Lord of the Fading Lands (The Tairen Soul Book 1)
Lord of the Fading Lands: Chapter 9

Ellie wandered, blind and searching, through a dark, black cavern lit only by the faint light of distant flickering fires. The air was hot and heavy, burning her lungs so that her breath rasped harshly in the tomblike silence. Perspiration beaded on her skin.

A rustle sounded down one wide tunnel, a growl, low and dangerous. Fear skated across her nerves, but she followed the sound, drawn to it against her will. Something hissed behind her, making her jump. She turned, squinting into the shadows, but if something was there she could not see it. Heart pounding, she continued forward, one shaky step after another, down a black, twisting tunnel, using the feel of rough rock beneath one hand to guide the way. The glow of red- orange light grew brighter.

Without warning, the dark tunnel opened up to a wide, deep cavern. There, in the flickering shadows beside a river of molten lava, a great black tairen crouched over a torn, bloody carcass, feeding. The carcass moved. A human hand lifted weakly. A ravaged face turned to her. Selianne’s blue eyes stared out at her through rivulets of thick, dark blood.

Ellie woke with a sudden jerk and a ringing cry, sitting up and gasping for air. She was at home, in her bedroom. To her surprise, soft morning sunlight streamed through her bedroom window. Usually her nightmares came in the deepest dark of night, not so close to dawn.

‘Ellysetta! Kem’falla, are you all right?’ Belliard’s voice sounded outside her door.

She didn’t answer right away. Blessed gods, what a nightmare. All Rain Tairen Soul’s talk of Eld, death, and dark magic last night must have frightened her more than she’d known.

The door rattled with the force of Bel’s staccato knocking. ‘Answer me, Ellysetta, or I will come in. Are you harmed? Should I call the Feyreisen?”

Before Ellie could answer, she heard her mother’s voice. ‘What it is? What’s wrong?”

‘I’m fine,’ Ellie called, hoping to allay their concern. She threw off the covers, dragged a robe over her nightgown and opened her bedroom door to let Belliard and her mother see for themselves. ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated. ‘It was just a nightmare.”

Lauriana tugged the belt of her robe. ‘Another bad one?’ she asked cautiously. It hurt Ellie to see the fear, so long absent, back in her mother’s eyes.

‘I’m sure it’s just all the excitement from the last few days.’ Heightened emotions had always served as a catalyst to nightmares—and other things—in the past.

Lauriana didn’t ask what the nightmare had been about, and Ellie had long ago learned not to offer the information. Even when she’d been young, there were things she dreamed that no child should.

Her mother scowled and cast a dark look at Belliard. ‘I told your father nothing good would come of this. I told him letting these Fey remain beneath our roof was a bad idea, that the last thing you needed was to be around a bunch of magic-wielders, but did he listen?”

‘Mama,’ Ellie interrupted. ‘You know you can’t blame my nightmares on the Fey.”

Her mother took a deep breath and clamped her lips closed. Ellie could all but see her carefully tucking her fears away and forcibly reasserting her normal, steady calm. ‘You should dress, Ellie. There’s much to be done today. And wear something nice. We’ll be meeting the queen’s personal dressmaker this morning so you can be measured for your wedding gown, as well as half a dozen of the queen’s street merchants who’ll supply the rest of what you’ll need, and then we have an appointment with the Archbishop himself to plan your wedding ceremony.’ Lauriana gave Ellie a brisk kiss, sniffed at Belliard, and walked back down the short hall to her own bedroom.

The Fey remained where he was, his cobalt eyes intent and searching. ‘Will you tell me what you dreamed to cause such fear? Perhaps there is something I can do to help.”

Considering the subject of her dream, she was even more loath to discuss it with him than with her mother. Telling Belliard about her nightmare could lead to unwelcome questions about Selianne. ‘I’ve had nightmares all my life, especially when I’ve had too much excitement in a day, as I have for the past few days. They mean nothing except that I don’t get as much sleep as most Celierians.’ She forced herself to hold his gaze, but her smile refused to cooperate. It trembled traitorously until she gave up the attempt at false bravado and shrugged. ‘But thank you for your offer to help, Ser vel Jelani.”

After a silent, searching moment, Belliard bowed. ‘I am Bel to you, kem’falla,’ he reminded her in a gentle voice. ‘My soul and my steel are pledged to your protection.”

‘Beylah vo is the Fey way of saying `thank you,’ isn’t it?’

‘It is.”

She touched the back of his hand. ‘Then beylah vo, Bel. I appreciate your concern.”

His fingers covered the spot she’d touched, and he gave her an odd little half smile. ‘You do that with so little effort, I can scarce fathom it.”

‘Do what?’

‘Share the warmth of your soul.’ He tucked away his wonder, and his expression grew serious. ‘Not all magic is evil, kem’falla, despite what your mother believes. To the Fey, magic is a gift from the gods. Only the manner of its using can despoil it.’ His gaze shifted to a point past her head, and his eyes lightened once more. ‘Indeed, most magic is a thing of natural wonder and beauty.”

She turned to follow his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat.

‘What is that?’ On the nightstand beside her bed, perched on a tasseled velvet pillow, a bright, spiraling weave of multicolored magic danced within a small, perfect crystal globe.

‘A Fey courtship gift,’ Bel said. ‘I had thought all poetry had been scorched from Rain’s heart by the Wars and Sariel’s death, but I see I was wrong.”

‘What do you mean?”

‘The gift is more than what it appears. As with all Fey courtship gifts, it is also a symbol. The deeper and more layered the meanings, the finer the gift. Rain has given you his magic, kem’falla, the essence of himself. An eternal fivefold weave of it, embraced forever in a fragile Celierian-made vessel. Strength wedded to vulnerability, magic to mortal craft, him to you. It sings so many different songs. It is a very fine gift, indeed.’ Bel turned his shining gaze upon Ellysetta. ‘And you, kem’falla, are the greatest gift of all. You breathe life back into the dying ember of our king’s soul.”

His expression grew somber. ‘If your nightmares persist, you must promise to tell me or your shei’tan. Not all dreams are harmless.”

Ellie nodded. That was a truth she’d learned for herself long ago.

A few blocks from the warded and guarded Baristani home, a knock rapped on the front door of a small weaver’s shop.

‘A moment!’ Maestra Tuelis Sebarre, recently ringed master weaver, pulled her hair into an untidy knot and clattered down the stairs from the private apartments above her shop. What in the Bright Lord’s name was someone doing pounding on her door at a quarter before seven bells? It was not as if normal folk ever woke possessed with a sudden and driving need to purchase a length of fine cloth.

Maestra Sebarre unlatched but did not unchain her door and frowned irritably through the three-inch crack at the man standing on her stoop. Dazzling white teeth flashed in a dark, well-oiled beard threaded with gold rings. He was a fine-looking man, with lovely bright blue-green eyes, but Tuelis was no fool woman to judge a man by a pretty face. She looked at the cuffs of his blue sea-captain’s coat. The weave was fine, smooth, tight, and unslubbed, the threads of obvious quality, and the jacket cuffs showed no signs of fraying about the edges. A merchantman, then, and successful enough to keep himself in good thread.

‘What can I do for you, ser?”

‘You are Maestra Sebarre, the weaver?”

‘I am.”

‘You have a daughter named Selianne?”

Wariness froze her. ‘Why do you ask?’ Immediately on the heels of wariness came dread, clenching Tuelis’s innards in an iron fist. ‘Has something happened to her?”

‘What?’ The captain evinced utter shock, then humble contrition. ‘Oh, no, dear lady. Forgive me for giving you a start. I simply meant to ascertain that I had the right Maestra Sebarre.’ The man executed a deep, courtly bow. ‘I am Captain Batay. I sail a merchantman out of Sorrelia. Forgive such an early intrusion, but my ship sails at noontide today. At dinner last evening, I heard tales that you could work magic with a loom. There are nobles in Sorrelia who’ll pay a fine price for quality fabrics, and I still have enough room in my hold for a dozen bolts or so. I thought I’d seek you out and glance over your wares, Maestra.’ The handsome smile widened. ‘If you’d care to let me into your shop, that is.’ Tuelis didn’t unchain the door. ‘Who was it sent you my way?”

‘A gentleman who’d purchased a parlor suite from a local woodcarver, a Master Baristani, who used your fabric for the cushions.’ When the chain still remained firmly in place, the Sorrelian’s smile disappeared. ‘Forgive me. It’s obvious I’ve intruded with my too early call. The gentleman gave me another master weaver’s name as well. A Master Frell. I will try him instead.”

Tuelis bit her lip. A dozen bolts would bring a sizable sum of cash. Careful as she was, being a woman alone now that her husband was dead and her daughter Selianne wed and gone, Tuelis was too much a businesswoman to let such an offer slip past. Especially if the business would then go to Frell, the smirking bloat toad. The Sorrelian was well dressed, after all, and he knew that Sol Baristani used Tuelis’s cloth for his upholstery. ‘My pardon, Captain Batay. Of course, you may come in.’ The chain rattled as she unlatched it and opened the door.

‘My thanks.’ The captain entered the small shop.

Tuelis closed the door behind him. ‘What would you like to see first? Brocade? Velvet? Or something finer? I’ve just finished a bolt of spider-silk in a Celierian blue so rich you’d think I’d woven the sky itself.”

‘To be honest, Tuelis, my pet, what I really want to see is your obedience.”

‘What?’ she gasped in affront. Captain Batay turned to her, his dazzling smile now cold and dreadful. Tuelis fell back a step, pressing a hand against her chest where a long- forgotten ache began to throb. ‘No! Oh, no!’ The sea captain’s striking blue-green eyes darkened to deep, shadowy pits that flashed with red lights.

She managed one, two racing steps towards the door, but Captain Batay moved with inhuman swiftness. His bronzed hand, circled with deceptively beautiful blue cuffs, slapped against the door. In her mind, a cold, insistent voice called her name, demanding submission. The pain in her chest grew sharper, and a foreign yet horribly familiar black malevolence consumed her, engulfing her in an icy darkness she hadn’t felt since her early childhood in Eld.

Tuelis had one final, desperate thought before her consciousness fell to total subjugation. Selianne! Dearling, what have I done?

Several bells later, bright, late-morning sunlight streamed through the curtained windows of Rain’s palace suite, casting ribbons of warmth across his skin. Rain lay in his too soft Celierian bed and stared blindly at the velvet canopies overhead. He’d only just awakened from the few snatched bells of restless sleep granted a courting Fey, and his mind whirled with a mix of shock and wonder that had nothing to do with the shei’tanitsa need humming through his veins.

For the first time in a thousand years, he had not dreamed. Not of the Wars. Not of the dead.

Not of Sariel.

How was it possible? Rain sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He remembered last night, holding Ellysetta beside the riverbank and wondering at the flood of peace that almost made him weep in her arms.

Cautiously he checked the internal barricades that held back the sorrows of all those millions of souls whose weight he carried on his own. The barriers were still in place, and behind them, the torment of a thousand years still throbbed—yet the familiar pain seemed muted now, the burden lighter.

Ellysetta had healed his soul, just as she’d healed Bel’s. Not completely—that would have been beyond miraculous—but to a greater degree than Marissya’s substantial shei’dalin powers or even tairen song had managed over the years. And she’d done it without even trying, in one brief moment of communion.

Who was she? No simple Celierian, that was certain. But if not that, then who? What? He sent a thread of Spirit across the city. «Be!?» He didn’t even have to ask the question. Bel. knew him too well.

«We are on our way to the cathedral to meet with her family’s priest and the Archbishop. She is well.”

«I must meet with Dorian this morning. I will join you when I can.» And because he could not help it, Rain sent another thought along a different path. «Shei’tani.» He felt her sudden alertness, sensed the moment of fear followed by the hesitant happiness. She didn’t like that he could send his thoughts to her, and yet she was glad he did.

«My lord?» It was a tentative mental touch at best, a whisper unbacked by power. It barely reached him. Yet because it was her whisper, it sounded in his mind with the force of a gong. His body clenched, his need for her deep and strong and instant.

He felt the jumbled heat of her emotions and knew that half a city away his desire was lapping over, making her nerves sing with awareness, demanding a response. Innocently, doubtlessly unable to prevent it, she did respond. Nectar-sweet, liquor-potent, her own awakening desires reached out with a delicate hand and gripped him with the strength of steel. He staggered from the impact of her untutored, unshielded emotions. He flung out his hand, fingers curling around the bedpost to steady himself, and sucked in a deep, ragged breath. Gods have mercy. Within him, the tairen stretched and dug its claws deep. He felt it reach for her, felt her quick flare of fear as she sensed it. He slammed down his mental barriers, groaned as he pitted his will against the tairen’s and battled it back into submission.

«I will come to you soon, shei’tani,» he sent when he could, accompanying the thought with the mental projection of a kiss that he placed with warm promise on her lips.

How did he do that? Ellie touched her lips. The Spirit kiss had felt every bit as convincing as the real thing. She could even smell Rain’s fresh, distinctive scent and feel the warmth of his arms pulling her close. ‘I hope the meeting with Father Celinor and the Archbishop doesn’t take too long,’ she said. She glanced at her mother as they walked down Celieria’s busy streets. ‘I promised the girls I’d meet them in the park for a game of Stones.”

‘I still don’t know why you made that promise, Ellie,’ Lauriana chided. ‘You knew how busy we were going to be today.”

‘I knew,’ Ellie agreed. ‘But I suspected I’d need a break after dealing with the queen’s craftsmasters. And I was right”

Four unpleasant bells in the company of haughty dressmakers, cobblers, and clothiers had left Ellie aching to leap into the nearest hermit hole. Who knew wealthy people spent so much time in pursuit of the perfect outfit, or that there were so many decisions to be made for so simple a task? Until today, Ellie had never realized that the number of buttons on a lady’s boot held some particular social significance. Gods! What utter madness! Not to mention the fact that each and every one of the merchants had sniffed at her common appearance and made it clear they served her only because the queen had commanded them. The worst was Maestra Binchi, the queen’s dressmaker, who had sized her up in one cold, calculating glance, sneered, and muttered something about silk purses and sowlet ears.

Lauriana shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t have let them bother you, Ellie. They may be masters of their own crafts, and serving by appointment of the king or queen, but so is your father now. They’re no better than you or I, even if they do have a bit more gold in their pockets. In fact—though I still think your father made a dreadful mistake—you’re the betrothed of a king now. They should be thanking the gods for the opportunity to serve you”

Ellie didn’t answer. Mama was very good at ignoring the opinions of others when it suited her. Ellie wasn’t so lucky. She’d felt the dislike of those merchants crawling over her skin until she’d wanted to cry out that she had no more choice about being there than they did. Ahead, the road curved to the right, and Celieria’s Grand Cathedral of Light came into view. Built entirely of gleaming, hand-carved white marble and gold leaf, the Grand Cathedral stood testament to both the glory of the Bright Lord and the mastery of ancient Celierian, Fey, and Elvian artisans. Situated on the small Isle of Grace in the middle of the Velpin River, it rose up from the clear blue depths of the river like a palace of white clouds and sunbeams. Four gilded, sun-bright bridges radiated from the four corners of the island, connecting the holy site to the more mundane streets of the city.

Thirteen spires adorned the cathedral’s golden roof, one for each of the major gods. The largest of the spires rose up on six marble columns from the top of the central dome. An enormous statue of Adelis, Lord of Light, stood in the center of those columns, arms upraised, holding aloft a golden crystal globe that blazed an eternal beacon.

Every time Ellie saw the cathedral, it both awed and frightened her. Even now, as she crossed the golden northeast bridge and climbed the thirteen steps leading up to the cathedral’s Grand Entrance, her stomach roiled and her palms went clammy. She loved the Bright Lord, but his priests would forever be tied in her memory with the terror of her childhood exorcism.

Father Celinor, the priest from her family’s West End church, was waiting in the covered portico just outside the cathedral doors. A young man with bright blue eyes and sandy hair that always seemed mussed, Father Celinor was the first cleric who’d ever managed to get past Ellie’s terror of priests after her childhood exorcism.

‘Madam Baristani.’ He held out his hands and exchanged the kiss of peace with Ellie’s mother, then turned to her, smiling with genuine affection and welcome. ‘And Ellysetta.’ His fingers squeezed hers. ‘I never dreamed the Most High had such plans in store for you. This is your opportunity to share the Word of Light with those who have not heard its call.’ Ellie gave a small laugh. ‘Let me replace peace in my new life first, Father. But you may take comfort that the Fey already do follow the Bright Path.”

‘Of course’ He patted her hand and smiled. ‘Come meet the Archbishop.’ He glanced at the Fey warriors. ‘I’m afraid canon law forbids you from entering the cathedral bearing arms. You must leave your blades at the door. There is a room there to the left where you may check them with Brother Vericel before entering.”

‘Fey protecting a shei’tani do not shed their steel,’ Bel replied.

‘Then you must remain here, outside the sanctuary. Not even the King himself may carry weapons across this threshold. The Cathedral is a holy place, a haven of peace.”

Bel exchanged a glance with the rest of Ellie’s quintet. Without another word, all five removed their Fey’cha belts, the curved meicha at their waists, and the twin seyani swords strapped across their backs. They handed the weapons to their Fey brethren. Bel gestured, and all but Ellysetta’s quintet and five other Fey fanned out to surround the cathedral.

‘We will observe your custom,’ he conceded, ‘but no one will be permitted to enter or leave this building or island so long as the Feyreisa remains within.”

Father Celinor’s jaw went lax. He hurried to the top of the steps and gaped at the sight of Fey weaving magical barriers at the bridges. ‘You can’t block access to the Isle of Grace! This is the Grand Cathedral of Light, a haven to all.”

‘So long as Celierian custom dictates that Fey steel must remain outside the cathedral while the Feyreisa stands within, Fey custom dictates that all haven-seekers will have to wait until she departs.’ Bel held the priest’s shocked gaze without wavering. ‘As we honor your customs, you shall honor ours.”

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Lauriana apologized in an aggrieved tone. ‘There is no reasoning with them when it comes to Ellie and what they perceive as ensuring her safety. I’ve concluded it’s best to just humor their requests and ignore them as much as possible.’ She glowered at Bel.

‘The Archbishop will not like this. He will not like this at all.”

Ellysetta cleared her throat. ‘Perhaps, Father, you should introduce us to the Archbishop. The sooner we’re done, the sooner the cathedral can return to normal.”

The priest ran a hand through his hair, leaving the thick waves of gold-streaked brown in disarray. ‘Yes, well, I suppose you’re right, Ellie. Follow me.”

Ringed by her quintet, Ellysetta followed Father Celinor and her mother down the nave towards the large, ornate altar, towering alabaster luminary, and dual pulpits at the center of the cathedral. Behind the altar, a large wedge-shaped portion of the cathedral was reserved for seating clergy and choir, and several doors led to clerical offices and ceremonial chambers.

As they neared the altar, one of the doors opened and a stocky older man emerged. He wore the spotless, ankle- length white tunic and sleeveless, gold-trimmed blue robes of a Church of Light Archbishop. A scowl rode low on his brow.

‘Celinor, I distinctly saw Fey warriors weaving magic outside my window”

‘Greatfather, Mistress Baristani and her mother have arrived. The Fey escorting her would not remove their weapons without weaving magic around the Isle of Grace.”

Bel bowed to the Archbishop. ‘The weaves are shields of protection, to ensure the safety of the Feyreisa, which you would not permit Fey steel to do,’ he explained.

If anything, Bel’s comment only made the Archbishop’s scowl deepen. ‘I do not approve. Rest assured, as soon as this meeting is over, I will request an audience with the king. I will not have cursed Fey magic stand between this church and the faithful.”

Ellie bit her lip. For years now the Church had been growing less and less tolerant of magic in all its forms, a direct result of the sharp increase in the numbers of northern priests moving into positions of power in the Church’s hierarchy. But until now, she’d never heard any priest in Celieria City— let alone the city’s most senior cleric—openly condemn Fey magic as cursed. As the king himself wielded Fey magic, such a statement bordered on treason.

Bel executed a stiff bow. His eyes had gone flat and cold. ‘As you will, Excellency. But not even King Dorian can prevent the Fey from protecting our queen”

‘Yes, well … er …’ Father Celinor rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘Let’s get on with the introductions, shall we?’ He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Ellysetta, Madam Baristani, it’s my honor to introduce you both to His Excellency, Greatfather Tivrest, Archbishop of Celieria. Greatfather, this is Mistress Ellysetta Baristani, the Tairen Soul’s betrothed, and her mother, Madam Lauriana Baristani, wife of master woodcarver, Sol Baristani. As I mentioned to you earlier, their family has been in my West End congregation since I first assumed my appointment there ten years ago.”

‘Greatfather.’ Ellysetta and Lauriana sank into deep curtseys.

‘Madam Baristani, Mistress Baristani.’ The Archbishop laid a hand on each of their heads and murmured a blessing, then extended a loosely clenched fist for them to kiss the ring of office on his right thumb. When they straightened, he graced them both with a tight smile. ‘Well, Mistress Baristani, for the last two days you’ve caused quite a stir in the city, and I see the commotion is going to continue.”

‘So it seems, Greatfather,’ Ellie murmured.

‘Hmph’ The Archbishop straightened his robes. ‘First things first. The Bride’s Blessing. The king has already informed me of your need for urgency. Though I emphatically do not approve of subverting Church protocol for personal whim, precedence does exist for … accelerating some of our lengthier ceremonies. It is not the preferred choice—the longer the devotions, the stronger the bond—but it can be done. I have agreed to perform the seven-day version of the Blessing. Six days of devotion, followed by the Blessing on the seventh day.”

‘If you need more time, Greatfather, you must say so,’ Lauriana urged. ‘I would never forgive myself if any rush on our part weakened the effects of the Blessing.”

The Archbishop missed the silent plea shining in Lauriana’s eyes. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much, Madam Baristani. Seven is a godly number, full of protection and strength.’ He turned to Ellysetta. ‘Who will stand as your Honoria, Mistress Baristani?’ Every bride was accompanied at the Blessing by her mother and her Honoria, a married female relative or friend, who served as her attendant and guide in the purification ceremony.

‘Oh, no question there, Greatfather,’ Lauriana answered before Ellysetta could speak. ‘Selianne Pyerson. Ever since childhood, she and Ellie have been close as two feathers on the same wing.”

Ellie’s eyes rounded. ‘Oh, urn, Mama, I don’t know if she can’ She flicked a glance back towards Bel and the others and lowered her voice. ‘She’s a bit … intimidated … by the Fey.”

‘Aren’t we all,’ Mama muttered under her breath. Then a bit louder, ‘I’ll send a boy round with a note later today. I’m sure she’ll be honored to stand by you.”

Ellie opened her mouth to protest again, then saw Bel watching. If she continued to protest, she’d just call undue attention to Selianne. She swallowed the objection quickly and forced a smile. ‘There’s no one else in the world I’d rather have. We always vowed that whoever married first would serve as the other’s Honoria.”

‘Excellent,’ the Archbishop said. ‘I’ll need all three of you to meet me here at twelve bells on Kingsday for the initial consecration. You will continue to come at the same time every day until the six devotions are complete. On the seventh day, you will be ready for the Bright Bell. Please arrange to arrive no later than eleven bells, so you can begin the Bright Bell precisely at half eleven, when the Great Sun is approaching its zenith and the powers of the Solarus are at their height. If you are even a single chime late, the ceremony will have to be postponed for another day. Do you understand?”

‘Yes, Greatfather.”

‘Good. Now, about the wedding ceremony itself …’

Rain strode down the corridor to King Dorian’s private office on the second floor of the palace, where Dax and the king were waiting for him to join them. Annoura was in court, as was Marissya, protected for the moment by her own quintet rather than her mate. This meeting with Dorian was one Dax and Marissya had prompted, and Rain had reluctantly agreed to. If dahl’reisen had begun murdering Celierians in the north, the Fey must help put an end to it.

A pair of Royal Guardsmen flanked the door to the king’s office. They bowed as Rain approached and granted him entrance, closing the door behind him. The office was a spacious, wood-paneled room, designed more for comfort and efficiency than pomp. Tall windows overlooked a view of the south gardens, their partially open, slatted wooden shutters admitting plenty of light while obstructing unwanted observation from below. A matching pair of golden leather armchairs faced the large, heavily carved desk that dominated the room.

King Dorian, standing near one of the windows, smiled pleasantly as Rain entered. ‘Greetings, my Lord Feyreisen. I hope you have found your palace accommodations acceptable.’ Rain gave a brief nod. ‘I regret putting you through that circus in the courts yesterday, but it was necessary. We are a country of laws, and even noble visitors must live by them. I trust the girl, your shei’tani, is fine and suffered no ill effects from the excitement?”

Rain’s spine stiffened and his eyes narrowed. ‘She is well. I would not leave her were it otherwise.’ The implication was a grave insult. Dorian blinked in bewilderment. ‘Yes, of course. I meant no offense.”

«Celierian consider it polite to ask after the health of one’s mate,» Dax murmured silently. «It was the same, before the Wars.»

Rain had a vague memory, long forgotten, of a similar incident many centuries past. ^«I remember now. I didn’t like it then either. They should take better care of their mates, so the question of their mates’ health need never be in doubt.”

With Dax’s laughter rippling through his mind, Rain shook off his irritation and got straight to the purpose of the meeting. ‘I have come to discuss the situation in the north. Dax and Marissya tell me you believe dahl’reisen have begun murdering Celierians.”

Dorian nodded. ‘There’ve been half a dozen attacks in the last two months, and twenty Celierians slain since First Moon this spring. Another ten since harvest last fall. Mostly farmers and village folk along the northern march. The Border Lords had been keeping the situation quiet, but now that the pamphleteers and newspapers have wind of it, all hope of quietly resolving the problem is gone.’ He explained about the witnesses and showed Rain the recovered Fey’cha. ‘Dax has already told me it’s unlikely the blade was left behind by accident.”

‘Beyond unlikely,’ Rain agreed. ‘All blades forged in a Fey smithy have a weave spun into them so their owners may summon them back to their sheaths after use. The spell works on any blade within half a mile of its owner. It was either left deliberately as a challenge, or stolen and left to cast suspicion on the Fey.’ He examined the dagger and the name-mark forged on it. ‘I don’t recognize this mark, but it does appear to be a true Fey’cha.’ «Dax, send an image of the mark to all the Fey. See if any of them know it.»

Turning his attention back to Dorian, he added, ‘As for witnesses to a dahl’reisen crime, that, too, is unlikely. Dahl’reisen live outside our laws. If it serves them to manipulate mortal minds, they would likely do so. Not even Marissya would be able to tell the false memories from the true ones. Still, you should bring the witnesses in for Truthspeaking, just in case they are using these rumors of dahl’reisen murders to hide their own crimes.”

King Dorian shook his head. ‘Sebourne—the lord whose lands were attacked—has already refused. He says the witnesses are terrified of having their minds manipulated by the Fey, and he’s angry enough over the number of murders on his land to support them.’ Dorian cast an apologetic glance Dax’s way. To suggest that Marissya would misuse her powers was a grave insult.

‘Is there a map that shows where the raids have taken place?’ Rain asked.

‘Here.’ Dorian walked around his desk and opened a narrow door in the corner of the far wall. ‘We started monitoring the incidents after the first half-dozen deaths last year.’ He pulled out a large map of Celieria mounted vertically on a wheeled spongewood backing. A handful of colored pins set with tiny annotated flags were scattered across the northern border. ‘Except for the fact that most of the raids have taken place in the villages along the Celierian-Eld border, there is no apparent pattern to the attacks.”

Rain examined the collection of pins. The raids had taken place over a thousand miles of border land, ranging from Bolla near the eastern coast all the way to Toulon in the west.

‘What would a band of dahl’reisen gain from slaughtering Celierian peasants?’ Dorian asked. ‘That’s what I cannot understand.”

Rain cast a glance back over his shoulder. ‘Have you considered the possibility that it might not be dahl’reisen? Fey enemies are numerous, and as you know, the greatest of them lies just across your northern border.”

The king’s brows rose. ‘You think the Eld are behind this?”

‘The possibility must at least be considered.”

‘But the Eld have no more reason to kill Celierian peasants than dahl’reisen do.’

‘Unless they mean to drive a wedge between Celieria and the Fading Lands. Celierians have rarely distinguished between Fey actions and those of the dahl’reisen. The Eld know that. They would use it to their advantage.’ Rain turned back to the map, frowning at the large expanse of border. ‘How many troops do you have on the border?’ he asked.

‘Two thousand, give or take a few hundred.”

‘That’s not enough. You should have triple that number at least.’ Rain straightened and turned around. ‘I can offer two thousand Fey to ward the borders and track the attackers when they strike again.”

Dorian’s jaw sagged in surprise. Fey and mortal troops had not stood side-by-side along the Eld border in nine hundred years. Not since Celieria had reconstituted its military after the decimation of the Mage Wars. Fey had periodically quartered themselves in the border keeps to watch for signs of Eld magic and strengthen the wards put in place at the end of the Wars, but never more than that. The Mages had been defeated, and the Fey had withdrawn from the world.

‘Your offer is … quite generous, My Lord Feyreisen, and an unexpected honor.’ Dorian cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know what to say.”

‘I do not offer Fey lives or Fey steel lightly,’ Rain answered. ‘I have sensed a growing darkness in Eld. The Mages are at work again. It is one reason why I question whether the dahl’reisen are truly behind these raids of yours.”

‘Do you have proof of this Mage activity? Reports from spies?”

Rain raised a brow ‘This I do not need. I sense the darkness, and that is enough.”

‘I see.’ Dorian drew a deep breath. ‘Well, unfortunately, the Council of Lords will require more than just Fey intuition before they authorize tripling the number of troops along our border, or quartering foreign warriors—especially Fey warriors, given the current suspicions about the dahl’reisen. Besides, the Eld would view a troop buildup as an act of open aggression.

‘You must understand,’ he added when Rain’s expression darkened, ‘our relations with the Eld have settled considerably in the last decades. In fact, the Elden ambassador was here not a fortnight ago seeking to recommence direct trade between our two countries. He spoke quite eloquently, and the terms he offered were very appealing.”

Rain’s hands fell to the silk-wrapped handles of the curved meicha at his hips. His fingers curled tight around the grips. ‘You let the Eld ambassador set foot on Celierian land?’ he growled. ‘You’re contemplating trade with those black-souled vermin?’ The windows of Dorian’s office rattled in their panes.

The king cast a confused glance in Dax’s direction. ‘We’ve been trading with them indirectly for more than three centuries … ever since the Great Plague threatened the mortal world. They possess the only supply of keio, one of the ingredients required for the cure. We still purchase it yearly through Sorrelian intermediaries, along with a few other goods.”

«Dax . . . » Rain hissed with silent fury.

«You had only just regained your sanity. Marissya and I both agreed it was best you did not know. Thousands—hundreds of thousands—had already died. Millions more would have. There weren’t enough healers to have stopped it.»

«And after … when I no longer teetered on the brink of insanity?»

«They’d been trading for years by then, with no ill effects … and there remained occasional threats of the plague returning. We didn’t see any harm in letting it continue.»

Rain shook his head in disbelief and turned his attention back to Dorian. ‘You Celierians with your short life spans. The Mage Wars are naught but a distant dream to you, a conflict that happened so many generations in the past it has no bearing on the present. But the Fey fought those wars. We died by the thousands, hideously, in those wars. We remember.’ He speared Dax with another hot glance. ‘At least most of us do. We still mourn our dead. The Eld are not to be trusted. Ever!”

‘Rain—’ Dax held out his hands. ‘There has been no trouble with the Eld since the Wars. Perhaps Dorian’s advisors are right … perhaps it is time to heal the wounds”

‘Your own mate’s sister died at their hands. Her brother became dahl’reisen—forever banished from the Fading Lands—because of what he did in vengeance. You dare say this to me? Trade with the black-souled practitioners of Azrahn?”

‘It is because of Marikah, because of Gaelen, that I do feel free to speak,’ Dax returned. ‘They are gone from the Fey forever. Nothing can bring either of them back to us. But the Mage Wars were a millennium ago. And the Mages were all but destroyed. You saw to that. The other Eld, those not from Mage families, they don’t practice Azrahn.”

‘It only takes one.”

«Know your enemy, Tairen Soul. Opening the borders to trade gives us an opportunity to introduce our own eyes and ears into Eld. They can replace the proof Dorian needs.”

«Never will I willingly put another Fey life within reach of Eld evil. The darkness is there. It grows. Opening the borders does not help us. It endangers us all the more.»

‘Dax is right,’ Dorian said. ‘The Mage Wars were a thousand years ago—provoked by a senseless assassination that snowballed into full-scale war thanks to Gaelen vel Serranis’s excessive vengeance.”

‘The assassination,’ Rain answered with clenched jaw, ‘was not senseless. It was retaliation by the Eld for a wound your ancestors delivered two thousand years earlier. The Eld don’t forget. And they count on the fact that you do!”

‘I think perhaps you lack objectivity in this situation. You suffered a great many personal losses in the Wars. You hate the Eld. You’ll never see them as anything but enemies.”

‘Because that is all they will ever be!’

‘My advisors,’ Dorian said, ‘see this opportunity as a way to provide a needed boost to our economy. As do many of the nobles on the Council of Lords.”

‘Your advisors,’ Rain retorted, ‘and your nobles are greedy fools. When an evil man dangles a heavy purse before you, beware. Have you never learned that?”

‘When his children are hungry, a desperate man will do desperate things,’ the king countered. ‘The last year has not been easy. Droughts and floods ruined most of last year’s crops. Even with the help the Fey provided to manage the weather, our stockpiles of food are nearly depleted. If this year’s harvests are not plentiful, there will be starvation come winter.”

If Rain could promise Fey help to bring fertility to the Celierian fields, he would. But any such promise would be a lie. Fertility was a woman’s gift, and the Fey women had been barren for centuries. ‘I can send warriors to you, ones strong in Earth, Water, and Air. They can help manage the weather and bring the nutrients in the soil closer to the surface.’ Fey with Earth magic could create food, but not on a scale large enough to feed Celieria for a winter. Aiding the world in performing its natural functions would produce greater results.

‘And in return?”

‘Cease your trade with Eld. Do not open the borders. That way is dangerous, the threat far greater than starvation, even if you do not see it.”

Dorian turned to Dax. ‘Lord Dax, I have known you and my aunt all my life. I trust and value your opinion, yet never once have either of you mentioned the possibility of a revived Mage threat in Eld. Why is that?”

Dax didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Rain.

‘Marissya and Dax don’t sense the darkness,’ Rain bit out. ‘Only I do.”

Dorian’s expression went blank, as if a shutter had been drawn closed. ‘I see.”

‘Marissya Truthspoke Rain before we left the Fading Lands,’ Dax said. ‘There is no doubt of his honesty.’

‘Forgive me,’ Dorian replied, ‘but as we all know, Truth- speaking only guarantees that the one being Truthspoken believes what he says. It doesn’t guarantee that what he believes is true. The distinction may be small, but in this case vital—as I’m sure you agree, or we would not be having the conversation.”

Dax’s gaze dropped. Fey did not lie. He could not dispute Dorian’s conclusion.

Rain swallowed a bitter curse, hating the Celierian for his blind determination to believe the Eld and doubt the Fey. Hating himself for being unable to offer proof or control his temper long enough to make Dorian see reason. Hating the fear that perhaps Dax and Dorian were right, and there was no darkness, only Rain’s old companion, insanity, toying with him again.

He couldn’t say why he sensed what no one else did. He only knew he did. Perhaps it was all those Mage souls anchored to his own. Perhaps it was because he was a Tairen Soul, and they were not. Perhaps it was because he had spent seven hundred years tormented by madness, his mind a wide- open field upon which all the millions he’d killed trampled without restraint.

Whatever the cause, he knew he was right. Believed it with unswerving certainty. The Mages had regained their power, and the world was in danger once more.

‘Believe me delusional if you like, King Dorian, but protect yourself in case I am not. Keep your borders closed. You’ve survived a thousand years without the Eld. Surely you can survive a few more. At least give me time to gather the proof you require.”

‘I will consult my advisors. The Eld treaty is scheduled for debate in the Council of Lords next week. We will discuss your concerns, so the lords may take them into consideration before they cast their vote.”

‘This is not a matter for your advisors and Council to decide, King Dorian,’ Rain countered. ‘The monarchy did not give up all of its power when the Council of Lords was established. Invoke primus. Make the decision yourself, and keep your borders closed.”

Dorian drew back. ‘Primus is a king’s tool of last resort,’ he answered in a low voice. ‘It is not to be invoked except in cases of utmost urgency. To use it carelessly is to tread the path of tyranny.”

‘Tyranny?’ Rain echoed in disbelief. ‘It is not tyranny for a king to command the defense of his country and keep his borders closed to his enemies.”

Dorian shook his head and heaved a sigh. ‘You have been too long away, Rainier Feyreisen. The Eld are not the enemies they once were, and I will not invoke primus on the basis of groundless speculation and hard feelings. The Lords of Celieria will debate the issue.’ He held up a hand to forestall Rain’s next objection. ‘And unless you can provide definitive proof to the contrary, they will make the decision, not I.”

Rain’s jaw clenched. Had this fool heard nothing? The Eld were dangerous! They greeted you with friendship, wormed past your defenses, gained your trust, and only revealed the dagger of betrayal as it was plunged into your vitals. Darkness was growing in Eld. The Eld were once again forming ties to Celieria. And Rain had claimed a mate with a Celierian family. It was as if history were repeating itself, only this time the Fey might be too weak to prevail.

‘Then think on it and have your debate, Dorian vel Serranis Torreval, but while you do, think also on this.’ His eyes narrowed, glowing so fiercely Dorian’s face was bathed in lavender light. ‘If you open your borders to the Eld, you terminate your alliance with the Fey.’ With a final glare for Dorian and Dax, Rain spun on one booted heel and stalked out.

Dorian frowned after the Feyreisen’s rapidly departing figure.

‘The tairen are creatures of great power and great ferocity,’ Dax murmured. ‘So, likewise, are the Tairen Souls, and with them temper is always closer to the surface than with other Fey. It is worse for our king, because of shei’tanitsa.’ Dorian turned and gave Dax a cool look. ‘You should never apologize for your king.”

‘I do not apologize, bond-nephew. I merely explain.’

Ellie glanced at her escort of sword-bristling shadows and sighed. She’d hoped to enjoy a quiet outing in the park with her sisters before completing the rest of her day’s obligations, but ‘quiet,’ it seemed, was a quality she’d lost when she’d inadvertently called Rain Tairen Soul out of the sky.

Despite her objections, all thirty of the warriors who’d accompanied her this morning had insisted on following her to the park as well. They’d posted themselves throughout the park and surrounding streets, drawing all manner of attention and increasing the crowds of curious bystanders. It was just as well Mama had stayed behind at the Grand Cathedral with Father Celinor to discuss the upcoming ceremonies in more detail and make her daily devotions. She’d have curled up in shame over the attention such a conspicuous Fey presence was drawing.

On the bright side, at least the twins were having fun. Earlier, Kieran had made them toys out of Earth magic—a little bear that walked and roared, a tiny kitten that sat in the palm of Lorelle’s hand and meowed sweetly, a small yellow bird that tweeted when Lillis stroked its silky feathers. In return, the twins brought their own little gifts to Kieran—a gaily painted wooden top their father had made, a small rag doll with red yarn hair and green button eyes.

He accepted the gifts, to the girls’ delight, and let the teasing of his fellow Fey roll off his back. He was courting a pair of infants, the warriors joked, and the infants were courting him back. Lorelle hadn’t taken too kindly to being called an infant, and had promptly and fiercely set the record straight. The warriors now bowed and called her ‘Little Fey’cha’ just as the blond warrior Kiel did, which seemed to suit Lorelle just fine. A delicate, tinkling laugh chimed, and Ellie groaned. The day had just gone from bad to worse. She tracked the familiar laugh back to a crowd of twittering local beauties drawn by all the handsome Fey warriors in the park. In the midst of the crowd stood Ellie’s nemesis, the golden-haired, Fey- beautiful Kelissande Minset. Her large, limpid blue eyes, exactly the same pure blue as a summer sky, flirted beneath thick rows of fluttering brown lashes. The delicate heart- shaped face and lush red lips that had brought countless suitors calling over the years now smiled invitingly at the Fey.

Ellie couldn’t prevent the stab of envy she felt any more than she could have stopped the pang of wistfulness. She had always longed for a complexion as smooth and creamy as the one Kelissande guarded beneath a wide-brimmed hat and delicate blue parasol, for a figure as petite and curvaceous as the one so exquisitely displayed in a form-fitting powder-blue gown of Capellan silk overlaid with delicate Elvian lace.

Ellie watched from the corner of her eye as Kelissande sauntered towards her. Ellie was instantly and painfully aware of the grass stains on her skirts, the sturdy woolen cloth and simple cotton of her navy dress and white chemise, and the unruly hair that had snuck free of its plait to wave in wild tendrils about her face.

‘Hello, Ellie.’ Kelissande’s voice was a honeyed whisper, a perfection of sound cultivated by years of speech tutoring. ‘Hello, Kelissande.”

‘I heard the most amazing story,’ Kelissande announced, ‘but I didn’t believe it was true until just now’ She eyed Bel, Rowan, and Adrial and flashed them a beguiling smile. ‘People are saying that a Fey warrior has claimed you as his mate”

‘The Feyreisen has claimed her,’ Bel corrected before Ellie could answer. ‘More than just a warrior.’ He took a step closer to Ellysetta.

She looked up at him in surprise. His face was expressionless, his eyes flat. That was when she became aware of the tension that tingled in the air. The humor that had danced so subtly between the warriors only moments before was Completely erased. Ellie blinked. The Fey were not watching Kelissande with the goggle-eyed admiration Ellie expected. Rather, they had once again affected the stone-faced demeanor that had become as much a hallmark of Fey warriors as the weapons that adorned them. How odd.

Kelissande appeared blithely unaware that she was surrounded by lethal killers. ‘The Tairen Soul? Isn’t he the crazy one who almost destroyed the world?”

Irritation flashed. ‘He’s not crazy.’ Ellie got to her feet. ‘Girls, would you like to play Stones?”

‘Yes! Yes!’ The twins jumped up and raced off to round up a group of local children.

‘Will you join us, Kelissande?’ Ellie asked politely, though only because she was certain of refusal.

The West End’s reigning beauty did not disappoint her. Giving a delicate shudder, Kelissande declared, ‘And ruin my dress playing a silly child’s game? Of course not. Unlike some girls I could name, I’m too mature for such nonsense.”

‘That’s right,’ Ellie murmured, her hand closing about the hilt of the dagger at her waist. ‘You’re older than I am. Your twenty-fifth birthday is only a few weeks away, isn’t it?”

‘Four months,’ Kelissande snapped.

Ellie shook her head. ‘Who’d ever have thought I would be wed before you?”

‘I’m still trying to decide which of my ten suitors to select.’ Kelissande closed her parasol with a quick jerk. ‘And who’d ever have thought you, Ellie Spindle-Shanks, would have any suitors at all? Let alone two. Of course, calling a crazy half-man and that loathsome little slug Den Brodson `suitors’ may be a bit of a stretch.”

Well. Ellie had definitely managed to ruffle Kelissande’s feathers. It had been a long time since the lovely Miss Minset had struck out at her with such a lack of finesse. Surprisingly, the insult didn’t cause even the tiniest wound. Suddenly Kelissande’s eyes went wide. ‘By the gods, who is that?”

Ellysetta glanced over her shoulder and saw Rain Tairen Soul striding boldly down the street. Sunlight glinted on the myriad blades bristling from his black leathers, and his long hair blew back off his fiercely handsome face as he walked.

A thrill of pride coupled with the swift bite of desire shivered up Ellie’s spine. She straightened to her full height. ‘That,’ she replied, ‘is the crazy half-man who has claimed me.”

‘He is magnificent.’ The words were a bare whisper. Ellie doubted Kelissande even realized she had spoken aloud. Her dazzled blue eyes seemed to drink in the sight of Rain as he approached. She turned to Ellie and smiled. ‘You must introduce him to me.”

Ellie’s satisfaction shriveled to a heavy rock that sank to the pit of her stomach. Never once in her life had she known Kelissande not to get her way when she had that hungry, determined look in her eye, and now Kelissande wanted to meet Rain? Ellie wanted to scream ‘No!’, rip out Kelissande’s silky blond hair, and scratch her perfect skin.

‘Of course,’ she replied politely. And she wondered how she would survive the torment of Kelissande Minset’s perfect beauty calling Rain’s attention to Ellie’s many physical flaws.

Rain sensed his shei’tani’s unhappiness as he drew near. Her gentle face, with its dusting of golden freckles and large, expressive eyes, was set in a carefully composed mask, and the glowing aura of compassion and fresh innocence that called so sweetly to his ancient soul was dimmed. Something had wounded her tender heart. Or someone, he corrected when Ellysetta quietly introduced him to the sun-haired woman beside her. The blond girl was physically beautiful, but darkness hung about her like a shroud.

‘Hello,’ the young woman purred. ‘Mistress Minset.’ He did not bow. Somehow she was to blame for his truemate’s distress. Such a woman would receive no honor from him. He turned to Ellysetta. ‘Shei’tani.’ His voice was a caress. He did not touch her—it was not the Fey way. But he reached out to her with a warm weave of Spirit. « What has made your heart sad?» When she did not reply, he sent the same question to Bel.

«The golden one with the dark soul said unkind things and took the laughter from your shei’tani’s eyes,» Bel replied with disgust. « We did not know what to do.» Had Kelissande Minset been a man, she would have found herself facing bared Fey’cha steel. But she was a woman, and no Fey warrior would ever harm even a dark-souled female except to save lives.

‘Come on, Ellie!’ A chorus of childish voices called out from a short distance away.

‘I’m coming!’ Ellysetta called back. To Rain, she said, ‘The children and I were just about to play a game of Stones.’ She paused in the process of turning away. Hesitant invitation and uncertainty flickered in her gaze. ‘Would you … like to join us?”

A harsh, mocking laugh rang out. ‘For the gods’ sake, Ellie, he’s a king,’ Kelissande sneered. ‘Kings don’t play Stones in the park with a bunch of filthy peasant children.”

Rain saw embarrassment redden Ellysetta’s cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’ She turned away quickly.

‘Shei’tani.’ He started to follow her, only to stop in his tracks when Kelissande grabbed his wrist. The instant her skin touched his, the mean, grasping ugliness of her soul poured into him. Her thoughts were hateful and self- indulgent. She was beautiful, Ellie was not. She was the one who deserved a king for a mate. Rain was handsome and powerful, and Kelissande had decided she would have him. Stealing him from Ellie Lack Grace would be child’s play.

With a grimace of distaste, he grasped Kelissande’s wrist and removed her clinging hand. Deliberately, gritting his teeth against the soul-eating darkness that emanated from her, he gripped her other wrist as well and bent close to her beautiful face.

‘You dare too much, foolish Celierian female,’ he growled. He let power flare in his eyes, and enjoyed the fear that blossomed on her face. How could she think a truemated man would ever have eyes for anyone but his own mate? Stupid woman. Ignorant, primitive, ungifted, dark-hearted creature of no worth. ‘Even were she not my truemate, I would choose Ellysetta over you every time. Do you think a Fey Lord cannot see past your pretty face to the ugliness inside? All your beauty, all your wealth, could not make any Fey desire you.”

He bound her in weaves of Earth and Spirit to keep her still and grasped her heart-shaped face with frightening gentleness. He felt her terror, and it made him smile, made the tairen roar and flex its claws. «Hurt my shei’tani again in any way, and female or not, you will have made an enemy worth fearing. This I do promise you.”

«Rain . .

Even as Bel’s warning voice sounded in his mind, Rain felt the waves of Ellysetta’s emotion roll over him, misery bubbling with hurt and anger and disappointment. And something unexpected that Rain recognized as—Jealousy?

He lifted his head and found Ellysetta staring at him. Her eyes were huge in her fine-boned face, filled with accusation and, yes, jealousy. He gazed at her in bewilderment. Why would she feel such a thing? Had he not claimed her? Had he not set aside even the memory of his love for Sariel to court her? Did she not understand what that meant?

Directly on the heels of that thought, common sense asserted itself. Of course she did not understand what the shei’tanitsa bond meant. She’d been raised Celierian, not Fey.

Thrusting Kelissande from him, he straightened and held out his hands to his truemate. ‘Ellysetta—”

‘The children are waiting. You and Kelissande can join us or not, as you desire.’ She spun away and marched off. The elegant line of her spine was stiff as a board, and her thick, flame-red plait twitched behind her as she walked, reminding him of an angry female tairen’s very dangerous tail.