Page 44 of HeartTorn

Halamar turns to Taar, speaking softly. The initial surprise and shock with which he greeted his king has faded, leaving behind the impression of a man not easily provoked to strong emotion. He and Taar exchange a few words, at the end of which Taar clasps his forearm warmly.“Normaer,”he says, a word of gratitude I’ve heard him speak before. Then he turns to me. “Halamar has offered us the use of hisdakathfor the night. It is located outside the city limits. We should not be disturbed.”

I catch Halamar’s eye.“Normaer,”I say experimentally. His eyes brighten with surprise, and something like a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Taar knows the way to Halamar’sdakath, so we part with the warrior and branch off from the primary road through the forest into a small side path I certainly could not have found on my own. Taar leads the way, carrying the teardrop lantern. I remain on Elydark’s back, rather cold without Taar’s presence behind me. I watch his shadowy form, illuminated by that pale light.

“That man,” I say after a little while. “Halamar . . . is he hearttorn?”

Taar stops, surprised, and looks back at me. “What makes you ask that?”

“Is he?” I persist.

His frown looks severe in the pale lantern glow. “His licorneir, Liossark, was killed at the battle of Agandaur Fields, three years ago.”

I turn this information over in my mind. “Was that when he broke off his relationship with your sister?”

Taar’s eyes widen. “How could you possibly know about that?”

I shrug. “There was a song between them. Disharmony. It reminded me of the hearttorn unicorns by the river, and . . . and Nyathri.”

Taar studies me for some moments, multiple expressions passing through his eyes in quick succession. “Halamar and my sister were promised to wed,” he says finally. “But when he becamevelrhoar,he told her he could not go through with it. He felt he was only half a man following Liossark’s death. He told her she deserved more.”

With those words, he faces forward and leads us on through the trees. Elydark follows, head low, his great horn pointed at the ground. I think back on those stray interactions glimpsed between Tassa and Halamar. Something tells me she has not forgiven him for ending their bond. She is angry but, unless I misunderstood the broken song between them, she loves him still.

We come to a clearing near a bubbling stream. A smalldakathtent stands pale in the moonlight. Nothing like the great tents of the city I’d seen from the temple mount, this one reminds me much more of those small tents I’d glimpsed in the Licornyn encampment the night of my ill-fated wedding. There’s not a great deal of room inside for one person, much less two.

“You will find plenty of blankets andleokasskins inside,” Taar says. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I dismount, painfully aware of the similarity to last night, when I’d stood in the rain outside the shepherd’s dugout and refused to shelter without him. Tonight, however, I won’t insist on sharing. He can sleep out here on the hard ground and freeze for all I care. Without a word, I step toward thedakath.

“Wait.”

My heart leaps. A sudden rush of blood pulses through my veins. I cannot look at him, but every part of me is so aware of him—of his size, his warmth, his power. The magnificent aura of his soul, like a song in and of itself. Around my wrist thevelratightens. I want to curse it and the terrible, irresistible draw I feel toward this man to whom I am still so damnably bound.

“Take this,” Taar says, his voice husky. He holds out the teardrop-shaped lantern. “It will be dark inside.”

Breath catches in my throat. I fear if I let it out, I’ll betray myself in some foolish way. Keeping my eyes firmly in front, I nod once, reach out and take the lantern. My fingertips brush against his, and a burst of electricity races up my arm to whorl in my breast.

Taar hastily steps back, beyond the circle of lantern light. He clears his throat. “Rest well tonight, Ilsevel.”

I open my mouth. But if I speak it won’t be to bid goodnight. The words crowding my tongue are far too perilous.

Biting my lip, I nod once, push back thedakathtent flap, and carry the lantern into the shadows inside.

22

TAAR

“So where is the human creature?”

I look up from the small fire I’ve built in the circle of stones outside Halamar’sdakath. I’d risen before the sun to gather kindling, eager to be done with the long night. It wasn’t sleeping on hard ground beneath the cold sky which bothered me; I’ve lived rough most of my life and have little need for creature comforts. Like any warrior, I can sleep well and deeply wherever I happen to lie down.

But I struggled to close my eyes last night. Not with the hides of thedakathwall separating me from Ilsevel.

The physical distance was not great, but that barrier felt like a yawning chasm. Thevelraaround my arm burned painfully as I fought the urge to throw back the entrance flap and plunge into the shadowy space where she lay. But I know what I would have done had I given in. I would have crawled atop her, ripped away the covering blankets, and plunged my hand under her skirts. My mouth would seek hers in the darkness, forgetting all Gantarith’s warnings. I would kiss her until she moaned, pleasure her until she sang, and to hell with all consequences.

Only Elydark’s presence kept me sane. My licorneir positioned himself in the space between me and thedakath,like a living wall. Fully aware of the turmoil in my soul, he did not speak to me, did not try to argue me out of any foolish impulses. He simply stood, silent and solid, until I rolled onto my side, my back to him, and closed my eyes tight. The hours crept by slowly, one after the other. When I rose at last, I felt haggard asthough I’d spent the night in combat, and my forearm hurt like the damned.

It still hurts now as I lift my gaze from my small fire to watch the dawn mist part and my sister step through into Halamar’s home clearing. A large wovenbasket rests on her hip, a fold of palekhiirfabric draping out of one side. She’s come prepared for her morning work, as we agreed upon last night.

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