Page 67 of HeartTorn

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TAAR

Not in many years have I been so tempted to ignore the song of my licorneir and allow my soul to reach for the darkness which even now reaches for me. The last time was after Shanaera’s death. In my guilt and sorrow over her loss, the draw of thevardimnarwas almost more than I could bear. It took not only Elydark’s song, but also the restraining hands of Ashika, Halamar, and Kildorath to keep me physically at bay.

There are no such restraints now. As Elydark gallops into the stricken wilds, his song carving a path for us, the darkness seems to close in behind us, nipping at our heels. I hear whispers on the edges of my mind, like so many grasping fingers, eager to catch and pull me from the saddle. It’s all I can do not to give in to them.

You have betrayed your people.

You have damned your soul.

You belong to us . . . to us . . . to us . . .

It would be so easy to slip from the back of Elydark’s saddle, to let him gallop on, carrying his light and song with him, while the hell of Ashtari overwhelms and devours me. It is what I deserve.

But what would become of Ilsevel then?

I look down at her dark head, tucked against my shoulder, her face half-hidden by locks of snarled hair. If I give in to thevardimnar, Elydark will be hearttorn, lost to the wildness of his grief. The idea pains me, but it was a risk we understood whenwe formed our bond.We have seen it happen to others, and we know too well how easily the same fate may befall us. We’ve weighed the odds and chosen each other.

But Ilsevel? She didn’t choose me. She didn’t choose any of this. Thevelradoes not affect her as it does me—my sudden death will not leave her crippled. She will, however, find herself alone in the wilds of Cruor with only a hearttorn licorneir for a companion. If Elydark does not kill her at once in a fit of madness, he will abandon her.

And the very nextvardimnarto strike will take her soul as it took mine.

So I set my spirit hard against the tempting voices and ride on and on. I did not rescue her only to abandon and damn her. I have my marriage vows to fulfill, and I will do just that. And when she is once more safe with her own kind, when we are parted, and I know I will never see her face again, then will I turn and face what I have done. Then will I accept whatever consequences the elders deem appropriate for my sin.

The darkness passes as suddenly as it came. One moment all-consuming—the next, gone. The sky is still dark, the world suffused in the gloom of pre-dawn, but by comparison it seems positively luminous. Elydark resolves his song. His hoofbeats slow, slow, and stop. He blows hard, emitting white puffs of steam from his nostrils. The physical exertion was nothing for a being such as he, but the spiritual strain of singing against the dark takes its toll. I sing a note of sincere gratitude along our soul-tether. He responds with flicked-back ears and a stamp of a hind foot.

Only then do I look down at the delicate burden in my arms. Ilsevel has not lifted her head from its resting place. Her shoulders are hunched, her arms wrapped around me, clinging fast. It is strange to see her like this. She has been afraid almost from the moment I have met her, but fights so hard never to let itshow. The terror of thevardimnarfollowing her imprisonment is too much for her.

“Ilsevel,” I say softly, her name like a gentle prayer on my sinful lips. “Ilsevel, the danger has passed. We’re safe now.”

“Safe,” she echoes. Slowly she pulls away from me, and I begrudge the sudden cold patch on my skin. Tilting back her head, she gazes up into my eyes, and her face is so near mine, I can see the reflection of distant stars in the blacks of her pupils. “Is it true, Taar? Am I really safe with you?”

A rush of cold thrills through my veins followed by a sharp blast of heat. In that moment she isn’t safe at all. Neither of us is. Perhaps we haven’t been from the first instant we set eyes on each other, amid the fire and the screams of the ransacked temple. Did I want her then as violently as I do now? Maybe not. But the sparks were there, waiting only for the right gust of wind to fan them into an all-consuming inferno. How can either of us survive such a flame?

I cannot speak. Any word I might say is too dangerous. But neither can I stay here, with her nestled like this between my legs, with those eyes of hers imploring me to give an answer, either damning or cruel.

Choking on a curse, I dismount so quickly, I nearly knock her from the saddle in the process. She grabs a handful of Elydark’s mane. “Taar!” she bleats, but I turn away and march through the tall grasses of the plain into which Elydark has carried us, beneath that distant sky. It’s foolish to walk alone in Cruor. Any moment the Rift might open again, spewing hell. Just now I don’t care. My legs break into a run, carrying me farther and farther, as though I might flee wife, vows, honor, and kingdom and disappear into the unknown.

Thevelrapulls me up short.

I stop as abruptly as though reaching the end of a noose, gasping out loud and dropping to my knees. Pain shoots upmy arm. I clutch the offending limb, squeeze hard as though I might break the bone. Maybe Tassa was right. Maybe this is no sacred marriage bond, and I amdrothlar—cursebound. Are the gods punishing me for my failure to liberate my people all these long, dreadful years? Or is this merely some cosmic joke at my expense?

Finally I breathe out, lift my head, and look around at where we have come. The land here is not unknown to me, a few hours east of the Morrona. It’s a lonely stretch of country, with plenty of dense forests in which we might hide from our pursuers. For I don’t doubt that, the instant thevardimnarlifted, my brave Licornyn, led by Kildorath, will cross the river and hunt us down. If they find us, there will be no ceremonial killing of my bride, only swift murder. As for me? They’ll bind me and Elydark in chaeora ropes and drag us back to the Hidden City to stand trial before the elders and the people we have wronged.

“Warlord?”

My shoulders tense. At the sound of her voice, speaking close behind me, the pain in my arm suddenly eases, but my chest tightens so that my heart struggles to beat.

She is silent for some while. Wind blows through the tall grasses in ripples which rush away before my vision for mile after mile under fading moonlight. Otherwise all is still. No birdsong. No distant howl of thezhorwolf. No ululating trill of theleokasas they bound in dappled herds across the sweeping plain. There is no life in this land save us.

“I’m sorry.” Her words, when they come, are soft as a breath. But the grasses seem to catch them and whisper them back and forth amongst themselves:I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“I would not have blamed you,” she continues after a moment. “If you had left me in that pit, I mean. I . . . I knew what I was doing. I chose to save her anyway.” She draws a little breath, and though I don’t look at her, I can easily picturehow she pulls back her shoulders and sets her chin firmly. “I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions.”

I don’t turn. Don’t look. Don’t answer.

“I wish I could explain myself.” She takes a step toward me, then seems to retreat again. “I simply could not let her die. If I must die instead, so be it.” A little choking sound like a sob. She swallows and continues. “It’s probably too late, I know, but . . . but you could take me back. You could say it was thevelrathat drove you. It’s probably true. If we turn around now, you could still make peace with the elders, and—”

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