CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Two bells and twenty hard-won miles later, the dahl’reisen were no longer singing. The grim battle for survival left little breath for anything beyond shallow gasps to fill straining lungs as magic and blades filled the air, and the forest Verlaine ripped apart at its roots.

The Wall of Steel had lost many of its men, and the Brotherhood used the bodies of the fallen as cover for the living. The dahl’reisen forming the Wall rotated continuously. Every few chimes, the outer layer of warriors moved back to the center of the ring to rest while the next row of brothers took their places on the outer line. As dahl’reisen died, the ring wall shrank in upon itself, always keeping twelve warriors deep.

At the center of the Wall of Steel, protected by a dome formed from multiple dense, impenetrable thirty-six-fold weaves, Ellysetta healed what wounds she could with each rotation of the Wall. At her side, Rain performed all tasks that required laying hands on the dahl’reisen—digging shrapnel from wounds, setting bones, holding flesh together—leaving Ellysetta to spin her healing weaves. The pain of so many dahl’reisen, crowded so close, coupled with the bludgeoning evil of the Mharog, had long since overloaded Ellysetta’s senses. She was operating now in a numb fog. Healing whatever wound the dahl’reisen put before her, moving when they told her to move, collapsing to her knees when they told her to stop.

Mage Fire pounded the dome with relentless fury until the sky overhead was a blue-white storm, but still—miraculously—those shields held.

Eld ~ Boura Fell

“Orest is taken, Most High. The generals await your command.” Primage Vargus bowed low.

Vadim barely heard him. His attention was focused intently on the glowing map of Celieria where the myriad tiny white lights indicating clusters of chemar shone moved through the Verlaine Forest. He zoomed in, tracing the progress of Dur and the Mharog as they pursued the Tairen Soul and his mate. Regrettably, the attack on the dahl’reisen village had been routed several bells ago.

“Master Maur?” Vargus prompted.

The High Mage held up a hand for silence as he scrolled the view north, illuminating the bright collection of light now sparkling in the Celierian city of Orest, and farther north to Crystal Lake and the abandoned Fey city of Dunelan, where a few bright dots were slowly making their way around the lake. Finally, he scrolled the map west, across the dark, unlit countryside of northern Fading Lands, the Feyls, and the southern reaches of the Pale, where another four pinpoints of light had nearly reached the thinnest stretch of the Feyls due north of Dharsa.

Everything would soon be in place. He waved, and the glowing tracker map winked out.

“Tell them to secure the city and prepare for the next phase of our attack.”

Celieria ~ Verlaine Forest

“Enough with this… siege,” Azurel hissed to the Primage Dur. “We’re no closer to capturing the Tairen Soul’s mate than we were two bells ago. Time for new tactics.”

Dur scowled. “And just what do you propose? We’ve tried everything we can to get through those shields. Nothing has worked!”

“There is a saying in the Fading Lands… sometimes it’s better to send a mouse than a tairen.”

Dur rolled his eyes. “In plain Elden, if you please.”

“We don’t need to get through their shields. Only this does.” He held up a sel’dor-tipped arrow that he’d modified to hold a chemar in its shaft. “Surely we can weaken their shields enough to get a single arrow through.”

Dur arched a brow. “How good is your aim?”

Within a few chimes, the Primages ramped up their bombardment of the Fey shields, pummeling them mercilessly, while six of the Mages combined their powers and focused a bombardment of highly concentrated Mage Fire on a single handspan of the Fey shield.

It took a while, but the small area thinned. And when it did, Azurel and his companions let fly.

One of the arrows broke upon the already-regenerating shields, but two of the sel’dor-tipped missiles sliced through, into the center of the protective dome.

Ellysetta’s legs went weak as the all-too-familiar sensation of ice spiders shuddered up her spine.

“Rain!” she cried, falling to one knee. “Portal!”

Rain spun, red Fey’cha in his hands. His eyes flamed tairen-bright, pupils disappearing as his beast rose in response to the threat to his mate. Three Mharog leapt out of the portal and dove towards Rain.

“Fey! Ti’Feyreisa! Ti’Feyreisen!“

In desperation, Ellysetta tore one of the bloodsworn blades from her belts, slicing her palm deep. Blood welled in a swift, scarlet flow, and she smeared it over the shining surface of her bloodsworn-steel-forged armor to summon her lu’tan.

“Kem’lu’tan! Ku’vallar! Ku’vallar!” Help me!

A second portal opened behind her. She only had the briefest warning before an icy hand closed around her wrist.

“Neiiii!” The shriek of terror and denial ripped from her throat as a Mharog’s black blade with its red Fey’cha hilt slammed into the side of Rain’s neck.

Rain’s vision clouded, and his red Fey’cha fell from abruptly nerveless fingers as the combination of tairen venom and the corruption of the Mharog’s poison blade spread through him. His legs folded, and he dropped heavily to his knees. One hand reached for the hilt of the blade protruding from his neck, then fell away as he toppled to the ground.

He lay on his side, struggling for breath and watching helplessly as Ellysetta shrieked in a Primage’s grip and fought his efforts to drag her into the Well. Rough hands grabbed him by the neck and clawed fingers closed around his jaw, squeezing hard. The foul decay of a rotting soul poured into Rain’s mind. Festering memories of a once bright Fey life, destroyed by the deliberate betrayal of an unfeeling commander. Destroyed by him—by Rain.

“She will die in torment, Tairen Soul,” an icy voice hissed. “Think of that as you burn forever in the Seventh Hell, and know that Maron vel Dunne has had his vengeance.”

Rain looked into the hate-maddened eyes of the Mharog without the slightest flicker of recognition. His mouth formed the soundless question.

Who?

The Mharog’s face contorted and he gave a high-pitched shriek. Dark steel flashed as he yanked his meicha from its sheath and held it over Rain’s head like an executioner’s axe.

Before the blade could descend, a Fey warrior surrounded entirely by a glow of golden light reached Ellysetta’s side. He slashed at the Mage with blades that gleamed like sunlight. The Primage staggered back away from Ellysetta, a look of shock on his face, bloody stumps where his hands had been and a ribbon of red slashed across his throat. Demons howled out of the Well, surrounding the Mage in a cyclone of shrieking shadow.

Freed, Ellysetta lunged, Fey’cha drawn, towards the Mharog standing over Rain.

Nei… nei, shei’tani. Do not! Rain tried to shout the warning, but none of the muscles in his throat were working. He couldn’t speak.

Sensing Ellysetta’s presence, the Mharog turned, swift as a snake, but too late to save himself. Her blade plunged into the Mharog’s heart just as another blade, this one blazing like the sun, took off the creature’s head. The Mharog’s decapitated body remained standing for several, long moments, showering Ellysetta and Rain with a fountain of icy black blood. Then the legs collapsed, and the body toppled to the ground. Ellysetta crumpled, too.

She was screaming as if her body were burning from the inside out, as if her skin was being ripped from her bones.

The other two Mharog gave shocked grunts and crumpled to the ground. Someone knelt over Rain, bathing him in warm, golden light. A hand turned him on his side, reaching for the pouch at the back of his hip belt where he kept the cloth-wrapped Shadar horn gifted to him by Galad Hawks-heart.

“You must live, Feyreisen,” a voice commanded.

As Rain’s vision dimmed, and his breath strangled in his throat, he wanted to tell them not to bother. Ellysetta’s face was frozen in a rictus of pain, her eyes as dark as dead stars. The sight shattered his heart, leaving hope a dead thing in his breast.

Shei’tani… shei’tani… nei…

Death wasn’t peaceful.

It was full of shouts and clanging steel, the roars of tairen, and searing heat like the fire of the gods… images flashing for barest instants before his eyes, lights, shadows, familiar faces, a whirl of trees and stars overhead… smells, like the aroma of a campfire burning in a chilly winter night and the odor of something noxious that made him gag and retch.

Hands held him down. Pinned him as he fought and Raged against them. He shouted obscenities, epithets, cursed them and their offspring to eternity burning in the Seventh Hell.

Then silence fell over him like a heavy blanket, and death became a still, black sea into which he sank with an exhausted sigh.

Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace

As he had every night since receiving news of Prince Dorian’s demise, Kolis Manza slipped into the king’s bedchamber by way of the servant stairs that opened to the king’s dressing room.

Master Maur was growing impatient to have Celieria firmly under Mage control. He’d sent a special envoy with an offer to end all hostilities if Annoura agreed to terminate the Fey-Celierian alliance and send what was left of her armies against the dahl’reisen, who had been hiding in the Verlaine Forest and using it as a base to attack Eld and murder Celierians along the border who opposed them. Despite a firm push or two from Kolis, Annoura had as yet refused to agree, and it now fell to Kolis to ensure she woke in a more malleable frame of mind.

He stood in the darkened dressing chamber until he heard Annoura settle into bed, then waited for her breathing to assume the steady rhythm of sleep before he slipped into the room and padded silently across the floor to her side.

He blew a puff of somulus powder in her face even though he doubted it was necessary. Annoura wanted to believe. She wanted to think Dorian had really returned to her, that it was truly he holding her in his arms each night, making love to her.

He began to spin the Spirit weave of Dorian, returning to his love, but as he reached for the tie of her nightgown and sent the first, faint pulse of masked Azrahn into her body, he froze. His nostrils flared, and in a sudden motion, he snatched the wavy-edged sel’dor dagger from the sheath at his waist and plunged it into Annoura’s chest.

The queen’s expression didn’t change, and her breathing continued uninterrupted. But the area of her chest around Kolis’s dagger spat small showers of lavender sparks.

“I told you a Spirit weave wouldn’t fool him for long.”

The voice came from an empty part of the room. Kolis leapt to his feet, Mage Fire blooming in his hands just as five-fold weaves and several red Fey’cha flew from the empty room around him. His Mage Fire dissolved, and he staggered as the blades sank into his chest.

Five Fey and a mortal materialized inside the room.

“You!” he exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the mortal’s face. “But you’re…” His words slurred as the tairen venom raced through his body. His eyes rolled back and his body collapsed.

Prince Dorian—the new King Dorian XI—eyed the twitching corpse coldly. “Dead?” he finished. “So they tell me.” He flicked a glance at the Fey. “Get this piece of krekk out of my palace.”

Leaving the Fey to dispose of the body, Dorian exited his father’s bedchamber and strode down the hallway to a warded room where Gaspare Fellows and the dahl’reisen sent by Dorian’s father were watching over his unconscious mother, the queen.

The dahl’reisen looked up when he entered. The spiral of shadowy Azrahn in his palm winked out, and he nodded. “It worked, Your Majesty. The Marks are gone.”

Dorian closed his eyes and bowed his head in weary relief and murmured a brief prayer of thanks that at least he’d been able to save one person he loved. He sat on the edge of the bed beside his mother and took her hand as the dahl’reisen removed the weave keeping her unconscious.

His mother’s lashes fluttered, then slowly lifted. Her delicate silver brows drew together in hazy confusion when she saw him. “Dori?”

Tears sprang to his eyes. “Yes.” He pressed a kiss to her hand. “It’s me.”

“You’re alive!” She sat up, flinging her arms around him. “Thank the gods. They said your ship went down.”

“It did, Mama. The Danae saved me. The Tairen Soul’s trip to Elvia brought us the allies we needed to defeat the enemy at Great Bay.”

“Oh, Dori!” Abruptly, tears filled Annoura’s eyes, and her features twisted with a mix of elation and grief. “Dori… oh, Dori, he’s gone. He’s gone.”

“I know, Mama.” Dorian put his face against his mother’s neck as he hadn’t done since childhood. They both wept, mourning the loss of the husband and father who’d been the center of their lives.

Eld ~ Boura Fell 9^th day of Seledos

Damn them! Damn them! Damn them for their incompetence!

Vadim Maur snatched the silverglass mirror off his bedchamber wall and smashed it against the stone. It exploded with a satisfying crash, sending shards and splinters of glass flying in all directions. He grabbed the carved chaise in the corner of the room and slammed it into the wall until it broke into kindling. The small private desk and chair suffered a similar fate a few chimes later.

Vadim stood in the center of the wreckage, panting with exertion and trembling with rage.

Did he have to do everything by himself?

Kolis Manza was dead. Prince Dorian—the new king—was not. Annoura and the unborn child who were to have been Vadim’s power in Celieria were lost to him. And working in league with the dahl’reisen, the new King Dorian had instantly begun a purge of not only his court but the entire city. Centuries of planning and careful cultivation were unraveling with increasing speed.

And to top it all off, Ellysetta Baristani had escaped capture. Again.

Of all the bitter disappointments—of all the gross ineptitudes—that was the worst.

His Mages had failed him. All of them. Nour had failed. Manza had failed. Keldo had failed. Dur and the Mharog had failed. Every Primage and Sulimage he’d entrusted to bring his great plan to fruition had failed.

“Damn them!” If they weren’t already dead, he’d kill them himself for their bungling.

Throughout history, High Mages of Eld had held their Dark throne through a combination of strength, cunning, and ruthlessness. But no amount of cunning or strength could disguise the string of failures that had dogged his footsteps from the moment he’d fixed his eye upon Ellysetta Baristani. Or keep the whispers already circulating in the Mage Halls from gaining strength and credence. Primages who had been waiting for him to falter would seize upon the survival of Prince Dorian, the loss of Celieria’s throne, and not one but two failed attempts to capture the Tairen Soul and his mate as proof that Vadim Maur no longer enjoyed Seledorn’s Dark favor.

He needed a decisive victory—fast. And this time he had no intention of sending a lesser Mage to bungle the job. He would oversee the next stage of this battle himself.

Vadim released the privacy wards sealing his room and summoned a trusted umagi to clean up the mess while he returned to the war room. Vargus and the other Primages were still there, several of them talking in quiet whispers. They fell silent when he entered. Vargus watched him with trepidation, the others with carefully constructed blankness.

“Vargus, pack your bags. You and I will be heading to Boura Dor tomorrow to oversee the next phase of our attack from there. And Garok?” Vadim turned to the Primage he suspected of leading the rumblings against him in the Mage Council. “You, Fursk, and Mahl are coming too.” He named the other two Primages who were most loyal to Garok. “I have an important job in need of your great talents.”

To his credit, Primage Garok’s expression never changed. “Of course, Most High.” He executed a smooth bow. “It is our honor to serve.”

Vadim hid his satisfaction behind a cold mask. When he achieved his great victory, he would be on hand to take the credit. His greatest detractors, unfortunately, would either perish as heroes supporting their Mage or die as incompetent fools, depending on the outcome of their battles.

When cunning and strength were not enough for a High Mage to hold his throne, it was time for ruthlessness. In particular, the swift and decisive elimination of all who opposed him.

Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace

Annoura, Dowager Queen of Celieria, sat alone on a stone bench in the private palace garden that had been Dorian’s favorite. Winter had come, and the trees had all lost their leaves weeks ago. It seemed fitting, somehow, to be here now, alone in a barren winter garden.

A sealed letter lay in her lap. Her name was written on the front in a familiar script. Dorian had sent the letter to Dori, in Great Bay, before his death. The ink was a bit smudged from seawater. When Dori’s ship went down, the letter was tucked in an oilskin pouch strapped to his waist. Her son had come very close to dying. If not for the Danae water spirits who had rescued him from his sinking ship, he would have drowned at the bottom of Great Bay.

The Danae had saved him, and he had returned to Celieria City with Gaspare Fellows, a dahl’reisen from Cannevar Barrial’s land, and the Fey, to save her. After all she’d done, after all her hatred and accusations, the Fey and a dahl’reisen had still come to save her. That was a humbling realization. But not nearly so humbling as the realization that her Favorite, Ser Vale, had been a Mage, one who’d nearly claimed her soul.

She had harbored, in her innermost circle, an Elden Mage who had planned the execution of her entire family in order to claim her soul and rule Celieria through her and the royal son she carried in her womb.

She ran the pads of her fingers across the folded parchment of Dorian’s last letter to her. She was afraid to crack the seal, afraid what harsh truths might lie inside, but eventually, she mustered the courage. The blue wax broke in two. She unfolded the parchment and began to read.

The parchment fluttered to the dead winter grass. Dorian’s wife pulled her knees up close to her chest like a child, covered her face with her hands, and let the harsh, broken sobs of loss and despair shake through her body.

Celieria ~ Edge of Verlaine Forest
9^th day of Seledos

Rain woke to find himself lying on a cot beneath the fabric dome of a tent whose walls billowed gently in the winter wind. His head was on fire. Every muscle and bone in his body ached. He lifted his left arm and frowned at the sight of the spiraling Shadar horn strapped to his forearm, its pointed tip buried in the vein at his elbow.

What the flames? He reached for the ties cinching the horn to his arm.

“Don’t touch that.” The familiar voice rang with cool command.

Rain turned his head to frown at the white-haired Sheyl, who was standing beside a table on the far side of the tent.

“It’s the only thing holding you to sanity.”

He blinked at her in confusion. “What do you mean? And what are you doing here? “

“I am here because Farel called me when you were struck by a Mharog blade. We used the Shadar horn to draw the poison from your blood, but when we tried to remove the horn, you nearly killed the dahl’reisen helping me tend you. Farel says the bond madness is upon you—and that it hasn’t just begun.”

His mind was still so fuzzy, her words only half registered. “It began over a month ago. Not long after the first battle for Orest.” He put a hand to his head and massaged the ache at his temples. “Ellysetta has been helping me keep my barriers strong.”

Ellysetta.

He sat up so quickly his head spun. «Shei’tani!» He sent the call along their bond threads, but received no answer. She was still alive—he wouldn’t be if she weren’t—but something was preventing him from reaching her. His imagination flooded with all number of horrifying possibilities.

“Where is Ellysetta? What happened to her?”

Sheyl regarded him with a mix of compassion and regret. “She slew the Mharog. But in doing so, she took his poison—his Darkness—into herself and nearly extinguished her Light in the process. We had you together at first, but even unconscious, she kept trying to weave all her strength to you. We had to separate you in order to keep her alive.”

Rain flung the coverlet aside and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. “I must go to her.”

Sheyl started towards him. “Wait. You’re still not in any shape to—“

His head snapped around, and he shot her a glare so fierce she clamped her mouth shut and didn’t say another word as he pushed himself to his feet.

As he rose, the bulky horn knocked against his body, shifting in its straps, and the tip started to pull out of his arm. Instantly, voices in his head began to scream and the heat of unfettered Rage rose so fast he thought the top of his head would explode. He shoved the horn back deep into his arm and drew a shuddering breath when the madness faded.

“Let me do that.” Sheyl crossed the remaining distance between them and strapped the Shadar horn securely back in place. “There’s no need to rush to her side. The shei’dalins are with her. They’ve been working through the night to hold her to the Light.”

His head reared back. “Shei’dalins? There are shei’dalins here—near the dahl’reisen?”

“They came through the Garreval with warriors of the Fey. But do not fear. Once the Fey drew near, Farel and the dahl’reisen headed north to set up a separate camp to avoid causing trouble. They shielded their camp, and so far, the shei’dalins have shown no sign of sensing their presence.”

“Help me get dressed, then take me to Ellysetta.”

Sheyl sighed but acceded to his demands. Since there was no possibility of fitting his war armor over the Shadar horn, she helped him into a pair of black leather breeches and pulled a soft, loose-fitting, linen tunic over his head.

When she was done, Sheyl walked to the entrance of the tent and held the flaps open. “Come on, then. I’ll take you to your mate.” Her lips twisted in wry grimace. “Now that I think about it, you’ll probably do more with one touch to bring her back to us than a full day of shei’dalin healing has managed.”

Outside, a small city of tents had sprung up in what appeared to be a large clearing in the Verlaine Forest. The ground and the perimeter of the trees were black with char. A light drizzle fell from a dark, overcast sky, and the smell of scorched wood and earth hung heavy in the damp air. Skinned deer and small game were roasting over campfires.

“How long was I out?” Rain asked as they walked.

“All night and most of the day.”

A loud, roar rumbled across the sky, and Rain looked up. “The tairen are here?”

“Three of them,” Sheyl confirmed. “They came with the Fey from Kreppes and burned a path through the forest to reach you. Farel says they arrived only a chime or two after you fell. They burned out the rest of the Eld. No one wanted to risk moving you or the Feyreisa, so the dahl’reisen and your Fey just set up camp around you.”

His Fey. He could just imagine how well things must have gone when Bel, Tajik, and Gil set eyes on a small army of dahl’reisen. Clearly, the Brotherhood’s service to Ellysetta had prevented—or at least delayed—the usual lethal vengeance Fey law demanded for any dahl’reisen who came within a mile of a shei’dalin, but Rain wasn’t looking forward to the justifiable tongue-lashing he was sure Bel, Tajik, and the others had in store for him, especially when they found out he’d let the dahl’reisen bloodswear themselves to Ellysetta.

The hearth witch led him through a maze of Fey tents to the far side of the encampment.

“She is there.” Sheyl pointed.

Even without the glow of powerful shields around it, a single glance would have told him which tent held Ellysetta, because stretched out on her belly, wings tucked against her sides, Steli-chakai had her whole body curled around the tent like a mother tairen protecting her nest of unhatched kits. Her tail had completed the circle around the tent, and the tip of it rose and fell in a rhythmic motion near Steli’s shoulder.

“I will take my leave of you here,” Sheyl said. “There are dahl’reisen in need of healing and I promised Farel I would come as soon as you woke. When your mate is recovered, Farel would like you to meet with him at the dahl’reisen camp. There are others who wish to serve, if you will allow it.”

The driving need to reach Ellysetta pounded at him like hammers, but Rain paused long enough to nod his assent. “I will meet with him, and thank you both for all that you have done to help us. Ellysetta and I are in your debt.”

“You offered sanctuary to our families. All debts are already paid in full.” Sheyl laid a hand on his arm. “Go to your mate. May the gods hold you both to the Light.”

“Beylah vo,” Rain said, and bolted for the tent without a single backward glance.

The great white tairen had ripped the stakes from the ground on one side of the tent and poked her head beneath the heavy fabric walls to keep a concerned maternal eye on Ellysetta. A mournful, crooning tairen song hummed in her throat.

As Rain neared, Steli’s crooning stopped, and her tail stilled. The white tairen withdrew her head from beneath the tent flap and great blue, pupilless eyes turned upon him, whirling with distress.

«Ellysetta-kitling does not wake. Steli sings, but she does not hear.»

Rain laid a hand on the tairen’s furred cheek. «I will sing, too, Steli-chakai. Perhaps, between the two of us, we can rouse her.»

The white tairen rumbled her assent and lifted her head so Rain could enter.

Inside the tent, six shei’dalins and the five warriors of Ellysetta’s primary quintet stood huddled around a table in the center of the space. They parted as Rain approached, revealing Ellysetta’s motionless form.

The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. He’d never seen her so close to death. Her natural, Fey luminescence had drained away, leaving her skin a pallid gray-white. Against it, her wealth of flame-colored curls seemed lurid, almost garishly bright. Dark rings shadowed the skin beneath her eyes, and her lips had taken on a bloodless blue tinge.

“Shei’tani,” he whispered, and he moved without conscious thought, crossing the remaining distance between them to take her hand in his. Her fingers lay cold and limp in his palm. He pressed them to his face, his lips, as if mere contact and desperate love could breathe warmth back into her flesh. On the threads of their bond, sent with a warming wave of his own essence, he called, «Ke sha taris, Ellysetta. Ke sha eva vo.» I am here. I am with you.

Ellysetta gave no response.

He glanced up at the shei’dalins and Fey crowded around. “She is alive.” He said it almost as a challenge, as if daring them to contradict him.

“Barely, I’m afraid. And only because we will not let her go.” The shei’dalin closest to him threw back her veil.

Rain found himself staring into the sympathetic face of Jisera v’En Arran, the dainty but indomitable truemate of the Massan’s Air master, Eimar v’En Arran. “Jisera falla, you should not be here,” he chided. “What is your shei’tan thinking? “

Jisera arched a slender blue-black brow. “What every right-minded Fey in the Fading Lands should be thinking, kem’Feyreisen. That if we lose this war, there’s no hope for any of us. So it’s best to go out fighting for what we know is right.” Her dark brown eyes were usually soft as a doe’s, but at the moment, they glittered like polished stones. As tiny and slight as she was, and despite her deeply empathic nature, like that of all the strongest shei’dalins, Jisera v’En Arran had a spine of steel.

As quickly as possible, she caught him up. “More shei’dalins will be coming—they stayed behind to see those villagers you sent to the Garreval safely through the Mists. Those children… so many children.…” Her throat moved on a convulsive swallow. “Some of them looked Fey. There was a little girl…” Her eyes grew moist, and she blinked rapidly. “I commanded the warriors at Chatok and Chakai to let them through and told them if Tenn objected he could just come to Orest and discuss it.”

Rain bowed his head, humbled by her bravery and unswerving support. “Beylah vo, kem’falla, and thank you for everything you’ve done for my shei’tani.”

“Aiyah, well, don’t thank me for that until she comes back to us.”

The mere suggestion of any other outcome sparked an instant, involuntary swell of fear and Rage. The Shadar horn went hot against his arm, and as the horn released is potent Elvish magic, he could swear he felt Ellysetta’s fingers twitch in his palm.

“Call to her, Rain,” Jisera urged. “You share the strongest bond. Perhaps she will respond better to you than she has to the rest of us.”

Rain nodded and leaned closer to Ellysetta. Closing his eyes, he began to call to her along the threads of their bond. Behind him, her head once more poking in under the side of the tent, her blue eyes whirling and glowing like stars, Steli added her voice to his.

Three bells later, Rain’s hope was beginning to falter. In addition to the calls of a shei’tan to his mate, the calls of Ellysetta’s lu’tan, and the calls of the shei’dalin, he and Steli had tried every tairen song they could think of. Rain’s song. Steli’s song. Pride song, kin song, mate song, mother song. Nothing had worked. Nothing had roused even the slightest response.

“Do not lose hope,” Jisera said. “The Feyreisa is stronger than any shei’dalin I’ve ever known. To kill a Mharog.” She shook her head. The top layer of her hair was plaited in a net of tiny black braids, joined together with tiny gold and crystal beads that shimmered in the candlelight. “No other shei’dalin could have survived it.”

“She is a Tairen Soul,” Rain said, his eyes closed, his head resting on Ellysetta’s hip.

“With a heart as bright and as strong as the sun,” Tajik added in low voice. “In that respect, she is much like my—” His voice broke off abruptly, and Rain opened his eyes in time to see him glance at Gil, who casually shifted to take the heel of his boot off Tajik’s toe.

The seven of them—Ellysetta, Rain, and all five warriors of her primary quintet—had sworn a Fey oath to Galad Hawksheart not to reveal the truths they’d discovered in Elvia. And though they would each willingly have foresworn their oaths and broken their honor in order to rally the Fey and rescue Shan and Elfeya, the urgency of this war had stopped them. Hawksheart’s secret remained unspoken, and their Fey oaths remained intact.

“Like your what, Tajik?” Jisera asked.

Tajik cast a defiant glower at Gil and completed his remark, “Like my sister. The Feyreisa’s courage and strength remind me of my sister, Elfeya.”

Rain saw Gil’s tense shoulder relax. Tajik both told the truth and yet honored his oath to Hawksheart. Fey loved passionately, and mourned deeply, even centuries after the loss of a loved one, so Jisera would not think it odd in the least that Tajik’s sister remained in his thoughts.

She reached out to grasp Tajik’s hand. Golden light glowed about their clasped hands and her eyes took on an amber glow as she wove peace on Tajik. “I never knew Elfeya-falla, but if she was anything like the Feyreisa, then she was very special indeed.”

More special than Jisera knew. More special than any of them had suspected before Hawksheart’s revelations.

Rain wondered bitterly what Tenn v’En Eilan, the leader of the Massan, would do when he found out that Ellysetta, the woman Tenn had reviled and cast out of the protection of the Fading Lands, was the daughter of the greatest warrior and most renowned shei’dalin born in the last fifty thousand years—perhaps longer. Rain’s Rage flared at the memory of Tenn’s betrayal and the way he’d intentionally laid a trap to catch Ellysetta weaving Azrahn so he could banish her. He’d known about her Mage Marks, known what terrible danger she’d be in outside the safety of the Faering Mists. And still, Tenn had done it.

The Shadar horn burned as it drained the heat from Rain’s veins and dulled the sharp edge of his Rage.

In his hand, Ellysetta’s fingers twitched again.

Rain stared at the slender fingers with sudden suspicion. Her hand was motionless once more, but he had not imagined the small flinch.

“The Shadar horn consumed the poison of the Mharog blade that struck me, correct?” he asked.

“Aiyah,” Jisera confirmed. “So the hearth witch, Sheyl, informed me.”

“Then is it not possible the horn’s magic could cure what ails Ellysetta as well?”

Jisera frowned at him. It didn’t take a Spirit weave to know what he was thinking—or to see how those thoughts alarmed her. “The horn is the only thing keeping you from madness.”

“So cut it in half. Use half for me, half for Ellysetta.”

“We don’t know that half a horn is any use at all.”

“We don’t know that it isn’t,” he countered. “Hawksheart gave the Shadar horn to me for a reason. I doubt that reason was so I could live to go mad when Ellysetta dies. If Ellysetta doesn’t recover, I’m dead anyway. This, at least, gives us a chance.”

Jisera crossed her arms. Slight and sweet though she appeared, she was also stubborn as a rock. And she’d never been one to take unnecessary risks—especially when it came to the safety of the lives in her care. “It’s too dangerous, Rain.”

He sighed and ran his good hand through his hair. “Jisera, war is here, and I’m the Tairen Soul. If I don’t fight, the Eld will win. I can’t fight with this strapped to my arm.” Rain gestured to the bulky horn strapped to his arm. “And I can’t fight with my mate hovering on the cusp of death. You’re going to have to graft the Shadar horn to my bones anyways. So why not start by grafting just half and giving the rest to Ellysetta?”

“Even if we tried that, there’s no guarantee the horn will help her.”

“It better, because we’ve tried everything else.”

Jisera set her jaw. Then after a look at the other shei’dalins—and, Rain suspected, a private word with them—Eimar’s mate gave a curt nod. “Bas’ka. We’ll need a table. And you’ll need to agree to be strapped down and rendered unconscious. I don’t want you Raging on us while we’re trying to do this.”

“Agreed,” Rain accepted. He signaled to Ellysetta’s quintet. Rijonn wove a second table, complete with metal restraining straps. When he was done, Rain got on, lay down, and let Bel and the others strap him in. “Beylah vo,” he said as Jisera and the shei’dalins gathered around him.

“Don’t thank me unless this works.” Her eyes turned amber and began to glow.

Ellysetta lay trapped in a sea of black ice. She couldn’t move, couldn’t feel, couldn’t speak, and yet every part of her being was writhing in agony, burning from a fire she could not quench, screaming until her throat was raw and her ears were ringing.

Rain was dead. She’d seen the red Fey’cha pierce his throat. She’d plunged her own blade into the rotting heart of the Mharog in wild fury. Only she hadn’t died as she’d expected. Instead, the undiluted evil of the Mharog had seized her and pumped its foul corruption into her soul. The howling torment of every life destroyed by the Mharog bombarded her senses, as did the Mharog’s fiendish pleasure each time he’d drained a soul of its Light.

Hatred, malevolence, the unquenchable lust for pain and destruction: the Dark emotions feasted on her Light. They ate away at her shei’dalin mercy, her compassion and gentleness, her hope, dissolving layer after layer of civility and restraint until they reached the dangerous, equally Dark monster that lived at the core of Ellysetta’s soul.

And when the foul malignancy of the Mharog touched that, the beast roared to life. A vast, Raging Darkness that dwarfed the Mharog’s by magnitudes. Her Darkness. Every bit as powerful and potently evil as her Light was good.

In terror, she’d done the only thing she could. She raised barriers around her mind and fortified them with a containing weave that mimicked the binding spell Galad Hawks-heart had once used on her. The weave used the beast’s magic against it, so that the more it Raged, the stronger its bonds became.

And there Ellysetta lay in torment, locked inside her mind with the horror that lived in her soul.

Ellysetta. A voice called her name—Rain’s voice, infused with the vibrant notes of tairen song. The sound sliced through the deafening roars of the beast and her own endless screams.

In the icy darkness of her self-imposed prison, the notes of his song didn’t just glimmer—they blazed bright as the Great Sun.

Come back to me, shei’tani.

Shei’tani. Her battered mind latched onto the word like a talisman. Rain? Is that you? Hesitant, afraid this might be some trick of the Mharog, she reached for his Light… then wept as it enveloped her in fierce, familiar flows of heat and strength.

Ke sha taris, kem’reisa. Ke sha eva vo.

His Light burned through the layers of dark ice and fanned the dim, nearly extinguished flickers of her own Light back to fiery brightness. With a roar of cold rage, the beast retreated into his lair, and the powerful weaves of her self-imposed prison faded.

Ellysetta’s eyes opened, and Rain was there, his face pale, his expression taut with worry, but whole and unharmed. Alive. Before she could even open her mouth to speak, he dragged her into his arms, kissed her soundly, then clutched her so tightly to his chest she could hardly move.

“Beylah sallan,” he whispered against her skin. “I thought I’d lost you when you stabbed that Mharog, shei’tani. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Fine tremors shivered through his entire body and the hands stroking her hair were trembling.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she told him in a broken voice. “You nearly did.”

“I don’t understand.” She squirmed in his arms, needing to see his face, touch him to ensure he was real. “You died. I saw that Mharog kill you. He drove his red Fey’cha into your throat.” For a moment she wondered if she’d dreamed that, but when she reached up to touch the spot where the Mharog blade had pierced his throat, she discovered that Rain’s previously unblemished Fey skin now bore a faint, vertical scar, proof of his near-death encounter with the Mharog. “How is this possible?”

“Aiyah, well…” Rain grimaced. “Much as I hate to admit it, I’m in Hawksheart’s debt. That Shadar horn he gave me saved my life—and yours.”

Ellysetta pressed her lips against the faint scar and whispered a prayer of thanks. “Bright Lord bless him.”

Someone cleared a throat. Ellysetta glanced around and blushed to discover she and Rain were not alone. They were lying on a raised table in the center of a tent. Her quintet and six veiled shei’dalins were gathered around them. “My friends… thank you. Gaelen…” She reached for his hands. «You and your dahl’reisen friends saved our lives, kem’maresk. There aren’t words enough to thank you.»

Another throat cleared—well, rumbled impatiently was more like it—and Ellysetta’s attention shifted to the side of the tent, where one entire fabric wall had been ripped free of its mooring stakes. The unmoored side of the tent lay draped like a rumpled scarf across a very large white tairen head.

“Steli!” Ellysetta swung her legs over the edge of the table, ignoring the protesting voices that told her she was too weak and needed to rest. She was weak. Her knees started to give way as soon as she stood. But Rain was there to catch her, and with his arm around her waist to hold her steady, she crossed the floor to Steli. She leaned against the strong, furred jaw, closing her eyes against a sudden swell of tears.

“I am so glad to see you, my pride-mother,” she whispered in a choked voice.

«Steli’s heart sings to see you safe, kitling. Steli was…» Steli gave up Fey words for tairen speech with which she spun an image of a tairen mother, crying mournfully over the body of a listless kitling. «Ellysetta-kitling must not give Steli such sadness again.»

“I promise I will try not to.”

Steli nudged Ellysetta back a step, gave her a maternal lick, then scolded, «Ellysetta-kitling must not set fang or claw on Mharog. Mharog not good prey. Good only for burning.»

She gave a rueful laugh. “I’ve learned my lesson, Steli-chakai. Believe me.”

“All right, that’s enough now,” Jisera pronounced. “The Feyreisa and Feyreisen both just woke up. I need to do some tests before I can be sure everything went as well as planned. That means the rest of you need to clear off. Now, please.” The tiny Fey woman gave everyone, including Steli, a stern look. The quintet quickly decided they could guard Ellysetta from outside the tent as well as from within. Steli, however, lifted the edge of one lip and growled irritably.

«It’s all right, Steli-chakai,» Ellysetta soothed. «I’ll be fine.»

Steli sniffed and declared, «Steli-chakai will go hunt. Bring back tasty meat for Ellysetta-kitling.» With one more growling glare for Jisera, Steli yanked her head out of the tent and flounced off.

For the next full bell, Jisera ran both Rain and Ellysetta through a battery of tests, checking their physical recovery, their bodies’ reactions to the Shadar horn, their ability to call and weave magic, Rain’s ability to control his bond madness. By the time Jisera pronounced them well enough to leave shei’dalin care, night had fallen and the slivered crescents of Eloran’s two moons were high in the sky.

Four of Ellysetta’s quintet gathered round Ellysetta as she and Rain walked the now-barren campground. Gaelen, however, was nowhere to be seen.

«I’m here,» Gaelen announced on the quintet’s private Spirit weave when Ellysetta asked where he was. «Just invisible. None of the dahl’reisen know that Ellysetta restored my soul, and if they see me, the secret will be out.»

«I thought you trusted your Brotherhood friends,» Bel said, frowning.

«I trusted them to save Rain and Ellysetta because I had no choice. But I wouldn’t have turned to them at all if they’d known she could restore their souls.»

Rain started to remind Gaelen that Farel was bloodsworn and was therefore incapable of harming Ellysetta, but he swallowed the words before they left his mouth. He hadn’t yet revealed that he’d let dahl’reisen swear their lute’asheiva bonds to his truemate.

“We received some good news from Dharsa.”

Rain arched a brow. He couldn’t think what it could be, unless Tenn v’En Eilan had suddenly come to his senses. “Let’s hear it. I could use some good news.”

“Kieran and Kiel are alive, as are the Feyreisa’s family and two of the shei’dalins we feared lost at Teleon. Kieran and Kiel escorted them all safely to Dharsa before heading to Sohta and the Veil with Loris and another three thousand Fey.”

Ellysetta stopped walking. “They’re alive? They’re safe?

All of them?”

“Aiyah” Bel confirmed. “All of them. Lillis, Lorelle, and your father.”

Her chin trembled. She turned quickly, pressing her face into Rain’s throat and wrapping her arms around his waist.

He felt her whispering an inaudible prayer of thanks, and tightened his own arms around her waist before grinning at Bel. “That isn’t just good news, kem’maresk. That’s the best news we’ve had in months.”

“I thought you would be pleased.” Bel smiled fondly at Ellysetta. “We also received word from Celieria City. It seems Hawksheart kept his word to speak with the Danae and convince them to help us. Dorian’s ship went down, but the Danae’s nyatheri, the Water spirits, saved him from drowning and helped sink the enemy ships.”

“That’s something at least.”

“Unfortunately, the news gets less pleasant after that. Prince Dorian—King Dorian—returned to Celieria City last night to catch a Mage in the act of Marking Queen Annoura.”

Ellysetta lifted her head. Her fingers clenched around Rain’s. “Is she all right?”

“She’s safe and so is her baby. The Marks disappeared when the Mage was killed trying to escape.”

“Who was it?” Rain asked.

“The Queen’s Favorite, Ser Vale, but it seems he wasn’t the only one. The old King Dorian apparently sent some of Lord Barrial’s dahl’reisen down to Great Bay to help his son. And the new King Dorian ordered those dahl’reisen to check everyone in the palace. Dorian’s Spirit master tells me they’ve already found at least fifty Mage-claimed among the courtiers and palace servants, and that doesn’t include any of the Mage-claimed who lost their Marks when Vale died. Now the entire city is on lock-down. No one gets in or out until they’ve been checked for Mage Marks by Lord Barrial’s dahl’reisen.” Bel regarded his friend and king. “You were right, Rain. The entire city had been infiltrated, and gods only know how long it’s been going on.”

Rain nodded in weary acceptance. He should have been glad for both the vindication of his suspicions and the unmasking of Eld’s servants in Celieria, but he wished he’d been wrong. Not for the sake of the greedy fools who sold their souls in exchange for wealth and power, but for the ones, like Ellysetta and her friend Selianne, who’d been Marked against their will.

“And Orest?” he asked. “What news from our friends there?”

“Not good.”

Bel’s expression went grim. “Orest fell last night. Lord Teleos was nearly slain, but the Fey got him through the Veil and to the shei’dalins in time for healing. The Fey managed to evacuate the upper city and part of Maiden’s Gate, but the rest…” He shook his head. “All told, we lost at least two thousand Fey and another five thousand Celierians—along with two of the tairen.”

“And the Eld?”

“Six of the dragons went down. We estimate we took out two companies of Elden soldiers and about two hundred Mages.”

“Four thousand men and two hundred Mages. And we lost seven thousand?”

Bel nodded. “Polwyr and his men opened portals all over the city. The fezaros came riding through with that potion of theirs again, and the Fey were so busy fending off demons, Mages, and darrokken and evacuating everyone they could through the Veil, they didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.”

Seven thousand lost. Seven thousand. When the allies didn’t have two thousand to spare.

Farel’s four hundred bloodsworn dahl’reisen had just become even more valuable to Rain than before. To him and the Fey.

He shared a troubled gaze with Ellysetta. He wasn’t sure how well her quintet would take the news about the dahl’reisen lu’tan—especially Gil and Tajik. He didn’t even want to think about the reaction of the other Fey. The ones who’d broken with Tenn and the Massan to support him might well reconsider their decision when they found out what he’d done.

«You know we have to tell them about Farel and his men,» Ellysetta said on a private weave.

«I know, and we will,» Rain replied. Just as soon as he could muster the courage to do so.

The conversation was not going to be a pleasant one.

“You let dahl’reisen bloodswear themselves to your shei’tani? Have you lost your mind?”

Rain and Ellysetta both winced at Eimar v’En Arran’s outrage. He was taking the news much worse than Ellysetta’s quintet had done earlier.

Once the lu’tan got past their initial shock, they had appreciated the benefit of ensuring that the dahl’reisen would not harm Ellysetta and could not fall farther into Shadow. Just to be sure, however, Rain had sent Gaelen and the rest of Ellysetta’s primary quintet on ahead, to meet with Farel and determine if the lute’ashieva bonds would indeed hold strong against the temptation of a restored soul.

“The dahl’reisen saved our lives,” Ellysetta told Eimar. “Many of them sacrificed themselves so Rain and I could escape the Eld. They aren’t the honorless rultsharts you believe them to be.”

“They walk the Shadowed Path!” Eimar exclaimed. “They chose it!”

“They didn’t choose it!” Ellysetta retorted. “At least not the way you mean. They simply chose not to die. They suffered so much in defense of the Fading Lands, they lost the ability to feel anything but pain and anguish. And even then, they chose to stay alive, to suffer unimaginable torment so they could defend the very people who reviled them.”

“Bah!” Eimar shook his head, making the crystal bells in his hair chime. “They had an honorable choice—sheisan’dahlein—and they did not take it.”

“Rain and I had a choice as well—to weave Azrahn or let the tairen die. Did we choose wrong, too? “

The Air master scowled. “That was different.”

“Not according to Tenn and the rest of the Massan,” she reminded him.

“Those villagers you met on your way from the Garreval—those are the families of these dahl’reisen,” Rain said. “Among them is a Celierian-born woman who truemated the son of a dahl’reisen. Truemated, Eimar. And they have children—including a daughter who possesses Fey gifts.”

The first appearance of doubt eclipsed the outrage on Ei-mar’s face. “That’s impossible.”

“So I always believed, but I was wrong. We Fey have clung to our honor, and our women are barren. These dahl’reisen have clung to their lives, despite their dishonor, and their women bear young—even young capable of truemating. We need to know why, Eimar.”

“You don’t need to let them bloodswear to the Feyreisa to figure that out.”

“Nei, I don’t,” Rain agreed. “But we’re also in a war, and we’re short on blades. The dahl’reisen leader, Farel, has asked to meet with me and Ellysetta this afternoon. With the shei’dalins and the other Fey here, Farel and his men aren’t sure how best to honor their lute’asheiva bonds. They will not come near the other fellanas, but they cannot go far from Ellysetta. Farel also tells me there are other dahl’reisen who wish to bloodswear themselves to Ellysetta and fight openly for the Fading Lands once more.”

Eimar spread his hands. “What do you want from me?”

“I sent Ellysetta’s quintet on ahead to meet with Farel and observe the other dahl’reisen who wish to bloodswear to my mate. If, after their evaluation, her chakor has no objections, Ellysetta and I will travel to the dahl’reisen camp to accept the other bonds. I want you to come with us. I want you to see these dahl’reisen for yourself, then tell me whether or not you can fight alongside them.”

Celieria ~ Dahl’reisen Camp

Stiff wariness infused the warriors of Ellysetta’s primary quintet as six dahl’reisen stepped out of the forest and into the open fields of Celieria. Bel, Tajik, Rijonn, and Gil watched the scarred Fey with undisguised distrust, while the dahl’reisen returned their gazes with defiance mingled with faint hints of shame.

“Which one of you is Farel?” Bel asked.

“I am,” said the dahl’reisen with dark brown hair and a scar that curved across his neck and up his cheek.

Gaelen had shown Bel an image of Farel before they left camp. The dahl’reisen who had stepped forward was indeed the one shown in Gaelen’s weave. “I am Belliard vel Jelani, Chatokkai of the Fading Lands.”

“I know who you are, Belliard vel Jelani.”

Bel’s brows arched. “We have met?”

“Nei. A friend showed me your image once.”

“I didn’t know dahl’reisen had friends,” Gil said in a cold voice.

Farel gave a bark of humorless laughter. “And here I thought, as bloodsworn defenders of the Feyreisa, we might meet in peace.”

“This is peace,” Tajik said in a cold voice. “You’re standing before us, and we’re letting you live.”

“A mercy most apprecia…” Farel’s sardonic reply hung in midword as Gaelen released his invisibility weave and appeared at Bel’s side. “… ted.” The last syllable of the word dropped from Farel’s mouth into a stunned silence. Farel swallowed. “General.”

“I’ve asked you repeatedly to call me Gaelen.”

Farel’s face went blank as he looked at Gaelen surrounded by the other Fey. “You are… with them? But you are—” His voice broke off.

Bel saw the dahl’reisen’s eyes narrow as he scanned Gaelen’s face, then saw those same eyes go wide in sudden, shocked understanding.

“Your scar… it’s gone!”

“Aiyah,” Gaelen confirmed.

“And… the rest? “

“Gone as well. My sister Marissya says my soul is an unsullied as an infant’s.”

Farel’s throat moved on another heavy swallow. “But how is such a thing possi—” He looked up, his eyes filled with certainty. “The Feyreisa.”

“Aiyah,” Gaelen answered. “Which is why, my friend, I must ask if there are any of you—either those who have already sworn their bonds, or those who wish to—who might break it if they discovered she can do this?” He pointed to his unscarred face.

With Steli and the other two tairen flying overhead, Rain, Ellysetta, Eimar, and the Fey lu’tan ran north along the edge of the Verlaine towards the dahl’reisen camp.

Bel and Gaelen had sent word of their findings earlier in the dahl’reisen camp. There had been a handful of questionable dahl’reisen among Farel’s assemblage, but Gaelen assured Rain they had been dealt with. Rain didn’t ask how, and Gaelen didn’t volunteer any more information, except to say there was no chance they might harm Ellysetta or the Fey, now or in the future.

A mile before they reached the camp, Xisanna and Perhal flew ahead to make certain all was well, while Steli landed and stalked protectively behind her adopted kitling, ready to scorch the first threat that reared its head.

Farel and Ellysetta’s primary quintet were waiting to greet them at the curve of the last hill. The moment the Fey rounded the last hill and stepped foot on the field where the dahl’reisen had gathered, they froze in their tracks.

“I don’t believe it,” Eimar whispered.

“I had no idea there could be so many,” Ellysetta breathed.

“Nor did I,” Rain said in a hoarse voice. He swallowed to moisten his dry throat and gazed across the vale with stunned eyes. Stretched out before them, more than a mile in every direction, were row after row of tents. An entire army—a very, very large army—was camped at the edge of the Verlaine Forest.

Not just a few hundred. Not even the few thousand Rain had suspected there were.

Tens of thousands.

“So tell me, Farel,” he rasped, “exactly how many blades do you count in the Brotherhood of Shadows?”

Beside him, Farel smiled. It was the first genuine smile Rain had ever seen on the dahl’reisen’s face. The warrior cast a proud gaze over his assembled brothers. “Dahl’reisen? Thirty thousand. Sons of dahl’reisen? Another forty.”

Rain almost choked on his own tongue. Gods save him. Seventy thousand.

Seventy thousand.

Twice the number of all the Fey still living.

Rain’s stunned gaze traveled across the seemingly endless sea of warriors, the outcast sons of his homeland. And he saw the pride on their scarred faces, the renewed light of hope shining from eyes that had been dark with shadow for centuries.

“They all wish to serve the Fading Lands,” Bel said. “All thirty thousand dahl’reisen have asked to bloodswear themselves to Ellysetta, and fight on her behalf to regain some part of their honor as you allowed Farel and his men to do. Their sons have offered their bonds as well.”

“I will accept dahl’reisen bonds,” Ellysetta said, “but not the bond of any Fey who still has a chance to find his truemate.”

“Some might argue that sons of dahl’reisen are not Fey, Ellysetta.” “They’re Fey enough.”

Bel smiled. “As I was saying, even the young ones are good fighters. The dahl’reisen have taught them well.”

Eimar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Bel? You truly approve of this? You trust these dahl’reisen?”

Bel shrugged. “Two nights ago, I would have called Rain a fool for allowing dahl’reisen to bloodswear to the Feyreisa. But today… well, today, he and the Feyreisa are alive because of them… and I”—he lifted his hands in a dazed gesture—“I learned that I have a nephew. My brother Ben, didn’t die in the Wars as I thought. He joined the Brotherhood of Shadows and mated a Celierian woman. They had a son before he died fighting the Mages.”

Bel turned his head towards the dahl’reisen horde, where a young, unscarred warrior stood talking with his brothers. As if sensing Bel’s gaze, the warrior glanced up. Apart from a brief, darting glance from Rain to Bel and back, no expression crossed the young warrior’s face, but he put a hand over his chest and bowed slightly in a Fey gesture of welcome and acknowledgment.

“His name is Beren.” A faint, melancholy smile curved the corner of Bel’s mouth. “He has Ben’s eyes.”

“Bel… kem’jeto.” Rain was at a loss for words. He remembered Benevar vel Jelani, Bel’s older brother, and how Bel had idolized him. The pain of his loss had honed Bel to a razor-sharp blade, and he’d become a deadly terror on the battlefields throughout the remaining months of the Mage Wars. “My sorrows for your brother, but mioralas for his son.” Rain clapped a hand on Bel’s shoulder. “With joy, I celebrate this new warrior of the Jelani line.”

“Beylah vo.” A brief silence fell between them, then Bel admitted in a low voice, “You know, Rain, if I’d known Ben was still alive… I think perhaps I would have traded my own honor to be with him… to spend the years with him.”

“Perhaps that’s why he never let you know.”

Bel, the most honorable Fey Rain knew, nodded sadly. “I wish he had though, Rain.” He met his best friend’s gaze. “I really wish he had.”

Rain looked out across the seemingly endless sea of warriors, the outcast sons of his homeland. Many of them banished for weaving Azrahn—the same crime for which he and Ellysetta had been banished, a crime he was beginning to think wasn’t half so evil as he’d been raised to believe. And instead of looking upon them with revulsion and dread—instead of seeing their scars and reviling them for their dishonor and the threat of Shadow that hovered over their bleak lives—he saw Fey. Warriors, brothers, friends. Fey whom someone like Bel had once known and loved.

And for the first time, he accepted the possibility that here, in the most unlikely place and from the most unlikely quarter, he had just found the allies he’d been looking for.