Lady of Light and Shadows (14 page)

At home, she carried her packages upstairs and set them down on her bed. As she did so, a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. She bent to pick it up and frowned at the smudged block print of the headline that proclaimed: "Beware the Shadow Lord, Corrupter of Souls!”

Oh, for the Haven's sake. That Shadow Seer must have thrust one of his religious tracts in her bags. She'd never been a woman to pay the Shadow Seers much mind. She'd always been too intrinsically orthodox in her devotion to the Bright Lord to find their fanatical mysticism appealing.

Lauriana started to toss the pamphlet away, then stopped. What if for all their wild-eyed madness, the Seers were right about the Fey? Hadn't Selianne just told her of the unholy carnal spell the Tairen Soul had woven over Dorian's court?

She scanned the text. Most of it was the hysterical drivel she'd come to expect from the Seers, but there was a line or two that hit a little too close to home regarding the beguiling lure of evil, and how the most dangerous of all the Shadow's servants were the kind that approached cloaked in beauty and false goodness. She reread those lines several times and shivered. The description of the Shadow's servants fit Rain Tairen Soul and the Fey perfectly.

Two bells later, Lauriana sat in silence, knitting with fervor and sneaking grim glances at the Fey king as he led Ellysetta through the steps of an intricate court dance Master Fellows insisted she must learn before the prince's prenuptial ball.

The corrupter of innocents moved with inhuman grace as he twirled Ellysetta in a series of elegant pirouettes. He looked so shining and pure and beautiful, not at all like the serpent of iniquity she knew him to be. Luring Ellysetta to carnal banquets. Endangering her soul. As the priests always said, the swiftest road to sin was down the path of pleasure .. .

Ellie glanced over, frowning a little. "Mama? Is everything all right?”

Conscious of the Tairen Soul's sudden interest, Lauriana blanked her face and did her best to blank her emotions as well. "I'm fine, killing." She forced a smile. “Just a little aggravated by some of the tradesmasters I had to deal with today.”

Deciding it was best not to sit in the Fey's presence with her thoughts in such a turmoil, she set her knitting aside and went upstairs to her room to finish sorting through the packages she'd brought home.

She emptied the contents of the largest bag on her bed. Along with the boxes of gratitudes and wedding programs she'd picked up from the printer, the small blue and silver gift Selianne had given her tumbled out. Selianne had asked Lauriana to put it somewhere that Ellie would be sure to find it and open it herself without an audience. ("It's a little something from one married friend to another soon-to-be-married friend, Madame Baristani," Selianne had whispered with a faint blush.) Lauriana had forgotten about the gift, but now, looking at the reflections shimmering in the shining silver ribbons, she felt compelled to tuck it safely away in Ellie's room as quickly as possible.

She carried the gift down the hall and set it on Ellie's dressing table. When she turned back towards the door, a strange light-headedness struck her and her vision went blurry. She stumbled out of the room and put her hand against the hallway wall to steady herself until the dizziness passed.

"Lauriana, you ninnywit. What did you think would happen after not eating all day?" Her constitution wasn't as hardy as it had been in her youth. She returned to her bedroom and splashed cool water on her face before heading downstairs to fix herself something to eat.

As she passed Ellysetta's open bedroom door, a glint of blue and silver caught her eye and she paused, scowling with exasperation.

Now, who had put that gift there in Ellie's room? How many times had she told her daughters and the Fey that all wedding gifts needed to be kept together downstairs. Argh! She might as well talk to a stone wall, for all the good it did her!

Lauriana had a
process
in place. If gifts were tossed willy nilly and opened at random rather than being carefully logged and recorded, she had absolutely no hope of ensuring the proper gratitudes went out to the appropriate people. And considering that half the gifts came from influential and noble families, such an oversight could besmirch her family's reputation and harm Sol's business. What nobles would buy their goods from an ingrate who couldn't even be bothered to thank them for the graciousness of their gifts?

She snatched up the package and marched downstairs to deposit it on the hall table, alongside the three dozen or so other gifts that had arrived today.

The front door opened. Dajan vel Rhiadi, the Fey who stood guard at the Baristani front door each day, entered, his arms laden with more packages that had been inspected by the Fey.

"On the table with those others until we make more room in the parlor," Lauriana rapped out. She stood, arms crossed over her chest, glowering, while Dajan did as he was told, then lectured the bewildered man soundly about the importance of following her precise directions for handling the wedding gifts.

«Trouble comes, General.
»

Gaelen vel Serranis groaned as the persistent thread of Spirit penetrated his consciousness. Alternating fever and chills had left him weak as a babe, while his numerous wounds and the
sel'dor
embedded in his flesh reminded him of their presence with waves of pain that pounded him mercilessly.

«Report.»
It was all he could do to form and send even that one word on Spirit, and gathering energy enough to send it spinning out into the world felt like spikes driving into his brain. Of all the magics, Spirit was the most difficult to weave while
sel'dor-pierced.
Earth ran a close second, followed by Fire, then Air and Water.

«Eld troops are moving along the border.»
The information came from Farel vel Torras, Gaelen's chief lieutenant and most trusted friend, if it could be said that
dahl'reisen
trusted or befriended anyone.

«Invasion?»
This time, the pain of weaving Spirit was so intense, Gaelen couldn't completely choke back his scream. He fell back against the rotting leaves of the
rultshart's
den, panting. The
sel'dor
shrapnel still buried in his flesh burned like live coals.

«Possibly.»
There was a brief pause, and then,
«They're building up along the western borders.
»

Closest to the Fading Lands. Which implied that whatever the Eld were planning, it involved an attack on the Fey.

Rain Tairen Soul was in Celieria City. And so was Gaelen's sister, Marissya.

And the High Mage's daughter was with them.

Farel must warn the Fey-both of the serpent coiling on their doorstep and the one hiding in their midst. He must send
dahl'reisen
to slay the Eld demon's get before she could pass through the Faering Mists and unleash her father's evil.

Gaelen knew it was a terrible risk. Rain would die the moment his claimed mate was slain-no Fey, not even Rain Tairen Soul, could survive his truemate's death-and nothing would give the Eld a greater advantage than the death of the last Tairen Soul. But what choice did Gaelen have? Once the High Mage's daughter passed through the Faering Mists, her father could use her to strike deep at the very heart of the Fading Lands, and the
dahl'reisen
would be helpless to stop him. The Fey would be destroyed. Marissya would die.

Bracing himself, Gaelen summoned his remaining strength and once more threw himself against the sel'dor-spawned razors that slashed him as he tried to send the command. This time, not even his tremendous will could conquer the agony. His weave dissolved even as it formed. Despite centuries of training and experience, he screamed. It was a raw, sharp-edged roar of sound. As much fury and desperation as it was pain.

He fell back against the rotting leaves, panting and clinging feebly to consciousness as agony swept over him in dizzying, debilitating waves.

He wanted to curse and rail, but he dared not let even that much of his precious, rapidly dwindling supply of energy escape. His mind was already racing to find another solution. Evaluate, adapt, execute. Fey warriors were trained to think on their feet, to find ways around seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

Without Gaelen's command, the
dahl'reisen
would do as they had done for the last thousand years-protect the Fey from a distance-but none would communicate with the Fey directly, and none would dare approach Celieria so long as Marissya was there. Since he couldn't weave Spirit to issue the command, he would have to go in person. He would have to be the one to ensure the High Mage's spawn never set a single cursed foot in the Fading Lands.

But first he had to find the strength to get up.

Ah, gods, he hurt. His body had nothing left to give him. Nothing but excruciating pain, a heart full of
dahl'reisen
hate, and the memories of a time when he'd walked the Bright Path, not the Dark.

Get up, Fey. Warriors don't lie sniveling on the ground just because they're hurt. Do you think the Mages will give you time to recoup your strength? They'll slaughter you where you lie and piss in your skull. Get up, boy!
In his mind, he could still hear the fierce, harsh bark of his
chatok,
the great Shannisorran v'En Celay, shouting at the young
chadin
Gaelen. How many times in those long years of training had the great Shan, Lord Death, pushed him beyond endurance?
Pain is life, boy. Fey warriors eat pain for breakfast. We breathe it. We embrace it. We jag' it on a cold night just to keep warm. Get up, boy! Get up, scorch you!

Gaelen staggered to his feet.

His wounds shrieked. Agony roared up his limbs, immolating him with its fiery wrath. He bared his teeth and swallowed the tortured scream that fought for release, turning it inwards and feeding the energy back into his body. Fey ate pain for breakfast. Fey embraced it. Fey breathed it in and jaffed it on a cold night just to keep warm.

What are you, chadin? Shout it out! Let me hear you!

I-I. am ... Warrior!

I .... am ... Fey!

Or, rather, once he had been.

Clutching his side, Gaelen forced himself to walk. His steps were shambling at first, each shuffling motion detonating a fireburst of pain all over his body as cauterized flesh ripped open and shrapnel shifted within torn muscle, but soon the individual pains numbed to a single, dull agony, and that he could control. Shambling steps accelerated to a long stride, then a moderate jog. The pace was a far cry from his normal land-eating run, and his feet fell heavily on the earth, but it was forward progress.

The journey might kill him, the destination certainly would, but that was better than dying from infection and blood loss amid the foul ignominy of a
rultshart's
den. Besides, though he'd not come within half a continent of his last living sister in over a thousand years, he would willingly give his own life and the life of every
dahl'reisen
under his command before allowing the slightest harm to come to her.

With every step, Gaelen focused his substantial will on one single goal: He had to get to Celieria City. The High Mage's daughter could not be allowed to live.

Ellysetta hummed a bright Fey tune as she bustled around the Baristani kitchen, cooking up a hearty breakfast of peppered eggs, honey-cured bacon, and fried sweetcorn cakes with butter. Since that last nightmare after the palace dinner four nights past, not one bad dream had plagued her. Not even the slightest passing twinge. Each night after her parents went to bed, Rain snuck into her room and the Fey spun twenty-five-fold weaves around the house. Between the two of them, they had managed to keep out who or whatever was responsible for her nightmares.

She hadn't realized what a dreadful burden those dreams had become_ Without them, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her soul, leaving her truly happy and lighthearted in a way she couldn't remember ever being before.

Of course, she thought with a secret smile as she set the breakfast table, Rain was as much to credit for that as her lack of dreams. In addition to the daily courtship gifts-a crown of exquisite Pink Button daisies made from white and pink diamonds, a small crystal lame that burned fragrant oil, a music box with a tiny dancing couple that twirled when the music played-he'd sent her more than a dozen little gifts each day.

Small, silly things meant to make her laugh or smile, each accompanied by a note penned in his own hand.

If that weren't enough, they'd spent the last day's courtship bells in a beautiful meadow in the hills overlooking Great Bay. There he'd lain with her in the sweet grass beside a cascading waterfall and shown her with both his body and his brilliant command of Spirit just how devoted he truly was. Even now, the memories of it made her skin tingle and brought her near to swooning.

She fanned herself and pressed a glass of iced water against her face to cool her flushed cheeks. Her wedding day-and night-couldn't come soon enough.

Rain had devoted equal care and guidance to her magical tutelage, too.. Though she still couldn't summon real magic on a regular basis-and never a weave stronger than what Rain called a level-one skill-she'd become rather adept at asking living things to share their essence with her. She could make grass wave and water ripple in flows following her fingers, and when she passed her hands above Rain's bare flesh, not touching him but asking his body to share its magic with her, she could make his every muscle tremble and his eyes glow bright as the Great Sun.

The only unpleasantness in what would otherwise have been halcyon days were the continued unrest in the city and Mama's increasingly open bitterness towards the Fey.

Just yesterday, news of another
dahl'reisen
attack in the north had worked a mob of Celierian and Brethren of Radiance followers into near hysteria. They'd marched on the palace and gathered outside the gates to demand the expulsion of all Fey from the city. "Bride stealers!" they had shrieked. "Child killers! Servants of Shadow!" The hostility was so strong and virulent that even Lady Marissya's attempt to weave peace on the crowds had failed. In the end, a full complement of King's Guards rode out to arrest the more violent protestors and disperse the crowds.

The unrest had left many of the noble lords skittish. Even with the support that Lords Teleos and Barrial had helped assemble, Rain was finding it difficult to garner the final vote they needed to ensure the Eld borders would remain closed.

The ceiling creaked as feet trod the floorboards in her parents’ room above. Ellysetta glanced up, frowning. Mama was almost as bad as the rabble-rousers. In the last few days, her previous grudging acceptance of Ellysetta's pending marriage had changed to suspicion and even outright hostility.

Ellie told herself the proximity of so many Fey was simple taking its toll on her mother's nerves-she'd never trusted magic or those who wielded it-but her reaction seemed stronger than that, almost as if something was amplifying he. fears.

Shoving the grim thoughts aside, Ellysetta flipped the corn-cakes onto a serving plate, set them and the rest of the food on the table, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. Everything was ready and very nearly perfect. The eggs and corn-cakes were steaming, the bacon crisp and fragrant. The flower she'd arranged for the centerpiece were bright and colorful though perhaps the tiniest bit droopy.

She bit her lip. Rain had already taught her how to ask living things to share their essence. Yesterday he'd also taught her how to share a little of her own back. After a quick glance around to make sure she was alone, she closed her eyes to gather her thoughts, then, concentrating, passed a hand over the flowers. The stems straightened and the petals perked up.

Smiling, pleased with herself, Ellie turned to grab the salt and pepper off the stove-and froze. Her mother was standing in the doorway, staring at her. Ellie's heart skipped a beat.

"M-Mama. I didn't see you there!" Had her mother seen her fix the flowers? Deciding to brazen it out, she forced a bright smile. "You were still sleeping when I woke, so I made breakfast." She waved a hand at the table.

"I haven't been sleeping well," her mother murmured, still staring_ She glanced from Ellie to the table and back again, her eyes dark and watchful. "Ellie, kitling ... is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

Ellie 's eyes widened. She blinked once, twice, and swallowed the sudden dry lump in her throat. "Uh ... no. Nothing." That was no lie. The last thing in the world she
wanted
to do was tell her mother Rain was teaching her magic. There were some things her mother was just better off not knowing.

She cleared her throat. "Have a seat, Mama. Everything's ready. I was just about to call everyone to eat." She turned back to the stove and fumbled with refilling the salt and pepper shakers, taking that brief moment to marshal her composure.

She heard her mother pull out a chair and take a seat.
Thank you, Bright One,
she whispered silently, giving a brief, grateful look skyward. She set the shakers on the table near her mother's place and jumped when Lauriana's hand closed around her wrist.

"I love you, Ellie. You know I only want what's best for you, don't you?”

Ellysetta wanted to weep. She knew. She could feel her mother's desperate worry and deep love as strongly as she sensed Rain's emotions when she touched him. But she also knew how appalled Mama would be if she discovered Ellie had been practicing magic.

"I know, Mama." She bent down to kiss her mother's cheek and hug her. "I love you too. More than I can ever say”

"You'd tell me if you were in trouble, wouldn't you? Or if the Fey encouraged you to do something you knew was wrong?”

Ellysetta pulled back. "I'm not in trouble, Mama, and I'm not doing anything wrong. Please, stop worrying-and be happy for me. I've dreamed of Rain Tairen Soul since I was a little girl, you know that.”

Before her mother could reply, the twins trailed in, squabbling over which of them would get to wear the pink hair ribbons today. Papa followed close behind, and the Baristanis bent their heads to say grace and eat. When they were done, Mama took the girls down to a neighbor's house for lessons while Papa headed off to his shop.

Never, Ellysetta promised herself as she watched her mother walk down the street and disappear around the corner. Never again would she practice even the smallest form of magic within a mile of her mother.

Feeling as though she'd dodged a mortal blow, she turned her attention to her morning lessons with the Fey. Adrial and Rowan had resumed their places in her quintet, and this morning they led the session with an introduction to the legendary Warrior's Academy in Dharsa and the centuries of training and testing a Fey warrior had to complete before he could serve on a
shei'dalin's
quintet.

"Sel'dor
is a black metal that disrupts Fey magic," Adrial was saying. "Our enemies know this. That's why the Eld use barbed
sel'dor
arrows and blades designed to break off in our flesh. And we, of course, know that. So Fey warriors are trained from youth to fight through what would otherwise be debilitating pain, and to be an effective and lethal fighting force even wounded and without magic. It is a slow process. One that takes centuries to master, and we continue to perfect it all the years of our lives."

The prickle of hay straw stabbed and itched Gaelen unmercifully, the irritation amplified by the endless jostle of wagon wheels bumping over the rutted country highway. He stifled a groan as the wagon hit a particularly deep rut and bounced him hard against the unforgiving edges of a nearby crate. The
sel'dor
shrapnel peppering his back and arms shifted, shredding new muscle as it dug deeper, but he clung to his weak invisibility weave with dogged determination.

For three days and nights he'd made miserably slow but determined progress towards Celieria City. He'd lost countless bells to unconsciousness when exhaustion, pain, and blood loss took their inevitable toll, but he'd persevered. Running when he could, walking and even crawling when that was all he could manage, he'd pushed on. Last night, when he'd grown too weak to continue, he'd hitched a ride with an unsuspecting farmer heading south to deliver crates of canned goods and fresh produce to Vrest. The ride had been hard, his sleep sporadic, but at least he'd gotten a little rest without losing all forward progress.

The wagon slowed, and the sounds of distant activity reached Gaelen's ears. He forced open bleary eyes and dragged himself to peer over the edge of the wagon. Up ahead, he could see the clustered buildings that formed the outskirts of Vrest.

Time to abandon his ride. He'd barely managed to hold the simple invisibility weave with the amount of
sel'dor
still in him, and though it had worked to hide him from a farmer preoccupied with driving his team, he couldn't risk having sharper-eyed citizens of Vrest detect him. A wounded Fey with a telltale scar across his brow would draw too much unwanted attention, and if news of his approach reached Celieria City before he did, the Tairen Soul might well flee with his soul-cursed, Mage-sired mate before Gaelen could get close enough to kill her.

Slowly, each motion an agonizing exercise in discipline and determination, Gaelen lifted his body up and straddled the sides of the wagon. As the cart neared a small, bridged creek bed, he pushed himself off and went tumbling down the embankment. Each bump and hard jostle sent agony ripping through him. His invisibility weave failed, and he dragged himself to cover beneath the bridge and wedged himself up high to avoid detection.

Gods, that had all but slain him. He flopped back against the shadowed embankment and drew breath in short, sharp gasps. Beneath his skin, lumps of
sel'dor
burned like acid.

He fumbled for one of the black Fey'cha strapped across his chest. Two hundred miles still lay between Gaelen and his prey in Celieria City. Healthy, he could have run it in less than ten bells, but in his current condition, he'd be lucky to make it in ten days.

Time to lose a little more of the black metal the Eld had dispersed so freely. When he reached Celieria City, he'd give the High Mage's get a little red Fey metal in return.

Vadim Maur's flowing purple robes whispered in the tomblike silence as he descended to the deepest level of Boura Fell. His hair, long and bone white, shone bright in the flickering lamplight of the dark corridor, a beacon for the two men and the leashed flame-haired woman, Elfeya, who walked silently behind him.

Three days had passed since he'd last called the Celierian girl. He'd found her, but she'd managed to rebuff him and lock her mind away from him. For the last three nights he hadn't even managed to locate her, let alone call her. The failure infuriated him.

Kolis's ensorcelled gift hadn't worked either. The cursed spell still hadn't even been activated! Vadim's plan to capture the girl during the Bride's Blessing was looking more promising by the day. Fortunately, he'd had already put those plans in motion. He wasn't a Mage who believed in leaving things to chance.

Victory came to those who planned for it.

And punishment-swift and severe-came to anyone who stood in his way.

At the end of the level's longest corridor, two burly men stood guard by a large sel'dor-plated door. They held barbed
sel'dor
spears in their meaty hands.

"Open it," the High Mage ordered.

One of the guards grabbed the key ring at his waist and unlocked the door, swinging it open and standing aside to allow the Mage and his followers to enter.

The room was dark. Vadim lifted a hand, and Fire ignited the sconces throughout the room. Light blazed, illuminating a huge, cavernous space hewn from the black rock of Eld. Veins of
sel'dor
ran through the rock, a natural damper for the magic released here. The room was a scientist's delight, a laboratory stocked with a vast array of implements and pharmacopoeia to aid in the High Mage's centuries-old quest for knowledge. In the center of the room a wide table, fitted with sel'dor-barbed restraining straps, was bolted to the floor.

So much had been tried. So much had been learned. Almost enough, but not quite.

A large
sel'dor
cage sat against the far wall. Within it, a naked man cringed at the sudden brightness of the room.

Beside the High Mage, Elfeya made a soft, quickly muffled sound. A sob. The Mage smiled with pride. Even after a thousand years, Elfeya still had the ability to weep. It was a testament to his careful handling of her, the great care he had taken with both his pets. So many other Mages had lost their captives to madness, broken them with frivolous torture, but Vadim Maur had yet again succeeded where others failed.