Page 45 of HeartTorn

Tassa scowls at me where I crouch at the fire, her question hanging in the smokey air between us. “Grace to you this fine morning, dear sister,” I say dryly, sitting back on my heels. “Of all homely comforts, I’ve missed the dulcet sounds of your voice the most.”

A growl in her throat, Tassa stomps across the flattened grass, sets down her basket, and kneels across the fire from me. My travel kettle, propped on coals, is just beginning to belch steam. She glances at it before turning her gaze to thedakathdoor flap. “Is she still asleep?”

I grunt.

“And you spent the night out here, did you?”

I don’t answer. Using a long stick, I hook the kettle handle and lift it from the fire. I have only two cups on hand; I fill them both, straining the largerjyretea leaves as I pour. One cup I offer across the flickering fire. Tassa stares at me a moment before taking it. Her eyes never leave mine as she lifts the brew, takes a slow sip.

Then, shaking her head, she lowers the cup to her lap. “Gods, youshakhedher, didn’t you.”

I swirl the contents of my own cup, watching remnantjyreleaves whirl. “Truly, sister, your speech grows more refined by the day. Such eloquence from the last princess of Licorna.”

“Gods-damn you, Taar.” She flashes her teeth like a wildcat. “She’shuman.How could you bear to touch her?”

“I didn’t. I slept out here last night. Elydark will vouch for me.”

She glances at my licorneir, who stands on the edge of the clearing and pretends to ignore us both. Her eyes swivel back to me. The lines around her mouth harden. “And what about the night before?”

I don’t answer. Neither can I hold her gaze. I take a gulp from my cup, the too-hot liquid scalding as it pours down my throat. Tassa curses again and tosses the contents of her cup into the fire, which sizzles and sends up a cloud of dark smoke. Rising, she gathers her basket and turns as though to leave.

“Tassa, wait,” I call after her.

“Wait? Wait? What have I ever done but wait?” She whirls to face me, her long silver earrings clattering softly as they swing back and forth over her shoulders. Her face is vicious, and her hands grip the handles of her basket white-knuckled. “I’m always the one who waits, Taar, while you ride off to adventure in far worlds. I’m here, scrubbing soiled small clothes, curing smelly hides, spinningkhiirinto thread, and grindingaymarroots for the cookpot. I’m herewaiting.Trusting, believing. Praying that someday, somehow, we will reclaim the world that once was ours, and I’ll see my home again.” She shifts her basket to her hip, then tosses her free hand to indicate Halamar’sdakath.“I’m waiting for warriors to ride home, either in victory or defeat. Waiting for wounds to heal which never do, waiting for those I love to return to me, whether broken or whole, I cannot know. Always, always I am waiting, Taar.”

Her eyes hold mine across the clearing, simmering with barely suppressed wrath. I feel the heat of her pain and frustration. Life has not been kind to any of us in the years since the Rift. But I have Elydark. That licorneir bond has been my sustaining force, even through the loss of Shanaera. But Tassa has had to face each shock alone.

Slowly I get to my feet. Her eyes flash as I approach her, but she does not resist when I reach out and take her hand. “Tassa—” I begin.

“Don’t,” she snaps, dropping her gaze from mine. She lets a long breath out through clenched teeth. We stand like so for some moments, and I don’t know what to say to break this silence. I know how dearly my sister wished to one day be a rider like our mother. But there are so few licorneir left in the world, and bonds are rare. She never found a pairing; instead she was forced to watch while I, Shanaera, Kildorath, and Halamar all rode out from the Hidden City and left her behind.

“I’m sorry, Tassa,” I say at last, my voice low. “Truly.”

“Sorry forshakhinga human?”

I squeeze her hand. “Sorry for disappointing you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” She tilts her head back, scowling up at me. “I’m disgusted.”

I meet her gaze levelly. “You weren’t there.”

“Damn right, I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t see her.” I grimace as memory flashes through my mind. “You didn’t see how valiantly she fought to protect her sister. Against impossible odds, unarmed, ravening Noxaurians closing in, and still she would not back down.”

Tassa sneers. “Even a rat will fight when it’s cornered.”

A sudden swell of rage bellows up from deep inside me. Part of me is shocked—I’ve never felt this way, not toward my sister. For a split second I try to calm myself, to remember that I have voiced similar and worse opinions about humans many times in my life.

But then my voice emerges in a growl so deep, I hardly recognize it: “You will not speak of her in that way again. Not to me.”

Tassa’s eyes flare. She wrenches her hand from mine and staggers two steps back. She looks at me like I’m some stranger.“Is that how it is then? Have you forgotten everything you are, everything those Miphates forced you to become? Has she so easily seduced you?”

My jaw clenches. “Ilsevel is guilty of no wrongdoing. She is neither a Miphata nor a warrior, but an innocent pilgrim. It was my fault she was endangered. I did what I had to do to save her life.”

My sister’s lip curls. “You’re keeping something from me.”

The moment she says it, I hear Ilsevel’s voice again, soft in my head:“Mage Artoris would not have been at the Temple of Lamruil were it not for me.”Even now thought of their connection brings bile to my throat. And how deep did that connection run? How deep may it run still, despite her declarations to the contrary?

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