Page 62 of WarBride

Even by moonlight I can see the faint blush that pinks her cheeks. She looks away from me, pinching her lips again, and nods shortly.

“The second ceremony,” I continue, careful to keep my tone even and low, “is held a month later, onsilmael,the night of the new moon. Then the bride confirms that her husband has honored his vows and makes her own vows in return. According to tradition, the time in between is spent entirely in one another’s company. Husband and wife are not to be parted, and this”—I lift my arm, and, though I’m sure it’s just a trick of the eyes, could almost swear I see the coils of our binding glint in the air between us—“is a symbol of that bond. Only I’ve never heard of it manifesting quite so literally.”

She studies me intently, struggling to discern the sincerity of my expression by moonlight. I lift my face to give her as clear a view as possible. “So,” she says slowly, “you’re telling me it’s not normal for a couple to be actuallyboundlike this?”

“I have certainly never heard of anything like it.”

“Then . . .” She draws a long steadying breath. “What in the nine hells happened to us?”

The words emerge in a voice so tight and tense, and yet somehow convey more force than if she’d shouted at the top of her lungs. I sit before her, my legs outstretched, my wounded arm somewhat numb and limp. The question echoes in my own head, utterly inexplicable. And yet I must offer her some explanation. “Perhaps,” I suggest, “it has something to do with your gods-gift.”

“What?”

“You are in possession of a rare magic, bestowed upon you by the gods themselves. These gifts are great mysteries, little understood even by the most learned scholars of magic the worlds over.” I shrug. “It could be that, when you sang to me, your gods-gift reacted to the dormant magic of the handfasting ceremony and . . . awakened it somehow.”

She blinks down at me, her eyes pools of darkness ringed in silver. “It’s a theory, I suppose.” Bowing her head, she buries her face in her hands for a moment, breathing deeply. Is she weeping? Trying to hide her tears from me?

“Zylnala,”I begin, once more starting to push myself upright.

“Tell me this,” she interrupts, dropping her hands and catching my gaze once more. “Did you do this on purpose? Did you know this would happen, know I would be bound to you?”

I shake my head. “I did not.”

“And if you had known . . . what would you have done then?”

An impossible question. How could I know what I would have done had I fully understood the situation? If I’d realized the vows I made would attach me to this girl with bonds far stronger than anything I’d imagined? Even leaving her presence made me susceptible to magical influence that my natural half-fae resilience should have fought off with ease. Would I have put myself at such risk for a stranger? Hardly. It’s too muchcommitment, too much responsibility. It’s one thing to make love to a woman for a single night; it’s another to be saddled with her for an entire month.

But I do know what would have happened to her if I’d simply turned a blind eye and walked away.

“I cannot say for certain,” I answer at last. “What I can say is this: I’m glad that I saved you. I’m glad you did not fall into Lurodos’s hands. I’m glad you are here with me now.” I stop myself there, unwilling to go on. Unwilling to confess that putting her down and sending her on her way to that human town had almost been more than I could bear. What right have I to say such things? It’s likely not even real, just this gods-damned binding spell at play.

She nods, accepting my words despite the slight curl to her lip. “What will you do then? Is there a way out of it?”

“Yes. At new moon,should you refuse to speak your vows, our binding will be broken.”

“But you said that was a month away!” Her whole body quivers as though she’s ready to boil over. “Is there anything we can do now? Tonight? This instant?”

I shake my head, adding quickly before she can lay into me with another furious tirade, “If anyone should know the answer, it will be Onor Gantarith of Elanlein.”

“Oh? And where is that exactly?”

“The Hidden City.”

“Well, that clears it up immensely, doesn’t it?”

I let her dry sarcasm wash over me, concentrating on the plan forming in my mind. Though it’s hardly a plan; more like a hazy image, an impression. I see myself astride Elydark, galloping across the wide-open plains of my homeland, the girl sheltered in the circle of my arms. Her chestnut hair tickles my face, and her lithe body nestles comfortably between my legs, as though she was made for me. In my vision, she feels so right in thatcontext of vaulting blue sky and sweeping grasslands—a bold heart come home to a bold country.

It's all foolishness, of course. Foolishness born, no doubt, from this damnablevelrabond, which manipulates my senses. Because she is human, she will never be welcomed by my people. It is forbidden to bring her kind to the Hidden City. Even I dare not thwart the law of the Elders.

And yet what other choice do I have? I cannot be far from my people for long, much less an entire month. And I cannot leave her here without risking more susceptibility to dark magic influence . . . a risk that would soon prove deadly where I’m going.

“You’ll have to come home with me,” I say, my voice firm. “We will speak to Onor Gantarith, explain what happened, and have the bond severed. Then I will fulfill the original promise I made to you and drop you off at the nearest human settlement.”

I can feel the protests, the arguments and accusations building up on her tongue. Something makes her swallow them down, though from the expression on her face, they settle like bile in her gut. She says only, “And where is home for you, exactly?”

There’s no delivering this news gently. “My people dwell in the land of Cruor.”

I could not have shocked her more if I’d tried. She takes a step back, then another, gripping the folds of her cloak tightly. “You’re going to . . . take me intoCruor?”

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