Lord of the Fading Lands (4 page)

Beneath the revulsion and feeling of helplessness, a darker emotion burst into smoldering life. A wild, fierce anger. Her skin flashed hot and tingling, drawing tight as if something inside her flesh were struggling to get out.

Terror grabbed her by the throat as the room began to tremble.

Two hundred miles away, beside a campfire burning in the chilly night, Rain Tairen Soul felt a woman's emotions stab into him. Fear. Outrage. Desperation. He leapt to his feet, his nostrils flaring as if he could scent the emotions on the wind. His mind raced to find their path, to identify their source.

Another wave of feelings arrowed into him. Revulsion. Rage. Then stark terror. A wordless cry screamed in his mind. She was calling out to him. She was afraid, and he was not there to protect her. He flung himself from the ground into the sky, flashing instantly into tairen-form. Flames scorched the night sky and his roar of fury rent the air as he followed the path of the mind that called out to him in fear.

But then, as suddenly as the call had come, it fell silent. Confused by the abrupt termination of the connection, Rain faltered in mid flight. His fury was still there. Licks of flame still curled from his muzzle and venom pooled in the reservoirs in his fangs, but his rage had lost its focus. The woman's fear and desperation were gone, no longer fueling his wrath. Banking right, he circled the sky and reached out with his mind, trying to find the one who had called. He found nothing but silence and the worried calls of the Fey warriors he'd left behind. Then the even more worried call of Marissya.

The warriors he might have ignored, but not Marissya. All Fey men were bound to protect the females of their race, even from worry.

«Rain?» Marissya didn't try to hide the concern in her mental voice. She was a mere century older than Rain, had known him all his life. She was his friend. '
What happened?»

«She called out to me. She was afraid.»

«Who?”

He hesitated.
«I don't know.»
Keen tairen eyes pierced the night. Far away in the distance, he saw the glow of Celieria.
«But I'm going to find out.»
He dipped one wing and banked again, heading towards the city in the distance.

Ellie sat at the dinner table and couldn't stomach the thought of putting food in her mouth. The terrifying anger and the disturbing sensation in her skin had passed almost as quickly as they'd come, with none but Ellie the wiser. Though she could have sworn the parlor had actually trembled, no one else appeared to have sensed it. Was she going mad? Had the demons that had haunted her youth found a different, more subtle way to work their evil on her?

Ellie knew not to let herself get upset. All her life, she'd worked to keep her emotions in check lest she accidentally trigger another seizure. She forced herself to take deep, even breaths, and filled her mind with calming thoughts.

Still, as she glanced at her mother from beneath her lashes, she couldn't quell a spurt of anger and resentment as Lauriana made pleasant small talk—small talk!—with Den Brodson. How could Mama even contemplate wedding Ellie to that odious
rultshart?

Did Mama know what Den had been doing in the parlor? She must have known. She'd made a series of intentionally loud noises before coming back in. What had that been all about except to let Den know he should stop his assault on Ellie? He had, thank the gods. With a final wet kiss and a last painful squeeze of her breast, Den had released her and said, "You'll do, Ellie." As if she were a haunch of beef he was approving from the slaughterhouse.

Ellie's relief at being freed had rapidly turned into a sense of betrayal. How could Mama know what Den had been doing and not be outraged? Surely Mama didn't know about that awful pink slug of a tongue.

Outrage and resentment clashed inside her. She was not going to marry Den Brodson. Not now. Not ever. Anger flared, quick and hot.

Suddenly there was a feeling in her mind. A probing touch, as if someone or something was trying to reach inside her head. She had a distant sense of scarcely banked fury and a stronger sense of something powerful rushing towards her with grim purpose.

Ellie's spoon clattered to the table. Everyone looked at her in surprise.

"Ellie?" Papa's brown eyes radiated concern. "Are you all right, kit?”

She put a shaking hand to her head. "I—I think so, Papa." The feeling was gone. Had it been her imagination? Another sign of impending madness? She forced a wan smile and tugged at the neck of her chemise. "I mean, yes. I'm fine. Just a little tired.”

"What's that on your neck?" Lorelle was staring at the spot where Den had bitten Ellie's neck, the spot that Ellie had unwittingly just revealed.

In an instant, everyone was staring at Ellie's neck. Embarrassed, she clapped a hand over the spot. She hadn't looked in a mirror. Had Den left a mark on her?

Apparently so, because her father was now staring hard at Den. That shameless
klat
just smiled his smug smile and met her papa's gaze straight on. Mama's eyes darted from her husband to her daughter's suitor. There was a look in Mama's eyes that made Ellie's heart stutter. Embarrassment faded—even fear of what was happening to her faded—as worry slithered up Ellie's spine.

"Girls," Papa said. Ellie had never heard his voice sound so emotionless, so hard. "Go to your rooms." The twins jumped to their feet and scurried out. "You, too, Ellysetta." He didn't look at her, didn't take his unblinking gaze from Den's.

Ellie did not immediately obey. Did her parents not know what Den had done to her, after all? Was it possible that they hadn't left her alone with him in the parlor for that very reason?

"
_Papa?
”

"Go!" he barked, and Ellie all but fell over herself rushing from the room. She raced for the stairs and took them two at a time, not slowing down until she was ensconced in the safety of her small bedroom.

Needing to know exactly what sort of mark Den had left on her, she went to the small dressing table tucked in the corner of her room. Her fingers shook as she struck a match and lit the oil lamp on the table. Soft golden light filled the room. Ellie leaned close to the mirror, tugging the neck of her chemise to one side to reveal a small, dark, oval mark at the base of her throat. In the golden glow of lamplight, the mark looked like a smudge of soot. She rubbed at it, but it didn't come off. She felt invaded somehow, violated, and suddenly very afraid of what was going on downstairs.

She sat on the edge of her bed, and waited. She didn't know how long she sat there. It seemed like bells before she heard the creak of the stairs and the slow clomp, clomp of her father's boots. She rushed to her bedroom door and pulled it open. "
_Papa?
"

There was disappointment and sadness in his eyes when he looked at her. "Go to bed, Ellysetta. It's getting late." He looked tired and worn. Old.

"But, Papa ... about Den." What could she say? She couldn't very well tell her father about the embarrassing things he'd done to her. "I … I know Mama thinks he's a good match, but, Papa … I don't like him. Please, I don't want to marry him.”

Her father stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and turned away. "Go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow”

"But, Papa—”

He just continued walking down the hall and into his room, closing his bedroom door behind him.

Ellie returned to her own room and undressed in shadowy darkness, hanging the green gown and her mother's chemise in the small wardrobe resting against the wall. She didn't want to wear either of them again as long as she lived.

After donning a cotton nightdress, she sat down beside the window and unpinned her hair. It spilled down her back in long, springy coils. Brushing it with steady strokes, she stared out at the night sky. Both the large moon called the Mother and the small moon called the Daughter were three-quarters full. It was a bright night.

Please,
she prayed silently, fervently, hoping the Celierian gods would hear her.
Please send me someone else. Anyone else but Den.
She laid the brush in its place on her dressing table and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes.

She didn't see the shadow fall across her room as the light from the Mother was blotted out by a large black tairen winging through the night. She didn't see the lavender eyes, glowing like beacons, turn their light upon the rooftops of Celieria. Searching. Seeking.

Beautifully and fearfully wrought, by dread magic splendored,

With passion's fire his soul does burn, in sorrow his name he whispered.

—from the epic poem
Rainier's Song

Celieria's main thoroughfare was already lined four deep when Ellie and the twins arrived at seven the next morning. News that the Tairen Soul himself would be coming had raced like wildfire through the city, and Ellie was convinced that before ten bells every man, woman, and child in the city would be lining the streets to ogle the legendary Feyreisen, Rain Tairen Soul, the man-beast who had once almost destroyed the world.

She began searching for a place from which to watch the forthcoming spectacle. About halfway between the city gates and the royal palace, she found a grassy knoll bordering one of the city's many small parks. From atop the knoll, the children would have an unimpeded view of the Fey procession.

Sending the twins off to play while they waited for the procession to begin, Ellie spread her brown skirts and sat down without a care for grass stains or the morning dew that dampened her dress. Her mind was still chasing itself in circles, worrying over what had passed between Den and her parents last night. She still didn't know Papa had been gone when she came downstairs for breakfast, and Mama had told her they would talk after she returned from the Fey procession. Ellie couldn't shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen.

Her sleep had been tormented by more dreams. Not the familiar, violent dreams of blood and death or the dark, malevolent nightmares that had haunted her most of her life, but new, frightening dreams of fiery anger and pale purple eyes, of a soundless voice that called to her, demanding that she reply. She remembered tossing and turning, remembered trying to block out those eyes and that insistent voice. Not until close to dawn had she finally found peace.

Now, staring up at the bright blue morning sky, with the Great Sun glowing like a huge golden ball, she could almost pretend that the dreams were nothing more than her imagination running wild … that worry about the situation with Den was to blame ... that everything would be all right and life would return to its pleasant, comfortable routine.

She didn't believe it for a moment.

Twenty miles outside the city, two hundred Fey warriors and one Fey Lord traveled at a fast lope down the broad road that cut a swath through the Celierian landscape of lush fields dotted by small villages Farmers and villagers bordered the road in small groups, having come with their families as they always did to see the immortal Fey run past. This year, however, their attention was directed not at the road, but overhead, where Marissya v'En Solande rode the wind on the back of a massive black tairen—the infamous Rain Tairen Soul himself.

The Fey warriors had broken camp three bells before dawn and resumed their trek to Celieria at a fast clip. Marissya had run with them until Rain returned just as the Great Sun began to light the sky; then she continued the journey on tairen-back, allowing the warriors to resume their normal, easily sustainable run. They had traversed the next seventy miles in just under three bells. Everyone knew that something had disturbed Rain the night before and that he had gone in search of the source of the disturbance. But he had not spoken of it since his return, and not even Marissya could get him to talk.

When they neared the city, Rain landed, lowered Marissya to the ground, and shifted back into Fey form. He paced restlessly as Marissya and the Fey prepared themselves for their ceremonial entrance into the city.

Marissya shed her brown traveling leathers for a red gown that covered her from chin to toe and a stiff-brimmed hat draped with a thick red veil that covered her face. Her waist- length dark hair was braided and tucked out of sight. The garb would have been hot and stifling had her truemate, Dax, not woven a cool web of Air around her. Marissya was a
shei'dalin,
a powerful Fey healer and Truthspeaker, and none who were not Fey or kin were permitted to look upon her outside of council.

All around Marissya, two hundred Fey warriors donned gleaming black leathers and spent at least half a bell polishing and re-sheathing the scores of blades each warrior wore when he left the Fading Lands. Her mate, Dax, clad in the dark red leathers of a truemated Fey Lord, tended his own weapons with similar care. Though he was no longer of the warrior class—no Fey Lord was permitted to put his mate at risk by continuing to dance with knives—his blades would always stand between her and danger.

Marissya finished her physical preparations long before the men, and she went to join Rain. It had been many years since she'd seen him in such a state. He was restless, edgy, pacing back and forth with short, rapid steps. There was so much power in him, so scarcely contained that a shining aura surrounded him, flashing continuously with tiny sparks. His eyes glowed fever-bright. His nostrils quivered as if he were an animal scenting something in the air that set him on edge. If he'd been in tairen form, he would have been spouting flame. He was still in control of himself—she and all the Fey would have known if he were not—but he was in a high state of agitation, and that did not bode well for the long day ahead. She knew better than to touch him—one didn't touch raw power without receiving a shock. Instead, she reached out to him on their private mental path, the one they had forged centuries ago in friendship.
«Rain, be calm.»
She sent a soothing wave of reassurance along with the words, not surprised when he shrugged it off and continued pacing.

«She is there. For a moment last night I was in her mind; then I lost her again.»
Frustration boiled through the link.

«Who, Rain? Who is there?”

He snapped around, eyes flashing. His long, elegant hands clenched and unclenched. His chest heaved. He was angry and frustrated, yes, but now Marissya realized it was more than that.

«She
is.»
he snapped.
«She! The one!»
And then, the one word she was sure to understand. The one word that explained everything. He shouted it out loud:
"Shei'tani!”

There was a sudden clattering whoosh of sound followed by absolute silence as two hundred Fey warriors jerked around to stare at their king in stunned disbelief.

Marissya's breath left her in an astonished gasp.
«But that cannot be.”

«It can be nothing else.”

The tumult of Rain's emotions blasted over their mental link, and Marissya stumbled back in shock, recognizing those feelings for exactly what they were. Her mind reached instinctively for Dax, her own truemate, sharing the shocking truth of Rain's emotions with him.

Their gazes met across the distance, and as one they turned to look at their king.

He was pacing restlessly once more. Every few moments his head turned towards Celieria and the power in him burned a little brighter. They both knew the instincts driving him, knew that because he was the Tairen Soul those instincts would be far more intense and far harder to control, fueled by Fey and tairen passions combined. If they weren't very careful, the coming days could end in disaster.
* * *