“What he said is true.” Lyria turns to face me again, firelight flickering across her features. “Larongar has agreed to give you toMage Artoris as a reward for . . . for services rendered.”
“How generous of my beloved father.” I tip my head back, trying not to let tears escape through my lashes. “Perhaps I should have married the Shadow King after all! He, at least, asked. Not that it makes much difference, but one must appreciate the effort toappeargenerous. And perhaps then Aurae and Faraine would both be safe.”
Lyria flinches at the bitterness of my words, but keeps her own sorrows carefully masked. “We cannot know what would have happened. Besides, no one could have predicted that attack on the temple.”
I frown suddenly and continue frowning, even as my half-sister assists me out of the green chair and helps me hobble across the room back to the bed. “One thing bothers me,” I muse, as I’m tucked in like a child. “You say there was an attack on the temple, and Artoris rescued me . . . but the timing is off. Somehow I was missing long enough to have been presumed dead, and for Father to ship Faraine off to the Shadow Realm in my stead. What was I doing all that time? Was I”—I shudder, not liking to speak the words—“with Artoris?”
Lyria bites her lip, not quite looking at me. She fusses over straightening the already straight blankets. “No one knows exactly. But . . . yes, Ilsevel. You were gone for . . . for some while.” I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “Please. It’s better if you don’t try to remember. Some things simply don’t bear recollection. Let it go. For your own sake.”
Exhaustion claws at my mind. I sink down into the pillows, vaguely aware of a strange burn on my breast. I don’t think it’s the residual memory of Artoris’s unwelcome touch, but something else . . . something . . . I don’t understand.
“When is my marriage supposed to take place?” I ask dully.
“Artoris is pushing Larongar to hold the ceremony by the end of the week. You need a little more time for healing. But it won’t be long.”
A lump forms in my gut at the prospect of what lies ahead for me. “Then I suppose I should rest up. My bridegroom seems especially vigorous.”
Lyria can offer no comfort, but to my surprise, she bends over suddenly and kisses my forehead. “Sleep now,” she says with uncharacteristic gentleness. My eyes grow heavy—so heavy, I half-wonder if my sister has put some sort of spell on me. I sink rapidly into sleep, my last conscious awareness my sister’s voice, sounding far away: “I’m going to help you, Ilsie. You’re the only sister I’ve got left. I’ll figure out something . . .”
8
TAAR
Air knives in and out of my lungs with every breath I take, as Elydark and I make our way across the mortal world. It is unpleasant to return to this magic-depleted reality so soon since our last campaign. The atmosphere is far too thin, and with every passing moment, I feel vitality seeping out of my body.
I can manage it with better grace, however, than my licorneir; I, at least, amibrildian,with a trace of mortal blood flowing in my veins. But Elydark is a being of pure magic. He does not belong in this world, and the longer he remains in it, the worse it goes for him.
He never offers a single word of complaint, however. He sets his sights on the road before him, giving me all the speed and power he can summon, eating up the miles beneath his cloven hooves. We travel mostly by night, covering great distancessheltered by long shadows, shielded from curious mortal eyes. We avoid all towns or populated areas, keeping to rural stretches of lonely country where no one will glimpse us. Mortal eyes cannot look upon the glory of a licorneir, and would perceive no more than a phantom image, half-dream, half-nightmare. So long as I am mounted, I should remain for the most part invisible to their gazes as well, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. The last thing I need is for rumor of a Licornyn’s presence in this country to spread.
One night I leave Elydark in the deep shadows of a family of conifers and creep into a farmhouse. Moving with great stealth, I remove a long, colorless cloak from its peg by the door, and vanish back into the night unseen. I need a mortal disguise of some kind if I am to move freely in this world. My bare chest and Licornyn garb will not go unnoticed among the denizens of Gavaria. I stash the cloak in Elydark’s saddle bags, ready to be used at need.
And so we continue.
Though I’ve never been to the seat of King Larongar’s kingdom, I have a general idea where Beldroth Castle lies, having campaigned in this world before. More often than not, I find myself reaching for thevelrabond to guide me to my wife. But it is gone, of course. Or, at the very least, reduced to such a delicate filament, I cannot sense it. When she ended our marriage onsilmaelnight, that should have broken the bond entirely. Still, something had held on, against all odds. That connectionbetween us was so profound, it may have found a way to reforge in the end, if given the chance.
Until I stabbed her on the battlefield. No bond can survive such a betrayal.
I grind my teeth and set my face to the wind, which blows so harshly against me, flowing over Elydark’s body in ripples as we cut across the darkened countryside. I will find her. Whether she lives or dies, I will find her and face the truth of what I have done. Anything beyond that I cannot imagine. I see nothing, no future either real or imagined, only a great blank before me. The only thing that matters now is to know if she lives and, if she does, to throw myself at her feet and beg her forgiveness for what I have done.
So I ride on.
Elydark struggles more with each passing day. The longer we are away from Wanfriel and the magic-rich air of that forest, the more difficult he finds existence. His pace, at first tremendous, slows, and the fire of his soul fades. By the time we’ve traveled in the mortal world for five days and six nights, he is rundown, struggling for breath. But still he forges on, offering me everything he has to give, his song a profound burn in my heart, keeping hope alive.
You should return home, Elydark,I sing to him.You are suffering. I can go on alone.
But he answers at once,I will not leave you,Vellar.Come what may, we go on together.
There may be no return for either of usthen,I warn grimly.
So be it. If we must meet our end, let it be as one, not as souls divided.
We continue, long hour after long hour, one struggling breath at a time. At last, in the light of pre-dawn on the verge of the sixth day, the towers of a great castle rise before us, silhouetted against the sky. Set high on a promontory above a fertile valley, Beldroth dominates the landscape, an impressive, if unlovely, structure of stone and skilled mortal masonry. A little walled village lies at the feet of the promontory, small buildings clustered under the shelter of that castle. All is very still and quiet, the denizens only just on the verge of waking to meet the oncoming creep of day.
My heart jolts in my chest at the sight.Ilsevel.Is she there? Once again I reach into my heart for some sign of thevelraonly to find nothing. No reassurance, not even a glimmer of hope. But surely, if she was returned to this world as Halamar gave witness, her people would have carried her back to the home of her father. If she lives, she must be behind those forbidding walls. And before the day’s end, I will discover the truth. One way or another.
I dismount and rest a hand on Elydark’s shoulder.I go on alone from here, my friend,I sing into his mind.It is not safe for you to venture any nearer to that mortal keep.
It is not safe for you either,Vellar,he protests, tossing his horned head.
