But Elydark draws nearer. I hear weakness in his song, a sense of fading, possibly due to the mortal air he’s been breathing. It strengthens, however, the nearer he draws to Taar. The two of them send song back and forth to each other, and the light of the licorneir soulfire intensifies.
Taar bends over me once more. “We’re going to heal you, Ilsevel,” he says, as though trying to convince himself. “Hold onjust a little longer. For me.”
Then he rips the bodice of my gown open.
The sudden motion rocks my body, and I try to scream again at the pain.
“I’m sorry,” Taar murmurs. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t know what else to do.” His hands move across my body, breaking the bones of my corset and pulling it aside, lifting the delicate fabric of my chemise to expose my abdomen to cold air. I writhe. “Lie still,” Taar says sharply.
It’s almost a relief to obey.
He places both hands atop my wound, bows his head, and begins to sing.
I do not understand the words. I don’t have to. What matters is not what is spoken, but the harmony—the joining of his voice with the voice of the licorneir, that ongoing song which never ceases, even when mortal ears fail to hear it. The blending of those two dissimilar voices—the voice of an embodied star with that of a half-mortal man—creates a strangeness of symphonic beauty found nowhere else in the universe.
But something is wrong. I feel it, even as the beauty overwhelms me. There’s power in this song, power in the joining of those two voices, but . . . not enough. They are both too strained by the air of this world, too desperate with fear. As a result, the faintest dissonance enters into the harmonies, imperceptibly throwing off the balance. My gods-gifted ear detects it; and I know if it isnot corrected, I will die.
Maybe I should die.
Maybe that would be best.
I am so tired. I have lived so much in recent days, suffered losses my former, spoiled, sheltered self never could have imagined. It would be cowardly to give up now, but I don’t claim to be brave. Headstrong and willful, but a coward at my core. It would be easier to stop struggling, to let this song fail, to finally drift away.
But no. I must live. Not for my own sake.
Taar.
I cannot give up on Taar. I cannot let him suffer more than he already has.
For the gods-only-know what reason, he has chosen to love me, and I will honor his choice.
I will fight for this life with him, whatever else may come.
Reaching out with my gods-gift, I begin to sing. My lips and tongue will not obey, but my soul knows the song, knows the harmony needed to correct that slight dissonance I hear, to bring it back into melodic unity.
Elydark hears me first. His majestic presence, aware of me in a way Taar cannot be, turns and looks at me with eyes of starfire.Vellar’s beloved,he says as though in greeting, his song thrilling through my heart.
Dearest heart of my husband,I reply, stretching out my own song to him in response.
We meet, our souls touching, as though my hand rested on his forehead, fingers splayed, his horn protruding from the space between index finger and thumb. My song rises with his, becoming a rushing wind with force enough to carry us across worlds. It surrounds the three of us—me, my husband, and his heartbound licorneir—in a maelstrom of fierce and fiery power.
Taar gasps. He cannot hear the full extent of the song, not with his ears. But he perceives the magic taking place. Renewing pressure on my abdomen, he bows over me and continues to sing, blending his voice with Elydark’s and, though he does not know it, with mine.
The power channels through Taar’s palms and seems to fill up my gut with light, with fire. It hurts—Oh, gods above, it hurts! But there’s a goodness in this pain. The fire burns away all that does not belong so that what is left may be made whole. I feel the necessity of each agonized pulse, feel the wrongness inside me being slowly, meticulously made right once more.
The song reaches a crescendo, a great crash of sound that seems to rock the very stones beneath me and causes the trees to shake their branches. Then, slowly, it trails off into lilting, gentle notes, like a stream running over stones and dispersing into a green-grown field. Softly, gently, my tumultuous soul comes to rest within my body. A body which still aches, but which is no longer ripped apart. I breathe out a sigh.
Finally . . . I open my eyes.
18
TAAR
She opens her eyes. Eyes clear as a cloudless sky, the storms of pain driven at last over the horizon. Eyes which gaze up at me with only momentary confusion, but which, after a blink or two, melt into recognition.
“Ilsevel?” I say, my voice tremulous with hope. “Ilsevel, do you know me?”
Her arms shift. Relax again, exhausted. Then, slowly, her hands reach out, quivering as they grip my shoulders, slip around my neck. Pulling me to her.
