by C. L. Wilson
“You called upon the gods just before you made my heart weep again,” Bel said. “And when you took Adrial’s memory.
“And again just now,” Kieran added.
Ellysetta saw the surprise and certainty in all their faces. A thousand scenes flashed across her mind: her effectiveness at kissing away the pain when one of the twins came to her with a small wound; her ability to soothe her mother’s agitation; the ease with which she found lost objects and even lost children on occasion; the way she could make herself all but invisible in a crowd when shyness overwhelmed her. The way she’d prayed and prayed for sisters—precious twins—to love.
She, Ellysetta Baristani, had made all those things happen. She may have offered herself as the vessel through which the gods could work their small glories, but the magic that made it possible had come from within. She had been working magic all her life. Just as Rain had claimed from the start. She stared up at him in shock.
“Magic isn’t evil, shei’tani. Nor are those who wield it, if they wield it for good.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Will you dance the Felah Baruk with me, shei’tani? On the terrace, beneath the Mother’s silver light?”
The Felah Baruk, literally the Dance of Joy, was the Fey dance of courtship and devotion. “Bel and Kieran showed me the steps, but I’m afraid I don’t remember them all.”
“It will be my pleasure to teach you.”
She placed her hand on his wrist. “Then lead the way, shei’tan.” She loved the way his eyes sparked as she called him that: truemate, husband, beloved. Hers.
They passed the armed guards standing sentry by the large, arched doorways and walked across the marbled terrace to the balustrades overlooking the palace gardens.
Rain glanced over at Kiel. “Ask the musicians to play the Felah Baruk.” The blond warrior slashed a quick bow and hurried back inside the palace ballroom. Moments later, the bright, soaring strains of the Dance of Joy spilled out through the terrace doors into the night.
Rain held out a hand, and Ellysetta took it with a smile and a curtsey.
“You mustn’t laugh if I miss a step,” she told him. But even as she spoke, she found herself moving gracefully, instinctively, in the patterns that symbolized Fey courtship and bonding. She turned slowly, swaying. He circled her, tall, dark, stern, his eyes burning. “You’re guiding me,” she whispered as she lifted an arm, passing a hand like a veil before her face, then extending it to Rain in a silent invitation.
“A little.” He touched her hands, fingers threading through hers, clasping her hand. She turned, twirling so that his arm circled her waist and she backed against his chest. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Nei.” She looked up, bending her head back so she could see his eyes. “It’s nice, actually.” He was feeding her the motions of the dance, guiding each step, but with so subtle a touch that she could almost believe it was memory, not Rain, leading her through the steps. She didn’t try to fight him, she just opened her mind and surrendered command of her body to him, and they danced as if they had danced a thousand times before.
He was home! Blessed merciful gods, he had been forgiven his sins. He was home! Gaelen vel Serranis stood in the tall grass of the plains of Corunn. The sun beat down on his head and gleamed on the golden spires of the Tairen Soul’s palace in Dharsa, and the strains of the Felah Baruk flowed like healing magic over his body. The notes were faint, as if they were far away, but he heard them for the first time in over a thousand years, and his heart soared.
Marikah! Marissya! I’m home!
He saw them clearly, his sisters, as beautiful as life could ever be, two stars of the morning sky, running towards him with laughter and love shining on their faces, their hair unbound and flowing like banners of dark silk. Marissya, the gentler of the two, with deep, bottomless, ocean-blue eyes and hair as brown as the fertile earth. Marikah, his twin, with jet-black hair and pale blue eyes that would have seemed as cold as his own except for the love and laughter that always warmed them. His sisters ran towards him through the tall grass, their arms outstretched to welcome him. He saw Marikah’s mouth form his name. He reached for her, and she faded, leaving him to embrace nothing but air. A frown drew his brows together as memory, fragmented and shifting like sand, disturbed his happiness. Marikah was…dead?
Nei! Nei!
But even as he shook his head and cried out in denial, Gaelen saw the scene that had played in his mind a million times. His twin Marikah lay against an intricate mosaic of blue and gold tiles, her gown an ever-deepening scarlet, matching the dark pool of thick liquid that spread beneath her, an Eld assassin’s blade plunged deep into her heart. She turned her head and reached out…not to Gaelen but to the man who lay dead beside her. The Celierian. The mortal she had chosen as her mate.
Marissya stood still in the grass, clothed in shei’dalin red, her eyes accusing. She was yours to protect and you failed. You are dead to us.
Condemnation blew an icy wind through his soul, and he was freezing, teeth chattering.
Gaelen’s eyes opened to the darkness of night. Stars twinkled in the sky overhead, paled by the light of the moons. Dimly he realized he was lying in the dirt at the edge of a field. He was not in the Fading Lands. Marikah was dead and he was dahl’reisen, soul-lost.
But he could still hear the strains of the Felah Baruk.
A low groan rattled in his throat as he rolled over on his belly and lifted his head. His vision swam, but he saw the glow of a walled city he both knew and despised.
Celieria City.
Outside on the terrace, the air was warm and sweet, perfumed with the scents of the palace gardens. Ellysetta danced with Rain until the last note of the Felah Baruk died away.
“Good evening, My Lord Feyreisen, Lady Ellysetta.” A deep baritone voice spoke just behind her.
“Lord Barrial.” Ellysetta’s fingers tightened around Rain’s wrist as she turned to face the border lord. Here was the one person she’d actually liked from the dinner the other night, and she found herself holding her breath as she waited to see how he would greet her.
“Lady Ellysetta.” He bowed deeply. When he rose, the faintest of smiles curved the man’s lips. “No offense, but I trust you will not be drinking pinalle tonight?”
Ellie blushed. “No, my lord. I don’t think I shall ever drink it again. Certainly never in combination with keflee.”
“Now, that would be a waste of a fine opportunity.” Lord Barrial arched a dark brow. “Wouldn’t you agree, My Lord Feyreisen?”
Rain smiled, though a bit ruefully. “Indeed, though it certainly depends on the time and place of the opportunity.”
Lord Barrial laughed, then moved a little closer and lowered his voice. “Teleos tells me you had a bit of trouble with the Eld today. A demon?”
“Aiyah, and the Mages finally made a mistake. They used selkahr to summon the creature, and left me with the proof I needed to convince Dorian. The borders will not open tomorrow, even if the vote passes. Dorian has said he will invoke primus.”
“Well done, my friend.” Lord Barrial clapped him on the back. “That is good news. Now you’ve only to pray that nothing else happens to muck things up before tomorrow’s vote.”
“Ah, here you are.” Lord Teleos stepped through the terrace doors. “Good evening, Rain, Lady Ellysetta.” The Fey-eyed border lord bowed his head, his dark, unbound hair swinging free about his shoulders. A stranger stood beside him, clad in robes that shimmered with otherworldly beauty and seemed to shift in color from blue to green to gold. “Have you met Elvia’s ambassador? Lord Arran Bluewing, may I present the Tairen Soul, Rainier vel’En Daris, and his truemate, Lady Ellysetta Baristani.”
The Elvian bowed. Long, silken, brown hair woven in myriad tiny plaits brushed against elegant tapered ears. His eyes were dark green, the color of the deepest forest, his skin almost Fey-pale, but with a golden luster rather than a silvery luminescence. The ambassador turned his deep gaze on Ellysetta,
and she stared at him in wonder. She’d never met an Elf before, and there was a strange, compelling mystery about him, as if those eyes saw things no others did.
He murmured something in a language that sounded like waterfalls in sunlight-dappled forests. She didn’t understand him, but his words made Rain, Lord Barrial, and Lord Teleos stiffen in surprise. Rain’s hand closed around her elbow and drew her closer to his side. He replied in the same language, but when he spoke, it sounded like raging rapids. Unperturbed, the ambassador turned his gaze on Rain, spoke again just as calmly as before, then bowed and took his leave.
“What was that all about?” Ellysetta asked.
It was Lord Barrial who answered. “He said your Song in the Dance has begun.” He and Lord Teleos turned to look at her in surprised unison.
“Elvish mysticism,” Rain muttered, shifting closer to her. “It means nothing, Ellysetta, except that you are the truemate of a Tairen Soul.”
“And destined to change the world,” Lord Barrial added, “as all who call a Song in the Dance do.” He frowned at Rain. “And your Song must still be singing, Rain, if Galad Hawksheart wants the Fey to visit him in Deep Woods. He doesn’t lightly issue such invitations.”
“Well, Lady Ellysetta, you are all surprises.” Lord Teleos shook his head. “But what else would one expect from the truemate of a Tairen Soul?” His smile faded, and he turned back to Rain. “In any event, I didn’t come to bring the ambassador—he just divined where I was going in that way Elvish folk do and followed along. I came to tell you that Lord Krahn has arrived with his lady and heir. You and the Feyreisa should come to greet them, and there are several other lords I think you should meet who only arrived in town today. Sebourne’s already making the rounds.”
“Dorian has promised to invoke primus,” Lord Barrial told him.
“Ah.” Teleos’s brows rose. “Excellent. The selkahr convinced him?”
“It did,” Rain answered.
“Good. Good.” Teleos rubbed his hands together. “Still, it never hurts to sharpen all the blades in the arsenal, does it? No telling what else the enemies of Celieria and the Fading Lands may yet hold in store. These are unsettled times.”
Rain’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest, and Ellysetta felt a brief, quickly contained rush of aggression. “Indeed.” He held out his wrist to Ellysetta. When she put her hand upon it, he gestured with his free hand towards the crowded palace ballroom. “Lead the way, Lord Teleos. The Feyreisa and I would very much like to meet all Celierians still willing to honor your country’s ancient ties to the Fey.”
Ellysetta didn’t know how long she and Rain spent greeting the lords and ladies of Teleos’s acquaintance, but the time passed with surprising speed. Unlike the more jaded members of the royal court, most of these nobles spent a goodly part of each year on their far-flung estates, well removed from the intrigues and prejudices of the court. Most of them also came from the west, closer to the Fading Lands, and they greeted Rain with considerably more warmth than many of their peers.
Rain was pleasant and charming in a way Ellysetta rarely saw him with Celierians. For her part, she tried her best to follow Master Fellows’s advice and remember that tonight she was not Ellie, the woodcarver’s daughter, but Ellysetta, the Tairen Soul’s queen. Drawing upon Master Fellows’s training, her own vast knowledge of Fey legends and lore, and the histories she’d read in Master Tarr’s voluminous tome, she managed to carry on appropriate conversation and avoid any embarrassing gaffes.
A number of foreign dignitaries mingled with the Celierian guests. Cool-eyed Capellans, bronzed Sorrelians, another three Elves in addition to the ambassador, representatives from all the mortal, immortal, and magical lands with whom Celieria held relations. Every one of those foreign dignitaries made a point of greeting Rain and Ellysetta as well. Soon it almost seemed there were two reception lines—one for Celieria’s royal family and another for Rain Tairen Soul and his mate.
That fact didn’t escape Queen Annoura’s notice. Though her expression remained serene and welcoming, her hand clenched tight around her silver lace fan.
Jiarine Montevero bent towards Annoura’s ear and whispered in a scornful sneer, “Do you think they even realize this is Prince Dorian’s prenuptial ball and not the Tairen Soul’s? Look at them lining up to play toady to a peasant.”
The fan in Annoura’s hand snapped. “Lady Jiarine,” she said in a toneless voice. “My fan seems to have broken. Please, fetch me another.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Jiarine took the destroyed fan and headed for the queen’s apartments, a satisfied smile curling her lips.
Midway through the evening, the silver-coated servant at the top of the stairs announced a late-arriving couple. “Lord and Lady Collum diSebourne.”
A broad smile warmed Lord Barrial’s face. “Please excuse me, My Lord Feyreisen, Lady Ellysetta, my lords and ladies.” Barrial executed a swift bow. “My daughter and her new husband have finally arrived.”
Ellysetta watched him stride towards the grand stairs where a young woman was descending on the arm of a handsome, haughty-looking Celierian lordling. Lord Barrial’s daughter had her father’s chestnut hair, caught up in a profusion of thick, lustrous ringlets that spilled down the back of her deep rose gown. Her heart-shaped face seemed made for the dazzling smile that broke across it when she caught sight of her father. She rushed down the last few stairs and fell into Lord Barrial’s arms for a laughing embrace, and Ellysetta felt her own heart swell with empathetic joy.
Beside her, Rain stiffened. “What is he doing?”
She followed his gaze and found Adrial standing near the edge of the ballroom. Adrial’s brother Rowan came bursting through the terrace doors and started shoving his way through the crowd towards him.
«Bel,» Rain snapped, his Spirit voice harsh as a whip.
Before Bel could move, Adrial gave a raw, choked cry, and Ellysetta’s feelings became a tumult of emotions so intense that tears flooded her eyes. “Adrial?” she took half a step towards him, just as Rain jerked to attention and Rowan cried out, “Nei, Adrial!”
Before anyone could stop him, Adrial crossed the room in a blur of speed to stand before Lord Barrial’s daughter. When his shadow fell over her, the young woman went totally still. The smile faded from her face and she slipped free of her father’s embrace.
“Talisa?” Lord Barrial frowned at his daughter in open confusion, but she was not looking at him. Her gaze was locked on the Fey-pale, Fey-beautiful face of Adrial vel Arquinas.
She stared at Adrial, her eyes wide and dazed. “I know you,” she said. “I’ve dreamed of you since before I can remember. I dreamed of you only days ago.”
“Talisa?” The young lord who was her husband moved closer. “Who is this man? How do you know him?” His voice was heavy with suspicion.
His wife didn’t appear to hear him. “I waited for you,” she told Adrial softly, “but you never came.”
“I am here now, beloved.” In a voice husky with emotion, Adrial declared, “Ver reisa ku’chae. Kem sera, shei’tani.” He held out his hands, palms up.
Slowly, Talisa Barrial diSebourne reached out.
“By the gods, you will not!” Lord diSebourne snarled and grasped his wife’s arm to yank her away from Adrial.
In a flash, Adrial lunged for him, lethal red Fey’cha clutched in each hand, murder on his face.
“Rain!” Ellie cried. “Stop him!”
Before the first syllable left her lips, bright shields sprang up around Adrial and around Lord Barrial, his daughter, and her husband. Ellie found her vision tinted as shields formed around her, too. With a push of Air, Rain thrust her protectively behind him even as the remaining warriors of her quintet closed tight around her.
In the same instant, dozens of Fey warriors appeared as if by magic, black-leather-clad shapes leaping from the balconies above, from the corners of the room, from the very woodwork itself, it seemed to Ellie. One moment the room was a sea of
glittering pastel courtiers, the next, it was a dark abyss of black leather, grim faces, and naked steel.
CHAPTER TWELVE
King Dorian jumped to his feet as his personal guard swarmed around him and Queen Annoura, weapons at the ready. Beside them, Prince Dorian clutched his affianced bride.
Adrial lunged against the shield surrounding him, sparks of white and red flashing around him. “Release me! You have no right to keep a Fey from his shei’tani!”
Talisa was weeping, her hands reaching out to Adrial even as her father tried to pull her away. Her husband, enclosed in his own protective bubble, had drawn his sidearm, and violence glittered in his eyes. “And you have no right to touch another man’s wife!”
“Peace.” Marissya’s voice was pitched low and tranquil.
“Don’t you dare try your witch’s tricks on me, Fey petchka,” Lord diSebourne hissed. He called across the tomb-silent ballroom, “Is this what Celierians have become, sire? The lackeys of Fey magicians? My father told me what’s been going on here in the city with these Fey. They murder our villagers—even our children!—and you do nothing. They steal a man’s betrothed and you allow it. Will you also stand by while they steal a man’s wife?”
King Dorian’s face turned pale, then grew dark with wrath. “You are overset, Lord diSebourne,” he replied tightly. “Though your anger is understandable, you will marshal your tongue when speaking to your king.”
“Sire, my family has lived and died protecting the borders for the last few hundred years. I am your loyal subject, but you either uphold a man’s right to his wife or you do not. I will have your answer.”
Lord Sebourne called out in support of his heir, “As will I, sire.”
Lord Morvel echoed him, then another two border lords and a dozen other nobles followed suit.
Silent, watchful, Rain waited for Dorian’s response. The Celierian king looked around the ballroom, his gaze moving slowly over the faces of the nobles who supported his rule, and over the still, pale faces of the Fey, once revered allies, now on the verge of becoming a polarizing force that could tear his kingdom apart. His eyes met Rain’s for a long instant. When he spoke, Dorian’s voice was clear, unhesitating. “Without a doubt, I support a man’s right to his wife, Lord diSebourne. Above and beyond the claims of any others.”