Heart of the Shadow King

1

Faraine

Pain ripples through my body at odd intervals, like the aftershocks of a massive quake.

I'm used to pain, of course. I've lived a great deal of my life striving to stave it off. And the agony of both my recent death and resurrection was certainly more terrible than these small tremors. But this is different. This is the extreme discomfort of a spirit which had escaped the confines of a mortal body only to find itself confined once more. Protesting against imprisonment, straining at every boundary, seeking escape.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply through yet another wave as it washes over me, body and soul. There's nothing to be done, no way to escape. I must simply endure. But at least I can lean my head back against the broad chest and shoulder behind me, steady myself against another's heartbeat. A heartbeat which now pulses in rhythm with my own.

Vor's arm holds me fast around my middle as he guides his morleth down through a gaping chasm of stone. He's not spoken since we left behind the secluded pool at the base of the mountain. His silence is sweet, however, and everything he'd said while holding me in his arms on the edge of that pool still echoes in my heart.

You are mine, Faraine. My queen. Sovereign Lady of Mythanar and the Under Realm, from this day forth and forevermore.

I breathe through another wave of pain. My head is light and dizzy as we descend through the winding caverns, back down into the vast dark spaces of the subterranean world. Regret pricks my heart as we leave behind the shining, distant stars. The sky holds real terror for this man who is my husband, but for me it was a relief not to feel the weight of stone overhead, at least for a little while.

The truth is, I don't belong in Vor's world. And yet, to claim the heart of the Shadow King is to claim his world as my own. Am I ready? Am I strong enough?

I gave my death in a wild attempt to save these people from destruction.

Do I have the courage to give my life as well?

My stomach tightens as Vor urges his morleth faster, and we plunge back into the Under Realm. Lorst crystals flash, piercing my closed eyelids with their ever-brightening glow. Lusterling, the trolde equivalent of day, is awakening. What will the light of a million shining crystals reveal of the city below? A city stricken by terror and savagery. A city poised on the brink of disaster.

Vor's arm tightens around me. I frown suddenly. Though I'm riding pressed so close against him, I cannot sense him. I feel the tension in his muscles, the quickness of his breath close to my ear, the rapid beat of his heart. But not his emotions. Where once his every feeling was so readily available to my perception, now there is simply absence. Surely this can't be right. I'm tired from my ordeal, distracted by the pain. That's all. Reaching out, I seek for that connection I've been able to find with most living souls since the day my gods-gift overwhelmed me, ripping me open to receive the feelings of others.

There's nothing there. No sense of him. No thrumming spirit, no silent pulse of sound, of essence. Nothing.

Almost unconsciously I release the handful of morleth mane I've been gripping and reach instead for my pendant. When my fingers find it, still hung from its delicate chain around my neck, it does not hum in response to my touch. I lift it up, twisting it to catch the flashing lorst lights. There's darkness in its center. I blink, look again, certain I must be imagining things. Perhaps the flickering lights are playing tricks on my eyes. But my spirit senses that darkness, that emptiness as well. That lack where there should be life.

Something has changed inside of me. Something essential. Something . . . I don't quite know what.

The morleth lets out a snort of sulfur as we emerge from the winding darkness into the huge cavern of Mythanar. I let out a gasp, dropping my crystal, and stare down at the sight below. I've not seen the city from this angle before. I had thought it great when traversing its streets or when flying on the back of a morleth over its peaked and glittering rooftops. But it was impossible then to fathom the sheer scale, the precipitous heights of its twisted towers, the plunging depths of its winding streets, the glittering crystals, the misting waterfalls, the soaring bridges and highways. All perched on the chasm's edge above a glowing river of lava. My heart quickens at the sight, at the wonder and the beauty spread before me. It's hard to imagine such an ancient, powerful city could ever be in danger of annihilation. What could possibly bring such majesty to ruin?

Dragon.

The word breathes in the back of my head, a whisper, a warning. I'm not altogether certain where I heard it, who spoke it. The idea is simply there, along with a sensation of heat and a deep, roiling wellspring of pure, celestial rage.

"Are you well, Faraine?"

Vor's voice warms my ear, sending a little shiver down my spine. I close my eyes, lean back into him, once more seeking the warmth of his emotions to enfold me. Once more finding nothing. But there must be an explanation. My gods-gift was so inundated by the recent and tremendous outpouring of my power. I just need a chance to recover. In the meanwhile, I should be glad for the reprieve. "I'm all right," I murmur, turning to tuck my head under Vor's chin. "I'm tired. That is all."

Does he hear the lie in my voice? Possibly. But he does not challenge it, merely kisses the top of my head and says, "Of course. You've had a terrible ordeal. I will take you directly to your room and send someone to attend you."

I don't want someone to attend me. I want him. Only him. I want to feel again the peace of his presence that once struck my gods-gifted senses so profoundly. If I cannot have that, then I would settle for the strength of his arms, the warmth of his voice, the beat of his heart.

But Vor is Mythanar's king. While he may have abandoned his city in a mad bid to save me, his people need him still.

So, I keep my mouth shut and my eyes closed, blocking out both the sight of that city and the absence of my gods-gift. The powerful beast beneath me flows through the air, down into the cavern, circling as it draws near to the palace towers. At last it alights on the balcony rail just outside my chamber. "We've arrived," Vor says gently.

Memory flashes through my mind's eye-recent memory of the last time we were here. When Vor carried me on a morleth back up from the city, intending to deliver me to my chambers. Intending never to see me again. But I'd convinced him to stay. Convinced him to give in to the burning desire which had built up such dangerous pressure between us, finally bursting free in an inferno of unrestrained passion.

Heat pools between my thighs even now at the thought. This man, who now holds me against his powerful chest, awakened such strange new sensations in me. His hands, his mouth, his teeth and tongue seemed to mold me, to make me new. I would very much like the chance to experience more such delights under his guidance and care.

Vor dismounts before reaching up to help me from the saddle. I cannot trust my legs to support me, so I cling to his neck, allowing him to cradle me close. The window to my chamber is wide open, and he carries me inside. All the furnishings are askew, the decorations and ornaments tumbled from their places. A few chunks of stalactite have fallen from the ceiling, one jagged piece crushing the small table that once held a silver ewer and cups. Evidence of the last stirring, which shook the city just before the cave devils attacked.

Still holding me close, Vor peers around the space, his eyes narrowed. Searching for signs of danger no doubt. "It's all right," I tell him. "The woggha never got in here."

"How can you be certain?"

I can't. If my gods-gift were awakened, I would be able to sense the presence of another living beast. As it is, there might be any number of cave devils hiding in my wardrobe, under my bed, up the chimney, and I would never know.

Vor sets me down on the bed, which is covered in debris. I brush dust and pebbles to the floor while he makes a quick but thorough search of the chamber. Satisfied at last, he returns to me. "How do you feel now?" he asks, kneeling before me so that his eyes are once more level with mine. He takes both my hands in his.

"Weak," I admit. I don't tell him about the jolts of pain rippling through me at odd intervals. He has worries enough on his mind.

He lifts one hand to stroke my cheek, brow puckering. "I suppose that's understandable, considering . . ."

"Considering I was dead not two hours ago."

A shadow falls across his face. He leans forward, presses his forehead against mine. The shuddering intake of his breath wrings my heart. "Don't ever leave me like that, Faraine," he whispers. "Never again. Don't go where I cannot follow."

I smile, a gentle tilt of my lips. "I'll never leave you willingly. Never by choice."

He takes another ragged breath. Then he angles his face, his lips hovering over mine, a mere fraction of infinitesimal space separating us. I hang there, suspended in that space, waiting, longing.

He closes the distance, his mouth warm and eager. At the instant of contact, something inside me thrums to life, a faint echo of my former gift. In that echo I feel, however distantly, both his hunger and his desperation. It flows through me, driving out all pain as my own hunger, my own desperation, rises to answer his. Though my arms are still weak, I wrap them around his neck, thread my fingers through his hair, and pull him closer, closer. He responds, bowing me over the bed. There's grit at my back, fallen debris sharp against my skin and the thin black robe wrapping my body. I scarcely notice. All I know is my need for him, my need to deepen this connection between us. My hands run over his shoulders, his neck, his torso, finding all the cuts and wounds from his recent battle. He came to find me straight from the horror of the cave devil attack, straight from fighting to preserve the lives of his people in the face of unimaginable savagery.

But he's here. With me now. His hands press into the bed on either side of my face, his huge body poised so as not to crush me even as his mouth covers mine. His kisses grow more adamant, demanding, as though he cannot believe I am real and requires proof. I'm still not certain myself and need his touch to anchor me to this world. I open my mouth, deepening both our kiss and our connection.

A bolt shoots straight to my heart. A burst of raw red light explodes in my head.

Fear.

Dread.

Guilt.

These are Vor's feelings. Wrapped in his love but no less real, no less dreadful. They fill my head until it seems like many small pins are trapped inside my skull, struggling to escape through my scalp. With a gasp, I pull away from him.

Vor peers down at me, propped up on his fists, his long silver hair falling in a gentle veil around us. "What is it?" he asks, panting. "What's wrong?"

I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to know that he is hurting me. I don't want to let him go. Instead, I grimace, gripping his shoulder with one hand while the other seeks my crystal pendant. I wrap my fingers around the faceted stone. It does not respond no matter how hard I squeeze.

"Faraine?" Vor's voice is confused, tinged with fear. "Faraine, my love. Have I hurt you?" He pulls back, breaking free of my weakened arms. He sits on the edge of the bed, head bowed, and runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm such a fool! Forgive me. I'm behaving like a lustful cad when you've just-"

"No, Vor." My voice is unsteady. But the moment contact is broken, numbness spreads through my body. The pain of his emotions is so thoroughly gone, I have to wonder if I somehow invented it. I open my eyes, still gripping my crystal, and meet his stricken gaze. "It's not you. I swear. The . . . the shock of everything . . ."

He leans forward, cups my face in his palm. I wince, expecting that touch to open a conduit between us. But there's nothing; numbness holds sway. I shiver and drop my gaze, uncertain how to feel. I'd almost prefer the pain of his guilt to this absence.

"You must rest," he says, his voice firm. "You must sleep, recover." He shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "I'm sorry, my love. I cannot help how badly I want to make up for all the time we've lost."

I touch the hand still cradling my cheek. "I want to experience everything with you, Vor. I want to fill whatever moments we have left." Then, taking his hand, I draw it down to my heart, pressing it there. "But your people need you now."

He leans forward, his eyes holding mine. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"In that case, send Hael. When you find her." I smile and tip my head a little to one side. "I'll be fine, Vor. I swear it. After everything that's happened, what could possibly frighten me now?"

His eyes search my face, seeking perhaps to pierce my façade of calm. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I fear the moment I leave your sight you'll slip away from me. A dream lost to the brutal realities of the waking world."

I lift his hand to my lips, kiss his knuckles. "I am no dream. And I will be here, awaiting your return." Pushing him from me, I finish in a firm voice: "Go. Be the king Mythanar needs."

He draws a long, steadying breath. Then, grasping me by the back of my head, he pulls me to him, capturing my lips once more. Immediately the connection between us opens wide, shattering the numbness as the intensity of his feelings radiates through me. There's still pain here: fear and anxiety and always that terrible pulse of guilt. But just now, just in this moment, all other feelings are drowned in a flood of pure love.