And it is with deepest sorrow I relate the sight of Shanaera and all those dead friends of ours in her company, brought back to a damnable un-life, enslaved to our enemies.
“Shanaera intended to make me undead like the others,” I say, unable to quell the tremor that goes through my very soul at the thought. “Were it not for Ilsevel, I would even now be shambling among the damned, enthralled to Miphates’ magic.”
The elders listen, various masks of horror and disgust on each of their aged faces. Some look ferocious, like the warriors they once were. Others look devastated, thinking of the names I gave and the relationships they once knew to these people—sons, daughters, cousins, friends. We are all connected in Rocaryn Tribe, and each loss reverberates through our hearts.
But Halaema remains grim, stone-faced as a weather-worn carving throughout my recounting. “You spin a worthy tale,” she says when I come to the end of my speech. “Our songsters wouldmuch enjoy embroidering it with verse and drums, no doubt. But how much of your perception, dearluinar, is twisted withdrothlarspells?” She leans forward, her old spine creaking with the effort. “Is it not more likely that, rather than bonding with one of our licorneir, your human warbride has played you for a fool? Convinced you of her innocence, all the while deepening her hold upon you?”
“Remember,” one of the other elders rumbles, “she took control of Birenthor’s and Vomyar’s licorneir. Possessed their minds and caused them to turn upon their masters. This is magic of the blackest sort.”
“I did not witness what took place in that moment,” I reply staunchly. “But I know what I myself have seen. Nyathri wasvelrhoar; she is no longer. No reports of Miphates attempting to cursebond mentioned anything about hearttorn licorneir.”
“Rumors and whispers.” Halaema spreads her hands. “We can none of us know the whole truth.”
I incline my head slightly. “Perhaps not, Elder. But this truth I know indeed: I love Ilsevel, my bride. I have chosen thisvelrabond, committed to her in body and soul. And I will die to defend her, even as I vowed. Whatever the cost.”
“Even the cost of Licorna itself?” another elder asks softly, her voice a gentle murmur.
Silence follows. I cannot speak; my tongue has cleaved to the roof of my mouth. That cost is great. Too great. Even for the love I bear. But I cannot admit as much. To admit it would be a betrayalof what I feel for my wife.
Halaema studies my face, seeing more than I should like. “Remember, Taarthalor,” she says at long last, driving the point home, “in choosing this marriage, you would betray your people. What will become of your hard-won alliance to Prince Ruvaen then? What will become of your assault on Evisar, the reclamation of the citadel, and all your plans to drive the Miphates from our land and reestablish the kingdom of your forefathers? That dream will end, along with the dream of Nornala herself. Without you to unite them, the tribes will fracture. They will disperse and go out into the wilds, losing all access to the ilsevel blossoms and, in turn, lose their bonds to their licorneir. One by one, they will vanish, swallowed up by the Unformed Lands. Our very way of life will be at an end, and Licorna but a swiftly-fading memory.”
The weight of her words bows my head, threatens to break my shoulders. I close my eyes as my heart cries out in silent plea to the gods for guidance. The only response I receive is a sudden burn in my chest. I crack my eyelids and see that golden knot marked on my breast from which thevelranow extends, unseen to all other eyes in this room but mine. But no less real.
I place one hand solemnly over that glow, feel the power pulsing within. I will trust this gift of Nornala. Unwanted, unsought, unasked for . . . but a gift beyond anything I ever deserved. I will trust this love. I will trust Ilsevel.
Looking up, I meet and hold Halaema’s gaze. “Send her into theUnformed Lands.”
Halaema’s head jerks back slightly in surprise. “What?”
“The bond-test. The sacrament to prove the truth of thevelra. If Ilsevel’s connection to Diira is true, she will survive. Survive and prove to all of you once and for all there is nodrothlar, only the holy gift of the gods themselves, endowing her with the blessing of Licorna.”
“Do you realize,” one elder asks in a deep, wary tone, “what you are asking? The Unformed Lands are perilous. Not one warrior in ten survives. What makes you think this little human can endure that which the proudest Licornyn rider would not dare attempt?”
I draw a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Because I believe in her,” I say. “I believe in my wife.”
5
ILSEVEL
“It’s all well and good for you to say youbelievein me. But what exactly are you believing and, more to the point, do I believe it myself well enough to pull it off?”
Something is closed down tight in Taar’s face. And I don’t like it. He stands close to the small, stone-circled fire inside the main chamber of his massivedakath.The interior of his abode is far more luxurious than Halamar’s, where I stayed my first night upon arriving in the Hidden City. Like the Meeting House, the walls are intricately decorated in motifs of ilsevel blossoms and stars, each of which signify some important aspect of Licornyn culture and history, no doubt. The floors are strewn with soft hide rugs, and low, amply-stuffed furnishings offer places of repose.
None of us choose repose just now, however. Taar stands straight-legged, arms crossed over his massive chest, turned slightly awayfrom me. I hang back in a patch of daylight falling through one of the high upper window-flaps. His sister, Tassa—my ever-present guardian since our arrival—lurks on the far side of the chamber, her deportment mirroring her brother’s, her glower even more forbidding. The atmosphere feels smoky and close, but that might have more to do with the tension in my chest.
Despite his bulk and the strength which perpetually radiates from his inner being, Taar looks worn out. I feel it in the song of his soul, which forges bravely on despite his lagging energy. Though no less magnificent, his face is aged in this lighting, scored with careworn lines. An urge comes over me to take him in my arms, to draw him down onto one of these cushioned loungers, lay his head upon my breast, and bid him rest. Tassa’s disapproving stare holds me at bay, however. So I cross my arms like the two of them, widening my stance slightly as I await answers. At least I am no longer gagged. Tassa removed that offensive binding when we entered thedakath, but I am told I must don it again should I dare poke my head outside.
“Please,” I say at last, interrupting the long silence. “Taar, whatever you’re not telling me, I’d rather hear it than be left imagining the worst. What is this test you’ve agreed to on my behalf?”
Tassa speaks harshly in Licornyn, drawing a warning glare from her brother. Taar shakes his head heavily. When he speaks, his words are reluctant, as though making a forced confession. “Upon rare occasion,” he says, “when a new bond is formed betweenlicorneir and rider, thevelarinis called into question. It has only happened once since I came to live with the Rocaryn Tribe. I don’t know how such matters were dealt with back in the days before the Rift and the scattering of the remnant Licornyn people, but here among the Rocaryn, they take such accusations very seriously.”
The knot of tension tightens in my chest. “Well?” I urge. “What happened? The one time you observed, I mean?”
Taar wrenches his gaze away from me, as though meeting my eye causes him pain. Instead he stares into the flickering fire, giving me a clear view of his hard, stern profile, the growth of black beard along his jaw. “It was a strange situation.” His voice is almost musing, falling back into the memory. “There were two young warriors, twins. As alike as two matched blades. They were close in everything throughout childhood and early training, true brothers and companions. But there was only one licorneir eligible for the bond that year. Ciradi was her name, a lovely beast with a rosy-gold hide. She chose Elashor . . . or so it appeared.”
I can see where this is going. I observed the desperation among the people of the Hidden City when hearttorn Nyathri was brought into the city. Every man, woman, and child of this tribe would risk their life for the chance to bond with her, though she sought to kill any who approached. How much worse must the rivalry be among young warriors-in-training over a healthy, un-torn licorneir?
“Elandorr, the other twin,” Taar continues, “insisted the bond had been wrested from him by means of darksorcery. He claimed his brother had ventured alone into Cruor and gathered chaeorablossoms, the corrupt counterparts of the ilsevel, which have been long exposed to the darkness of Ashtari. They retain powerful properties, but though we use them to make the restraining ropes you have seen, it is forbidden to feed them to our licorneir. But Elandorr insisted that, having fed the chaeora to Ciradi, along with drops of his own blood, his brother applied certainruehnarmarks, influencing her choice and driving her to form a false bond to him.
