Bride of the Shadow King

When they drag her into the open, my bewitched eyes see her as I once believed her to be—small, delicate. Lovely as a mar lily offering up a gentle glow in the deepest shadows. She is like that. A glimmer in the darkness, a promise of hope tasted on the tip of one’s tongue. A dream I could let myself fall into even as the rest of my world succumbs to darkness.

Then I blink. The dream fades, revealing the nightmare beneath. The witch, the demon, with her void-eyes and lashing tongue, her skin like rot, flaking away from her bones. An abomination, a horror beyond all imagining.

She must be stopped. She must be ended before she can infect all Mythanar with her evil.

I grip the arms of my chair, fighting the urge to launch myself from the gallery, to throw aside those two tall guards hauling her between them and . . . and what? Take her in my arms, sheltering her against my breast, whispering into her hair that she’s safe now, that I’ll let no harm come to her? Or wrap my fingers around her throat, throttling the life out of her, dashing her head against the stone floor until her skull cracks and her brains spill out over my hands? My heart screams, torn between these two equal urges. I fear I will be ripped in half right here, before the eyes of my watching court.

She must die. She must die.

I love her, and she must die.

The guards drag her onto the scaffold, half carrying her between them. I watch through a miasma of rippling green as they drop her to her knees. The other human—another witch—goes to her, speaks in her ear. She lifts her face, her void eyes searching, searching. My heart leaps and races, knowing they will soon land on me.

But when they do, they are those eyes I know so well. One blue. One gold. Full of fear and entreaty.

I firm my jaw, setting my resolve like iron. I will not let the demon bewitch me. Not again.

Someone begins to speak. Lord Rath, enumerating the wrongs of the accused, the sins against king and crown. The weight of his accusation burns the atmosphere until my whirling vision seems to see all through licking tongues of green flame, dancing higher, higher—

“Your Majesty?”

I turn sharply. Sul is beside me, crouched to bring his face level with mine. “Brother,” he says, “the cousin of the accused demands the charges be spoken in human tongue. What is the king’s wish?”

I gape. Then my eyelids lower for a flash. When I raise them, Sul is transformed. His pale skin is rotten, falling away from his skull. His teeth are long, pointed, stained blue with blood, and his eyes are dark pits from which shadows writhe and crawl.

Another blink. My brother’s face is before me, his head tilted, his brow puckered with concern. My heart plunges painfully before relearning to beat.

“Yes,” I rasp, realizing he’s awaiting my answer. “Yes. Of course. Let it be done.”

Sul looks for a moment as though he’ll say more. To my relief, he changes his mind, stands, and faces the scaffold. I don’t hear what he calls down to Lord Rath. I don’t hear whatever response is offered. Voices clamor on the edge of my awareness, but I cannot make sense of them. I close my eyes, bow my head.

And I see Faraine.

Aglow in the light of a unicorn rider’s sword, just turning to me. Her hair whipping across her face, her eyes wide, gazing up in fear, in hope.

Her fingers touching the exposed skin of my wrist as we ride out under a horrible open sky. The flood of calm pouring into my soul.

Her slim body in my arms as I whirled her in time to the strains of a lively dance.

Her hand in mine, trembling as I kissed her knuckles. As I bade her goodbye.

Bade her goodbye.

Goodbye.

Gods above me, I’d thought I’d never see her again. Then lo and behold, she was in my arms! I feel her now, her back pressed against my chest, the flutter in her throat beneath my fingertips, the beat of her heart, the heave of her breast. Her lips, so soft, so pliant, so full of everything she had to offer, filling me with the need to offer everything I had in return.

How was I so foolish to believe I could feel that way for someone else?

Faraine.

Faraine—

“Vor of Mythanar, you cannot mean to do this!”

The sound of my own name lances through my senses. I sit up straighter in my seat and look down at the scaffold again. Down at the two human figures standing among my own tall, powerful people. One of the humans gazes straight at me, her eyes bright with desperate fury. “You know perfectly well your bride is innocent. Your grievance is with Larongar, not his daughter. Do not punish her for her father’s choices.”

Even as I watch, the fire in my head burns away the falseness of their features, revealing the rotten monsters beneath. Two demons with lashing tongues and long fingers tipped with black claws. Savage rage mounts inside me. I grip the arms of my chair again, fighting to maintain control of my own murderous urges.

“Sul,” I hiss. My brother inclines his ear to my lips. “Do not let the witches address me again.”

Sul draws back, blinking down at me. Then he nods and turns, once more speaking to those below. Again, all words melt away, vanishing in roaring flames. I close my eyes, brace myself against the heat. Gods! It’s like molten magma forced into my veins, pulsing through my body, burning me from the inside out. Nothing can help me. Nothing, save the death of that witch.

Why, oh why do they not get on with it? I should open my eyes, open my mouth, scream at them to have done with these delays! Throw that creature across the block and put an end to her life. Now. At once. No, better still, I should do it myself. I should fly over the gallery rail, take hold of both those witches, one with each hand. Break them to pieces, tear their limbs from their sockets. Only death can bring relief, death, death, death—

A hum of music.

A single note—sweet and clear as newborn lorst light. Radiant aura, rippling through the flames in my soul, dousing them one by one.

At first, it is only a single note. But as it grows, as it spreads, other notes join in. High, crystalline, joining in a harmony of light. The heat in my veins flows out, replaced with this song like purest running water.

I come back to myself. I’m collapsed in my chair, shaking, drenched in sweat. Every bone and muscle in my body aches, like the ache of a deadly fever. But this fever is past. Though I’m weak and gasping, I’m no longer imprisoned by that heat.

Dragging in a ragged gasp of air, I push myself straighter in my seat. Where am I? No, wait, I remember. The gallery overlooking the drur yard. And that scaffold below . . . I ordered it raised, didn’t I? And that block, planted in the center, and . . . and . . .

Faraine.

She’s there. She’s down there, kneeling before the block. The black box is already placed before her, ready to receive her head. But she’s not looking at that. Her gaze is uplifted, fixed on mine. She stares up at me with a whole world of life shining in those eyes.

Faraine.

“No!” I shout, leaping to my feet.

The drums roar, their pounding beat drowning out my voice. I shout again, uselessly, knowing I can never hope to be heard.

I see her bow. Place her chin in the groove. Exposing the white curve of her neck. The drur assumes his stance beside her, bracing his great feet.

There’s no time to think.

I spring forward, push past Sul. Ignoring the shouts of those around me, I jump onto the gallery rail and, with a single bound, propel myself across the open space.

The ax is upraised. Lorst light gleams on its edge.

I land on the platform, take three long strides.

The ax descends.

My hands reach out and catch the handle. The tremendous weight of it, the power of the drur’s swing drives me to my knees. But I hold it. Stop its descent. It hangs poised in midair, scarcely a foot above the chopping block and its intended target. I gaze up into the face of the drur. Wide, shocked eyes blink back at me from beneath his blue hood.

A roar bursts from my throat. I surge upright, pushing the ax high. Adjusting my grip, I wrest the handle from the drur’s huge hands, turn, and plunge the heavy blade into the boards at my feet. The whole scaffold rocks, threatens to shatter under that blow. I stand there, my hands still gripping the handle, panting hard.

Then I turn to Lord Rath. Releasing hold of the ax, I straighten and snarl, “There will be no execution.”

A terrible silence holds the hall captive. All those watching eyes. All those frozen screams. All those beating hearts caught in shock-tightened throats.

“There will be no execution,” I repeat, my voice ringing against the stone. Turning, I look down at the block. Faraine is still there. Lying with her head in place, her face turned just slightly so she can look up at me. And all that beautiful life shines in her eyes. I want to reach out. I want to take her in my arms. To cradle her against me, to weep and beg her forgiveness through my tears.

But then I blink. And for an instant, I see the flash of endless void in her gaze.

Wincing, I retreat a step. “Take her to a holding cell,” I command, addressing the two guards who had brought her here. “See she is cared for. She is not to be harmed. Do you understand me? Touch one hair of her head, and your life is forfeit. The same goes for everyone.”

The guards exchange quick looks. Then one of them steps quickly to the chopping block, bends, and scoops Faraine in his arms. I have to fight the urge to launch myself at him, to pound his face into the ground and take her back. But I stand firm, fists clenched, and simply watch as the guard carries Faraine down from the scaffold and away. The other follows quickly after, holding tight to Lady Lyria.

I turn slowly, looking to the gallery. Sul is there, his mother beside him. They gaze down at me with faces totally blank of all expression. Others watch me as well—my council, members of my court and household. Hael and her guards. Umog Zu and the priestesses. Everyone.

The fire in my soul is gone. Now I become aware of the searing pain it left behind. My head feels as though someone has opened it up and stuck a burning brand directly into my brain. I want to scream, to grasp my skull, to shake and writhe. But I don’t. I pull myself even straighter, looking into each of those faces above me, one after the other.

Silence throbs in my ears.

I turn. Take a step toward the scaffold stair. Before I take another, something bright catches my eye. I take a second glance and see it: a crystal pendant strung from a silver chain. Discarded. Forgotten.

I would know that pendant anywhere. I’d recognized it in the forest above Dugorim. Even then, the first suspicions had entered my head, only to be brushed aside as more pressing needs took precedence. I should have paid more attention. I should have questioned further, should have pressed for answers.

I bend and pick up the necklace, hiding it in my palm.