Lady of Light and Shadows

  By the time they returned to the house, the moons had already passed their zenith. Rain landed lightly on the roof, but when he started to escort her back down to her bedroom window, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

  “Would you mind very much if we stayed up here for a while?”

  “Here, on the roof?” She nodded, and he shrugged. “Of course, if you like.”

  She sat on the steeply angled roof and leaned her head back to look up at the stars. They seemed so much farther away now than they had while flying, and the shimmering glow of the Fey’s protective weaves dimmed some of the fainter stars from view. “I’ve spent many nights up here since I was a child, staring up at the stars, dreaming. It always seemed so peaceful.”

  He sat beside her. “What sort of things did you dream of?”

  “Oh, what most young girls do, I imagine. Fey tales. True love.” She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “You.”

  “Good dreams, I hope.” His thumb brushed lightly across her lower lip.

  “Of course.” Her voice came out breathless, just as it always did when Rain’s eyes looked at her that way. Selianne would likely call it sorcery, but Ellie knew it was simple, besotted love. She drew a deep breath and tried to settle herself. “How did the dinner with Lord Teleos go?”

  “Not bad.” He told her about the assembly of nobles Teleos had gathered, and about the warm reception he’d received from several of the married couples. She blushed furiously but couldn’t help a sigh of relief to learn that not everyone considered her weave a disaster.

  When he told her about Lady Darramon’s illness and the offer he’d made to heal her, Ellie’s heart turned over. “Poor Lady Darramon,” she said. “Poor Lord Darramon. I’m glad you didn’t use her illness to try to win his vote.”

  “It was probably a mistake.”

  “Kindness is never a mistake, Rain.”

  His lips curved in an expression that seemed more grimace than smile. “That should be true, shei’tani, but when it comes to mortal politics, good deeds are rarely rewarded.”

  Her head cocked to one side. When it came to mortals, especially noble mortals, he was so cynical. “If you believe that, why didn’t you do what Lord Dax suggested?”

  Rather than answering, Rain drew his knees up and began twisting the large Tairen’s Eye signet on his hand, watching moonlight set off a shimmering rainbow within the crystal’s dark ruby depths.

  “Rain?” His hesitance surprised her. She leaned over to lay a hand on his arm. Beneath the warm, supple leather, his bicep felt smooth and hard as river rock.

  “I thought about it,” he admitted in a low voice. “Darramon is a powerful Great Lord. We could have used him to secure another dozen votes at least. He would have paid any price to save his wife. His thoughts in that regard were too obvious to miss.”

  “So why did you offer to heal his wife without price?”

  Glowing lavender eyes caught hers in an unbreakable gaze. “Because if you were the one dying, I would want someone to offer the same gift to me.”

  Ellysetta’s breath caught in her throat. He’d never told her he loved her, never said the words. But his gift to Lord Darramon came as close to that declaration as she could imagine. It gave her hope that one day, the words would follow.

  “You did the right thing, Rain,” she assured him softly. “Love should never be used as a weapon.”

  He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that combined intoxicating passion with exquisite tenderness, then leaned back against the angled roof, pulling her down with him. She lay upon his chest and listened to the beat of his heart while his fingers stroked through her hair.

  “Rain…what will happen to you when I die?”

  Black brows drew together in a sudden fierce scowl. “You will not die, shei’tani. I will not allow it.”

  She propped her chin on her hands and looked down into his face. “I don’t necessarily mean killed—though after these last few days, neither of us can rule out that possibility. I mean die. Even if I’m only part-mortal like Lord Teleos, eventually I will die.” She recalled what Rain had told her that first night of his claiming, when he’d followed her to Celieria’s National Museum of Art. If the Eld managed to kill you, I should not survive it. At the time, she’d only considered the consequences of an unexpected, violent death, but talking about Lady Darramon reminded her that, like it or not, all mortal lives ended.

  “Ah.” The aggression faded from his expression. He reached out to brush a curl from her cheek. “Don’t worry about that, Ellysetta. Neither time nor sickness will ever claim your life unless you wish it.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can grant immortality?”

  He shook his head. “The Fey are not truly ‘immortal.’ We die just like men if we receive a grievous wound and cannot be healed in time. What we are, more specifically, is eternally in our prime, untouched by age or infirmity. Our bodies have a natural ability to constantly heal themselves. It is why we do not age after reaching maturity, and why we do not scar. Here, watch.”

  Sitting up, he took a black Fey’cha from his chest straps and lightly scored the back of his hand. She stifled a cry of protest at the thin red line of blood that welled up in the wake of the blade’s point, but when Rain wiped the blood away, she could see the skin had already mended.

  Ellysetta reached for his hand, stroking the unmarked skin as she followed Rain’s revelation to its obvious conclusion. “Fey shei’dalins are expert healers.”

  “Aiyah, they can perform for mortals what nature does for the Fey.”

  “Why have I never heard of that before?”

  He shrugged. “It is a gift we have long worked to hide from the world. Too many ancient Fey texts in our Hall of Scrolls tell of shei’dalins enslaved and tortured by despots who demanded everlasting life. It is one of many reasons we guard our women so fiercely.”

  “Of course. You’d have to. Eternal life.” She gave a dazed laugh. “Just think of all the possibilities. The twins can take all the time they want to find a man they truly love.”

  Rain frowned. “You misunderstand, Ellysetta. This gift is not one I can extend to your family. We grant it only to those who share the matebond with a Fey.”

  Dreams of sharing the centuries with her family crashed abruptly. “But they’re my family,” she protested. “You can’t think I’d want to live forever without them?”

  “Everlasting life would be the greater cruelty, shei’tani. Mortal souls were not fashioned to endure the darkness of the ages. They become…twisted and bitter.”

  “Is that the fate in store for me?”

  “Nei, never. The shei’tanitsa bond ensures eternal strength for both our souls, until the gods call us home. But a mortal soul unanchored by a matebond has no such protection.” When she continued to frown, he added gently, “You know as well as I do your mother would never accept that gift at such a price, even if we could offer it to her.”

  Ellie’s gaze fell. He was right. Mama would never risk corrupting her soul.

  Rain drew her into his arms. “This much at least I can offer: If your family comes to the Fading Lands, they will live free of illness and the effects of age until the end of their time.”

  “Thank you, Rain.” She knew how jealously the Fey guarded their borders, Rain more than most. Not since the end of the Mage Wars had the Fey opened the Fading Lands to any but their own kind, but his offer still seemed small consolation. Her parents were the beacons in her life, standing bright and strong even against sometimes terrifying darkness. She couldn’t imagine facing centuries of life without them.

  “I have upset you.”

  “No, you haven’t…not really. All mortals know they must eventually face the fact of their parents’ deaths, but it’s never been a thought I could bear without crying.”

  “If I could offer you more, I would.”

  “I know.” She rose to her feet. “It’s late. I should probably go to bed.”

  “Of cour
se.” With a wave of his hand, her shimmering gown changed back to her plain, cotton night rail. He helped her slip back in through her bedroom window. “Will you be able to sleep now? Your fear is gone?”

  She bit her lip. “You knew?”

  “I knew.” He laid his palm over his heart. “I felt it here, through the first thread of our bond. It’s why I left Teleos’s dinner. I could not stay there once I sensed your distress. You should have asked Bel to call me earlier. I would have come.”

  “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

  “You could never be that.” He nodded towards the bed. “Shall I stay with you again, as I did last night?”

  “Would you?” The hopeful question popped out before she could censor it. Immediately embarrassed, she hurried to demur. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to. Really. I’ll be fine.”

  His brows rose. “You think spending another night holding you in my arms is an onerous task? Surely I did not leave you that impression.” Without waiting for an answer, he swept her up into his arms and deposited her on the bed, then deftly stripped off his weapons belts and leather tunic before joining her. His arms slid around her, pulling her to the warm security of his chest, and as her eyelids began to droop, she felt the press of his lips against her hair.

  “Sleep, shei’tani.” His whisper spun over her like an enchantment. Without a whisper of protest, she did, and for the first time in weeks, she passed the entire night in dreamless peace.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I live

  I fight

  I bleed

  I die

  For love.

  I am Fey.

  —I am Fey, a warrior’s poem by Evanaris vel Bahr

  Dressed in a form-fitting coat and trousers, with a waistcoat woven of Tuelis Sebarre’s precious spider-silk in shades of blue and green to accent his vivid eyes, Kolis Manza climbed Celieria’s palace steps. Appreciative female gazes followed him as he went, but he ignored them. When he donned the persona of Ser Vale, Queen Annoura’s Favorite, the Sulimage was used to drawing feminine attention.

  Everything was progressing on schedule. The butcher’s son, Den Brodson, was packed and heading up the North Road to put Master Maur’s plans for Ellysetta Baristani in motion, Selianne was delivering Kolis’s gift for the Feyreisa, and Kolis’s newest pamphlets were already papering the streets of the South End, their incendiary accusations stirring the mobs into a frenzy. Now, as Vadim Maur and Kolis had agreed last night, it was time for Jiarine Montevero to earn the gifts and titles Kolis had bestowed upon her.

  Kolis made his way towards the back of the palace, where the grand ballroom opened to marble terraces overlooking sprawling, immaculately groomed gardens and fountains. King Dorian and Queen Annoura were hosting a luncheon to introduce their son’s soon-to-be betrothed to the lords and ladies of the court.

  A large white canopy had been erected on the lawn to keep the warm summer sun from overheating Annoura’s noble guests. Snowy linen tablecloths fluttered in the slight breeze. Long serving tables offered an abundance of culinary delights: plum-stuffed hummingbirds artfully arranged in fields of candied flowers, roast peacock displayed in a fan of brilliant feathers, spit-roasted boar served on a bed of sautéed greens, iced fruits, and tiny vegetable sandwiches. A small string orchestra played beneath a blue-and-cream-striped canopy.

  Annoura sat on a gilt chair beneath the largest canopy next to Prince Dorian and his future bride, Lady Nadela. The shei’dalin, robed and veiled in unrelieved scarlet, was seated nearby, with her black-leather-clad Fey quintet behind her. Dorian and Lord v’En Solande stood some distance away in a smaller, less festive gathering of lords that included Teleos, Clovis, Nin, and Fann. Kolis had no doubt what they were discussing.

  He caught a nearby page and handed him a folded, sealed note. “Deliver this—discreetly, mind you—to Lady Montevero, that lady in blue standing near the queen.” He tossed the boy a gold coin for his troubles and headed back into the palace to a small reading library to wait.

  A quarter bell later, the library door inched open and Jiarine slipped inside, locking the door behind her. Sky-blue sapphires and diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists, accenting the pretty blush in her cheeks and the soft powder-blue silk of her gown.

  “That blue suits you, my sweet.” The color lent a deceptive air of innocence to a woman who was anything but. He dragged her to him and tsked over the bruises on her throat hidden by carefully applied layers of powder. “Those buffoons at the dinner were careless with you. You should have insisted on better manners. But then, I know you didn’t mind, did you, pet?” He smiled and stroked a finger along her jaw as the color in her cheeks deepened.

  She yanked her face away and scowled at him. “You didn’t tell me what that Feraz spell would do,” she accused. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  He lifted a brow, but let her impertinence pass. There would be time enough later to teach Jiarine the expected subservience of an umagi. “My dear, I didn’t know. The talis doesn’t cause a specific reaction; it only enhances its target’s emotions and rouses a magical response. If she’d been cold, the room might well have ended up coated in ice.”

  “You left me. You left me there to them.”

  “I don’t favor men. Especially not foul, drooling bogrots like Lord Bevel. Not even while existing in your sweet body.” His hand trailed down her throat and followed the low scoop of her gown’s neckline. Her breasts swelled against the bodice’s narrow bands of fabric. He saw the hint of another bruise disappearing beneath the fabric and knew those marks on her throat weren’t the only ones she bore.

  “Who had you, Jiarine? Give me their names.” His hands stroked across her bodice in feather-light, teasing brushes.

  She shuddered and closed her eyes.

  “Their names, pet. Bevel I know. Who else, hmm?” He knew her well enough to know there’d been more than one.

  “Purcel.” The admission grated its way past clenched teeth.

  “Purcel?” Kolis chuckled. “You’re a stronger lure than I suspected. The man’s a walking corpse. I doubt he’s been able to raise more than a finger in a decade.” His mind raced through reams of data he’d committed to memory long ago. Purcel’s estates were rich with iron and coal, and his foundries placed him second only to Lord Clovis as Celieria’s greatest producer of steel. Vadim Maur would be pleased to gain such a conquest. “Who else?”

  Kolis’s hand slid into her bodice and lifted one breast free. The creamy skin, porcelain-fine and pale as milk, was marred by dark, finger-sized bruises and curved lines that looked like teeth marks. Her nipple was tight and pebbled. He brushed his thumb across it and watched her flesh jump in response. “Who gave you these little bites?” He bent his head and traced one of the bite marks with the tip of his tongue.

  She gasped and grabbed his shoulders. “Ponsonney.”

  “Ah…yes, I’ve heard that about him. Did he show you his walking stick?” He licked her nipple and grazed it with his teeth. She rewarded him with a sudden wave of heat and the musky-sweet scent of her arousal.

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Did he use it on you?” He raised her skirts and ran his hand up over the silk of her stockings, past the beribboned garters to the soft, bare skin of her inner thighs. Her hips jumped forward.

  “Yes.” Her voice was tight and choked.

  “And did you like it?” Wetness soaked his hand as he stroked her. She rose up to the tips of her toes in an unconscious move to give him better access. Her hips began a familiar rhythmic grind against his hand.

  “Yes!”

  Kolis smiled and worked her with his hand and mouth, enjoying the eager way she responded to his touch and the scattered images and remembered sensations from the other night that filtered from her mind to his. She’d let them use her in every way a man could use a woman, and she’d reveled in it, begged them for it, wept and pleaded for their hands, their mouths, their cocks inside her. He bit down on her nipple at the s
ame time as his thumb pressed hard on the small bud of straining flesh until she cried out and came in a sudden, jerking rush.

  “Good,” he purred when her spasms slowed to small shudders. “I want their votes. Get them for me. And I want Mull and Great Lord Harrod too. Do what you must.” He clasped her shoulder and pressed her down to her knees before him. Without instruction, her hands went to the buttons of his trousers. Of all his umagi, Jiarine was the one whose insatiable appetites most closely matched his own. “I know how”—his voice broke off and he gave a faint groan as her mouth closed around him—“persuasive you can be.” It was his turn to close his eyes.

  A half bell later, Kolis stood watching from behind a marble column as Jiarine rejoined the courtiers gathered beneath the large canopy. She moved around the crowd with easy grace, pausing at the queen’s side to murmur something in Annoura’s ear that made the queen smile. After one brief glance over her shoulder, Jiarine lifted a flute of iced pinalle from a passing servant and strolled across the lawn towards Great Lord Harrod.

  Kolis stepped away from the column into plain view and waited for Queen Annoura to catch a glimpse of him. He knew the moment she did. Even from a distance, he could see her body go motionless. He held her gaze for a long, hypnotic moment, long enough to refresh her memory of sultry Ser Vale’s appeal, then turned away, knowing she would be thinking of her Favorite for the rest of the day. Temptation, as Kolis had long ago learned, worked best when delight was just out of reach, and despite Annoura’s resistance, her hunger for forbidden pleasures was growing stronger with each passing day.

  Lauriana sat across from Selianne Pyerson at a small window-front table in Pimbold’s bustling keflee shop on King’s Street, where she and Selianne had come after the day’s devotions. A small blue-and-silver-wrapped gift—Selianne’s wedding present to Ellysetta—lay forgotten on the table between them. Lauriana’s reflection in the window showed a face as stricken as her heart felt upon hearing Selianne’s whispered news…rumors whispered in confidence from a friend with palace connections.