Queen of Song and Souls

by C. L. Wilson

  Rain ground his teeth. “Fine. One day in Celieria City. Then we head straight to Danael and Elvia.”

  “Agreed.”

  Ten chimes later, Rain took to the air with his Azrahn-shielded truemate on his back and the Fey began to run, heading east towards Celieria City.

  Ellysetta turned for one final look at the Mists-enveloped mountains that marked the borders of the Fading Lands, wondering if she would ever see those Mists again—or the beloved family trapped within.

  She closed her eyes briefly and sent up a silent prayer. Adelis, Bright One, Lord of Light, no matter what happens to me, please, watch over the ones I love. Shine your Light upon their Path and keep them safe from harm.

  The Faering Mists

  Lillis sat up with a groan and lifted a shaky hand to her pounding head. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left the place where she’d first woken up after all.

  Wandering blind on a shattered mountain came with many a deadly peril—including roots and stones to trip small feet, razor-sharp rocks, abrupt dropoffs, and trails so steep a billy goat wouldn’t tread them. Even so, she’d managed to survive most of the dangers with only a few minor bumps, bruises and cuts…until the ground disappeared beneath her feet.

  One moment, she was climbing down a steep, rock-strewn slope; the next, she was tumbling down the mountainside, cradling Snowfoot protectively in her arms as she fell.

  The last thing she remembered was the big bump that sent her flying through the air, the sudden, painful jolt of landing, then nothing until she woke again just now.

  She was surrounded by a mist so thick and white she couldn’t even see her own hands when she raised them to her face. For one terrified instant, she thought maybe she had died and gone to the Haven of Light, but then the mist began to thin. Within a few chimes, she could see her own badly skinned arms and legs and a small circle of the steep, rubble-strewn mountainside at her feet. Grit-filled wounds on her knees and palms throbbed with a dull pain. There was a long slash down her left thigh and a terrible lump on her head just above her left eye. Her head hurt. Her brain hurt. Everything hurt.

  And that proved she wasn’t dead.

  At least, she thought it did.

  Lillis put her face in her hands and started to cry. She wanted Papa. She wanted Kieran. She wanted them to hold her in their arms and tell her everything would be all right.

  A weak mew emerged from the sling around her neck.

  “Snowfoot!” Frantic, she fumbled to open the sides of the pouch to reach her pet. The instant he was free, the kitten clambered into her lap, mewing and rubbing against her the way he did when he was hungry. If she were on her own, she would probably just sit here and cry, but Snowfoot was depending on her. She couldn’t let him down.

  “All right.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “All right, we’ll keep going.” She took off her pinafore and tied it around the wound on her leg. Then she settled Snowfoot back in his sling and hauled herself to her feet.

  Carefully, each step slow and deliberate, Lillis began once more to hobble her way down the mountainside. This time, she tested her footing first before shifting her weight. More than once, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, leaving her scrambling for safe purchase, but she didn’t stop. After a while, the crumbling ground grew firmer. Shifting, treacherous rubble gave way to grassy mountain meadows dotted with shrubs and fragrant fir trees. The mist began to thin until Lillis could see several tairen lengths around her. Just up ahead, a footpath led through the grass towards the crest of a mountain pass flanked on both sides by dense stands of fir trees.

  Lillis started towards the path, then froze in sudden fear as a shadow moved in the stand of trees on the right. Someone—or something—was hiding there. Watching her.

  She clutched Snowfoot to her chest and took a nervous step back. “Who’s there?”

  The shadow moved again. Lillis’s heart rose up in her throat. Her shaking hands squeezed Snowfoot so tightly the little cat screeched a protest.

  “Las, ajiana. Nei siad. Ke nei vu’odahira.” The voice whispered on the breeze, soft and compelling.

  Lillis swayed. The tension in her muscles melted away along with her terror. Except for the phrase “las, ajiana,” meaning peace, sweet one, which Kieran often said to her, she did not know what the words meant, but the moment she heard them, she felt calm.

  The shadow stepped closer, and Lillis couldn’t bring herself to run. Closer still the shadow came, and now Lillis could make out a tall, slender figure emerging from the mist. A woman, dressed in gleaming white leathers, with hair the color of golden oak spilling down in thick waves past her hips. She was as beautiful as a Lightmaiden of Adelis, her pale skin shining with a familiar, silvery luminescence. Her amber eyes were bright, yet full of peace and a welcome so loving, Lillis felt her chin begin to tremble.

  “Veli, ajiana.” The woman stretched out her arms, beckoning.

  Wounds and tears forgotten, Lillis went.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beyond life there is hope

  A hope that all of them have lost

  But a new Tairen Soul has been born

  All prayers have been heard

  And time would not escape again.

  Together two hearts will fight

  To break the chain of immortal darkness

  A New Hope, by Vardis Merrin, Celierian Poet

  Celieria City

  With Ellysetta flying overhead on Rain’s back, the warriors ran flat-out. They crossed the remaining thousand miles of Celierian farmland in three days and reached the edge of King’s Wood at dawn of the fourth. Beyond the wood lay the creamy walls and tiled rooftops of Celieria City, gleaming against a backdrop of blue sky and forested hills cloaked in vivid autumn hues.

  Having lived in this city for most of her life, Ellysetta should have felt a sense of homecoming, but instead, as the signal pennants unfurled on the tower ramparts to alert all the city guard to the Fey’s approach and crowds began to gather and stare up at the tairen in the sky, she felt more like a visitor than a daughter of Celieria.

  The feeling grew stronger as each beat of Rain’s wings brought them closer to her former home, and a strange heaviness fell over her. Too many bad memories, she supposed. The bright-eyed Fey Dajan dying from demon-touch in her family’s home. Selianne disappearing in a blaze of blue-white Mage Fire. Father Bellamy and his exorcism needles. Mama gasping her last good-byes as she clutched the sel’dor blade that pierced her heart.

  Rain sensed her distress. «Would you prefer to stay outside the city with the lu’tan, shei’tani? If it is too difficult, we can stop here, and I will go speak to Dorian alone.»

  She leaned across the saddle front to stroke the soft fur at the base of his neck. «Nei. I will be fine. Some memories are sad, but there are others that bring me joy.» To ease them both, she concentrated on filling her mind with those happier recollections: working in Papa’s shop while he turned a simple piece of wood into a gleaming masterpiece of art; laughing with Selianne over Kelissande Minset’s pompous airs; playing stones with Lillis and Lorelle in the park beside the Velpin River; sharing a moment of peace and contentment with Mama as they recited their devotions to the Bright Lord.

  Rain flew over the west wall as the Fey passed through the West Gate’s portcullis and loped down the broad, cobbled avenue that ran east-to-west across the city. They turned north, following the city’s main thoroughfare to the elegant square of shops and craftsmasters’ workrooms crowded in the shadow of the royal palace. Street urchins chased in the footsteps of the Fey, and curious passersby gathered on the sides of the road, reminding Ellysetta of the day she’d first met Rain. Had that really only been a few short months ago? It seemed like entire lifetimes had passed since the day a woodcarver’s shy and awkward adopted daughter had called a Tairen Soul from the sky.

  Her hands clutched the raised front of the saddle as Rain tucked his wings and dove towards the royal palace. He Changed in middive, and she slid effortless
ly down a draft of Air. Earth magic swirled about her during the descent, transforming her studded red leathers into a silken scarlet gown and silver steel underdress. She landed lightly at the base of the palace steps, surrounded by the ring of her quintet and lu’tan. The bloodsworn Fey’cha of her quintet hung in a silver girdle at her hips; a single purple silk belt affixed with sheathed Fey’cha crossed over her chest; and the slight, humming weight of a crown fashioned from whorls of silver studded with Tairen’s Eye crystals nestled in her unbound hair.

  In a final burst of magic, Rain reformed at her side, tall and majestic, clad from head to toe in the golden war steel of the Fey king.

  Several of the courtiers regarded her with dazed eyes and open mouths, dazzled by the unveiled power of her shei’dalin magic. Several others, however, kept their eyes averted, and their cold, suspicious thoughts sliced at her like knives.

  Fey witch. How dare she spin her wiles so openly on the lords of Celieria?

  Look at her. Look how shamelessly she ensorcels those weak-minded fools.

  These Fey are not to be trusted. If we do not resist them, they will use their magic to enslave us all.

  She reached for Rain instinctively, and the horrible thoughts she’d inadvertently picked up from the courtiers flowed from her mind to his. The trouble that had been brewing in Celieria City when Rain last visited had clearly not dissipated in the ensuing months. If anything, the air of discontent seemed more obvious, but she wasn’t sure if that meant the sentiment was stronger or merely that she’d become adept at perceiving it.

  «Perhaps I should veil myself. The last thing I want to do is cause more trouble between Celieria and the Fey.» Ellysetta had refused to don the traditional scarlet veil that shei’dalins wore outside the Fading Lands. After a lifetime of having her true nature repressed by a powerful glamour, she was through hiding who and what she was.

  Rain’s glittering lavender eyes fixed on the averted faces of the courtiers whose thoughts had disturbed her. «You should do no such thing. Certainly not just to put these foul-minded rultsharts at ease.»

  If the ugliness of the Celierians’ thoughts weren’t so unpleasant, she would have laughed. Back in Orest, he’d practically begged her to veil herself whenever Lord Teleos’s men gazed upon her with Light-drunk devotion. But now that she faced unkindness rather than dazzled adoration, tairen possessiveness had darkened to something much more dangerous.

  «They wound your heart.» The telltale growl was back in his Spirit voice. If he were still in tairen form, he would be spouting flame. «It is unacceptable.»

  «You cannot punish them for thoughts, Rain. Nor stop them from thinking what they like.» She knew it was foolish to give these strangers—arrogant courtiers, no less—the power to hurt her. There would always be those among them eager to find fault with her. And perhaps if she’d lived a life filled with self-confidence, she would not care what they thought. «They are afraid. Magic can be too easily misused.»

  That was the crux of the matter. These nobles’ suspicions struck her most vulnerable spot, and she could not so easily dismiss them. All her life, people had eyed her askance, waiting for the Shadow inside her to spring free. Now these mortal nobles reviled her because they suspected her Light hid a darker Shadow.

  And no matter how badly she wanted to deny it, she feared they were right.

  Some part of her self-doubt must have shown on her face or touched his senses, because Rain’s voice snapped in her mind like a whip. «You are bright and shining. The darkness you sense is the Eld, not you. You must never think otherwise.»

  His arm snapped up, and he wordlessly offered her his wrist. He fixed an unflinching gaze on King Dorian X, who stood at the top of the palace steps, Great Lords and councilmen by his side. Together, she and Rain mounted the steps, and as they drew closer to the king, a new concern set her senses tingling.

  The king did not look well. She remembered him as a pleasant man with warm eyes and a friendly smile, but the last months had aged him. His skin was pale beneath its Celierian summer bronzing, silver liberally threaded the hair at his temples, and circles dark as bruises lay beneath his eyes. Deep lines were etched from the corners of his nose to his mouth.

  More disturbing than his wan appearance, however, was the gray shadow that lay over him, dimming his Light. Her first thought was that the Mages had done something to him, perhaps even Marked him. Little could usher in the destruction of Celieria more surely than if the king became a puppet of the Mages.

  «Shei’tani?» Rain nudged her with a gentle swell of Air. They had reached the top of the stairs and were now standing before the king. All eyes were on them, and she was staring at the king like a ninnywit.

  «Sieks’ta.» She bent quickly to match Rain’s half bow in a ruler’s courteous acknowledgment of another’s sovereignty. When she straightened again, the shadow over Dorian had disappeared. He still looked tired and worn, but otherwise perfectly normal—and even when she dared to open her empathic senses and probe him gently, she discovered nothing more than weariness and deep concern over the troubles facing his country.

  “Greetings, Dorian, King of Celieria,” Rain said when they straightened. “With joy, my queen and I return to the city she called home for many years. We thank you for greeting us so warmly despite our unannounced visit.”

  “My Lord Feyreisen, you need no announcement.” With grave sincerity, Dorian returned the half bow. “The king of the Fey and his queen will always be welcome as long as a descendant of King Dorian I and Marikah vol Serranis Torreval sits on Celieria’s throne.” Though he did not take his gaze from Rain’s face, Dorian raised his voice enough so that all the courtiers gathered on the palace steps could hear him clearly, and Ellysetta saw several of them stiffen at the reminder of their king’s own Fey blood.

  Rain stepped forward and lowered his voice. “We bring important news. Is there a place we can speak in private?”

  Without hesitation, Dorian said, “Of course. Please follow me.”

  “Your Majesty.” A spare, thin-lipped man in fussy silks and satins stepped forward, disapproval stamped on his features.

  Dorian shot the man a single, cold look, silencing what ever objection he’d been about to make and freezing him in his tracks. When the man bowed and retreated, the king turned back to Rain and Ellysetta and swept an arm towards the palace doors. “Please, My Lord Feyreisen, My Lady Feyreisa, after you.” Irritation vibrated in every word, and Dorian’s normally warm eyes glittered like stones.

  Ellysetta’s heart thumped. The shadow shrouding Celieria’s king might have been a trick of light, but the undercurrents of hostile emotion emanating from the courtiers weren’t imaginary. Neither was it merely an increase in her perceptive ability that allowed her to sense them so strongly.

  Something—or someone—had been fomenting anti-Fey sentiment since last she and Rain had been here.

  And Dorian was aware of it.

  The tang of magic filled the wide, gilded hallways of Celieria’s royal palace as Ellysetta’s lu’tan fanned out to search for potential threats to their queen and take up protective stations. As they followed Dorian to his private offices, Rain stayed close to her side, his fingers never far from his Fey’cha.

  “Your queen did not join you this morning,” Rain commented casually as they walked, careful to keep his tone neutral. Annoura had made her dislike of the Fey clear on more than one occasion. She’d even actively worked against them three months ago. He wouldn’t be surprised if the courtiers’ hostility was a reflection of hers. “She is otherwise engaged?”

  “I received word shortly before your arrival that she wasn’t feeling well,” Dorian replied.

  Rain almost stopped walking. No Fey worthy of his steel would leave his mate’s side if she were in poor health, and Dorian was Fey enough that care for his wife should have been a preeminent concern. Brows bunching in a frown, he started to say something to that effect, when Ellysetta’s nails dug into his wrist in silent
warning.

  «Do not chastise him, Rain. You know mortal ways are different from Fey. He is the king and Celieria is at war. His people expect him to put them first.»

  For Ellysetta’s sake, he kept the censure from his voice when he said, “I hope the illness is nothing serious.”

  They had reached a sprawling marble stair that led to the upper levels of the palace. As they climbed, Dorian slanted Rain a glance that said he knew exactly what Rain thought of his husbandly neglect. “Several members of the court have fallen ill the last few days with a stomach complaint. The physician assures me it isn’t particularly harmful—just unpleasant for the afflicted.”

  “I would be happy to weave healing on them,” Ellysetta volunteered. “Or you, for that matter. I can sense your weariness.” She gave a crooked smile. “And don’t fear; I have become much more adept since the last time we met.”

  The king gave a quiet chuckle. He had been on the receiving end of her magic before, as one of the unwitting participants in the weave that had plunged the heads of Celieria’s noble Houses into seven bells of unrelenting, magic-driven mating. “I would be honored to accept your offer of healing once we’re through.” His humor faded as he added, “Though the same cannot be said for all the members of my court. I’m sure you noticed the tension outside when you arrived.”

  They had reached the king’s private offices. Guards liveried in hues of Celierian blue and gold pushed open the tall, gilded double doors to admit them into the spacious room. Rain waited for the doors to close and Ellysetta’s quintet to spin a five-fold privacy weave before he said, “I take it your troubles with those who would discredit the Fey have not ended?”

  “Would that they had.” Dorian sighed and paced across the room to the windows overlooking the palace gardens, with their array of spectacular fountains. “Once we began building up our military presence along the borders, the murmurs began. First it was the cost, then the loss of commerce when we ceased trade with merchants known to service the Eld; then the conspiracy rumors began, whispering about how the attack on the cathedral this summer was staged by the Fey to draw us into an unprovoked war against their old enemies, the Eld.”