Page 42 of HeartTorn

“Zylnala,” I say, and her eyes flash, meeting mine. “With my body will I protect you. With my arms will I shelter you.” I speak the sacred vows, not in my own language as I have always known them, but in hers. They sound strange, unnatural. But true.

Ilsevel stares up at me. Does she realize what I am saying? Does she realize what I am offering her?

“We will part on the night of the New Moon,” I continue. “Until then you are under my protection, as you have been since this bond was formed between us. I will let no harm come to you. This I vowed then and vow again now.”

The muscles around her eyes seem to tighten. Are those tears I see? But she blinks, and no stray droplets escape through her lashes as she dips her head, staring at our joined hands. She lets out a breath. Then nods. Her fingers tighten briefly around mine, but when she tugs her hand away, I let her go and turn to Gantarith.

The old priest watches us narrowly. “So,” he says, “you are determined to wait it out.”

I nod.

“You will have to take precautionsif you want to be certain of a broken bond comesilmael.”

“I know,” I say. “The elders—”

“I’m not talking about the elders.” His mouth crooks in a mirthless half-smile. “If the bond is to be safely broken and leave no lasting scars, you must abstain from all physical intimacy. For the rest of the month.” He tips his chin, eyeing me from under his lowered brow. “You cannotshakhyour bride again,luinar.Is that going to be a problem?”

My throat thickens. But when I answer, my voice is even. “No. That will not be a problem.”

But I can see the look in the old priest’s eye. He doesn’t believe me. Not for a second.

21

ILSEVEL

Taar is silent as we leave the domed chamber and step back into the passage. He takes my hand again, and though I don’t want even that small point of contact between our palms, I can’t very well shake him off. I could never navigate the winding ways of this temple on my own, so I grit my teeth and let him lead me.

All around ilsevel blossoms clinging to the walls flicker with their strange inner light-song. I had ceased to hear them when we stood in the presence of that priest, for his harsh voice, speaking in a rush of language I couldn’t begin to comprehend, drowned out all other sound. Now the song returns, a delicate hum on the edge of awareness. It’s strange—I’ve never heard anything quite like it, made without either voice or soul. Something about it feels familiar, but I don’t know why. It’s as though part of me has always known this songshouldexist, if only I could find it. As though I’ve believed in and sought after it all my life, without knowing what I sought.

We emerge suddenly through the open temple door, back out into the crisp air of deepening evening. Elydark gleams in the moonlight. He munches contentedly, and when he raises his head at the sight of us, petals scatter from his muzzle. A greeting hums along the soul-thread connecting Taar and Elydark. Taar releases my hand, leaving me oddly bereft as he goes to his steed. They lean their heads close together, sharing words in their private language.

I rub my hands, eager to rub away the warmth of Taar’s fingers. The temple doorway feels like an open maw behind me,and I step away from it, shivering. There was something in the way that old priest had looked at me, a latent hatred barely suppressed. I shouldn’t be surprised—it was the same look Taar’s people gave me the night of our ill-fated wedding. Am I really to spend the next month surrounded by those who would like to see me dead?

Taar and his unicorn are still talking. Though I cannot hear what they say, Elydark’s low-hung head and Taar’s bowed shoulders are telling enough. With a sigh I turn away from them. There’s a broad, flat rock not far from my current position, surrounded by a tangle of ilsevel blossoms. I step over to it and take a seat, suddenly tired. I’m perched not far from the edge of a ravine overlooking a hushed valley. Down below stand hundreds of tent-like structures, bathed in gentle moonlight.

“The Hidden City,” I whisper. Every time Taar mentioned this place, I had pictured something like the great ruins we’d passed when crossing Cruor, all those magnificent structures, those towers and bridges and tall, forbidding walls. This is nothing like what I expected. The city is arranged in a carefully-plotted circular formation. The tents themselves are, for the most part, circular as well, but with side chambers jutting out from the primary circle. Even from this distance, many of them look quite large and imposing. Nonetheless they don’t compare to the magnificent architecture I’d glimpsed in passing while riding Elydark across the stricken land.

How far have the people of Licorna fallen? I wonder vaguely as I sit here, chin cupped in my hands. The tragedy of Taar’s tale strikes me all over again. Once a great power among the worlds of Eledria, now a remnant people, living rough in this harsh country . . . no wonder the Licornyn folk hate my kind so viciously.

Footsteps sound behind me. I glimpse Taar in my peripheral vision moments before he draws alongside the stone on which Isit. He stands there, silent. Then he takes a seat, close enough that I feel the warmth radiating from his skin. I hate the draw I feel toward him, the urge to lean close and feel the solidness of his arm. Instead I sit up straight, pulling my cloak tight around me, and refuse to look at him. Was he lying when he said he wouldn’t kill me? I’m almost certain that’s what the priest suggested—something in Gantarith’s tone sounded bloodthirsty to me. Maybe Taar spoke all those gentle assurances just to keep me from panicking or doing anything rash, but secretly he intends to slit my throat while I sleep.

“I cannot hide you for a month.”

His voice is sudden after the long silence. I shoot him a swift sideways glance. There’s a hardness to his features, to the set of his jaw. Wind whips through his long, black hair, trailing strands across his eyes, which remain fixed on the city below us.

“Hide me?” I say at last, echoing his words.

“I considered taking you back into the wilds,” he says. “I thought we might stay there untilsilmael,away from any prying eyes.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t. My people need me. I amluinar, and I have responsibilities.” He draws a long breath and grimaces, as though the words he’s about to say taste bitter on his tongue. “So we will meet with the elders tomorrow morning. I must ask their permission for you to stay until the night of the new moon.”

I take this in without comment. It’s not as though I have any say in the matter. Strange that these elders, whoever they are, wield so much power over their king. I cannot imagine my own father submitting to any authority. But then I would hardly compare my father to Taar in any respect—they are very different men and, presumably, very different kings.

Taar suddenly runs both hands down his face. He looks tired. It might be the first time since the virulium poison laid him low that I’ve seen him as anything other than a figure of certaintyand strength. He does not remain like so for long, however, but rises and says in a firm voice, “Come. We cannot stay here all night.”

Without a murmur I leave my stone seat behind and follow him back to where Elydark waits, grazing quietly in a patch of ilsevel blossoms. Apparently, though Taar claimed a single ilsevel could sustain a unicorn for upwards of a month, that doesn’t stop them from enjoying a hearty meal when given opportunity. He puts his ears back when Taar assists me back into the saddle. I don’t blame him; the last thing in all the worlds I want is to ride on tonight, or ever again for that matter. But I hold my tongue.

Taar mounts behind me and nudges Elydark with his heels. The unicorn ambles into motion, picking out a path down from the temple mount toward the tent city below.

Taar does not try to speak, for which I am grateful. Though questions multiply inside my head, I tamp them down firmly. In the silence, I find myself once again hearing the delicate hum of the ilsevel blossoms, which grow down this hillside in trailing vines. I can’t help the odd sense that they are following me, somehow. That they don’t want me to leave them, that they’re inviting me to stay and listen and understand.

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