Bride of the Shadow King
: Chapter 33

I sit on the edge of the bed, my eyes closed fast, my legs braced. Wave after wave hits me—the heat of fury, the ice of fear, the bitterness of betrayal. And sorrow. Deep, throbbing, dark as a pit. Vor’s sorrow. It strikes my soul like a spiked mace, battering and stabbing simultaneously.

I cannot bear it. My body shudders, heaves, then curls in a tight ball, knees drawn to my chest. I press my hands to my temples, clutching at my hair as my mouth opens in a voiceless scream. The pressure inside my head mounts with each passing breath. It’s going to burst, going to break my skull apart and spatter bits of brain matter across this lovely room. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it, nothing I can—

A crash explodes in the outer chamber. My senses reel as a shattering of discordant sound rains down on me. It feels like a thousand and one tiny cuts across my brain. I cry out and curl even tighter. The shattering ends, but the pain does not. I can do nothing but lie there, shaking.

Another door opens. Shuts. A sense of solitude fills the atmosphere, dulling the pain like salve. Which can only mean one thing: Vor is gone.

But this is worse. Much worse. I’d rather wrestle with the pain of his rage and sorrow than be so suddenly emptied of him. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to draw memory of our connection back to the forefront of my awareness. How my body had hummed in response to his touch, not unlike the song of my pendant stone. But this song was so much deeper, so much richer, with promises of more. What would it be like to plunge in headfirst? To see just how deep those promises might flow? To let ourselves be carried on powerful currents until we’re caught in the swells of rapture and radiance?

But it’s gone now. Every hope, every chance. I feel hollow. As though something has been carved out from inside my chest, leaving my insides scraped raw.

After what feels like hours, I replace the strength to pull myself up, crawl off the bed, and hunt along the floor. The searing light from the lorst crystals has dimmed, leaving the room full of shadows. I feel around nearly blind and only chance to brush a finger against my pendant, rolled under the bed. With a little cry, I snatch it up. It’s dull and silent, more lifeless than I’ve ever known it to be. Crooning wordlessly, I press it against my heart, indenting my skin with its edges. The pain is slight compared to the throbbing in my head, but it’s something on which to focus. Slowly my awareness narrows to that small, pinpoint of sharpness. I push deeper still, breathing in and out with careful precision.

There, in the heart of the stone—a vibration. Just a faint pulse of life. But it’s something.

Slowly, slowly, I pull my mind up from the slough. Thoughts begin to form, muddy at first, but gradually clarifying.

Ilsevel.

Oh, Ilsevel.

He’d called me by her name. Even as he touched me with such intimate tenderness, he’d been thinking of my sister. My beautiful, my darling, my dead sister.

Why does everything feel so foolish suddenly? The pressures of Gavaria. The importance of the alliance. The power of Prince Ruvaen, laying waste to the land, cutting down my people. Why do all those needs suddenly seem so small?

Eventually, I pick myself up off the floor. My limbs are shaky, but the crystal has done its job, dulling the pain so that I can function. Part of me wishes the pain would come back. At least then I’m too overwhelmed to actually think. To consider what I’ve done, what I’ve brought on myself.

What will Vor do now?

I make my way to the window, gaze down at the city below. Some dull part of my mind idly contemplates the idea of escape, of climbing out the window and descending the outer wall like I had when eluding the cave devil. But that’s foolish. Even if I somehow fled this room, managed to slip through the palace grounds undetected, found my way through those sprawling city streets and across one of those awful bridges . . . what then? I’m not fool enough to think I could navigate the dark tunnels of the Under Realm back to the Between Gate.

No, I’m trapped in this world. For better or for worse.

I sag against the window frame, leaning my back against it for support, and tilt my head, closing my eyes. For a moment, I simply hold my crystal, breathing in time with its pulse. Slowly, another sound breaks through. Small at first—a thin, high-pitched whining. Then another one, pitched even higher. And a third, a fourth, a fifth, all different pitches, so faint I could almost believe I imagined them. But I couldn’t imagine the way my stone responds. How it seems to warm suddenly in my grasp giving off a sense of . . . I don’t know how to describe it. A pull.

Frowning, I look down at my stone. There’s nothing to see. But that pull doesn’t decrease. In fact, it intensifies. I take a step. The pressure lessens for a moment, only to redouble the next. I step again and again, and the pull leads me right to the door of the bedchamber.

I stop. The door is shut fast. I can still almost feel the shudder in the wall after Vor slammed it. Will it open for me? Or is this the moment I discover I’ve been locked in? My hand shaking, I touch the latch.

The door swings soundlessly out.

Immediately the pull is stronger. So strong, I stumble into the outer chamber and follow it, weaving between articles of furniture to the far wall. Gleaming shards of crystal lie scattered across the floor. They give off a faint, forlorn hum, so high and soft, I’m halfway convinced I imagine it. I kneel amidst the bits and pieces. My own crystal has stopped pulling now and lies still in my hand. I reach out tentatively, running my fingers along the little shards. There’s something here, something caught and held in this space. I can’t explain it. But the broken song surrounds me, and in its brokenness I feel . . . pain.

With a quick series of scoops, I gather up the broken pieces, drawing them together in a pile. Their bitter song intensifies, but I rest my hand over them, trying to still the sound which is not quite a sound. It’s more like the heat of a candleflame beneath my palm.

It feels like Vor.

Not the Vor I’ve come to know, whose very presence I crave like air. No, this is the Vor I just encountered. Shattered, raging. Poisoned with internal turmoil.

I hiss sharply and pull back, pressing my blistered hand against my chest. The crystal shards shiver. My eyes must be playing tricks on me, for I could almost swear I see them moving. Then, one by one, they go still.

What did I just do? Slowly, I reach out, nudge the crystals again with one finger. There’s something here, something I don’t quite understand. Something my poor, dull brain cannot understand just now.

Sighing, I look down. I’m still wearing the skimpy gown, one sleeve drooped from my shoulder and sagging down my upper arm, nearly baring my breast. Without quite realizing what I’m doing, I brush my fingers along my shoulders, my neck, following the paths Vor’s kisses had blazed. His hands on my body had seemed to make me new, the heat of his passion a refining fire. I would give . . . oh! I would give a great deal to have him here in my arms once more.

“Gods above spare me,” I hiss.

Carrying the broken crystals with me, I return to the bed chamber. One of the empty chalices serves as a receptacle for my shards. I leave them and step to the wardrobe. While I await my unknown fate, I might as well clothe myself properly. The garments inside are all trolde style, most of them in colors far better suited to Ilsevel’s complexion. I replace a purple gown with long sleeves and silver embellishments that fits me and which I can put on with relatively little trouble. A little more digging produces hair combs and a net, and I soon have my hair up in a modest, simple fashion. Not a fashion Ilsevel would wear.

Once dressed, there’s nothing more for me to do. I look at the bed. Though I am suddenly weary to my bones, I cannot bear the idea of lying down upon it. Not when those blankets are still mussed from our eager, hot-blooded dance. I might catch a telltale trace of the simmering song we’d begun to create, and that would be too excruciating.

So I sit at the table instead, a chalice of broken crystal shards my only companion. Outside, the world is as dark as midnight. If I let myself, I can pretend a black night sky arches over my head. I close my eyes, trying to imagine myself anywhere but here. Where would I go? My lonely room at Nornala Convent, the dreary endlessness of days stretching before me? My own chambers in Beldroth, where the very walls breathe whispers of how great a disappointment I am? Or perhaps in Ilsevel’s room, both my sisters gathered close in my arms, still laughing, still weeping, still bickering and teasing. Still living.

The truth is, there is no place for me. Not anymore. I’m not convinced there ever was a place to begin with. The closest I ever came to belonging was in the arms of the man I just betrayed so cruelly, I have no hope of forgiveness.

My head sinks heavily, first resting in my hand, then all the way down to the tabletop. I’m bent, broken. Too exhausted to hold myself together any longer. Pressing my forehead against the cool marble, I let tears squeeze through the corners of my eyes . . . trail down my cheeks . . . fall . . .

I stand before the yawning chasm.

I gasp and jump back a step. That fall opens beneath me, too great, too terrible to comprehend. Desperately, I tear my gaze away and look up. Up at the city. Up at the bridges that once arched from the cavern wall, now broken, fallen. The city itself is no longer the white, shining edifice I’d seen under the lorst light. The high towers and many peaked roofs are crumbled, sunken. One half of the city is nothing but rubble. I can no longer see the palace. It’s obscured in dust and debris.

Slowly I become aware of a ringing in my ears. A discordant song, not unlike the broken crystals I’d . . . I’d . . . When had I seen those? And where? I can’t remember. It seems so long ago and yet so recent. Time itself folds up around me, crushed by that song singing its symphony of chaos.

It draws me. A pull I cannot explain. One step. Two. I draw nearer to the chasm’s edge.

I look down.

Clouds churn below. Dark, billowing. Laced with strange green luminescence. They rise fast, propelled by some intense blast. Heat scalds my face, burns away my clothes, until I am naked, blistered, but somehow still alive, still staring into that darkness. It belches from the chasm, overwhelms me, pouring into my nostrils, down my throat to burn in my gut, melting me from the inside out. I would scream, but there’s too much heat, too much pain, too much, too much, too much.

My vision clears. Just for an instant. I stare down.

And I see it.

Beneath the cloud. Below the stone. Beyond the fiery river.

I see it.

I bolt upright with a gasp. I’m dizzy, disoriented. My bleary eyes struggle to focus, every blink pushing me in and out of a world of green-limned cloud and unbearable heat. My gown sticks to my body, soaked with patches of sweat, while strands of hair are plastered to my forehead.

What was that?

I shake my head, forcing my eyes wide. The shadowed room slowly comes back into focus. A dream. It was just a dream. A nightmare. Drawing long breaths, I will my heart rate to calm and try to call to mind the images I’d just seen. But no. They’re gone. Melted into oblivion.

Just as well. My life has more than enough complexity without trying to worry about fantasies conjured by my unconscious. Groaning, I let my head sink into my hands, fingers rubbing at my temples. Gods on high, I’m so sleep-deprived, so exhausted! Perhaps it’s time to give in and lie down properly on that bed. Who knows what the immediate future will hold? Whatever it is, it should be easier to face after a nap.

I rise and take a step toward the bed. Before I can take a second, a new sound plucks at my awareness. Not at all like the crystal song, which is heard more with the mind than the body. This is the rhythmic growl of drums. How long have they been beating? Has it been a while? Was this the sound that woke me suddenly from my uneasy sleep?

Bah-bah boom.

Bah-bah boom.

Bah-bah boom.

The rhythm travels from a distance, rolling through the air, vibrating through the stones, to throb in the pit of my stomach. All thought of sleep forgotten, I step to the window, gazing out upon the city. I can’t tell where the drums are coming from. But they’re louder now than they were even a moment before. A ripple of unease seems to move like a fog through the streets below me. I can sense it even from this distance: not one set of emotions, but many. Hundreds, thousands even. All fixated on the growl of the drums, which sharpens and intensifies their awareness. Is this an alarm of some sort? Is the city in danger?

I take a few steps back. Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

Suddenly, the door of the outer apartment bursts open. Footsteps pound the floor. I whirl. Part of me wants to jump forward and slam the bedchamber door, to barricade myself. Before I can bring my limbs to move, however, two strange trolde men fill the opening.

I draw myself as straight as I can. “Where is King Vor?” I demand.

“Nurghed ghot, uskta!” the foremost one snarls as the two of them enter the chamber and approach me. He grabs my arm. A spark of ice-cold unfeeling shoots through his fingers, sharp enough to make my breath catch.

I twist away, wrenching free of his grasp. “I’ll come,” I say, my voice as firm as I can make it. “But on my own. I won’t be dragged about like a dog.”

I hold the trolde man’s gaze, refusing to blink. He starts to raise his fist, but the second man catches his arm. They speak together in a quick scattering of incomprehensible troldish. Finally, the first man nods and mutters consent. The second man turns to me, indicating the door with a wave of his hand. “Drag,” he says. His tone brooks no argument.

I grip my skirts with both hands and draw in a tight breath. Then I step from the chamber between the two troldes.

Somewhere far off, the drums beat on.