Vow of the Shadow King (Bride of the Shadow King Book 2)

“There you are, brother mine! I’d started to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

I grab a nearby stool and drag it to the bedside. Sul lies there, looking nearly as white as the bedclothes, his face illuminated only by the hanging lorst in the center of the domed ceiling. The crystal’s radiance has been dimmed, and the healing ward of Ar’s infirmary is suffused in restful lowlight.

Most of the beds are empty I note, turning slightly to look around the room. There’s only one other bed, closer to the door, that currently holds an occupant. I choose not to look too closely at him just now, however.

Instead, I turn my attention to Madame Ar. She stands on the other side of Sul’s bed, having just dosed him with a tincture to make him sleep. Currently, she stands with a brass horn pressed to his chest, listening closely. Her face contorts with concentration.

“How is he, Madame?” I ask.

“He’s fine, thanks for asking,” Sul answers irritably. “He’s also right here. And he doesn’t like being talked over. He has a tongue of his own, you know, and can answer queries after his own health.”

Ar steps back and uses her horn to bop Sul lightly on the top of his head. “Enough fussing. You’ll make yourself sick,” she tuts before turning to me. “Well, it’s as I thought. Only weak traces of detectible raog in his system. Couldn’t help breathing in a little, I’d guess, but not enough to do any lasting damage. I suspect he’ll be a bit limp these next three lusterlings or so.”

“Limp?” Sul pricks an eyebrow. “You don’t mean—?”

“I mean you’d best not get out of bed for fear of taking a tumble, that’s what I mean. As to the other?” She casts a significant glance down his body. “Let me assure you, you won’t be getting a chance to find out anytime soon.”

“Just my luck,” Sul mutters. He closes his eyes and nestles a little deeper into his pillow. “I swear, sometimes I think the gods must hate me. It’s my pretty face, you know. They resent it.”

“Indeed?” I give my brother a once-over. He’s bruised, battered, and his arm is broken in three places and resting in a sling. Compared to the citizens of Hoknath, however, he’s gotten off easy. “I should say at least one god holds you quite dear to his heart.”

“Or her heart,” Sul agrees, smiling serenely. “Much more likely, I should think.”

I shake my head and turn to Ar again. “How soon until he’s on his feet?”

“No more than a few days. Trolde bones mend faster than trolde minds, I always say. His mind I cannot vouch for, but then, no one ever could.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Sul acknowledges with a yawn. Then he shifts on his pillow, casting his sleepy gaze over me. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear yourself, Vor. Have you rested since our return? I’m sure Madame here could whip up a nasty concoction that will quite do away with your fatigue.”

Half-smiling, I dismiss Ar with a nod. She shuffles away, always happy to leave her patients to fend for themselves in favor of other, more interesting experiments in her workshop. I settle more comfortably in my stool, tip it on two legs and lean my back against the wall. “I’ve had no rest,” I admit. My voice sounds heavy in my own ears. “I am king, remember? I haven’t a spare moment to my name.”

“And yet here you are!” Sul smirks. “Perhaps I am favored by the gods after all.” Then, despite the sedative, his gaze sharpens. “Tell me, have you truly been too busy even to visit the bathhouse and wash some of the travel grime away?”

The thought of the bathhouse casts a shadow across my heart. I shake away a shudder. I won’t dwell on the possibility of my brother’s treachery. Not now. Not when I’ve only just got him back. “You saw the carnage in Karthur Channel,” I say instead. “We need to discover where the rest of the devils crawled off to before they attack some defenseless river town.”

Sul nods slowly, his eyelids heavy with coming sleep. “Yes, that does sound important. You must certainly attend to it. At once. Right after you’ve finished grundling the human princess, of course.”

Ice shoots through my veins. A low growl rumbles in my throat. “You’re a bastard, Sul.”

He smiles silkily back. “Am I? That’ll be news to Mother, I’m sure.” Rolling onto his side, he props up on his good elbow. Strands of pale hair fall across his face. He shakes them out of his eyes. “Come, Vor. You know what a gossip Lur is. She and Wrag had quite a nice little chat while we were waiting for the rest of you to return from your adventure in the temple. They each had an interesting perspective to share on your farewell with your little wife. They’re taking bets on whether or not you’ll keep her. Lur is for it—she was always a romantic underneath that gruff exterior. Wrag thinks the human’s too small for you, says you’ll want a bigger wench to satisfy your mighty—”

I let the legs of my stool drop to the floor. Rising, I stand over Sul in his bed. “You should have put a stop to such talk.”

“How could I? I was much too fevered and frail.” Sul leans back on his pillow and pulls a suffering-invalid expression. “Otherwise, you can bet I would have reminded them both that our king would never forget himself so foolishly. He would never commit to an alliance that would risk the lives of his own warriors without certainty of aid in return. He is far too noble, too good, too wise.”

I turn on heel, put my back to him.

“Or would I have been wrong to say as much?” Sul’s voice sinks, turns into something dark and slithery. “Is it possible my brother—my great king, our noble ruler, Mythanar’s valorous protector—has forgotten his duty?”

“I have not forgotten.”

“I’m not so certain.”

My fists clench. I let out a slow breath. This time, I cannot blame raog poisoning for the sudden, violent urges coursing in my veins. With an effort, I master my feelings before looking back at him over my shoulder. “I am aware of my duty, brother. Are you still aware of yours?”

His eyes are heavy, unfocused. The sedative Ar gave him swiftly takes effect. “I serve the throne of Mythanar,” he murmurs, his words slurred. “At whatever cost.” With that, his eyelids drop. His head tips to one side, and his face goes slack. I cannot tell if he is feigning sleep in order to escape the conversation, or if he truly did just drift away. In either case, I cannot very well grab his shoulders and shake him awake again. I might rebreak his arm.

Besides, was anything he just said untrue?

Cursing under my breath, I stalk across the room, past rows of empty beds. I pause at the bed nearest the door. There Lord Rath lies. He looks more like a corpse than an invalid. His skin is sunken and gray, his eye sockets deep hollows. Hatred stirs in my heart. Gods, how I loathe even to look at the man! When I think what he nearly did to Faraine . . . But then, what right have I to judge? Under the raog’s influence, I did worse. Twice over.

“Madame Ar!”

I’m obliged to call half a dozen times before the healer finally pokes her head back into the healing ward. “What?” she demands.

I swing a hand to indicate her patient. “How is he? Has he woken again?”

“Eh, once or twice.” Ar regards Rath disinterestedly. “I keep him sedated most of the time. When he comes to, he’s frantic, out of his mind. And self-destructive. Seems determined to put his miserable life to an end. Part of me wants to let him, but eh,” she shrugs. “Morar tor Grakanak determines the length of our days, or so my mar always taught me. Best not to question the will of the Dark.”

I regard Rath’s wasted face. Would I too have sunk into such a condition eventually had the poison remained in my system? A frown puckers my brow. Why had I not thought of it before? Faraine somehow used her gods-gift to drive the poison out of me. Could she not do the same for Rath? But it had caused her such pain. How could I ask her to endure that again? Especially not for a man who nearly murdered her.

Besides . . . I glance over my shoulder at the sleeping form of my brother, so peaceful under the single lorst light. My heart twists painfully. When Rath wakes, he may be able to give testimony as to who poisoned him. Then will I have answers. Answers I’m not certain I want.

I step from the healing ward back into Ar’s workroom. The uggrha healer bustles about a table full of organic matter I prefer not to study too closely. Instead, I scan the cluttered room. On a table near the far wall stand two goblets which catch my eye.

“Madame?”

Ar pops her head up from her work, glaring at me through two gleaming crystal lenses. “What now?”

“Did you finish the tests you were running on these?” I nod meaningfully at the goblets.

Her eyes swivel, the movement exaggerated hugely by her lenses. “Ah! Yes, I nearly forgot.” She sniffles then snorts. “Trace amounts of ingestible raog powder were found in each goblet. One more than the other, but definitely both.” She slips the lenses down her nose, peering at me over the wire frames. “Did anyone drink from those goblets, do you know?”

Ignoring the question, I cross the room and pick up first one goblet then the other, turning them slowly. Sul poured and served krilge to me that fateful day. Moments later, I fell under the poison’s influence. Did he drink too? I cannot recall. Perhaps he abstained, knowing the poison was there. Or perhaps he was entirely innocent. There’s always a chance.

“Thank you, Madame,” I say in lieu of an answer. “I will leave you to your work.”

She gives me a narrow look. Then, with a shrug, she resumes her work, and I climb the steps from the infirmary and step into the cooler air of the outer passage. Two solemn guards stand watch. They are meant to keep an eye on Rath until he can be questioned. I’d prefer they remained in the healing ward itself, but Ar long ago chased them out, threatening them with all manner of nasty home-brewed contagions. They salute me as I pass.

I nod. All the while, my stomach churns with bile. Gods, I hate suspecting Sul like this! But I must. At least until Faraine is safely out of Mythanar. Which won’t be long now.

One more day. One more lusterling.

Suddenly, I feel heavy. Like a stone has lodged itself in my chest. Leaning against the nearest wall, I rest my head against my forearm, close my eyes. And see her. Standing there, with her back against her chamber door. Gazing up at me from those strange eyes of hers. Eyes so deep, so endless, whole worlds might live and die within their dark pupils.

I’d lost control tonight. Utterly. Completely. Were it not for Hael, I would not have held back. She wanted me . . . and Dark alone knows how badly I wanted her! After everything I saw today, after believing for those few, terrible moments that she was lost to me. Knowing that she must ultimately go from my world, never to return. All these combined into a desperate urge to claim whatever sweet instant of bliss she and I might share together before our chance is gone.

I must not see her again. Only a fool would put himself right back into a danger he so narrowly escaped. Sure, I’d promised her this little excursion, but it would be easy enough to get out of it. A message sent by page claiming that some important business has come up, that I must forego the pleasure of her company. Hael can act as her city guide instead. Better yet, I ought to forbid the tour altogether. Keep her locked away safe and fast.

But I cannot do that. Not to her.

Her face flashes before my mind’s eye. Intense, determined. She’s so delicate, so frail, yet her spirit is strong. She’s like the captive songbirds I’d seen at Beldroth, fluttering at the bars of their gilded cages. Though I myself have such a horror of the sky, I’d felt their need for freedom and had fought the urge to break their cages open and turn them loose.

I wish I could break all the cage bars for Faraine. Let her fly free, let her soar as high into that terrifying sky as her spirit will carry her. Away from all the darkness which haunts both my kingdom and hers. Instead, I must send her from one cage to another.

If circumstances were different . . . But what is the point of wishing for what can never be? Both Faraine and I must face the fates ordained for us by the gods. We cannot save each other. We cannot even save ourselves.

“Big King!”

I pull back from the wall, hastily order my face into stern, stoic lines. Only then do I turn to meet the approach of Captain Toz. He lumbers down the passage, taking up most of the space with his bulk. A slighter figure hurries in his footsteps, armor clanking noisily with each step. Yok. I pointedly turn my gaze away from the boy, focusing my attention solely on his captain. “Yes?”

Toz presses his fists to his chest in a respectful salute. “I’ve been searching high and low for you, Big King. Word has come in from beyond the walls. Signs of woggha in the ruins of Zulmthu Town. Folks was scrounging among the ruins, looking for what’s left, and said they was chased out by the beasts.”

My chest tightens. Memories of the carnage in Karthur Channel flood my brain. “How many did they report?”

“Couldn’t say for certain. One of ‘em claimed a dozen, another said there was only two or three. Enough to cause trouble.”

“True enough,” I agree. “We cannot have wild woggha roaming so near trolde habitation. Where one or two have gathered, others may be close by.”

“Want I should take some o’ the guard to investigate?”

I shake my head. “You must be exhausted, Captain. You need to rest.”

“I’m fit enough, Big King.” Toz shrugs his massive shoulders. “I’ll bring a handful of ready fighters with me, see what’s to be seen. If we find a nest of devils, we’ll take care of them in short order.”

I don’t like it. There were fighters among the slain in the channel. They were just as dead as all the rest. “I’m going with you.”

Toz puts up a hand, his heavy brow lowering. “No need, Big King. You stay. Go about your kingly duties. Let us do our jobs.”

“I would feel more at ease knowing—”

“I’ll go with him!”

I turn my gaze sharply to Yok. The boy looks shocked at his own impudence, but he puts on a brave face and continues. “Your pardon, my King! But please, let me go. Let me prove myself to you. I know I . . . I know I let you down. But I can do better, I can do more.”

Eagerness shines in the lad’s foolish face, all underscored by grim determination. I heave a long sigh. Can I really be too angry at the boy? He hadn’t known Faraine was gods-gifted, after all. Nothing could have prepared him for what her touch could do. And he’d done his best to keep her in her rooms, a more difficult task than any of us could have anticipated.

I eye the boy up and down. I’ve known him his whole life. How many times had Hael strapped her infant brother to her back, carting him around with her as she, Sul, and I went on our childhood adventures? Later, he’d trailed after us on fat legs and tiny feet, demanding to be included. He’s now a gangly lad, nearly full grown. Inexperienced, sure, but there’s only one known remedy for that.

“Very well,” I growl. Yok salutes smartly, his eyes shining, and I hasten to add, “But both of you, be wary. Cave devils are notoriously crafty beasts. If you find more than a dozen in the nest, come back for reinforcements before you engage. Do you understand?”

Both Toz and Yok give me their solemn oaths. Then they’re off, tromping back down the passage, eager to get to their hunt. I’m left watching them go. Wishing I was about to mount my morleth and ride out with them.

Instead, I have my own trial to face. A trial of temptation I fear I may not have the strength to withstand.