“An exaggeration, obviously, as I am here before you and not currently under Miphates’ thrall.” Taking my sister by the shoulders, I squeeze firmly. She doesn’t need to know how very close to the mark those wild rumors actually hit. “I am neither possessed nor ensorcelled, but well and whole in both body and mind.”
She gives me a critical once-over. “You look terrible.”
“The sweetness of your words, dear sister, are a delight to my ear.”
Her gaze passes from me to Ilsevel, still perched on Diira’s back. She takes in the gag, the bindings. A shudder passes down her spine. “Whatisshe, Taar?” she demands, leaning toward me and dropping her voice. “Is she a Miphata? Anecroliphon?”
Another surge of rage struggles to rise within me at the sound of those accusations. I control myself with an effort and a firm reminder that Tassa is not my enemy. “I know how bad this must look,” I say. “But you do not know Ilsevel. Not as I do.”
“Know her?” Tassa’s strong hands grip my arms. She shakes her head, long strands of black hair wafting across her cheeks. “Taar,you mether less than a fortnight ago! How can you possibly think you know anything about her?”
For the first time, hearing both that truth and that accusation spoken from my sister’s tongue, a sliver of hesitation enters my mind. I have felt nothing but certainty from the moment Ilsevel appeared in the doors of Rothiliar House, shining like an angel on the back of her reborn licorneir. How could I doubt such a vision, such a timely salvation from the very brink of the hell into which I was about to plunge? If she was in league with the Miphates, or a Miphata herself, surely she would not have interrupted Shanaera’s evil plans for me.
But here I find, in the very depths of my light-filled mind, a shadow. A thought—that if my wife’s gods-gift is powerful enough to temporarily steal command of other men’s licorneir, might it not be strong enough to forge this inexplicable bond?
I push these suspicions roughly aside. Ilsevel needs me to be strong in this moment of crisis. Twice now she has come to my rescue, delivering me out of despair. I won’t let her down.
“Trust me, Tassa,” I say. “When have you ever known me to compromise the good of our people, even at cost of my own heart?” The specter of Shanaera looms between us, the deathblow I dealt three years ago, on the fields of Agandaur. “Trust me, even as you have all these years.”
Tassa grimaces, but a glint of tears sparks in her eye. “I’ll try, Taar. But you do make it hard sometimes.”
Alluirnath, who had dismounted and entered the Meeting House while my sister and I conferred, returns now and speaks in a low voice to Kildorath. Kildorath hasn’t taken his eye off me and Tassa all this while. “Luinar,” he says, dragging my attention his way. “The elders will see you now. You only; the human is to remain outside, and she is to be separated from thevelrhoarlicorneir.”
I glance at Ilsevel, still perched on Diira’s back. I can see the raw patches on her face where that gag chafes. Part of me wants to rip her bindings loose and urge her to flee before they part her from Diira. Before she is made entirely vulnerable among these people who are her enemies. But she would never make it out of the Hidden City.
I step back to her side, resting a hand on her knee. “They will not allow you to remain with Diira,” I say.
Ilsevel stiffens, and Diira flares with fire, responding to her rider’s emotions. But Ilsevel hastily leans forward, and I can almost feel the song passing between them. Then she looks at me and nods. I lift her down from the saddle. She staggers a little, unbalanced and sore after that long ride. She presses her head against my chest, her ear above my beating heart. For a moment we remain like so, with my arms around her, encircling her in protection. Then she tilts her head, gazing up at me from those limpid eyes of hers.
“Vel-sa almar,” I murmur, the words rough in my thickened throat.“E luralmaidor-hath.”
Tears brim in her lashes. She rests her forehead momentarily against my chest as she draws a long breath. Then, pushing away from me, she draws herself up straight and broad before turning to face Kildorath. She walks toward him steadily, without hesitation.
“Tassa,” I say tensely, and turn to catch my sister’s eye. “Watch over my bride.”
“This matter does not involve Talanashta,” Kildorath growls.
Tassa shoots him another withering look. “Would you have me disobey a direct command from myluinar?” She and the warrior hold a silent battle of stares. He backs down in the end, and she takes her place at Ilsevel’s side. While not exactly a friend, she is the closest thing to an ally either of us have in this moment. I am grateful.
With a last glance for my wife, hoping to impart some courage into her soul, I turn at last and venture into the dark doorway of the Meeting House. Pushing back the purple curtain, I step inside into the cavernous space within. My nostrils are instantly assaulted by the powerful scent of burning incense from the brasiers suspended from each tall support pillar. Sunlight falls through high windows in the upper regions of thedakath,splashing pools of light across the centermost aisle down which I tread. I feel the laxness in thevelracord, allowing me to leave my wife’s immediate proximity without the tremendous pain experienced a few short days ago. The love we shared two nights ago strengthened our bond tenfold; surely this is proof that thevelrais true, not adrothlarbinding.
The robed figures of eight elders await me at the far end of thelong house, seated cross-legged on an upraised platform. Upon reaching the center of thedakath,I pause and raise a hand in greeting.“Velethuil, nelanei Nornala-so.”
Silence is my answer. Cold and watchful.
I continue and do not pause until I stand before the dais. I am tall enough to look directly into the face of each wrinkled elder, hunched as they are in their heavy robes. Halaema sits forefront of the others, the undisputed leader. As the former heartbound to my own Elydark, who knew him by his previous name, Halaema has always been of special interest to me. We share an unusual relationship. But from the way she looks at me now beneath the heavy mounding of her forehead wrinkles, one would think I was her worst enemy.
“So, Taarthalor,” she speaks at last, after a fraught silence. “They tell me you succumbed to thedrothlar.Even as we feared.”
“They told you wrong, Elder,” I respond in a calm, clear voice. “I acted as any man must under thevelra, defending his wife, no matter the risk.”
Halaema curses in a low hiss. “You should know better, my boy. You were born not without wisdom. Where along the way have you left it?”
“I stand by the wisdom of experience,” I reply, “and I believe the testimony of my own eyes. I have seen the woman who is my wife perform a great miracle, bonding with a licorneir even as she bonded to me.”
An eruption of horrified whispers breaks out amongst theelders. Elder Halaema holds up a gnarled claw, and silence follows. “Explain yourself, Taarthalor,” she demands.
So I tell her of what I have seen. I speak of the licorneir, once Nyathri, who bestowed her name in secret unto my wife. I speak of their ride across Cruor in pursuit of our enemies, and tell how together they saved me from the clutches of the Miphates and their fiendish slaves. I hold back nothing. In my description of the valley filled with dead licorneir, I allow my voice to carry all the horror I myself experienced at the sight.
