Chapter 13
ILSEVEL
I am sent away. Out of sight. Out of trouble.
Of course, it makes perfect sense. Taar doesn’t want the riders from a different tribe to be distracted by the presence of a human so near the last Holy House and its sacred grounds.
He needs their full attention on the message they deliver, and his own attention undistracted as well.
So I am bundled up onto Diira’s back and escorted with all haste by Tassa back to the Hidden City.
Like a dirty little secret swept under the rug.
It is a singularly disquieting feeling to ride back through the dakath-lined streets of the city during daylight hours.
These last several days I have lingered out in the open country until well after sundown, returning only by cover of night.
Not that it provides me much disguise from the acute half-fae vision of the Licornyn folk.
But I don’t have to endure the sight of loathing on all those strange faces.
It makes it easier to pretend I am not merely an unwelcome intruder in their midst.
No such pretense shields me now. Even astride Diira, proving with every hoofbeat she makes the living bond shared between us, I feel the animosity trained my way from each pair of wary eyes.
The city is alive with activity everywhere as preparations are finalized for the upcoming campaign, but anywhere I pass by, all work ceases.
Men, women, and children alike all freeze at their various occupations to stare at me.
I hear them take up their labors once more in my wake, but never look back.
I keep my face focused forward, pretending to be unaware or, at the very least, uncaring.
I find myself holding my breath and force my lungs to exhale.
At least these last few days out in the makeshift training field have proven a good distraction.
Tassa worked me hard from daybreak to dusk, without sympathy for my weaker mortal frame.
Which is good. I don’t want sympathy. And I certainly don’t want time on my hands to sit around and brood.
Diira’s song is enough to support my flagging energy, and I’ve thrown myself into every challenge with all the strength I can muster.
By the time I fall into bed at the end of each evening, I’m too bone-weary to miss Taar as much as I otherwise might .
. . or to dwell on the choice awaiting me on silmael.
What will I do with a whole long, weary afternoon, hidden within the smothering walls of my husband’s dakath?
The weight of the future before me feels suddenly too heavy for words.
Taar says the choice will be mine—he will not make it for me.
Sooner rather than later I must ask myself the hard questions: can I bear to live my whole life like this?
This last week has been difficult enough, constantly shadowed by either Tassa or Halamar, avoided by everyone else.
Longing for a husband who has so little time to offer me.
It will be different after silmael. The nights will belong to Taar and me.
That thought brings a flood of warmth to my cheeks and a smile to my lips.
Those magical hours we shared at Rothiliar House may be recreated again and again.
Oh, how I long to know the joy of his powerful arms around me!
To know him and explore him ever more deeply throughout the dark hours after sunset, and to experience the joy of all that he awakens in me with his touch, his kiss, his voice, his very soul.
Is it enough though? Are a few stolen moments of bliss each night worth the price of my life?
Worth giving up all hope of my own place and purpose in this or any world?
A shadow wife, scorned by all save the man who chose me.
And how long before his love—felt so passionately now, in these early days of our acquaintance—turns to resentment?
I shake my head, staring down at my hands which grip the pommel of Diira’s saddle tightly.
Many times now, I have tried to imagine what it would mean to deny my love for Taar and end our bond on the night of the new moon.
The idea is almost unbearable, but for his sake, I think I could do it.
If I truly believed it was best for him, if I believed he would one day forgive me for the hurt, realizing, as he inevitably must, that it was the only true gift I could give him.
But what about Diira?
The question dances through my mind, tangling with the ever-present song of her soul.
Diira, Diira, my heartbound darling. If I give up their king, the Rocaryn Tribe won’t let me remain among them as a Licornyn rider.
If I am not good enough to be their queen, I am certainly not worth anything as a warrior.
What would become of my Diira then? Would she allow me to pass her bond on to another rider, as Halaema passed her licorneir to Taar?
Or would she refuse? With no place left for me in this world, I would have no choice but to return to my own. We would both end up hearttorn.
Bitter tears sting behind my eyelids. I refuse to let them fall but struggle to breathe through the sob lodged in my throat.
The truth is I’ve never had a plan for my own life.
I expended so much energy railing against my father and his plans for me .
. . but in the midst of my railing, I never got around to figuring out what I wanted.
Some vague notions of romance, wrapped up in a false dream around Mage Artoris, was the best I’d ever come up with.
Now I find my heart bound so tightly to Taar and Diira. More than anything I want to be with them, to see goodness done for them, to be part of that goodness if I may. So why does it feel as though no good may be had for either of them now that I have intruded on their lives?
Vellara, Diira sings into the tumult of my mind. Vellara, I am with you. Always. To the end.
Her voice is a ledge of support over the chasm of my own churning emotions. But I cannot bear to sing back. Though I feel her hurt at my withdrawal, she does not fight me, merely continues to sing, her voice an ever-present hum in the back of my awareness.
We reach Taar’s great dakath in the city center. By this time word has gone around the city of the messengers’ arrival, and a great tumult of excitement ripples through the various streets.
“Can you manage on your own?” Tassa asks me shortly. Her own spirit is caught in that brimming eagerness. I can feel how badly she wants to rid herself of me and ride back to her brother’s side to drink up all the news.
“Yes,” I say dully and wave one hand. “Go.”
She gives me a look. “Halamar will be outside if you need anything.”
I cast a short glance to where ever-present Halamar lurks outside the dakath door. He alone among the Licornyn folk remains solemn, cut-off and distant. As though this news, of such profound importance to everyone else, makes no difference to him and his broken song.
“I’ll be fine,” I say to Tassa. “Go. Find out what you can of the summons. I know Taar will want you there.”
Tassa doesn’t wait to be urged. She spurs her brown gelding into action, vanishing swiftly among the dakaths.
I swing down from Diira’s saddle and stand a moment with my forehead pressed against my licorneir’s cheek.
I wish I could ask her to come inside with me so I needn’t be alone.
But it’s not fair to Diira. She would do it, but she would not be happy.
The licorneir, as beings of sky, loathe nothing so much as a ceiling overhead.
I am with you, Vellara, Diira sings again, a feeling rather than words.
I nod, my forehead still resting against her, and whisper, “I know.” Her song is a comfort, to be sure. Perhaps if I were not a being of flesh and bone, I might not long for the physical comfort of other flesh and bone. But I am what I am. Unfortunately.
With a sigh I let Diira go and watch my licorneir trot away through the city’s bubbling chaos.
Then, feeling a pair of eyes on me, I turn and look across the green.
Elder Halaema sits in the doorway of the Meeting House.
She’s smoking a long green pipe with a deep bowl, watching me through a haze of smoke.
I meet her gaze solemnly. While the old woman isn’t overtly hostile, I can sense her subtle attempt to intimidate me.
I turn away and approach the dakath door. Halamar offers me a short nod and lifts the door flap for me. He’d make a fine footman, though I resist the urge to tell him as much. Something tells me he would not appreciate the jibe.
I step inside. Though the space is large, I find myself inclined to choke on the stuffy atmosphere.
The walls feel close and horrible. I wait until I hear the swish of the door flap falling behind me.
Then I squeeze my eyes tightly shut against an onslaught of tears.
“Damn,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
I can’t live like this. I can’t. Sneaking out for joy rides on Diira is all well and good, but how can this be my life day after day?
And what about the nights? Will I simply cease to exist until Taar visits me, coming alive only at his touch?
Over time how infrequent will those visits become?
The burdens of kingship and the disapproval of his people will slowly drive greater and greater wedges between us until someday, inevitably, I will be made to give way to a queen.
Taar may deny it, but I know the truth. Then I’ll be moved out of this grand dakath to some hovel on the outskirts of the city.
Like Halamar. To be visited upon occasion until I’m too old and worn to be worth the trouble anymore.