He hacks at Tassa wildly, but she fends him off. His strength is superior, but she is nimbler, quicker, and fairly dances around him. Blow after blow they exchange, relentless, remorseless. Though I understand from Taar that these two were once friends, raised together with Taar and Shanaera in the same household, all trace of that past life is gone from their faces.
Tassa’s blow drives in hard, but Kildorath catches it, deflects it, and throws her off him. She staggers, her balance compromised, and he sees an opportunity. With a roar, he pivots suddenly. My stomach jolts. He leaps, not for Tassa, but for Halamar, still bound to the stake. Drawing his arm back, he aims a blow to drive his sword through Halamar’s heart.
“No!”I cry. My voice, amplified through Mahra’s ever-present song, ripples through the air and strikes Kildorath like a blow. He is knocked sideways, staggering, and turns his head sharplytoward me, his teeth flashing in a snarl. With a short shake of his head, he catches his footing, takes a step.
But Tassa is upon him then. She plunges her blade between his shoulder-blades, through his heart.
It is strange to see—Tassa stabbing a man from behind. I don’t think she would have done it save that he had set his sights on Halamar, who stands defenseless and unarmed. All thought of honor and fair play vanished from her mind. She saw only the need to protect her own. Will she someday look back on this moment with regret?
Somehow, judging by her ferocious expression, I doubt it.
Kildorath stands for a few shocked, struggling breaths. His chin drops. He gazes down at that sword point, protruding through his shattered sternum. When Tassa releases her hold on the hilt, whatever support he had, seems to go out from him. Kildorath sinks to his knees. Tassa, her hair wild, her eyes too bright in her dark face, illuminated in the glow of licorneir fire, walks around to stand before him, to look into his eyes as he dies. He hauls his head up, his mouth moving as he tries to form words through agony.
“You were never a true chieftain,” Tassa declares, her words low but carrying in the stillness that holds the city green captive. “Go now to your father, Kildorath. Confess to him your shame.”
With that she kicks him over and stands above his body, watching him as he gasps out his final, wet breaths.
I clench my jaw, my stomach twisting tight. Whatever death Taar suffered . . . it was brutal. It was so bad, his sister has become this dark angel of vengeance, who can stand over the dying body of a childhood friend and glory in his agonies. She watched her brother—my husband—suffering. It is Taar whom she sees now, when her face breaks suddenly into lines of pain, when she spits on her enemy and turns away.
My own eyes fill with tears. I grip Mahra’s mane and lean into her song for support. The revelations coming my way will be all but unbearable, but I must find a way to bear them. Until my purpose in this world is complete, I must be strong. For Taar. For Tassa. For all the frightened people of Rocaryn Tribe, who watch me now with mingled terror and wonder.
I am with you,Vellara,Mahra sings.
Her song enters into the places of deepest pain in my heart and, though it cannot remove them, becomes one with them. That is enough. For now.
Tassa drops thevaritarblade abruptly and strides back to Halamar. Swiping up a knife she had left on the ground near his feet, she sets back to work cutting away the black chaeoracords. The warrior, who had been fighting Kildorath in the moments before my arrival, dismounts and moves to help her, but she snarls something in vicious Licornyn, and he backs away, head bowed.
I turn from the sight of them to look once more at Miramenor. The licorneir has not reacted to the violent death of his formerrider. He stands as he was, still as stone. No sign of any hearttorn explosion of pain. Is it because he had already severed their connection by choice? I’ve never heard of such a thing, didn’t know it was possible. But I feel the wound in his spirit, not the same asvelrhoar, but not unlike it either. His soul seems to be encased in a shell of stone.
How do I reach him?I sing to Mahra.
There is only one way to reach him now,Mahra replies in a voice of rippling song.His heart is broken with a love which ended in shame and regret and betrayal. The memories of goodness they once shared cannot sustain him through the pain of sundering. He must form a new bond, must discover love anew.
I frown. I’d not considered it, but it occurs to me suddenly that all these wild licorneir, with whom I am linked through Mahra, are primed to form new bonds. They carry the love of their dead riders in them, but they are intended to live in intimate connection.
Tassa succeeds at last in cutting Halamar free. The instant he staggers away from the stake, she takes him in her arms, and he wraps his arms around her in turn. My heart lifts at the sight. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to feel the goodness of the song beginning to reform between them—a song I’ve sensed since the first time I saw the two of them together. The broken harmonies are not wholly mended, but the mending has begun.
Taar would be glad to know,I think. My lips form a smallsmile.I hope he does know. Somehow.
Finally Tassa turns. With Halamar at her side, before the watching eyes of the Rocaryn Tribe, she approaches, her gaze fixed upon Mahra. My enormous licorneir towers over her, making powerful Tassa look like little more than a child once more . . . the same child who, many years ago, was placed on the great mother licorneir’s back, along with her brother, and sent fleeing across the world.
“Mahra,” Tassa says softly. It is strange to hear such a tone from her after the violence she just committed.
Mahra inclines her head, allows Tassa to rest a hand on her muzzle. A little song flows back and forth between them—memory of a terrible day and the darkness which swallowed everything. Everything except two children, whom Mahra carried to safety despite the pain ofvelrhoarshredding her heart. There is enormous strength shared between these two great spirits. It occurs to me that, had Tassa been born before Taar, it would have been she who bonded to this mighty being.
But Mahra is mine now. I feel the truth of it with a confidence I couldn’t have known before. My gods-gift moves through me and through her, and I know my purpose beyond any shadow of doubt.
Tassa lifts her head at last and looks directly at me. She swallows painfully. Then, in a loud voice that carries across the green, she says, “Maelar.”
And she drops to one knee.
I could not be more surprised. My eyes widen, and my breath catches. But Halamar, standing a few paces behind Tassa, immediately follows her example. Movement catches my eye. I turn to see the rest of the Rocaryn Tribe, gathered around the green, falling down in genuflection, cupping their hands before them, as though making an offering. Even the elders—seven, for Halaema is not among them—adjust their old bones into kneeling positions and extend their withered hands in the same gesture. Not to me . . . no, I’m not foolish or arrogant enough to think that. It is Mahra for whom they make this reverence.
But I am the one mounted on Mahra, and it is my song which moves and flows with hers. My song which ripples through the hearts of all these gathered licorneir.
I am theirmaelar. Though Taar is dead, I remain his chosen queen. And I will honor the choice my husband made with everything that’s left in me.
Pulling my gaze away from the Licornyn people, I focus on Tassa, who has upturned her face to mine. And I say in a low voice: “Take me to my husband.”
