Page 19 of WarBride

She shivers suddenly, a whole-body spasm. Not from cold, I think, but it reminds me that I’m holding her cloak still. “Here,” I say and shake out the stained folds before wrapping the garment around her slender shoulders. “This is yours, I believe.”

She huddles into the fabric, gripping it tightly at the throat like it’s the last shield between her and all the shocks of this brutal world. She shivers again, closes her eyes. Then, very softly: “My sister. She was . . . she was sold before me.”

My brow tightens. “Did you see who bought her?”

The girl shakes her head. “I didn’t see anything. Not from the cage.”

A dart of pity shoots through my heart. I saw last night how determinedly she sought to defend the fallen maiden. To be parted from her now, knowing she was likely sold as a warbride as well . . . I can imagine the horror churning in this girl’s heart. However, there’s nothing I can do for her. Not yet at least.

“We must secure our own situation,” I say firmly. “Once you are properly sealed under my protection, then we will make inquiries after your sister. I swear it.” It will probably be too late for the other girl. But if I don’t lay claim to my warbride at once, I wouldn’t put it past Lurodos to make a play for her before the dawn deadline. We have a long night ahead of us. I’m not sure that I can truly save her life, or if she’ll even let me try. But I’ve made it this far.

I take a few steps in the direction of my camp, then pause and look back at her. Her expression is conflicted, torn between her unwillingness to leave behind her sister and knowledge of her own helpless state. I don’t touch her, nor do I command. I needher to come with me willingly. If she won’t come this time, I will walk away and leave her to face whatever consequences come.

At last, with a little sigh, she nods. Huddled in that cloak, she steps to my side, and we walk together through the Noxaurian encampment. I feel the moment when we step beyond the radius of the spire’s magic. Here my own people have pitched camp among the trees on the fringes of Wanfriel Forest. The smalldakathtents, huddled together around campfires, look like a miniature of the Hidden City. A little slice of home in this foreign land.

Kildorath sees us coming. I had sent him and Ashika back to the camp, barking the command even as I sped from the spire and hastened out to the auction on my impulsive rescue mission. They gave me strange looks but did not question my orders, having learned over the years to trust my leadership.

But my second does not hold back his questions now.

“Luinar,”Kildorath cries. His eyes fasten on the girl with disgust. He plants himself between her and the Licornyn camp, as though to prevent her from entering. “Luinar,why have you brought this creature here?”

He speaks in Licornyn at least, which the girl does not understand. His tone, however, is clearly hostile. She draws a half-step nearer to me, eyeing him warily, her small fists clenched as though for a fight.

“It’s a long story, my friend,” I answer with a heavy sigh and a shake of my head. “The short version is this: I seem to have purchased myself a warbride.”

“You’vewhat?”This exclamation comes from Ashika. She and her licorneir draw near. Ashika gapes quite openly at the ragged little figure at my side. Nyathri, by contrast, narrows her intelligent, otherworldly gaze. Her pointed ears cup forward, and her nostrils flare. Something about the human intrigues her . . . possibly the fact that she is looking directly at the beast.Which should be impossible: licorneir are invisible to mortal vision save when enflamed in battle. But the girl at my side cannot seem to take her eyes off delicate Nyathri.

I haven’t time to marvel at this phenomenon just now, however. As though finally coming to grips with what I’ve said, Ashika utters a great whoop of laughter. “I should have known it would come to this! Everyone has been saying you must take a bride and start making little heirs. Would no one back home have you? Is this how you resort to getting yourself a queen?”

“Peace, Ashika,” I growl, aware of the curious stares from the other men and women in our party. They all close in on us now, riders and licorneir alike. Gods help me, the last thing I need is an audience for my discomfort. Most of them, at least, are more confused than anything. They assail me with a storm of questions which I am hard pressed to answer to anyone’s satisfaction. In the end Ashika is still laughing in great, gulping guffaws, Nyathri is still eyeing the girl with silent intensity, and everyone else looks somewhere between baffled, amused, and disgusted.

Except for Kildorath. He looks ready to slit the girl’s throat. When I finish my convoluted little tale, he turns to me, the muscle in his cheek ticking with tension, and hisses, “Have you forgotten Shanaera so soon?”

He could not have delivered a better-aimed blow. My chest tightens, and I drop my voice an octave. “Your sister and I were through long ago. Long before her death.”

Kildorath’s eyes spark with pain. He knows the story of his sister’s brutal end—of the virulium coursing through her body and soul, of the madness that sent her ravaging her own friends. He knows I put her down. That I carry the burden and the pain of that single act with me every single day of my life.

I loved Shanaera—and I knew her better than anyone, better even than her own brother. Which is why I knew as well that shecould never be my wife, Queen of the Licornyn. The darkness in her soul ran too deep. I could not love her and not love that darkness equally. And that was a risk I dared not take.

Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps if I had believed in her more, she would never have turned to virulium. Perhaps if I had followed my heart and not my head, none of us would be in this situation now. But what good can come of this vain wondering? It is done. Shanaera is dead—and that apparition I believed I’d seen last night wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. I don’t believe it. I won’t.

I hold Kildorath’s gaze, watch the play of emotions flicker in his eyes. He curses at last and shakes his head. “Please, Taar,” he says, foregoing my title and appealing to me as a man. “Please, do not go through with this. Do not take this human as your bride.”

“And what would you have me do?” I demand, stepping closer to speak my words to him so no one else can hear. “Would you have me discard her like some unwanted animal? Would you have me throw her to the wolves?”

“Yes,” he answers at once, without hesitation. “I would.”

I draw back from him. While all the Licornyn share a distrust of humans, Kildorath hates them more than any man I know. He blames them for Shanaera’s ultimate demise. But I will not heap condemnation on the head of this one young woman simply for being the same race as our enemies. She herself is not responsible for the atrocities committed by her kind.

Refusing to answer my second, I turn from him to Ashika and say only, “Where is Onor Vamir? Bring him to me.”

In short order the young priest is pushed to the forefront of the throng. Though only eighteen summers old and no warrior, he rides with our company, for we need someone on hand to perform initial death rites over our fallen—to write the runes on their flesh and see to it that their souls are properly guided fromtheir broken bodies. This is Vamir’s first mission beyond the borders of our realm, and he’s as wide-eyed and nervous as one would expect. But he’s performed his part admirably, and for that, he has earned my respect.

He goes down on his knees before me. His too-large cassock billows about him, secured at his waist by anornilbelt of many complex knots, all unique, all sacred to the Goddess of Unity. His hair is likewise bound with complex knotted wire and braids, symbols of his devotion to his goddess. He bows low, the ends of his long braids nearly brushing the ground. “How may I be of service,Luinar?”he asks, his voice slightly quavering.

“Onor,” I say. It feels odd to address this boy asfather,though it is the correct term for a priest of his standing, regardless of age. “You are qualified to perform thevellarceremony between a man and a woman, are you not?”

His gaze shifts from me to the human girl, who has stood silently all this while, watching and listening. She narrows her eyes at Vamir, and the young priest hastily looks away. “Y—yes,Luinar,” he stammers. “The initial binding is simple enough. I can perform it now. But,” he adds, his brow puckering with concern, “the second ceremony is more complicated. It will have to be performed onsilmael,which is nearly a month from now, and—”

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