Page 56 of HeartTorn

He’s right. I’ve known all along that it would be this way, even if some part of me wanted to believe otherwise. I turn from him to Elydark. My licorneir does not speak, but his eyes are full of both sorrow and certainty.

“We will let her burn out now,” I say. “Kildorath, make certain everyone escaped in time. I want a full headcount when I return.”

“Return? Where are you going?”

“To prepare for the death sacrament.” I give my warrior a hard look. “Go.”

With a last glance for Tassa, Kildorath hastens from the corridor, his licorneir trailing behind him. Tassa does not watch him go. Her gaze trained on me, she studies my expression by the glow of Nyathri’s red flame. “What exactly are these preparations, brother?”

In answer I sag heavily against the wall. Now that the immediate crisis is past, my whole body feels as though it’s held together by fraying threads. “Take me to Ilsevel,” I say.

Her lip curls.

“It’s not like that.” I shake my head and hold up my forearm. “It’s thevelra. . . I cannot be away from her long without suffering the effects.”

Tassa shakes her head.“Drothlar,”she mutters.Cursebound.

With that she turns and leads the way through the labyrinthine passages. Elydark and I follow, my licorneir’s head close to my shoulder.I’m sorry, my friend,I sing to him, themeaning heavy as it passes along our soul-tether.I wish we could have done more. I wish we could have saved her.

He doesn’t answer but nuzzles my cheek with his soft nose. He bears me no ill will, though perhaps he should. What we witnessed today, so much pain and horror . . . I should never have let that happen to Nyathri. She deserved better.

Tassa stops at last before a curtained door and calls out, “Halamar!” The curtain draws back, and my hearttorn friend emerges. He looks questioningly at Tassa. She drops her eyes and shakes her head once. His gaze shifts to me, but I’m in no mood to explain what took place over these last long hours. “Is Ilsevel within?” I ask.

He nods and steps back to give me room to pass. When Tassa moves to follow, I hold up a hand. “No. I’ll go alone.” At her disgusted look, I add, “I need sleep, Tassa. I’m worn out, and thevelrahas cost me dearly. I need to rest before I attempt to . . . to help Nyathri. But I don’t need a crowd of watching eyes observing me while I snore.”

She looks as though she will protest, but Halamar inclines his head and murmurs something in her ear. Though her frown doesn’t soften, she turns away from him and me and stalks back up the passage. “I’ll be at home, Taar,” she calls back over her shoulder. “Come find me when it’s done. Bring that bride of yours if you must.”

I catch Halamar’s eye. He shrugs briefly before following her down the passage.

With a sigh I slip through the curtain into the chamber. A small fire burns on the hearth, illuminating the stone walls with its glow. It’s a spare room: little more than a cave, with only a narrow pallet bed pushed up against one wall. Hardly a space of respite.

And yet the instant my gaze lands on the small form curled up on that pallet, half-hidden beneath folds of stained travelcloak, a rush of heat floods my veins. Muscles I’d not realized I’d been tensing suddenly relax, and the tightness in my chest eases into long, steady breaths. Even thevelra,which has caused me nothing but pain since I left her behind in the city green, transforms into something warm. Almost tantalizing.

Despite the intentions I’d stated to Tassa, a hollowness opens in my gut, filled a moment later with liquid heat. How would my sleeping bride respond were I to crawl atop her on that pallet? Would she welcome such advances? Would those flashing eyes of hers meet mine with the fire of desire or fury? If I caught her mouth in mine and pressed her back into that bed, would she open to receive me? Would I hear again that delicious moan, the precursor to the song I’ve come to crave from her lips?

I’m still standing in the doorway, paralyzed by the suddenness and strength of these feelings flooding through my senses, when her brow constricts suddenly in sleep. Another moment and she turns her head slightly, lips parting. Her eyes flutter open, bleary at first, unseeing. Then her vision sharpens, and she stares up at me. With a gasp, she pushes upright. Strands of hair pull free from that crown of braids to dangle in tendrils across her face. She shakes them out of her eyes as she takes me in, her gaze traveling slowly up and down my frame.

“You look awful,” she says at last.

My mouth quirks. Some of the fire in my loins cools. Which is just as well. A different greeting, and I would have forgotten all my assurances to Onor Gantarith and the elders and fallen on her like a ravenous animal.

“Many thanks,zylnala,” I answer wryly and move to the fire. After Nyathri’s hellish heat, these dancing flames hardly seem warm at all. I hold out my hands to them for a moment before taking a seat with my back to the wall. Now that the initial wave of lust has passed, I am tired again. But Ilsevel is seated on thebed, wrapped in her cloak, and by the look on her face, isn’t keen to share.

She watches me narrowly. One small hand unconsciously rubs at her forearm. Is thevelraaffecting her as well? She doesn’t seem unduly strained by our parting, but then she wouldn’t be as susceptible to the magic. The only time I saw her strongly under thevelra’sinfluence was the night she sang with Elydark to free me from virulium poisoning. I suspect that close association with licorneir magic made her temporarily more vulnerable to magic born from the same source.

She breaks the long silence at last. “What happened? Did Tassa . . . ? Did Nyathri . . . ?”

I shake my head. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the wall. Memory of that explosion, my sister’s terrified face as she stood on the brink of death and oblivion . . . that sight will haunt me to my dying day. Thank the gods for Kildorath and his licorneir. I owe the man much.

“So,” Ilsevel says softly, “you will kill her.”

It’s not a question.

I nod. Opening my eyes again, I face her across the small space. She wraps her arms around her body and sits very straight-backed. Are those tears in her eyes? “Come now,” I say, hoping my voice sounds gentle rather than impatient. “You cannot weep over avelrhoaryou never knew.”

Her brow darkens. She turns sharply away from me, giving me a view of her profile as she stares into the fire. It’s quite a sharp profile, with a firm jaw and pointed nose, and that brow of hers, so stern and hard. I find I want to trace those lines, to discover if the pad of my thumb might soften them. And those lips of hers—even pressed in that severe line, their fullness cannot be disguised. Strange that she should care so much for one of our licorneir.

“Have you done it already?” she asks, a slight tremor in her voice.

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