Page 47 of HeartTorn

“What are the chances Tassa won’t attempt to drown my bride before the morning is through?” I ask, taking a seat opposite Halamar at the fire.

He chuckles, though his mouth remains in its solemn line. “From what I’ve seen of your warbride, she can handle herself, even against a force like Talanashta. Did she not tame our erstwhile untamableluinar?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I growl. But as I don’t feel like explaining myself all over again, I switch topics. “Have you seen any sign of Kildorath and the others?”

Halamar looks up from the cooking stone. “We’d hoped you would have news of them.”

I shake my head grimly. “I sent them on ahead when events transpired to keep me longer at the Grimspire. I didn’t want the Hidden City to be unguarded longer than necessary.”

The instant the words pass my lips, I regret them. Halamar himself stood guard over the city while the Licornyn riders were away. Though suffering fromvelrhoar, he is a warrior still, valiant and strong. But he is nothing like he was when bonded to his licorneir. “Half a man”—that’s what he called himself when he broke his promise to Tassa. It is painful enough never to have known a licorneir bond; far worse to have known such a bond and lost it.

Halamar doesn’t react to my words. He continues in that same even tone: “We have seen nothing of them. You are the first to return.”

My gut knots. Ashika’s face appears in my mind, her head half-severed from her body as she lay in the dirt of Agandaur. And Nyathri . . . her licorneir is still out there somewhere, hearttorn and suffering. Did the same fate befall all my brave Licornyn? Did Shanaera and her crimson-cloaked followers decimate them out in the wilds of Cruor? I must find them. As soon as matters are arranged here, I must resupply and set out across the river, but . . .

“Shakh,” I whisper. If I go, I will have to take Ilsevel with me. Even if the elders agree to let her stay untilsilmael,I will be vulnerable if parted from her. But what can I do? Set her before me on Elydark’s saddle and ride with her back into that hell-stricken land? Or wait here alongside Tassa and the old folk and thevelrhoar? Helpless, useless.

Halamar abruptly sits up a little straighter, his eyes widening. Curious, I twist my torso to look behind me and discover what he has seen. My traitorous heart turns over. Slowly I rise to my feet, lips parting with a gust of escaped breath.

Ilsevel stands before me, clad in a traditional wovenkhiirgown. The waistband sits in a low V at her hips, pale rouched fabric emphasizing every curve, while a long slit up each side reveals flashing glimpses of shapely legs decorated in silver anklets and delicate cords. Her midriff is exposed, but Tassa has taken the time to paint the traditional sun-and-moon motif of a bride around her navel with the stain of crushed ilsevel blossoms. Softleokashide wraps her breast, leaving her shoulders and arms bare save for wide silver armbands which grip her wrists and upper arms—Tassa’s ornaments, intended for her own wedding but never used. Until today.

My sister has accomplished much in a short period. She’s washed and brushed her charge’s chestnut hair until it shines, then caught it up in small, complicated braids that crown her head while leaving long locks to flow down her back. To finish the look, she’s tucked a single purple ilsevel blossom behind her ear.

I feel hollowed out. Empty of all thought, all reason. For a space of ten breaths, I cannot recall the elders or the meeting, cannot even sense the presence of my sister and friend observing me far too closely. I see nothing buther. Ilsevel, my bride. This stranger who, in the course of a mere week, has thrown my life into utter turmoil and set my heart ablaze.

A throb of lust jolts through my loins, but I’m scarcely aware of it. This is more than mere lust burning inside me. It’s desire. For her. All of her: heart, mind, body, and soul. I want her with the desperate wanting a drowning man wants air.

I drag my gaze from her bare feet, taking in the gentle folds ofkhiirskirt, the tantalizing shape of her legs, the lovely indentation of her navel surrounded by ilsevel stain. Her chest rises and falls quickly, the folds of deer hide emphasizing the delicious shape. I could swear I can see the pulse beating in her slender throat.

Finally my scrutiny reaches her dark eyes. I find them fixed on me with an intent expression, as though, in that moment, I hold her life in my hands.

“Well?” Her voice breaks the spell of the moment. “Is it that bad?” She wraps her arms around her bare skin, shivering. “I feel ridiculous. And exposed. This doesn’t seem like appropriate attire for meeting with elders.”

“It’s bridal raiment,” Tassa says shortly and inspects her work with a critical eye. “It makes you look more Licornyn.”

I blink, suddenly reminded of my sister’s presence, not to mention Halamar and Elydark, all standing by and watching me.It’s just as well—for in another moment, I would have lunged across the little space between me and Ilsevel and taken her in my arms. Even now thevelrasears into my flesh like a tongue of fire, urging me to give in, to drag her into thedakath, throw her down upon the piled skins, hike up those delicate white skirts, and bury my head between her thighs.

“It will have to do,” I say instead, my voice emerging in a rough bark. With a wrench of sheer will, I turn away and march across the clearing. Blood roars in my ears. “It’s time to go,” I call over my shoulder. “We cannot be late for this meeting.”

“What about breakfast?” Halamar asks, a note of wryness in his voice. “Are you not hungry after all,luinar?”

I am hungry. Ravenous. But not for the hotleokasmeat sizzling on his stone.

And something tells me he knows it.

23

ILSEVEL

I watch Taar’s back retreat into the forest ahead of me. Though I know I must follow, my feet are suddenly heavy.

The way he looked at me—so harsh, so unforgiving—as though I’ve committed some terrible sin. But it was his idea to dress me in Licornyn garb, was it not? And his sister who wrapped me in these outlandish garments and painted this strange symbol on my skin. It’s not as though I want to spend a frigid morning half-dressed and barefoot, shivering so hard I can’t tell if it’s from fear or chill.

Halamar says something low in Licornyn tongue. Tassa answers sharply, her eyebrows lowered. “What is it?” I demand, frowning at the two of them. I know perfectly well they can speak my language if they choose. “Have I done something wrong? Have I offended him?”

Tassa shoots me a disparaging look. “There is nothing right about the sight of a human in Licornyn country.” She adds something else I don’t understand, something at my expense, judging by the low chuckle from Halamar. But she follows it up with a sweep of her arm and says with great dignity, “Go on, bride of my brother. The elders are waiting.”

Apparently she means for me to go first. With a shrug, I follow the narrow path into the forest, tracing Taar’s footsteps. My bare feet shrink from the rough terrain and cold dirt. Why in all the gods’ names would Licornyn brides choose to go shoeless on their wedding days, even this time of year? Tassa tells me it’stradition, but part of me suspects she’s just trying to see how much discomfort she can inflict before I’ll stand up for myself.

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