She nods and touches my hand as I pass her. “Taar,” she says, catching my gaze. “Taar, I’m . . . I’m glad. For your sake.”
I can’t tell if she means it. Complicated emotion churns in the depths of her black eyes. But I nod, accepting the expressed sentiment for whatever it’s worth.
Then I pass into the main chamber of mydakathwhere Halaema has settled down before the central fire and even now sketches a quickruehnarspell. “Light it for me boy, will you?” she says.
I murmur the necessary phrase, summoning a spark of Elydark’s innate magic along our connection. It strikes theruehnar, and a fire ignites, lighting up the shadows.
“Ah, that is good.” Halaema rubs her fingers, hunched and shriveled and yet somehow radiating innate power which has never left her, not even when she gave up hervelarin. She was once a great warrior, and that truth still echoes in her soul, never to be wholly forgotten. “Here, boy,” she says to me, waving one hand in an inviting gesture. “Sit opposite me, where I can look at you.”
I take a seat, cross-legged and upright, and meet her gaze over the dancing flames. She studies me for some little while, her expression unreadable. Finally shetskssoftly. “All right,” she says, her voice cracking like a whip. “The bond is real. Nodrothlaror sorcery could have manufactured such a song. We all heard it. Though some may still refuse to concede, I know when I am beaten.”
Something knotted tight in my gut begins to unravel. “You will accept her then?” I ask. “As one of us?”
“I didn’t say that.” Halaema’s brow tightens. “She may have bound herself to one of our licorneir, but that doesn’t make her a Licornyn. And it certainly doesn’t make her a worthy bride for ourluinar.”
That knot in my gut constricts once more. “She is more than worthy. She is worthier than—”
“Oh, gods above, don’tboreme with protestations and declarations of your own worthlessness and so on and so on. I have no time for it.”
I go silent. But my body tenses, sensing imminent battle.
“Regardless of what the ordeal proved,” Halaema continues, “this young woman is not fit to be your wife.”
I grind my teeth hard and hold my breath. Halaema uses the blunt end of her walking stick to stir embers, setting off a little flurry of sparks. They fly upward, swirling with curls of smoke out through the central skylight in the upper peak of thedakath.
“I understand,” the old woman says at last, her voice heavier, darker than it was moments ago. “I understand you feel a profound draw to her. There was a time, long ago—if you’ll believe it—that I too spoke thevellarvows and bound hands with a brave young warrior. I remember those heady weeks leading up to oursilmaelnight.” Her voice trails away, her mind momentarily lost down a path of long-ago memories. “But”—her eyes sharpen, catching mine again—“the fact remains: your warbride is human.Your people will never accept her asmaelar, regardless of any bonds she’s formed with you or the licorneir.”
“She is my wife, Halaema. I chose her, swore the vows before Nornala, and consummated them that night—”
“Spare me the details.” She holds up a forbidding palm, then narrows her eyes. “You have not, I trust, shared your seed with the girl.”
I thin my lips.
“I thought not,” she continues. “Even infatuated as you are, you would not go so far without the consent of your elders. Good boy.”
Bristling, I open my mouth to speak, but she hastens on. “I’m not trying to call into question the truth of your love for her or, at the very least, what you believe you feel for her. I may have my own opinions as to the lasting strength of a passion bloomed so suddenly over the course of two weeks . . . but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve lived long enough to have seen similarly quick-formed bonds last over lifetimes. It happens. But in your case, Taar, you must understand how difficult it is to believe.”
Though I hate to give any ground, I incline my head in brief acknowledgment. After all, I myself doubted everything I felt and fought against it tooth and nail. But when Halaema asks, “Do you harbor any doubts now, my boy?” my answer is firm.
“None.”
She tilts her head to one side. “Perhaps you speak too hastily for truth.”
A grin pulls at the corner of my mouth. “And if I had hesitated,you would interpret that as you wished as well.”
She shrugs, allowing me a small concession. Then she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her bony knees. “The elders are in agreement, Taarthalor. Your warbride shall be permitted to live among us until the night ofsilmael.In that time we require your mutual abstinence.”
A cold stone drops in my chest.
“Complete abstinence,” she continues, holding up a warning finger. “No delightful little gray areas, no confusing the definitions of purity. You shall not touch her, kiss her, pleasure her, nor receive such pleasures from her in return. Do I make myself clear?”
I swallow hard. “And onsilmael?”
“If bysilmaelyou still feel for her as you do now, the elders have agreed that you may take her as a wife. But,” she adds severely, “not as your queen. Any offspring born of her womb will inherit no throne, no crown, nor any such kingdom as you may still possess at the end of your life. Should you wish your line to continue, you will choose a second wife. Someone of your own kind to bear your heirs.”
A roar of protest mounts in my throat. I begin to rise, but Halaema cuts me off sharply. “None of this brutish blustering, boy! Consider: but a few short hours ago, it was the unanimous wish of the entire council that your wife’s throat be slit and her blood poured out in the dirt to cleanse the very soil on which she stood. You should be grateful for the lenience we offer you and her, but mistake not that lenience for weakness. Our concern is for thefuture of Licorna, a concern I believe you and I still share.”
I cannot speak. If I speak, I will say something I regret. I force myself to nod shortly.
