Page 48 of HeartTorn

Keeping my head high and refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me limp, I quicken my pace. Thevelratugs at my wrist, eager to close the distance between me and my bridegroom. I grimace and tug back. Our foolishness of two nights ago may have made this cursed bond stronger than it was, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let it control me.

Taar waits for us where the small path leading from Halamar’sdakathconnects with the larger trail. His gaze flicks briefly over me when I emerge through the greenery, but he hastily turns his attention on Tassa, Halamar, and Elydark, who appear behind me. When we’ve all gathered, he turns and, without a word, marches on up the road, his shoulders set, his face forbidding.

Biting back a curse, I hasten after him. My legs emerge between the long slits in my skirt, startling me with the sight of their nakedness. Awkwardly I try to hold the slits closed even as I trot to keep pace with Taar. “I need to know what’s coming,” I say in a low voice, not liking for the others to overhear. “What am I to expect from these elders?”

His dark eyes flash briefly sideways. They catch mine for no more than an instant before he faces forward again. He draws a long breath and holds it. I begin to wonder if he’s not going to answer. Finally: “Eight elders of Old Licorna dwell in the Hidden City, one from each of the surviving tribes. They are responsible for maintaining the unified interests of our people. The eldest is Halaema of the Rocaryn Tribe, who inhabit this valley.”

“And are they . . . chieftains?” I hazard.

“No. They are all former Licornyn warriors, now too aged to ride. Because their bonds to their licorneir prolonged their lives, they are much older than others of my kind, among theoldest living beings in this world. Halaema was born before the foundations of Evisar Citadel were laid.”

I trot a little faster, trying not to let the cold ground freeze my bare toes. “Are they . . .” I hesitate over the word, determined to get it right. “Are theyvelrhoar?”

Behind me, Halamar makes a strange sound, a rumble in his throat. I glance over my shoulder, but the warrior won’t meet my eyes, though Tassa glares at me, fiercer than ever.

“No,” Taar says, drawing my attention back to him. “When the time came, their licorneir were soul-bonded to new young riders, as is the custom. Elydark was one of these.”

I frown. “I thought you said no one knew Elydark’s name until he shared it with you.”

“It’s true,” he replies. “When a licorneir is soul-bonded to a new rider, a new name is shared between them. The connection to a former rider is never fully gone, but the new name, the new bond, takes precedence. Someday I hope to see Elydark bonded anew to my son or daughter. Then he will take a new name.”

I remember what he said about Onoril, how the father of all licorneir was to be his had he not been lost. And what of Mahra? She was never to be Tassa’s. No, she was meant to bond with the future queen of Licorna. With Taar’s wife.

A shiver travels down my spine. The fiery magnificence and terror of that creature I’d glimpsed beyond the river appears again before my mind’s eye. That wild, broken, beautiful song which had so seared my heart with pain. What would it be like to bond to such a being? To share a soul-tether, to speak to one another’s spirits? What would it be like to join my voice with hers and sing in duet with a creature of pure fire and magic?

But these are not questions for me to ponder. I am not Taar’s wife. Not really. Or at least, not for long.

I swallow any further questions until we come abruptly to the edge of the forest, and I find myself looking up close at the city ofdakathtents spread before me. They are larger than I expected, each one made up of a central, circular tent, with three or four more off-shoots to create private chambers. From a distance they had seemed to be made up entirely of earth tones, but now that we’re up close, I’m surprised to see the vivid patterns painted on the animal hide walls. They are the same hue as the paint even now decorating my abdomen, and the patterns are similar as well—sun-and-moon motifs, along with licorneir and other beasts I do not recognize. And everywhere, absolutely everywhere, ilsevel blossoms.

On the outskirts of the town, the tents are set a little farther apart with staked-out yards surrounding them. But as I let my gaze follow the road winding into the city, I see thedakathsincreasing in size and set closer together. From this angle, down in the valley and not above, it seems quite a large city.

I stop, reluctant to go on. There are figures moving about the yards: women at cookpots, children either playing or performing their morning chores. Nearer still stand five tall guards: three men and two women, all older, with lined faces, ferociously armed. They do not seem surprised at the sight of theirluinar;they raise weapons in solemn salute at his appearance. But when their gazes fix on me, their expressions turn aggressive. One of the old men shouts and brandishes his weapon menacingly. Taar smoothly steps between me and the man. He speaks in a sharp, commanding tone. The guard immediately stands down, and we pass through the five of them. I feel as though I’m running a gauntlet—their gazes could flay the skin from my bones.

The people gathered in their yards are no better. Women, children, and older men stand at their fenceposts and in theirdakathdoorways, staring at me. Very few young adults; I can count on one hand the number of youthful faces I spy. Have they all been sent off to war, or are they out hunting to supply this large community? Those left behind watch me withunsuppressed hatred. Gods above, I’ve never felt so guilty for merely existing! I keep my head high and force my hands to relax their grip on the white skirts, allowing them to hang free, though it means my bare legs flash through the slits more than I like. I don’t want to look flinching or frightened. I am a princess, damn it. I will act the part, though no one here may know it.

Taar strides on into his city, his gaze set firmly forward. Halamar, Tassa, and Elydark, last of all, make up the tail of our small procession. Soon quite a crowd gathers on either side of the dirt road to watch us pass. Some call out greetings to Taar, delighted at his return, only to stop short at sight of me. Antagonism seethes in the atmosphere.

“Word will have reached the elders of your arrival long before we come to the Meeting House.” Taar grimaces. “I suppose there was no way of sneaking you in undetected short of putting a sack over your head.”

A sack may have been preferable to this garment. More comfortable at least. “Is there anything I should say or do when we get there?”

He considers for a moment, still careful not to look at me. “When we approach Halaema, go down on your knees, clasp your left fist in your right hand, and press them to your heart. Then you must say these words:Velethuil nelanei Nornala-so. Nala itaere-so orira vel-almar.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Grace unto you, Nornala’s children. May the songs of heaven sing ever to your souls.”

I make him say it again, then practice the unfamiliar cadence and sounds several times over, hoping I can remember it when the time comes. It has a sing-song quality to it, and my gods-gift rises to assist me, enabling me to catch the music of the phrase and mimic it. I’ve never encountered a song I couldn’t sing backwith perfect clarity and enunciation after a single hearing. This isn’t so very different.

We draw near the city center just as I am beginning to feel comfortable whispering the Licornyn words to myself. Two massivedakathsstand across from each other with a grassy, open stretch of ground between them, in the center of which stands a large stone circle that looks as though it’s meant for bonfires. I can’t help the shuddering feeling that I will be bound to a stake and burned alive right there before this day is out. My courage falters, and I stumble.

Taar’s hand shoots out, grips my forearm. That touch sends a jolt straight up my shoulder to explode in the back of my brain. I turn sharply, gazing at him, my eyes round. He won’t look back at me. The line of his jaw is very tight and tense. But he keeps on walking, supporting me each step, as we make for the farthest of the bigdakaths.

Many people have gathered around the edges of this city center. They are strangely silent, as though holding their breaths. I scowl at them all, and several flinch. This brings a bitter smile to my lips.

The Meeting House looms before us, the doorway two times taller than Taar and covered in a purple-stained curtain. The hides which form its walls are stitched together, and the painted patterns adorning them are far more intricate than any I’ve yet seen, dazzling to my eye. It ought to look savage, but it’s all done with such exquisite care and precision, I cannot help thinking it a more beautiful structure than the hard, gray lump of rock that is my father’s castle.

“Remember,” Taar murmurs as we draw near to that doorway, “when you hear me say your name, kneel and speak your piece. Otherwise you must keep your head bowed and say nothing. To look at the elders directly or to speak in human tongue will be seen as an act of aggression.” He turns to meat last, looks me fully in the eye for the first time since we left Halamar’s clearing. “I won’t try to deceive you: your peril is great. But I swear I will protect you. I will lay down my life if I must.”

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