Page 10 of HeartTorn

Turning away from her, I set about cleaning my sword with quick and efficient movements. “It is time we got moving,” I say. “We need to reach my people at the Luin Stone. They need to know about this.”

Even as I say it, coldness washes over me. Shanaera, if she is indeed out there, walking in the living world once more, knows all our secrets. She knows each gate to and from Cruor, knows our paths across that landscape. She knows where to find the Hidden City.

And she certainly would know that my people, if parted from me, would wait for me at the Luin Stone.

Elydark’s soul vibrates with mine, my fears communicated to his heart and echoed back to me. We look at each other, both stricken with dread. What will we find on the far side of the gate? Did Kildorath, Ashika, and the others cross over to be metby their own dead friends, slaughtered as they emerged? Will we ride through now only to step into a scene of terrible bloodshed?

I sheathe my sword. “Come,” I say over my shoulder to Ilsevel. “There’s no time to delay.”

Silently she allows me to help her back into the saddle. I swing up behind her and am met by a deep breath of her hair, still carrying traces of the perfume she wore two nights ago, when we shared that pavilion. The scent is enough to instantly cast out all fears churning inside me and send me back to that firelit bed and those moments of hot breaths and silken skin and the sweet, sweet song which she sang for me in a moment of ecstatic vulnerability. Longing comes over me to wrap my arms around her, to pull her close, to take comfort in the knowledge of her immediate presence. The strength of the urge is almost overwhelming.

With an effort, I hold myself upright, hands on my thighs, each clenched in a fist.Go!I sing harshly to Elydark.

My licorneir turns to the bridge-gate and breaks into a swift canter. Ilsevel turns in my arms, however, looking back to the place we leave behind. Looking back to that empty patch of ground where a dead man’s head rolled, as though still straining to hear the last echoes of his voice.

5

ILSEVEL

Elydark is so massive, it shouldn’t be possible for him to walk on this swaying bridge so lightly, so easily. But he steps out over that drop with careless confidence, moving at a smooth canter.

I feel as though I’ve left my stomach somewhere behind on the cliff’s edge. It’s all I can do to grip the pommel and a handful of unicorn mane, squeezing my eyes shut to block out awareness of the emptiness below. It doesn’t do any good. The vastness of that gulf echoes with a hollow song of its own, throbbing in my bones. Mist curls around my limbs, much colder than I expected. This doesn’t feel anything like the gate-crossing from my world into the Wood. Perhaps that’s the difference between a small, temporary portal and a more permanent fixture.

Taar sits bolt upright behind me, his hands on his thighs, as though determined not to touch me. There’s somethingunsafeabout him now. I can’t explain it. Not that I should ever feel safe in his presence, fae that he is. But something changed back there when I spoke Artoris’s name. I saw the flash in his eyes, and, for an instant, it felt like looking into the face of the virulium-maddened creature I’d seen last night. Not a man, but a monster.

More to distract myself from these thoughts than any real curiosity, I clear my throat and ask, “Are we almost there, warlord?” The words sound dull and thick in this dense mist.

“Almost,” Taar replies coldly.

“How long is this bridge?”

“It varies.”

I blink. “That’s not how bridges are supposed to work.”

A grunt. I begin to wonder if that’s the only answer I’ll receive. Then: “It’s how magic works. One never fully controls it. The moment you think you do is the moment you’re most likely to meet a brutal and explosive end.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. Though I don’t want to, my mind slips back to Artoris as I saw him on the battlefield below the temple three nights ago. He had certainly looked like a man in control when he opened that spellbook and summoned power from realms beyond to his fingertips. The look on his face when he cast a death curse at the Licornyn rider, when he ripped that man’s soul shrieking from his body . . . it was the look of a man who had practiced this art to the point of confidence, even arrogance.

Necrolipha.Death magic. That’s what Taar called it. All these years, while I’ve been sitting around building sky castles about a heroic young mage who would one day sweep me away from all my problems, Artoris was devoting himself to mastering the dark arts.

My lip curls. Did he think of me at all during that time? I suppose he must have, for he did come when I wrote to him. But why? And why was he so intent on taking me back to his tower? Even I am not foolish enough to pretend it’s love. Not anymore. Artoris never loved me. Those stolen moments we shared seven years ago weren’t love. They were barely even passion. It was more about control: his desire to control me, and mine to control my destiny.

But when my need for control conflicted with his . . . when he ignored my pleas to slow down, to stop . . . when he frightened me so much that I screamed, and they dragged him away to the pillory to be flogged . . . whatever feeling may have fueled his desire for me must have long ago transformed to hatred.

So why did he come in answer to that idiotic letter? What did he intend to do with me? Punish me? Pay me back for the humiliation I’d caused him all those years ago? In my mind’s eye I see again that terrible night of fire and screams, when the Temple of Lamruil went up in smoke. I remember how his fingers dug into my shoulder, wrenching me to my feet and away from Aurae.“She doesn’t matter,”he’d said as I fought to return to her side.“You’re the only one who matters here.”When I protested, he’d turned and, without hesitation, struck me across the face.

My fingers slip to my cheek now, remembering the sting. So much for all those years of stubborn romantic fancies. Getting me away from the temple and back to Evisar was his only aim. Only . . . I can’t begin to imagine why.

There’s a sudden change in the air, a sense of energy pulsing through the mist. I gasp, jolted back to the present. We’re leaving the Wood behind us now. A prickling sensation comes over my skin, not painful exactly, simply unignorable. As though all the millions of infinitesimal parts that make up my being are charged with sudden power. My muscles tighten.

“It will be over soon.” Taar’s voice reaches me as though through layers of reality.

No sooner does he speak than my existence is suddenly flattened and stretched so taut, I think I will break into a million pieces, only to snap back together the next instant. I gag, grabbing the pommel. My insides jolt with the need to heave, but I manage to get it under control. I simply breathe, long, careful breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth, until the dizziness passes.

“Are you well?” Taar asks. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. His voice is still cold, but there may be the slightest trace of concern.

I nod. Apparently I’m not going to embarrass myself with vomiting this time. With an effort, I sit upright and set my chin firmly. “I’m fine, warlord.”

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