Chapter 20 TAAR #2
Strange that I’d never even considered that question.
It had seemed obvious to me that, upon reclaiming my bride, I must then face all the many responsibilities I’d so recklessly abandoned when I set out to find her.
Only now does it occur to me that I could simply .
. . not go back. I failed Licorna yet again when I led a second, unsuccessful assault on Evisar.
We may have progressed further than we did last time, but we were nonetheless repulsed in the end.
Our numbers decimated, our allies disbanded and dispersed.
The tribes will no longer hail me as king after this debacle.
They will now turn on each other and fight to claim Elanlein, the last Holy House, and all the ilsevel blossoms which grow around it—the only source of sustenance for licorneir, without which they will simply fade from being.
What if we did not throw ourselves back into that turmoil? It is a tempting prospect—to avoid the consequences of my failure, the devastation of my people. To take my bride and ride away with her, vanishing into Wanfriel as we search out some pleasant realm where we may live together in peace.
Only there is no such realm. Eledria is not friendly to ibrildians, still less so to humans.
We would be hunted and hounded everywhere we went.
Worse still, I would lose Elydark. Without the ilsevel blossoms to sustain his essence, he would simply fade away to nothing and vanish at last back to the realm of his origin. Leaving me hearttorn behind.
As though sensing something in my soul, Ilsevel’s grip tightens around me once more. “I know,” she murmurs against my shoulder. “I know, I know. You cannot leave Elydark. Or Tassa, or Halamar, or Sylcatha. Any of them.”
I cannot. Yes, I may have temporarily abandoned them when I charged off in pursuit of Ilsevel.
But I never intended to forsake them utterly.
I must return. There is no other choice, not for me.
I must face the horror of tribes at each other’s throats, of land slowly fading into the Unformed, and the devastation of the vardimnar strengthening every day until even the river’s boundary can no longer protect us.
And then there is what Larongar told me . . . about my father . . .
Ilsevel steps back abruptly, pulling from my reluctant arms. She looks up, her brow stern and concentrated, as though trying to read my face. “What was that?” she asks.
“What was what?”
“That . . . discord. In your soul. I heard it, quite distinctly.” She makes a face, as though the sound was unpleasant.
I gaze down at her, silent. I’m not sure I want to tell her what her father said, not when I haven’t had time to turn it over, to decide what I believe. I shake my head, my gaze shifting away from hers.
“Is this to do with what you said before?” she persists. “Is this about what you said you had to tell me?”
A long sigh breathes through my tense lips. There are so many things I must communicate, I hardly know where to start. But one thing she deserves to know. I only hope she is strong enough to bear it.
“Lyria spoke to me, just before we took that tunnel out from Beldroth,” I say, forcing myself to meet her gaze once more. “She said . . .” I hesitate, wishing there were some gentler way to break this news. “She said she believes Aurae is still alive.”
For a moment, Ilsevel is utterly still, as though turned to stone.
Then her eyes slowly widen. Her mouth drops open, and weakness seems to grip her spine.
Knees buckling, she turns from me, staggers across the room, and sits back down on the tumbled pile of wedding skirts, one hand pressed to her heart.
“Alive?” she whispers. Her voice is stricken and yet limned with a hopeful song. Then she gasps with horror. “Alive.”
I don’t have to read her mind to know what she is thinking.
As horrible as it is to contemplate her sister’s death, this new fate might well be worse.
Aurae, if she lives, is in the clutches of the fae.
Lord Dormaris of Lunulyr is known for his collection of unusual warriors, gathered from across the realms. He offered to buy Ilsevel from me, intrigued by her gods-gift.
If Aurae did indeed possess another such gods-gift, he no doubt would have done everything in his power to subdue her and add her to his collection.
Ilsevel turns to me, her eyes suddenly fierce with inner fire. “I must go after her,” she declares.
Her words are like a cleaver to my heart. “Zylnala,” I say, finding my voice slowly, “you must . . . you must do as you see best. But I cannot go with you. Not now, not while my people are in such danger.”
She reads the truth in my face. A multifaceted truth, utterly undeniable.
While I feel for her pain, feel for the plight of young Princess Aurae, it is not within my power to throw myself into her rescue.
I will not restrain my wife from doing what she believes is best, but my road is clear before me.
If this then means our parting . . . so be it.
But Ilsevel shakes her head, her face crumpling. “No,” she says softly. “No, of course. I understand. I cannot go charging off unprepared. Not again. That won’t help Aurae. And you cannot go with me; it would be wrong of me to ask it of you.”
She bows her head, covering her face with trembling hands, as great sobs burst from deep inside.
I’m across the room in two strides, and drop down beside her, pulling her against my chest. She weeps long, frustrated and futile and furious in turns, and I can do nothing but hold her and murmur what words of comfort I can.
“Lyria promised to go after her,” I say gently.
“She’s a formidable young witch. If anyone can storm the bounds of Eledria and rescue your sister, it’s her. ”
Ilsevel laughs a little bitterly, but nods in acknowledgement, even as her tears continue to wet my skin.
When the storm of weeping finally passes, she sits up again, wipes her eyes, then lifts her head in that proud way of hers.
“So,” she says firmly. “We shall return to the Hidden City, and . . . what then, warlord?”
I don’t have an answer; I truly cannot fathom what awaits us back home. I pinned every hope on that last assault on Evisar. Now that’s failed, the future is bleak, hazy.
“We will return to the Hidden City,” I say. “That is enough for now. The rest we must decide as it comes.”