Lord of the Fading Lands

  The sudden chill had the desired effect. Kolis’s reply spilled from him in a rush. “My umagi struck her more deeply than he should have, but the Tairen Soul was with her. She was healed and had been returned to her home before I left. There was no lasting damage to her, and my umagi paid for his mistake with his life.”

  “But now you have raised suspicions.”

  “The suspicions were already there, master. The Tairen Soul has sensed our growing strength.”

  Vadim’s brows drew together. “Impossible. We are warded by sel’dor, witchery and magecraft. No hint of our existence should be felt by any Fey.” He’d tested the wards on many subjects over the centuries. There was no doubt as to their effectiveness.

  Kolis did not back down. “Possible or not, master, the Tairen Soul has Dorian half convinced the Mages have regained power in Eld.”

  The Sulimage had regained his color. He was telling the truth—at least insofar as he knew. It made no sense. Vadim had tested the shields of Boura Fell and the other Mage holds often enough throughout the years to be certain of their efficacy. Had the Tairen Soul truly sensed the growing Mage power in Eld, or was he merely passing off suspicion as fact in an effort to revitalize his faltering alliance with Celieria? The former was a troubling concern, the latter an encouraging sign of weakness but still an unwelcome development. They had been making such excellent progress these last few years.

  “Do not let the Tairen Soul trick you into acting rashly,” Vadim warned. “Overt hostilities now will undermine decades of careful planning.” The girl might yet prove prize enough to capture even at the cost of revealing their existence, but failing that, he still had many months of preparation to complete before he was ready to move openly against Celieria. He pinned his apprentice with a cold stare. “I would not kindly view the ruination of those plans.”

  “My every effort has been designed to turn suspicion away from us, master.” Kolis related how he’d arranged for the Fey to find vel Serranis’s blade on the dead boy, and how he’d used the boy’s death to accuse the Fey of murder. “The warrior was released, but the seed of doubt has been sown. Already it is taking root. Our efforts to make the mortals fear Fey power are working.”

  “But not well enough yet to countenance haste,” Vadim cautioned. “Patience must be our watchword.” Much as he longed to conquer Celieria, such things took time. The world was full of useful fools; the trick was cultivating the right ones…and carefully encouraging them to usher in their own destruction. “How go your efforts to turn Celieria’s queen?”

  Kolis’s eyes flickered. He drew a breath. “Not as well as I’d hoped, master. She’s proving much more resistant than I’d expected. As proud and power-hungry as she is, I thought she would be an easier mark.”

  The failure didn’t please Vadim, but Kolis’s honest admission of it did. “Kin of the Fey don’t wed easy marks, young Mage. There may not be a shei’tanitsa bond between them, but it’s as close as a mortal bond can come. She loves her husband. Make her doubt that love, and you will break its hold on her.”

  The Sulimage bowed. “You are wise in all things, master.”

  “As will you be, in time, Kolis.” Of all the apprentice Mages who had served him over the years, Kolis was the one most like him. Powerful, inventive, hungry for advancement and conquest. One day, Vadim might have to kill him. For now, however, he had proved more useful than most veteran Primages with a host of jewels on their sashes. “Continue your efforts to discredit the Fey, make it difficult for the nobles to support them. I want those borders open. When we control Celieria from the inside and have isolated the Fading Lands from her allies, then we will strike. As powerful as the Fey are, they cannot stand alone against us.”

  “And the girl, master?”

  Vadim held the Mage blade up to his nose and breathed in as if he could detect her scent still clinging to the metal. “You have not seen proof of strong magic?”

  “Not enough to be certain.”

  “Then continue testing her. If she is what I suspect, her existence changes everything.” He wrapped the blade carefully in a silk scarf and set it on his desk. “Dorian and his queen are hosting a dinner for their Fey guests tomorrow, are they not?”

  “Yes, master, they are.”

  “Good. Come, and let’s discuss what I would like you to do.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ellie’s pillow smelled like Rain. She turned and pressed it to her face, remembering the scent and feel of his skin pressed close to hers. He’d brought her home last night, then scandalized her by sneaking in through her bedroom window after her parents went to bed. Despite her halfhearted efforts to shoo him out, he’d stayed long past a decent bell, lying with her on her narrow bed, holding her close. They’d talked in quiet whispers about everything and nothing: their childhoods, their parents, Rain’s life before the Wars. She’d even come close to telling him about her childhood exorcism and the terrors that still haunted her, but fear of replacing that shining, affectionate light in his eyes with suspicion and horror had kept her silent.

  Finally, regretfully, he’d left her a few bells before dawn. Not long after he’d left, weariness had tugged her eyes closed, but for the first time in over a week, no nightmare plagued her, as if Rain’s presence had kept her troubling dreams away.

  Smiling at the fancy, she set the pillow aside and sat up. It was early yet. Outside, the first soft rays of the Great Sun had barely begun to lighten the horizon, and judging by the silence from the room next door, her parents were not yet stirring. She rose, grabbed the robe from the wall hook opposite her bed, and slipped out of her bedroom. Downstairs, her quintet was waiting, Belliard vel Jelani among them.

  “Bel!” she cried softly. She rushed across the room, ignoring his shocked look to throw her arms around him in a fierce, happy embrace. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” She pulled back. “Ravel told me they’d chained you in sel’dor. Are you all right?” She grabbed his hand and pushed back the leather cuff to inspect his wrist. Please, gods, let him not have suffered the slightest lasting hurt on her behalf.

  His fingers curled around hers, warm and steady. “I’m fine, kem’falla.”

  “And getting better by the moment,” Kieran quipped, smiling.

  “Aiyah,” Bel agreed. He cocked his head to one side, cobalt eyes shining with affection and pride. “Ve stral miora la sa’dol stral liss, kem’feyreisa.”

  “I weave joy like the Great Sun weaves light?” she repeated.

  His brows rose. “A perfect translation. You’ve been practicing.”

  “Ravel and his men worked with me all yesterday afternoon while we were waiting for word about you.” The afternoon of immersion had helped tremendously. Once she’d figured out how the words were pronounced—and which vowels and consonants tended to be dropped or stressed when spoken—she’d been able to associate the sounds of spoken Feyan with her thorough understanding of the written language. A few more weeks and she’d be speaking like a native of the Fading Lands. “Are you truly all right? And what do you mean, I weave joy?”

  “You were sharing your soul’s warmth again, kem’falla.” The rare beauty of Bel’s smile brought tears to her eyes. “And, aiyah, I am truly all right. I deserved much worse than a few short bells in sel’dor chains for allowing you to come to harm while under my protection.”

  “Don’t say that!” she protested. “What happened to me wasn’t your fault. No one could have known what that boy was going to do. Even I didn’t realize he’d stabbed me until I saw my own blood.” She squeezed his hands. “You aren’t to blame in any way.”

  “You are too kind, kem’falla, but yesterday I did not prove worthy of your trust. I promise to fulfill my bloodsworn oath better in the future.” Bel dropped to one knee and bowed low, touching his forehead to the backs of her hands. “May every blade aimed at you find my flesh instead, and may I deal death to your enemies without hesitation and never fail you again.” He lifted shining eyes. “Miora fel
ah ti’feyreisa.”

  Garbed once more as the unmemorable Merchant Black, Kolis Manza stood in the shadows of the garden beside Selianne Pyerson’s small house. Through the curtained windows of the side door, he could see Tuelis and her daughter sitting at a table in the home’s tiny kitchen, two steaming cups of keflee and a plate of small frosted cakes before them. As he watched, Selianne took a sip of the keflee her mother had prepared. A few chimes later, she slumped in the chair. The kitchen door opened, and Kolis walked past Tuelis to her daughter’s side.

  The vacant expression on Selianne’s face didn’t change as he slit the soft flesh of her inner wrist with his Mage blade and lifted her wrist to his mouth, drinking the salty sweetness of her blood directly from her vein. He drank until he could feel the buzzing connection of his previous bindings and the shadows of his first two Mage Marks darkened the swell of her left breast. He gave the small incision a final lick and closed it with a whisper of Earth.

  As carefully as before, he summoned the sweet darkness of Azrahn, wrapped it in insulating Spirit, then plunged the binding magic deep into Selianne’s heart. Her eyes went wide, and despite the powerful sedative she’d ingested, she gave a soft cry and struggled against his hold.

  “Don’t fight it, pet,” he crooned. “Remember your sweet Cerlissa.” The threat worked, as it had at their previous two meetings, and the barriers she’d thrown up against him wavered. “Yes, pet. That’s it.” He held the penetrating cold of the Mark until it extinguished the last defiant threads of her current resistance.

  Unlike her mother, Selianne had been born in Celieria, not Eld. She’d not received the bonds of blood that were made at birth for all Eld’s children, nor been subjected to the ritual binding of souls that started on the first anniversary of the child’s birth and were completed on the day the child turned six. Because of that, he’d been forced to bind her himself, using a less effective six-day method. A knife at the throat of her infant had convinced her to accept the first blooding and Mage Mark. Sedating herbs and threats had coerced her acceptance of the second—and now the third. But Selianne was no willing follower. She would continue to fight his control until she bore the full six Marks, and even then his hold over her would require effort to enforce.

  He trailed a finger down the side of her face. Spirit and tiny, imperceptible threads of Azrahn sank into her skin. Though he could not yet force her compliance or inhabit her body without either her consent or a forceful use of Azrahn, he could plant directives in her mind and guide her thoughts and actions without her knowledge.

  “Your mother told me you are having second thoughts about serving as Ellysetta Baristani’s Honoria.” His thumb brushed across her lips. “You must not let fear stop you from doing what is right. Go to the Cathedral this morning, but be sure you tell Ellysetta and her mother how concerned you are. The Fey aren’t to be trusted. Look how they murdered that unfortunate boy and got away with it.”

  He wove the whispered instructions into her mind on compulsion threads of Spirit and Azrahn. When he was done, he wiped the memory of his visit from her mind, leaving only a subconscious certainty that the people she loved were in terrible danger if Ellysetta’s marriage to Rain Tairen Soul could not be stopped.

  “Selianne!” Standing on the steps of the Grand Cathedral, Ellysetta held out her hands to her approaching best friend and masked trepidation behind a bright smile. After yesterday’s attack, she’d realized that Rain had been right about Fey enemies targeting her, and she worried that Selianne, with her Eld blood, might be in danger because of their friendship.

  But what was she to do? Mama had gone on and on to Greatfather Tivrest about how Selianne and Ellie were inseparable friends and what a beacon of light Selianne was, what a dedicated daughter and wife and mother. Ellie’s quintet had listened to every word. Rescinding the invitation now would not only hurt Selianne deeply, it would make her the object of Fey suspicion. Considering Rain’s deep-seated hatred of the Eld and Bel’s lethal oath this morning, Ellysetta feared what the Fey would do if they discovered Selianne’s heritage.

  “Look at you. You look like a princess.” Selianne stood back to admire Ellie’s exquisite new gown of lavender silk and Elvian lace. “Kelissande would kill for that gown. And your hair is stunning.” Thanks to Kiel and Kieran’s artistic efforts this morning, Ellie’s thick tangle of curls had been pulled back and tamed into a sleek cascade decorated with delicate amethyst flowers that trembled like fairy wings with every turn of her head. “Are those wisp-roses?”

  Ellie started to touch the fragile flowers tucked into her hair, then stopped. “They are.”

  “They die at the first harsh touch. How on earth can you wear them in your hair without destroying them?” Selianne’s confused look cleared. “Magic,” she said flatly.

  Ellie nodded, determined not to feel guilty despite Selianne’s disapproving expression. “Rain put a protective weave around them.” That had been the second part of his gift, and the second layer of its meaning: fragile life protected by unyielding Fey strength. These flowers, so rare and precious the blooms rarely lasted more than a day, would bloom forever so long as Rain’s weave stood strong.

  Selianne tucked an arm through Ellie’s and lowered her voice as they walked into the cooler shadows of the cathedral. Ellysetta’s mother was up at the altar, speaking with Greatfather Tivrest. “How are you, really? I read about what happened yesterday.” Selianne asked.

  Ellie grimaced. Everyone, it seemed, had read about what happened. The flood of pamphlets yesterday was nothing compared to the storm that all but papered the streets this morning, decrying the release of the child murderer Belliard vel Jelani. The crowds outside the Baristani home had doubled since yesterday thanks to all the protestors, rabble-rousers, and Brethren of Radiance fanatics joining their ranks.

  Mama couldn’t quite decide whether she was more worried about the damage to her family’s reputation and Sol’s business or enraged at the gall of the fanatical busybodies who had decided they had some right to camp outside the Baristanis’ home and destroy the peace of the neighborhood. She’d even appealed to Rain, saying, “What in the Haven’s name good is your magic if you can’t make that rabble clear off?” When Ellie had stared at her in shock, Mama had shrugged defensively and said, “Well? It’s clear the Fey aren’t going anywhere. Since they’re determined to stay, they might as well make themselves useful.”

  The gods weave as the gods will, Ellie thought with a smile. She would have volunteered for getting stabbed earlier if she’d known how it would alter Mama’s opinion of the Fey.

  Dragging her thoughts back to the present, she smiled at Selianne. “I’m fine, Sel. Lady Marissya healed me and no matter what those pamphleteers are saying, Bel didn’t kill that boy—and don’t believe for one second that child was an innocent bystander, either.” Quickly Ellie recounted what had happened. “Rain thinks the Eld may be behind it. He’s been trying to keep the northern borders closed, and the accusations leveled against Bel seem specifically designed to rouse more suspicion and ill will between the nobles and the Fey.”

  Selianne glanced at the surrounding Fey. “Can you have them do that privacy thing?”

  “Of course.” Ellie made the request, and Bel spun his weave in a matter of seconds. “It’s done. What is it, Sel?”

  Selianne turned her back to the Fey and reached out to clasp Ellie’s hands. “The nobles aren’t the only ones feeling suspicious. Ellie, I’m serving as your Honoria because you’re my dearest friend in the whole world, but I wouldn’t be any kind of friend if I didn’t tell you how worried I am. I don’t think you should wed the Tairen Soul. I’m terrified of what will happen to you if you do.”

  Ellysetta stared at her in surprise. “What? Selianne—”

  “Hear me out, Ellie. What do you know—what does anyone really know—about the Fey? They’re magic. And no matter how beautiful they are or what the legends say about them, not one of us really knows what goes on behind the F
aering Mists. Once you go to the Fading Lands, you’ll be locked away from all your family and friends, caged by magic just like those flowers in your hair. Who’s to say what will happen to you then?”

  Ellysetta pulled her hands free. “Selianne, don’t be silly. Rain’s not plotting to imprison me. He’s been nothing but kind and attentive and caring.”

  “Of course he has. You’re still in Celieria. But don’t you realize, the only woman to leave the Fading Lands since the Mage Wars is the shei’dalin Marissya? Once you’re through the Faering Mists, the Fey can make up any story they like about why you don’t wish to return, and no one in Celieria will be able to gainsay them. Not even your family.”

  Ellie gave a troubled frown as a bobble of doubt rose inside her. Guilt followed fast behind. Simply contemplating such an idea seemed so disloyal to Rain.

  As if sensing that brief doubt, Selianne leaned forward. “Ellie, my mother has a friend. A sea captain. He has no love for the Fey, and he’s offered to take you someplace where you’ll be safe should you choose not to wed the Tairen Soul.”

  Ellysetta reared back in surprise. “No.”

  “Ellie—”

  “No! I could never do that. Even if I wanted to leave Rain—which I don’t!—Papa would never condone breaking another betrothal. He wouldn’t have allowed it the first time if the king hadn’t interceded. And if I ran off by myself, my family would be shunned, beggared. You know that, Selianne. I would rather sacrifice myself a thousand times than bring such hurt to them. How could you even think I could be so selfish?”

  Tears pooled in Selianne’s wide, guileless blue eyes. “I’m just so worried for you. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

  “But not at the expense of my family, Selianne. You’d buy me only misery at that price.”