Lord of the Fading Lands (41 page)

"You were in shock from seeing your parents killed. You saw what you wanted to see.”

"And how do you explain the second appearance, three months ago when he appeared in my own gardens, the night of Talisa and Colum's prenuptial dinner?" Lord Barrial retorted. "It was definitely vel Serranis. He walked through the wards around my keep as if they weren't there, and he was real enough to make even my
dahl'reisen
nervous." Lord Barrial leaned forward, his brown eyes narrowing. "Do you have any idea, Morvel, what it takes to make a
dahl'reisen
nervous?”

"Bah," Lord Morvel snorted. "They're probably in on it too—same as they're probably behind all this killing that's been going on. They can charge a much higher fee for their services by keeping Celierian fears alive.”

Ellie glanced at Rain. Did Lord Morvel not care who was sitting beside him? But Rain raised his goblet and drank a deep draught of pinalle as if the border lord's insulting remark rolled right off him.

«The dahl'reisen are beyond the honor of the Fey, shei'tani.»
he told her silently.
They are capable of much that the warriors of the Fading Lands would find abhorrent.”

Despite his mild words, she could sense the curl of anger tightening within him. The men Morvel discussed so contemptuously were people Rain would have known, perhaps even loved.
Dahl'reisen
or not, she knew he did not like to hear them disparaged.

Lord Morvel continued in the same oblivious, insulting vein. "Your visitor was probably just another
dahl'reisen
cloaked in Spirit to make him look like vel Serranis, and the cold was probably caused by someone weaving Fire and Air.”

"It was the Dark Lord, not some other
dahl'reisen
masquerading as him in order to bilk me of my gold. Flaming souls, Morvel, they're Fey!" Lord Barrial met Rain's gaze briefly in an unspoken apology. "They can make their own damned gold if that's what they're after. And for your information, there are twenty-five
dahl'reisen
living on my lands, and I only pay the two who've been with my family for the last three centuries.”

Beside Ellie, Rain went still. She glanced at him in surprised inquiry.

«Twenty-five is no arbitrary number, Ellysetta. It is five sets of five, a combination capable of weaving vast power.”

She swallowed, sensing enough concern in him to know what he had left unsaid. If twenty-five
dahl'reisen
had come to Lord Barrial's land, there was a reason for it. And if Gaelen vel Serranis was behind it, there was reason to fear.

"It was the Dark Lord," Lord Barrial continued. "He told me darkness was rising and said I should guard my children and wear my crystal." He looked at Rain. "Those were his exact words: `Darkness is rising.' He was warning me the Mages have returned to power.”

"Ha. Sounds more like a warning to quit drinking so damn much pinalle. That's what it was.”

Lord Barrial glared. "You're a blind, hardheaded fool, Morvel.”

"And you're a superstitious idiot, Barrial.”

"Peace, my lords," the king interrupted as servants approached with a cart bearing a huge soup tureen. "Our first course is served. Let's not spoil the meal with harsh words.”

Ellie shifted in her seat as the servant leaned over her left shoulder to fill her soup bowl with a clear brown broth brimming with thin slices of mushrooms and onions.

"Thank you," she murmured, earning a startled look from the servant, who then glanced at the king, flushed, and whispered back, "You are most welcome, my lady.”

Beside her, Rain allowed the servant to fill his soup bowl, then selected the gold-handled soup spoon from the far left of his selection of cutlery. Ellie picked up the same spoon from her own place setting but waited for the king to begin eating before she did.

"You employ
dahl'reisen,
my lord?" Lady Thea asked Lord Barrial after everyone at their part of the table was served. She made a show of fluttering her long thick lashes, causing Ellie to blink in surprise. Weren't noblewomen supposed to be adept at flirtation? Even Kelissande could teach Lady Thea a thing or two about subtlety. "With all that's going on, do you think that's wise?”

Lord Barrial frowned at his dinner mate. "Unlike some, I'm not convinced
dahl'reisen
are behind the murders in the north. As I said, they've served my family for generations, and there's no record of their ever giving cause for concern. In fact, it used to be common for all border lords to employ
dahl'reisen.
They're much better than wizards when it comes to countering the magic of the Eld.”

"Useful or not, I think I'd be terrified to have so many
dahl'reisen
in such close proximity." The lady gave a delicate shiver.

"Yes, well, that seems to be the common female sentiment. My daughter has never cared for them much, either." There was a cool finality to his tone that discouraged Lady Thea from continuing her flirtations.

"Lord Barrial," Rain said quietly in the ensuing, slightly awkward silence, "after dinner I would like to hear more about your visit with Gaelen vel Serranis.”

"It would be my pleasure, My Lord Feyreisen," Lord Barrial replied with a nod.

"So, Lady Morvel"—Lady Thea cast a determined smile at Lord Morvel's wife—"I understand you're to be a grandmother again.”

"Ta.
Our oldest daughter is expecting her fifth," Lady Morvel answered, and a light exchange of pleasantries followed as they attended their meal.

Across the room, Kolis watched through Jiarine's blue eyes as servants tended the royals, Fey, and Great Lords at the head table. He had tested the Fey numerous times tonight— sending Jiarine close to several of the warriors standing guard throughout the banquet hall—but despite the Tairen Soul's apparent ability to sense the growing Mage presence in the north, neither he nor any of his Fey entourage seemed able to detect Kolis's presence within his
umagi's
delectable young body.

Now the wine was being served, and Annoura's careful attention to the level of pinalle in the Feyreisa's glass told him she'd taken Jiarine's suggestion to heart. That would make things easier. The alcohol would lower Ellysetta Baristani's defenses and leave her more susceptible to the influence of his pressure spell.

He reached Jiarine's hand into the hidden pocket in her skirts, and closed her fingers around the small wax
talis
secreted there. The pads of her fingers stroked the wax, warming it slightly and brushing across the single strand of hair curled tight around the tiny magical charm. He wove the Feraz activation spell into her mind, directing her to whisper it beneath her breath and keep her focus on Ellysetta Baristani.

Sian and Torel left the Carthage Road and followed Wilmus Able's directions down a narrow wagon road and into a small clearing where they found Brind Palwyn's house just as Wilmus had described it. The house, a small but sturdy structure built of well-hewn logs and weathered shingles, sat in the middle of the clearing. Light shone golden from the windows and through the faintest of cracks at the bottom of the carefully fitted door. Smoke curled up from the stone chimney, carrying the scent of roasted meat. Someone was home.

As the two warriors approached the house, an arrow whooshed past, nearly spearing Sian's ear. The Fey dove and rolled for cover, shields springing into place around them.

"Peace, Goodman!" Torel called as Sian scanned the forest for their attacker. "Put your weapons down! We mean no harm!”

«
There, Torel,
» Sian sent. «
In those trees to the left
»

Torel nodded as Sian shimmered and vanished. "We're Fey warriors, not
dahl'reisen.
We're looking for Brind Palwyn. Wilmus from the Boar and Hound in Norban sent us." He heard the twang of a bowstring and threw himself left just as another arrow sank quivering into the ground where he'd been. "Wilmus warned us you didn't like strangers, Goodman, but he didn't mention you were so fond of bloodshed. We only want to ask you a few questions.”

"What could the Fey possibly want with a woodcutter?" a disembodied voice called out from the shadows of the trees.

"We were looking for news of a redheaded journeyman smith who might have passed through Norban many years ago, possibly traveling with his young daughter. Wilmus thought he might have done work for your parents.”

Half a dozen arrows came spewing out in rapid succession. Torel grunted in pain as one made it through his shields and caught him in the leg. He heard sounds of a skirmish in the woods, filled with curses and struggling. Moments later, a thin man clad in homespun and leather stumbled out of the darkness. Sian walked behind him, holding the man's bow and quiver and prodding him with the pointy end of a curved
meicha.

Torel yanked the arrow out of his leg and threw it on the ground, spinning quick Earth over the wound to stop the bleeding. He stood up to greet the mortal, a man with an unremarkable face, a shock of brown hair, and eyes filled with an all-too-familiar sorrow.

"Brind Paldwyn? I am Torel vel Carlian. I take it you do indeed know something about a redheaded child in the forests north of Norban—say about twenty-four years ago?"

Ellysetta rubbed her aching temples. The headache from the other day was back, a slight but persistent pressure that grew stronger as the evening progressed. The footmen served course after course of rich food: shellfish on golden skewers, twelve fish, poultry, and meat dishes accompanied by a vast selection of grilled, sautéed, creamed, and casseroled vegetables, frozen sorbets to cleanse the palate between courses. Thankfully, Ellysetta worked her way through the staggering array of silverware without any noticeable gaffes.

Throughout the meal, her goblet of pinalle never seemed to fall below half full. The wine helped keep the headache at bay, and though she couldn't tell how many glasses of the stuff she'd actually consumed, she had a good idea it was several more than she should have. When a servant offered her a cup of keflee, she accepted eagerly.

She poured in enough honeyed cream to chill it, then drank it down in several quick swallows, hoping to clear her head. Instead, the warm, sensuous blend of flavors— more potent than any she'd ever tasted—hit her system with the force of a blow. Heat rolled down her body in undulating waves. Rather than clearing her head, the keflee only clouded it all the more. Feeling boneless and dazed, she melted against the back of her chair.

Her eyelids drooped, and she regarded Rain through her lashes. He was, she thought hazily, the most beautiful man ever created, saved from prettiness by the strong masculine thrust of the bones beneath the luminous paleness of his unlined flesh. Saved also by the palpable aura of danger, power, and scarcely leashed wildness that surrounded him.

Inky black hair fell back from his smooth brow, spilling over broad, well-muscled shoulders in straight flows that seemed to merge with the coal-black shadows of his leathers. In the bright glow of Fire-lit chandeliers, his hair reflected a rich dark sheen, like the glimmer of nearly grainless ebonwood. She wanted to touch it, sink her hands into its silky softness. Her fingers flexed and tingled at the prospect.

Annoura hid a pleased smile as the woodcarver's girl downed her keflee in a few quick gulps.
This should be interesting. Let Dorian just try to win favors for the Fey after this.
She sat back in her chair and laughed at a comment murmured in her ear by Lord Nin, the Great Lord sitting to her left.

A few moments later, satisfaction turned to worry as a heightening tension spread through Annoura's body. Her skin grew warm. She reached for her fan, snapped it open, and began fanning her flushed face. What was happening? She'd avoided the keflee—and even if she hadn't, she'd watched her steward serve the girl a special cup, one already poured and ready for her. All the other guests had been served a normal blend poured from silver kefleepots.

She glanced over at Dorian and saw him running a finger under his collar. Ruddy color had darkened his cheeks. Her womb clenched. She wanted to touch him. Right now. She wanted to crawl into his lap, run her hands through his hair, and rub her body against his.

Dorian turned his head. His hazel eyes were dark and glowed faintly as they did sometimes when his Fey blood rose. Moisture drenched her silk undergarments. Good gods, she was ready to climax just from a single hot look. What was happening?

Rain was speaking with Lord Barrial. Sighing to herself, Ellysetta watched the masculine beauty of his mouth form each word, each syllable. Like a kiss, she thought. His lips framed each word like a kiss. The steward had brought her another cup of keflee. She sipped this one, savoring the potent flavors and imagining she was instead sipping heady kisses from Rain's lips.

Her gaze slid down his throat to the lean power of his dagger-bedecked chest, clothed in snug black leather. The leather, she knew, would be warm to the touch. And it would hold the aroma of magic and Rain. She remembered the feel of his leathers against her cheek, the hard press of his knives against her jaw and temple, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear, low and pounding, a thrumming, sensual beat that sang a magical weave of compelling desire. She watched in appreciative wonder as his spine stiffened and his chest expanded on a deep breath.

She stared hungrily at Rain's arms, remembered them closing about her, wrapping her in alternating layers of protection, unyielding strength, and hot, carnal need. Beneath her gaze, his biceps bunched tight, straining against the seams of his leather tunic. His hands clenched and shook. She stared at them, willing the fingers to unbend and reach out for her, but they did not. With vague regret and growing hunger, her gaze trailed back up his chest, caressing the heavy beating pulse in his throat, whispering invisible dreams of kisses against his squared jaw and sumptuous mouth. At last, her eyes met his, and she found herself staring into the blazing heat of the Great Sun.