . .

Shaking my head, I turn to the beast again. “Whatever it is, whatever has happened, it is none of my concern. Your master and I have parted ways. We’re done.”

The unicorn’s eyes flash. He snorts and stomps. Tongues of fire spring up from the paving stones around his hoof. I leap back a pace or two, then glare at him. “I don’t owe him anything!” I snarl. “So he saved my life . . . what of it? He also endangered it in the first place. We’re done. We’redone,do you understand me?”

The great beast begins pacing back and forth, the song rippling from its spirit so urgent, so desperate. I feel that song pushing, pushing, pushing inside my head, as though trying to force meaning into my incomprehension. Finally it bursts through, and I hear what almost sounds like a word, only it’s clearer than a word. More like a force.

Please.

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