by C. L. Wilson
Now he did level a steady, steely-eyed look on Sebourne and held it until the nobleman subsided and sat down.
“We are grateful for her gracious counsel and her service, and we hold her in the highest regard,” Dorian continued, allowing his gaze to sweep the council chamber, making eye contact with each lord of the Twenty. “The witnesses are being brought to the palace. As soon as they arrive, we will hear their testimony and that of Ser vel Jelani, and we will accept the Lady Marissya’s Truthspeaking to determine Ser vel Jelani’s guilt or innocence.”
Ravel vel Arras, leader of Ellie’s secondary quintet, and the rest of her Fey guard hustled Ellie through the city streets towards her family home. More than once they encountered small mobs of people who watched them with accusatory glares. Ellie couldn’t understand it. She could practically feel the fear and loathing emanating from them in waves.
Scraps of paper littered the roads like fallen leaves, and on several street corners, shabby pamphleteers’ boys shouted, “Fey murders unarmed Celierian child!” and handed out their leaflets as fast as their little fists could collect coin. Pamphleteers were always quick to print and disseminate their “news,” but this was fast even for them. They must have run straight from the scene of Bel’s confrontation with her young attacker to their presses.
Ellie bent to pick up one of the abandoned sheets and gasped at the awful, hate-filled accusations printed in lurid detail and presented as fact. Innocent Child Burned Alive by Savage Fey, the headline screamed. The text below was worse. Reading the vile words actually made her stomach clench and her chest feel tight, as if a cold, heavy weight were pressing against her heart. The headache that had savaged her yesterday began to throb anew.
“Ravel,” she murmured in concern, handing him the sheet.
He scanned the paper with grim eyes, then crumpled it and threw it in the gutter. “Do not worry, Feyreisa. These accusations are groundless. Rain will not let Bel come to harm.”
For a full bell, Rain sat grimly silent in Dorian’s council chamber as witness after witness testified they’d seen Bel burn a helpless, unarmed Celierian boy to death. Afterwards, only years of hard-won discipline kept Rain’s face expressionless as he listened to Lord Sebourne and several of his fellow pompous noble windbags howl about the Fey’s blatant disregard for Celierian lives. As if a single one of them would not have seen the boy hanged for pinching a dinner roll from their supper tables.
The Tairen Soul’s mate—his queen—had been stabbed, in public, on Celierian soil by a Celierian citizen, and these honorless rultsharts squealed as if they were the injured party.
“I have listened to the charges and accusations of your countrymen as you insisted,” Rain interjected when the current speaker paused to take a breath. “I do not dispute that they believe what they saw, but that does not mean what they think they saw is what truly happened. Now bring Belliard forth. Ask him to swear an oath of honor that he did not murder this boy.”
Dorian nodded. Near the back of the room, a door swung inward and Bel entered, bound in chains and surrounded by the King’s Guards.
Marissya stifled a gasp, and Rain stiffened with outrage. Bel had been stripped of his blades, his tunic, and his boots, leaving him barefoot, bare-chested, and weaponless. Black metal manacles had been clamped around his wrists and ankles, and a matching black collar circled his neck. Short chains tied the bindings all together and restricted Bel’s walk to a shuffle. Though the warrior held himself proudly erect, his face was drawn and pale, and his hands trembled, a testament to the terrible pain he was suffering.
“You dare bind a Queen’s Blade in sel’dor?” Rain hissed in a low voice. A wave of heat swept over the council chamber, and the flames in the sconces flared.
Shocked silence was the only answer to his challenge until Annoura sat up in her throne. “The man stands accused of murder,” she pointed out. “Should his guards have left his magic unrestrained? I, for one, will not condemn them for taking precautions.”
“Precautions don’t include torturing him until he scarce can stand! Sel’dor burns like acid on Fey flesh.” He shot a furious, commanding glare at Dorian. “Remove that vile Eld filth this instant, or by Adelis’s holy light, I swear I will visit Bel’s torment upon you all so you may know what harm you do him.” His hands clenched in fists at his sides. Hatred of all things Eld swirled around him like a black cloud, and he struggled to keep his violent emotions in check. Tiny sparks of escaping power flashed around him. “Now!” he barked.
“Do it,” Dorian commanded, and the guards surrounding Bel hurried to unlock and remove the restraints. “My Lord Feyreisen, I assure you I did not order this.”
When Bel was free of the cursed Eld metal, Rain spun a rapid weave of Earth to replace Bel’s boots and tunic and restore at least a modicum of his dignity. Marissya reached out to Bel with healing weaves to soothe the worst of his burns.
Rain waited for her to finish before turning back to Dorian. Fire still sparked in his eyes and anger clipped every word. “Question him and be done. I’ll not abandon this honored hero of the Fey to your country’s unkind custody a moment longer.”
Bel stood in the center of the council chamber and submitted willingly to Marissya’s touch as he swore a Fey oath that the dead boy was the same one who had stabbed Ellysetta, and that he had neither murdered the boy, nor ordered his murder, nor harmed him in any way.
“Truth,” she announced when he finished.
“If you did not kill the boy, who did?” Lord Sebourne demanded.
“I don’t know,” Bel said. “We saw no one.”
“Truth,” Marissya said.
“So, you’re asking us to believe that a young Celierian boy—a boy you were pursuing for the attempted murder of the Tairen Soul’s mate—just happened to spontaneously combust when you cornered him?”
“I am not asking you to believe anything, my lord. I am merely telling you in all honesty that neither I nor my men killed that boy, and we did not see who did.”
“Truth,” Marissya confirmed.
“But he died by magic, did he not?”
“Someone spun the weave that slew him,” Bel admitted.
Lord Sebourne pounced. “Someone Fey?”
“Fey are not the only race to weave magic, my lord. The Eld do as well. And others.”
“Ah, yes, the Eld.” Sebourne cast a speaking glance around the chamber. “That’s who you really want us to believe is to blame, do you not?”
Bel ignored the lure dangled before him. “My lord, as I told you, I did not see who spun the weave. I cannot tell you who wove it, but I can assure you who did not. If you are truly interested in finding the killer, I recommend you start by asking who would benefit most from making Celierians doubt the Fey. And while you’re at it, also consider this: I am a Master of Spirit. I weave illusion as easily as you draw breath. If I really had killed that boy, why in all the gods’ names would I have been stupid enough to let anyone see me do it? And why would I leave them with memories of the crime intact so they could accuse me?”
Sebourne’s mouth opened, then closed again without saying a word. Nonplussed, he glanced round the council chamber and saw similar confusion on the faces of his supporters.
“Enough of this farce.” On the opposite side of the chamber, a lord who had thus far remained silent now stood up. He had pale, faintly luminous skin, long black hair, and catlike eyes that proved more than a hint of Fey blood ran through his veins.
«Who?» Rain asked Dax
«You don’t recognize him? You once called his ancestor friend, and I’ve always thought the family resemblance striking.» When Rain didn’t answer, Dax surrendered the name. «Teleos. Devron Teleos. He guards the Veil now, as well as the Garreval.»
Rain eyed the young border lord with greater interest. Teleos was indeed a name familiar to him, and neither the Veil nor the Garreval were insignificant stretches of land.
“Ser vel Jelani has sworn a Fey oath, under she
i’dalin touch, that he did not kill the boy,” Lord Teleos continued. “That proves his innocence. And frankly, even if he had slain the little rultshart, you lords should applaud rather than condemn him. Which man among you would have let the boy live had he attempted to kill your queen?”
“Well said, Teleos.” A second, previously silent lord stood up, this one as dark and bronzed as Teleos was pale. There was a no-nonsense sturdiness to him that Rain liked instantly.
«Cannevar Barrial,» Dax supplied. «Another lord of the northern march. His daughter recently wed Sebourne’s heir.»
“Sebourne, you’re being an ass.” Lord Barrial made the accusation with casual familiarity rather than ire. “The Fey obviously didn’t kill the boy, no matter what the other witnesses think they saw, and the young would-be assassin has paid for his crime with his life. Justice has been done. My lords, let us bring this unfortunate incident to a close and move on to the other very serious matters awaiting the review of this Council.” Several lords murmured their agreement.
“Agreed,” King Dorian said, cutting off Lord Sebourne as he opened his mouth to protest and silencing the grumbling of several of Sebourne’s supporters. “My Lord Feyreisen, accept our apologies for the injury done your lady, and for the accusations made against Ser vel Jelani. I promise you Celieria will make every effort to find the culprit responsible for this unforgivable attack.” He turned to address Bel directly. “Belliard vel Jelani, you are free to go. Please accept my personal apologies for the manner in which you’ve been treated.”
Bel bowed to the king and rejoined his countrymen. All the Fey bowed again and filed from the room. They didn’t speak until they reached Rain’s suite and the privacy wards were once more in place around the room.
“There is more,” Bel said as soon as the privacy weaves were complete. “The knife that set off the Fire weave was a Fey’cha, and I recognized the name-mark on it.” He cast a brief, unspoken apology Marissya’s way. “It was the mark of Gaelen vel Serranis.”
“Impossible,” she exclaimed. “He is dahl’reisen. I would have sensed him.”
“There was some other magic hidden in the weave that killed the boy,” Bel said. “I don’t know what it was. Perhaps your brother has found a way to mask his presence from you the same way he masked his magic from me.”
Was it possible? Rain wondered. Fey used red to fight their enemies and those unworthy of the honor of a duel with clean blades. They used black against each other—always. The numbed black blade used to stab Ellysetta could have been a taunt, an insult to Rain’s ability to protect her, and arranging for the injury to be dealt by a child could have been just a way to further underscore that contempt. Was vel Serranis calling him out?
Worse, if Gaelen was responsible, the possibility that he was also behind the murders in the north—possibly even in league with the Eld—suddenly became much more likely. Rain prayed it was not so. Sending warriors to kill the dahl’reisen would take a terrible toll on the rapidly dwindling strength of the Fading Lands and push the Fey even closer towards extinction.
Marissya didn’t want to believe Gaelen had engineered the attack, but Rain could take no chances. He spent the rest of the afternoon with Bel, retracing the boy’s wild chase and visiting the site of his death. Nothing remained but a scorch mark on the cobbles. There was no remnant thread of magic, no sign of any other’s presence, and no hint of dahl’reisen. Whoever had engineered the attack had covered his tracks well.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ellysetta spent the afternoon pacing the floor of her family home and waiting for news of Bel. She kept her mind occupied by practicing her spoken command of Feyan with Ravel and the other members of her secondary quintet. They shared anecdotes of life in the Fading Lands, all spoken in Feyan, and periodically checked in with Kieran via Spirit to find out what was happening at the inquiry and reported those updates in Feyan as well.
News of the attack on her left her father more worried than she’d ever seen him. He’d even abandoned the mountain of work that had been keeping him busy morning till night and came home to assure himself she was safe. When he’d hugged her tight and told her gruffly, “I love you, Ellie-girl,” she’d seen tears in his eyes.
Mama, too, was clearly shaken, but the fear only reaffirmed every concern she’d already voiced about having the Fey become part of her daughter’s life. She spent the day holding Lillis and Lorelle so tightly they squealed, and no amount of calming discussion would placate her. Even after word came that Bel was free, Mama’s dire predictions and recriminations continued until Ellie fled to her bedroom and paced the tiny space like a caged tiger.
She wanted to climb out the window and run until her emotions settled, but she wasn’t fool enough to consider it. Rain’s warnings had proved true. Enemies of the Fey would hurt her to harm him. She’d almost died today…would have died had Rain not acted as quickly as he did. As Bel had warned that first night, the world was no longer a safe place for her.
Several bells after sunset, the sound of wind whooshing past the rooftops and a powerful tingling rush of magic sent her racing to the window in time to see Rain slip from the night sky and land on the flagstones of her family’s small courtyard. She raced downstairs to meet him at the kitchen door, but her parents had heard his arrival too and were already there, standing on the back stoop. Mama was wearing one of her looks and roundly berating Rain for not protecting Ellie better, while Papa stood beside her, puffing rapidly on his pipe.
“—our daughter stabbed while under your protection?” Mama was saying. “A boy with a knife nearly killed her right beneath your nose?”
A small muscle flexed in Rain’s jaw, but he stood silent as Ellie’s mother continued her tirade. When she ran out of steam—even Mama couldn’t rail for long against a man who simply stood there and accepted it in silence—Rain bowed. “The mother of my shei’tani is right to berate me. I was careless with your greatest treasure. My enemies knew I would not expect the attack to come from a child, and they used that to their advantage. I will not be so blind again.”
“Your enemies?” Sol asked. “So you know who attacked Ellysetta? Did you find them?”
Rain shook his head. “Nei, Master Baristani, which means that henceforth, we must all be more vigilant. There will be no more games in the park. Ellysetta will leave your home only when she absolutely must, and only with a full complement of warriors in attendance. When I come for our courtship bells, we shall either remain here in your courtyard, or I will take her away from the city, someplace where my enemies cannot surprise me again.”
Lauriana started to object, but Sol gave her hand a warning squeeze. “You did warn us of the dangers that first night of the betrothal,” he said, “but I must admit, I didn’t take your warning as seriously as I do now. We will all be more cautious.” He glanced at Ellie. “I suppose you’d like a little time alone with our daughter.”
Rain bowed again. “Beylah vo, Master Baristani. I would indeed. But elsewhere, if I may. Somewhere quiet, where the thoughts of so many do not beat at me as they do here.”
“It’s late,” Sol said. “Please, don’t keep her out more than a bell or two.”
“Agreed.” Rain held out a hand to Ellysetta.
“Sol!” Lauriana protested. “But—”
“Shh, come inside, Laurie. If it were you who’d been stabbed, I’d want to have you to myself for a bit, to make sure you were safe and unharmed. Let them have their privacy.” He put an arm around his wife’s waist and led her into the kitchen. “We’ll just sit here, sweetheart, and share a quiet cup of tea together until they come back.”
They flew east past the lights of the city towards the rolling hills surrounding the moonlight-silvered waters of Great Bay and landed in a small hilltop glade overlooking the bay. There, Celieria City was little more than a distant glow of lights at their backs, and even that was hidden by the treetops. The silence was broken only by the rustle of the ocean breeze in the trees and the f
aint sound of waves rolling onto the sandy beaches below. Undimmed by the lights of the city, the stars overhead gleamed like diamonds strewn across a black velvet sky.
Magic tingled in the air as Rain wove protective shields around the glade. When he was done he turned to Ellysetta, his face solemn and beautiful, the glow of his Fey skin a shimmering aura. He regarded her in deep, searching silence, then pulled her into his arms and simply held her.
“You frightened me, today, shei’tani. A bit of poison on that blade, and I would have lost you.” His arms tightened.
“But you didn’t.”
“Nei, thank the gods, but I was careless with you. I won’t be again—and I know that will be hard on you.” He drew back to look into her eyes. “You need freedom to thrive, just as I do.”
“I’ll manage.” Somehow, she would. She’d sensed Rain’s fear and guilt when she’d been stabbed, his terror at the prospect of losing her. She would not intentionally cause him such distress again. “How is Bel? Ravel told me he’d been chained in sel’dor.”
“He’s fine. The effects of sel’dor are painful but not permanent. I told him to stay at the palace and rest tonight. He wasn’t happy with me, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe King Dorian allowed them to bind Bel in sel’dor.” She’d read horrible accounts of what the evil Eld metal could do to Fey, how painful and debilitating it was. How could Dorian, who was part Fey himself, have authorized its use on Bel?
“Dorian said he didn’t know about it. Marissya believes him.” He released her and stepped back. “The Celierians who did it claim they were acting out of self-preservation. Bel stood accused of murdering a Celierian with magic, and they wanted to be sure he couldn’t murder them as well. Though they wouldn’t admit it, I think Annoura authorized their actions.”