by C. L. Wilson
“What choice do I have? Colum is my husband, and he has said we must return to our home.”
“Your home is with me.”
Her lips trembled. The fingers stroking his face trembled, too. “No. It isn’t. Though I wish with all my heart it were.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Say the word, Talisa, and I will make it so. Ramiel—the Fey who serves as Spirit master of your quintet—can spin a weave to change diSebourne’s mind so that he will agree to let you go.”
“That sort of weave is forbidden. If you were caught, the penalty would be death!”
“Then I would take care they didn’t catch me.” His grip tightened. “Teska, shei’tani, let me set you free.”
The lure was so powerful, so tempting. But before she could open her mouth and damn herself, she saw her father’s face and heard once more his sober lecture on the inviolability of a Barrial’s vow and the dangerous political explosion that would ensue if the wife of Great Lord Sebourne’s heir ran off with a Fey warrior. She turned her head away, closing her eyes to block out the sight of Adrial’s beloved face. “I can’t. He’s not just some common man, Adrial. He’s the heir of a Great Lord, and his father already hates the Fey. You saw it yourself this summer. If I left with you, Lord Sebourne would plunge this country into civil war. Celieria can’t be divided that way right now.”
“No one needs to know. If Ramiel spins the weave, they’ll all think it’s Colum’s idea.”
“Lord Sebourne would know…and so would I.” She bowed her head and stared at her tightly clasped hands. “When I married Colum, I swore an oath before the gods that bound my life to his. I cannot forsake my vow.”
“He has already forsaken it. Did he not vow to care for you and keep you from harm? Yet he lifted his hand against you. If we had not been here, he would have struck you.”
“He was upset.”
“He would have struck you,” Adrial repeated. The thickly lashed eyes that could be so meltingly warm were hard as polished stones. “If he had, I would have killed him for it.”
She pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. “Don’t say such things. Don’t even think them.”
“There is nothing I would not do to keep you safe, shei’tani. No Celierian law I would not break, no enemy I would not kill. Wed to this mortal you may be, but I will not let him touch you. I cannot.”
With those words, Colum’s strangely accommodating behavior these last weeks suddenly made sense. She drew back, covering her mouth with a hand to stifle her shocked gasp. “You’re the reason he hasn’t pressed me to come to his bed. Oh, Adrial, what have you done?”
“I did what I had to do.” Adrial gripped her arms. “You are my mate, my shei’tani, and our bond is not complete. If he touched you, I would kill him. Since both you and Rain made me swear not to do so, I had no choice but to make certain he never laid a hand on you.”
“Bright Lord save me.” Talisa began to pace. “You spun a weave on him.” When she drew near Colum, who now lay senseless in a heap on a nearby chaise, she gave a small, choked cry and whirled away to pace in the opposite direction. Around the room, Adrial’s brother and the other five Fey watched her in silence. “Oh, gods, if anyone suspects—if they find out—you’ll be executed.”
Adrial rose to follow her. “Talisa…”
“No!” She spun to face him and raised her hand. “I’m his wife, Adrial. His wife!”
“And you’re my truemate!” he retorted. “DiSebourne can get another wife. Mortals often do. There is no other mate for me but you, and never shall be.”
“Adrial…” A sudden commotion outside the library doors made Talisa break off. She blanched at the sound of familiar male voices calling her name. “Oh, dear gods. My father and brothers are here. Lord Sebourne is with them. Quickly, you’ve got to leave! They can’t find you here!” She whirled and started to race across the room, only to stop in a spurt of panic. “Wait! What about Colum? You can’t leave him like this.”
Adrial turned his head and rapped out, “Ramiel.” The Spirit master moved to Colum’s side, and Talisa saw his hands and eyes begin to glow.
“Talisa?” Her father’s voice called just outside the library doors. The crystal doorknobs began to turn.
“Go!” she cried softly. “Hurry!” Tiny sparks of electricity raced across her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. Adrial and the Fey shimmered into invisibility just as the library doors swung inward.
“DiSebourne!” Talisa’s father stormed into the room and made a beeline for her husband, who had risen to his feet and was rubbing his temples. “What’s this I hear about you planning to take my daughter to the borders? Have you lost what sense the gods gave you? There’s a war on, man!”
Colum turned, his brow knit in confusion. “Lord Barrial? Father?”
“Stay out of this, Barrial,” Lord Sebourne snapped. “You’ve done enough interfering as it is. She’s a Sebourne now, and Sebourne wives go where their husbands guide them. Colum is going home to our estate to help oversee its defenses—and his bride will accompany him!”
Talisa’s father whirled on his neighbor. His lips drew back in a snarl, and in that moment, he looked every bit like the wild wolf that dominated the Barrial coat of arms. “You will not endanger my daughter’s life just so your son can feel like a man in control of his wife. If he possessed an ounce of regard for her safety, he would insist she remain here, as far away from the conflict as possible.”
“Oh, would he?” Lord Sebourne sneered. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Was arranging for Talisa to be alone here with her lover part of what ever plan you and the Fey were hatching with the king?”
“What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?” Cann exclaimed. “Did a week in Old Castle rot your brain?”
“Don’t play the innocent. Colum and I know what’s been going on here. Don’t we, Colum?”
“I…” Colum shook his head and dragged his fingers through his hair.
Lord Sebourne squinted at him and stepped closer. “What’s wrong with you, boy?” His brows shot up to his hairline.
Alarmed that Lord Sebourne might discover Adrial had been manipulating Colum’s mind, Talisa leapt forward. “Father. Lord Sebourne. Please. There is no need for you to argue.” Talisa put her hand on Colum’s arm. “Colum has already explained why we must go north with you and the king’s army. I was just about to have my maid begin packing when you arrived.”
“Talisa!” her father exclaimed. “It’s out of the question. War has begun. Every estate on the borders is in danger of being overrun by the Eld. You could be killed.”
«Shei’tani, nei! I’ve already told you, it is too dangerous.»
Adrial’s voice was so clear in her head, it shocked her that the others could not hear him. The rich tones shivered up and down her spine like a warm caress, the sound so intoxicatingly sensual it was all she could do not to groan aloud and rush towards the spot where she now knew he was standing.
Her reaction solidified her resolve. Adrial and her father were wrong. The most dangerous place for her wasn’t in the north near the battlefront. It was right here in Celieria City—especially if Colum went north with his father and left her behind. Talisa harbored no illusions. If she were left alone with Adrial—honor, marital vows, even duty to the Bright Lord be damned—she would not long withstand the lure of his presence. She would throw away everything to follow him. To be with him.
And that meant she could not stay.
“We’re borderfolk, Da. We’ve lived in the jaws of the beast our whole lives, and we don’t run from danger. Colum is my husband, and if he is leaving, then I must accompany him.”
“Well.” Lord Sebourne regarded her with an expression that flickered between surprise, suspicion, and reluctant approval. “I’m glad to see you’re thinking like the wife of a Sebourne. It’s about time.”
Talisa bit her lip. Shame rode her hard. She wasn’t any sort of a proper wife fo
r Colum. She never had been. “Yes, my lord.”
“Then see to it my son and you are packed and ready to depart within the bell. We ride out with the king. I’ll send a carriage at half ten to collect you.”
“Yes, my lord.” Talisa dipped a brief curtsy. “Colum and I will be ready and waiting. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I’ll go see to the packing.” She turned to exit the room.
At the foot of the stairs, a warm breeze brushed across her face, and Adrial’s voice whispered in her ear.
«I won’t leave you, shei’tani. No matter your Path, I will walk it beside you.»
Talisa shivered and paused with one foot on the stairs. “You’ll do what you must,” she whispered in response. “And so will I.” And with stoic resolve, she started up the stairs.
Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace
When Jiarine entered the queen’s antechambers to prepare Her Majesty for the army’s departure celebration, she found Annoura’s bedchamber door firmly closed and the space outside filled with Dazzles milling uselessly about.
“What are you doing here?” she cried when she saw them. “Why aren’t you helping Her Majesty get dressed?”
“The queen has refused to let anyone enter, my lady,” one of the Dazzles explained. “She says she’s not coming out. She says she will not watch her husband ride to his death.”
Alarmed, Jiarine hurried to the bedchamber door and rapped twice.
“Go away!” a hoarse croak of a voice called from within the room. “I told you, I will not go!”
“Your Majesty, it’s Jiarine. Lady Montevero.”
Silence. Then she heard the sound of the lock twisting inside. The door swung inward a bare crack. “Only you, Jiarine. No one else.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Jiarine shooed the other courtiers away, then slipped inside. When the door closed behind her and she turned, Jiarine was shocked by the appearance of Celieria’s beautiful and rightfully vain queen.
Annoura’s face was blotched and swollen from tears, her blue eyes so badly bloodshot her irises stood out in stark relief. With her silvery blond hair hung in a wild tangle around her face, she was the living picture of despair and inconsolable grief.
“Oh, Your Majesty,” Jiarine breathed. Never would she have believed that there was anything or anyone in the world Annoura cared for this much.
Once again, an unexpected flash of sympathy for Celieria’s queen welled up inside Jiarine. Poor Annoura. She would never know how hard the Mages of Eld had worked to bring her so low. Nor would she ever know how great a role Jiarine had played in bringing this state of affairs about.
Annoura turned away and lifted shaking hands to cover her face. The queen’s shoulders quaked and the sound of a shuddering inhalation told Jiarine a fresh torrent of tears was struggling to break free.
“What should I do?” Annoura wailed softly. “The king’s departure is in less than a bell, but I can’t let anyone see me like this.” In a softer voice, she added, “Least of all him.”
Oh, yes, there’d been a break between the royal couple. Exactly the devastating chasm Master Manza had worked so hard to orchestrate. And after her years at court, Jiarine knew Queen Annoura well enough to suspect that nothing would ever be the same between the king and queen again.
Jiarine’s thoughts churned rapidly. The queen was expected to see her husband and Celieria’s armies off to war. Dorian would not want his people to perceive a divided front. But there wasn’t enough time, short of healing magic, to repair the queen’s swollen face, painfully red eyes, and tear-splotched complexion before she was due to step out into the public eye.
Jiarine snapped her fingers. “Veils.”
Annoura lifted her head from her hands. “Veils?”
“Yes.” Feeling more confident, Jiarine nodded. “Veils. Your Majesty, it’s the perfect solution.”
She turned and hurried to the door that led into the queen’s extensive personal wardrobe chamber. Struck by the perfect, almost ironic symbolism of her idea, Jiarine went straight to a scarlet gown that Annoura had had made last year but never yet had the occasion to wear. She also fetched a neatly folded stack of sheer scarlet veils.
She brought them back into the main room and brandished them in triumph. “What better solution than to see them off just as the shei’dalins of the Fey see off their men to war?”
Annoura recoiled at the sight of all the scarlet cloth filling Jiarine’s hands. “You think I want to look like one of…them?”
There was no time to argue. “Not red, then, white if you prefer. Blue. The color doesn’t matter, Your Majesty, only the fact that you can appear in public without anyone seeing your face and knowing how badly you’ve been hurt.”
“I…” The queen hesitated, and Jiarine could see Annoura’s pride returning. Her shoulders squared and her spine straightened. She gave her reddened eyes a final swipe and reached for the clothes in Jiarine’s hands. “You’re right. It’s the perfect solution. Come help me put this on. And hurry. We’ve only half a bell.”
Dorian looked shocked when he saw her.
It was the scarlet, Annoura decided. Jiarine had chosen well. Red was the color of the shei’dalins, but it was also the color of blood. Like the blood that would soon flow across Celieria’s northern borders. Like the blood that gushed from a mortally wounded heart.
His eyes darkened, and his brows drew together in a troubled frown. “Annoura…” He reached for her hands.
She drew them back out of his reach and clasped them at her waist. “Our people are waiting, Sire.”
His expression went blank. Not quite as stony as the Fey could manage, but close enough. “Then let us go to them, madam.” He turned and held out his arm.
When she laid her hand over his, she was glad for the scarlet satin of the gloves she wore. Dorian was Fey enough to sense her thoughts and sometimes her emotions when she touched him skin-to-skin. In the past, that connection had been a special bond, something that had drawn them closer, until at times they could think and act as one. But now, such insight into her broken heart would only be an unwanted intrusion and a humiliation.
They walked stiffly towards the open doors leading to the grand stair at the front of the palace. And each step that rang out against the polished marble palace floors tolled like a death knell, echoing forlornly in the vast, cold silence of the empty palace.
Outside, the sun shone too bright for a day of such sorrow. The palace courtyard was packed with armored soldiers and cavalry horses. Brilliant blue, white, and gold banners waved in the breeze. Beyond the palace gates, the populace of Celieria City had gathered. The people gave a great roaring cheer when Dorian and Annoura stepped forth.
Dorian did not pause for speeches. He’d already given enough of those to the Council of Lords and to the populace these last days, explaining why it was necessary for the sons, husbands, and fathers of Celieria to march to war—and why even more would be accompanying Prince Dorian when he left for the coast the following week. Now, he and Annoura simply walked down the stone palace steps to their waiting mounts. The lords and ladies of the court followed and mounted their own gaily caparisoned steeds and took up silken banners. The pipers and drummers in the infantry ranks began to play, and with great celebration and pomp, Dorian, Annoura, and the court led the army north through the city to King’s Gate and the start of the North Road.
All along the roadside, from the palace to King’s Gate, the inhabitants of Celieria had come to watch their soldiers depart. They waved and cheered and threw small bouquets of flowers in the cobbled street before the pro cession. From second-and third-story windows lining the thoroughfare, flower petals and scented ribbons showered down.
War was such a great, lovely spectacle.
At least, Annoura thought bitterly, until its dreadful ravages arrived upon one’s own doorstep.
«Annoura… »
Behind her veils, Annoura closed her eyes as Dorian’s voice brushed against her mind. He could
weave Spirit well enough to speak without words. Before now, every time he’d spun words directly into her mind, it had always seemed like a caress, an intimate secret between them, private and treasured.
Now the trust between them had been broken.
Stop it, Dorian. Get out of my mind. She couldn’t weave Spirit, but she knew he would hear her. He was there at the periphery of her mind, listening for her answer.
«I ride for war, wife. There is a possibility I will not return. I don’t want harsh words to be the last between us.»
Then perhaps you should not have spoken them. Nor dismissed me from your presence like a lackey. I will never forgive you for that. Anger bubbled up, acid and burning.
«Annoura.»
We are here at the gates. The party had arrived at the great, majestic arch on the northern side of the city. She pulled on the reins and brought her mount to a halt. Lead your men. Go to your war. Be with your friends, the Fey. They are the only ones you truly love.
He leaned across, caught her horse’s reins, and brought her up short. “Enough.” With a kick of his heels, he brought his horse alongside hers. “I would bid you farewell, wife.”
He lifted her veils before she could stop him, and his face froze at the sight of hers. She caught his wrists in a fierce grip. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?” she hissed. “Leave me some shred of dignity.” The veils slid from his unresisting fingers and fell back into place.
“Annoura…”
Her jaw clenched and she had to force the next declaration out through a tight throat. “You…hurt me.” Her voice cracked, and she had to pause to regain her composure. “You promised me you never would, but you did.” She drew a deep breath and pulled icy calm around her like armor. “It will never happen again.” The invisible distance between them widened to a chasm.
The softness faded from Dorian’s eyes and face. “Very well, madam. Since you are determined to put your pride between us, I take my leave of you. We will speak again when I return from this war. Until then, may the gods keep you and our children safe.” With a stiff nod, he clucked to his mount, tugged the reins, and rode away. The army followed him, pipers and drummers still playing their joyous march to war.