by C. L. Wilson
“It’s not physical danger I fear,” she admitted.
“I know. But what ever answers he may have, Ellysetta, we’re better off knowing, don’t you think?” He held out his wrist.
She grimaced and placed her fingers on it. “That depends on the answers,” she muttered.
They met the other Fey at the base of the tree. Like Rain, Ellysetta’s quintet had forgone the proffered Elvish attire, and had merely cleaned and buffed their leathers to a glossy black shine and polished their steel until it sparkled diamond-bright. An Elf maiden joined them and, with a smile and a melodic command for them to follow her, she led Ellysetta, Rain, and the warriors down the stair that spiraled around the great Sentinel’s trunk.
They walked across the meadow to a vine-bedecked terrace overhanging one of the crystalline pools in the heart of Navahele. There a wooden table carved from gleaming Sentinel wood awaited, its glossy surface adorned with glittering crystal plates and goblets and heaping platters of aromatic roasted meats, vegetables, and glistening fruits.
Elf maidens with ribboned garlands in their hair stepped forward to offer goblets of chilled golden Elvian wine that smelled of honeyblossoms. Ellysetta accepted a glass with a murmured word of thanks and took an experimental sip. Delicate flavor burst upon her tongue, lightly sweet and very refreshing.
“Beylah vo. It’s delicious,” she told the Elf maid who had proffered the glass.
“We call it elethea, which means sunlight in Elf tongue,” Fanor’s voice explained from behind.
Ellysetta turned to find that Fanor had joined them on the terrace. He’d traded his hunter’s garb for shimmering Elvish splendor: a long tunic that shone alternately moss green and gold when he moved, tied at his waist with a golden belt forged in the shape of leafy vines.
He gestured to the glass of wine in her hand. “It is made of the fruit and blossoms gathered from the highest branches of Navahele’s Sentinel trees.”
As the sun sank below the horizon, music filled the air. The Elves gathered in the meadows and arboreal balconies throughout the city to greet the twilight with soaring arias sung by voices so pure, the sound of them brought tears to Ellysetta’s eyes. The maiden who had led the Fey to the terrace, the Elves waiting to serve them, even the warriors stationed throughout the city: all paused to add their voices to those of their kin and offer up their song to the heavens.
“They sing the alinar,” Fanor told her, “a hymn of thanksgiving for the blessings of the day.”
“It’s beautiful.” Ellysetta closed her eyes as the sound washed over her. The melody struck a chord deep inside, suffusing her senses with quiet joy and a hushed, reverent peace. To hear the Elves of Navahele sing was to hear everything good and lovely in the world transformed into glorious music.
The sun descended below the horizon and the Elvish song came to its end. With unhurried grace, Galad Hawksheart’s people returned to their previous activities.
“That was breathtaking,” Ellysetta said in the ensuing silence. “I think if I ever heard the Lightmaidens of Adelis sing their glorias, they would sound just like that.”
“No matter what else one may say about the Elves, no one can deny the beauty of their song,” Rain agreed.
Fanor bowed. “Alaneth. Thank you for your compliments. One of the highest aims of all Elves is to perfect our song.”
“And yet you did not sing.”
The Elf smiled. “I stand as your host this night. Elvish hospitality forbids me to sing a song you could not also join.”
“Lord Hawksheart will not be joining us, then?” she asked.
“He rarely takes time away from studying the Dance. He will meet with you after you dine. For now, he bids you enjoy the peace and splendor of Navahele.”
All around the forest city, as the rosy warmth of day faded to the dark of night, the soft lights of the damia began to glow, replacing the dying sunlight with a silvery blue beauty, as if the city had been dipped in starlight and moonbeams. Glittering night birds joined a host of smaller, tiny phosphorescent insects that darted amongst the leaves, branches, and vines of the city, until all the city sparkled with magical beauty.
“Come.” Fanor gestured for the Fey to take their seats at the table and partake of the feast that had been prepared for them.
Celieria ~ South of Greatwood
Talisa diSebourne stood in the small, cramped, shadow-filled room of a small posting inn built on the southern fringe of Celieria’s Greatwood forest and stared in growing horror at the tidy double bed tucked against the wall.
Since leaving Celieria City seven days ago, she’d managed to avoid sharing a marital bed with Colum, claiming first a severe travel sickness, then a mysterious ailment that left her vomiting for several days (if her lady’s maid had noted the scent of the gallberry steeped in Talisa’s morning tea, she’d kept her silence), then the genuine affliction of her woman’s time (thank the Bright Lord for his mercy). But now her excuses had come to an end.
Candle lamps cast a flickering golden glow around the room. The inn’s goodwife had rushed to freshen the pillows with a new stuffing of sage and sweet balsam before her noble guests Lord diSebourne and his bride retired for the night.
Upon learning the two were recently wed, the kindly goodwife had done her best to turn the small room into a bridal bower. In addition to the fragrant herbs she’d used to stuff the bed, the well-meaning woman had set out nuptial bouquets of fragrant Brightheart, slender twigs of an evergreen shrub whose soft, pale green needles exuded a divine aroma, mixed with scented wildflowers like the tender Love’s Song, pale pink Blushing Bride, and soft blue Evermore. She’d even laid out a plate of sweetmeats and a bottle of her best pinalle, chilling in a small pewter bucket filled with precious ice chips. “To wish the happy couple joy,” she’d said with a smile as she’d backed out of the room and left them alone.
Her kindly efforts had only rubbed salt in the open wounds scoring Talisa’s heart.
Talisa clasped her hands together at her waist, her fingers surreptitiously clutching the edges of her robe with tense desperation as she turned to the man she’d wed. “Colum, please. I just need a little more time.”
He laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “Time? I doubt there’s enough time in all the world to make you want me again instead of him. Not that you ever did.”
“Colum…”
“I’m not a fool, Talisa. You wed me on the day of your twenty-fifth birthday because the one you really wanted never came. And I accepted that, because I knew if you gave me a chance, I could make you happy.” His voice cracked on the last word. He caught himself quickly, lips pressing together in a thin, bloodless line.
“Oh, Colum.” She stepped towards him, hands outstretched in instinctive sympathy. He’d been her friend long before he’d been her husband, always a tad too prideful and arrogant, thanks to his father’s predilection for the trappings of power and nobility, but dear to her nonetheless. He was the boy who’d spent his summers running with her brothers across the rolling hills outside of Kreppes on their families’ neighboring country estates. The lad who’d blushingly offered her a bouquet of wilted Evermore by the banks of the Heras River. The man who’d proposed on her seventeenth birthday, then waited patiently another eight years for her acceptance.
Now, he was the husband who flinched from her sympathy and stepped back to avoid her touch. “I love you.” The declaration was spat from his lips, more accusation than vow. “Do you know how many women have begged me to say that to them?”
She withdrew her hands. “Then perhaps you should have. Colum, I was never less than honest with you.”
He laughed bitterly. “Of course you weren’t. You’re far too noble to mislead a man with sweet lies. But not too noble to marry a man you don’t love to spare your family shame.”
It was her turn to flinch. The barb stung because it was so despicably true, but that didn’t stop her from exclaiming in outrage, “How dare you throw that in my face, Colum?
You not only knew my reasons for accepting your suit, you counted on them to convince me to say yes. Don’t bemoan the bitterness of the bargain when you set the terms!”
As soon as the sharp words flew off her tongue, she wished she could have called them back. Colum’s temper had an ugly edge, and though he was usually careful to hide the worst of it from her, she knew better than to prod him into a rage.
He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing her by the upper arms and shaking her so hard the pins in her hair fell out and her curls tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. “I bargained for a wife, not some Fey’s whore who’ll take my name and title, then lock her legs against me. You want to talk about bargains?” He shook her again. “You made a bargain, too, Lady diSebourne. Before your family, a priest, and half the nobles of the northern lands, you swore an oath to be my wife, and by the gods you are going to honor your word.”
With a snarl of rage, he threw her on the bed. The bed frame knocked the night table and sent the bucket of ice chips and the bottle of pinalle crashing to the floor. Talisa rolled across the bed to the side opposite Colum. He lunged for her, but she evaded him, snatching up the candle lamp and raising it like a weapon as she backed towards the open window.
Her teeth bared in a smaller, more feminine version of her father’s wolfish snarl. “Do this and I’ll loathe you forever, Colum diSebourne,” she hissed. “You’ll never have anything of me that you don’t take by force. Never!”
For one dreadful moment, she thought he might take what he wanted anyway; but then, with a bitter oath, he spun away and stalked to the opposite side of the room, his chest heaving, his fists clenched.
“Gods, Talisa, you drive me mad.” For a moment, the boy who’d been her friend was there in his voice, hurt and lonely, too proud to ask for the kindness his heart ached for. “This isn’t what I want between us. I want what we had before he came.”
When they’d first wed, before Adrial had come into their lives, she’d shared Colum’s bed, if not with joy, at least with loving friendship. Now even the thought of that was more than she could bear. “Colum…I’m sorry….”
“As am I.” He drew a deep breath and his shoulders squared. “But you’re my wife, and you’re going to honor your vows.”
Before he could expand on that, a knock sounded at the door, and the muffled voice of Talisa’s brother Luce called, “Is everything all right in there? We heard a crash.”
Without taking his eyes from her, Colum called, “We’re fine, Luce. Your sister just knocked something over.”
“Ah. You all right, Tallie?”
Talisa clutched her robe tight. “I’m fine, Luce,” she called, but she didn’t lower the candle lamp still clutched like a weapon in her hand. “Colum and I were just…roughhousing.”
“Ah. Well, keep it down, would you? Parsi, Sev, and I have the room next door, and we’re turning in for the night. You know how cranky Sev gets when he doesn’t get his beauty sleep.”
Clomping boots marched down the hallway, and a door opened and closed. Then the sound of cheerful whistling filtered through the thin walls, accompanied by the voices of each of her brothers calling, “Good night, Colum. Good night, Tallie.”
“It seems your brothers are determined to afford you the time you say you need,” Colum observed with a bitter sneer. “Very well, then. You shall have it. We reach Kreppes in a week. I suggest you use that time to forget about your Fey lover.” Colum’s gray eyes, which at times could seem soft as doves, glittered like hot steel coins still glowing from the red-orange flames of the forge. “Because, one way or another, Lady diSebourne, our estrangement ends your first night on Sebourne land.”
He stalked from the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him. He closed it with very deliberate calm. Somehow, that seemed worse. Talisa sat there in silence, dragging air into her lungs as shock set her body trembling and tears burned her eyes.
She covered her face with shaking hands. A gasping sob burst from her throat and the tears fell from her eyes like hot rain. Oh, gods, what am I going to do?
In the woods a mile away from the Celierian inn, Adrial vel Arquinas fought his brother Rowan’s hold. “Let me go, scorch you!”
“And let you slit the rultshart’s throat?” Rowan snarled back. “Flamed if I will!” He shook his brother hard, hoping to shake some sense into the shei’tanitsa-crazed madness of his mind. “Don’t you remember what Rain said? You can’t touch diSebourne. You sure as hell can’t kill him. You do, and you start a damned war.”
“He’s frightening her!” Adrial howled.
And for that Rowan wanted to slit the miserable maggot’s throat himself. No warrior worth his steel could watch another Fey’s mate suffer abuse without feeling the surge of killing Rage all Fey called the tairen rising in their souls. Though only the rarest and most powerful Fey, masters of all five magics, would ever see his tairen sprout wings and spout flame, that didn’t lessen the fierce, predatory killing instincts of the rest of them.
Rowan’s jaw clenched tight and only his desperate hold on his brother kept him from reaching for steel himself. Fire, Rowan’s own strongest magic, kindled in his eyes. Blessed gods, he ached to teach that spoiled, spineless rultshart diSebourne a scorching lesson about respecting women.
“Talisa!” Adrial cried out. Wild, whirling cones of Air spun around him, shredding leaves and branches from the nearby trees, while overhead a strong wind howled across the forest canopy. “She’s crying, Rowan.” His lips drew back in a snarl, brown eyes flaring bright with deadly magic. “He laid hands on her. If he does it again, I’ll kill him. War or no flaming war.”
“He’s her husband, Adrial,” Rowan reminded him. “To his mind, he has the right to lay hands on her.” Up until now, they’d been lucky. Talisa had managed to keep her husband at bay, but it was clear that brief blessing had ended. Rowan closed his eyes, offering up a quick plea for strength. Ah, gods, what a tangle.
Adrial’s body suddenly went limp and sagged in Rowan’s arms. Alarmed, Rowan loosened his tight grip on his brother. “Adrial?”
The blast of Air caught him off balance. He flung his arms out instinctively as his body flew backwards into the trees. As he tumbled, he saw his brother racing towards the Celierian inn.
«Adrial!» he cried. “Krekk!” He grunted as his body slammed into the trees and slid to the ground. By the time he cleared his head enough to follow, Adrial was gone.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Talisa turned to face Adrial as he slid his leather-clad legs over the sill of her open bedchamber window.
“Here is the only place in the world I should be.” The creaky slats of the inn’s wooden floor didn’t make a sound as Adrial crossed the room to sit beside her. When he drew her into his arms, she didn’t protest, but instead pressed her face into his throat and began weeping softly. For those tears alone, he could kill diSebourne without a qualm. If diSebourne hadn’t gone downstairs to cool his temper in a pint of ale…
“Oh, Adrial…what are we going to do? I don’t know how I can bear to let him touch me when the only man I want is you.”
He stroked her dark, tumbled hair. “He isn’t going to touch you. Not ever again.” His lips found the soft skin of her temple, her damp eyelids, the tender fullness of her mouth.
She pulled back. “Adrial…no, this is wrong.”
“Nei, shei’tani, finally, this is right.” Holding her gaze, he lowered his lips again and kissed her. Softly at first, delicate brushes of his lips against hers, tiny nibbling kisses, tasting her lips with the tip of his tongue. Soft kisses deepened with increasing ardor as she began to kiss him back. She tasted like light and joy, like hope and peace and happiness and all the sweet, secret dreams of his heart.
And as her arms lifted to wrap around his neck, he knew he would kill any man who tried to keep her from him.
Colum diSebourne clutched the stair rail tight and concentrated on planting his heavy, uncooperative feet squarely in the center of
the stair treads. He took pride in being a man who could hold his liquor, but that last round of whiskeyed ales had nearly dropped him.
With the company in the inn’s small pub so much warmer than the reception awaiting him upstairs, Colum had not objected when the first celebratory round had turned into another. Somewhere after five, he’d lost the ability to count.
He reached the landing and clutched the wall to keep from falling back down the stairs he’d just climbed. Five more staggering steps brought him to the door of his room.
He wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened the door, but the sight of Talisa sleeping in the flickering candlelight made him squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden burn of tears. She was so beautiful. He’d loved her since he’d first laid eyes upon her as a boy, and his father had always promised she would be his. He’d never wanted anything more than he wanted Talisa, never known a longing so deep. Yet now she was his wife, and his dreams of the life they would have together had turned to bitter gall.
He took a ragged breath and began shrugging out of his clothes. Drink made his hands and legs unsteady and he nearly fell several times, but finally he managed to strip and climb naked into the bed beside his wife.
The sweet, warm scent of her dizzied his inebriated senses, and when he pressed his body against her back and cupped her small, round breast through the thin silk of her nightgown, she awoke with a soft sigh. He held his breath as she turned in his arms, and her lovely eyes, large and dark as a doe’s, blinked up at him.
“Colum,” she whispered. Her arms slid around his neck, and her petal-soft lips parted for his kiss.
Outside, on the rooftop just above the bedchamber window, a lavender glow of magic swirled as the Fey Spirit master spun his weave, while behind him in the darkness of the forest, Adrial vel Arquinas and his shei’tani slipped silently away.