A growl in my throat, I let go of Ilsevel and step back, turning to look up into the forest gathered around the lower slopes of the holy mountain. Ilsevel looks too, her brow puckered. Then she curses and whirls to glare up at me furiously. “Did you set your sister to spy me? Like some errant little child?”
I don’t have to answer. Tassa herself appears in that same moment, riding her gelding out from among the trees. Another rider remains in the shadows behind her, and though the distance is too great to see his face, I’m almost certain I recognize the figure of Halamar.
“Taar,” Tassa calls, her voice cold as ice. “The quartermaster is asking for you. He has questions concerning recent requisitions.”
I nod. My chest relaxes somewhat, allowing my tensed heart to beat once more. For a moment I’d thought it would be news from Ruvaen. I don’t know if I’m relieved that it is not.
“I must go,” I say, turning to Ilsevel.
“Of course. Go on then.” She lowers her sword, her sweat-streaked face making no effort to hide her disappointment. “Be the king you must be.” At the look I send her, she rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Taar. You didn’t kiss me, remember? So I’m not about to be executed for treason or any such nonsense.” She brandishes thevaritaronce more. “I’ll practice my forms like a good little warrior and see you whenever you happen to ride by.”
“Ilsevel—”
But she cuts me off. “Go,” she insists. “I understand. I promise.”
Turning from her reluctantly, I call to Elydark. My licorneir hastens to my side, looking sadly back after Diira even as I mount. We’re a couple of hopeless fools, I fear.
With a last glance from my wife, I turn my beast’s head back toward the city. As we pass close to Tassa, I call out, “Help her. Please.”
Tassa salutes, but her expression is hostile. “Your wish is my command,luinar.”
With a heavy sigh, I sing to Elydark, and we race together back to the Hidden City.
11
ILSEVEL
I don’t mount Diira as Taar’s sister rides slowly toward me on that leggy bay steed of hers. I don’t want her thinking I’m afraid to meet her on my own two feet, that I somehow need my licorneir in order to be strong. I simply wait, her sword gripped in my hands, and watch her approach. I refuse to let my gaze trail after Taar as he and Elydark disappear into the forest.
Tassa reins in her bay and looks down at me for some silent moments. A wind kicks up, quick and chilly in this open space, and pulls at strands of her dark hair, teasing them free of their braids. Her face is grim; though her features are beautiful like her brother’s, there is no softness to be had in them.
Finally she dismounts and strides toward me. “All right, bride of my brother,” she says, folding her arms. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “I’ve had only one lesson.”
She tips her head ever-so slightly to one side. “Is this how humans train their warriors? With excuses?”
My jaw firms. I take hervaritarand assume the first stance, one hand on the hilt, the other out for balance. Then I go through three forms in quick succession, including a final double-handed grip. The air whistles at each pass of the blade.
Tassa watches in silence. When I’ve finished, I glance her way, hoping I don’t look too much like a puppy, eager for praise. “Not bad,” she allows, then reaches out and adjusts my grip slightly. “The weight will rest better like so. Do you feel the difference? In any one-handed stroke, you must hold it this way, or your balance will be thrown off.”
I nod and attempt another series of strokes. Tassa watches in stern silence. When she has nothing to say, I perform the strokes again, adding a few small flourishes, which fail to impress her.
“Now,” she says, “what would happen if you were to do that while on the back of a licorneir in full charge? How do you think it would change your angle?”
I adjust slightly, turning my shoulders. “Right?” I ask.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
With those words, Tassa mounts her gelding and rides back to the forest. For a moment I think she’s given up on me entirely. Instead, however, she finds herself a stout stick of comparable length to thevaritar, but thicker.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
Diira comes up behind me, nudging my shoulder gently.I suspect a good bruising is in my future,I sing silently to her.Probably to my tailbone, first and foremost.
She sings back at once,I will not let you fall.
I stroke her cheek fondly, not convinced it’s a promise she can keep.
