Page 28 of HeartTorn

“There’s a storm rolling in,” Taar says, his voice deep and rough, close to my ear. I startle a little, unused to any break in the long silence of our travel days. When he lifts his arm, I look where he indicates and see darkness gathering on the southern horizon, clouds mounding on each other as though competing to see who can reach this little valley first.

“It’s not thevardimnar,is it?” I ask uncertainly, even as a burst of lightning flashes in that churning mass.

“No,” Taar responds, “just a storm, but those can be fierce enough in Cruor this time of year. We’d be wise to take shelter. Rothiliar House lies yonder. Perhaps we should—”

“No!” The word jumps from my lips before I can stop it. I cover my mouth with my hand, embarrassed by my own vehemence. “Please,” I continue, turning to look up at Taar. “It’s so . . . so . . .” I don’t know how to express it, the revulsion I feel at the prospect of entering that once-beautiful abode, now hollowed out, the spirit dragged unwillingly from its heart. It would feel like a sort of desecration.

Taar looks down at me, his expression solemn. Then he nods. “There is an old shepherd’s hut not far from here,” he says. “Let us see what comforts it offers.”

Elydark hastens into the valley, racing against the storm. We gallop through air so tense and still, it almost hurts the skin to pass through it. When the first raindrops begin to fall, it’s a relief just to feel some of that tension break. But then thunder rumbles, loud as a giant’s roar, and lightning bursts from the sky, striking a tree not half a mile from our current position. I scream and clap my hands over my ears, but Taar never wavers. His arm slips around me, a comfort he does not often offer thesedays. He holds me close against him so that his cloak protects me from the worst of the rain. “Almost there,zylnala,” he says, shouting to be heard above the downpour.

Something in me warms at the sound of that pet name. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him say it, I’d almost forgotten the odd little trill it makes of his rough-and-ready voice. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do.

Elydark pulls to a stop before a hillock, atop which stands a great, crooked, claw-rooted tree. It takes a moment before I notice the doorway dug straight into the side of the mound, between two massive roots. A few planks of petrified wood line the front, holding strong against the elements. An odd combination of natural and manmade, it isn’t the most inviting place. But just now, under this torrent, it might be a king’s palace.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait out the storm in the house?” Taar asks, his words almost lost in another crack and roll of thunder.

I shake my head. Humble though it may be, there’s no sense of emptiness emanating from this dwelling, making it much preferable to those echoing halls. “This will do fine,” I shout, rain pouring down my face, into my mouth.

Taar dismounts. After a short exchange of song with Elydark, he ducks his head under the low lintel and peers into the gloom inside. I hope his half-fae eyes can make something of those shadows; mine certainly could not. He looks back out over his shoulder. “It’s empty. You should be safe enough.”

I nod shortly and swing down the long drop from Elydark’s back to the ground, the bones of my feet jarring somewhat from impact. Wrapping my sodden cloak around me, I hasten to the door. A strong smell wafts out to greet me—earthiness, damp, and decay. Nothing dangerous, nothing that sets my teeth on edge. It’s very cold but dry.

I step inside. No need for me to duck—that doorway was built for much taller people than I. It’s so dark, I stumble after a mere three steps, then stand stock still, afraid to venture farther. “Are you coming?” I cast back over my shoulder, teeth chattering.

“Elydark and I will keep watch out here tonight.”

“What?” I whirl on heel, stagger back to the doorway, and grip the post with one hand.

Taar is little more than a rain-spattered silhouette looming before me. “If thevardimnarcomes, I should have plenty of time to call you out to us,” he says, not quite looking at me. “And I’ll fetch you what supplies you need from the bags, of course.”

I gape at him, momentarily wordless. Then I snarl, “I’m sure as hells not spending the night in this hole by myself!”

He glances at me, eyes agleam. “It is . . . quite close quarters in there.”

“So? I don’t take up much room.” I draw myself a little straighter. “Or does it go against your kingly delicacy to share a roof with me once more?”

“Ilsevel—”

“Fine! Have it your way.” Gripping folds of cloak with both hands, I stomp back out into the rain, gasping as a fresh sheet of icy wetness pummels my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Taar’s voice is a bark, but another growl of thunder softens its harshness.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I tilt my chin, trying not to care as rain splashes and runs like tears down my cheeks. “If you’re determined to drown yourself out here all night like an idiot, I might as well drown with you. Isn’t that what marriage is all about? For better or for gods-damned worse?”

Though I can’t discern much of his face, I can feel his gaze fixed upon me. I try to meet it, though it’s difficult with water pelting my eyes. I’m obliged to blink and blink and blink to keep from being blinded.

“I could force you back inside, you know.”

“Yes,” I reply, “and then what? Will you bind my hands and feet to make me stay? Because otherwise . . .”

A roll of thunder drowns out his curse. But I see the way his shoulders sag suddenly and know I’ve won. “Get inside,” he growls. “I’ll get the saddlebags.”

I stand a moment longer to make certain he’s true to his word. Elydark seems to have partially faded out of this reality, a natural defense against the elements, I suspect, but his saddle and gear are all still solid enough. Taar grabs the bags and slings them over his shoulder before turning and scowling at me, his face severe in a flash of lightning.

I smile triumphantly, despite the water dripping off my chin, and turn to reenter the hovel. It’s so painfully dark inside, I cannot decide whether to step to the right or the left to make room for Taar. Instead I simply stand still until he crowds the doorway behind me. One firm hand takes hold of my shoulder, deliciously warm through the sodden folds of my cloak, and firmly pushes me to the right.

For a moment he seems to absolutely fill the space, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake demanding he share this hovel with me. But then, somehow, he folds himself into more manageable proportions. I cannot see him, but I feel the space in front of me alter somehow. He mutters an incantation, one I’ve heard him speak before:“Rhuenar tor-vel.”The air tenses, and I’m almost certain I feel Elydark’s voice singing back to him, sharing power through their connection. There’s a noise of stone-on-stone.

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