Bride of the Shadow King
: Chapter 2

Stepping lightly from shadow to firelight to shadow again, I make my way through the fallen, both the dead and the wounded. I saw young Yok topple from his morleth in the midst of the attack, and I’m determined to replace him. He’s much too inexperienced for a mission like this. He only just completed his va-trek earlier this cycle, leaving behind childhood and becoming a man. Though brave and determined, he is untested. But he was so keen to join this mission, bursting with need to prove his mettle. When he begged to accompany me into the human world, I hadn’t the heart to say no.

I didn’t reckon on encountering Licornyn Riders.

I replace the boy in a crumpled heap within a meter of one of the riders. At least he seems to have fared better than his foe, who lies spread-eagled, his sword still gripped in one hand, his glassy eyes staring into the vault of purpling sky, his spirit fled to his god.

I side-step around the corpse and crouch beside my fallen warrior. He clutches his arm. Blood gushes thick and blue between his fingers. “What’s this, Yok?” I say, gently prying his hand away from the wound. “What have I told you about flinging yourself bodily onto the blades of our enemies?”

“You’re against it, sire,” Yok speaks through gritted teeth. “Dead against it.”

“That’s right. Next time, maybe you’ll listen to your sovereign.” I inspect the gash by the flickering light of a flaming sword dropped close at hand. It’s deep. Down to the bone. And there’s something about the color of the flesh I don’t like. “But you didn’t come by this blow from a sword, did you?”

Yok shakes his head. His skin has gone a ghastly gray, his eyes hollow in their sockets. “I’m afraid not, sire.”

He doesn’t want to say it, not out loud. But we both know the truth. This wound could only have been made by a licorne horn. Which means poison.

I sit back on my heels, looking round at the carnage. By the grace of the Deeper Dark, my people have escaped relatively unscathed. Aside from Yok, only two others suffered superficial wounds. The humans have not fared so well. By the time we came upon the scene, the armed escort had already been cut down, leaving only the blustering Prince Theodre and his fair companion. The only reason they’re still alive, I suspect, is because the Licornyn Riders intended to make them hostages.

As though drawn by some invisible force, my gaze shifts to the carriage where the prince paces back and forth, wringing his jeweled hands. But it’s not he who draws my eye. His sister stands close by, observing her brother. Her face is quiet and still, a stark contrast to the prince’s manic mannerisms.

His sister.

One of the three princesses of Gavaria.

Interesting. Very interesting.

With a quick shake of my head, I search among my own people for my captain. She crouches over the body of a smoldering licorne, attempting to cut the still-flaming horn from its forehead with her big stone knife. “Hael!” I call.

She turns, sees me, and quickly rises and hastens to my side. As she comes down the slope, her gaze shifts to the fallen young warrior beside me. “Yok! You devil-gnawed little cave fish! I promised Mar I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Are you determined to make a liar out of me?”

Yok tries to smile. The result is ghastly. “Sorry, sis,” he manages, his voice painfully weak. “I mean, it’s not as though I wanted to have my arm torn off.”

“Torn off?” Hael drops in a crouch, her gaze running over her little brother. Upon seeing his limb still attached to his body, she smacks him upside the head. “Ow,” he protests.

“Have done with mauling my soldiers, Hael.” I show her the wound. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than I first thought. A licorne got him.”

“Morar-juk!” Hael spits.

“Language, sis.” Yok shakes his head weakly. “You know Mar doesn’t like it when you swear like that.”

“Yeah, well, Mar doesn’t like it when her baby boy gets himself ripped up by licornes either.” My captain turns to me, her face set in a scowl that doesn’t mask the anxiety simmering in her eyes. “We have to get him home.”

“No!” Yok yelps.

She rounds on him. “What, you think we’re going to take you along with us just so you can die a slow, agonizing death while Vor dances with the human princesses? Think again, little brother!”

“I’m not going to endanger the mission.” Yok sets his jaw stubbornly and tries to sit up. Blood immediately drains from his face. He groans.

“Down, boy.” I plant a firm hand on his chest. He resists only a moment before sinking back to the ground. “Believe it or not, you aren’t vital to the success of this little venture.”

“Are you sure?” Yok murmurs. Sweat beads his brow, and his eyelids droop heavily. “Don’t you need my winning smile to sweeten up the human maidens?”

“They’ll have to make do with mine.” I turn to Hael, meeting her gaze. “He needs the uggrha healer. Before it’s too late.”

“I’ll take him,” she answers at once.

But I shake my head. “I can’t let you. I don’t know what to expect upon our arrival at Beldroth Castle. Larongar has been profuse in his promises of friendship, but humans are born liars. I don’t want to venture into the human king’s house without my captain at my side.”

She bites her lip as though she’s actively biting back protests. Swallowing hard, she gives a short nod. “I’ll send Wrag and Toz with him then. They both sustained minor injuries but are capable of providing escort. It’ll reduce our party rather more than I like, though.”

“It can’t be helped.” I look down at Yok again, pat him gently on the shoulder. “I’ll send Umog Zu to prepare your wound and speak a blessing over you for safe travel. Then it’s back to Mythanar for you, my friend. Be sure to give your mother my best.”

Yok’s lip twists in a bitter snarl, but he can’t even open his eyes. The poison is already spreading fast. I pray he’ll make it back to the healer before it reaches his heart.

Leaving the boy to the ministrations of his sister, I go to fetch the priestess as promised. Zu is busy applying a poultice to a gash on Toz’s forehead, but at a word from me, she tells Toz to hold the poultice in place himself and hurries off to see to Yok.

“Are you well, Toz?” I ask, pausing a moment. “Your pretty face broken beyond repair?”

He chuckles, flashing sharpened teeth. “I’ll use this pretty face to smash in the nose of the next elf who takes a stab at me!” Unlike most of our companions, his hide is made up in large part of crusty stone, his features craggy and rough as a slab of basalt. His head is as good a weapon as the club he likes to carry. Still, the Licornyn Rider somehow managed to deliver that cut to his forehead. Which can only mean they’re carrying virmaer blades, spelled with magic powerful enough to pierce even trolde hides. Not a comforting thought.

And here I thought this little jaunt into the human world would be simple.

Slapping Toz’s shoulder, I turn from him and seek out the two humans by the carriage. Prince Theodre is still pacing. I can just hear his haranguing voice running up and down the scales as he gesticulates wildly, the rings on his fingers flashing in the firelight. All the while, his sister stands quietly by, hands folded. Every so often, she offers a low answer, but I’m too far away to discern any words.

There’s something strange about that girl. Something . . . I cannot quite put my finger on it. Her gown is torn, her hair pulled down from her neat cap and veil, her face smudged with dirt. Yet she carries herself with such dignity, I would have guessed at her royal lineage without being told.

But that’s not why I struggle to tear my gaze away from her. There’s something else. Something more. It’s as though, when I look at her, I can almost, almost hear a single note of sweet, sweet song. And as that note hums around her, it creates a radiant aura.

I blink, turn away, and look again. The impression, whatever it was, is gone. Nothing is there but a small, delicate, human woman in a ragged, mud-stained gown.

“Enjoying the view?”

Sul stands at my elbow. My brother’s arms are folded across his polished breastplate, which still gleams, unmarred by battle. Not a hair on his head is out of place, and his face is as cool and easy as though he’s just come from the dinner table having enjoyed a hearty feast and fine wines.

He catches my eye, grins, and waggles his eyebrows. “You know, I’ve never been a fancier of human women. But I’ll admit, that particular specimen is striking. I notice you wasted no time in scooping her up for a little ride. How did she feel in the saddle, eh?”

I give him a look. “Get your mind out of the vruhag. I did what I had to do to keep the poor girl from harm. Nothing more.”

“Oh, certainly!” Sul’s grin widens. “No one doubts your honorable nature, most noble of kings and best of brothers. But while I’m sure your sterling virtue would prevent you from noticing, that’s rather a large rip in the demure maiden’s gown. When she was astride your steed, there was more than a little shapely leg on fine display. You, naturally, would have averted your gaze from such a sight, but the rest of us got an eyeful when you rode down the mountainside.”

Warmth pools in my gut. I had not been unaware of the amount of skin my passenger inadvertently showed during our brief ride together. I’d made a point to wrap a fold of my own cloak around her for modesty, but there was nothing I could do when she slipped from my saddle. The gown hangs in such a way now that one would not guess at the slit. I doubt the girl has any idea exactly how much she revealed in the heat of battle.

As though reading my mind, my brother prods me in the shoulder. “Now you’ve had a look into the human king’s larder, are you ready to make your selection? Or do you plan to taste a few more of his sweets before deciding which one to bite?”

I glare at him. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth where it belongs, or I’ll remove it and give you a proper lashing.”

“Steady, brother!” Sul laughs outright. “At the risk of losing my tongue, I feel I should point out that the humans’ carriage is going nowhere anytime soon. The traces were cut, and the horses escaped. I’m afraid your pretty little human will need to beg a ride wherever she’s going.” He places a hand on his heart. “I’m happy to volunteer a spot on my saddle. No need to thank me for my sacrifice.”

I don’t grace this with an answer and leave my brother chuckling behind my back. The prince and his sister are certainly in a vulnerable state. With neither horses nor escort, they are entirely helpless out here on the mountain slope in the deepening night.

My people have been hard at work, already dragging away the bodies of fallen Licornyn Riders as well as humans. Troldefolk do not believe in leaving the dead untended, especially our dead enemies. Souls unclaimed by the gods may latch onto their killers, haunting them unto death. Our priestess will perform sending prayers over the bodies of the slain before we continue on our way. Their weapons, however, we leave where they fall. It’s bad luck to claim the blade of a dead foe for fear it may seek vengeance. Thus, the burning blade of a Licornyn Rider lies near the carriage, smoldering into low embers and casting a red glare on the scene of Prince Theodre and his sister.

“This is your fault,” I hear Theodre muttering furiously. He waves his arms in a grand but futile gesture. “You realize, I hope? If you’d married Orsan like you were meant to, Father never would have sent you to that gods-forsaken convent. There’d have been no need for me to come out all this way to fetch you home again. Gods above, it makes me sick to think of it! I hope you’re prepared to explain to Father exactly why good men died tonight.”

I step a few paces closer. Theodre continues his rant, unaware of my presence. But his sister—the princess—turns and looks directly at me. At least, she seems to. I’m fairly certain she cannot see me in the dark. Her brow puckers with faint uncertainty, but her gaze never wavers.

For the first time I notice: her eyes are two different colors: one blue, one gold.

“Are you listening to me?” Theodre demands, whirling suddenly on his sister. He takes three aggressive steps toward her, his fists clenched and threatening.

“Brother!” She shoots him a warning glance and nods significantly my way.

Theodre stops abruptly, his mouth open. He turns, blinking against the glare from the burning sword. In another step, I fully enter the circle of light. Blood drains from the human prince’s face, leaving him ashen. He swallows hard. By human standards, he might be considered handsome. It’s difficult for me to judge, but his figure seems broad and sturdy enough, and he’s dressed impeccably after human fashion. If his jaw is a little weak, it’s nothing a neatly shaped beard cannot disguise. But there’s a smallness to him that is difficult to define. As though his spirit has atrophied, rendering him faintly contemptible.

His sister, however . . . I replace myself searching in vain for that strange aura I’d sensed earlier, that indefinable music I’d felt, not heard. Perhaps I imagined it. Nonetheless, I’m oddly reluctant to look away. By the standards of my people, she’s hardly what one would consider pretty, being far too small and fine boned and delicate. Her hair is the color of warm jiru nectar, her mouth wide and pink beneath a long narrow nose. Her brows are dark, as are the thick lashes framing her unusual bi-colored eyes. I wonder if she’s considered beautiful among her kind.

I wonder if I might learn to think her beautiful, given time.

A pink stain creeps up her cheeks. She drops her gaze, sinking into a respectful curtsy. I’ve been looking at her far too long without speaking. Hastily, I offer a short bow. “Princess.”

“Good king,” she answers, casting me the briefest of glances before her lashes fall once more.

“Don’t talk to the troll folk, Faraine,” her brother growls. My hackles rise at the word troll, but I force my expression to remain calm when the prince turns to me. He takes a half step to place himself a little in front of the young woman. “You’ll have to excuse my sister’s manners, Shadow King. She’s been out of society for some years now and easily forgets herself.”

Swallowing back any comment on whose manners I replace lacking, I force a cool smile and address myself to the girl. “It would appear the gods have smiled upon me this evening, for I have the pleasure of offering you and your brother aid twice over.”

She glances uncertainly at Theodre before answering in that soft voice of hers, “You and your people have already done us great service at the risk of your own lives, good king. We are in your debt.”

“Aaaaah, that is to say, not exactly in your debt,” her brother jumps in. “Rather, I should think we’d call it even, what with you making use of King Larongar’s road on your way to enjoy his hospitality. It’s only right you should render aid to your host’s kin, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Theodre!” the girl hisses.

“What?” the prince snaps back. “They’re fae! Don’t you know anything? Never let yourself become indebted to the fae!”

“Quite right, my friend,” I say smoothly, more to assuage the guilty expression his sister shoots me than from any desire to pacify the prince. “I would not dream of collecting on such a debt in any case. Rather, I beg you would do me the honor of allowing me to assist you further. I cannot help noticing you are now without guard or means of transportation. It would be my great pleasure to escort you to your father’s home, as I am even now on my way there to pay my respects.”

Theodre looks at his sister. She raises her eyebrows. Her expression is difficult for me to read, but she seems to be communicating silently to her brother. He purses his lips, glancing at the carriage, at the cut traces, then around at the night-darkened mountain. “Very well,” he says at last, turning back to me. “We’ll stay here tonight. In the morning your people can replace our horses, and we’ll continue together.”

I suppress a snort. “My people prefer to travel at night. We will go on and hope to reach Beldroth before dawn.”

The human prince stares at me. “How exactly do you expect us to travel without our horses?”

“Simple. You’ll ride with us.”

Theodre slowly turns, peering out beyond the ringing firelight to the ominous forms of our morleth steeds standing in the deeper shadows. They toss their heads, stomp their hooves, and lash their sinuous barbed tails irritably. One of them snorts, emitting a red spark. Smoke trails from its nostrils.

The human prince’s eyes goggle. “Surely you jest!”

“You’ll replace them quite comfortable. Far better than lurching along in that box on wheels.”

But the prince shakes his head and goes on shaking it, as though some mechanism in his neck has broken. “I will not be hauled around on the back of one of those monsters!”

“Theodre,” his sister says softly, “be reasonable. We cannot stay out here all night, alone. The fae might return, and we have no weapons, no guards.”

“I don’t care!” Theodre braces himself, looking from the princess to me to the shadowy morleth. “I’d rather be trampled to death by unicorns than ride on one of those devils!”

“Very well.” The princess draws her shoulders back, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll go then.” She turns to me, completely ignoring her brother’s spluttering protest of “Faraine! I absolutely forbid it!” Tilting her head slightly to one side, she says, “I am ready to ride whenever you are, King Vor.”

I meet and hold her gaze. There’s courage in her eye, unexpected and defiant. She may not be a warrior; that doesn’t mean she’s weak.

I extend my hand. She hesitates. Her lips press into a thin, contemplative line. Then, taking a quick step, she places her fingers lightly on my arm instead. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I feel the warmth of her touch through the sleeve and replace myself wishing she’d accepted my hand. Perhaps it would go against standards of etiquette in human society. We’re going to have to take care not to inadvertently offend one another.

“Faraine!” Theodre growls. I ignore him and lead his sister away from the carriage to where my own morleth waits. He champs at his bit and flares his wide nostrils. The air of this world disagrees with him, and he’s losing large clumps of fur from his withers and flanks, revealing ugly scales underneath. Even I, used to morleth as I am, cannot help a little shudder at the sight of him. Compared to the blunt-toothed, long-nosed creatures humans use to pull their carriages, Knar must appear positively demonic.

But the princess approaches, her footsteps steady, the hand on my arm betraying only the slightest tremble. I replace myself straining for another hint of the melodic song I’d heard surrounding her. I can almost, almost feel it, tantalizingly just out of range of perception.

“Have no fear, princess,” I say, hoping to put her at ease. “I’ve had Knar since he was a foal, born from a burst of sulfur and smoke in the land beneath the Fiery River.”

“Really?” She shoots me a quick glance. “He looks quite vicious.”

“Oh, he absolutely is. He would devour me in a couple of mouthfuls if he thought he could get away with it. But that’s the great virtue of morleth—you never doubt where you stand with them. They don’t pretend to be your friend, but if you treat them with respect, you can replace ways to coexist to mutual benefit.”

She considers this. “Sounds rather like life at court.”

My mouth quirks. “Certainly not. Morleth are far better mannered than any courtiers I know.”

At this, Knar tosses back his head and lets out a honking bray that elicits a little scream from the girl. Then she presses a hand to her heart and laughs outright. It’s a bright, warm sound here on this cold mountainside. I have a strange feeling I could spend a great deal of time and effort contriving to hear that laugh again.

She looks up at the saddle high above her. “I’ll need a little help,” she says.

“Certainly, princess.”

A gasp escapes her lips as I catch her around her slender waist and lift her off her feet. She weighs so little, it’s but the work of a moment to set her lightly in the saddle. As I do so, however, the split in her gown opens again. She looks down, sees her own bare leg, and fumbles with the folds of fabric, trying to cover herself.

I turn my gaze pointedly away and mount behind her. Once settled in the saddle, I remove my cloak and drape it across her shoulders. She grabs the edges and gratefully wraps them around her for modesty. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it back and answer, “Of course.” Once again, I’m almost certain I detect a whisper of song. But it’s gone again before I can lay hold of it.

I turn Knar’s ugly head around, facing the carriage where Theodre still stands, gawping at his sister. “You have a choice, my friend,” I call out to him. “You may ride with us to Beldroth tonight or wait for dawn and hope someone comes along to help you chase down your horses. It’s up to you.”

The prince looks as though he’s about to choke on the expletives rising in his gullet. Instead, he manages a single, curt nod. Taking this as acquiescence, I turn in my saddle and call out, “Hael!”

“Yes, my king?”

“Find someone to give Prince Theodre a lift.”

My captain growls but salutes. Trusting her to accomplish the task, I urge Knar into motion, guiding him to where two of my men are helping young Yok into his saddle. Wrag and Toz, already mounted, hover close by, their faces wreathed in concern. Toz still has the poultice pressed to his forehead, and Wrag’s arm is in a sling. But they’re both in better shape than Yok, who looks ready to faint. Will he be able to make the ride back to Mythanar?

“Watch over the boy,” I say, addressing the other two. “Bring him home safely.”

Wrag nods solemnly. Toz grins, flashing sharp teeth. “Best of luck, Your Majesty. May you replace success at the end of your mission.”

“From where I’m sitting, success seems to be well in hand!” my brother’s voice declares. I turn to replace Sul mounted on his morleth, flashing me a suggestive grin. Wrag and Toz both laugh, and I’m suddenly grateful the girl riding in front of me doesn’t understand a word of troldish.

With a sharp pull on the reins, I angle my morleth down the descending road. “Hold on, princess,” I murmur close to the girl’s ear. I watch her fingers twine in handfuls of Knar’s dark mane. Then I urge my steed onward, into the night.