Page 29 of HeartTorn

A spark flares. I put up a hand to shield my gaze, then peer through my fingers to watch my warlord husband set light to a bundle of kindling in a small clay pot with an open front. There’s a crooked flue of sorts, winding its way up the root-wrappedwall, presumably to carry smoke out into the storm. It looks as though we won’t have to spend the night in pitch dark after all.

Taar looks absolutely massive in this cramped space, hunched over that little clay fireplace. And yet he is graceful as ever when he settles on his haunches and casts me a quick look over his arm. “Make yourself comfortable. If you can.”

There’s nowhere to sit save beside him. My head grazes the twining roots dangling from the ceiling, causing showers of dust to fall if I don’t duck. But the floor is padded with several layers of something soft and springy—fleeces, I think, a little smelly but mostly protected from decay. They crunch when I step, giving off faint hints of a lavender-like perfume. I wonder if the shepherds sprinkled dried plants underneath the layers of old fleeces to help with the smell.

“You seem familiar with this place,” I say, easing to the ground beside Taar.

He grunts. “I have traveled across Cruor on my own before. Elydark and I have discovered any number of bolt holes to be used in emergencies.”

“Will Elydark be safe out there?” Even as I ask, the wind picks up outside, an awful wailing that makes the tree atop this mound groan. Despite myself, I press against Taar’s warm side.

Taar chuckles. “He would be delighted to know you asked such a question. But not to worry—Elydark is unaffected by the storms of this world.”

Be that as it may, I don’t like thinking of the beautiful unicorn out there in that lashing wind. I almost feel guilty for abandoning him to it, though what good I would do by standing out there with him, I can’t imagine.

Taar reaches into one of the bags and pulls out another blightedumecake. I can’t help the sigh that whispers like a curse from my lips when he hands it to me. He chuckles softly, and I feel the vibration of it rumble through the arm I’m pressed upagainst. “Has time and familiarity not endeared you to Licornyn faire?”

“If these are a good representation of your people’s culinary prowess, I’m sorry to inform you, but you are woefully behind all other worlds and realms.”

At that Taar throws back his head and seems to just bite back a bark of laughter. He merely smiles instead, looking up at the firelight playing among the dangling root ends. “You reveal your own lack of experience with such words, I’m afraid. You have certainly never encountered the Noxaurianxyrharoac.”

I grimace. The very name sounds revolting. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s a scorpion prevalent in the Forests of Xyre. It is seared briefly in oil and served still alive and, as you can imagine, raging. It is the responsibility of the intrepid diner to deal a final death blow and disarm the poisoned stinger before digging in.” He glances down, taking in my horrified expression. “I hear it’s delectable with a cream sauce.”

I make a face. Trust the Noxaurians to serve a meal that wants to kill you back. Staring down at theumecake, I turn it slowly in my hand. “I’m not sure even cream sauce could save these abominations.”

To my surprise, Taar takes the cake from my hands. “Perhaps it is time I shared this little secret,” he says and opens another sack. From its depths he removes something wrapped in paper-like leaves. He hands it to me, and I blink with surprise at the stickiness oozing right through the wrapping. “Go on,” he says. “Open it.”

I peel back a leaf to reveal a strange brown substance. Were it not for the way the firelight makes it glisten, I’d almost mistake it for leather.

“Taste it,” Taar says. When I look at him askance, his teeth flash in the fire’s glow. “I swear on all Nornala’s holy children, you won’t regret it.”

Not entirely convinced, I nibble at a corner of the sticky stuff. Immediately sweetness explodes across my tongue, a revelation after days and days of nothing but dust-dry cakes. I take a larger bite, my teeth sticking so hard, I fear for a moment they won’t come apart. A little piece breaks off in my mouth. I roll it around my tongue until it finally softens enough to swallow. It’s delicious. A sweetness like honey, but with a slight sourness that only increases the overall experience. I want to eat more, my appetite suddenly awakened. But half-remembered tales of faerie fruit and the dangers they pose to humans make me hesitate.

“What is it?” I ask, turning the rest of the dark lump over in my hand.

“It’s calledleolii,” Taar says. “Or, in your own tongue perhaps—sweet leather. It’s made from theliluthfruit, which grows in abundance in the hinterlands. It is inedible in its fresh form, poisonous. But prolonged exposure of the flesh to sunlight neutralizes the toxins, so my people eat it in this dried form. Take care though,” he adds as I go to take another bite, “it will go to your head.”

He’s not wrong. A second bite, and I feel a warm blurring around the edges of my brain, not unlike a heady wine. Hungry as I am, I cannot resist taking a third small nibble before Taar takes theleoliifrom my hand and wraps it back in its leaves. “Will you not have some?” I ask, my voice rather more slurred than I like.

He shakes his head, mouth quirked. “One of us, at least, should keep his wits about him tonight.” He takes a bite ofumecake, his teeth breaking through the outer crust with apparent ease.

Thus do we share a meal, meager though it may be. Afterwards we sit for some while. I’m suddenly very warm, despite my rain-drenched clothes, and resist the urge to shed some layers. I slip my cloak from my shoulders and only just restrain myself from unfastening the front of my bodice. My fingers touch the front laces before I stop and clench my hands tight in my lap. Taar doesn’t move. He seems to be made of rock, his only sign of life his slow inhale and exhale of breath and the intense focus of his eyes on the dancing flames.

I should curl up and try to sleep. It will be another bone-bruising ride tomorrow, no doubt. But I find I don’t want to waste this time. All our other nights together have been so cold, so distant, always with the campfire between us. All save that one night . . . that one I dare not think about too closely.

Only now I’m thinking about it again. Thinking about it while that lovely, hazy blur moves through my senses, softening all my sharp edges. I’m suddenly so aware of the heat of Taar’s arm, pressed against mine. Every muscle is shaped as though hewn from solid marble, and all the various scars lining its contours only add to the overall impression of barely-contained power. The man is magnificent. Terrible and mighty, and no amount of proximity has in any way accustomed me to the dangerous thrill his presence inspires in my gut. And now, with the warmth of the intoxicatingliluthfruit bubbling in my veins, I wonder . . .

“How much farther to your city?” I ask abruptly, more to drown out my own traitorous thoughts than anything. My voice seems somewhat smothered in this close atmosphere. I wonder if Taar even heard me, he is silent such a long while.

“I expect to reach the hinterlands tomorrow afternoon,” he says at last. “With any luck, we’ll cross the Morrona River before sundown and reach Elanlein, the last Holy House, by moonrise.”

So soon? I frown into the fire. I’d thought we had more time. More time for what, I cannot say. More time for exhaustinggallops across endless, empty landscapes? More time for hard cakes and sticky dried fruit? More time for silent campfires under the watchful eyes of distant stars? No, not that.

More time to spend in his atmosphere. Breathing his air. Feeling the safety of his arms on either side of me, the bigness of his frame at my back. Knowing that, even though he loathes everything my people represent, he will protect me. At whatever cost to himself.

When this bond of ours is broken, what’s to become of me then? This protection I enjoy under Taar’s mantel is false, I know, but it’s the most secure I’ve ever felt. When that is gone, I will be adrift in a world far bigger, far wilder, far more dangerous and terrible than I ever imagined from behind the walls of Beldroth Castle, back in the days when I thought I craved adventure and freedom. What I wouldn’t give for a taste of that ignorance once more! For a chance to be the thoughtless child who believed she knew who she was and what she wanted from life. For a chance to do it all over.

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