Chapter 14
TAAR
I wake to my body on fire. A deep, pulsing throb moves in my groin, spreading unbearable heat through my veins. I grimace at the delicious pain of it, overwhelmed with the need for relief.
In the dimness of the dakath, lit only by the red glow of a low-burning fire, I feel the shape of the cause for this wild impulse.
Ilsevel—my wife. She lies in my arms, pressed up against me.
Her round buttocks make a soft cushion for my hardness, and I grimace against the wild urge lashing though me.
My spirit is painfully aware of the velra wrapped and draped around us, shimmering red, not gold—a line of fire pulsing in time with my own insistent throb.
A madness akin to the rabidness of virulium quickens my breath, heats my skin.
Gritting my teeth, I bury my face in her hair.
But that is a mistake; the mere scent of her only drives me more wild.
How can she lie here, so peaceful in my arms, and yet by her mere existence transform me into some version of myself I barely know?
My hand moves almost against my will, clenching her skirts, pulling them up to reveal the soft curve of her thigh.
I shift my hips, pressing my manhood harder against her, moving desperately for the friction I need.
My fist clenches, and pain sears across my palm. Across that cut I made when I swore an oath to Halaema. An oath which, if broken, will place my wife’s life on the line.
With a groan I roll away from her and stare up at the dakath hides arched overhead, illuminated by the hellish glow of the fire.
Gods, but this temptation is enough to kill a man!
I should have known better than to let her talk me into this proximity, however innocently she may have intended it.
It’s not her fault, though. I knew how it would be, with the velra compelling me, and my body more than ready to betray every stray thought and impulse.
Shakh me, if I don’t get some air this instant . . .
Taking care not to disturb her, I scramble to my feet. She doesn’t deserve to be awakened to lustful groping. That is not lovemaking, to treat her like an object for my relief. No matter how sorely I may crave her, I will not let myself forget her personhood, her safety and wellbeing.
Though I am tempted to step into a private place and take care of matters on my own, somehow I know this will not help.
There would be temporary relief, yes, but the ache for her body and soul will only intensify.
Instead I hasten to the door flap and step out into the chill night air.
It’s not sharp enough to give me much ease, but I close my eyes, breathe it in, and let my throbbing senses become more aware of the world around me.
The usual peace and quiet of the Hidden City after sundown is nowhere to be had this night, not with the whole of my fighting force preparing to ride at dawn.
Though no doubt my warriors are chasing elusive sleep, many are as restless as I.
How many lovers grope in the dark even now, clinging to each other in the desperate knowledge that this may be their last moments together?
I let out a long, painful breath. Aware suddenly of a watchful gaze, I turn and look back over my shoulder.
Halamar stands on watch just outside my dakath.
I’d not noticed him when I burst out, distracted as I was.
For some reason the sight of him fills me with irritation, as though he is the reason for my separation from Ilsevel and not an entirely disconnected bystander.
“You have things to prepare for the journey tomorrow, do you not?” I ask abruptly.
“Kya, luinar,” he responds.
“Then get to it. I need no watchman to guard my sleep tonight.”
His expression shifts ever-so slightly. He knows more than he lets on.
But he does not argue. He salutes and makes an unhurried escape, disappearing into the city street.
I watch him go, then tilt back my head and stare at the distant stars.
My breath stirs the air in small, pale clouds, but despite the cold, there is still far too much heat roaring in my lower regions.
The velra pulls at me, urging me to slip back inside.
It’s not as though Ilsevel would reject me.
If she knew how I wanted her, she would open her arms all too eagerly, and then—
“Shakh,” I growl.
“Such a noble greeting from my most majestic brother,” a dry voice speaks from the shadows off to my right. “Truly you would grace the courtly halls of our dear mother with your fair speech. A pity she’s not lived to bear witness.”
Jaw set, I turn to face my sister, prepared to comment on the various uncouth habits she too has acquired in our years living among the Rocaryn Tribe.
Before the sharp words can leave my tongue, however, I’m struck dumb by the sight of her.
She’s wearing her old Licornyn riding armor, fitted to her years ago in anticipation of a bond which never formed.
I haven’t seen her in it since before Shanaera died. Since before Halamar became velrhoar.
“What are you doing, Tassa?” I demand.
She stops before me, braced for battle. “I will ride with you tomorrow,” she declares, adding bitterly, “with the horses, of course.”
“No. You must remain and protect the city.”
Her face hardens. “I expected that was your plan.” Turning away from me, she folds her arms and gazes out over the city spread below the center green.
Beyond the dakaths, forest surrounds us in a protective shield, and on the far side of that forest, in fields where usually khiir sheep graze, provision wagons are gathered in preparation for tomorrow’s journey.
Beyond those are temporary pens for the horses.
The licorneir are out there somewhere as well, up on the slopes of the mountain, grazing on ilsevel blossoms. There will be no fresh supply to be had throughout the length of the coming campaign.
“Is Halamar going?” Tassa asks abruptly after a long silence.
I nod.
The lines of her brow tighten. “In that case, why should I not ride as well? Halamar is hearttorn—I am not. I am more useful in a fight than he is. More focused.”
“I cannot leave the Hidden City without defense,” I answer in a low voice.
Tassa throws back her head, uttering a mirthless laugh.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do if you and all the licorneir are slaughtered by the Shadow King? Well, Taar? Am I to dig trenches and post children on watch? Or perhaps you think I’ll lead an army of elders in a last glorious stand against our enemies? ”
I do not answer for some while. I don’t want to say out loud what I know I must, any more than she wants to hear it. But what is the use of pretending, here, now, on the last night we are likely to spend in each other’s presence?
“I do not know what will happen,” I say at last. “I know only that I will not stop fighting until the Miphates are either driven from this land or I lie dead at the gates of Evisar. Should that come to pass”—I fix Tassa with my gaze, refusing to let her look away—“I want you to take the Hidden City. Pack up all the dakaths and make for the nearest Between Gate. Leave this world behind forever and pray Nornala will guide you through Wanfriel to some new safe haven. Give Cruor over to the vardimnar and think of it no more. The age of the Licornyn will be at an end, and the ilsevels will bloom no more on the slopes of Elanlein.”
Tassa’s eyes study my face, searching for some crack, some hairline of doubt she might use to her advantage. When I give her nothing, she bows her head and offers a short nod. “I don’t know what sort of life is out there for a smattering of refugee ibrildians,” she says in a low voice.
“It will be a life you forge, for you will be their queen, whatever else may come.” I take hold of her hand, an impulsive gesture my walled-up sister would not ordinarily tolerate.
For now, however, she allows me to squeeze her fingers gently and even offers a slight return of pressure.
“I believe in you, Talanashta,” I say. “Whatever else lies ahead, I know you will be strong and brave.”
She nods, her eyes skittering away from mine in a vain attempt to hide a sudden spark of tears.
Then, impulsively, she puts her arms around me in an embrace.
It lasts no more than a heartbeat—but in that brief contact, I feel the truth of the bond we’ve shared since that dreadful flight on Mahra’s back across our rift-torn world.
Backing away quickly, Tassa sniffs and pats me one last time on the shoulder.
“Your wife,” she says suddenly, then stops and clears her throat.
“She was a good student. I . . . I don’t know that I will ever fully understand what you’ve done.
What motivated you to take a human bride.
” She shakes her head, grimacing ruefully, then tilts her head and looks up at me, her expression softened.
“But I think, in the end, I caught a . . . a glimpse, perhaps. Of what you see in her.”
From Tassa this is a major concession. I accept it in the spirit in which it was meant, nodding solemnly. “I cannot thank you enough for training Ilsevel as well as you did.”
Tassa snorts. “You do realize how unprepared she is for battle? If you want her to survive, you’d best find a way to spare her from the worst of it.”
She’s not wrong. And yet . . . “There’s more to Ilsevel than you see. She has survived terrors you cannot imagine and saved my life on more than one occasion. I believe she will surprise us both in the end.”
Tassa chooses not to argue. Instead she offers me a solemn salute, one hand on the hilt of her sword. “Luinar,” she says. “I bid you good night. If we do not speak again before your departure, may Nornala’s grace shine upon you.”
She turns to go then, but pauses when I call after her: “Tassa.” She looks back.
I hesitate, uncertain how to say what is on my heart. The words are too feeble, but I hope she will understand: “Alahir i dorlar orira a-nala.
It is a small part of a long prayer, spoken over a Licornyn rider who has successfully formed a bond. A prayer which should have been said over Tassa long ago. I will never understand why the gods did not see fit to grant her that blessing.
Tassa’s cheek tightens. She offers a short nod and opens her mouth. In the end, however, she closes her lips again and, choosing to leave her words unsaid, leaves me in silence.
I remain outside for a while longer after her departure.
Though the sky is heavy with darkness, I can smell dawn coming on swiftly now.
Part of me wonders if I should venture out, walk through the supply wagons, speak to my quartermaster, and begin all those last-minute preparations before the coming ride.
But I don’t want Ilsevel to wake with me gone.
And as I seem to have my body back under control . . .
I step back into the dakath. Ilsevel is already sitting up, prodding the fire back to life with a long stick.
Her face is puffy, her hair rumpled, but my gaze fixes on the sleeve of her gown, which has slid down, revealing one soft shoulder.
My stomach tightens; I almost flee back outside.
She looks up, tossing hair back from her face, and blinks her sleep-bleary eyes at me. “Is it time to ride?”
I could almost laugh at the jolt of pure desire that passes through me at the mere sound of her voice. What a lusty fool I’ve become in these few short weeks! Even the smallest lapse of self-control, and I’d fall upon her like a hungry wolf. But I master myself.
“No, zylnala,” I say and fetch the clay pot, fill it with water from the basin, and nestle it on the coals. “You can sleep longer if you wish.”
“I’m not tired,” she speaks through a contradictory yawn. Then she shakes her head sharply, blinking hard. “Was that Tassa I heard outside?”
I grunt acknowledgement.
“I thought I recognized her voice, though I couldn’t understand what you said.” Ilsevel rubs her upper arms and watches flames flicker back to life in the stone circle. “Is Tassa riding with us?”
“No, she will remain here. Someone has to care for the Rocaryn Tribe in my absence.”
Ilsevel maintains her silence as I prepare a cup of tea and hand it to her.
She turns the cup around in her hands, watching the steam rise, but her thoughts seem to be a thousand miles away.
Finally she looks up at me, catching my gaze.
“What will happen if the licorneir are . . . gone?” she asks.
“Will the vardimnar spread across the Morrona River?”
A shadow falls across my soul. But I won’t try to hide the ugly truth. Not from her. “Without the licorneir to protect the land, the darkness of the Rift will spread swiftly, engulfing everything.”
“And what about your—” Ilsevel stops. I watch as a series of questions tumble through her brain.
She’s wondering why we march on the citadel at all, risking what remains of Licorna on this hopeless endeavor.
She wants me to circle the licorneir and protect the Hidden City, protect the last of the ilsevel blossoms and our way of life.
But she knows the truth. It’s only a matter of time before the ilsevel supply dwindles away to nothing.
Already our licorneir have ceased reproducing, and though they do not die naturally, their numbers dwindle fast. Unless we do something to reverse our fortunes, it’s only a matter of time before the end.
At least this way we choose the time and the manner in which we meet our destiny.
So rather than ask her questions, Ilsevel stares down at the cup in her hand, swirling the dark tea. Then she stretches out her arm toward me, extending the cup. “Here’s to ousting those gods-damned Miphates from Evisar. Once and for all.”
I smile and touch my own cup to hers. “I’ll drink to that.”