14
TAAR
I wake to my body on fire. A deep, pulsing throb moves in my groin, spreading unbearable heat through my veins. I grimace at the delicious pain of it, overwhelmed with the need for relief.
In the dimness of thedakath, lit only by the red glow of a low-burning fire, I feel the shape of the cause for this wild impulse. Ilsevel—my wife. She lies in my arms, pressed up against me. Her round buttocks make a soft cushion for my hardness, and I grimace against the wild urge lashing though me. My spirit is painfully aware of thevelrawrapped and draped around us, shimmering red, not gold—a line of fire pulsing in time with my own insistent throb. A madness akin to the rabidness of virulium quickens my breath, heats my skin.
Gritting my teeth, I bury my face in her hair. But that is a mistake; the mere scent of her only drives me more wild. Howcan she lie here, so peaceful in my arms, and yet by her mere existence transform me into some version of myself I barely know? My hand moves almost against my will, clenching her skirts, pulling them up to reveal the soft curve of her thigh. I shift my hips, pressing my manhood harder against her, moving desperately for the friction I need.
My fist clenches, and pain sears across my palm. Across that cut I made when I swore an oath to Halaema. An oath which, if broken, will place my wife’s life on the line.
With a groan I roll away from her and stare up at thedakathhides arched overhead, illuminated by the hellish glow of the fire. Gods, but this temptation is enough to kill a man! I should have known better than to let her talk me into this proximity, however innocently she may have intended it. It’s not her fault, though. Iknewhow it would be, with thevelracompelling me, and my body more than ready to betray every stray thought and impulse.Shakhme, if I don’t get some air this instant . . .
Taking care not to disturb her, I scramble to my feet. She doesn’t deserve to be awakened to lustful groping. That is not lovemaking, to treat her like an object for my relief. No matter how sorely I may crave her, I will not let myself forget her personhood, her safety and wellbeing.
Though I am tempted to step into a private place and take care of matters on my own, somehow I know this will not help. There would be temporary relief, yes, but the ache for her body and soul will only intensify. Instead I hasten to the door flap and step outinto the chill night air. It’s not sharp enough to give me much ease, but I close my eyes, breathe it in, and let my throbbing senses become more aware of the world around me. The usual peace and quiet of the Hidden City after sundown is nowhere to be had this night, not with the whole of my fighting force preparing to ride at dawn. Though no doubt my warriors are chasing elusive sleep, many are as restless as I. How many lovers grope in the dark even now, clinging to each other in the desperate knowledge that this may be their last moments together?
I let out a long, painful breath. Aware suddenly of a watchful gaze, I turn and look back over my shoulder. Halamar stands on watch just outside mydakath. I’d not noticed him when I burst out, distracted as I was. For some reason the sight of him fills me with irritation, as though he is the reason for my separation from Ilsevel and not an entirely disconnected bystander.
“You have things to prepare for the journey tomorrow, do you not?” I ask abruptly.
“Kya,luinar,” he responds.
“Then get to it. I need no watchman to guard my sleep tonight.”
His expression shifts ever-so slightly. He knows more than he lets on. But he does not argue. He salutes and makes an unhurried escape, disappearing into the city street. I watch him go, then tilt back my head and stare at the distant stars. My breath stirs the air in small, pale clouds, but despite the cold, there is still far too much heat roaring in my lower regions. Thevelrapulls at me, urging meto slip back inside. It’s not as though Ilsevel would reject me. If she knew how I wanted her, she would open her arms all too eagerly, and then—
“Shakh,”I growl.
“Such a noble greeting from my most majestic brother,” a dry voice speaks from the shadows off to my right. “Truly you would grace the courtly halls of our dear mother with your fair speech. A pity she’s not lived to bear witness.”
Jaw set, I turn to face my sister, prepared to comment on the various uncouth habits she too has acquired in our years living among the Rocaryn Tribe. Before the sharp words can leave my tongue, however, I’m struck dumb by the sight of her. She’s wearing her old Licornyn riding armor, fitted to her years ago in anticipation of a bond which never formed. I haven’t seen her in it since before Shanaera died. Since before Halamar becamevelrhoar.
“What are you doing, Tassa?” I demand.
She stops before me, braced for battle. “I will ride with you tomorrow,” she declares, adding bitterly, “with the horses, of course.”
“No. You must remain and protect the city.”
Her face hardens. “I expected that was your plan.” Turning away from me, she folds her arms and gazes out over the city spread below the center green. Beyond thedakaths, forest surrounds us in a protective shield, and on the far side of that forest, in fields where usuallykhiirsheep graze, provision wagons are gathered in preparation for tomorrow’s journey. Beyond those are temporarypens for the horses. The licorneir are out there somewhere as well, up on the slopes of the mountain, grazing onilsevelblossoms. There will be no fresh supply to be had throughout the length of the coming campaign.
“Is Halamar going?” Tassa asks abruptly after a long silence.
I nod.
The lines of her brow tighten. “In that case, why should I not ride as well? Halamar is hearttorn—I am not. I am more useful in a fight than he is. More focused.”
“I cannot leave the Hidden City without defense,” I answer in a low voice.
Tassa throws back her head, uttering a mirthless laugh. “And what exactly am I supposed to do if you and all the licorneir are slaughtered by the Shadow King? Well, Taar? Am I to dig trenches and post children on watch? Or perhaps you think I’ll lead an army of elders in a last glorious stand against our enemies?”
I do not answer for some while. I don’t want to say out loud what I know I must, any more than she wants to hear it. But what is the use of pretending, here, now, on the last night we are likely to spend in each other’s presence?
“I do not know what will happen,” I say at last. “I know only that I will not stop fighting until the Miphates are either driven from this land or I lie dead at the gates of Evisar. Should that come to pass”—I fix Tassa with my gaze, refusing to let her look away—“I want you to take the Hidden City. Pack up all thedakathsand make for the nearest Between Gate. Leave this world behind forever and pray Nornala will guide you through Wanfriel to some new safe haven. Give Cruor over to thevardimnarand think of it no more. The age of the Licornyn will be at an end, and the ilsevels will bloom no more on the slopes of Elanlein.”
Tassa’s eyes study my face, searching for some crack, some hairline of doubt she might use to her advantage. When I give her nothing, she bows her head and offers a short nod. “I don’t know what sort of life is out there for a smattering of refugeeibrildians,” she says in a low voice.
“It will be a life you forge, for you will be their queen, whatever else may come.” I take hold of her hand, an impulsive gesture my walled-up sister would not ordinarily tolerate. For now, however, she allows me to squeeze her fingers gently and even offers a slight return of pressure. “I believe in you, Talanashta,” I say. “Whatever else lies ahead, I know you will be strong and brave.”
