Lathaira’s lip curls. “You are an arrogant bastard indeed if you intend to claim the gods’ sanction over your inability to control your lusts.”
A red-hot line of fury slashes through my soul. Elydark responds to it, growling as only a licorneir can growl, deep in his chest. It’s all I can do to grip the pommel of my saddle and rein in both our tempers. “Ilsevel is my wife,” I declare firmly. “I made the sacred vows to her before the eye of Nornala. She, in turn, formed a bond with one of our licorneir, proving her place at my side. If the elders are thus satisfied, so must you be, Lathaira.”
“Oh, must I?” She urges her huge licorneir forward three aggressive paces. I see the glint of a blade’s edge in the sharpness of her eye. “I’ve never been altogether certain you were right for the task of ruling Licorna in its fragile state. Ever since the fall of Evisar and your father’s death, I’ve wondered if the time of a united people is at an end.”
I stare into her eyes, searching for some sign of falsehood. Surely she must be bluffing. “I need not remind you,” I say in a low voice, “that your licorneir depend on the supply of ilsevel blossoms which bloom from Elanlein.”
Lathaira grins like a wolf. “And I need not remind you,luinar,that Rocaryn Tribe is sorely lacking in Licornyn riders. I’d like to know what you would do if I and my Licornyn simply entered the Holy House and . . . took it?”
I’m unprepared for her to voice such aggression out loud, even in the form of inquiry. The rage inside me threatens to burst, and little spurts of flame flicker along the line of Elydark’s neck. But now is not the time for us to make war among ourselves. Notwhen we are so close to breaking through theobscurisand putting everything to rights.
“We have a common enemy which must be dealt with, Lathaira,” I remind her firmly, choosing not to let her see me rise to the bait. “Remember, until the Miphates are driven from Cruor, none of us is safe. We must restore Licorna if there is to be any hope for us and the licorneir.” I set my jaw and sit up straighter in the saddle, straddling the fine line between commanding and threatening. “Come—let us be friends as we have always been. My people have harvested a bountiful supply of ilsevels for you and your tribe as a symbol of our ongoing unity.”
Lathaira narrows her gaze, her eyes two sparks framed in that black band of warpaint. “I will accept your gesture of friendship, Taarthalor. But first you must demonstrate your loyalty to the cause of Licorna.”
Warning drums seem to beat in my ears. But I’m too deeply committed now to back out. “Go on,” I say.
Lathaira draws her sword and points it one-armed at Ilsevel. “You must give her up,” she declares.
My hand swiftly moves to my own blade, gripping the hilt but not yet drawing it. “I will lay down my life for Ilsevel,” I say, the words savage in my throat. “Choose any of your champions, Lathaira. I will prove with my own blood that she is here by the will of the gods.”
At this the chieftain tosses back her head and utters a gutturallaugh. “And what use is there inyoufighting for her life? If the gods truly will her to be among us, surely they will grantherthe victory.”
For a moment, I do not understand. Lathaira’s words echo hollowly inside my skull. Then very softly I breathe out a single word: “No.”
But Lathaira swings her sword arm, indicating Sylcatha. “Here is my daughter,” she says in a voice loud enough to be heard by all present. “She is the bravest of all Tarhyn Tribe’s warriors. If your warbride can defeat her invaritancombat, then Tarhyn will accept her as one of us, a true Licornyn. If not”—she looks straight at me—“you will have to accept that it simply wasn’t the will of the gods.”
I urge Elydark forward, only just restraining him from bursting into battle flame. “I will not send a lamb to the slaughter,” I snarl through clenched teeth.
“But if the lamb is protected by divine will, there can be no slaughter. Is that not so?”
I am on the verge of drawing my sword and initiating battle here and now. Lathaira knows it and adjusts her grip on her ownvaritar, her eagerness for blood palpable. Before I can take the next irreversible step, however, Ilsevel drives Diira forward between me and the Tarhyn chieftain. She turns away from Lathaira, focusing her attention entirely on me.
“Taar,” she says, speaking in her own language, “you can’t do this. It’s my decision, is it not?”
I stare into her face, momentarily confused. She could not haveunderstood the conversation which took place between me and Lathaira entirely in Licornyn tongue. But then she is bonded to Diira now—her licorneir could easily translate the essence of what was said.
“It’s not possible, Ilsevel,” I reply harshly. “I will not let it happen.”
Ilsevel looks back over her shoulder at Lathaira, who grins with bloodthirsty malice. She turns then, casting her gaze over Kildorath and the other warriors, then beyond them to the Rocaryn Tribe. All those faces, filled with hatred for her and everything she represents. She is nearly friendless in this world, which longs so desperately for her ultimate ruin.
Yet she turns to me, her face strangely serene. “You will never succeed in this venture to Evisar if your people don’t believe in you. And they won’t believe in you, Taar, if they don’t believe in me.”
“It’s not your responsibility tomakethem believe,” I bite back firmly.
She draws a shuddering breath. Though she wears a brave mask, there’s fear in her eyes, but she answers with quiet confidence, “I think it is.”
I grip a handful of Elydark’s mane, as though I can somehow take hold of this situation and wrench it back under my control. “You’ve proven yourself already in the Unformed Lands.”
Ilsevel nods slightly. “Which is why you must allow me to prove myself again. Once and for all.”
But that’s what I’m afraid of—that itwillbe once and for all. Because if Ilsevel rides against Sylcatha invaritancombat, she willbe slaughtered. This contest won’t come down to the strength of the bond shared between her and her licorneir. That bond won’t make any difference, not against pure muscle and steel and the vicious training of many violent years.
Ilsevel, however, holds my gaze firmly. “You cannot keep protecting me, Taar. If it is the will of the gods that I should ride with your people, the gods themselves will grant me victory.”
Bold words. But foolish, so hopelessly foolish.
“Please,zylnala,” I say, stretching out my hand to her. “Don’t do this.”
