Page 40 of HeartTorn

Teeth flashing in a grimace, Gantarith circles the altar. His bare feet deftly avoid any of the delicate blossoms growing up between the paving stones. His eyes remain fastened on Ilsevel, as though he might peel back her outer layers to get down to the meat of her soul. She stares right back at him. While she does not understand a word he speaks, his tone is unmistakable. I see again that same stubborn courage I’ve witnessed in her from the very first moment of our meeting. Onor Gantarith would intimidate kings and princes of the fae, but even he cannot make my wife flinch.

Not my wife,I remind myself sharply. Gods, why can’t I keep my thoughts in order?

“We were wed under unusual circumstances,” I say quickly, “and now we need the marriage bond dissolved.”

Gantarith, no more than five paces from us, continues to stare at Ilsevel for some moments, his expression impossible to read. After what feels like an age, he flicks his gaze to meet mine once more. “Unusual circumstances, you say? There’s a story here, no doubt.”

“Yes,” I acknowledge. “A long one. But the main thrust of it is this: I took this woman as my bride to save her life.”

“Why?” There’s real confusion in that single word. Gantarith, like any of my people, cannot fathom a good reason for a human to be saved. Certainly not by a Licornyn.

“She was an innocent bystander,” I say, “a pilgrim worshipping at the temple of Lamruil.”

From there I swiftly recount the circumstances of our meeting, summarizing as concisely as I may. Gantarith listens, his eyes ever drawn back to Ilsevel’s face. He watches for some stray expression which might betray falsehood in her. When I come to the end of our short history, the old priest stands silent for so long, I begin to wonder if he heard a word I said.

Finally he draws a long breath and turns that hard gaze of his to me. “So,” he says slowly, “the marriage was . . . consummated?”

I won’t let shame color my voice. “It was necessary to save her life. She was caught up in events far beyond her scope. I felt I owed her assistance.”

“Assistance?Is that what you call it?” The expression which flashes across Gantarith’s features is distinctly unholy. He looks Ilsevel up and down, takes in her womanly shape. She doesn’t know what he is saying, but she knows that look. She crosses her arms over her breast and scowls at him harder than ever. The priest snorts derisively and turns to me once more. “Did you say her name is Ilsevel?”

“That is the name she gave me.”

“She might be lying.”

“Yes. But I think not in this instance.”

“Have you asked her how she came by such a name?”

“I have been able to get very little out of her,” I confess. “She is in enemy territory, frightened and alone. One cannot blame her for reticence.”

Gantarith narrows his eyes at me. “You are keeping something from me,luinar.I heard the song she sang, here in our most sacred place. That was no human song, nor was it a human voice. There is something else at play here, something bigger.”

I hesitate. Ilsevel’s position is already so tenuous, and I don’t want to reveal anything that could compromise her more. But it’s not as though I can deny outright what Gantarith heard with his own ears. “She is gods-gifted,” I say.

“What?” Gantarith’s eyes flash in the brazier light. I find I don’t want to share further details with him, however. I don’t want him to know how I nearly succumbed to virulium poison. Gantarith was there when I first foreswore the virulium dose. He prayed over my body when it suffered through the agonies of withdrawal. It would disturb him greatly to hear of any reversion, despite the miraculous interference of Ilsevel and her gift.

I say only, “Her gift is music. She can hear the songs of the licorneir.”

“Indeed?” Gantarith’s gaze returns to Ilsevel, appraising her slowly, distrustfully. “Humans were not meant to hear the songs of the Star Children.”

I hold my tongue. Anything I say might sway him against her. He studies her, and I wait. Though I amluinarof the surviving Licornyn tribes, Gantarith holds much sway as high priest. His word may influence the elders one way or the other.

“So,” the old priest says at last, “you married her to save her life and have now brought her here to be queen of Licorna?”

“No,” I answer hastily and hold out my forearm. “I intended to leave her behind with her own people, but . . . something happened with thevelra. Something I did not expect.”

Gantarith takes hold of my arm and turns it slowly this way and that. Whether or not he can see the invisible cord, I don’t know, but when I describe the strange weakness which overtakes me whenever I leave Ilsevel’s proximity, he does not seem surprised. His brow knots, and the severe lines framing his mouth deepen. When I finish recounting the shocking discovery, he shakes his head heavily. Then he catches my eye. “How have you brought this upon yourself, my boy?”

“I’ve wondered much the same these last seven days.” I lift an eyebrow. “Can you help, Onor Gantarith? Can you undo the binding?”

To my dismay, he shakes his head. “Not untilsilmael. That is the law.”

“Yes, but this is an unusual circumstance.” I refuse to acknowledge the sudden sinking in my gut. “We were not meant to wed. It wasn’t planned or intended. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“Perhaps.” The priest shrugs. “But you consummated the marriage,luinar.Your vows are binding in the eyes of Nornala.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

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