by C. L. Wilson
Scarcely a mile from the cathedral, a man’s voice cried out, “Halt in the name of the queen!” and the carriage came to an abrupt stop. Ellysetta stuck her head out the window and saw a small army of armored soldiers standing in the center of King’s Street, blocking their path. Three even larger groups were approaching from the east, west, and the rear.
“We have a warrant for the arrest of the murderer Gaelen vel Serranis,” the guards’ captain announced as he drew near. “In the queen’s name, I order you to surrender him to us.”
Ellysetta didn’t dare glance back at Gaelen, who stood near the rear of her carriage. How had they found out about him? He hadn’t made any attempt to disguise himself, true, but though his name was as infamous as Rain’s, without his notorious dahl’reisen scar she doubted more than a few people in Celieria would have recognized him. Her stomach took a sudden unpleasant lurch. Had her mother turned him in?
The captain extended to Bel a parchment bearing the royal seal. “I have been instructed to inform you that harboring vel Serranis will be viewed as an act of war.”
Ellysetta thrust open the carriage door and jumped out, ignoring Bel’s silently hissed command to stay where she was. She snatched the warrant and scanned it. Her eyebrows rose in outrage. The charges against Gaelen included murder, war crimes, and acts against the interests of the crown, many of them stemming from the Mage Wars a thousand years ago. “This is ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “Even if Gaelen was with us—and I’m not saying he is—I wouldn’t give him up to stand trial for something that happened a thousand years ago.”
“There is also the more recent matter of murdered Celierian citizens in the north.” The captain took a more aggressive stance. “Lady, I am here to arrest Gaelen vel Serranis, who is known to be in your company. If you refuse to surrender him, I’m afraid I must take you into custody in his stead.”
Bel stepped in front of her. “She is the Feyreisa of the Fading Lands,” he warned in a cold, toneless voice. “She is no longer subject to the laws of your land. If you are fool enough to try to take her from us, you and your men will die where you stand.” He did not blink. He did not raise his voice.
Behind the captain, his men shifted with visible nervousness and their fingers clenched more tightly around their blade hilts. Several of the guards even drew their swords. The captain himself stood his ground, though his face lost most of its color. “If that is the price of obeying my queen, ser, then that is the price I and my men must pay.”
“Setah.” Gaelen stepped forward. “There is no need for threats or violence.”
«Gaelen, what are you doing?» Ellysetta objected. «Let me handle this.»
«Las, kem’falla. You cannot afford the delay.» He met the captain’s gaze with glittering, icy eyes. “I am vel Serranis.”
Ellysetta didn’t think it was possible for the captain’s face to go even paler, but it did. He swallowed and clenched his jaw. “Gaelen vel Serranis, by order of the queen, I am placing you under arrest. Step forward, ser, and hold out your hands.” One of the men behind him moved closer and held out a set of black metal shackles with shaking hands.
Beside Ellysetta, Bel gave a shudder of revulsion. “Were you also ordered to bind him in sel’dor?” he demanded.
“I was. The Dark Lord’s power is too dangerous to leave unfettered.”
No expression crossed Gaelen’s face as one of the soldiers approached with the sel’dor manacles, but fierce protectiveness rose up in Ellysetta. She had restored Gaelen’s soul. He had bloodsworn himself to her. He was hers. She’d not been able to stop her countrymen from torturing Bel last week, but she would not let the same thing happen to Gaelen.
“Captain,” she protested, “if binding Gaelen’s powers is what you require, the Fey can do it. There’s no need for these.” Before anyone realized her intent, she stepped between Gaelen and the approaching soldier and snatched the manacles out of the unsuspecting man’s hands.
Fiery pain scorched her palms and shot halfway up her arms. A shocked cry broke from her lips. The sel’dor restraints fell to the cobbles, and she stared in astonishment at her hands. The skin was bright red and already swelling with nascent blisters.
Her quintet leapt to surround her. Blades hissed out of scabbards. Celierians and Fey faced each other, snarling, over bared steel. The Tairen’s Eye crystals pressed against Ellysetta’s waist tingled almost painfully in response to a sudden surge of powerful magic. Around her, each Fey held both steel and power at the ready, waiting for the signal to attack.
“Stop,” Gaelen commanded. “Put down your weapons. I will go with them, bound in sel’dor as they demand.” He stood unresisting as the soldier bent to retrieve the sel’dor manacles and locked them firmly around his wrists. “Trust me, kem’falla. This is for the best.”
Ellysetta flinched at the sound of the lock snapping closed. “We’ll go to the king,” she vowed. “We’ll have Marissya Truthspeak you while you tell him what’s happening in the north. He’ll have to believe you.”
“There isn’t time for that. Go. Do what you must. I will be fine.” He didn’t resist as the soldiers led him away. “Get her to the cathedral, vel Jelani!” he called over his shoulder. “And get those shields up as soon as you cross the bridge.” To Ellysetta’s shock, he threw back his head and laughed. “Miora felah ti’Feyreisa! And gods bless meddling Celierian queens!”
“Why is he laughing? What did he mean, ‘bless the queen?’” She turned to Bel and found him staring after Gaelen with a peculiar expression on his face. “Bel?”
Bel turned back and flashed a quick signal to Cyr, who hurried to Ellysetta’s side and wove Fire to draw the worst of the heat from her burned hands. Around them, the remaining Celierian guards backed carefully away, clearing the path to the cathedral.
“Look at your hands, Ellysetta.” Bel’s cobalt eyes gleamed bright. “The sel’dor burned you. Badly. And you weren’t even weaving magic.”
Her eyes widened in sudden realization. “Sel’dor doesn’t burn Eld flesh.”
“Nei,” he agreed, “it doesn’t. Such a strong reaction can mean only one thing.” A dazzling smile broke across his face. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Ellysetta, you are Fey. Full-blooded, immensely powerful Fey.”
Whatever the High Mage was to her, he was definitely not her father.
Selianne was already at the cathedral when Lauriana arrived. The younger woman was standing in silent prayer at a shrine of the lesser goddess, Asha, guardian of health, hearth, and family. As Lauriana approached, Selianne removed a golden pendant from her neck and placed it in the altar’s offering bowl alongside the coins and jewelry left by previous supplicants. “Someone in your family is ailing, Selianne?”
The girl gave a startled jump and spun around. “Madame Baristani! I didn’t hear you come in.” She clasped a hand to her chest as if to still her pounding heart. “Yes, I’m afraid my mother hasn’t been feeling quite herself lately.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“A minor chest ailment. But after that nasty bout she suffered this past winter, I promised myself I’d make a point of praying for divine healing sooner rather than later.”
Lauriana forced a smile and tried to tamp down her own nerves. She wanted to take Selianne into her confidence, but she didn’t dare. Selianne had no necklace to keep her thoughts secure from Fey intrusion, and Lauriana couldn’t risk the chance of discovery.
A whisper of soft leather soles on the marble floor brought her spinning around. The archbishop walked towards them down the center of the nave. As usual, his tunic was a pure, pristine white. But this morning, even the sleeveless robe worn over his tunic was white rather than blue, a symbol of his recently purified soul and his readiness to perform the sacred rites of the Bride’s Blessing. “Good morning, Madame Baristani, Madame Pyerson.”
Lauriana and Selianne both sank into curtseys and kissed his extended ring.
He t
urned his stern gaze on Lauriana. “Are you ready, Madame Baristani?”
She swallowed and nodded. “As ready as any mother can be on such a day.”
“Put your heart at ease, madam,” he offered with an uncharacteristic show of kindness. “It will all work out for the best. You’ll see.”
A muffled commotion sounded near the main cathedral entrance. Five Fey in full steel strode into the nave. A young man in the blue tunic and robes of a novitiate priest hurried after them. “Sers! You cannot enter the cathedral with weapons! It is forbidden!”
Lauriana recognized the Fey as one of the groups of warriors who guarded her home and her daughter. Their leader—What was his name? Ravel something—bowed and extended a sealed letter to the archbishop. “Greatfather, we come with the authorization of King Dorian, to secure the cathedral before the Feyreisa’s arrival.”
Lauriana’s breath caught in her throat. Secure the cathedral? By the king’s authority? Lauriana’s vague worries coalesced into sudden, sharp fear. Had the Fey somehow realized what she and the archbishop had arranged? Had Father Nivane’s charm failed and allowed them to pick up some wayward, betraying thought? Her hands knotted together, and fear buzzed in her veins, leaving her breathless and dizzy. Calm down, Laurie, and think of something else.
The archbishop snatched the parchment from the Fey’s fingertips, ripped open the seal, and scanned the document.
“Your king,” the Fey continued as the archbishop read, “has granted us the right to search both the nave and the Solarus where you will conduct the rites of the Bride’s Blessing.”
The archbishop’s hand began to clench around the note, but he stopped himself before committing the petty treason of crumpling the king’s missive. Instead, he collected his composure with visible effort and gave the Fey an icy glare. “Search, then, but be quick about it. I’ll not have your weapons polluting the Bright Lord’s house more than a moment necessary. Are you the leader of these men?”
Ravel bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.
“Then only you—under my supervision—may search the altar, luminary, and Solarus. And you will not bring steel or magic to any of those holiest of places. That is not negotiable.”
“Agreed.” Without the slightest change in his expression, the Fey removed his knife belts and sword harnesses and swept a hand towards the altar, “After you, Greatfather.”
Behind him, two of the Fey walked slowly around the perimeter of the nave, checking under altars and opening the rows of carved and gilded wooden devotionals to peer inside the private prayer rooms. The other two warriors went row by row through all the pews, lifting cushions, inspecting hymnals, and checking under the pews themselves.
Selianne huddled closer. “What do you think they’re looking for?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, dear,” Laurie lied. She patted the girl’s hand. “I’m sure it’s just a precautionary measure to ensure Ellie’s safety.”
Ravel and the archbishop finished an equally in-depth inspection of the main altar and the raised platform of the luminary, and began heading towards the Solarus. Lauriana couldn’t tear her gaze away as the two men opened the heavy connecting door and entered the small, sacred chapel. She forced herself to remain calm, breathing slow and steady, working hard to marshal her thoughts. The archbishop didn’t once look back her way, and his manner bespoke nothing more consequential than stiff affront at the invasion of the holy site entrusted to his care.
They remained in the Solarus for what seemed like ages. All the while, Lauriana waited for the accusatory cry. Time inched by…one chime…five…a quarter bell. Perspiration gathered on her upper lip and slicked her palms. Her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
Just as she grew certain of discovery, Ravel and the archbishop returned to the nave. Without a word, Ravel gathered up his steel, and all five warriors headed for the main entrance of the cathedral. He paused at the doorway. “Thank you for your time, ladies, Greatfather. The Fey regret any inconvenience, and we appreciate your gracious understanding and cooperation.” He bowed quite deeply, then spun away and made his exit.
“Well,” Selianne murmured. “That was exciting.”
“Yes.” Lauriana excused herself and hurried to the archbishop’s side. “Greatfather?”
The cleric patted her hand. “Do not trouble yourself, daughter. All is well.”
A few chimes later, Lauriana’s ears detected the clap of approaching boot steps, and the familiar, despised tang of freshly woven magic soured her tongue.
Ellysetta and her Fey guards had arrived.
Ellysetta climbed the thirteen steps of the Cathedral of Light’s Grand Entrance, and stood waiting while her quintet, with a great show of grudging acceptance, surrendered their steel to the young novitiate priest waiting by the cathedral door. Behind her, at all corners of the Isle of Grace, the Fey were spinning dense, impenetrable twenty-five-fold weaves that rose up around the Isle like a massive dome of shimmering, sunlit mist. Through the open double doors of the cathedral, she could see the archbishop’s pristine white form standing at the far end of the nave. Selianne stood on his left side, looking pale and frightened, no doubt waiting for the Fey to scream “Eld spy!” and slay her. Mama stood on his right.
The sight of her mother made Ellysetta reconsider her suspicions about who had betrayed Gaelen to the queen. If Mama had done it, why would she show up for the Blessing? To willingly lock herself behind magic shields with a hundred Fey after turning Gaelen in for crimes against the crown seemed uncharacteristically reckless.
With her quintet following close behind, Ellysetta approached the altar. She stopped directly before her mother. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Lauriana’s lips trembled before she clamped them tight. “You’re my daughter, Ellysetta,” she replied. “If you insist on leaving with the Fey, I can at least see you properly blessed and wed before you go.” Her jaw worked for a moment. “Don’t think that means I approve of your choice. I don’t.”
Ellysetta nodded. Disapproval she could live with. The loss of her mother’s love, she could not. Then, because she had to know, she lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, “Did you say anything about…the guest who came with me to the house this morning? Did you report him to the queen?”
Lauriana drew back in genuine surprise. “No!” Her brows lowered to a scowl. “Though I probably should have, come to think of it.”
Though Ellysetta was far from accomplished with her Fey gifts, she couldn’t detect any hint of a lie. Her mother was very nervous and tense—which made perfect sense, considering her intense dislike and suspicion of the Fey—but she hadn’t been behind Gaelen’s arrest.
Ellysetta exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you for coming, Mama,” she said. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision for you, and I love you for caring enough to be here, despite your reservations.” She wished she could weave time like the Fey wove the elements and erase the harsh words she and her mother had exchanged this morning. “You’ve always been my beacon. It wouldn’t have felt right to receive the Bride’s Blessing without you by my side.”
Tears filled her mother’s eyes, but when Ellysetta stepped forward, intending to embrace her, Lauriana turned away and choked out, “Please, Greatfather, let’s get started.”
Ellysetta’s arms fell to her sides. The rejection hurt almost as badly as Rain’s abandonment last night. But Mama was here, she reminded herself. Despite her doubts and obvious fears, Mama had come to stand at Ellysetta’s side. Rain, wherever he was, hadn’t even offered that much.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rain woke to the astonishing sensation of velvety horse lips moving over his face, and the loud sound of equine teeth munching in his ear. He peeled open one eye and stared into a horse’s large, thickly lashed brown eye.
Above him, a dazzling bright blue sky stretched out. Below him was the soft, musty prickle of—he pulled a handful of the stuff up and stared at it—hay. He was lying in
a haystack. In the middle of some farmer’s field. With a big, heavyset shire-horse nibbling haystraw from his face and hair and munching loudly in his ear.
He shoved himself off the haystack, away from the horse’s hungry, grazing mouth, and staggered to his feet. Gods, he hurt. Every muscle, joint, and sinew ached from the bitter, arduous bells he’d spent battering himself against last night’s fierce, unnatural winds.
Sybharukai, bless her for the wicked tairen she was, had known exactly how to punish him for his stupidity while leading him roaring and fighting from rage back to reason. She’d beaten the fury out of him, shoved bilious truth down his throat until he gagged on it, then left him exhausted and filled with the bitter taste of humiliation, to make the final choice on his own.
Now, in the bright light of day, as he stood in the quiet peace of a farmer’s field with Eld behind him and hope beckoning from Celieria City far to the south, he knew, with a certainty of purpose he’d long been lacking, that his choice was the right one.
For every great gift the gods demand a great price. Rain should have known the gods wouldn’t grant him the stunning, unexpected miracle of a truemate without demanding something in return. Even Marissya had warned him of it on that very first night after he’d claimed Ellysetta. You cannot shirk your duty, not to the tairen, not to the Fey, and definitely not to your truemate. Because, Rain, one other thing seems certain…whatever task the gods have set before Ellysetta Baristani, it is fearfully dangerous. Else she’d not need a tairen to protect her soul.
What could be more dangerous to her than bearing the taint of the High Mage himself? Yet just as Ellysetta had flinched from her first encounter with the tairen, Rain had flinched from his first true test of courage as well. Worse, he’d fled and left her thinking she repulsed him.
She was not to blame for who her father might be, nor for any cursed Mage Mark set upon her in infancy. And Rain’s first duty was not to the world, or the Fey, or even the tairen. His first duty was to her.
