Page 63 of WarBride

I nod.

“Youare fromCruor?”

“I am from Licorna. But Licorna was destroyed, and there is nothing but Cruor left. The Licornyn folk still dwell on the fringes of the land, and I amLuinarof the Licornyn.”

“What does that mean?”

“I am the Licornyn sovereign.”

“A king? You’re a king?”

“If you like.”

“IfIlike?” she echoes, her mouth gaping as she stares back at me. A shudder races down her spine. “I’ve heard tales of Cruor. It’s supposed to be a nightmarish land riddled with monsters.”

My mouth quirks slightly. “Yes, but we have some lovely views.”

She throws up her hands then and stomps several paces away from me before stopping abruptly. I don’t know if she reached the end of the invisible tether holding her to me, or if she simply couldn’t keep going. Shoulders sagging, she looks back, her face edged in moonlight. “So the king of the unicorn-riders is stealing me away into a monster-ridden nightmare realm.” A sharp breath issues from her lips, a silent huff of laughter. “It sounds like something my nursemaid told me would happen if I didn’t finish my boiled vegetables.”

“It’s really not so bad as all that.” I lace my fingers behind my head, leaning back on the saddlebags. “My people have learned to navigate Cruor with some degree of safety. So long as you are with me, you will be safe enough.”

She doesn’t answer, not for a long time. She simply stands there, looking at me, while the night breeze stirs her hair and pulls at the edges of her cloak. I become increasingly aware of the urge to get to my feet, to close the space between us, to reach for her. I grimace. It will not be easy to keep my hands off her for the entire month, not with this damnable heart-bond dragging at me every waking minute. But I know she is not right for me. This stranger, this human, whose name I don’t even know.

She’s shivering. It comes to me suddenly that she must be very cold out here, exposed to the wintry elements after sundown. Humans are not made to withstand such extremes of temperature. Her breath makes little cloud-puffs before her lips, and I can hear her teeth chattering.

Though I’m still rather numb and more lightheaded than I care to admit, I get up and set about building a fire. The only fuel close at hand is soaked through from the day’s rain, but I call Elydark over and perform a simplerhuenarspell, which he infuses with a spark of his own magic. The kindling immediately catches, and a blaze springs to life. The girl watches all of this from a distance, shoulders hunched, eyes wary. But she slowly approaches the warmth, drawn to it almost against her will.

“Here,” I say, digging into the saddlebags and tossing her anumecake, hard but nourishing. “It’s safe for human consumption, I swear.”

She looks down at the round little cake in her hand. “I believe you. No fae would try to tempt a mortal palate with something like this.”

I chuckle. “It tastes better than it looks. And the ingredients are simple: powdered root vegetable, lard, and a bit ofkiterihoney for flavoring. It might break your teeth, but it will fill your belly.”

Settling down before the fire, she sits as close as she comfortably can, still hunched in her cloak. She studies the cake in her hand for some moments before finally saying, “I’m not really hungry.”

“It has been a long time since you ate,” I point out, remembering the bread I served her last night. Only I dare not think about last night. I stare into the fire, determined not to let the dancing flames paint sensual pictures in my head. “We have a long journey ahead of us. You must keep up your strength.”

She is silent for a long while. Then a dainty sniff reaches my ear. I glance up and see that she is crying. The tears simply pour down her face, and she does nothing to stop them, doesn’t even seem to be aware of them. She holds that cake in her small hands and watches the fire burn as though watching her very hopes and dreams go up in smoke.

I chew the inside of my cheek. I remember what it feels like to lose family. My parents perished on the same day, gruesome deaths which I dare not let myself dwell upon. And Shanaera . . . her loss haunts me every hour. She died three years ago, and yet I am still so affected by it as to hallucinate her half-rotted face in the middle of a battle.

This girl—she is so young, her experiences narrow, her losses few. While I wouldn’t presume to know her, I would guess she’s led a sheltered existence until recent history, passing through the ravages of this world relatively unscathed. This loss of her sister is a new and heart-crushing experience. The fact that she’s still upright, still full of fire, still willing to use her gift to help her miserable captor . . . it speaks to the greatness of her heart, the strength of her courage.

“Please,zylnala,” I say at last. “Try to eat. Your sister would want you to try.”

She looks down at the cake in her hands but still makes no move to taste it.

I draw a slow breath, considering. Then, hoping I’m doing the right thing, I ask very gently, “What was your sister’s name?” I already know it of course. But something tells me it will do her good to speak it out loud.

“Aurae,” she answers, her voice quavering slightly. She sniffs and hastily wipes her tears with the back of one hand. “Her name was Aurae. It meansradiance. It . . . it suited her.”

For a moment we sit together in that space of remembrance. Though I never knew the sister and only glimpsed her once in life, I hold the memory with honor and reverence along with this grieving woman. So the stars turn slowly overhead, as they have for ages, observing both the losses and joys of the mortal creatures dwelling in this world below.

“Under the circumstances,” I continue after some time has passed, “would you be willing to share your name with me?”

She looks at me over the flames. I can see the calculation in her gaze as she tries and discards several false names in a row. But she knows already that I will see through them. At last she sighs and, with resignation, says: “Ilsevel.”

My eyebrows lift. “Did . . . did you sayIlsevel?”

---