Page 61 of WarBride

But when I look down at my chest, the ugly stains of virulium blot my skin. I know those stains. And I know as well this aftershock of burning in my veins which accompanies the come-down following a demon-rage. If that was real, then what about . . .

I shift my gaze, desperation suddenly twisting my heart. And there! I see her—that little figure, huddled in a Licornyn cloak a few feet away from me, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up legs, her chin resting on her knees. She’s staring off down the river, watching the water rush away into the night.

My warbride.

At first I don’t even try to fathom what she is doing here. I simply sit, still and quiet, drinking in the nearness of her. Drinking in the truth that my last remembered vision of her, standing in the middle of that road, pale and forlorn before the backdrop of that human village, was not my last vision after all. Somehow fate has drawn us back together; for the moment I won’t worry how or why. Relief floods my soul, and I let it come, let it wash over me. My eyes, hungry for her, take in every little detail they can soak up—that dark spot on her cheek, the deep furrow of her brow, the way her lower lip protrudes in a naturalpout that is indescribably tempting. Other details clarify more slowly, such as the tears staining her cheeks. And the way she keeps surreptitiously rubbing her forearm.

That final detail sets off something in my head. Slowly I look down at my own forearm, resting on the ground beside me. It still aches, but with remembered rather than present pain. The reality of the vanishedvelracord remains. I can almost see it glinting there, a delicate thread of gold, the coils slack for the moment, but binding. Though there is nothing overtly visible, my eyes seem to follow those coils, tracing the pattern they make on the ground as they lead inevitably to . . . her.

She meets my gaze when it lands upon her again. That stern brow of hers tightens. “Warlord,” she says, her voice cold.

I grunt. Not, perhaps, the most courteous response, but the best I can manage in my current state. I push upright and glance down at my freshy-stitched wound again. It’s a miracle to see healthy flesh and no trace of black stain.

Memories stir—images of screaming strangers fleeing before me. And that voice in my head that I remember too well, urging me to carnage. Then her. This girl, her face appearing through the darkness like a burst of sunlight. Did she . . . did she sing over me? Was that her voice I heard, blending with Elydark’s in a song of power, coursing through my veins? Surely that cannot be. Licorneir only bond to one rider at a time, and only that rider is gifted with the ability to hear his mount’s unique song. It is a sacred thing, the soul-bond, not something a third party may enter into.

And yet Elydark could not channel the healing power of his magic directly. The force of his song would have killed me, incinerating me from the inside out. That degree of power, of pure, raw magic, must be filtered, or it is too intense, too wild, for creatures of flesh and blood to endure.

It’s more than I can fathom. Not with my head still pounding and my body aching and the near brush with death still hovering on the edges of my awareness. Breathing out a sigh, I lean back against the saddlebags, tilting my head to gaze up at the sky. The stars gleam and dance, mocking me faintly with their airy freedom. A thin sliver of moon sails just above the treetops, offering enough light for my half-breed eyes to discern the world around me almost as clear as day. I breathe in another lungful of magic-depleted air, nauseated at the prospect of spending the night in this realm. But I’m not strong enough just now to reenter Wanfriel. For the time being it’s safer to remain where we are.

The girl coughs. Not an actual cough, but a pointed clearing of her throat. It draws my gaze back to hers. She peers at me rather uncertainly. Her human eyes do not see well in the dark. “Your unicorn,” she says without preamble. “He fetched me back.”

A frown pulls the corners of my mouth. I turn again to the wavery impression of Elydark, standing among the trees some little distance off, keeping watch. He does not look my way, but his feelings are as open to me as ever when I reach for them: anxiety mingled with relief, all underscored by a certain resentment. He blames me for this entire situation. And he isn’t wrong to do so.

Heaving a sigh, I push upright once more, facing the girl. “Did you . . . ?” I hardly know how to phrase my question so simply nod at my wounded arm.

“Yes,” she answers shortly. “I didn’t know I could. Apparently my gods-gift is good for something.” She snorts and rubs her upper arms with her pale hands. “Who would have thought?”

Ah! That’s right: she is gods-gifted. This must explain her ability to connect to Elydark. Surely she could not have even perceived the licorneir song otherwise, much less sung that complicated harmony. Gods spare me, I don’t knowof any practicedvel-hariar—soul-healer—who could bring a victim back from virulium poisoning! Miracles compounded on miracles.

“I . . . am in your debt,zylnala,” I say at last, filling the long silence between us.

She snorts again. “You’ve both endangered and saved my life so many times in our short acquaintance, I’m not sure any debt remains. I’d prefer to consider us even and leave it at that.”

I nod. “Nonetheless, thank you for returning. For saving my life.”

Her full lips compress into a thin line. “Did I have any choice?” She lifts her forearm, fist clenched. “Or didthishave something to do with it?”

For an instant my eyes deceive me, almost tricking me into believing I truly see that glimmering gold coil ofvelra.Whether seen or not, it is certainly present. When she moves, I feel the tug on my own flesh, the pressure constricting my forearm.

My mouth goes dry, my throat tight. It is a struggle to form words. “I am . . . not sure. But yes, I think so.”

Her eyes flash. “Do you want to explain it to me then?”

I don’t. I’m not sure I can.

When I offer no answer, she gets to her feet, pulling her cloak tightly around her slender frame. She looks unexpectedly imperious, with her jaw set and her head high, even as her hard eyes stare down at me. What a queen she would make.

Shahk.Did I just think that?

“I couldn’t see it before,” she growls. “But just now, sitting here in the moonlight . . . I can almost catch a glimmer of it out of the corner of my eye. And I feel it. Every time I get up and try to walk away, every time I try to leave you here and . . . and . . . and get on with my life, it tightens.” Her teeth flash, a ferocious grimace. “Three times I’ve tried to walk away. You’re safe now; I’ve done everything I can. Even your gods-blightedunicorn doesn’t seem to care if I stay. I’ve given back whatever I owed you, and we are through.” Slowly she shakes her head. Her shoulders slump as a little sigh escapes her lips. “Yet somehow I find myself back here. And I can’t even say if I chose it.”

I turn away, unable to bear that accusatory gaze of hers.

“Well?” she demands, taking a step toward me. Her stance and tone might be intimidating were she not such a waif of a mortal female.

Breathing a sigh that contains a faintly whispered,“Shakh,”I rub a hand down my face. There’s no avoiding it, however. I must tell her, to the best of my ability.

“In Licornyn tradition,” I say at last, “there are two wedding ceremonies. During the first ceremony, thevelracord is fastened, and the wedding night takes place. This you already know.”

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