Chapter 2
TAAR
“We should get up,” I say reluctantly, exhaling a heavy sigh into my wife’s hair.
I breathe her in—the sweetness of her, the freshness.
The life. So short a time ago, I cradled her burnt body in my arms, beheld her terrible suffering, and believed I’d failed her at last. Failed her and lost her in one fell swoop.
And yet, somehow, the gods have chosen to be gracious to me.
To me—miserable, doubting, unworthy worm that I am!
They’ve given her back to me, and I vow, even as I have vowed with every breath, with every kiss, with every ardent caress this long night through, that I will not waste whatever time we have left.
It is likely not to be long. Not out here in Cruor, not with the kind of life I lead and the host of enemies standing against us.
But I will make certain this love of mine burns bright enough, hot enough, to last into eternity.
“We need to find water. Food,” I continue, even as her slender arms tighten around my neck.
Though I could easily break her hold, it is somehow impossible to resist her.
And when she raises one leg, and I feel the soft flesh of her inner thigh pressed against my ribcage—ah!
I’m all but lost. What has become of me?
How could I, in so short a span of days, go from a man of iron, fortified behind stone walls of regret and determination, believing myself protected against further heartbreak .
. . to this? This man whose very heart now lies embodied in this woman, cradled so vulnerably in my arms.
I draw back from her just enough to look down into those deep, song-filled eyes of hers.
Even now they shine with the resonance of the song she shares with her heartbound licorneir.
It is strange to see that shimmering power, so unique to my own people, reflected in the eyes of a human.
But then, Ilsevel has never been merely human, gods-gifted wonder that she is.
I smile gently. “You must be famished after all the, er, exertion I’ve put you through.”
“Absolutely starved,” she admits. “But . . . I find I’m in no rush to go.
” She lifts her face, capturing my lips in a kiss.
Sweet at first, but then she begins to gently tease them open with the tip of her dangerous tongue, and—oh, shakh!
I am tempted. Sorely tempted to give her exactly what she’s asking for, until she cries out yet again in joyful, wordless triumph.
“The longer we lie here,” I say against her mouth, “the more we are at risk of being caught in the vardimnar.”
That gives her pause. She frowns a little, lips puckered in a pout.
I can almost see the images flickering across her mind’s eye: the two of us, startled by a sudden clap of black lightning through the window, leaping from this bed and fleeing naked into the yard, calling for our licorneir and the protection of their song.
“Very well,” she sighs, dropping her head back into the spreading fan of her own loose, dark hair.
Gods, but she’s distractingly beautiful!
Especially with her mouth so swollen from my kisses and her eyes brimming with mingled satiation and desire.
She worries her lower lip with white teeth, and that little act alone is almost enough to vanquish my resolve.
I stop myself short of crushing her with kisses yet again and instead force myself to rise from the bed.
She rolls onto her side, propping her head in her hand as her greedy eyes drink in the sight of me.
I enjoy her admiration and return the compliment in kind.
The curve of her hipbone proves particularly entrancing, the way the shadows fall just so as to lead the eye down into nether regions of mysterious pleasure.
Regions I would gladly explore again and again.
With a firm shake of my head, I growl, “Now, now, don’t be causing more trouble with those eyes of yours.” Grinning, I grab her discarded gown from the floor and toss it her way. “Clothe yourself, woman, before I forget all my resolve and resolutions.”
She pouts. Then, heedless of my warnings, heedless of the imminent danger even now poised above our heads, she tosses the gown to the foot of the bed, lies back on the blankets, throws her arms back over her head.
Her body arches slightly, and her head tilts at a coy angle.
“Make me,” she says, before adding in a lower tone, “brute.”
The cord winding between us flares brilliantly, shocking my eyes.
Gods, but I’d not known it could be like this!
Even when, years ago, I’d contemplated forming the velra bond with Shanaera, I never imagined such a profound draw, such an ache, such a need.
Greater than hunger, greater than thirst, like the very urge to breathe.
Baring my teeth, I give in to the pull. Her eyes widen slightly at the expression on my face, and she lets out a little yelping laugh just before I fall upon her like a wild animal, smothering her in kisses, little caring how my teeth scrape against her skin.
She moans, whimpers, her small hands clawing at my skin, and how she can be so hungry for me still after the night we’ve had, I cannot guess.
Perhaps it’s the newness of the licorneir song burning in her soul, or the intensity of the velra bond, brought back to life after being strained so nearly to the breaking point.
It doesn’t matter, for I feel it too—and cannot, in this moment, recall a single reason why I should resist.
The sun is high in the sky by the time the two of us finally emerge from Rothiliar House, both starved and parched. I am rather more weak in the knees than I care to admit, and Ilsevel is moving stiffly as well, her young body not yet used to the enthusiastic treatment of a lover.
Though I did, regretfully, restrain myself from the last act of joining.
As much as I hate to admit it, my life is not entirely my own.
I am luinar of the Licornyn, a broken, scattered people, held together by a thread.
That thread is me. I am the only tie which binds the remnant tribes and keeps what remains of my father’s kingdom united.
The woman I take to wife will be maelar, queen of the Licornyn.
My choice of bride will affect every living soul over whom I rule.
Therefore I cannot officially make that choice without the approval of the elders.
And the elders have demanded Ilsevel’s death.
This thought swiftly brings my soaring heart crashing back down from the heights of heaven to which it flew last night.
I’ve tried not to think about it, but the time has come to face the truth.
The elders will never approve of me taking a human wife.
And not just any human! Though they do not know it, I must grapple with the revelations sprung upon me only yesterday.
Ilsevel is more than just some mortal woman I picked up on my travels.
She is Larongar’s daughter—princess of the very nation which brought about the ruin of mine.
If the elders called for her death simply for daring to interfere with a hearttorn licorneir, how much more violent will their vengeance be if they learn the truth of her birth?
No, that truth must remain secret. While I hate to withhold from my own elders, my priorities have shifted.
I must and will protect Ilsevel, give her time to prove herself in their eyes and win their regard.
I don’t doubt she will succeed in the end.
Her bond with a licorneir must carry in her favor.
She and I stop together on the front steps of Rothiliar, blinking in the sunlight as we gaze across the yard.
Strange that only yesterday, this was a site of such horror and death.
Not ordinary death either, but death forced to rise and walk in the land of the living once more.
I see again their faces—Nuviar, Minuvae, Jomar, Kydroth.
Nineteen in total, companions from my past, believed slain and lost. To see them again in this world was a horror for which I was unprepared.
They are gone now. My sword was swift to decapitate their rotting corpses, breaking the necroliphon spell which animated them and setting them free. All but Shanaera.
I shake these grim thoughts from my head and search for Elydark.
He waits in a patch of grass beneath a shady tree, his red hide blazing like living fire in the sunlight.
Nyathri stands close beside him. No . . .
she is Nyathri no more. What was the name Ilsevel told me yesterday, the secret name this wonderous beast shared with her new heartbound rider?
Diira. A lovely name, but one that will take some getting used to.
I knew Nyathri well when she was bonded to my friend and fellow rider, Ashika.
It is strange now to observe her reborn in this new guise—still herself but, somehow, more than she once was.
Both licorneir raise their heads and look toward us, their riders.
A trill of wordless song ripples out from Elydark in greeting.
I don’t doubt that Diira sings a similar melody, though it is for Ilsevel’s heart alone.
Beside me, Ilsevel catches her breath, still unused to the beauty of the connection she now shares with the licorneir.
It’s as startling in its own way as the velra which binds the two of us.