Page 55 of HeartTorn

The old priest nods in silent approval. Turning, he speaks a sharp word to a servant, who waits in one of the doorways. The young man steps warily into the chamber bearing a great, ceremonial sword in his hands. It’s a match to the smaller blade with which Gantarith proposed to end Ilsevel’s life. I set my teeth grimly at the sight of it. It’s not necessary to perform this office with holy instruments—but for a beast as far gone as Nyathri, perhaps the kiss of sacred steel will help to ensure her ultimate peace.

Just as I reach for the hilt, a voice cries out from across the chamber: “No, wait! I will have my chance!”

My heart leaps. “Tassa,” I growl. Gods-damn it, I’d told her on the green that she couldn’t attempt this bond. And if she’s here, who’s watching Ilsevel? The question springs to my lips, but I dare not ask with all those watching eyes fixed on me.

My sister steps into the chamber, her gaze fixed on the subdued licorneir. She’s trembling; she must have seen them carry Malgathor by in the hall, screaming and bleeding and burnt. Yet she came nonetheless, stubborn woman that she is.

“No, Tassa.” Giving Nyathri a wide berth, I move around the altar to place myself between my sister and the licorneir. “I know how you’ve longed to make avelarin. But this is not the way. There will be other licorneir.”

“Will there?” Tassa looks up at me. Her eyes gleam with mingled terror and determination. “You cannot promise me that, Taar. In the years since I’ve completed mysylarveltest, I’ve had only three opportunities to form a bond. This may be my last chance.”

She’s right. Licorneir bonds are rarer than ever, what with the loss of ilsevel blossoms and the separation of the surviving tribes across our remnant lands. “It isn’t worth it,” I insist, nevertheless. “She’s too far gone. It’s been many days now since Ashika died. Her soul is all but lost.”

“But it’s not lost yet,” Tassa says. “I may be able to sing her back. Please, Taar. Let me try.”

I want to deny her. I want to command her to leave this room at once. I feel the watching eyes of the Licornyn riders, particularly Kildorath. I’m not unaware of his feelings for my sister. If something were to happen to her now, it might be the last break in the weakening chain of his loyalty.

But Tassa holds my gaze. I can almost feel the power of her soul-song, desperate and hopeful and so very afraid.

“Shakh,”I breathe, shaking my head. “Very well. It’s your life to risk. But if you feel Nyathri resisting—”

“I know.” A smile flashes briefly across her face. “I won’t get too close. I won’t do anything foolish.” But I can tell from the look in her eye that she has no such intention.

Reluctantly I return to my place beside Elydark on the far side of the chamber. My licorneir’s spirit hums with tension as we watch Tassa assume position across from the altar stone. Elydark wants Nyathri to be saved—he and she were on the brink of forming a mating bond, a rare and beautiful occurrence among the licorneir. The prospect, and the possibility of new young licorneir being born as a result, had been a source of both speculation and hope between me and Ashika. Elydark has been reticent about his inclination for her, but we are too closely bonded for me not to notice.

I rest a hand on my licorneir’s shoulder, both offering and taking comfort, even as Tassa raises her hands in prayerful supplication and begins her song.

Like Malgathor’s, the melody issuing from Tassa’s throat is wordless. Otherwise they could not be more different. Where his song was low and growling, hers is high, clear, and sweet, without a trace of vibrato. A soaring, even sound which occasionally swoops to a lower register in her chest. Hers is a particularly lovely voice. It reminds me of our mother. Now that was a song worth hearing, when Queen Ashtalora joined her voice with Mahra’s—a hymn fit for heaven itself.

Tassa’s song is neither so strong nor so clear, but the potential is there. I watch Nyathri for a reaction. Is this the song she needs to heal what’s torn inside her? Is this her chance for redemption?

Still singing, Tassa begins to move toward the altar. Nyathri’s fire has sunk low. Her flesh glows like dull embers and clings to her visible skeleton. Tiny pinpoints of red light shine from black hollows where her eyes should be, watching Tassa as she approaches.

My fists clench. I fight the urge to leap forward and plant myself between my sister and thisvelrhoarbeast. But while I cannot hear Nyathri’s song, perhaps Tassa can. Perhaps she hears something which gives her hope for a connection. I dare not interfere and spoil their chances.

Tassa is so close to her now. Unlike Malgathor, she’s not sweating, for Nyathri’s fire is sunk far too low. She stretches out one hand, trembling like a leaf. My gut knots with dread. Will those chaeora bonds hold? Did I secure them fast enough? And what of the Licornyn riders, are they prepared to intervene? They weren’t quick enough for Malgathor, damn them. Neither was I. Even as Tassa’s song intensifies, supported by the humming souls of the licorneir and the priests, I rise on the balls of my feet, tense and ready for action.

I’m not prepared, however, for what happens next.

Nyathri puts her head down on the stone. Everything in her, all the straining force, all the glowing ember light, goes out. She becomes, before my eyes, a lump of ashen bones, lifeless and lightless.

Tassa stops short. She swallows her song, blinking fast. “Is she dead?” she asks. Her natural speaking voice sounds so strange following the haunting melody.

In that same instant a red blaze erupts from the stone, shooting a fountain straight through the skylight. Tassa screams and throws up her hands. Someone moves—Kildorath and Miramenor, his licorneir. Closest to her, they leap together as one, Miramenor’s protective song wrapping around her just in time to save her from incineration. Elydark’s song surrounds me, and the priests fall back to take shelter with other licorneir as the hellish blaze sears all the nearby ilsevel blossoms, turning them to cinders.

“Out!” I cry, my voice nearly inaudible over Nyathri’s roar. “Clear the chamber! Away from her!”

No one waits to be told twice. Making for all available exits, licorneir, riders, and priests alike scatter from the Moon Chamber. Elydark and I follow on the heels of Kildorath, who supports Tassa while Miramenor shields them with song. “Is she hurt?” I demand the moment we step into the coolness of the stone passage.

“I’m fine,” Tassa snaps, her voice drowning out Kildorath’s uncertain response. She tries to push him away but staggers and falls against his chest. His arms cradle her gently, but his face is a furious mask.

“She should never have been let near that beast,” he growls.

“Who said anything aboutlet?”Tassa once more pushes away from him and this time manages to keep her balance. She turns to me, and though she’s flushed, and there are mild burnson her hands, she seems little the worse for wear, thanks to Miramenor’s swift action.

I look back through the doorway at the altar. Fire still rages, so hot and bright, I cannot see Nyathri within.

“This is it,luinar.” Kildorath’s face is suffused in hellish glow when I turn to him. The dark disks of his eyes reflect fury. “You must help her. If it isn’t already too late.”

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