I begin to tremble all over again. “How dare you?” I breathe. Then louder, with more viciousness. “How dare you, Halamar?Youpushedmeaway. You locked down your gates, fortified your walls, and barred me from your heart!”
He does not look at me. His fingers slowly curl into fists. “I could not bear for you to enter into that pain with me. You had so much to live for. How could I let you bind yourself forever to a broken husk of a man?”
“Shakhinghells, Halamar!” I bare my teeth in a snarl. “It wasmychoice to make. Not yours.”
His head hangs even lower. Another long, steadying breath, and I begin to think that will be my only answer, until finally: “I was a coward, Tassa. I am a coward still. And in my cowardice, I beg you—don’t make me watch you die. Not like that. Don’t ask it of me.”
I open my mouth, intending to curse him, to damn him to his face. But his bound hands uncurl from their fists, reach out, and grab me by the front of my gown. Before I can catch my breath, he drags me to him, and his mouth is on mine in a kiss more desperate, more passionate, more bruising and painful and beautiful than he’s ever before given me.
I know I should hold onto my rage; I know it is the only protection I have left. But I melt into him. I sink into that kiss, for which I have hungered these long, agonizing, lonely years. I take hold of his face, dig my fingernails into his cheeks, his temples, his neck. The sound in my throat is somewhere between a moan and an angry shriek, but when he tries to draw back, I won’t let him go. I kiss him harder, fiercer, clinging to him as though if I hold on hard enough, I can prevent what is coming for us.
At last, however, we pull apart, panting hard. He gazesinto my eyes, all masks removed. I see again the man I’ve longed for, the man I’ve missed with all my aching heart, even as his living shell stood directly in front of me.
“Tassa,” he breathes, “I never stopped loving you. Never. I was so afraid. Thevelrhoarmade it hard to remember, but . . . but I never truly forgot.”
Tears pour down my cheeks. Gods spare me, I’m not ordinarily the weeping sort! What has this day made of me? I stroke the red marks on his face where my fingernails have gouged. “You’re such ashakhingfool, Halamar,” I whisper.
He leans his forehead against mine. For a moment, we simply breathe together. And it is enough. All that hurt, all those years, and yet this breath . . . it is enough.
Then he whispers: “They are coming.”
The same instant I hear footsteps approaching. My heart lurches, and I tilt my head back, waiting for what I know must follow. This time, no silhouetted heads appear, no voice calls down to us. They simply lower the plank and rope, their expectation plain. Halamar and I both rise to our feet and watch it descend. We could, of course, simply refuse to be drawn out from the pit, and accept a lingering death by starvation.
I meet his gaze, raise my brows in question. He looks back. Silent, stern. Then very quietly he says, “I’ll go first.”
The plank reaches the full length of the lowering rope, and he awkwardly climbs onto it, his bound hands gripping fast.Before they begin to heave him up, he catches my eye once more. “Please, Tassa,” he says, “don’t die with me. If ever you loved me, promise you will marry him and live.”
I firm my jaw and refuse to answer, and Halamar is hoisted from the pit in silence.
A single stake stands in the center of the green.
I have heard tell of burnings at the stake. They say many of the fae kings and queens delight in the immolation of their victims, and even humans have been known to practice this torturous form of execution. But the people of Licorna do not treat even their worst criminals so barbarically.
This green place in the heart of the Hidden City has always been one of celebration, the bonfires we light burning high in the night to summon all the people to dance and feast together. That Kildorath would do this evil thing here, fills my heart with enough rage to temporarily deflect my own bone-shuddering terror. He has already blighted the sanctity of the last Holy House; will he now turn our beloved home into a site of such brutal death?
Kildorath stands prominently before the stake, clad still in his father’s cloak, the chieftain’s warpaint harsh on his features. Beyond him sit the elders in their ceremonial robes, forming a solemn half-circle. It is strange seeing them out here in the open air ratherthan within the Meeting House. At first glimpse of them, my heart leaps with hope that they, at least, will stand against this madness. On second glance, however, I see how frail they look, how old and frightened. They have lost their authority, and they know it.
I look beyond Kildorath, straight into Halaema’s eyes as Thuridar drags me forward. “Are you truly such a coward?” I cry out fiercely, even as I am forced to my knees. “You let him kill yourluinar.Will you now stand by as your chosen chieftain commits this atrocity?”
Halaema looks back at me, her eyes nearly lost behind the heaviness of her wrinkles. Not once in all the years I have known this woman have I seen her afraid. Until now. She does not speak; she barely holds my gaze.
I turn then to Thuridar, my former weapons master, whose hand grips my arm. “And you?” I demand. “You will let this happen? You will not take a stand?”
He refuses to meet my eyes. His face is grim, and his skin has taken on a strange pallor in the eerie evening light. His licorneir stands close by, loyal always to his rider; but am I mistaken in thinking there is tension between them?
All the Licornyn—riders and mounts—are present, their numbers cruelly reduced by the violence of recent campaigns. When I look around, I cannot see the Licorna of my childhood, when the licorneir presence was abundant in our midst, and the air fairly shimmered with the brilliance of soulfire everywhereone looked. The soul of Licorna has gone out from this world, leeched away by fear, replaced with aggressive desperation.
I feel Halamar’s gaze fixed upon me and cannot resist turning to him, my only shelter in this storm of horror. His eyes are filled with silent pleading. I know what it is he asks of me.
My jaw hardens.
Kildorath steps forward, arms upraised, drawing all the watchful eyes of the crowd, gathered around the edge of the city green. “Talanashta Estathanei and Halamarkareth Akkarhalathane,” he declares, “have proven traitors to Licorna and stood with the falseluinar,who brought a human into our midst, desecrating our sacred spaces, and compromised our hopes of victory at the battle of Evisar. But,” he adds sharply, cutting off the rising murmurs of dismay filling the evening air, “even now will I have mercy. Even now will I pardon their iniquities, if they will but swear allegiance at the feet of the chieftain chosen by the elders and the people of Rocaryn.”
I cast my gaze around, searching for Miramenor. Kildorath’s licorneir looms beyond the elders, as though he stands guard over their aged forms. I can hear nothing of the great, golden beast’s song, but something in his soul essence does not seem to shine as bright as it once did. As though the inner light has been tainted. Will he allow his rider to kill Halamar and me in fire? Will he himself ignite the blaze? I want to believe no licorneir could be convinced to commit such an unholy act . . . but I do not know.
Our so-called chieftain draws nearer to Halamar. Though hisprisoner is bound and clasped tight by two muscular guards, Kildorath maintains some wary distance. “Will you, son of Karethtar, submit to me as chieftain of the Rocaryn?”
I know better to hope any different, but my stomach nonetheless plunges when Halamar throws back his head and declares in a bold voice, “I am Taarthalor Ragnataarthane’s man. I swore an oath unto death; unto death, my oath stands.”
