Darkness fills my head. Darkness and burning and rage. Pulsing in my veins, pulsing through my bones, my flesh, my spirit.
Soon there will be nothing else.
I am the darkness.
I am the burning.
I am the rage.
I am . . . I am . . .
A sweet note of music bursts in my head, faint but clear. Bright as a silvery morning. I don’t know from whence it sings. It dominates my senses, pierces through the storm and fire in my head. So delicate, I feel I could catch it, shatter it in my palm. But when I search, it eludes me. Draws me. Step by step. Suddenly, the darkness parts like clouds of smoke, and I’m staring down into a pale, upturned face.
Faraine!
She’s afraid. Those strange eyes of hers, so beautiful, so otherworldly, brim with dread. My chest tightens. My heart feels burned and raw. Who has frightened her? Who has dared? I close my eyes, shake my head, desperate to clear away the last of the roiling dark that clouds my thoughts. Wrenching my eyes back open, I look down at her again. I will find whoever did this to her. I will find him and rend him limb from limb. I will . . . I will . . .
I look down.
Down at my own hand pressed against her bare flesh.
Down at her body. Trembling, exposed to my gaze.
Horror surges through my blood and being, cold as ice. “Faraine?” Her name emerges from my lips in a terrible growl I scarcely recognize as my own voice. “Faraine, what . . . what have I . . .?”
Overhead, the lorst crystals begin to sway. Softly at first, then more and more wildly, casting weird flashes across her face, in the depths of her eyes. The next moment, the whole room quakes, the walls groan. The floor shifts under my feet. Deeper Dark deliver us! Another stirring!
Moving on instinct, I yank Faraine from the wall, pull her flush against my body, and wrap my arms tight around her. Her bare skin presses into my chest, but I scarcely have time to register the sensation before the lorst lights begin to fall. They crash to the floor, shattering in jagged shards. Darkness envelops the chamber.
An earsplitting crack overhead. I dive to one side, dragging Faraine with me. Rolling, I place my body on top of hers and brace as stones rattle loose from the ceiling and fall in a stream of dust and debris on top of me. Something huge crashes into the floor where we’d stood an instant before. The whole palace shifts on its foundations, like a living creature writhing in pain.
This is it. This is the end. The end of all things.
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.
The shaking stops. The room stills once more.
At first, I cannot make either my body or mind believe it. I’m so convinced we must be dead, it takes fifty thundering heartbeats before I can force myself to draw breath. When I do, I inhale dust and cough violently. Only when I finally recover my breath do I realize Faraine is coughing as well.
I draw back. Only a fraction. To be separated from her is unbearable, but I don’t want to crush her, not when she’s already struggling for air. Darkness surrounds us. No matter how my eyes strain, I can discern nothing of her features. “Are you all right?” I ask, my throat raw. The words emerge as a rough growl.
She coughs again, seems to struggle. Then, finally: “Let go of me.”
Her voice stabs through my heart like knives. Cold, sharp. Unyielding.
I shift my weight. Stone and debris tumble from my back. Thank the Deeper Dark for my hard trolde hide. I sit up, peer into the gloom. It’s too dark to get a sense of the extent of the destruction. “Hira!” I growl, without much hope it will do any good.
To my surprise, a single lorst crystal, unshattered and unburied, responds to my command. It’s a meager light, but in that pitch black it seems bright as a fallen star. The pale white glow reveals several large pieces of stalactite which lie on either side of us. They would have shattered my spine had they struck. One wall is partially caved in. Dust and stone cover every article of furniture. The whole chamber looks as though it’s been unearthed from a landslide.
I look down at Faraine. She gathers her limbs together, trying to pull her garment closed around her body. Her hands shake like two frightened birds, but her jaw is firm, the lines around her eyes tense. She seems both fragile and impenetrable at the same time.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. “Please, I need to know if—”
“I’m fine.” She shakes her head sharply, refusing to look at me. I can’t blame her. Any concern from me must seem sickening. What kind of monster asks after its prey’s wellbeing after nearly tearing out its throat?
Pulling my limbs under me, I rise, stagger back, and take a look at the wreckage around us. A pile of stone blocks the chamber door. I make my way to it, pull back stones and tumble them to the side. At last, I’ve cleared a narrow way and can reach the door latch. It gives. But when I begin to draw the door open, I feel a sudden, terrible pressure of stone on the far side. Hastily, I shut it again. We’re trapped. Entombed like ancient warriors.
Slowly I bow my head, press my brow against the door. My breath is tight again. The air seems thicker than ever. I close my eyes. What happened? When I think back over the past few hours, everything is a blur of darkness punctuated by flashes of red heat. Only impressions come back to me like momentary sparks in my mind.
The touch of Faraine’s skin under my hand.
The intoxicating thrum of lust in my blood.
The pulse, the drive.
The rage.
I remember some part of me fought, desperate to stop. But it seemed as though that part was locked behind fiery bars while the animal took over. 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.
Movement behind me. I look over my shoulder in time to see Faraine stand and yank her robe tight around her body. The delicate fabric is gray with dust, but it clings to her soft frame. Heat flares through my body. Not as intense a flame as it was, but present, dangerous. There’s still poison in my blood. I grit my teeth, determined to fight it back. A growl rumbles in my throat.
Faraine starts. Her eyes flash to meet mine. She freezes in place, like a rockdeer poised for flight. Then her hands move, shaking hard as she struggles to tie the belt of her garment. I wish I could offer to help, wish I could do something to ease her fear. My throat clogs with dust when I try to speak her name.
It’s Faraine who breaks the silence, at last. “We’re trapped here. Aren’t we.” Her voice is small, hollow. Almost lifeless.
I draw a deep breath. “It appears to be so.”
She nods slowly. Gathering her robe close, she steps over debris to the bed. A huge chunk of stalactite fell from the ceiling during the quake, crashed through the canopy, and pierced the mattress. Faraine puts out one hand, touches a fold of tattered canopy, fingering the blue cloth. She rubs away a film of dust to reveal the silvery threads of an embroidered star. This she studies with intense concentration for some long moments. Finally, she looks at me again. Her expression is impossible to read. “Will they come for us, do you think?”
“Of course,” I answer quickly. “Hael knows where we are. She will have us dug out in no time.” If Hael is alive. If any of them are alive.
I survey the room again. The lorst stone has brightened somewhat since I spoke it back to life. By its flickering light, I can see the walls aren’t in imminent threat of falling. As the dust settles, the air clears, and I feel a draft of air coming in from somewhere. We shouldn’t suffocate at least.
But I know what so often follows the great stirrings. I saw the decimation of Dugorim Village just days ago, the spread of poison, the madness. The death. Will Mythanar’s fate be the same? Or will tumbled buildings, crushed roads, and buried citizens be the worst of our troubles?
A curse hisses through my teeth. I cannot stay here. I cannot remain trapped in this dark space while my people suffer. How many able bodies are even now fighting to liberate me when they should be applying themselves to the relief of the city? Perhaps this is punishment. Perhaps the gods looked out from their heavens, saw the atrocity I was about to commit, and chose to smite both me and my city for my sin.
My sin which, even now, still simmers hot in my gut.
Faraine moves. Even the slightest shift of her weight is enough to draw my hungry gaze back to her. But she merely folds her arms tight across her breast, as though determined to hold herself together. Her eyes meet mine, hard as stone.
“Are you going to kill me, Vor?”
The abruptness of her question hits me like a blow. I draw my head back, eyes flaring.
She continues, relentlessly: “When you are through with me, I mean.”
“Faraine.” I shake my head. “Faraine, I—”
“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?” She refuses to break my gaze. I feel as though she’s stabbing me with two knives, one of ice, one of fire.
“I didn’t mean to do it.” The words fall from my lips like heavy weights.
She jerks her chin up. Her nostrils quiver with a sharp intake of air.
“I . . . Faraine . . .” My shoulders bow as though the rest of the palace has caved in on top of me. She hates me. Of course, she hates me. She should hate me. I hate myself, hate these pathetic excuses crowding on my tongue. What will I do? Plea for pity, for forgiveness? I don’t deserve either. Yet, I must say something.
I let out a long breath, force myself to meet her gaze. “I never meant to harm you. Not the execution. Not . . . not this. That person . . . the person who did those things . . . that wasn’t me.” Her lip curls in an expression of deep disgust. Hastily, I take a step toward her, but she startles back, trips over debris on the ground. “No, please!” I hold out my hands, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Don’t run. I will . . . I will sit here.”
I ease my body slowly onto a fallen slab of stone, careful to keep the flimsy robe I wear closed. She watches me, her chest rising and falling with the quickness of her breaths. When I make no further move, she finally perches on the remains of the footboard, one hand gripping the front of her garment, the other clenched tight around a fistful of torn canopy fabric.
And so, we sit. In silence. Staring at one another.
It’s coming back to me now. Bit by bit. Staggering away from the bathhouse, my body aflame with desire. The embraces of the bathhouse girl, her warm willing flesh pressed against mine, her tongue in my mouth. The heat of lust mingling with the fire in my blood, growing into a furnace of rage.
Hael tried to stop me. I remember that now. She’d seen the madness in my eye and guessed my purpose in coming here. She’d tried to talk me out of it, tried to reason with me. But I’d overpowered her. Gods! Why didn’t she fight harder? She should have taken me down, stopped me from ever setting foot in this chamber! Her duty was to protect the princess. She should have honored that duty over all other loyalties, even her loyalty to me.
I would have killed her, of course. In my need to get to Faraine, I would have slaughtered her where she stood.
I rub my hands down my face, groaning softly. The fire is still there, burning in my blood. For the moment, at least, it does not drive me. I am master of myself. I’m not sure what brought me out of the darkness. Something must have shocked me, jolted me back into reason, just as it had at the execution, before the drur’s ax fell.
I feel Faraine’s gaze upon me. When I finally dare glance at her again, she’s watching me closely. Once more I feel the pathetic uselessness of my words before they even leave my mouth. But I speak them nonetheless. “I swear, Faraine. I won’t touch you again.”
Her head barely moves, a tiny, almost imperceptible shake to one side. The muscles in her forehead tense. “I don’t believe you.”
“I know. I don’t deserve your belief. But I swear it even so. 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.”
Another tiny shake of her head followed by an interminable silence. I bury my face in my hands, unable to bear that look on her face. At long last, however, she speaks again: “You are in pain.”
I look up, startled. Are those tears brimming in her eyes, spilling through her lashes onto her cheeks?
“I felt it before,” she continues, her voice soft and gentle, her face pale as an angel’s in the flickering lorst glow. “This pain. This resistance.”
My brow puckers. I don’t understand what she’s saying, and yet . . . strangely, part of me does.
Faraine rises from her seat and picks her way across the room to the window. Her back is very straight, very firm, her shoulders like a wall, blocking me out. The curtains over the window have partially fallen, but she grips them, pulls them to one side.
The whole wall shifts dangerously.
I’m in motion before my mind has a chance to catch up with my body. In three swift bounds, I cross the space between me and her. Even now, with terror surging in my veins, I do not forget the vow I’ve just spoken. Rather than touch her, I throw myself between her and the stone that breaks and falls from above. It would have brained her. I take it in my shoulder instead. Pain shoots through my body as I’m driven to my knees.
Faraine leaps back, one hand pressed to her chest, the other to her midsection. She stares at me, at the broken stone, at the unstable wall. At last, her gaze fixes on my shoulder. It throbs as though in response to her notice. I grimace, put up a hand to touch the sore place. My palm comes away sticky with blue blood.
“Vor!”
The sound of my name on her lips shoots straight to my core. Before I can speak a word of reassurance, she crouches before me and works to tear a strip off the hem of her robe. “It’s fine,” I protest when she presses the fabric to the wound. I wince but shake my head firmly. “No, leave it. It’s nothing Madame Ar cannot patch up.”
Faraine frowns, lifting her cloth and looking at the cut. “It looks deep.”
I twist my neck, trying to see. “I’ve had worse.”
She shakes her head, gets to her feet, and hastens to the bed. There she fetches a remnant of torn canopy fabric, shakes out the dust as best she can, before folding it into a square. “Here,” she says, returning to press it into my shoulder. “Can you lift your arm?”
I can and do. She winds her strip of fabric around my body to hold the square of blue fabric in place. “It’s not an ideal bandage, I know,” she mutters, “but we must stop the bleeding. It’ll have to do.”
Her nearness intoxicates me. The curve of her neck and shoulder, revealed against the neckline of her garment. The softness of her hair, even beneath the film of gray dust. The smell of her, so sweet, so delicate. Like a flower of the human world, bathed in sunshine and starlight by turns. So different from the subterranean blossoms of Mythanar.
She doesn’t belong here. But I cannot bear the idea of her going.
Which is why she must go. As soon as possible.
She steps back. The stern line between her brows deepens as she inspects her work. Then her gaze flicks sideways, catching mine. I don’t look away. I can’t. I wish I could make her see the truth in my eyes, could make her know that I could never intentionally cause her harm. I would sacrifice far more than I should to see her safely free of me and the danger I pose to her.
She tilts her head slightly. “What is that inside of you?”
I blink, surprised. But then, somehow it makes sense that she would know what question to ask. “It’s raog poison,” I answer.
She nods as though she understands, though she’s surely never heard the word before.
“Someone administered a dose in my cup while I was in council with my ministers,” I continue. “We were discussing what to do with you after . . . after I realized who you were.” Grimacing, I roll my throbbing shoulder. A mistake. Pain shoots up my neck, and I hold still once more, head hanging. “At the time, I’d been listening to them urge for your death. When the poison entered my body, it . . . played on the deepest, darkest part of me. That part which wanted to listen to them.”
“So, you did want to kill me.”
“No!” The word bursts out a harsh bark. She starts back, and I hasten to modulate my tone. “No, Faraine. Never. But I felt betrayed. Stripped down. Humiliated before the eyes of my court, my kingdom. And . . . and that part of me . . .” I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Gods, I don’t know how to describe it! It was like the poison latched onto me. Fed the wickedness in my heart, nurtured it. In my mind, you were no longer yourself. You were something different, something dark and terrible. As the poison strengthened, you transformed into a monster in my mind. A demon. I felt I must be free of you, must kill you to break your hold over me. It was so real.”
She regards me silently, her eyes traveling over my face. As though she’s reading more in me than my feeble, fumbling words can express.
“I’ve not yet discovered who delivered the poison,” I continue, “but I believe this same person poisoned Lord Rath in another attempt to have you killed. And now . . . today . . .”
“You were poisoned a second time,” she whispers.
I nod slowly. Hating that I’ve just made excuses for what I did. Relieved that she allowed me to make them. I swallow hard but force myself to meet her eye. “As soon as we are out of this chamber, I will send you home. You and I need never see one another again.”
Faraine sits back on her heels, her arms tight around her body. She swallows hard. Her gaze drops. Her jaw is tight. One of her hands moves to her chest, feeling for something that isn’t there. Her necklace, I realize. In a flash, I remember ripping it from her neck, tossing it to the floor. It’s here somewhere, buried beneath all this debris.
“Let me look inside you.”
“What?” I frown, uncertain I heard her soft voice correctly.
In a single, swift movement, she sits up. Before I can react, she takes my face between her hands. I gasp and try to jerk away. “Hold still,” she says sharply.
I freeze in her grasp. The exquisite pain of her skin against mine is almost more than I can bear. The darkness inside me roils, seeking to rise up, to send poison shooting through my veins. I must be strong. I must resist the urge to catch hold of her arms, to drag her to me, to crush her in my embrace. My fists curl tight, squeezing so hard I could grind stone to powder.
But Faraine gazes into my eyes. Deeper and deeper.
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.
What is she doing? Is this magic? Her gods-gift? It’s so strange, so unlike trolde magic in every way. And yet it is inexplicably familiar, though in the moment, I cannot place why.
Suddenly, I gasp. My body goes rigid. I feel as though the top of my head has been opened. A bath of liquid sunlight pours into my mind, flushes through my soul. I see it, feel it, perceive it with every sense so vividly. It’s painful and glorious and purifying. All the dark and dirty particles of poison are swept up and sent rushing out through my extremities, out into the atmosphere where they dissipate to nothing.
The vision ends abruptly, like a sudden dousing of light. I drag a painful gasp into my lungs. Despite the dust in the air, it feels like the first clear breath I’ve drawn in days.
“What was that?” I demand, shaking my head and looking once more at Faraine.
She steps back from me. Her hands drop away from my face. There’s a strange, far-off, unfocused look in her eyes. She sways heavily.
“Faraine?” I say. She seems to hear me, seems to tip her head my way.
Then she collapses to the ground at my feet.
