Lord of the Fading Lands

by C. L. Wilson

  Ellie saw her cast one last, frantic look over her shoulder and freeze in her tracks, but even without that, Ellie would have known that Rain Tairen Soul had walked into the room. The shields Belliard had built dissolved. Ellie could hear the clap of Rain’s boots against the marble floor as he walked towards her, but it was the way her skin felt flushed and the blood raced through her veins that told her he was near.

  She turned to face him. Everything about him called to every one of her senses, leaving her as giddy as an adolescent girl mooning over a handsome boy. His luminescent Fey skin shone against the blackness of his leathers. His eyes glowed with power, and Ellie saw his gaze flick from her to Selianne.

  Worried that he would do just as Selianne feared—probe her mind and discover her heritage—Ellie stepped directly into his line of vision, drawing his attention away from her friend. “You’re here. How did you know where to find us?” She heard the sound of racing footsteps as Selianne took advantage of the Tairen Soul’s distraction and ran away.

  The Feyreisen’s fierce gaze pinned Ellie in place. “Bel told me. But even if he had not, I would always be able to find you, shei’tani.” Anger rolled over her in waves. “You should not have attempted to leave the house without guard. You will not do so again.”

  Though his anger frightened her, the barked command made her spine go poker straight. “I’m not your prisoner. You have no right to order me to do anything. I’ve gone for walks in the night many times in the past and never come to harm.”

  “You weren’t the Feyreisa before now. While the Mages may have overlooked Ellysetta Baristani, the woodcarver’s daughter, believe me they will not overlook Ellysetta Baristani, the Tairen Soul’s mate.”

  Ellie swallowed. He sounded so certain, so ominous. “Maybe what you say would be true if there were Mages in Celieria, but there are none. There haven’t been since the Mage Wars. They were banned a thousand years ago.”

  His lips pulled back in a small snarl. “And do you really think they’ve stayed away all this time? They are cunning adversaries, patient and powerful.” He advanced on her, and she backed up nervously. “You can be certain they know about you by now, and they’re already plotting to capture or kill you.”

  Ellie’s heart pounded in her chest, beating with sudden fear. She told herself that since he’d claimed her as his truemate, he couldn’t possibly harm her, but that didn’t seem to matter much. The way he looked right now, it wasn’t hard to imagine him killing her.

  “Aiyah, you should be afraid. Perhaps fear will stop you from acting foolishly.”

  She turned to run, but only managed half a dozen steps before he caught her wrist.

  “Nei, Ellysetta. You will not run from me. You will…” His voice broke off, his attention captured by something just beyond her shoulder. Sorrow washed over her, deep and heartrending. The emotions were his, but she felt them as clearly as if they were her own.

  She turned to follow his gaze, and her breath stalled. She had unwittingly run straight for the one room in the museum where she spent most of her time—the exhibit dedicated to the scorching of the world.

  More than twenty oil paintings circled the room, vivid canvases painted by Celieria’s greatest masters, all depicting the tragic story of Rain and Sariel and the fiery aftermath of her death. Dominating the room was Fabrizio Chelan’s masterpiece, Death of the Beloved.

  The look on Rain’s face as he regarded the great master’s most famous work would have made her heart ache even without the stunned, breathless pain radiating from him. Tears filled her eyes. For the first time, she didn’t find the famous painting tragically romantic or tragically beautiful. For the first time, she found it only tragic.

  He released her hand, and the terrible rawness of his grief faded. “Her death was nothing like that,” he murmured. His gaze remained fixed on the central figures captured forever through Chelan’s unsurpassed mastery of composition, color, and perspective.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I never got to hold her like that for the last time. They drew me away from her as part of their ambush, then attacked her to destroy me. She was badly burned. The Elden Mages cut off her head so she could not be healed. I was in the air when I felt her die, and the Rage took me then. I don’t remember much after that, but they tell me I incinerated the entire battlefield in mere chimes. There was nothing left of her to hold when I finally came back to sanity.” He reached up a hand as if to touch the painted image of his dead mate, then pulled back when sparks flashed from the protective weave. He stood there, staring at the image of Sariel in a dramatic, beautiful death swoon, her cheeks still rosy, unscorched, and glimmering with Fey luminescence, clutched in the arms of the mate who should have been at her side protecting her but had not. “She died alone, at the hands of an Elden Mage.”

  The pain of Rain’s loss squeezed Ellie’s heart. Her throat went tight and tears burned at the backs of her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know you loved her.”

  “It was a long time ago.” He frowned at Sariel’s image. “That isn’t even a very good likeness of her.”

  Ellie gave a choked sound that was half laugh, half sob. This painting was one of the most famous masterpieces in all of Celierian history, and yet Rain Tairen Soul declared the image to be not only wholly false but a poor likeness as well.

  “In a way, it is good to see this painting and remember,” he continued.

  “That you loved her?”

  “Nei. That I failed her. My first duty was to protect my mate, and I did not. It will not happen again.” His expression hardened and he turned to face her. “Which is why you will never again attempt to leave your home unescorted.”

  “But—”

  “Nei! You are my truemate. Harm to you is harm to me. The Eld know this, and that puts you in great danger, Ellysetta. The world is no longer a safe place for you.”

  His eyes were starting to glow again, and she could feel his anger beating at her. She should just meekly agree and go home. That was the smart thing to do. He was a powerful Fey who’d already lost control of his wild magic once before. Only a fool would actually argue with him.

  And yet…something would not let her just meekly murmur her obedience and allow the Fey to lead her home like a prize dog on a leash. “I realize your concern is genuine, my lord Feyreisen, but even if Eld Mages really are hiding in the city, plotting evil, they have no reason to harm me. I am betrothed to another man.”

  “Bel told me of the butcher’s offspring. His desires neither hold sway over our bond nor protect you from the Eld. Your soul called out, Ellysetta Baristani, and mine answered. That one moment made you a prize the Eld would kill to claim. Nothing can change that. And that means you must never again attempt to wander the streets alone.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” His hands seized hers in a tight grip. “If you will not consider your own safety, consider the safety of others. Sariel was my mate. I should not have survived her death. But I did, and you know the results.” He gestured to the fiery, violent paintings surrounding them. “Whether you want it or not, you are my truemate. Even though our bond is not yet complete, if the Eld managed to kill you, I should not survive it.” Sudden intensity burned in his eyes, and his voice dropped to a low whisper. “But what if I did?”

  Ellie’s mouth went dry. Her skin burned where Rain’s hands gripped hers as images and emotions flooded into her. The blinding grief of Sariel’s death. The hot, wild rush of rage, driving him to rain fire and death upon the world. The haunting screams and terror of those who died in the face of his madness.

  She yanked free of his grip, and the onslaught ceased.

  She pressed one shaking hand to her mouth and the other to her belly. “What was that?”

  “A tiny fraction of what I live with, Ellysetta, every day since I scorched the world.”

  “I’m going to be sick.” She spun on her heel and raced for the nearest waste bin, barely making it before the contents of h
er stomach heaved out of her.

  When she was done, he was there beside her, a glass of cold water in his hand. She could have cried with humiliation. Instead, she took the glass, rinsed her mouth, and spat. Not meeting his eyes, she handed the glass back to him. It melted into nothing. All signs of her brief, violent sickness vanished as well.

  She stared at the empty space and couldn’t even summon surprise. Of course the Fey could make vomit vanish. All that power had to have its practical uses. She forced a laugh. “Where were you when Lillis and Lorelle had the stomach ague last year?”

  He didn’t laugh or even smile at her weak joke. “Sieks’ta. I should not have shared that with you. I have shamed myself. Not even fear for your safety excuses me.” He gestured, and Bel stepped closer. “Your quintet will take you home. As I’ve just demonstrated, my control is not yet what it should be.” He bowed, his face a frozen mask.

  If he’d meant to impress upon her the gravity of her situation, he’d succeeded. His tactics might have been brutal, but they were effective. She couldn’t even summon any anger. How could she blame him for wanting to avoid reliving the horror he’d just shared with her?

  She started to reach out to him, but caution made her draw back before touching him. One taste of his torment was enough. “I won’t leave the house without escort again,” she promised.

  As Bel led her away, she paused at the entrance of the Fey wing and glanced back. Rain stood looking up at Chelan’s painting of Sariel’s death, his face pale and drawn.

  The young boy darted silently through the shadows of the West End’s quiet merchant district. A block ahead, the pretty blond girl he’d followed from the museum turned down a narrow cobbled lane that led to a modest residential district. The boy smiled. He could practically feel the gold sovereign warm between his fingers.

  Follow her, Master Manza had ordered when he’d realized the blonde was Ellysetta Baristani’s friend. Find out where she lives. She may prove useful.

  Rain remained in the museum for almost a full bell after Ellysetta’s departure, sitting on the bench in the middle of the room, staring up at the countless images and remembering.

  He’d loved Sariel. With all the unfettered, consuming passion of youth, he’d loved her. He’d been a young Tairen Soul, full of the power of his gift and the promise of endless skies, and she’d been a beautiful Fey healer, not as powerful as Marissya, and no match to his own strength, but so gentle and compassionate there were none who did not love her.

  She’d been first in his heart since boyhood. He’d never wanted another.

  And now he did.

  It felt like betrayal. As if his own body, his own soul, had betrayed his heart.

  Spirit swirled around his fingertips. Swaths of mystic magic poured out in a sparkling cloud that slowly began to spin. He watched it, guided it, as the magic condensed and took shape. Long, straight strands of silky black hair blew back from a luminous oval face of stunning beauty. Full, red lips smiled at him with exquisite tenderness, while eyes like blue forget-me-nots watched him with endless patience and love.

  “Sariel,” Rain whispered sadly. He’d woven the memories many times. He was a master of Spirit. To any other onlooker, Sariel would have seemed whole and alive and real, but Rain held the weave, and he knew—he always knew—she was an illusion. He’d managed to pretend otherwise, but no longer. The slender arms that rose to embrace him seemed hollow and faded, and when he reached out to her, his hand passed through the weave.

  He would have wept if he still had tears within him. “I don’t want to lose you, e’tani.”

  Sariel smiled and shook her head. She bent to kiss him, but when he tilted back his head to meet her lips, the Spirit weave dissolved. Sariel faded into mist. Rain groaned and buried his face in his hands. Not even with a kiss to a phantom love could he betray his shei’tani.

  “Your magic knows you belong to another, even if your heart still rebels.”

  Rain lifted his head. Marissya stood at the entrance to the chamber. Dax was at her side, while her quintet stood guard a bit further away. Marissya was watching Rain with a strange mix of compassion and irritation. The truemate in her disliked that he’d even attempted to betray his bond with a kiss to his lost love, while the empath in her understood why he did.

  “We all loved Sariel, Rain,” Marissya continued, “but you must let her go. Your shei’tani will never accept you so long as you cling to the memory of another.”

  “I know that without your scolding.” Her reprimand stung, even more because it was deserved. He rose to his feet.

  “I am glad to hear it. I wasn’t certain you were thinking clearly. Kieran told me you shared your torment with your shei’tani.”

  Kieran had a flapping tongue. “She tried to leave her home unescorted. Truemated to the Tairen Soul, and she tried to wander Celierian streets alone—at night! She even refused to believe her life might be in danger. Did Kieran tell you that, too?”

  One cool brown brow rose. “He merely suggested you might need my help weaving control over your emotions. It appears he was right.”

  Rain’s lips compressed. To argue would only prove her point.

  Marissya sighed, and her expression softened. “The gods weave as the gods will, Rain. And even though it may not be apparent at first, they do weave purpose into all things. Even terrible things. Sariel’s death was a devastating loss, but all this time I believed it was the price the gods demanded for the end of the Wars. That was the only pattern I saw in the weave…until today, when a Celierian girl called a tairen from the sky.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “The tairen and the Fey are dying. You are the last bridge between our two species. You told me the Eye of Truth sent you here, to Celieria, to find our salvation. We both know it can be no coincidence that Ellysetta is your truemate. Somehow, she is the key to saving us all. Though we’ve yet to see her power, it must be vast. She could never have called your soul if she were not your equal in every way. We also both know she could never have called you if you were still bound to another—even if that bond was only e’tanitsa, as it was between you and Sariel.” Her hands closed over his, and cool, calming threads of empathy and healing stroked across his battered emotions. “You’ve seen the pattern, too, Rain. No matter how badly you want to deny it. Sariel had to die so Ellysetta could be born to save us.”

  Rain pulled free of her grasp and turned away.

  “You must not blame Ellysetta,” Marissya continued. “She is an innocent. She is the soul the gods shaped to save the tairen and the Fey.” She circled round him, relentless. “And you, Rain, are the soul the gods shaped to protect her and bring her safely back to us so she can fulfill her purpose. You cannot shirk your duty, not to the tairen, not to the Fey, and definitely not to your truemate. Set aside your longings for what used to be. Embrace Ellysetta in your heart as well as your soul so you can win her trust and her bond and help her discover her strength. Because, Rain, one other thing seems certain to me.” The shei’dalin’s eyes grew dark with portent. “Whatever task the gods have set before Ellysetta Baristani, it is fearfully dangerous. Else she’d not need a tairen to protect her soul.”

  Far away to the northeast in the heart of the Elden wilderness, the subterranean palace of Boura Fell, seat of the High Mage Vadim Maur, lay buried deep in the earth, masterfully shielded from Fey senses and Fey magic by rock, soil, and wards worked from the darkest Elden wizardry. The massive complex stretched for miles beneath the surface, one of many similar fortresses hidden throughout Eld. For nearly a thousand years, the network of underground palaces had survived, thrived even, undetected and steadily growing in strength and number, like a cancer quietly spreading its deadly tentacles beneath the skin of a seemingly healthy man.

  High Mage Vadim Maur, leader of the High Council of Mages and uncrowned ruler of Eld, sat at his massive desk and pondered the news from his apprentice in Celieria. Around him, sconces flickered with Fire, lighting the d
ark, windowless cavern of his study with a pale yellow glow, illuminating the numerous bookcases that held priceless ancient texts and centuries’ worth of notes on his experiments.

  Rain Tairen Soul had a truemate. A truemate with red hair and green eyes, so suspiciously like the child stolen years ago.

  Vadim sat back in his chair and steepled his hands beneath his chin. Suspicion was not certainty, and not enough to make him tip his hand. Not yet, at least. There were two hundred Fey in Celieria City…too many to confront lightly even without the substantial added might of the Tairen Soul. Vadim had not won and held his grip on the High Council of Mages through the blundering application of brute force. He was a man who believed in choosing his battles…and in preparing his battlefield.

  He’d already dispatched a handful of spies to northern Celieria in case his search party had missed something so many years ago. Meanwhile, his apprentice Kolis Manza would continue his work in Celieria and learn what he could about the girl without rousing suspicions.

  Vadim rose from his desk. His rich, gold-embroidered, purple velvet robes whispered around him as he crossed the room to approach a carefully warded black metal door. He dissolved the wards, placed his hand in the hollow etched deep into the door’s center panel, and uttered, “Gaz vegoth.”

  The ancient Feraz witchwords sent magic swirling. Metal groaned as the unseen bolts securing the door slid free from their anchors in the stone. The door opened inward to reveal the small round antechamber that served as Vadim Maur’s private spell room.

  Fire flared to life in three golden sconces as the High Mage stepped through the door, and in the flickering light, figures seemed to move and sway across the intricate patterns of the mosaic tiles that covered every fingerspan of wall, ceiling, and floor in the room. A carved black stone altar occupied the center of the room; a bowl and goblet of hammered gold rested atop it. Opposite the door, pure, cool water poured from the carved mouth of a snarling dragon’s head into a rune-etched catch-basin below.