I lean down toward her. “Too many,” I groan.
She sucks in a little gasp, her eyes widening. “And what choice will you make then?” she demands, relentless.
I rest my elbow on one side of her, release hold of her arm to cup her cheek. “You know what I want,” I whisper. “That will never change, Ilsevel, not so long as I live.” My gaze lowers to her sweet mouth, so soft and puckered, and streaked with a little mud from her tumble. My thumb runs across it, wiping the smear away. Then my gaze moves back to hers. “The decision will be yours. I cannot ask you to be a shadow at my side for the rest of my life.”
Her brows draw together. “Is that all I would be? Your shadow wife?”
I do not know what to say. Does she think I have it inmy power to defy the elders and declare her my queen? Does she believe I would withhold that honor from her? She does not understand our people, our ways. She does not understand how deep-rooted in our souls is the hatred for her kind. She has not lived with us long enough, has not suffered with us. Even if she dwelt among Licornyn kind for a hundred years, would she ever truly be Licornyn?
I should not love her. Yet I do. I have experienced devastation aplenty in my life, but somehow I know this is the one tragedy from which I will never truly recover. For though she has brought me to my very knees, I would choose no other fate were it offered me. Come death, come destruction, come whatever doom, my heart is linked to hers forever. And I am grateful.
Vellar,Elydark’s voice sings suddenly inside my head, dragging my attention away.Vellar, riders approach.
In almost the same moment, Tassa’s shadow falls across the two of us. “It might interest you to know, brother mine,” she says, folding her arms and cocking a hip, “that someone is coming. Three Licornyn riders, not of Rocaryn Tribe.”
The spell is broken. I roll away from my bride and rise quickly to my feet, offering Ilsevel a hand. She accepts and lets me pull her upright, her gaze searching mine. I cannot bear to look at her, however, and turn away in the direction of the Morrona, shading my eyes.Is it Tarhyn Tribe?I sing to Elydark. They are our nearest neighbors.
But my licorneir shakes his head.No, Vellar, it is Arasyrn.
A fist of ice grips my heart. Arasyrn—they are the tribe positionednearest to the Between Gate which stands closest to Ruvaen’s encampment at the Grimspire. They have been charged with carrying messages from the Noxaurian prince to me. Which can only mean . . .
“The summons.” I speak the word out loud and know it is the truth.
“Nornala be praised,” Tassa whispers fervently, her eyes bright with sudden hope.
But Ilsevel turns to me with such fear in her gaze, I cannot bear to look at her. I can only watch the approach of those three distant figures, like the coming of destiny made manifest.
13
ILSEVEL
I am sent away. Out of sight. Out of trouble.
Of course, it makes perfect sense. Taar doesn’t want the riders from a different tribe to be distracted by the presence of a human so near the last Holy House and its sacred grounds. He needs their full attention on the message they deliver, and his own attention undistracted as well. So I am bundled up onto Diira’s back and escorted with all haste by Tassa back to the Hidden City. Like a dirty little secret swept under the rug.
It is a singularly disquieting feeling to ride back through thedakath-lined streets of the city during daylight hours. These last several days I have lingered out in the open country until well after sundown, returning only by cover of night. Not that it provides me much disguise from the acute half-fae vision of the Licornyn folk. But I don’t have to endure the sight of loathing on all those strange faces. It makes it easier to pretend I am notmerely an unwelcome intruder in their midst.
No such pretense shields me now. Even astride Diira, proving with every hoofbeat she makes the living bond shared between us, I feel the animosity trained my way from each pair of wary eyes. The city is alive with activity everywhere as preparations are finalized for the upcoming campaign, but anywhere I pass by, all work ceases. Men, women, and children alike all freeze at their various occupations to stare at me. I hear them take up their labors once more in my wake, but never look back. I keep my face focused forward, pretending to be unaware or, at the very least, uncaring.
I find myself holding my breath and force my lungs to exhale. At least these last few days out in the makeshift training field have proven a good distraction. Tassa worked me hard from daybreak to dusk, without sympathy for my weaker mortal frame. Which is good. I don’t want sympathy. And I certainly don’t want time on my hands to sit around and brood. Diira’s song is enough to support my flagging energy, and I’ve thrown myself into every challenge with all the strength I can muster. By the time I fall into bed at the end of each evening, I’m too bone-weary to miss Taar as much as I otherwise might . . . or to dwell on the choice awaiting me onsilmael.
What will I do with a whole long, weary afternoon, hidden within the smothering walls of my husband’sdakath?
The weight of the future before me feels suddenly too heavy for words. Taar says the choice will be mine—he will not make it forme. Sooner rather than later I must ask myself the hard questions: can I bear to live my whole life like this? This last week has been difficult enough, constantly shadowed by either Tassa or Halamar, avoided by everyone else. Longing for a husband who has so little time to offer me.
It will be different aftersilmael. The nights will belong to Taar and me. That thought brings a flood of warmth to my cheeks and a smile to my lips. Those magical hours we shared at Rothiliar House may be recreated again and again. Oh, how I long to know the joy of his powerful arms around me! To know him and explore him ever more deeply throughout the dark hours after sunset, and to experience the joy of all that he awakens in me with his touch, his kiss, his voice, his very soul.
Is it enough though? Are a few stolen moments of bliss each night worth the price of my life? Worth giving up all hope of my own place and purpose in this or any world? A shadow wife, scorned by all save the man who chose me. And how long before his love—felt so passionately now, in these early days of our acquaintance—turns to resentment?
I shake my head, staring down at my hands which grip the pommel of Diira’s saddle tightly. Many times now, I have tried to imagine what it would mean to deny my love for Taar and end our bond on the night of the new moon. The idea is almost unbearable, but for his sake, I think I could do it. If I truly believed it was best for him, if I believed he would one day forgive me forthe hurt, realizing, as he inevitably must, that it was the only true gift I could give him.
But what about Diira?
The question dances through my mind, tangling with the ever-present song of her soul. Diira, Diira, my heartbound darling. If I give up their king, the Rocaryn Tribe won’t let me remain among them as a Licornyn rider. If I am not good enough to be their queen, I am certainly not worth anything as a warrior. What would become of my Diira then? Would she allow me to pass her bond on to another rider, as Halaema passed her licorneir to Taar? Or would she refuse? With no place left for me in this world, I would have no choice but to return to my own. We would both end up hearttorn.
Bitter tears sting behind my eyelids. I refuse to let them fall but struggle to breathe through the sob lodged in my throat. The truth is I’ve never had a plan for my own life. I expended so much energy railing against my father and his plans for me . . . but in the midst of my railing, I never got around to figuring out whatIwanted. Some vague notions of romance, wrapped up in a false dream around Mage Artoris, was the best I’d ever come up with.
Now I find my heart bound so tightly to Taar and Diira. More than anything I want to be with them, to see goodness done for them, to be part of that goodness if I may. So why does it feel as though no good may be had for either of them now that I have intruded on their lives?
