Vellara,Diira sings into the tumult of my mind.Vellara, I amwith you. Always. To the end.
Her voice is a ledge of support over the chasm of my own churning emotions. But I cannot bear to sing back. Though I feel her hurt at my withdrawal, she does not fight me, merely continues to sing, her voice an ever-present hum in the back of my awareness.
We reach Taar’s greatdakathin the city center. By this time word has gone around the city of the messengers’ arrival, and a great tumult of excitement ripples through the various streets.
“Can you manage on your own?” Tassa asks me shortly. Her own spirit is caught in that brimming eagerness. I can feel how badly she wants to rid herself of me and ride back to her brother’s side to drink up all the news.
“Yes,” I say dully and wave one hand. “Go.”
She gives me a look. “Halamar will be outside if you need anything.”
I cast a short glance to where ever-present Halamar lurks outside thedakathdoor. He alone among the Licornyn folk remains solemn, cut-off and distant. As though this news, of such profound importance to everyone else, makes no difference to him and his broken song.
“I’ll be fine,” I say to Tassa. “Go. Find out what you can of the summons. I know Taar will want you there.”
Tassa doesn’t wait to be urged. She spurs her brown gelding into action, vanishing swiftly among thedakaths.I swing down from Diira’s saddle and stand a moment with my forehead pressedagainst my licorneir’s cheek. I wish I could ask her to come inside with me so I needn’t be alone. But it’s not fair to Diira. She would do it, but she would not be happy. The licorneir, as beings of sky, loathe nothing so much as a ceiling overhead.
I am with you, Vellara,Diira sings again, a feeling rather than words.
I nod, my forehead still resting against her, and whisper, “I know.” Her song is a comfort, to be sure. Perhaps if I were not a being of flesh and bone, I might not long for the physical comfort of other flesh and bone. But I am what I am. Unfortunately.
With a sigh I let Diira go and watch my licorneir trot away through the city’s bubbling chaos. Then, feeling a pair of eyes on me, I turn and look across the green. Elder Halaema sits in the doorway of the Meeting House. She’s smoking a long green pipe with a deep bowl, watching me through a haze of smoke. I meet her gaze solemnly. While the old woman isn’t overtly hostile, I can sense her subtle attempt to intimidate me.
I turn away and approach thedakathdoor. Halamar offers me a short nod and lifts the door flap for me. He’d make a fine footman, though I resist the urge to tell him as much. Something tells me he would not appreciate the jibe.
I step inside. Though the space is large, I find myself inclined to choke on the stuffy atmosphere. The walls feel close and horrible. I wait until I hear the swish of the door flap falling behind me. Then I squeeze my eyes tightly shut against an onslaught of tears. “Damn,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
I can’t live like this. I can’t. Sneaking out for joy rides on Diira is all well and good, but how can this be my life day after day? And what about the nights? Will I simply cease to exist until Taar visits me, coming alive only at his touch? Over time how infrequent will those visits become? The burdens of kingship and the disapproval of his people will slowly drive greater and greater wedges between us until someday, inevitably, I will be made to give way to a queen. Taar may deny it, but I know the truth. Then I’ll be moved out of this granddakathto some hovel on the outskirts of the city. Like Halamar. To be visited upon occasion until I’m too old and worn to be worth the trouble anymore.
It may be an imagined future, spun entirely from my overwrought imagination. But it feels too real. Gods above, the summons from Ruvaen might be a blessing in disguise! At least I know I’ll be riding into danger with the other Licornyn riders. Hopeless as I am with thevaritar, I will no doubt be cut down in the first charge, ridding Taar of his burden.
“Oh, damn it, Ilsevel!” I growl, my own voice a shock after such a long silence. “Are you just going to revel in this pathetic self-pity? The last thing Taar needs right now is for you to fall apart!”
There seems to be only one thing to do. I move to the bedchamber, kneel upon a cushion, and pull Diira’s song around me. It’s like a meditation—that deepening of our connection, that stilling of the soul. The music of ancient ages and stars supports me, pullsme gently outside of myself, and allows me to drift away. I feel my heartrate calm, my jumping pulse ease into a more regular rhythm. After a time I begin to sing—a low, mournful sound, born from the depths of my gut. I needn’t sing out loud of course, not with this song. But it feels good to do so, to let my very human emotion find vent in an altogether human sound.
I don’t know how long I sing. I’m scarcely aware of my own voice, whether it is loud or soft. I seem to have dropped to a lower register, however, when another voice speaks suddenly behind me: “Your song is beautiful, myzylnala.”
I nearly choke on my own tongue. Still on my knees, I turn sharply to see Taar standing in the doorway of the little bedchamber. It’s the first time I’ve seen him here, alone, since I awakened from my ordeal in the Unformed Lands five days ago. The atmosphere is dim—I have not yet learned how to ignite the glowinglicathalamps and have only what sunlight makes its way through the window flaps. But his face seems strained to me, with shadows heavy under his black eyes.
I rise quickly and run to him, burrowing into his arms without a thought for any vow. I am a bird seeking shelter from a storm, and he is the strong tree whose branches welcome me home. He enfolds me, presses me close to his heart, and his cheek rests against my hair. I feel thevelraaround us glowing, as though it wraps us up in its coils.
“What was it about?” he asks after a long, restful silence.
“Hmmm?”
“Your song. It seemed to have no words, but it felt meaningful.”
“Oh.” I shake my head against his chest. “It was nothing.” Then I sigh and add, “And everything. At once.”
“Nothing and everything,” he echoes thoughtfully and nods, his chin against the top of my head. “A beautiful dichotomy.”
I pull back from him just enough to tip my chin and peer up into his beautiful, careworn face. How badly I want to kiss him! But knowing this would only complicate his already complex life further, I say only, “When do we ride, warlord?”
“Dawn,” he replies. “The quartermaster is arranging all final details as we speak. My warriors will be ready to mobilize.” The lines around his mouth are heavy. “We must hope we can join forces with Tarhyn Tribe soon, or we will struggle to progress safely across Cruor.”
Suddenly all my petty concerns don’t seem to matter. Not in the face of the worries this man carries. I wish I could hold him. I wish I could draw him down onto the bed cushions and make him forget his troubles. But that would be singularly unhelpful just now.
Instead I lead him back into the main chamber of thedakath. “Will you start a fire?” I ask him. “I can do it, but yourruehnarspell is faster.”
