But as he began to sink back into weary sleep, a staccato rap upon the door shattered the silence.
Rain’s eyes flashed open. Before she could take another breath, he’d leapt from the bed and crossed the room in a blur of speed. His meicha scimitar flew out of its sheath and into his hand as he went, and he flung open the door, razored steel in one hand, magic blazing in the other.
An Elf stood on the landing outside the bower door.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he said calmly, as if confronting naked, sword-and magic-wielding Tairen Souls were an everyday occurrence. “Lord Galad sends his apologies but says you must depart immediately. Please gather your things and join him on Grandfather’s island.”
Half a bell later, clad once more in her studded red leathers and bloodsworn blades, Ellysetta stood by Rain’s side at the base of Grandfather Sentinel. Early morning light filtered through the cool, dew-drenched leaves, and curling clouds of mist rose from the silvery ponds at the city’s center, lending a dreamlike feel to the peaceful enchantment of Navahele.
Galad Hawksheart stood at the base of the ancient Sentinel tree, garbed in flowing, silver-shot robes of sage green. “I had invited the leaders of the Danae to join us in Elvia so you could meet with them. Unfortunately, there is no longer time. You must depart for the Celierian-Eld border immediately.”
“Why?” Rain asked. “What has happened?”
“A verse I’d long hoped would remain silent has begun to play.” Hawksheart’s face was etched in grim lines. “The next battle begins in six days’ time, not the two weeks you were expecting. And without you, defeat is certain.”
“Where?” Rain asked instantly. “Kreppes?”
Hawksheart bowed his head. “Lord Barrial’s Elf blood has long made his family a target of interest for this High Mage.”
Beside Ellysetta, a sudden bloom of heat burned through the morning mist as Tajik’s Fire magic flared. “Barrial as well?” His hands bunched into fists. “You stand here and tell us another of your kin is in mortal danger—and no doubt you Saw it centuries ago—yet still you will not lift a finger to save him?”
The Elf king’s eyes flashed with ire. “Have I not just revealed a truth you did not know? Am I not sending you to Lord Barrial’s aid? As I have explained, I cannot do more without causing great harm. You Fey look for patterns in the gods’ weaves. We Elves See them. We help where we can, Tajik, but some weaves must be spun. Some Songs must be sung.”
“So you always say. No matter who pays the price.” Tajik spat a curse and stalked off.
“Tajik is overset by the news of his sister,” Rijonn said. “I’m sure when his emotions calm, he will regret his harsh words.”
“No, he won’t.” Hawksheart gave a thin smile. “I know my cousin. He’s a hothead. Always has been. But he’s a strong blade, and a fierce and tireless champion of the Light. You’ll need both before this Song is done. Here.” He thrust a long, cloth-wrapped bundle into Rain’s hands with none of his usual Elvish grace. “This is my gift to you.”
Rain frowned and unwrapped the bundle. His brows climbed to his hairline when the soft cloth fell away to reveal a spiraling silver horn. “Shadar horn?”
“War is a perilous venture. Take it. One day, you may find use for it.”
The Elf king turned to Ellysetta and held out a woven circlet of slender branches covered with tiny golden flowers that looked like sunbursts against a backdrop of broad, glossy green leaves. “Sentinel blooms,” he said. “A gift from Grandfather. Place them beneath your head when you sleep, to keep evil from invading your dreams. Once you leave Elvia’s borders, do not sleep without them. And do not leave your mate’s side. His presence offers more protection even than the Sentinel blooms…and yours offers him the same. You shield each other, and you hold each other to the Light. Only together can you walk the Path the gods have set before you.”
She reached out to take his hand, and for the first time saw Hawksheart startled. He had isolated himself so completely over the centuries that even the simple touch of a hand was a shock. “Beylah vo, Lord Galad. I am grateful for your aid and guidance. I still do not know why the gods chose me for this task, but I pray I can fulfill it.”
“Whom else would they send to defeat the Darkness, if not their brightest Light?” The Elf king lifted his free hand and, after a brief hesitation, laid his palm atop their clasped hands. His eyes softened and he regarded her with something near affection. “Do not be afraid, Ellysetta Erimea. The gods did not set you on this path alone.” His gaze traveled around the ring of warriors surrounding her. “Rain, your lu’tan, your birth parents, even your Celierian father and mother, all came into your life for a reason. Each was chosen to guide and guard you, to teach you what they could and keep you safe from Shadow’s harm. Remember that, Ellysetta. Trust in those you love, and let them teach you to trust in yourself.”
He looked deeply into her eyes, and his voice tolled in her mind. Find your strength, cousin. You have much more than you know. And heed your dreams. Elf blood runs in your veins. What your soul Sees when your mind sleeps does not all come from the Mage.
He stepped back and offered a final nod. “Fare thee well, my friends. May the gods shine their Light upon your Path and keep you safe from harm.”
Fanor led the Fey away from the soaring golden tower of Grandfather Sentinel and towards a small green meadow where a dozen saddled Aquilines stood waiting, their snowy wings tucked against their sides and their reins held by a trio of beautiful Elves.
Gil stopped in his tracks. “We’re riding those?”
“They have agreed to allow it,” Fanor said, “and they can carry you out of Elvia and across the mountains much faster than any other Elvish steed.”
The winged steeds nickered and snorted as the Fey grew near. Like most horses, they smelled the scent of predator on the Fey, and they were not as placidly unconcerned as the great ba’houda behemoths that had carried the Fey to Navahele.
“Esa,” Fanor soothed in a crooning voice. “Esa, my friends.” He gestured to the Fey. “Come. Approach slowly and offer them your hands. They will settle once they become accustomed to your scent.”
Following Fanor’s directions, the Fey mounted the Aquilines. As the snowy chargers leapt into the sky, their flight swift and graceful, Ellysetta glanced over her shoulder towards Grandfather Sentinel.
The lone figure of Galad Hawksheart stood at the base of the giant tree. His voice sounded in her head, deep and rich and melodic, with all the power of a great river carving a path through solid stone. Remember, cousin, trust in yourself. And when it seems all Paths lead to Shadow, let love, not fear, be your guide.
The Aquilines flew from Navahele to southern Celieria faster than ba’houda or even Fey could have run, carrying their riders across the vast forests of Elvia, over the soaring, snowcapped peaks of the Valorian Mountains and the deep plunge of Brave-heart Chasm. They galloped northwest across the sky, following the Valorians to the scythe-shaped curve of Celieria’s Tivali Range, where they dove and turned through the ice-and snow-bound peaks, startling iridescent pink and blue kolitou from their frozen aeries.
At sunrise, three days after leaving Navahele, they reached the northernmost apex of the Tivali curve. The Aquilines alit on the steep mountain slopes, and Fanor Farsight and the Elves took their leave of the Fey.
“This is where our paths part,” Fanor said as they made their farewells. “Aquilines will not fly over open land outside of Elvia.”
“Beylah vo, Fanor,” Rain said. “For everything.”
“Anio, it is I who thank you,” the Elf replied. “What you did at the Lake of Glass…you gave me a way to make peace with a sorrow that has pained me all my life. For that, I will always be grateful.”
“Will we ever meet again?” Ellysetta asked.
“I hope so.” He took her hands and gazed into her eyes—not the deep, piercing stare of an Elf, but the warm gaze of a friend—and a faint smile softened his normally a
ustere features. “And hope is a rare emotion for a race accustomed to knowing what the future holds.”
Fanor’s Aquiline, Stormsinger, had grown impatient. He snorted and pawed the ground, and his strong white teeth closed around the hem of the Elf’s cloak, giving it a hard yank.
“We must go,” Fanor said. “Stormsinger and his herd are uncomfortable in the mortal world.” With an apologetic look, the Elf stepped back. “Farewell, my friends. May the Light guide you and grant you strength.” His green cloak swirled behind him, and the copper leaves of his scale mail chimed as he swung back into the saddle behind Stormsinger’s great white wings.
Rain, Ellysetta, and her bloodsworn quintet watched in silence as the Aquilines galloped towards the cliff’s edge and leapt into the sky, broad wings spread wide to scoop the air and propel them upwards. Within a few chimes, they were tiny birdlike specks in the sky that dove into a cloud bank and disappeared.
“Secure your steel and gather your magic, my brothers,” Rain said. “We have three days to reach Kreppes before the battle Hawksheart predicted begins.” He Changed and took to the sky, while the warriors leapt off the cliffs and slid down great flowing currents of Air to the base of the mountain where Ellysetta’s lu’tan were already waiting. Together, with Rain and Ellysetta flying overhead, they raced north.
Celieria ~ Greatwood ~ Three days later
Pale morning sunlight pushed back the dark of night. Softly, the autumn hues of Celieria’s Greatwood Forest emerged from shadowed gloom. Talisa Barrial diSebourne stared up at the lightening sky, and her fingers clenched in tight fists.
She’d never hated dawn until this week, and never hated it more than now.
“Shei’tani. Teska.” The voice of the man she loved more than her own life pleaded softly in her ear. “Come away with me. We can go to the Fading Lands.”
Talisa closed her eyes as Adrial’s hands gripped her shoulders and his body pressed close. The strength of his presence overwhelmed her. Like a sorceror’s spell, his voice sapped her resistance. Longing pressed against her will, thinning it to the point of surrender. She could. She could leave with him right now…run away…. She could just…not go back. Adrial would take her to the Fading Lands. They would live out the rest of their lives together in perfect love and happiness…
…while her family shouldered the burden of her shame, two of Celieria’s great Houses became bitter enemies, and the Eld used their dissension to rip the country apart and conquer it piece by disharmonious piece.
Talisa bit her lip and forced herself to step back away from him when all she wanted to do was lean into his body and let his arms close tight around her. Adrial’s simplest touch roused in her more passion, more love, more need, than the deepest intimacies she’d shared with Colum, her husband.
Her hand clenched in a fist. “Please, Adrial. Don’t do this. You agreed we would part when the army reached Kreppes. We’ll be there to night.” That was how she’d justified her adultery. She would love Adrial in secret with every ounce of passion in her soul until they reached Kreppes, and then they would part and she would return to live out her life with Colum.
She’d thought she could gorge herself on Adrial and live on the memories of their time together. But Adrial had showered her with such tenderness and glorious, dazzling ardor, that every touch, every kiss, every word and caress only bound her to him more securely than before. Gods help her, she didn’t even want to think of the night when the wife sleeping in Colum’s bed would be her instead of some Fey-spun illusion. How was she ever going to find the strength to let him touch her after Adrial?
“I know,” Adrial agreed raggedly. “I know I agreed we would part; it’s just—” His voice broke. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
She turned to him and her breath caught on a sob. So beautiful. Ah, gods, he was so beautiful. Skin as pale and luminous as crushed pearls, shining with the silvery glow of the Fey. Eyes brown as a fawn’s, golden near the edge of the irises, deepening to rich dark chocolate at the center. Those eyes had haunted her dreams as long as she could remember. The pain in them now struck her like a blow.
She laid one hand on his chest and the other on his smooth jaw. “It’s just one mortal lifetime, shei’tan. Barely more than a chime in a Fey’s life. Then I will come to you in the Fading Lands and we will be together forever after.”
When he’d finally accepted that she could not leave her husband and realized his continued presence would only cause her greater pain, he’d told her about the Feyreisa’s idea. About the sleeping weave that would suspend him in time until she came to awaken him. There was no certainty it would work, but she was desperate enough for even the smallest glimmer of hope that she’d latched onto the idea.
Thirty…perhaps fifty years in a loveless marriage. That was a small enough price to pay for a love that would last throughout eternity.
He bowed his head. “Doreh shabeila de, shei’tani.” So shall it be. He held out a small, capped scroll box. “This is for you, kem’san. My last courtship gift to you until we meet again and our souls can at last live as one.”
He’d given her many tiny treasures since their first night together. Little gifts that symbolized some aspect of his love for her, his hopes for them. But this…She uncapped the scroll box, then extracted and uncurled the small parchment stored inside—this brought tears to her eyes and made her throat clench tight with unshed tears.
“I made it last night while you slept,” he said. “The words are my own, written from my heart.”
“It’s beautiful.” He’d written her a poem and carefully executed each aching, mournful word in flowing, calligraphic script embellished with fanciful curls and richly illuminated with tiny images so perfectly drawn and painted they seemed to leap and move on the page. Flowers bloomed, tairen soared, and other magical creatures danced amongst the flowing lines of Adrial’s script. And everywhere, tiny sketches of her and him together, walking, embracing, adoring each other.
In the last stanza, separated by the swooping curls of the final words, a somber Adrial reached out for the departing figure of Talisa, who stood, looking back over her shoulder at him, both their faces filled with longing and sorrow.
I die a thousand deaths when you leave.
Her fingers trembled as she caressed the words and traced the painted lines of his face. He was right: Each parting was an inexpressible agony, as if her heart were being ripped from her chest time and time again.
Her fingertips brushed across the final image on the page, Adrial’s hope for them: a shining city of white and gold rising from forested hills, and two tiny figures embracing before they entered the verdant paradise.
“Oh, Adrial.” She flung herself into his arms and fused her lips to his, pouring every desperate ounce of the love and longing she felt into her kiss. How was she ever going to live a single day—let alone a whole lifetime—without the taste of him on her lips, the feel of his arms holding her close, the rush of emotion that shot through her when his skin pressed against hers?
“I love you,” she sobbed against his lips, pulling back to feather desperate kisses across his face, the hard curve of his jaw, his cheek, his ear. “Dear gods, I love you so much.”
His arms wrapped tight around her, and for one last chime, they shared a final, passionate embrace that would have to last a lifetime. When at last she pulled away, she cast a tearful glance at the silent, stone-faced shadow of Adrial’s brother, Rowan. “Take care of him for me,” she begged. “Keep him safe.” And to Adrial, “I will come for you, beloved. No matter how long it takes, no matter how many years I must wait to be free, I will come to you. I swear it.”
Unable to bear the agony of their parting a moment longer, she spun away. Her quintet wove invisibility to hide their presence, and they hurried out of the forest towards the shadowy outline of tents that dotted the farmlands just beyond the northern border of Greatwood.
The Great Sun was breaking over the horizon, and sold
iers were just beginning to stir as Talisa ducked into the still-dark interior of the tent she shared with Colum.
A cool breeze wafted over her, making her skin prickle. The sound of a match being struck broke the silence, and a dim light flared as the match burst into flame.
Colum was sitting in the corner of the tent, his gray eyes pinned on her, his expression colder than she’d ever seen as he calmly lit the small candle lamp on the camp table beside him.
“Welcome back, my dear,” he said. “And how is your lover today?”
Celieria ~ Norban
Rain, Ellysetta, and the lu’tan had stopped just south of the woodland hamelet of Norban to rest and eat. They’d been running since before dawn, trying to reach Kreppes by midday. As they rested, Gaelen and the rest of the quintet worked with Ellysetta to improve her battle skills and adjust her aim to fit her own body’s reach and height rather than her father’s.
At her side, Bel’s body went taut and his eyes turned hazy as someone directed a Spirit weave his way. A moment later, he blinked and his eyes turned back to their usual pure, clear cobalt. They were filled with concern like nothing Ellysetta had ever seen before.
“Bel?” she asked, straightening from her throwing crouch, Fey’cha gripped loosely in her hand. “What is it?”
But he had already pivoted on one heel and was marching across the short distance to Rain. A moment later, Rain called, “Fey! Prepare to depart!” and his tone was so clipped and grim, Ellysetta knew something was very, very wrong.
At once, she spoke the word that returned her steel to its sheaths, and ran to his side. All around the small clearing, her lu’tan did the same. Within moments, she was soaring over Greatwood Forest on Rain’s back while the dark shadow of her Fey warriors raced across the ground below. Only then did she ask, “What is it, Rain?”
With bleak, blunt honesty, he told her. “Adrial’s presence has been discovered by Talisa’s husband. The Sebournes are calling for his execution.”