“What is it?”
“Gantarith is dead,” Halamar says in a low voice. “He sided against Kildorath and prophesied disaster for all who turned their backs on the lastluinarof Licorna. Kildorath slew him where he stood.”
A cold stone settles in the pit of my gut. Gantarith and I had our differences, particularly of late, when he proposed the ceremonial murder of my wife as a way to break ourvelrabond. But I know the old priest always sought to do right by the people and took responsibility for their spiritual welfare to heart. As the last high priest of the last Holy House, his role was both a burden and a grace.
Now he’s dead. And what will become of religious order among the remnants of Licorna? Will nothing of our culture, ofour once-mighty civilization, survive?
“So did you have a plan?” Tassa asks abruptly.
I lift my chin, my expression dull. “A plan for what?”
“To save us. To protect our failing borders and the ilsevel blossoms. To rid our world of thevardimnar.Had you come up with another magnificent strategy or scheme, or were you too busy kidnapping your wife again?”
“My last plans for world-saving did not turn out so well.”
Tassa goes still for a little while. I can’t decide if her silence is a relief, or if I would welcome another interruption of my own self-flagellating thoughts. Finally, in a hushed tone, near a whisper, she says, “I heard you used the virulium. In the heat of battle.”
I nod. Then I bury my face in my hands. The virulium is still present, burning deep inside me. Unpurged, always hungry.
“I understand,” Tassa continues gently. “Sometimes I think I would like to down a dose of the Demon’s Kiss myself and—”
“No!” I turn sharply to my sister, my eyes catching and holding hers. “Don’t say that, Tassa. Never again. Whatever happens, you must stay true to the goodness in your heart. Stay true to the memory of our mother and—”
My tongue trips over the next word:father.Once again the strange accusations spoken by Larongar Cyhorn fill my head, darkening the horizons of my mind. I don’t want to believe them, would give anything in the world not to believe them. But I do.
The sound of approaching footsteps draws my attention. “Oh, huzzah,” Tassa murmurs. “Sounds like they’re coming to execute us at last!”
For all her blithe words, I feel her quaking beside me. I hate to see my fearless sister reduced to trembling terror. I take hold of her hand and notice that Halamar has taken the other one.
Heads appear above, silhouetted by sky. Thuridar and Birenthor, both friends and war-brothers these many years. I trained with Birenthor as a young man, under Thuridar’s supervision. And yet, looking up at them now, I see the faces of enemies, men I fought only last night in my struggle to give my wife a chance to escape.
“Taarthalor Ragnataarthane,” Thuridar says, his voice echoing strangely against the stones. “Talanashta Estathanei.”
“Present,” Tassa answers dryly, very nearly disguising the shudder in her voice.
“You are both summoned to stand before Chief Kildorath Hardorthane.”
“Oh, it would be my pleasure,” I respond, and hold up my bound hands, “but I seem to be rather tied up at the moment.”
There is no immediate answer. Both faces withdraw, and we are alone for some moments. Then a stout board secured to a strong rope is lowered down into the cell. I know I am meant to sit on it, cling tight to the rope, and let myself be hauled to the surface. Tassa, Halamar, and I all stand, backs against the wall, and watch its descent. When it is low enough, I catch my sister’s gaze. “Ladies first?”
She grimaces. “I’d really rather not. What if they’re planning to execute us the moment we emerge?”
“Would you prefer to stay down here and starve to death with Halamar?”
She glances at her former love. He shrugs and raises one brow.
With a curse, Tassa approaches the board, awkwardly wraps her hobbled legs around it, and grips the rope with her bound hands. Not a comfortable position, but she looks secure enough. Just before it rises, Halamar steps forward and, much to my surprise, kisses my sister on the mouth.
She jerks back, scowling at him. “What was that for?” she snarls.
“In case they kill you. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t kiss you one last time.”
She stares at him, eyes bulging from her skull. Then,“Shakh!”she yelps as the board begins to rise, hauled upwards bit by bit by a powerful, unseen licorneir.
I don’t truly believe they will kill her, and yet I wait with bated breath as she reaches the top of the well, and strong arms haul her out of sight. My ears strain for sounds of a death scream, but I hear only Tassa’s voice speaking shrilly: “Get your hands off me. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”
I breathe out a short sigh, and soon the board is lowered again. I look at Halamar. “You?”
