Five lethal glances speared him. For the first time in a thousand years, Rain Tairen Soul threw back his head and laughed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ten thousand swords before you, ten thousand daggers drawn,
Ten thousand lives defend you, ten thousand warriors strong.
Our blood will spill ten thousand times.
In hope, ten thousand sigh.
For love we face ten thousand deaths,
With joy, ten thousand die.
Ten thousand Fey before you, ten thousand fierce and tall,
Ten thousand souls protect you, beloved of us all.
—Chorus from Ten Thousand Swords, a Fey Warrior’s Song
Even with seven pairs of hands, unwrapping and recording all the wedding gifts was tedious work. To pass the time, Adrial vel Arquinas began to hum a rhythmic tune. His brother Rowan soon joined him, then Kiel. Then Kieran began to sing. To Ellie’s amazement, Rain soon joined in, his voice a deep, rich baritone.
They sang in Feyan, and though Ellie only understood a word or two here and there, the song’s beat and the melodious sound of the lyrics made her smile. “That was beautiful,” she said when they finished. “What was it?”
“A Fey warrior’s song called ‘Ten Thousand Swords,’” Rain told her. “It is a song all Fey youths learn when they are training to become warriors.”
“Can you translate it for me?” With a nod, he did so, and tears sprang to her eyes as she listened to the words that vowed the death of thousands to protect the life of one woman. She gave a little shiver. “Surely it’s just a song. I, for one, wouldn’t want any of you dying for me.”
“It is the greatest of honors to die in the defense of a shei’tani,” Kiel protested. “Such a warrior will be born to this world again, to find a truemate of his own.”
Holding a forgotten package on her lap, she looked at the faces of the men around her. “Do you all believe that?”
They exchanged glances, then nodded. “Of course,” Adrial told her, and a chill worked up Ellysetta’s spine as she suddenly realized how dear to her the warriors had become in such a short time. The thought of any one of them dying was like a knife to her heart.
“Peace, Ellysetta,” Rain murmured. She felt a warm touch on the back of her hand, another on her face, even though he sat several feet away from her and had not moved a muscle. “None of them seek death yet.”
“Seek death?” she repeated weakly.
“Sheisan’dahlein,” Rowan supplied. “The Fey honor death.”
“You seek death?” She stared at them all in horror.
“When we must,” Belliard said. His cobalt eyes held a calm acceptance she couldn’t begin to fathom.
“Why?”
The five warriors glanced at Rain, who hesitated, regarded Ellie with a searching look, then nodded briefly.
Setting aside the small golden dish he’d unwrapped and recorded, Bel began to explain. “Each time a Fey warrior claims a life, he takes the weight of that soul upon his. He absorbs the darkness of that soul and the pain of that soul’s unfulfilled promise, its sorrows and regrets, and he carries the weight and the pain of it always, like a burning stone hung round his neck.”
Ellie covered her mouth. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It is the price the gods decreed for the many gifts they have bestowed on the Fey,” Bel said. “And it is just. How much more greatly we value peace, knowing the price for taking a life. It is one of the reasons the Fey avoid war. In war, many good men die, and the soul of a good man is far harder to bear than that of one steeped in darkness, even though killing a dark one brings terrible pain.” His voice dropped. Shadows dimmed his eyes, turning cobalt to brooding navy. “I would rather slay a thousand dark ones than cut down one good man.”
“Aiyah,” Rowan and Adrial agreed quietly.
“Is there nothing you can do to…get free of these souls?”
Bel blinked, and the shadows fled from his eyes. His hard, handsome face softened. His lips curved, not quite a smile, but almost. “If a warrior is lucky enough to find his shei’tani,” he said, “she can help ease his burden, for hers is the spirit of compassion and healing and she alone can touch her warrior’s soul. He will still feel pain when he takes a life, but she can banish the darkness that comes with the pain and heal his soul.”
“But shei’tanis are rare and precious,” Kiel added. He brushed a lock of golden hair behind his ear, then deftly stripped silver paper from a small package to reveal a delicate china vase. He held it up to the glow of the lamp hanging from the ceiling and smiled as the lamplight illuminated the translucent porcelain. “Most warriors will live and die without ever finding their truemate, yet all of us still hope.” With great care, he set the vase aside, and made note of both the gift and its sender on the paper before him.
Hope. Bel’s small, not-quite-revealed smile was hope. Ellie felt her throat grow tight. It grew tighter when she realized that even that tiny hint of emotion was already gone from his face, replaced with careful blankness, as if he dared not display his hope for fear of its being stolen from him.
Bel reached for a large package with a huge blue bow. “So, when the weight of the souls he has taken becomes too much for a Fey to bear,” he concluded, pulling the ends of the ribbon to unravel the extravagant bow, “when the stain on his soul grows so dark it threatens to consume him, the warrior has only two choices: sheisan’dahlein, the honor death, which gives him the hope of being born again to find the one who will complete his soul, or becoming dahl’reisen, a lost soul, outcast from the Fading Lands, in danger of turning to Azrahn and other dark magics, doomed for eternity.” Bel’s face went momentarily grim as he mentioned the last.
“But that’s horrible.”
“That is the lot of the Fey warrior,” he answered. “Of all possible honor deaths, the greatest of them is to die protecting a truemate, for then the warrior is assured of finding his own truemate in his next life. It is one reason we dedicate our lives to the Dance of Knives. We strive for centuries to become the best of all Fey warriors, to earn the right to protect a shei’tani, to earn the right to die for her.” Pulling a black-handled Fey’cha from the bands across his chest, Bel slit open the seals on the box he had just unwrapped.
“No,” Ellysetta protested. “No. I won’t allow it. I won’t have any of you dying for me, not for any reason.”
Silence fell in the room. All rustling of paper ceased. All motion ceased. It seemed to Ellie as if all breathing ceased.
Rain touched Ellie, this time with his hand rather than his magic. His long fingers closed over hers. His lavender eyes shone intently.
“You will allow it, shei’tani,” he told her in a gentle voice lined with steel. “You will not deny these men their right to the most honorable of all Fey deaths. They live now to protect you, to die for you if they must. Because you represent hope for all Fey, and especially for them.”
For a long, shocked moment, Ellie stared into Rain’s steady, resolute eyes. It was one thing to believe these warriors were there to protect her. It was another thing entirely to realize that they would die for her. Perhaps she’d been foolish not to realize it before, yet it had never occurred to her that if her life was in danger, their lives were in danger too. Or that they would each die before allowing harm to come to her. Not even Bel’s stirring pledge to devote life and soul to her protection had made her realize, truly, what was at stake.
Everything in her screamed against allowing such a thing. She was plain, awkward Ellysetta Baristani, the woodcarver’s daughter, and though for some incredible reason Rain Tairen Soul believed she was his truemate, she knew there was nothing within her important enough for these men, these oddly dear friends, to protect at the cost of their immortal lives. How could she live with herself if even one of them died on her account?
«They will protect you whether you agree or not, because I will command it. You are my shei’tani, and immeasurably valuabl
e to us all,» Rain told her silently. «But if you rail against their protection, you take away their joy. Do not make this great honor a burden to them.»
She lowered her eyes and dragged in a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing her voice not to tremble. “Of course, I am honored by your protection.”
Breathing resumed. Paper crinkled. Silence lifted.
«Beylah vo, shei’tani.»
Ellie fiddled with the ribbons on the package in her lap and did not respond.
Bel finished unwrapping the large package and held up an object made of shining steel and shaped like a very ugly coiled serpent. “What in the name of tairen fire is this?”
Kieran laughed. “I think it’s a keflee pot.”
Bel stared at the object in his hand, twisting it this way and that. “And what’s the matching cream pot, I wonder? A scorpion?”
They were joking. How could they be joking?
« Would you have them cry every day of their lives?»
She looked at Rain and blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. “I thought you couldn’t read my mind,” she accused. Her anger was weak, but she grabbed it, not wanting to cry in front of these men who had far more reason for tears than she.
Rain only shook his head. “Your thoughts are plain on your face.”
They managed to open, record, and pack away all of the gifts in the parlor before lunchtime. Lillis and Lorelle returned from their morning’s instruction with Madam Nolen, a widow who supported herself by teaching the local guildmasters’ children basic reading, penmanship, maths, and household management. Ellie reviewed their morning’s work, fed them, then sent them out into the rear garden to play with their kitten so the Fey could do a swift, magical spit-and-polish of the house before Master Fellows arrived.
Lillis and Lorelle weren’t pleased when they realized Ellie would be too busy the next three afternoons to take them to the park, and nothing mollified them until Rain offered to spend a portion of tomorrow’s courtship bells playing Stones with them in the park. The offer transformed their expressions from utter dejection to soaring delight, and the sudden change of emotion made Ellie’s eyes narrow with suspicion.
“I think you’ve just been manipulated,” she told Rain.
He glanced after the girls as they disappeared through the kitchen door, then shrugged. “Ah, well, it pleases me to see them smile. They are young and bright, and their laughter lightens my heart.”
She felt her own heart squeeze a little. Behind that simple statement lay centuries of indescribable torment: the pain he’d shared with her that first night in the museum, the loss of the people he’d loved, and now, as she’d just learned, the suffering from every life he’d ever taken in defense of his people. And yet despite all that, he could still find happiness in making a child smile.
She reached for his hand. Her fingers curled around his, measuring through touch the unyielding strength of his grip. She was tall, but beside him she felt slight. He stood a full head above her. His body, while lean, was hard with muscle, his shoulders broad and squared. He was a man built to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. And she was a woman just learning how much she longed to lighten his burden.
He stood motionless as she reached up to lay her other hand along the side of his face. “You’re a good man, Rainier vel’En Daris.” She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
A shudder rippled through him. His free hand slid round her waist, and he started to pull her hard against him, then stopped. Though she could feel the surge of longing in him, the fierce desire to capture and claim, he conquered it. The tairen roared for dominance, but Rain refused to give in. He kissed her with breathtaking passion that left her in no doubt of his desire or need, yet when she broke the embrace and stepped back, he opened his arms and let her go.
He held her stunned gaze with eyes that glowed bright and fierce. “I am not a good man, shei’tani,” he corrected. “I never have been. But for you I will strive to be better.”
She pressed a hand to her lips. He could make her feel so much, so deeply and so quickly it was frightening. Just then, while he’d kissed her, a powerful sensation had moved inside her. She could feel it still, drawing her skin tight, shuddering through her bones as if at any moment they might dissolve.
She took a deep breath and dragged a ragged veil of calm around her, tamping her emotions down until the feeling faded. “I should go freshen up. Master Fellows will be here soon, and I don’t want to embarrass you by looking a mess when he arrives.”
Rain’s brow’s drew together. “You bring pride to this Fey just as you are.”
She laughed ruefully. “Yes, well, be that as it may, we both know the nobility won’t share that view—which is why I spent this morning and last letting the queen’s craftsmasters try to change me into something more acceptable. And why I’m going upstairs now to freshen up before Master Fellows gets here.” She turned and started for the stairs.
“Ellysetta.” The sudden thread of steel in his voice made her halt and look back. His expression was carved stone. The pupils of his still-glowing eyes had lengthened to slits. “I meant what I said. I have no wish to change you. All this”—he flung out his hand at the mess of fabrics and pattern books still strewn around the main room—“was Marissya and your mother’s idea, to help you feel more at ease among Dorian’s nobles. For myself, I’d proudly take you as you are. Just say the word, and so it will be.”
Her eyes widened. He would do that. He’d take her before the court dressed as a peasant and expect them to treat her like a queen.
And be furious when they didn’t.
“I thought the whole purpose of this Kingsday’s dinner was to win the favor of the lords so they would vote to keep the Eld border closed,” she said.
“And so it is, but any Celierian worthy of Fey regard will appreciate the honor of your presence no matter what your garb.”
Her brows almost disappeared into her hairline. “Oh, truly? You know as well as I do that I don’t dare appear before the court dressed in anything even remotely resembling this.” She waved at her simple skirts and thick-soled boots. “They’d be insulted beyond words, and you’d lose all hope of winning their support.”
She wasn’t sure she believed the Mages had reconstituted their power. The dahl’reisen murdering innocent villagers up and down the borders seemed a greater and more obvious threat than anything in Eld. But she knew Rain believed Eld was the true menace. And he needed the support of Celieria’s aristocracy to ensure that his fears did not come to pass. He was already starting off at a disadvantage. No noble—especially Queen Annoura—would easily forgive him for raising a woodcarver’s daughter to the rank of queen.
Rain couldn’t dispute her reasoning, though the flush of angry color beneath his pale skin said he wanted to. “Be that as it may,” he snapped, “we’re not talking about the court right now. We’re talking about a servant of the court, the queen’s Master of Graces. I assure you I don’t need his vote, Ellysetta, and that means you have no cause to put yourself out on his behalf.”
She put her hands on her hips. “No cause except common courtesy and care for my own pride. Master Fellows may look at me and see a peasant, but at least he’ll see a tidy one. And thank you so much for making me admit to such conceit.”
Rain’s brow creased in a bewildered look, as if he could not understand how the conversation had ended here, with her glaring at him for embarrassing her. He shook his head and pinched the ridge between his eyes. “It’s been too long since I’ve been a mate. I had forgotten the two rules.”
“The two rules?” she echoed.
“Aiyah. Sariel taught me.” He held up his index finger. “Rule one: in any dispute between mates, the male is always to blame, even when he is clearly blameless. Rule two”—his middle finger joined the first—“whenever in doubt, refer to rule one.”
The laugh popped out before she could halt it.
His eyes crinkled
at the corners. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek in a light caress. “Very well, shei’tani. Tidy yourself for this Master of Graces if that will put you at ease. Have the seamstresses provided you with a court gown yet?”
“No, I was just going to put on my green gown. The maestras haven’t had time to finish anything finer.” She gestured to the bolts of cloth stacked against one wall. “I’m still picking patterns and fabric.”
He glanced over at the bolts she’d indicated. “I like that silk.” He pointed to a bolt of golden yellow watered silk. “The color would become you.” His brows drew together in a frown of concentration. A surge of powerful magic burst from his hands. Half the bolt of cloth disappeared. “There,” he said when the shining green Earth threads faded. “You have a dress now, in your room upstairs. And don’t bother with your hair. Kieran will fix it for you when you come back downstairs.”
She shook her head. Now she was the one bewildered. “You just finished arguing with me about how I should not change myself for members of the court.”
“That was before you expressed your fear of being shamed. As your mate, it is my duty to protect you in all ways. For the pride of the nobles, I care nothing. For yours, I do.” He shrugged. “Go, shei’tani, don these garments you think you need. We Fey will tidy your home and wait for this Master of Graces.”
She went. Upstairs in her room, laid neatly across her narrow bed, lay an exquisite gown of saffron silk. She tried it on, not surprised to find it a perfect fit. But as she regarded her stylish reflection in the long mirror inside her wardrobe, her pleased smile faded. Despite her angry claims this morning that she was the same person she’d always been and always would be, Ellysetta knew it wasn’t true. She’d already begun to change, and she would have to change still more. Fast. Because when he faced the nobles this Kingsday evening, Rain Tairen Soul would need a queen by his side, not some naive, graceless gawk of a girl.
Precisely as the city clock tower rang fourteen bells, Master Gaspare Fellows, the queen’s Master of Graces, arrived at the Baristani home. He stepped across the threshold, threw back the edges of his satin-lined demi-cape, and executed a perfect court bow before Ellysetta.