But he will do it. For me.
Vel-sa almar. E luralma idor-hath.The words of the song echo in my head, as clear and dire as they sounded on that night I first heard them in the Noxaurian encampment.My life is yours and, should you require it, my death.
Oh, gods. How did I end up in this mess?
I cannot bear to look at him. Turning away, I close my eyes and reach out along my soul-connection to Diira. My licorneir has been taken away, but she is with Elydark at least. I feel her uncertainty.She sings a wordless inquiry into my mind, but I cannot offer any answers. I try instead to send a note of comfort vibrating along that shared thread between our souls. It’s tepid at best.
Opening my eyes, I stare at, but scarcely see, the patterns of ilsevel blossoms painted on the wall before me. “When is this test supposed to take place?”
“We set out at dawn tomorrow.”
A flutter of hope stirs my heart. I look over my shoulder at him, hopefully. “So we have tonight together?”
“Don’t get any ideas, human,” Tassa interrupts sternly. “Iwill be your companion tonight, not this brother of mine. Taar is to take himself back to Halamar’sdakath.And get some much-needed sleep by the look of him.”
I flash her a resentful glance before focusing on Taar once more. “Will it . . .” I hesitate, uncertain what I am asking. “Will it be all right? Our separation?”
Taar sighs, his shoulders bowed heavily. “The elders have sworn your protection through to whatever end tomorrow’s ordeal reveals. No one will dare come near you tonight, not even Kildorath. To be safe, Tassa will remain on alert, and I’ve asked Halamar to stand guard outside.”
I remember Halamar—stern, solid, unflappable, with a soul-song utterly shattered withvelrhoar. But Taar trusts him. I nod my acceptance. Despite Tassa’s disapproving glare, I glide across the little space between us, stand up on my toes, and kiss my husbandon the lips, the gentlest brush of connection. “Thank you,” I whisper, as I sink back onto my soles, my head tilted far back to look into his black eyes. “For giving me this chance. I hope Diira and I will not let you down.”
He gazes back at me, his expression studying, searching. Desperate. One scarred and calloused hand cups my cheek with a gentleness so surprising, it could bring tears to my eyes. “I know what I have seen, Ilsevel,” he says roughly. “You are a worker of miracles, chosen by the gods for a great purpose. You will triumph tomorrow. You must. Then all will see you as I do.”
Something tells me it will require more than a singular test to win over the hearts of the Licornyn folk. But I don’t want to part from him in a moment of doubt, so I simply smile and kiss him again, before pressing my hand against his chest, right above that shining mark where thevelrabond is anchored. It is warm beneath my palm, as real as his heartbeat. “Go now,” I say softly. “Get some sleep before you drop.”
He presses his great hand atop mine, delaying the inevitable just a little longer. We both feel the yawning separation awaiting us. How will it affect him? Will the strengthening of our bond over these last few days make our parting easier?
Tassa speaks sharply in Licornyn behind us. Taar turns regretfully and answers her in kind. Then, with a last look for me and a lingering of his fingertips against mine, he goes. Crosses thedakath,steps through the front curtain flap, out into the blazing light ofafternoon. Leaving me behind in this shadowy chamber with his glowering sister. And I wonder suddenly, with a sinking of my heart, if I will ever speak with him again. In this lifetime or any other.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I glare at Tassa from beneath my lowered brow. She sneers then slowly shakes her head. “I hope you are everything my brother believes you to be,” she says, speaking my tongue with clear enunciation to be certain I understand. Every inflection implies her deep-rooted doubts.
She stalks across thedakathand opens a curtain in the wall, revealing a chamber far more sumptuous than I might have expected. The walls are hung with colorfully painted hides, which remind me vaguely of the tapestries in my own bedchamber back in Beldroth. Less rigid in composition, perhaps. More vibrant and energetic. There are thick hide rugs and a low bed mounding with soft, plump pillows. “You might as well sleep in Taar’s chamber,” Tassa says, “as you are, for the moment at least, Taar’s wife.”
“And what of you?” I ask, approaching the chamber and her proximity with some trepidation.
“I will be on watch out here.” So saying, she glides back to the fire, takes a seat in an elegant, cross-legged pose, and pulls a little woven basket to her. She produces from inside a set of notched tablets and long threads of yarn, setting to work on some complicated craft I do not understand. I dawdle in the doorway of the bedchamber and watch her for some moments. Tassa, having secured the strings and arranged her tablets to her satisfaction,casts me an unfriendly look. “Be off with you now, human. I don’t care for an audience while I work.”
Thus dismissed, I scurry into the chamber. It’s dark within once the curtain drops, blocking out the firelight. All the window flaps are shut, and though it is stuffy, I fear to open them. I don’t want to risk being spied on by unfriendly eyes. At least the atmosphere smells of Taar.
Not bothering to undress, I fall across the pile of cushions. They’re woven of some scratchy cloth, but stuffed to bursting with feathers and fleece, and I am too tired to be particular. I grab one cushion and press it to my face, breathing in my husband’s scent: leather and sweat and some enigmaticsomethingwhich might be ilsevel blossoms. I exhale slowly, then press the cushion to my chest.
“Nornala give me strength,” I whisper through clenched teeth. I have not prayed in some time. Not since my sister’s death. It doesn’t feel natural. Or easy. I still want to hate the gods, all of them, for allowing what happened to Aurae. She was the faithful one of the two of us, after all. She was the one who should have been spared, not me.
But I am here now. And I have more than myself to think of. There’s Taar. There’s Diira. Not to mention all these Licornyn folk, whose very lives hang in the balance with mine.
I shake my head slowly, huffing a short, mirthless laugh. “Give me strength,” I say again, “for whatever comes next.”
Then I give myself over to restless sleep.
Tassa wakes me an hour or two before dawn, holding a light close to my face. My sleep-thickened brain cannot at first make sense of that light. Sitting up abruptly, I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand, blinking hard and trying to make sense of what I see. It’s a long, teardrop-shaped lantern, which contains, not flame, but a swirling liquid, pulsing and luminous.
“What is that?” I ask groggily, pointing a mistrustful finger at the lantern.
Tassa, her face illuminated from below by the lantern, looks positively ghoulish. She looks down at her lantern, as though surprised by my question. “The liquid inside? It is calledlicatha.”
I blink and lift my chin sharply, catching her eye. “Is it . . . unicorn blood?”
“What?” She draws back a little, as though stung. “What gave you such an idea? It’s made from the nectar ofilsevelblossoms.”
