After a little while, I nudge Elydark forward, and we continue on to the river. Still without a plan between us.
There’s always the chance that the Hidden City is no longer where I left it. I gave Tassa explicit instructions before setting out on the campaign: if I did not return, she was to pack up thedakathsand make for the nearest Between Gate, leaving this world behind forever. A last desperate march to save our people from thevardimnarand the encroachment of the Unformed Lands. I’m not convinced she would actually listen, not if Halamar informed her that I was not, in fact, dead on the battleground of Evisar, but merely galivanting off to the mortal world in pursuit of my lost bride. Something tells me she will choose to wait for my eventual return, unwilling to give me up for lost.
“I should have left you with your own people,” I say, even as Elydark climbs the far shore of the Morrona, his cloven hooves finding firm footing on the rocky bank. “I should never have brought you back here. At least you wouldn’t then face death by imminent execution.”
“No,” Ilsevel acknowledges with a bitter laugh. “Only torture by a murderous husband. I think I prefer execution, if it comes right down to it. More straightforward. More honest.”
Brave words, but I hear the tremble in her voice. If only I had convinced her to go to Sylcatha! Perhaps I should not have given her a choice in the matter. She might hate me for it, but if she lived, I think I could bear her hatred . . .
Elydark.My soul sings along the connection I share with my licorneir.
Vellar?he answers at once, attuned to my voice.
If . . . if the worst happens . . . if they turn against us, I want you to carry Ilsevel away.
Away from you?
Away from me, from danger. Away from harm.
I will carry you both.
Yes, if possible. But I may have to remain, to guard your escape.
Then I will remain with you.
No, Elydark. You must save her. For me.
Even as I sing the words, an image flashes through my mind. I see myself, a young boy once more, standing in the courtyard of my father’s palace, while an atmosphere of uncertainty and brimming terror grips the land. Mother stands before me, her hands holding the noble head of her mighty licorneir—Mahra.
“You must carry them, my love,”Mother’s voice echoes in my mind.“You must flee this place as hard, as fast as you can. Get them to safety.” Then she rested her forehead briefly against the great licorneir’s cheek.“You know my love for you. Beyond words, beyond song. And I know you love me too. It is by that love I beg you—do this last great actfor me. Save my children. Save them from what is coming.”
And so my life comes full-circle, as I find myself standing in my mother’s shoes, here at what is most likely my end.
Sylcatha is Ilsevel’s friend,I continue, my song burning with the fire of urgency.Ilsevel won’t thank you, and she won’t want to go. She’ll do everything in her power to stop you. But you must do this for me even so.
And how do you intend to force her to leave you against her will? Remember, Vellar: we have both seen her leap from the back of a galloping licorneir before now.
Leave that to me,I sing back.But promise, Elydark. Promise you will do as I ask.Resistance simmers in his voice, a wordless argument which burns through our connection. But I will not back down before his anger or his sorrow.It is the last great act of love you can commit for me,I say, closing my eyes and leaning into the song with everything I have.Do you love me?
Vellar, you know I do.
Then you must promise me this.
Elydark tosses his head, horn flashing, and utters a noise like a growl, but deeper, more resonant. A sound only made by licorneir.
Ilsevel partially turns, casting me a look over her shoulder. “What is wrong?”
My spine stiffens. “Did you . . . hear something?”
She turns more fully, scowling up at me. “I can hear the two of you singing back and forth to each other. I don’t know whatyou are saying, but Ifeelit. Whatever it is you’re telling him, it’s making Elydark angry. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him.”
I inhale slowly, choosing my words with care. “He does not like our current course of action.”
She snorts. “He is a wise and insightful being.”
“But,” I continue, “he agrees we have no alternative.”
Ilsevel faces forward once more, resting her back against my chest, her head against my shoulder. She is silent for a while, and I am grateful. I hold her, enjoying the now-familiar comfort of her body nestled between my legs, the scent and warmth and shape of her. If I could prolong this last ride for a decade or more, I would.
