Page 63 of HeartTorn

“Gods above,” my sister curses softly and rises, silver earrings hitting her shoulders as they settle. She comes toward me, her stride slow but purposeful, as though approaching a wild animal that might lash out at any moment. “Taar,” she says sternly, “we both know you’re not going to let them kill that girl.”

I grip my forearm, squeezing hard. It feels as though the coil has wrapped around my heart now, that same searing burn blazing in my chest. Anger threatens to consume me: anger at Ilsevel for doing what she did. Why could she not listen to me? Why could she not leave well enough alone? An image flashes through my mind . . . Ilsevel, kneeling beside me on the bank of that river in the human realm. Using the tip of a knife to cut out stitches she’d given the day before. She hadn’t left well enough alone then, had she? We were done—parted. She was free to return to her own people, her path set toward a bright future without the warlord husband she’d never asked for.

But she’d returned. She’d hunted me down in my virulium-maddened state. She’d risked her life, many times over, refusing to leave me to my fate. It simply wasn’t in her nature to give up on me, to let me die. She pursued me relentlessly, with no regard for her own safety. She saved my life.

I’ve known my fair share of courageous women. Warriors and leaders, who face the brutalities of this life with clear eyes and set jaws. Ilsevel is no warrior. She is soft and delicate and spoiled, a far cry from the women of Licorna. But there’s something about Ilsevel’s stubborn determination that moves me. It’s one thing to be brave in the face of danger you’ve been trained since birth to fight. As far as I can tell, nothing about Ilsevel’s life has prepared her for the perils she’s encountered every moment since our first meeting. Yet, no matter the blows, no matter the unspeakable odds, she never backs down.

And how did I reward her courage? By dragging her across worlds into the hell-stricken nightmare of Cruor, to hand her over to the clutches of a people who hate her mere existence.

Now she will die. In just a few short hours.

“Taar.”

I startle at Tassa’s voice. Lost in revery, I’d almost forgotten she’s here. She comes to stand at my elbow. Tall even for a Licornyn woman, she looks me almost directly in the eye, her gaze frank. She studies me by the firelight, searching the lines of my face for something she doesn’t find. At last she sighs and turns away. Her features, usually so stern and hard, soften unexpectedly.

“I’m glad,” she says, more to herself than to me, “that I had the chance. Even if it didn’t work out in the end. I’m glad I attempted the bond with Nyathri. I think Ashika would have appreciated it. And I can’t help wondering, if I’d tried a slightly different approach, could I have done it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I answer curtly. “She’s gone now. Fled to Cruor where hervelrhoarwill be made complete. She’ll be damned like Mahra and all the others.”

“I know that.” Tassa bites her lip as though holding back a much sharper retort. When she continues, it’s in that gentle, soothing tone once more. “It would have been better for her to die than to end up like Mahra. And yet there’s a part of me, blasphemous though it may be, that is glad to think of Nyathri out there, running free.”

“She’s not free. Already the madness consumes her. There’s nothing of Nyathri left. Only her rage, her pain. Only her eternal sundering.”

The words tumble from my lips quickly, as though trying to outrace my own doubts. Because, if I’m honest, I too had wondered if perhaps there was . . . something. Something still alive in Nyathri’s broken soul. Something I could not perceive,but which perhaps gods-gifted senses might. But what is the use of such utterly unproveable speculation?

Tassa sighs again and pats my arm. “I’m stepping out,” she says. “I need to gather some of my own things, if I’m to keep watch over you tonight. Try not to do yourself a harm while I’m gone.” So saying, she moves toward the door. Just as her hand touches the curtain, however, she pauses, looking back. “Taar, you know if you rescue your bride, they will no longer accept you asluinar. The unification you worked so hard for among the tribes will all come apart.”

“I know,” I answer roughly. “I know better than anyone.”

“All right.” She breathes out slowly then shrugs. “I just wanted to be sure you remembered.” She pulls the curtain back, begins to step out, then pauses once more. “I hope you’re happy,” she says without looking my way. “Whatever choice you make.”

With that she’s gone. The curtain swings shut, and silence envelops thedakath.For the first time in I don’t know how long, I am alone.

“Shakh,”I whisper. Then I grip my skull, fingers digging into my scalp. If I could, I would wrench my own head from my neck and dash it into the fire. “Shakh-damn me, there is no choice! Not now.”

I was lucky to convince the elders not to kill Ilsevel this morning, to give her a chance. Only for her to go and destroy that chance the very second opportunity presented itself. How could I have been such an idiot to think I could keep her safe here for an entire month?

I look down at my wrist, half-expecting to see blackened and burned flesh. Smooth, tanned skin meets my gaze, despite the pain. It will hurt when they kill her—no doubt, her death will be the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. But then it will be over. This bond, this false, foolish mistake of a marriage will be madeas though it never was. Soon I’ll forget the face of the stranger who was, for a brief time, my wife. Except . . .

“It’s a lie,” I snarl. “It’s a damned,shakhinglie.”

Am I brave enough to face the truth? To admit I cannot bear the prospect of her death? Even if she is not meant to be mine forever, how can I endure her being sundered from this existence entirely? Perhaps ours was not meant to be a lasting bond, but I want to know she’s out there, somewhere in the worlds, alive and well.

Vellar, are you there?

My spirit shivers at the sudden interruption of Elydark’s voice, singing into my head.Go away,I answer roughly.

In response my licorneir prods open the curtain door with his horn and thrusts his head into the shadows of thedakath. He never comes inside, not even in the worst weather, and looks strangely incongruous standing there.I will not go away, Vellar,he says in a tone of finality.You’re going to need me.

Need you for what?

To help you rescue your bride, of course.

I curse again and turn away from him to stalk across thedakath. “I don’t intend to rescue my bride,” I say out loud.

This may have been my mistake. Elydark knows why I did not sing the words into his head. He knows I cannot lie via our soul-connection as easily as I can with my tongue. He makes a chuckling sound, musical and liquid to my ears. Then he tears a small trench in the dirt of my floor with one powerful hoof.

Very amusing, Vellar. Now shall we get on with our rescue attempt without further delay?

---