Page 21 of HeartTorn

And Taar and I stand where we are, gazing at one another. His eyes are wide with shock, as though he doesn’t know how we came to be like this.

He frowns, wrenches his hands free of me, and turns away abruptly, staring out at the cold, silent world. It all feels so weirdly untouched. Our campfire burns where we left it. The stars gleam overhead. The air is almost painfully quiet, without even a breath of wind to enliven it.

As for me? I’m left with nothing. Nothing but the cold patches on my arms where Taar’s hands had gripped. And the prickling emptiness on my lips where his kiss almost, but didn’t quite, touch.

10

TAAR

The next day we ride on in silence.

I try my best not to think about what took place between us last night, that moment of almost-connection which would have spelled certain disaster. Gods spare me, why am I even now so tempted? Her revelations concerning her connection to Mage Artoris should have doused any desire I might feel for her. Instead it seems only to have fanned the flames.

Perhaps it’s not desire burning inside me but morbid curiosity. There’s still so much I do not know. How she came to be intimately acquainted with a man like Mage Artoris, for instance. Or why she felt compelled to write to him, asking him to run away with her. Run away from what? Or from whom?

So many questions, none of which I dare ask for fear the answers will sharpen these feelings which I must, at all costs, suppress. I set my teeth hard and keep my eyes turned to the west as Elydark pursues his morning shadow across the Morleon Plains, leaving behind the Luin Stone and the empty ruins of Uvareth City. By late morning, we enter Lafarallin, a sprawling forest of hardwoods, grown over uneven terrain. It is an eerie place, emptied of all life as it is. Even the trees seem but half-living things: still growing, still putting out green leaves to the sun, but somehow lesser than they once were. The vital spirit which once infused them has been sucked dry. Once upon a time, my father would take parties hunting in this wood for sport; he’d promised to take me with him when I was old enough.

There is no sport to be had here now. Noleokasdeer bounding, no wild hogs ready for battle, no sleek foxes slyly eluding the dogs’ noses. Anything that survived the first fall ofvardimnartwenty-five years ago, either died in subsequent surges or fled to the fringes of this world. Like my own people.

By midday we come to a stream. Elydark, who has been singularly focused on his run for hours, comes to a sudden halt, his forefeet splashing in the water.It is time to rest, Vellar,he sings into my head.

Surely you are not tired, my friend,I respond, half-joking. I’ve known my licorneir to gallop a full day and half the night and still be fresh to run again the following morning.

Not I, but your bride. She is parched. I fear she cannot go on much longer without refreshment.

Guilt stabs my chest. I’m so used to long rides across Cruor, the urgent need to cover as much ground as possible governing all other concerns. And I’ve never had to concern myself with the realities of human frailty before. I look down at Ilsevel, huddled on the saddle before me, her head bent at an angle. “Shall we stop here,zylnala?” I ask gently. “You look ready to drop.”

She shakes her head and straightens at once. “Ride on if you like, warlord. I’m fine.”

That word again, spoken with such ferocity:fine.I know better than to believe her.

Without bothering to argue, I swing down from the saddle then turn to reach for her. Ilsevel presses her lips in a hard line, her shadow-ringed eyes narrowing. Weary though she is, she still sparks with defiance. I say nothing but beckon gently with my fingers. With a little sniff, she rests her hands on my shoulders, allowing me to ease her down from Elydark’s back. Strange how that gentle pressure, the slight digging in of her slim fingers, has become familiar to me already.

The moment her feet are on the ground, she steps back from me, staggering a little. Quickly she pulls herself upright, chin high, gaze lowered. No moments of lingering closeness this time. I tell myself I’m not disappointed. For the most part I believe it.

Ilsevel takes a few steps toward the stream, kneels, and moves as though to cup water in her hand. “Don’t drink that!” I say hastily, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.

She looks back at me, her expression cold. I fetch a cup and a pouch from the saddlebags then move to crouch beside her. First scooping a cupful of flowing water, I shake the contents of the pouch into it. A fine dusting of purple powder disperses in the water and sinks to the bottom where it rests for some moments.

“The waters of Cruor are corrupted,” I say and angle the cup for Ilsevel to see what takes place inside. “They’re unsafe to drink without purification.” With those words, I swirl the liquid, creating a little maelstrom. When the water stills again, the dust has floated to the surface, no longer purple, but blackened and slimy.

Ilsevel sucks in a breath, her lip curling with disgust. That expression doesn’t fade, even when I have used my knife to scrape out and discard that film before offering the cup to her. “Here,” I say. “Drink.”

Her fingers reach for the cup, her expression wary. “Is it . . . safe now?”

I nod. “The petals of the ilsevel blossom are infused with magic drawn straight from the Goddess Nornala’s realm. Their powdered form is strong enough to purify even the corruption of Ashtari.”

Her gaze flicks to meet mine at that word: ilsevel.I wonder if she will question it. Instead, however, she merely bites her lip before lifting the cup to take a tentative sip. Her eyes widen with surprise, and she takes another, larger swallow, then drains thewhole cup in a last draught. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she casts me an embarrassed look. “That was . . .”

“Refreshing?” I suggest with a half-smile. She nods. “It’s best not to drink more,” I continue, answering the question I can see bubbling on her tongue. “The ilsevel blossom is not meant for mortal consumption, and evenibrildiansmust partake of it with caution. They were sent by Nornala to this world as sustenance for her children, the licorneir.”

Ilsevel looks into her empty cup, her expression thoughtful. “Truth is, I’m not thirsty anymore. It’s just that . . .”

“I understand.” Gently I take the cup from her fingers. “Water purified by ilsevel blossoms is more quenching than ordinary water. But it can leave one with a sense of yearning. It will not harm you in small doses, but it is best not to indulge.” I refill the cup, purify the contents, and drink for myself, savoring the sweetness of the ilsevel-blessed water. Longing seems to rise and fill my chest cavity as well, though not a longing for water, I think. I’m used to that desire and long ago learned to regulate it.

But there’s something sweet about sitting here by this stream with Ilsevel. Though I know the forest is far from idyllic, these waters dangerously corrupted, it’s easy to imagine all that away. To believe we’ve chosen to spend this time together, venturing into Lafarallin on a pleasure ride, reclining beside this stream for the pure joy of sheltering shade and each other’s company. My gaze, almost against my own will, strays to her lovely face, losing itself in the subtle details of her dark brows, the curve of her cheek, the soft plumpness of her lip even fixed in that stern line. What would it be like to see that mouth softened into a smile, bright and spontaneous? A devastating sight, no doubt. But I’m uncertain a man like me, hardened by war and loss, possesses the means to inspire such a thing.

“Do you think we’ll catch up to your people soon?” Ilsevel asks abruptly.

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