wide, and a stench of rot blew up at her .
It only fueled her anger .
“Your kind belongs on the other side of the veil!” she shouted. “Plague your precious Jnoun and leave us alone!” She almost picked it up and shook it, but the pallid, ashy skin looked diseased .
The kayal made a rough, gurgling sound as blood pumped from its wounds. It was laughing at her! Beyond rage, Marin lifted her sword. The red gleam flared in its black eyes, first at her, then at Hiril. Thick silence fell as a shadow lashed out in the darkness, stretching from the kayal-witch to coil around Hiril. A hollow, dead voice rang from the tendril of shadow .
“Little time will you live in peace. Then you will be cut down to rot, forever a lost spirit without release. Dark are the words I place on you.”
The shadow faded. The kayal-witch’s eyes went dull; its body collapsed on itself with a faint sucking sound .
“You have committed your last murder,” Marin said, slashing at the carcass with her sword. Ashes whirled up from the kayal and settled again .
“Come, lady.” Hiril took her hand, pulling her away. “Do not dwell on the hollow curses of a dying thing.”
Marin let him lead, the day’s exhaustion weighting her body like wet sand. The rain returned, rattling in the trees above them. All she understood was Hiril at her side. Marin promised herself that a curse would never rule her fate, but the thought of Hiril’s death twisted a knife in her heart. She wished that the kayal had chosen her instead .
Hiril pulled her close, sensing her thoughts. Time stopped as they held one another under the woods’ dark canopy, rain dripping around them but not on them. Marin wondered at that. She wanted the rain to wash away the foulness of killing and the uncertainty of what lay
ahead .
Gently, tenderly, Hiril put his hands around Marin’s neck and tilted her head back .
Then he kissed her .
10
THAT FIRST kiss was no dream.
Marin still tasted it on her lips, warm and promising, two years after that wonderful, horrible night. The memory lingered even as she held Hiril’s ashes in her hands.
She had been standing at the ship’s bow ever since they’d rounded the northern tip of Mornós. Both suns were high in the sky, dazzling her as she turned east to watch the Tayar Mountains rise out of the sea. Their sharp purple outline faded to soft lavender as the morning progressed, as the Hayl coastline rolled past the port rail and they approached the crowded ships’ masts of Messinor.
Marin’s bag, packed hours ago, lay at her feet. Beyond occasionally asking the sailors how soon they would dock, she said nothing. Her year of mourning ended tomorrow, and she still had ground to cover. It was all very well to lose herself in memories and dreams while confined to a ship, but now she focused her energy on the long walk ahead.
The ship sailed into the harbor, and soon she departed, walking onto the quay without a word of farewell, although she felt their curious eyes on her back. She moved along the pier, weaving her way around stevedores, merchants, and stacks of cargo. Foot traffic thickened as she left the waterfront and plunged into the heart of the city.
Like any port, Messinor was a lively place, bright with the colors of many lands, the music of many languages, and the aroma of many foods. Marin remembered that it had been some time since
breakfast. She stopped to buy a wedge of cheese and small skin of local wine from a street vendor, eating her meal as she walked through the city with her eyes on the mountains beyond.
This was a peaceful place, in its way, and the simple pleasures of eating fresh food and being on a mission again nearly brought a smile to her face.
Almost.
Still she wondered, always and endlessly, what she might have done to prevent that curse from falling on Hiril. Throughout this year of mourning, it had been difficult to eat, to concentrate, to keep on pretending that she was whole.
“Why didn’t
It only fueled her anger .
“Your kind belongs on the other side of the veil!” she shouted. “Plague your precious Jnoun and leave us alone!” She almost picked it up and shook it, but the pallid, ashy skin looked diseased .
The kayal made a rough, gurgling sound as blood pumped from its wounds. It was laughing at her! Beyond rage, Marin lifted her sword. The red gleam flared in its black eyes, first at her, then at Hiril. Thick silence fell as a shadow lashed out in the darkness, stretching from the kayal-witch to coil around Hiril. A hollow, dead voice rang from the tendril of shadow .
“Little time will you live in peace. Then you will be cut down to rot, forever a lost spirit without release. Dark are the words I place on you.”
The shadow faded. The kayal-witch’s eyes went dull; its body collapsed on itself with a faint sucking sound .
“You have committed your last murder,” Marin said, slashing at the carcass with her sword. Ashes whirled up from the kayal and settled again .
“Come, lady.” Hiril took her hand, pulling her away. “Do not dwell on the hollow curses of a dying thing.”
Marin let him lead, the day’s exhaustion weighting her body like wet sand. The rain returned, rattling in the trees above them. All she understood was Hiril at her side. Marin promised herself that a curse would never rule her fate, but the thought of Hiril’s death twisted a knife in her heart. She wished that the kayal had chosen her instead .
Hiril pulled her close, sensing her thoughts. Time stopped as they held one another under the woods’ dark canopy, rain dripping around them but not on them. Marin wondered at that. She wanted the rain to wash away the foulness of killing and the uncertainty of what lay
ahead .
Gently, tenderly, Hiril put his hands around Marin’s neck and tilted her head back .
Then he kissed her .
10
THAT FIRST kiss was no dream.
Marin still tasted it on her lips, warm and promising, two years after that wonderful, horrible night. The memory lingered even as she held Hiril’s ashes in her hands.
She had been standing at the ship’s bow ever since they’d rounded the northern tip of Mornós. Both suns were high in the sky, dazzling her as she turned east to watch the Tayar Mountains rise out of the sea. Their sharp purple outline faded to soft lavender as the morning progressed, as the Hayl coastline rolled past the port rail and they approached the crowded ships’ masts of Messinor.
Marin’s bag, packed hours ago, lay at her feet. Beyond occasionally asking the sailors how soon they would dock, she said nothing. Her year of mourning ended tomorrow, and she still had ground to cover. It was all very well to lose herself in memories and dreams while confined to a ship, but now she focused her energy on the long walk ahead.
The ship sailed into the harbor, and soon she departed, walking onto the quay without a word of farewell, although she felt their curious eyes on her back. She moved along the pier, weaving her way around stevedores, merchants, and stacks of cargo. Foot traffic thickened as she left the waterfront and plunged into the heart of the city.
Like any port, Messinor was a lively place, bright with the colors of many lands, the music of many languages, and the aroma of many foods. Marin remembered that it had been some time since
breakfast. She stopped to buy a wedge of cheese and small skin of local wine from a street vendor, eating her meal as she walked through the city with her eyes on the mountains beyond.
This was a peaceful place, in its way, and the simple pleasures of eating fresh food and being on a mission again nearly brought a smile to her face.
Almost.
Still she wondered, always and endlessly, what she might have done to prevent that curse from falling on Hiril. Throughout this year of mourning, it had been difficult to eat, to concentrate, to keep on pretending that she was whole.
“Why didn’t
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