Vow of the Shadow King (Bride of the Shadow King, #2)

by Sylvia Mercedes

But when she saw this place, everything would begin to change. I would kneel before her, grip her hands in mine, and promise her that all of this—all this splendor along with my own hand and heart—was hers for the taking. Such a foolish dream.

How sweet she’d tasted, fresh, delicious. And mine.

I’d spent more time with her sister, Ilsevel, with whom I’d danced each night. But somehow, those moments with Faraine had left a greater impact.

Her soul was so bright, it drew me like an olk to a moonfire lantern.

What am I to do with this cavernous need? This ache in my core? I feel like a man parched to the brink of death who lays eyes at last on the cool, clear stream. Surely one touch should be enough to soothe this thirst. One little brush of my lips against hers. Is that too much to ask?

Stepping out of Faraine’s presence is like leaving behind both light and air. My chest feels oddly tight and uncomfortable, and I struggle to draw a full breath.

Suddenly, a voice breaks through the rushing in my ears. Though I cannot understand the words, something in my heart jolts with recognition. It’s like a delicate, shimmering thread has unfurled before me. When I reach out and take hold, that thread solidifies, becomes a stout rope. I wrap myself—my body, my consciousness, I don’t even know what—around it and hold on with everything I have.

Fear lurches in my heart at the sight of him. Fear and . . . something else. Something stronger. And more dangerous. Something I don’t care to acknowledge.

Gods above, who knew I possessed such wellsprings of defiance? I’ve always been the demure, shrinking, people-pleasing, disappointing princess. Perhaps this is what multiple near-death experiences in quick succession will bring out in a person.

Everywhere I turn I see only traitors and those who failed to protect me from them. I trusted Hael with my life. I would have trusted Faraine just the same. Yet here am I, a proven fool.

I grimace. Now that I know, I cannot legitimately march back into Rath’s chamber and rip his arms from their sockets.

I’ll make her pay for what she did to me. I’ll make her beg forgiveness. I’ll make her beg for mercy. I’ll make her beg for more.

The truth is, I’ve scarcely had time to process my grief. And grief is such a wild, untamed creature, always returning at the most unexpected times to bite.

“Beg,” he says. “Beg my forgiveness. For what you have done.” My lips quiver. “Forgive me, Vor,” I whimper. “No.” Then his mouth crushes against mine. It’s not a kiss. It’s too rough, too violent to be anything like a kiss. A bruising, terrible claiming.

I bow over her, pressing my face down, my forehead against hers. A prayer bursts from the depths of my soul, a silent ragged cry to all the gods both high and low. Let this not be her end! If I must die, so be it. Let my bones be smashed to dust. Only let my body shield her from this fate. Let her live. Let her be spared.

Any concern from me must seem sickening. What kind of monster asks after its prey’s wellbeing after nearly tearing out its throat?

A wild, savage animal that rent my reason into shreds. All I knew was my desire for her. To take her. To break her. To make her suffer. To make her mine. I’ve felt this madness before. The last time, it had driven me to order her execution. This time, it drove me to savagery. But the impulse stemmed from the same place. I’ve been poisoned. Again.

“I’d rather know.” Her fingers tighten, knuckles standing out white. “Will your thirst for revenge be satisfied by my degradation? Or do you intend to murder me as well?”

As soon as they dig us out of here, I will send you home to your father. You will leave Mythanar, never think of us again. Put all of this behind you. Forever.”

She doesn’t belong here. But I cannot bear the idea of her going. Which is why she must go. As soon as possible.

Something is happening. I don’t understand. It’s as though she’s sent a silver thread of music into my mind, a bright clear note. It hums, a point of light and connection between the two of us. I feel that note taken up, faint but present, pulsing in the air, in the walls, in the broken rock under our feet.

And underscoring all those feelings is another, deeper emotion, which sparks from the tips of his fingers as he slowly brushes a strand of hair off my cheek: longing. He cannot hide it. Not anymore.

“It doesn’t matter.” My brow puckers. “Why not?” “You need not concern yourself with Mythanar anymore. I am sending you home. The moment they break through that door, I will give the order. You may carry word to your father that I have no further need of his Miphates. The alliance is off.”

But what manner of man is this? The otherworldly king? The fierce protector? The strong leader? The tender lover? Or the vengeful, dark, dangerous, secret self that underlies all these?

“What if there is no other way?” I say again softly. “What if we are each other’s only hope?” He looks at me like I truly am his lifeline, his salvation.

The eldest daughter, but the second choice. And yet . . . And yet I’ve always known that with Vor, I was never second. He would have chosen me first had the choice been his all along.

“Oh, Faraine, Faraine.” His voice is like a prayer. “What if I hurt you? What if I . . .?” “I am not afraid, Vor.” My eyes close, my body and soul wholly concentrated on the warm sweetness of his breath against my mouth. “Please.”

“No worry, Big King. Most folk never gonna see city fall.” “Really?” “’Course not! Most folk gonna die of poison long before.” On that word of encouragement, I thank my engineer and make good my escape.

Faraine, whom I promised to send home. Faraine, who has faced death three times now since coming to my realm. Who still insists she wants to stay. Faraine. My life or my doom.

“What do you want me to do? Would you feel better if you pinned me to the ground again? Shall I lie prone and offer up my neck for your royal foot? Because I’m perfectly happy to humiliate myself as many times as it takes to make you trust me.”

“Guthakug translates to . . . Well, there is no direct translation. The closest might be horse leavings.”

I nod solemnly. But my heart warms a little. Hael defended me. Me! Dare I call this progress? Do I now have an ally in Mythanar?

“My name,” she says at length, “refers to the single drop of water poised at the tip of a stalactite.”

“Faraine means far horizon in Old Gavarian.

“Valiant,” Hael says at last. “It is an ancient troldish name, a name of kings.

“I cannot speak that word,” she says. “Not to you. Not out loud. It is sacred.”

“Some sacred things are not meant to be worshipped.”

“Is it not your wish to see us all succumb to the inevitable Dark in any case? What does it matter if Sul faces a little danger? What does it even matter if he perishes? It makes no difference to you, does it?”

Our first kiss. Our first true kiss. Not a kiss intended for my sister. Not a vicious attack driven by poison. A kiss meant for me. Gentle. Tentative. So full of longing it had wrung my heart.

Though his features are hard and stern as stone, his eyes betray him. They are the eyes of a man half-starved.

Vor is there, already astride Knar. He surveys his people, and I think . . . I hope . . . I wish . . . his gaze flashes ever so briefly up at me in the doorway. But I’m not sure. In fact, I’m almost certain I’m mistaken.

Everything in me urges to yank my morleth’s reins, haul the beast about, and gallop back across the courtyard, right up those great stone steps. To leap from my saddle, catch her in my arms, and crush my lips against hers in a cataclysmic kiss.

I know what Sul means to her . . . even if, in my personal opinion, she could do much better than that reprobate brother of mine.

Oh, why could the gods not have gifted me with a true power? Something I might use to help this man I’ve come to . . . to . . . I’ve dared to . . .

“Hael?” He leans over my captain’s body, pushes wet strands of hair out of her face. “Take a breath, will you? Come on, I need to hear you—” Her body convulses. A sudden gush of water fountains from her lungs, splashing Sul in the face.

When she’s through, he helps her sit upright. Not once does he stop touching her, his good hand moving from her shoulder to her arm to her back. Interesting. Very interesting.

Her loyalty truly is unmatched in all the Under Realm. How could I have doubted her? How could I have pushed her away all this time? I wish I could say something to her now, let her know that I’ve forgiven her failures, that indeed, there was nothing to forgive all along. Now is not the time, however.

A body. A woman. She is not stone. Her skin is still soft, pliable. She did not enter into va-jor in her final moments. She died here. Bleeding out. Bleeding from numerous wounds. They bound her. By the pulsing red light of the crystals, I see signs of her struggle, the abrasions at her wrists and ankles. She fought hard against whoever did this to her. But she fought in vain.

“If you so much as look at Faraine again, I will end you.”

I need to see Faraine. Just for a moment. I need to see her and know that she is alive, that she is whole and well and here. I will not touch her. I dare not. But a mere glimpse would be enough, a single word from her lips pure heaven.