“You have damned us,” Saidatha wails, her hands clenched into fists and pressed against her temples. “You have damned us all!”
But her chieftain turns away from her, facing me instead. He offers his hand, silently. I look up into his hooded eyes.
Then I spit on his palm.
Kildorath clenches his teeth. With a growl he takes hold of the cord binding my wrists and yanks me roughly to my feet. Taking a moment to calm himself, he turns his head to one side, breathes out slowly. “You do not understand now,” he says, then turns his head to catch my gaze once more. “But you will. You will see everything that must come to pass, and you will thank me for what I have done.”
“No, Kildorath.” Leaning close, I draw my face so near to his, I might kiss him. I feel the warmth of his lips close to mine, hear the little catch of his breath. I whisper my promise against his mouth: “I will kill you.”
His dark skin pales, and his eyes widen. He takes a quick step back. “Thuridar!” he says, motioning sharply. “Return her to the holding cell. She may await my judgment there.”
My former weapons master takes rough hold of my arm and drags me, staggering, from the chamber. I strain to look over my shoulder one last time, my eyes seeking the altar, covered in Taar’s blackened blood.
27
ILSEVEL
Eventually I begin to walk.
My body shivers like a leaf, and yet my feet feel like great stone blocks. A strange combination, as though I am anchored to this world by these dreadful weights when everything about me wants to scatter and fly off into the breeze.
I am tempted to simply curl up into a tight knot and will myself out of existence. But that feels dishonoring to Taar. He gave me a chance to escape. He sacrificed himself for my sake. The least I can do is force my body into some sort of motion, some semblance of life-struggle.
So I walk. On and on. No better than one of Shanaera’s dead shamblers, empty as I am of spirit, I have no particular direction, no idea of destination or purpose. Thevelra,stretching out before the eyes of my spirit, seems to waft aimlessly, nolonger a certain pull, leading me always back to him. Why does it still exist at all? Why did it not disappear, as my bond to Diira disappeared when she was slain? Perhaps Taar lives. Perhaps I misunderstood what happened to Elydark.
But no. I am hearttorn myself—I know the song ofvelrhoar, intimately. I remember when it first overwhelmed me, remember the burning and the pain and the brokenness of the melody pouring from my soul. It is unmistakable. Elydark would only sing that song under one condition.
And that truth I cannot face.
So I walk. It feels like many miles, but it might not be so far. Every now and then my body comes down with hideous shakes. But I’ve already wept until I am dry, then vomited, then wept some more. I am empty now. Utterly spent save for this clinging spirit of life which propels me on against my will.
The day, which began with his death, lengthens toward evening. I tip back my head, peer at the empty sky, waiting for the black lightning to strike. When it comes, I will die too, and I will join Taar. I want the darkness to come, to tear me to shreds. I already feel as though I’ve been torn to shreds from the inside out, and yet my heart insists on beating still. It is a curse. It is a curse to love a man so much.
Oh, why does thisvelrabetween us not break? Why does it deceive me into believing he might still be alive, when I know—Iknow, damn it—that it cannot be? Elydark wouldnot have abandoned me if Taar lived. But Elydark is long gone. I haven’t seen him or any other living creature all the long hours of this endless day. I am abandoned—by nature, by the gods. A creature alone in the universe, waiting only to be swallowed by hell.
I am parched. I don’t want to care about such physical needs, but the reality is becoming harder and harder to ignore. All my weeping and heaving has left me drained, and my wandering footsteps have not led me to a water source. Even if I came upon some stream or pool, I have no dried ilsevel blossoms with which to purify the water. Maybe thevardimnarwon’t come. Maybe I will be forced to die a slower, more lingering death of thirst and starvation.
The sun sets. The day has lasted a thousand years, but when it ends, it seems sudden, like a candle snuffed. I lift my head and peer up at the darkened sky, hoping it is thevardimnar. But no—stars appear above me, in ones and twos, then in dozens, hundreds. Pinpricks of shining light, so vastly far away and uncaring of my solitary plight. Strange to think I once believed I heard them singing. I climb a hill, stumbling, half-crawling my way to the crest, then collapse at the top in the sparse grass and lie spread-eagle. Watching the progress of those stars. No moon tonight—no eye of Nornala to look on me in my distress. Just Her distant, shining children, who care little for this fading world or the kinfolk they leave behind in it.
Closing my eyes, I cast my mind back many weeks. Back to another hilltop beneath this same star-strewn sky. Where I laywith my husband, breathing his air, resting in the safe circle of his arms. I hear his voice again, whispering in my ear:
“I know so little about you, Ilsevel Cyhorn. I know your courage, your determination. Your strength in the face of adversity. I know the beautiful timbre of your voice, the voice of heaven itself. But there is still so much I know nothing of.”
I feel his breath on my cheek as he pulls me closer, feel his nose pressed against my temple as he inhales my scent, like he would draw me straight into himself and hold me there forever.“I want to,”he murmurs. “I want to know everything that can be known about you.”
“Taar,” I whisper, the first I have spoken in many hours, in many lifetimes. “Taar, I want to know you too. All that there is, all that remains to be discovered. But you’re gone now . . . you’re gone and . . .”
My voice breaks. The enormity of the truth is more than I can bear.
Too late,my heart cries.Too late, too late, you little fool. You pushed him away. You lost precious days, hours, moments. And now it’s too late.
Though I had not thought I would be able to weep again, tears trickle from the corners of my eyes into the spreading fan of my snarled hair. Still I feel him, so close. The strength of his arms, the beat of his heart. The pulsing power of our connection, unexpected and yet profound. But he is slipping away now. Even as thevelrarefuses to break, even as I am drawn to him asprofoundly as ever, he fades from my grasp.
“Please, Taar,” I beg, “take me with you, wherever you have gone. Don’t leave me here. I’m ready. I’m ready to go now.”
Only stillness answers. When I open my eyes, it is to a revelation of solitude. My husband is not here. And yet I cannot cease to be, no matter how I wish to. I lie here on this cold, dark hilltop, staring up at the stars. Thousands upon millions of glittering beings, unconcerned with my mortal pain.
That is when I hear it—the strange song of black fire, searing across my awareness, awakening my dulled gods-gift with a shrieking wrongness that should be beautiful but has warped too far. It shocks me, though I’ve been waiting for it all this while, without realizing that this was what I awaited. A song of loss and loneliness, pure and sharp as a dagger through the heart, multiplied by a thousand voices uplifted together, and yet led by a single voice alone. A voice I recognize. A voice I have heard many times before now without truly understanding.
