Page 64 of HeartTorn

31

ILSEVEL

The walls are lined with stone and dry, but there’s a little water down here at the bottom. Not well water, I think; simply gathered condensation. It’s no more than a finger deep, and whoever placed me down here, made certain that my unconscious body was propped up so that I would not accidentally drown myself in it. But the dampness has soaked into my gown and cloak, and I can’t seem to find a dry place to sit.

The discomfort isn’t the worst of it, however. It’s the not knowing. Is this the death the Licornyn people have planned for me? Did they cast me down here to slowly starve, sustained on nothing but rainwater for weeks? There are no bones to keep me company, no skeletons of past residents, so I suspect it’s more of a holding cell. Which means they must still intend to slit my throat, as Taar said.

Memory of that awful knife held in the priest’s old hands flashes across my mind’s eye. Gods . . . will it be quick? Something tells me not quick enough. I’ve seen my fair share of animal sacrifices held down on altar stones, choking and struggling as they bleed out.

I begin to shake. I can’t help it. I want to be brave, I want to be strong. I want to fight with everything I have until my last, gasping breath. But the waiting, the wondering, the knowing they will come to get me but not knowing when . . . it’s pure torture.

I tried climbing the walls soon after waking. That was hours ago now, and the sun was still high. But the stones were too smooth. Here and there ilsevel vines trailed, but they snapped too easily in my grasp. Now I sit in a puddle of water, surrounded by broken bits of vines and leaves. The remaining ilsevels are all beyond my grasp.

They begin to open now that the sun has set. Delicate petals unfurl to reveal the burning hearts in their centers, lighting up my prison in a faint glow. I try to listen for their song, which had seemed so loud to me last night. But fear throbs in my veins, drowning all other sound.

The shivering hours pass. Desperate for some distraction from my coming fate, I bow my head into my arms, which are wrapped around my upraised knees. If I force my spirit to sink deeper, to leave awareness of my present behind, I can almost hear the echo of Nyathri’s broken song. It’s not real, of course—she must be far from here by now, fled back across the river into Cruor. But it’s something to focus on. I play back the dissonant melody, the broken trills and grating runs. There’s still harmony to be found in there, I’m sure of it. The right voice, if nimble enough, could sing the notes needed to bring wholeness back. Almost,almostI can hear it . . . and in thatalmostis something so haunting, so otherworldly. Unlike any other song, wholly unique.

“Gods-damn,” I mutter. Lifting my head again, I stare up at the patch of sky high above me. We’d been so close to connection, I’m sure of it. There was a true sympathy between us in that space of ache and loss in our souls.

Now? She’s gone. And I’m here. Any song we might have sung is lost forever.

My wrist throbs again with sudden sharpness. I gasp, holding up my forearm to study under the ilsevel blossom’s glow. I haven’t felt thevelrain a while, not since waking down here.It was almost as though the bond between me and Taar was already broken the moment he allowed those men to drag me away. I’m surprised to feel it again now, tight and suddenly straining. I twist my arm, trying to loosen the grip. But the feeling persists.

I tuck my arm back around my knees, squeeze my eyes shut, and try to ignore it. It’s getting very cold down here, now the sun is gone. I’m parched too, but don’t dare drink the stagnant water in which I sit. After a while I tilt my head back, gaze up at the patch of sky overhead. It’s dark now; the stars are beginning to appear. Part of me wishes my captors would put a lid on the well and leave me in absolute darkness, for something about those distant stars feels like a mockery. Like they’re laughing at me and all my foolish dreams. Who was I to think I deserved to escape my cage and fly? I was born for someone else’s dominion, born to serve another’s purpose. All my efforts to resist that destiny only resulted in the death of my sister.

But at least . . . a small smile pulls at the corner of my dry lips. At least I set Nyathri free.

Even as the thought passes through my mind, another comes hard on its heels. Did I really free that unicorn? Or did I damn her to eternal torment? My smile vanishes. For the first time since waking down here, tears form in my eyes, escape through my lashes. Why must all my impulsive bids for freedom result in so much harm? I deserve what’s coming—the knife, the pain. Perhaps this is the gods’ way of seeing justice served.

Ilsevel.

I scrub at my face with the heel of my hand. That voice . . . where is it coming from?

Ilsevel.

I look around me in the damp darkness. There’s no one here; there can’t be. But the voice seemed to speak directly into my ear.

Ilsevel.

I tip my head back. This time, it sounded as though it came from above—high above, among the stars. And yet it was just as clear and bright.

Ilsie.

My heart jolts. “Aurae?” I whisper, voice rough from disuse and cold. Scarcely any sound emerges.

Your work here is not yet complete.

Though I don’t know why, I pull myself to my feet. My damp skirts cling to my shivering legs, but I ignore the chilling sensation. Tilting my head back as far as I can, I gaze up at those distant stars. “Aurae!” I croak and press my hands to the stone wall. “Aurae, are you there? Don’t go, please! Let me die and come with you! Don’t leave me here.”

The gods hand out their gifts for a reason.

Your gift was no mistake.

Neither was your name.

I shake my head. The voice still sounds like Aurae but also not. It’s familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, like a song I heard once, years ago, and forgot that I knew.

You must keep fighting, Ilsevel.

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