His throat tightens uncomfortably. “I do not know,” he admits.
“Give me your best guess.”
Another flashing glance at Taar, before he trains his focus back on me. “Husbands and wives die in battle. It happens; it is a tragedy.”
“But you have not seen a bereft husband succumb tovelrhoar, have you? Taar will not be broken by my death?”
Halamar looks deeply uneasy. “I do not know,” he says again. “But I suspect it would be the same as though . . . as though . . .”
“As though your Onor Gantarith had slit my throat with a ceremonial blade, thus ending our untimely marriage weeks ago?”
Taar growls threateningly, but Halamar nods. “That would be my guess. Your husband will suffer pain. It will not likely leave any lasting effects.”
I note the use of the wordwill. Halamar, at least, is not foolinghimself about the outcome of today’s match. But I set my chin and turn to Taar once more. “You see?IfI die today, the worst that will happen is you will be set free of this bond, and—”
Taar moves quickly, gripping my arm tight and dragging me close to him. “The worst that will happen,” he snarls, “is my heart will be ripped from my chest. Still alive, still beating. And I will suffer agonies no man should be made to bear.”
I look into his eyes, forcing my voice to be steady and firm, despite how desperately I want to give way to the trembling terror working its way up from my core. “Even the best marriages end with death, Taar,” I say softly. “Sooner or later. Until then we both have a purpose to fulfill. Your purpose lies at the gates of Evisar. Mine . . .” I swallow with some difficulty and ease out a tense breath. “Mine may very well end here. Today.”
“No.”
“If what I am called to do is set you free so that you may in turn free your people, who am I to question the gods?”
Taar searches my face intently, reading thoughts I’d rather he didn’t. Thevelrapulses between us, almost painful in its heat. “Ilsevel,” he says, my name rough on his tongue, “I cannot do this. Not without you.”
I toss my head, forcing a saucy smile. “I’m not dead yet, am I?” Reaching up, I cup his bearded cheek with one hand, savoring the rough texture which has become so strangely familiar over the last few weeks. “How many miracles have already taken placeto bring me this far? What’s one more to the gods, when they have already been so generous?”
Taar opens his mouth to speak again, but Halamar’s voice interrupts, dragging our attention his way. “Lathaira is ready. Her people are gathering at the field.”
Together we turn to look out at the grassy plain below Tarh Tower, where a battlefield has been hastily staked out in readiness for the coming duel. On the far side Lathaira and her proud Licornyn riders line up. Among them is her daughter—the most enormously powerful and muscular woman I’ve ever set eyes upon. She might have been sculpted from a block of marble, so pronounced is every line of her face and body. She rides her equally enormous licorneir with a grim confidence that turns my stomach to liquid terror at the mere sight.
But Diira draws in close behind me, her song thrumming through and around me.I am here, Vellara. I am with you.
Rocaryn riders are forming up as well, lining the near side of the battlefield. Only three of them—the rest have been positioned around the main bulk of the fighting force, ready in case thevardimnarshould strike, as it may at any moment. No doubt Lathaira has similarly protected her own force, bringing with her only a small contingent for this little display.
My hand finds and grips the still-unfamiliar hilt of thevaritarsword Taar gave me. It is unnerving to see all those tall stern figures astride their tall stern mounts. Even those on my side of the fieldare not here for my support. Kildorath in particular is eager to see my blood spilt on that stretch of hoof-flattened grass and dirt.
Do not fear, Vellara,Diira sings again, her voice a line of fire in my head.I will not let you fall.
I feel the furnace of determination moving through her soul. She’s thinking of Ashika—of her previous rider, who died. She feels responsible for that death and refuses even to consider the possibility that she could let another rider down so completely. I don’t know how she thinks she’s going to fulfill that promise. But her ferocity is warming. I reach up to stroke her cheek, singing back to her without words. Her skin cracks in places, revealing the lava-like heat churning just beneath the surface. She is ready for battle.
Taar at my side, Halamar following close behind, I begin the walk toward the battleground. It feels far longer than it is, an endless gauntlet of slowly-rising dread. This is far worse than when I approached the boundary of the Unformed Lands. Then I faced the terror of the unknown, whereas here I know. Or, at the very least, I’ve got a pretty good idea. Visions of hacking and blood and broken bones fill my head, and my very soul recoils.
We reach the edge of the field. Across from me, my foe waits, already mounted. She looks bored. Annoyed. As though she can scarcely believe she’s been summoned to perform so menial a task. Gods spare me, she makes Tassa look like a delicate specimen of womanhood!
“Ilsevel,” Taar begins in a low voice.
I don’t wait for him to continue. Whirling on heel, I rise to my toes, grab him by the back of the head, and pull him down into a kiss. To hells with whatever vows he made to Halaema! If my life is forfeit for one stolen embrace, well, I’m about to pay the price already, aren’t I?
Taar’s fingers dig painfully into the bare patch of my arm beneath the leather armor. It hurts—which is good. I need that pain, need that grounding in this moment. I draw back from him. His lips chase mine, his breath catching painfully. I lift my lashes, gaze up into his dark eyes, and see the burning fire of torment leaping there. “Ilsevel,” he whispers, a rough plea. “Run. I beg of you. Run now.”
But I shake my head. “You entered the arena to fight for my life once. Now I fight for your crown, your people. Though they hate me, I fight for them.” Closing my eyes, I tip my head forward, pressing my brow to his. “Remember the vows we made?Vel-sa almar. E luralma idor-hath.” I sing the words softly, let their meaning vibrate along the length of thevelracord. “My life is yours. And, should you require it, my death.”
Before he can speak another word, I back away. As though on cue Halamar steps forward and grips my husband firmly by the shoulder. Taar looks at him with such murderous fury, it’s a wonder Halamar doesn’t vaporize on the spot. But the hearttorn warrior does not release his grip. He speaks something low in Licornyn tongue, which I do not understand save for one word:“Maelar.”
Queen.
Taar’s expression shifts slightly. He holds onto his fury for a moment, then nods. Though he relaxes in his captor’s grip, Halamar does not release him. He looks at me once more, and I see the confusion of all the things he wants to say but cannot find words to articulate. But the song emanating from his soul expresses more than words ever could, flowing through thevelrafrom his heart to mine.
