Chapter Five #4
After the meal, two dozen Fey took up flutes and stringed lutars to fill the night with music. And Ellysetta discovered that
the warriors of the Fey sang as masterfully as they wove magic and wielded steel. The haunting beauty of their voices rose
in soaring, crystalline swells interwoven with multiple complex harmonies, and made her want to laugh and weep all at once.
Following a rousing rendition of “Ten Thousand Swords,” which the entire gathering of warriors joined in singing, the Fey made their way by the score to the front of the room.
There, one after another, they approached the head table to greet Ellysetta and Rain, offer well wishes for the speedy completion of their truemate bond, and kneel before Marissya and the other shei’dalins to receive their blessings.
Ellysetta noted a large group of warriors at the back of the hall—Tajik vel Sibboreh among them—who did not join the others
in approaching the front table where the women sat. The aura of somberness about them caught Ellysetta’s attention and would
not let go. They sang with the other Fey, but their smiles were not so frequent, and their laughter was quietly subdued.
“Rain, who are those warriors?”
Rain followed her gaze. “Those are the rasa. They are as Bel was before you made his heart weep again.”
Ellysetta’s heart contracted. She remembered how Bel had been when she’d first met him: his eyes full of shadows and pain,
the careful way he had avoided meeting her gaze for more than a few brief moments at a time, the sorrow that hung about him
like a shroud.
“Why are they not coming forward to receive a shei’dalin blessing?”
“They have seen too many battles and carry the weight of too many souls upon theirs. The shei’dalins cannot lay hands upon them without sharing their pain, so our women do not touch them except to heal mortal wounds.”
“That isn’t fair,” Ellysetta muttered, frowning at the solitary warriors.
“Little in life ever is, shei’tani,” Rain replied. “But it is the Fey way, and all Fey warriors accept that life is a dance of duty, honor, and sacrifice.”
It was the one aspect of Fey culture that her heart railed against. Those men, those warriors, had sacrificed so much for
their country, and ultimately, if they could not find their own truemates, they would have to choose sheisan’dahlein, the honor death, or they would slip down the Dark Path and become dahl’reisen, banished forever from the beauty of the Fading Lands.
There wasn’t even any guarantee a truemate existed for them—only the hope that if a Fey were honorable enough, worthy enough, the gods would eventually create and set in his path the one woman whose soul could call his own.
But most Fey died before ever seeing that dream come to fruition.
Her fingers tightened, the nails digging into her palms. Ever since she’d been small, the call to heal those in pain had been
a powerful urge. Those Fey were hurting. She could feel their pain pricking her senses like small, sharp knives.
Ellysetta pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “Shei’tani?” Rain rose to his feet as well, a frown furrowing his brow.
“I’m going to talk to them.”
His hand caught her wrist. “Just talk?”
He was coming to know her a little too well. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “Perhaps offer them a shei’dalin’s blessing,” she admitted.
“Nei, you must not touch them,” he commanded. When she set her jaw, he explained on a low throb of Spirit, ?Though you mean well, your offer would shame them. You would force them to hurt you by refusing your gift, or hurt you by
causing you pain with their touch. Either way, their hearts would bleed with remorse.?
Scowling, Ellysetta sat back down. She knew that if she went over to the rasa, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from trying to heal them. Earlier, the music and the joyful celebration had masked
their pain, but now the rasa’s torment—and her own urge to lessen it—beat at her.
“Beylah vo, shei’tani,” Rain murmured.
“Don’t thank me for letting them suffer.”
He laid his hand over hers. “That is not why I thanked you.”
Many bells after the last song was sung and the last warrior sought his bed, Ellysetta lay beside Rain, staring up at the ceiling overhead, unable to sleep.
She was tired beyond measure, but she could not stop thinking about those Fey, the rasa.
She hated the thought of their living here in semiexile without so much as the comfort of an embrace or a loving hand touching
theirs to wish them gods’ mercy and a safe return when they headed into battle.
No man, not even a Fey warrior trained to fight since birth, should have to watch other Fey receive the shei’dalin blessings and warmth he was denied.
She rose from the bed, pulled on a robe, and cast a glance over her shoulder. Rain was sleeping. The long journey from Celieria
City, the magic he’d spun to help restore Teleon to its former glory, and the exhaustion of today’s trials in the Mists had
finally taken their toll. He hadn’t stirred.
If she wanted to do this, now was the time.
She started for the door, then froze when he shifted on the bed. He would not be happy if he woke to find her gone.
He would be even less happy when he found out what she’d done.
Ellysetta stood there, wavering, but soon, the throb of the warriors’ pain began beating at her again. She drew her robe more
snugly about her and tightened the sash. Tomorrow she and Rain would fly to Fey’Bahren in the hope that she could save the
tairen. Neither of them knew if she really could.
But healing souls was something she already knew she could do. She still didn’t understand how she did it, but she could.
And Ellysetta was not the kind of woman who could ever stand by and witness the suffering of another without offering aid.
The rasa were in pain. She was going to heal them.
With careful silence, Ellysetta opened the bedchamber door and slipped through.
Downstairs, Chatok’s main hall was now carpeted with the bodies of sleeping Fey.
Ellysetta tiptoed through their midst, navigating the maze of booted feet and tousled heads, her robes hiked up so the trailing cloth would not brush against the sleeping warriors and wake them.
A few stirred as she passed, but most continued to sleep soundly.
She started down the corridor that led to the bailey. Halfway to the massive doors guarding the keep, a strange whisper of
awareness brushed across her senses. She was not alone. She stopped and turned to look down the long, shadowy corridor, illuminated
by the flickering glow of candlelit sconces burning dimly every tairen length. She couldn’t see anyone, not even with the
added help of Fey vision.
But she could feel them. Both of them.
“Gaelen, Bel, I know you’re there. Show yourselves.”
A moment later, a lavender glow lit the darkness, and her two bloodsworn champions shimmered into sight.
“How did you detect us?” Gaelen asked. “It was vel Jelani, wasn’t it? His weave wasn’t tight enough.”
Bel stiffened, his cobalt eyes narrowing. “I spun my weave exactly as you showed me,” he objected. “If any imperfection existed—which
I doubt—the fault lies in your instruction, not my execution.”
“It wasn’t the weave,” Ellysetta said. “And how did you manage to hide yourselves even from Fey eyes? That was what you did,
wasn’t it?”
Gaelen shrugged. “A little trick the dahl’reisen have learned over the years. Many Eld weave Spirit too, so we’ve had to learn to mask the signature of our magic even from
those to whom the flows would normally be visible.”
“A useful talent.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Most useful,” he agreed. “It’s saved my life on at least half a dozen occasions.”
Ellysetta immediately thought of the men who would be leaving the Fading Lands in the morning, the ones heading north to defend
the borders against the Eld. “Is this something you could teach the other warriors—the ones who are leaving for Celieria?”
“I could teach the strongest Spirit masters among them, aiyah, if there were time,” Gaelen said. “And if they were willing to learn from one who was once dahl’reisen.”
“How much time would you need?”
“I taught vel Jelani in just a few bells, but he was very skilled to begin with.” Bel looked surprised by the compliment,
then quite pleased. “The others might require more practice.”
“I doubt delaying their departure a day or two will do much harm on the borders, but it seems to me that having Fey warriors
trained to hide their presence even from the eyes of a Mage could save many lives.”
“There is still the matter of Fey pride,” Gaelen reminded her. “I was dahl’reisen. Even though you restored my soul, my honor remains tainted. A chatok should be above reproach.”
“Gaelen, you have knowledge and skills the Fey need. Kieran, Kiel, and Bel were willing to learn from you. Why should the
rest of the Fey be any different?”
“They served as your quintet, kem’falla. Their loyalty was to you. But if you recall, even they would not accept instruction from me until you ordered them to do
so.”
Bel interrupted, his cobalt gazed fixed upon Ellysetta. “At the moment, I am more interested in knowing what you are doing
wandering the halls of Chatok alone in the small bells of the night. Where is Rain?”
Ellie blushed. This was not the first time Bel had caught her sneaking out of her bedchamber at night. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Despite her best effort, she couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of her voice. “You know I’ve always liked to walk in the
night when I’m restless. And you told me yourself it would be safe to do so in the Fading Lands.”
“It’s not the walking that concerns me this time, kem’falla. It’s the destination.”
She bit her lip. Rain wasn’t the only one getting to know her too well. “You will not stop me. I have to do this.”
“Ellysetta, did Rain not already forbid you to touch the rasa?”