Page 31 of HeartTorn

A smile pulls at my mouth as I remember the way she stood there in the storm, scowling up at me even as pelting rain all but blinded her. Gods spare me, she would rather drown standing upright than let me care for or coddle her in any way!

My smile slips away, replaced by a frown. Who is she? The question plagues me even as it has since the beginning. Ilsevel . . . Mage Artoris’s intended lover. A gods-gifted pilgrim, a worshipper of Lamruil. A bereft sister. Such is the sum of my knowledge of this woman. Every new piece I’ve added to the puzzle has only served to increase both my confusion and curiosity. Sometimes it’s all I can do not to grab her by the shoulders and demand explanations. Her full name to start with.And what in the sight of all the gods she was actually doing at that temple with Artoris that night.

With a sigh I turn my gaze down to my own forearm. Firelight plays across my skin, highlighting various scars from many years of violent campaigns. But my mind seems determined to play tricks on me. I believe I see the winding coils ofvelra, wrapping as tight as when the young priest bound us on our wedding night. In my head I hear my own voice speaking the sacred vows of bonding:“With my faith will I honor you. With my body will I protect you. With my arms will I shelter you. With my heart will I warm you.”

I had not meant them. Not truly. But there must have been some power in those words so thoughtlessly spoken, some force beyond my simple intention of saving her life and abandoning her immediately thereafter. With every passing hour I’ve found myself more and more determined to uphold what I vowed that night. To protect her. To shield her from the darkness of this world and all others.

“My mouth, my lips, my tongue, my every waking breath, are dedicated to your pleasure and delight.”

I breathe out slowly, careful not to let my gaze turn to her shivering form once again. My veins are warmer than they were before, and that warmth seems to pool in the pit of my gut. Gods! I should have known better than to let her talk me into entering this confined space with her. It’s one thing to put from my mind the shape and softness of her body when she’s lying on the other side of a crackling campfire. It’s another altogether when she’s beside me, the generous curve of her hip unhidden beneath the folds of that wet cloak. Days of riding with her nestled between my legs have done nothing to blur the memory of our night together. Of her soft lips, trembling gently under mine. Of her smooth skin, prickling with awareness at the molding of my hands. Of those delicate, melodic whimpers and moanscoaxed from her slender throat. And the taste of her, that warm sweetness, so eager under my tongue.

I rub a hand viciously down my face and give my head a swift shake. The last thing I need right now is to become distracted. Ashika’s death still weighs heavily on me, along with fear for the rest of my people, still missing. And what of the Hidden City? Without the Licornyn Riders to protect it, my people are vulnerable.

Shanaera is out there. She knows all the secret ways across Cruor. Even unmounted she is dangerous, and something tells me she and the undead following her are not without means of swift travel. I don’t like to imagine what sort of steeds the Miphates will have provided them with, but knowing thenecroliphon . . .

I must get home. I must see Tassa and all the greatdakathtents with their patterned walls, stretched across the green country of the hinterlands, beyond reach of thevardimnar.I must know they are safe and whole. Then I will begin the great labor of gathering the tribes once more in preparation for an assault on Evisar. Any day now word may come from Prince Ruvaen that he’s unlocked the secret of Mage Artoris’s talisman. The warriors of Licorna must be prepared to ride across the devastated fields of Agandaur one last time.

But before any of this may be accomplished, I must rid myself of this bride.

The heat in my veins doused once more, I allow a last glance down at her form. Though she still shivers, I believe she sleeps at last. Her breathing has changed, slow and even. She’s so small, so slight, her little human frame utterly unsuited to this world in which she now finds herself. If the call from Ruvaen comes beforesilmael, what will I do? Ride with her before me in the saddle to face the Miphates and whatever defenses they havegathered around their citadel? No. She is no warrior. And her presence will make me far too vulnerable.

We must break this bond. Tomorrow night, if I push Elydark to the limits of his strength, we can be in Elanlein. Onor Gantarith must know how to free me, to free us. And we’ve been so careful all these nights, allowing neither word nor deed to strengthen the bond.

One more night. One more ride.

I can do this.

I must.

A sigh on my lips, I lie down in the small space still available on my side of the hovel. Driedumedicrunches beneath the old fleece, filling my nostrils with a sweet, familiar scent. Long ago my mother used to place sachets ofumediblossoms under my pillow every night, a ward against bad dreams. I do not expect to dream fitfully tonight. Now that I am reclining, exhaustion radiates through my limbs.

Still, part of me resists sleep; something in me, down in my center, feels tense. As though some unseen threat lurks in this space, hiding in the shadows just beyond the firelight. But there’s nothing there, certainly nothing I need fear. And Elydark stands guard outside the door, prepared to sing his song of protection should thevardimnarfall.

So I close my eyes and, with the practice born of many a long campaign, drop off almost at once into dreamless sleep.

15

ILSEVEL

I feel the great bulk of him shifting as he lies down in what is left of the small space we share. After a few moments, he begins to breathe more deeply, blessed with a warrior’s gift of being able to drop off to sleep anytime, anyplace where opportunity allows. I’m left listening to the rain pounding overhead and the tree groaning down to its roots.

Tomorrow night.

Moonrise.

This could all be over by this time tomorrow. Of course I’ll still be deep in enemy territory, at the mercy of this dangerous warlord; that much won’t have changed. But this bond, such as it is, will be severed.

Why does the idea fill me with such dread? Like the mooring ropes anchoring me to this world are about to be snapped, leaving me to float off into a dark atmosphere.

I grit my teeth, curling my body even more tightly into itself. It’s not as though I have no plan, I remind myself firmly. The Shadow King still presumably needs his bride. Vengeance is still within my grasp, if I can only keep my wits about me long enough to take it.

But what will become of Taar? Will he march with Prince Ruvaen’s forces against Evisar Citadel, only to be hewn down by my monster bridegroom? Will the retribution I crave encompass this man who has been my protector? In saving me, has he only fostered his ultimate doom?

“No,” I whisper. The word is faint and phantomlike on my trembling lips. There must be another way. There must be another path before me, something other than selling myself in marriage. What if . . . what if . . . ?

What if Taar wanted me?

The thought flickers in the back of my mind, almost too dangerous to be acknowledged. I suck in a sharp breath, hold it fast, wait for reason to banish the idea entirely. Instead I find myself turning the question over, studying it from other angles. What if I were more to him than an inconvenience? What if I were more than a mistake?

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