“That was a mere symbol. A visual representation of what the truevelrawas meant to be,” Taar replies, running one finger up and down my forearm. “Granted,” he adds, with a wry smile, “it’s a symbol which took on rather more solid reality than I ever anticipated! But I suspect we shall not feel the bond originating from our arms anymore. Not after last night.”
His finger glides back to my breast, circling the place where the wedding sigil was painted. “Theruehnarink,” he says, “is made from ilsevel blossoms, which, as you know, are connected to our licorneir and the sacred grace of Nornala herself, Goddess of Unity. We useruehnarto inscribe our most holy sigils, infusing them with divine grace and—in some cases—with magic.”
I frown at this. “I thought the fae could not perform written magic.”
“But I am—”
“—not fae, yes, I know.” I flap a hand at him, shushing the old argument. “Still, as you are half-fae, I did not think you wouldpractice written magic.”
He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement. “We do not practice the same form of written magic as your own mages. This is something much older and simpler in its way. But no less powerful, though it lacks complexity.”
“Is this a spell then?” I ask, placing a hand over my own chest, feeling the pulse of that knot from which thevelracord seems to emanate, winding between me and Taar. It glows even brighter now, following our lovemaking, too bright to be ignored or dismissed as a figment of imagination.
Taar seems to see it as well. His eyes trace the coils before coming back to mine. “Perhaps,” he answers, “but I think . . . not. Spell magic involves intent, whereas this seems to have taken place spontaneously.”
“Your priest intentionally drew these marks on our skin,” I point out.
“Yes,” Taar acknowledges, grinning at me from under his deep black brows. “But, as I have said, I’ve never known thevelrato react like this. I’m certain Onor Vamir neither expected nor intended such a connection to spring up between us.” A sad expression passes through his eyes for a moment. He’s thinking about the young priest—one of those who died on the return journey across Cruor. Those deaths weigh on Taar, for he was not with them when they were attacked by Shanaera and her company of undead Licornyn riders.
Guilt tugs at my heart as well. It was my fault Taar was parted from his people. I am the reason he bears the weight of those deaths.
“Why . . . why do you think it’s suddenly so bright?” I ask, hoping to draw him back to me, at least for a little longer. Before we are forced to face the consequences of all our recent actions.
When Taar looks at me again, the darkness is banished from his face, and his eyes are alight. “Because I’ve finally relented,” he says. “Because I’ve finally given in to what my heart has known from the first moment I laid eyes on you. In the dark of that evil night, I saw you there, fighting like a wildcat, undaunted even in the face of insurmountable terror. And I knew then what you are: a warrior. With a spirit such as I have never before encountered, housed within this lovely”—he leans in and kisses my shoulder—“delicious frame. A queen in the making.”
I shake my head, a tangle of slept-on hair falling over my forehead. “I’ve caused you nothing but trouble from that moment until this.”
“Oh, that is true enough.” He chuckles warmly, then kisses my shoulder again. His kisses run on up my neck to my jaw, as I tilt my head back in eager welcome. “And I can only hope the gods grant me grace enough to be troubled by you for many years to come.”
His mouth finds mine, and he presses me back down into the dusty bed, covering me with his great body. And I lose myself once more to the glory of his love.
2
TAAR
“We should get up,” I say reluctantly, exhaling a heavy sigh into my wife’s hair. I breathe her in—the sweetness of her, the freshness. The life. So short a time ago, I cradled her burnt body in my arms, beheld her terrible suffering, and believed I’d failed her at last. Failed her and lost her in one fell swoop.
And yet, somehow, the gods have chosen to be gracious to me. Tome—miserable, doubting, unworthy worm that I am! They’ve given her back to me, and I vow, even as I have vowed with every breath, with every kiss, with every ardent caress this long night through, that I will not waste whatever time we have left. It is likely not to be long. Not out here in Cruor, not with the kind of life I lead and the host of enemies standing against us. But I will make certain this love of mine burns bright enough, hot enough, tolast into eternity.
“We need to find water. Food,” I continue, even as her slender arms tighten around my neck. Though I could easily break her hold, it is somehow impossible to resist her. And when she raises one leg, and I feel the soft flesh of her inner thigh pressed against my ribcage—ah! I’m all but lost. What has become of me? How could I, in so short a span of days, go from a man of iron, fortified behind stone walls of regret and determination, believing myself protected against further heartbreak . . . to this? This man whose very heart now lies embodied in this woman, cradled so vulnerably in my arms.
I draw back from her just enough to look down into those deep, song-filled eyes of hers. Even now they shine with the resonance of the song she shares with her heartbound licorneir. It is strange to see that shimmering power, so unique to my own people, reflected in the eyes of a human. But then, Ilsevel has never been merely human, gods-gifted wonder that she is.
I smile gently. “You must be famished after all the, er,exertionI’ve put you through.”
“Absolutely starved,” she admits. “But . . . I find I’m in no rush to go.” She lifts her face, capturing my lips in a kiss. Sweet at first, but then she begins to gently tease them open with the tip of her dangerous tongue, and—oh,shakh!I am tempted. Sorely tempted to give her exactly what she’s asking for, until she cries out yet again in joyful, wordless triumph.
“The longer we lie here,” I say against her mouth, “the more weare at risk of being caught in thevardimnar.”
That gives her pause. She frowns a little, lips puckered in a pout. I can almost see the images flickering across her mind’s eye: the two of us, startled by a sudden clap of black lightning through the window, leaping from this bed and fleeing naked into the yard, calling for our licorneir and the protection of their song. “Very well,” she sighs, dropping her head back into the spreading fan of her own loose, dark hair.
Gods, but she’s distractingly beautiful! Especially with her mouth so swollen from my kisses and her eyes brimming with mingled satiation and desire. She worries her lower lip with white teeth, and that little act alone is almost enough to vanquish my resolve. I stop myself short of crushing her with kisses yet again and instead force myself to rise from the bed. She rolls onto her side, propping her head in her hand as her greedy eyes drink in the sight of me. I enjoy her admiration and return the compliment in kind. The curve of her hipbone proves particularly entrancing, the way the shadows fall just so as to lead the eye down into nether regions of mysterious pleasure. Regions I would gladly explore again and again.
With a firm shake of my head, I growl, “Now, now, don’t be causing more trouble with those eyes of yours.” Grinning, I grab her discarded gown from the floor and toss it her way. “Clothe yourself, woman, before I forget all my resolve and resolutions.”
She pouts. Then, heedless of my warnings, heedless of theimminent danger even now poised above our heads, she tosses the gown to the foot of the bed, lies back on the blankets, throws her arms back over her head. Her body arches slightly, and her head tilts at a coy angle. “Make me,” she says, before adding in a lower tone, “brute.”
The cord winding between us flares brilliantly, shocking my eyes. Gods, but I’d not known it could be like this! Even when, years ago, I’d contemplated forming thevelrabond with Shanaera, I never imagined such a profound draw, such an ache, such a need. Greater than hunger, greater than thirst, like the very urge to breathe.
