Even by that dim light, I see the color drain from her cheeks. Her lips part, and she sits back on her heels, shaking her head. “But Shanaera is dead.”
Bile roils in my gut. “I told you about thenecroliphoncurse. I told you about the living corpses.” Swallowing hard, I force out the words. “And I told you that Shanaera was among them. It was she who knew Ilsevel’s identity, she who revealed it to me.” I draw a long breath. “She told Kildorath.”
“You don’t know that, Taar.”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
“Careful,” Halamar murmurs quietly from his place across the small cell. “Your life isn’t worth much at the moment.”
“I asked him once,” I continue, resisting the urge to beat the back of my head against the stone wall behind me. “I asked him if he had spoken with Shanaera. I knew she pursued him and the other Licornyn on their return from the campaign in the mortal world. I suspected . . .” I curse bitterly, shake my head. “He claimed he had not spoken with her, said that if he was ever near enough to speak, he would kill her and break the death-magic curse. I believed him.”
Gods-damn me, am I really the blithering fool my sister claims? Kildorath was not present at Agandaur when Shanaera died, did not have a chance to bid goodbye to his beloved sister. How could he then resist the chance to speak to her one last time if such a chance presented itself, in however horrible a form? And she, seeing an opportunity, had passed on useful information, information she might use to manipulate her brother.
What else had she told him? Had she spoken of her desire to liberate Licorna, using the Miphates’ own magic against them? Had she brought him into her mad schemes? Had he believed the mania of a walking corpse, simply because it bore the face of one he loved?
“Kildorath claimed the chieftainship of Rocaryn,” Tassa says at last, filling the silence I have left with my trailing words. “In the name of Markildor, his father. In light of the word he brought—thefailure of the siege and your own desertion—the elders were only too glad to give him what he asked.” She shakes her head, tossing up her hands helplessly. “I did what I could to protect you, Taar. I protested and fought and swore. I accused the whole lot of elders of being faithless baggage. But it didn’t do any good in the end.”
“Though it earned her a marriage proposal,” Halamar inserts dryly.
“What?” I shoot a sharp gaze Halamar’s way then back to my sister.
With a heavy sigh, Tassa takes a seat, little caring for how the puddle on the cell floor dampens her rump. She leans against the wall beside me, elbows resting on her updrawn knees. “Kildorath has been trying to convince me to marry him for some while now,” she says. Her eyes swivel to catch mine in a sidelong glance. “Ever since things ended between you and Shanaera, and I found myself abruptly available.” This time it’s Halamar who is at the end of her withering glare. “Kildorath seemed to take it as a sign that we were destined for one another.”
“How did I not know this?”
“Because you don’t see anything beyond the bridge of your nose, do you?” she snaps, then shakes her head, strands of dark hair falling across her face. “That was unfair, I know. Youhavebeen rather swallowed up in recent events, and the petty dramas of your sister’s life aren’t of much consequence when compared to the end of our world. But I’ve had a rather trying time of it,fending off his advances.”
Halamar growls softly. It’s a stronger expression of emotion from him than I’ve heard in a long time. Since the death of his licorneir, he’s sunk so deeply into himself and avoided Tassa. All trace of the love he once cherished for my sister had seemed to wither away. But perhaps it has not vanished entirely.
Seemingly unaware of Halamar—though I suspect that is far from the truth—Tassa continues: “Kildorath tried to talk me into marriage yet again, immediately upon his return. He believed our union would solidify his chances of not only taking over Rocaryn Tribe, but also potentially uniting the other Licornyn tribes under his rule.”
“Good luck to him on that score,” I mutter.
Tassa sniffs. “So I told him. I told him as well he could have fun trying without me at his side as some sort of puppetmaelar.”
“How did he take that?”
“Oh, he kissed me. So I punched him in the jaw. After which he got aggressive, and Halamar . . .” She glances at her cell-mate then sighs and tilts her head back, staring up at the circle of paling sky above. “Well, they tossed us down here when word of your approach arrived. Wanted to keep us out of the fray, I suspect. And so I thought we would remain, alone together until we starved to death. Only now they’ve thrown you in after us, so . . .”
“Starvation forestalled,” Halamar murmurs.
“Yes. You’re nice and meaty.” Tassa pinches my arm. “A little tough, maybe.”
I roll my eyes. “Surely cannibalism isn’t our only option.”
“Got any better ideas?”
“Perhaps a living ladder. If you stand on my shoulders, and I stand on Halamar’s—”
Halamar grunts.
“All right, if Halamar stands on mine . . .”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Tassa snips, and wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them tight.
It is ridiculous. I know it full well. This whole situation. “I doubt we’ll be left to starve,” I say in an effort to forestall despair. “Onor Gantarith would not stand for it.”
Tassa’s face goes still.
