Page 43 of HeartTorn

We come to the bottom of the incline and the level ground of the valley bowl. Here a forest separates us from the city, the trees so densely grown, the branches so intertwined, they might as well be a wall of stone. But Elydark continues without pause, finding a nearly invisible trail and trotting along it at a brisk clip. Beneath the canopy of this forest, I am practically blind, for no moonlight can penetrate here. Thus I don’t see the figure who steps out in front of us on the path and only become aware of him when a deep voice calls out roughly:“Tor eilamar!”

I let out a little squeak of surprise and jolt back against the broad chest behind me. Elydark comes to a halt, tossinghis head, but Taar’s voice is level when he answers:“Velethuil,Halamar.”It is the Licornyn greeting—that much I recognize. But the string of words which follows I do not know.

A flash of light erupts in the darkness. I throw up my hands to shield my eyes. It’s like a star suddenly flaring into existence right here in the forest before me, so brilliant and white and dancing with other nameless colors just on the edge of perception. For a moment it’s too much, but when my eyes adjust to that initial flare, I peer between my fingers.

A tall figure stands in the path, his legs widespread, his shoulders like a wall. He holds a long, teardrop-shaped lantern out at the extent of his arm. It is this which casts the strange light, but it does not contain flame—instead, to my surprise, I see a swirl of liquid contained behind glass, giving off that pulsing luminousness. It’s so odd, at first I cannot tear my gaze away from it to further study the man who carries it. However, as he and Taar continue talking over one another in eager Licornyn tongue, I take time to study him.

He is built like a warrior: strong, well-muscled. His face is older than Taar’s and not quite handsome, but striking in its way, with a prominent nose and a wide jaw. His hair is black and braided tightly at the temples before falling well past his shoulders. In typical Licornyn fashion, his torso is bare despite the crisp chill in the air, but he wears a wide belt and furred trousers tucked into tall boots.

All these details flash before my eyes, but they seem hardly to matter. There’s something else which strikes me much more prominently, something . . . not quite right. I’m not sure how to describe it.Crippledis the word which comes to mind, though I see no sign of warping or injury in his strong limbs.

Suddenly I catch it: the faintest whisper of song. Broken song, a melody made dissonant and wrong. It’s not unlike the songI heard from the hearttorn unicorns. From Nyathri. But it’s so faint, almost imperceptible. Could I be imagining it?

His gaze fastens on me. He holds up his teardrop-shaped lantern to better illuminate my face. A curse bursts from his lips, and he takes a step back, his free hand going for the sword at his belt. Hastily Taar dismounts and goes toward him, hands open. The man looks at Taar, shaking his head in confusion. Their voices rise and fall, and all the while, the man keeps sending me looks that change from anger to disbelief. At one point he throws back his head and utters a loud bark of a laugh. That makes my blood boil. I knot my hands in Elydark’s mane, biting back the words which spring to my tongue.

Finally the man nods, seeming to agree to something. With a last distrustful glance my way, he hands his lantern to Taar, turns, and makes his way up the path through the dark forest. “Who was that?” I demand the moment the shadows swallow him from sight.

Taar turns back to me, holding up the strange lantern. “Halamar,” he says. “An old friend and battle companion.”

“He seemed . . . less than pleased to see me.”

A rueful expression flashes across Taar’s face. He returns to Elydark’s side. The lantern swings on the end of its chain, casting his shadow in flashing configurations behind him. “If Halamar’s reaction is the worst we receive, we will be gods-blessed for sure.” He stops and touches Elydark’s shoulder with his free hand and doesn’t meet my eye. “He’s gone to find my sister. She will help us tonight.”

“Help us how?”

“We must prepare you to meet the elders. Tassa will inform them of our arrival and forewarn them as to the nature of the meeting which will take place. She will also assist you in making yourself ready in the morning, appropriate garments and so forth.”

We lapse back into silence. I can’t say I’m pleased at the prospect of meeting Taar’s sister. It feels too personal. Not to mention she’s bound to hate me as much as any other Licornyn I’ve met.

I pull myself a little straighter in the saddle, fighting the exhaustion permeating my limbs. Taar stands close to Elydark’s head, and I feel the hum of their shared communion. If I listened more closely, I think I could pick up a few words here and there, but I’m too tired to try. Instead I let my awareness sink deeper, back into that space which hears the gentle song of the ilsevel blossoms. There aren’t as many down here in the valley, but I spy a few stray vines climbing tree trunks, the hearts of small buds glowing faintly in the gloom. Those buds begin to unfurl when I look at them, as though eager to greet me. I look away quickly.

I don’t know how long we wait. Long enough that I begin to wonder if this Halamar forgot about us entirely, and we’re doomed to spend a cold night under these trees. My eyelids are leaden, and my head nods. I feel I could slip from this saddle, lie down right beside Elydark’s massive hooves, and sleep like the dead for a week or more.

Before I can quite resolve to do just that, however, a woman’s voice calls out in the darkness: “Taar?”

Suddenly I’m awake. Anxiety spikes through my veins. Two figures step into the glow of Taar’s upraised lantern—Halamar and, close at his heels, a tall, strikingly beautiful woman. She is slender to the point of thinness, but her bare arms boast defined muscles that bespeak a life of hard labor. Her black hair is bound on top of her head in fat coils held in place by glinting silver threads, and large earrings of pounded silver hang from her ears nearly to her shoulders. Her features are strong and ideally proportioned, her black eyes cat-shaped above severecheekbones. She couldn’t be mistaken for anyone but Taar’s sister.

But the thing which catches my attention most forcefully at the sight of both her and Halamar is that same thread of song I’d picked up from him at first glance. That strange, broken melody—only this time it’s much more pronounced. And it seems to flow between the two of them.

Halamar’s face has lost all sharpness of expression, his features assuming a mask of calm. Quite a contrast to the severity in the woman’s eyes. She—Tassa presumably—stops dead a few paces from Taar. Her mouth drops open in surprise as her gaze travels from him to me. I’m immediately certain that, were we to have met alone in this place, she would have torn into me tooth-and-nail, like a wildcat. As it is the presence of the other two holds her fury in check. But only just.

After a space of breaths during which I count seven thudding heartbeats in my throat, the woman wrenches her gaze from me and rounds on her brother. When she speaks, her voice is cold, low, and venomous. Taar tries to interrupt, but she takes an aggressive step forward, finger pointing at his face, and a stream of vicious words pours forth. Taar waits until she’s through, then gently takes his sister’s pointing finger in hand and moves it to one side.

“Tassa,” he says, “allow me to introduce my warbride. This is Ilsevel. Ilsevel”—he looks at me over his shoulder—“it is my pleasure to present to you Talanashta Estathanei, my sister.”

Tassa’s gaze doesn’t move from her brother’s face. She takes a step back and growls something that sounds like an expletive.

Up until now I’ve held my tongue, but this woman’s tone sets my teeth on edge. “See here,” I snap, leaning forward in the saddle, determined to catch her eye, “it’s not as though I like this situation any more than the rest of you. It wasn’tmychoice to be married off to this hulking lunk of a brother of yours. Did Iaskhim to throw me in a prison cart and haul me away to captivity? Did Iaskhim to buy me and drag me away to this gods-forsaken place?”

The woman stares up at me. Behind her, Halamar chuckles softly, though his face remains a mask. Tassa shoots him a glare, and he swallows and resumes his silence. She looks up at me again, her eyes penetrating. When she opens her mouth, I brace myself, prepared for attack.

“Heisa hulking lunk.” She pronounces the words in my language with only a trace of an accent. “Whatever else you may be, I’ll credit you for that insight at least.” She presses her lips into a hard line, her gaze running over me in the pale light of that lantern. She glances at her brother again, eyes narrowing, and says something in Licornyn. He responds in a low murmur, and she sighs.

Turning to me once more, she crosses her arms and shakes her head so that her large, silver earrings swing back and forth over her shoulders. “Very well, human,” she says with a little huff through her lips. “Tomorrow I will help you prepare to meet the elders. Perhaps my lunkish brother will be able to convince them to spare your life. Perhaps not. We shall let the gods decide.”

“Thank you,” I answer stiffly, though not entirely convinced thanks is appropriate.

She tips an eyebrow my way, then fixes Taar with another stern glare before turning to Halamar. She says a few swift words to him, which he acknowledges with a solemn nod. Once more, the air between them crackles with a faint echo of broken song, distant yet unmistakable. I shake my head slightly but cannot clear the sound from my ears. It continues singing, an eerie dissonance, until Tassa turns from Halamar and hastens up the path toward the city.

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