Page 65 of HeartTorn

For your freedom.

And for theirs.

“Why?” I shudder suddenly and lean my forehead against the stone wall. “Everything I do results in disaster.” A sob chokes in my throat. “It was my fault . . . my fault . . . my . . .”

The voice does not speak again. I sink to my knees, back into that freezing mud, and struggle to suppress the sobs clawing at my throat. Curse the gods who let me be born, who let me become the living disaster I am! What did all my petty rebellions accomplish? Only pain and death for others, including the most innocent person I know.

No wonder my father only wanted to sell me.

No wonder Artoris only wanted to use me.

No wonder Taar . . . Taar . . .

My fingers curl, nails clawing into stone.

No wonder Taar gave up on me.

Noise erupts overhead. I startle, pull away from the wall, and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. It’s been so long since I heard anything, at least anything of this world. I’d half wondered if they’d even bothered to post a guard, knowing there was no chance in heaven I could escape this pit.

Now I hear grunts. Scuffling boots. The beginnings of a scream cut short. If I didn’t know any better, I’d even say I heard a faint note of unicorn song. My heart jumps, galloping in my breast. I slowly stand, staring up at that opening, uncertain whether to hope or fear. This doesn’t sound like priests coming to drag me away for sacrifice, but how would I know?

Suddenly the stars are partially blocked out by something dark. A rhythmiccreaktears at my ears, so awful, I curse and cover them. It’s difficult to see, but the ilsevels cast dim glows on a plank of wood which seems to be descending on a chain. It comes all the way down to eye-level and stops.

I stare at it. Then I look up, searching for signs of who might have lowered it. Whoever it is obviously means for me to sit on it, to grip that chain and balance my body as they haul me up. Will they cut my throat the minute I emerge? Would it be better to refuse, to remain down here until thirst and hunger drive me mad?

Hands trembling, I grasp the chain. It’s bitingly cold against my flesh. I mount the plank and find my center of balance. There’s a moment of tension. Then it begins to rise, faster than I expect. I seem to have left my stomach behind me somewhere, and the empty place in my gut churns unpleasantly. Three quarters of the way up, it occurs to me that if whoever is hauling the other end of this chain were to let go, I would not survive thefall. A little whimper tries to force its way past my trembling lips, but I bite down hard, refusing. The plank keeps on rising, and that patch of sky above keeps on enlarging.

At last I burst into open air. It’s so cold and fresh and bracing, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I scramble wildly, grab the lip of the well wall, and very nearly tumble to my death. Desperation drives me, however, and I pull myself up and over to collapse on the ground on the other side. Movement catches my eye. I choke and try to push myself upright, expecting to be grabbed by the arms and hauled away.

Then Taar’s voice is there, and Taar’s hands are on my shoulders. “Drink this,zylnala,” he says, and holds something to my lips.

I grab for the cup and tilt my head back, eager for water. Instead, a mouthful of strong spirits burns my tongue. I gasp, choke, sputter. But the warming mouthful goes down to my stomach and shoots out through my veins. Fortified, I look up, trying to take in the moonlit world before me.

There are bodies. My stomach knots. Ten bodies of armed men and women, lying at odd angles. Dead? No, they seem to be both bound and gagged, which would be rather pointless were they corpses.

I turn to Taar, staring. “What have you done?”

His teeth flash in a grimace. “What I must,” he says. “Come. You’re not safe yet.”

His grip is firm on my elbow as he pulls me to my feet. I collapse against his side, and he hastily slips his arm around me, holding me close. It’s almost comforting. “Here,” he says, and presses something into my hand. To my surprise, I find it’s my knife, the one I dropped beside the altar stone after cutting Nyathri’s bonds.

I try to catch Taar’s gaze. “This is . . . The elders . . . Your people,” I gabble, unable to articulate a complete sentence.Then, with a sudden surge of energy, I push against him, trying to break free of his grasp. “Stop! You’ve got to put me back down there! This will ruin you! Your people will never forgive you and . . . and . . .”

“And what?” Taar’s voice is an animalistic growl.

I study what the moonlight reveals of his hard, dangerous features. “I don’t deserve it. I’m not worth it.”

For a moment he looks as though he’s going to answer. I find myself leaning toward him, hungry for his answer, either in agreement or argument. The suspense is dreadful, his silence enough to tear my heart in two.

“We don’t have much time,” he says at last, turning from me. “The relief guard will be here soon. We need to be gone by then.”

I want to scream with pure frustration, to pound his chest with my fists and demand he answer me. But whatever burst of energy that drink offered fades too soon. I sag in his arms and stagger a few steps with him before my knees begin to buckle. Without a word he scoops me off my feet and starts running. Away from the temple, away from the pit. Down the incline of the mountain to where the trees grow more densely.

Elydark appears out of the shadows, his great bulk gleaming in the starlight. He sings something wordless that strikes my senses, a comforting note. Was he concerned for me? Surely not! He must hate me for compromising Taar like this. But he makes no protest as Taar puts me in the saddle then swings up behind me. It’s so very familiar, being here with my stranger husband, his arms around me. I must fight the urge to lean back against him, weak with relief.

“Vulmon,”Taar commands, and Elydark leaps into motion, racing at full speed down the mountain, through the trees. No horse would dare move at such a pace in the dark, but Elydark glides along, his massive hooves seeming scarcely to touch theground, his mighty bulk weaving between trunks and avoiding low-hanging boughs with ease.

I look to the left, over Taar’s arm, and glimpse the fires of the Hidden City, nestled in its valley below. My heart lurches, thinking of Tassa, of Halamar, of all those people who hate me so viciously. All those people whom Taar is leaving behind. Possibly forever.

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