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

I stand on my balcony at dimness, lean against the rail, and watch the crystals in the high cavern ceiling go out, one after another.

Still, Vor does not return.

I try to pray. I’ve spent most of this day trying to pray, in fact. I used to be quite good at it. It’s a skill one almost can’t help acquiring while living among the sisters at Nornala Convent. There, in the high mountain air, so close to the stars, it feels as though prayers have but a short journey to make before reaching the goddess’s waiting ears.

Down here, under stone? What god can possibly hear me other than Lamruil, the god of darkness? And him I don’t know. I would be afraid to direct any prayers his way.

Eventually, the cavern is plunged into the Under Realm’s version of night. It’s not as dark as one would expect a subterranean world to be. The city streets below are bright with lanterns, and my own room boasts several lorst crystals in silver sconces, and white moonfire flickers on the hearth. I miss the orange warmth of fires back home, but it’s bright enough.

Still, I cannot bring myself to go back inside and sit before that fire. I remain where I am, gazing out over the palace wall, down into the city. Hoping. Wishing. Willing.

I’d managed to drag a little more information out of Yok concerning the king’s mission. He’d told me no word had come from Hoknath City since the quake, and Vor, concerned, had sent his brother and two other messengers to investigate. The two messengers had returned with news of a cavern collapse, while Sul was lost in the river.

Vor is close to his brother. I felt the love between them during their brief stay in Beldroth. My heart aches for Vor, for the fear he must be experiencing. I wish I could do something. Anything. I hate feeling so helpless.

My fingers toy listlessly with my crystal on its chain. I should give up this futile watch, should retire to my bed, try to sleep. Not that it matters. Lusterling will come eventually, and I will face more lonely hours, more helpless solitude. Meanwhile, Vor is out there somewhere in this dark realm, risking his life. Oh, why could the gods not have gifted me with a true power? Something I might use to help this man I’ve come to . . . to . . . I’ve dared to . . .

Heat flares against my chest. I catch my breath, frown, and look down. My crystal lies in its accustomed place above my heart. My gown is a trolde creation with rather less bodice than I’m used to. No fabric between my flesh and the stone, therefore no protection from a second and equally unexpected flare of heat. Hastily, I grab the chain, pull the pendant away from my skin. It swings in the air, blue and clear. But in its heart, something red flickers. Like a spark.

I tilt my head and lift my other hand to touch the stone with a tentative fingertip. It doesn’t burn. It’s cool and smooth as ever. Even that flicker of red is gone. Now, however, I feel that same strange sensation I’ve felt twice before—a pull. My brow creases. For a moment I stand uncertain, undecided.

The next, I’m in motion. I leave the balcony behind, cross the room to the door. I’d shut myself in when coming back from the courtyard, refusing to admit even Yrt when she brought my supper. Hael would have insisted, but Yok yielded to my demands for solitude and sent Yrt on her way.

The boy is out there now. I can feel him and all his pent-up, nervous energy. He may be trolde, but he’s young, and has not yet learned to keep his emotions in check like his elder sister. I hesitate, considering what I’m about to do. The necklace flares again with that strange spark of red light, the pull so strong, I stagger two paces and nearly fall against the door. What is this? What is drawing me so inexplicably, so inexorably?

A little growl in my throat, I grab the door latch, wrench the door open. Yok leans against the wall just outside. At my appearance, he pulls himself together, fumbling with his lance. “Princess!” he gasps and halfway salutes before thinking better of it. “Do you need anything? Shall I call the maid back with your meal?”

I look at him, my mouth open, my heart thudding. Then: “Out.”

“Pardon?”

“Out. I’m going out.”

He blinks three times before managing to ask, “Why?”

“Is it your place to question me, Guardsman Yok?”

His pale trolde skin flushes lavender. I sense a prickling of shame. Good. I can use shame.

“I intend to take a walk,” I continue. “I am tired of these same walls. I need new sights and a chance to stretch my legs.” I look up, hold the boy’s gaze hard. Daring him to contradict me, daring him to shove me back into the room and bar my way. He wants to protest. I feel his resistance. But I won’t back down.

At last, Yok swallows hard. The muscles of his throat constrict. Then he nods.

“Good.” I step out into the hall. It suddenly seems very large, and I very small. I’m like a rabbit loosed from the snare, too frightened to make a dash for freedom.

Then my crystal warms again, almost too hot to handle. The flare recedes quickly, leaving behind only that unmistakable pull. My mouth set, I step into motion. Yok utters a little grunt and hastens behind me, armor creaking. I don’t bother looking back. He’ll stick close to my heels, no doubt, my determined young protector.

Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the inner vibration of the crystal. Now and then, I peer through my lashes just to make certain I’m not about to run into anything or anyone. The crystal leads me true, however. The more I lean into its guidance, the better progress I make. The dimness hour is late, and we encounter only a few tall, imposing trolde figures as we go. One of them barks out a series of harsh words at the sight of me, but I ignore both him and Yok’s response. I simply march on, following my invisible guide.

It leads me at last to a large, octagonal chamber. Water runs down each of the high, sheer walls, catches in trenches set into the floor, and runs off in channels away from the room. I step into the echoing space. Condensation beads on my skin. “What is this place?” I ask, spinning slowly to take it in. There are patterns on the walls, beneath the running water. From some angles, they look totally random, abstract. But as I shift my view, images begin to appear—visions of kings and monsters, of dragons and palaces. All caught in ancient stone beneath the ageless flow of water and time.

“This is the upper chapel,” Yok says, his voice low, hushed. Reverent. He hunches his shoulders nervously. “We shouldn’t be here, Princess.”

I don’t want to intrude where I’m not welcome. Biting my lip, I take a step back, prepared to retreat. But then, I hear something. A drone, deep and low beneath the sound of falling water. A sound heard not with the ears, but with the bones. Another pulse emanates from my crystal. I turn sharply to see a cleft in one of the walls, a narrow crack around which water flows. Crystals sprout around the edges of the opening, creating an impression of a sideways, toothy leer. Beyond, all is pitch black.

My heartrate quickens. Even as I stare into that darkness, my necklace flares again. The pull intensifies. “Where does that lead?” I ask, pointing.

Yok looks where I’ve indicated, his brow puckered. “That way leads to the grakanak-gaakt. The Altar to the Dark.”

A shiver travels up my spine. “A holy place?” I ask.

Yok nods. By the way his soul shivers and ripples, I can tell he’s frightened. Of what, exactly? I cross to the gash in the wall, ignoring his whispered protests, and peer into the shadows. It’s no use; I cannot see anything. But from here that deep, bone-grinding vibration is stronger than before. A hum, a drone. Musical and yet unmelodic. As deep and dark as the compressed stone of the world’s foundations. My crystal flares again. The pull is so strong now, it’s all I can do not to lurch into that opening, fall into that darkness.

Yok appears at my elbow. He puts out a hand to bar my way. “You can’t go down there, Princess.”

“Why not?” I cast him a quick look. “Are humans not permitted to worship Lamruil?”

“Morar tor Grakanak.”

“Pardon?”

“That is the true name of our god. The one you call Lamruil. Morar tor Grakanak.”

I clear my throat then give it a try. It’s such a harsh, growling sound, my vocal cords cannot manage it. I sound as though I’m coughing up phlegm.

Yok shakes his head, his expression desperate. “Please, Princess.”

“If I cannot visit his house, how can I learn of your god?”

“Why do you need to learn of the Deeper Dark? You have your own gods.”

“True. My god is Nornala, Goddess of Unity. I’ve dedicated my life to her service.” I tip my head, raise an eyebrow, and hold Yok’s gaze. “It is in service to my goddess that I must learn the ways of my husband and his people.”

This startles Yok. Another burst of confusion ripples out from him. I can feel him trying to shape a protest, trying to find the words to insist that I am not the Shadow King’s bride. But he’s not sure, and my confidence has put him off balance.

“You’ll find it too dark down there,” he tries finally, desperately.

“I’m not afraid of the dark.” That’s a lie. I am afraid. Because the darkness in this world is so much darker than anything I experienced in my own. Here, the darkness lurks, always just on the edges of vision, ready to overtake and overcome, with no hope of a future sunrise to drive it back into submission. In this world, light is the unnatural state of being. In this world, light is the perversion. In this world, darkness must and will one day reign supreme.

But the pull of my crystal is strong, intensifying along with my need to understand, to know the source. What other choice do I have? Give up this little quest, return to my rooms, and fall back into senseless, endless, hellish waiting?

No. If the dark must devour me, so be it. Better to die in search of answers.

This time, when I approach the crack, Yok makes no effort to restrain me. He mutters in angry troldish, but I ignore him. Holding my crystal out before me, I slide first one foot, then the other. My toes find a sharp edge. A tread. It’s a stairway. Leading down, down, down . . .

It takes every ounce of courage I possess to continue.

One hand touching the rough and uneven wall for support, I begin my descent. One step. Two steps. My crystal flares. Three steps, four. My crystal flares again, brighter. More sustained, now. Only it’s not a glow that illuminates or reveals. I’m not even certain I’m actually seeing anything, not with my eyes. This light is visible only to my gods-gift. As far as I can tell, Yok cannot discern it at all but follows blindly behind me.

Nevertheless, my confidence grows. Soon, I’m surrounded in red aura. When I close my eyes, it’s brighter still, and though perhaps I’m only imagining it, I believe I can feel the shape of the stones around me, clearer than sight.

Down below, the grinding, growling drone intensifies. Are those words I’m hearing? Harsh, troldish words. A sort of chant. A prayer? The lower I descend, the more I’m certain of it. It’s eerie and more than a little terrifying.

I reach the bottom of the stairwell. A sudden sense of space opens before me. I cannot see, not with my eyes. But the red glow of my crystal ripples out, revealing to my gods-gift a cavernous hall. I feel it, hear it, smell it, breathe it. It’s as clear in my head as any image. Boulders of all different shapes and sizes line up in twelve perfect rows in front of me. Or rather, on second inspection, not boulders. People. Troldfolk. Both big and small. Bent over in attitudes of abject prayer, faces pressed into the ground, arms outstretched before them. They wear no clothing, but every inch of their skin seems to be covered in a thin layer of dust. Or is it . . . stone?

The worshippers all point the same direction, facing the far end of the hall. There stands a cluster of crystals. Seven in total, the tallest just over four-feet, jutting at strange angles. Their polished planes gleam, pulsing like my own pendant with a spark of inner life which radiates from their cores. That pulse washes over the people in wave after rippling wave. My stone responds to the pulse. I feel other responses as well, in the walls surrounding me, in the jagged ceiling overhead, in the floor beneath my feet.

For a moment, I’m so awestruck, I do not notice the two figures standing beside the crystals. One of them is much taller than the other, a massive being with shoulders like a mountain. His long white hair gleams in the strange un-light of the crystals. Though his skin is covered in hard, rock-hide, he is somehow still beautiful. Chiseled and powerful, like a demi-god of stone.

Beside him is another figure. A woman. Smaller than the priest, but no less imposing. Like him she is naked—what use is modesty in such utter darkness? No one can see her, not even me save by the strange non-seeing perception of my gods-gift. But she is undeniably beautiful. Statuesque and shapely and strong. Like the man, her hair falls free down her back, shining like a waterfall. She kneels before the cluster of seven crystals and holds her left hand above them, dripping a steady stream of blood. Blood which, at first, I think she holds cupped in her palm.

Then I realize: her hand is sliced open. The blood is fresh, flowing from her veins.

Even as I watch, the man steps to her other side, takes hold of her right hand, and holds it out above the crystals as well. She does not flinch as he opens her fingers, takes a black stone knife, and draws its blade across her flesh. Blood bubbles up, spills over, dripping in a fresh stream onto the crystals, which flare and pulse with every drop that falls.

My own hand aches as my grip on my pendant tightens. I shouldn’t be seeing this. This ceremony, this rite . . . it’s not meant to be seen. It’s meant to be performed in the dark. But I cannot tear my gods-gifted gaze away from the woman. She sways in time to the priest’s deep, chanting voice, in time to her own dripping blood. The crystals blaze brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. My little stone heats so much, my hand quivers with pain.

Something is happening. The pulse intensifies, beating through my outer layers of awareness, down into my blood and bones. Something wraps around my heart—like a layer of magma, engulfing and then swiftly cooling into hard stone. My chest is suddenly heavy, weighted down. I press a hand against it, nails digging into my skin, as though I can reach through and tear that stone away.

Suddenly, the woman opens her eyes.

She cannot see me. It’s too dark.

But somehow, impossibly . . . she looks directly at me.

I gasp and open my eyes. I’d not realized they were closed. I’d not realized how deeply I’d sunk into my gods-gifted perceptions. Now, abruptly, I’m plunged into darkness so all-consuming, my whole being spasms with terror. I stagger back, choking on a cry which comes out a whimper. Even that is swallowed up in the priest’s reverberating drone.

Strong hands grip me under the elbows. “Princess?” Yok’s voice, low in my ear.

I turn to him, clutch at his arms in my terror. “Get me out of here!” I hiss. I don’t know if my bodyguard can hear me. I’m whimpering, pathetic. But he takes hold of my shoulders and guides me back to the stair. I cannot perceive the steps anymore and fall over my own feet. With a grunt, Yok picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder. I can do nothing but cling to his mail shirt, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

At last, we emerge at the top of the stair into the lorst light. Only then does Yok set me on my feet, propping me up with both hands. “Princess? Are you all right?”

I cannot answer. Pushing away from him, I lean against the wall, desperate to catch my breath. Deep inside the stone, I feel the resonance of the crystals, still pulsing. Reaching out with my gods-gift, I try to grab hold of their resonance, to steady myself, to purge away some of this pain. Instead, the stone wrapped around my heart tightens.

“I knew it.” Yok runs a nervous hand through his hair so that it sticks up all over his head. “Humans aren’t meant for this kind of worship. They’re not meant for the Deeper Dark.”

I tilt my gaze up at him. My vision swims, blurs. “Did you see?”

“See?” The boy frowns. “Princess, one doesn’t see in the Dark.”

I blink stupidly. My head throbs. I cannot for the life of me think of some other way to phrase my question, to ask if he perceived and understood the strange ritual of blood I’d stumbled upon. When I open my mouth, the only words that will emerge are: “Get me back. To my room. Now, Yok. Please.”