by C. L. Wilson
The blade flashed bright in vel Sibboreh’s grip. He passed a hand, glowing with green Earth, over the naked blade. When he was done, the sharp glint of steel had been covered by a decorative golden sheath shaped like a sword of flame. Tajik handed the sheathed blade to Ellysetta. “Your shei’tan will always be your first protector, kem’falla, but know that I am another. Through this life and its death until I come to the world again, I am yours.” He bowed low. “Miora felah, ti’Feyreisa.”
Ellysetta stared at the sheathed blade in her hand, the third such bloodsworn blade now in her possession, then frowned at the Fey who’d given it to her. “What did Rain mean just now when he asked you about keeping your bond for your own truemate?” She turned to her mate. “Rain?”
Halfway hoping the knowledge would make her change her mind about blessing the rasa, Rain spread his hands and gave her the blunt truth. “Shei’tanitsa bond cannot form where any other holds sway. Tajik, Bel, and Gaelen have bloodsworn their souls to your service. That vow is binding in this life and the death that follows, which means there can be no shei’ tanitsa bond for them until they are born again. A truemate’s heart cannot be divided.”
She swallowed and turned horrified eyes towards Bel, Gaelen, and Tajik. “You knew this, yet still you bloodswore yourselves to me? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Ellysetta, kem’falla, this is no burden,” Bel said. “You restored our souls. Of course we pledged them to your service.”
“But to give up any chance of a truemate of your own…”
“In this life only, kem’falla,” Gaelen said. “We will be born to live again. Until then, we are free to accept love if we find it. The bonds of e’tanitsa are no less worthy and no less welcome to a Fey’s heart, and for a warrior who has lived centuries unable to touch a fellana without causing her pain, even e’tanitsa love is a blessing beyond measure.”
“But—”
“All great gifts come with a price, kem’falla,” Gaelen said.
“All choices come with consequence. And all Fey accept that.”
“All men of honor, at least,” Tajik said, giving Gaelen a pointed look. Gaelen’s eyes narrowed.
Ignoring him, the Fey general cast out a hand towards the silvery white walls of Chakai on the other side of Taloth’Liera. “The rasa sleep there, kem’Feyreisa. If you still wish to bless them, I would ask you to begin with a particular two.”
“I…” Ellysetta hesitated. She had never considered what cost her actions would have on the men she blessed. She’d thought only to stop their pain. And, all right, yes, some vain part of her liked seeing the wonder and joy on the warriors’ faces when they realized the torment of all the lives they’d taken was gone. But how could she offer such healing now, knowing what price they would feel compelled to pay?
“I don’t want to rob them of their hope for a truemate. It’s bad enough I did that to you three without knowing it.”
“Do not berate yourself for healing our souls, Ellysetta,” Bel said. “The Fey number a mere forty thousand. If there were truemates to be had for us, we already would have found them.”
“Yet Rain found me, and Adrial found Talisa,” she pointed out. Though the ill-fated trumating of Air master Adrial vel Arquinas to Great Lord Cannevar Barrial’s married daughter could only end badly—King Dorian had upheld the marriage rights of Talisa’s husband, so Adrial could not claim her—Talisa Barrial diSebourne’s mortal-born soul had nonetheless called a Fey’s. “There could be more truemates in Celieria just waiting for their Fey to find them.”
“The odds are unlikely, Ellysetta,” Bel said gently. “How many other Celierian women descend from both Fey and Elvish blood, as she does? Nei, the rasa have already lost all but the smallest flicker of hope. Most of them will perish before their next battle’s end—they are that close to shadow.”
Rain shifted restlessly, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. “Which will in no way reflect on Ellysetta,” he said, giving Bel a hard look. “The rasa live and die by the gods’ decree, as they always have.” He gripped Ellysetta’s shoulders. “Shei’tani, if you are having doubts, then do not do this. The Eye of Truth said your purpose was to save the tairen; it said nothing about restoring light to the rasa. If the pain of their presence disturbs you too much, we can leave for Fey’Bahren now, without delay.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and troubled. “Is Bel right? Will those men die if I don’t heal them?”
Right at that moment, Rain could cheerfully have put his hands around his best friend’s throat and squeezed until his eyes popped. «Bel, my brother, what flaming maggot in your brain possessed you to tell her that?»
«I should have let her think she’s stolen our hope instead?» Outrage colored Bel’s voice. «What she can do is a miracle sent from the gods. I won’t let her berate herself for it. Besides, you know as well as I do how many of the rasa cling to honor by the merest thread.»
«You are supposed to protect her from pain, not encourage her to embrace it!»
«And which do you think will be worse? The pain of knowing the rasa will have no truemates in this life, or the pain of knowing they chose sheisan’dahlein or slipped down the Dark Path when she could have healed them and did not?»
“Rain?” Ellysetta shook herself free of his grip and frowned up at him. “Answer me. Will the rasa die in the next battle if I don’t heal them?”
His lips drew back, baring clenched teeth. He wished he could lie. He would lie to her now, if he could. But he was Fey, and Fey did not lie. “They live here, far from other Fey, because the shadow lies so dark upon them. If war comes, they will not survive it. At least not as Fey.”
The admission hit her like a blow. She flinched and her face went pale. Then she caught herself, and Rain saw the reaction he’d been dreading. Her slender spine went stiff and straight. Her shoulders squared. Her jaw clenched, then lifted with a determined tilt. The small, now-familiar gestures made him want to shred things, starting with Bel and Gaelen.
Ellysetta Feyreisa had made her choice. “Take me to the rasa.”
When Rain held out his wrist so she could put her hand upon it, she looked startled.
“You don’t need to come with us, Rain. You’ve already said it will be too difficult for you.”
Only then did he realize how little she understood. “I am your shei’tan, Ellysetta. What choices you make, you make for both of us.”
The rasa, when they heard the reason Ellysetta had come, were horrified. Like Tajik, they refused to let her touch them at first, unwilling to inflict their pain upon her, until Tajik rounded up two grim-eyed Fey and hauled them to the front of the warriors’ barracks to stand before Ellysetta. They were the oldest of the rasa, warriors the same age as Bel and Tajik, and they well remembered the destruction of the Mage Wars.
“The Mages have returned,” Tajik told them, “and war will soon be upon us. The Fading Lands will need all her sons. The Feyreisa can heal your soul so you may live and fight like a Fey whose steel has yet to taste its first enemy’s blood.” On the Warriors’ Path, he added, «I know it is hard, but accept this gift, my brothers, so we may live and fight together as once we did.» With grim ferocity, he added, « I need you with me, beyond the first battle, to drench the earth in Mage blood and avenge the deaths of those we loved.»
«Mages? You are certain?» The question came from Gillandaris vel Jendahr, a white-blond, black-eyed Fey who was a scorching artist of death with his blades. He’d lost both parents, two brothers, and a beloved shei’dalin niece to the Elden Mages. Not even a thousand years had been enough to dull the pain of so great a wound.
«Bel swears it. Three of them attacked the Feyreisa last week.» Gil’s jaw clenched, and power sparked like stars in his midnight eyes. He dropped to one knee before the Feyreisa and offered her his hands. “May it please the gods, Feyreisa, I accept your offer of healing, that I may defend the Fading Lands and avenge the deaths of those I loved.”
“What is your name?
” Ellysetta asked.
He tossed back his head, sending white-blond hair rippling across his black leathers. “I am Gillandaris vel Jendahr, Master of Air and Earth and Fire, fourth-level talent in Water and Spirit, friend and blade brother of Tajik vel Sibboreh, and former chadin of the great Shannisorran v’En Celay.” He sent a cool glance in Gaelen’s direction.
“If I restore your soul, Ser vel Jendahr, will you promise not to bloodswear yourself to me in payment? Will you accept my gift as just that—a gift, freely given?”
Gil’s brows drew together. “Lute’asheiva is a warrior’s right, not a gift for a shei’dalin to allow or deny, no matter her reasons.” Gil had never been a Fey to softpaw around anyone or any subject. He was all warrior, steel strong, blade sharp, fierce in his beliefs and his willingness to defend them. “Nei, I make no such vow.”
The Feyreisa’s spine stiffened, and for a moment, Tajik thought she might refuse to share her gift. But then her eyes flashed and she reached out to seize Gil’s hands in a tight grip. Gil’s mouth opened in a soundless gasp. Light blazed around the Feyreisa, enveloping them both. Bel, Gaelen, and Rain all swore and stepped forward to lend her their strength, but before they could get close enough, Gil gave a hoarse cry. The light flared with sudden brightness, then winked out. Gil was shaking, and the Feyreisa looked shocked and unhappy.
“What…? Is that it?” Tajik frowned. Had she chosen not to heal Gil’s soul after all? “Feyreisa, he is a good man. An honorable warrior, one whose death would be a loss to us all. Teska, heal him that he may defend the Fading Lands for another thousand years to come.”
A voice, hoarse and disbelieving, said quietly, “She did.” Without taking his stunned eyes from hers, Gil reached for his Fey’cha, pulled black from its protective sheath, and slit his palm on the trembling blade. The words of lute’asheiva spilled from his lips in a torrent. Rain, Tajik, Bel, and Gaelen called witness, and with grim acceptance, the Feyreisa took the bloodsworn blade from Gil’s hand.
“I do not want this,” she said.
“It is yours all the same, kem’falla.”
“I was angry, and I was not kind.” She looked up from the blade and met his eyes, dark misery in her own. “I hurt you. Sieks’ta. I should have used more care.”
Gil rose to his feet, his white-blond head towering over hers by two handspans. “A buzzfly sting, kem’falla. Gone almost before I felt it.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I suppose I deserved it for defying you. I should have remembered tairen do not take insolence kindly.”
“Aiyah, you should have,” the Tairen Soul agreed, his voice a low rumble of sound. He laid a hand on the Feyreisa’s shoulder, and when she turned to look up at him, his face bore an expression of such fierce devotion, Tajik felt his own chest grow tight. Once he had dreamed of finding a woman in whose eyes he would see the Great Sun rise and set, a woman whose soul would call to his. He no longer hoped for that in this life, but now, he did dare once more to pray for such a miracle in his next.
Rain sent flows of tairen song to Ellysetta, the melody vibrant with reassurance and pride as it rippled along the threads of their bond. «You restored Gil’s soul, shei’tani. I can see you are troubled, but there is no need. Look at him. He is unharmed.»
«Is he?» She looked up, her eyes filled with worry. «I’m not so sure. I’m not sure I’m all right, for that matter.»
«What do you mean?»
«I mean it didn’t feel right, what I just did to Gil. I was angry, Rain.» She bit her lip. «He defied me and I didn’t like it. I think some part of me actually meant to hurt him.»
She shifted in Rain’s embrace, as if she intended to pull away, but he would not release her. «Las, Ellysetta. Does he look hurt? Nei, because he is not. He challenged your authority. You showed him your claws. It is the tairen way.»
«Nei, it’s more than that. The weave felt wrong. Like a sweetness gone sour. It reminded me of when the High Mage set his Mark upon me.»
«You are imagining things.» He scowled at her, not liking the implication that any part of her magic was similar to the black arts practiced by the High Mage.
«Am I? Rain, you know part of him is in me, and you know night is the time when I feel it most. What if he’s using the Marks he put on me to…change me?» More than anything, she feared the evil High Mage would use those Mage Marks to corrupt her soul and destroy the Fey. «What if the power I just used on Gil came from him…the Mage?»
«Ellysetta, look around you. You’re surrounded by the oldest, most experienced warriors of the Fey. If anything in your weave was like Eld magic, these warriors would have felt it.» He reached out to brush a tumbling lock of hair from her face. «You didn’t hurt Gil; you restored his soul. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not happy that you’ve chosen to heal the rasa—and I’m certainly not encouraging you to continue—but I won’t let you see Mages every time the tairen shows its fangs.»
She drew a breath, and he could see her almost visibly pulling a veil of calm around her emotions. «Bas’ka,» she said. «Perhaps you’re right.»
He smiled and bent to kiss the worry from her face. His song sang notes of confidence and reassurance until the tension in her shoulders melted and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
Behind them, Tajik cleared his throat. “Kem‘falla, may it please you, this next fine warrior of the Fey is Rijonn vel Ahrimor, my oldest and dearest friend. He and I were cradle friends, and chadins together in Tehlas. He is one of the strongest Earth masters ever born to the Fey.”
“Ser Ahrimor.” The warrior standing beside Tajik was the tallest and most heavily muscled Fey Ellysetta had ever seen. His eyes and hair were brown as the fertile earth of the Garreval, and there was a deep, stoic strength about him, as if mountains would fall before he did. She liked him instinctively and immensely. Ellysetta held out her hands.
“Will you allow me to heal your soul?”
The Earth master gave a nod and offered his enormous hands, not putting them in hers but leaving her to make the final choice.
The only sound he made was a soft gasp when she laid her hands upon him. Whatever wrongness Ellysetta had sensed when she’d healed Gil, it did not recur, nor did touching Rijonn wound her any worse than laying hands upon Gil had done. When she was finished, he sank to his knees and spoke the lute’asheiva oath in a low, gravelly voice.
From pallet to pallet, barracks hall to barracks hall, she walked the silvery white corridors of Chakai, seeking out the rasa and offering the gift of peace for their battered souls.
Many of the warriors she approached refused her offer. Some were unwilling to inflict their pain upon her. Others refused to touch another Fey’s unbonded mate. A grim-faced few declared it dishonorable to escape the suffering the gods had seen fit to lay upon them.
But for each Fey who turned away her gift, there were two or three others who did not.
Lured by the promise of confronting the Mages of Eld in battle once more—and seeing the growing number of dazzle-eyed lu’tans standing at Ellysetta’s side—warrior after warrior stepped forward and offered his soul up for healing. Warrior after warrior wept as the peace he’d lost to war showered down upon him again. One after another, those who had been rasa sank to their knees and swore the bonds of lute’asheiva to their new queen.
Chimes became bells. The ranks of the rasa shrank by the score. Word of what was happening traveled across the mile-long Warriors’ Wall to Chatok. The warriors guarding the silvery blue ramparts heard of it. The shei’dalins sleeping in their chambers woke to shocked whispers: «Come quickly. The Feyreisa…she is healing the rasa!»
Chatok emptied. Its inhabitants made their way across the wall to the white towers of Chakai to witness the miracle.
Marissya found Ellysetta in Chakai’s main hall, healing the rasa who had laid pallets upon the floor there. Her eyes were afire, her body enveloped in a shimmering aura of golden white light. Behind Ellysetta, his own eyes blazing with res
trained fury, Rain bored crumbling holes into stone with his bare fingers as he allowed Fey after Fey to lay hands upon his mate.
All the lu’tans were feeding Ellysetta their power now. As each newly healed Fey fell to his knees and bloodswore himself to her, she seized his strength and added it to her shining web. The glow of magic surrounded them all, bright and golden white.
Marissya stared in horror at the Fey warriors who should have been protecting Ellysetta—the same warriors who were instead crooning encouragement. “Gaelen! Bel! What are you doing? Have you lost all sense? How can you allow this madness?”
“She said the pain is manageable,” Gaelen said.
“She said?” Her voice rose. Her hands clenched into fists. “Gods save me from fools and men! One may have been manageable—she’s so strong, even the first dozen or so might be bearable—but how many rasa has she healed? Do you not understand that theirs is the sort of pain that accumulates?”
Marissya bit her tongue to stop from launching into a furious tirade. Even though her brother and Bel should have known better—much better!—they could not feel Ellysetta’s emotions. They did not know what this was truly costing her. Marissya and the five shei’dalins standing in stunned silence beside her did.
And so did Rain.
A familiar burst of wild power flared around him. No matter what Ellysetta may have claimed at the outset, the torment of healing so many rasa souls had left her empathic shei’dalin senses raw and throbbing, as if a gaping wound had been ripped through her chest straight to her heart. The wild fury of Rain’s tairen was rousing in response to his mate’s pain.
And an equally fierce anger was writhing and hissing inside of Ellysetta. The glow around her flared with sudden brightness.
The warrior in Ellysetta’s grip gave a sharp cry and fell to his knees, shaking like a leaf as his hands reached for the leather straps holding his black Fey’cha. Even as he swore his lute’asheiva bond, she was reaching for the next Fey standing behind him.
“Sisters,” Marissya commanded the other shei’dalins,