“I wasn’t invited to this particular banquet,” he points out.
I nod. My throat is suddenly tight, and I find it difficult toswallow. “If this is the end, Halamar . . . if I do not see you again . . .”
“I’m not kissing you, Taar.”
I swear, I could punch the man. Why must he have disappeared intovelrhoarso completely these last few years? Why did I lose the friend I once knew, and why must he only reappear at this final, bitter end?
But at least he’s here—not quite the man he was, perhaps, but a version of him I recognize. Testimony to the power of my wife’s gift and the healing her song wrought in him.
Without another word, I mount the board, grip the rope, and tug to signal my readiness. Halamar holds my gaze as I am hauled up and out of the cell, leaving him behind.
Thuridar and Birenthor are joined by other Licornyn riders along with a dozen stern Rocaryn warriors to escort my sister and me into Elanlein and through the dark temple passages. Every face among them is familiar to me, every soul one I would count as a friend. I could make a bid for escape, fight for my freedom and my sister’s, and take many of their lives before they inevitably cut me down. But how could I bear to commit such a sin? To kill my own people?
It is chilling to walk these dark passages, which were once a source of holy comfort to me. The ilsevel blossoms, which have always grown in profuse vines along these walls, seem strangelywilted, their vibrant petals blackened on the edges, as though they’ve been touched by a poisonous hand. The holiness which I once breathed in the air of this place has fled, leaving behind a subtle stench of rot. Something is wrong here—deeply wrong. But I am unable, in my present state, to fathom it.
“Taar,” Tassa says suddenly, stumbling along beside me, her gait awkward with her feet bound. “Taar, I want you to know, I don’t blame you. I meant what I said . . . Ididlike her. When I got to know her. She was . . . she was brave and determined. She could take a fall and a hit, and she never once backed down.”
Are those tears I hear, choking her voice? I can discern little of her expression in this darkness.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever truly understand what you did or why you did it,” she continues. “But I do understand why you love her. And I hope . . . oh gods, I hope she was worth it. All of this and whatever happens next.”
I wish I could find words to answer, some miraculous phrase which might begin to express what Ilsevel means to me. None will come; and I’m not certain it would help in any case. So I merely reach out with my bound hands and touch my sister’s arm. “You are the truest friend and companion a brother could ask for,” I say. “Thank you for standing with me, through thick and thin. And I am sorry. I am sorry, Tassa. For failing the promise I made to our mother.”
Before she can answer, we are pushed from the narrow passage out into the great domed Moon Chamber at the center of thetemple. The last time I was here, Nyathri was bound to the altar, and Ilsevel, in a moment of wild impulse so characteristic to her spirit, cut her loose and set her free, hearttorn though she was. It was a manic day which led to a series of increasingly manic events. A wry smile pulls at the corner of my mouth; such has my life been since the moment I set eyes on my bride.
My eyes naturally seek Onor Gantarith, standing in his usual place by the altar. With a jolt, I remember that he is gone. Murdered—and by the very man who stands now in his place, adorned in thezhorwolf cloak of his father, his face painted in the traditional manner of a tribal leader, a black band across his eyes and another from forehead to chin. He looks grim and solemn and more like Markildor than I have ever before seen.
“Kildorath,” I growl, as I’m pushed to my knees before him. “What am I to be? A sacrifice to Nornala to ensure your long and illustrious reign?”
He looks down at me without answering. The length of his silence disturbs me more than words. My heart begins to beat faster and faster, and despite my determination to face whatever is coming with stoic courage, I tremble to my core.
But I am not prepared for what appears suddenly behind Kildorath. What lurches into the light on the far side of the chamber. Her body is given way to greater rot than when last I saw her, her features crumbling to the ravages of slow decay. She still wears the garb of a Licornyn rider, though it hangs off heremaciated body like a ragged shroud. Her eyes are filmed over with death, and yet the spark of her spirit shines out from inside them, fixed on me with a fury and delight that turns my blood to water.
“Well met, Taar,” she says, shambling across the chamber.
Behind me I hear Tassa nearly choke on a curse. But I force my own voice to remain level when I answer: “Shanaera.”
She grins, her lips twisting back to reveal blackened gums. “Why are you surprised, beloved? Didn’t you expect to see me again? You must have known I would not abandon you forever.”
I tear my gaze from the ghastly visage of the woman I once loved and look up at silent Kildorath once more. “You lied to me.” I spit at his feet. “You’ve been in league with her all this while.”
Kildorath’s jaw tenses. “Shanaera,” he says slowly, as though uncertain of his words, “is a true friend of old Licorna. I believe in her plan to overthrow the Miphates and take back our world for our people.”
“You are a fool if you believe a word that falls from her cursed mouth.”
He bares his teeth and bends his head toward me, drawing his face close to my own. “Don’t talk about my sister that way!” he snarls. “You never loved her. You never understood her. You killed her, cut her down like a dog, when all she ever did was give heart, body, and soul to the service of Licorna. Yes, she was willing even to be damned if it would make the least difference against thoseshakhingMiphates. But what did that matter to you? You droveyour sword through her gut, held her body as she died, andleft her behind.” Spittle flies in my face, so furious are his words. “Not like that little human bride of yours, oh no! Her you run after, and to hells with the rest of us. But my sister . . . my own sister . . .”
Shanaera’s hand grips his shoulder, rotten fingers pulling him firmly back. “Tut, Kildorath, you needn’t take on so for my sake. Every relationship has its ups and downs. So Taar had a little plaything . . . what of it? Can’t very well blame the man. He has his needs, and Iwasdead, after all.”
Every word that drips from her tongue is poison. I shudder but refuse to flinch. “Youaredead, Shanaera. Dead and damned.”
“Yes, well, in a way we all are. Unless those Miphates are ousted from their citadel, every man, woman, and child of this world is little more than a walking corpse, just waiting to be swallowed up by hell itself. They simply don’t know it yet.”
I start to rise, fury surging in my muscles. The whisper of the virulium in my veins is louder than I like. Multiple restraining hands grab hold of me, even as Kildorath backs away, his arms extended as though to shield his sister. But Shanaera only laughs.
“You know what’s coming, Taar,” she says. Stepping out from behind Kildorath, she approaches me, cups my cheek with her festering hand. Her smile grows, and a cloud of putrid breath fills up my nostrils with such a stench, I nearly double over.
She’s right: I do know what’s coming. I see it in her dead eyes. And I am powerless to stop it.
