Chapter Five #5
“He warned me they would feel shame if they hurt me; but, Bel, you were rasa, and I healed you without a twinge of pain.”
“The glamour that hid your abilities must also have buffered your empathic senses. And you had built hundreds of Spirit weaves
on top of that, which provided further protection. But both that barrier and those Spirit weaves are gone now. You will feel
the warriors’ pain almost as strongly as you felt Gaelen’s when you laid hands upon him. We cannot let you do this.”
“You’re assuming that without any proof that it’s true.”
“I was there the night you restored Gaelen’s soul,” he reminded her. “I saw what happened to you, and I remember the way you
could hear everyone’s thoughts and feel their emotions so strongly after Marissya unraveled your Spirit weaves.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m going to do this, Bel. With or without your approval. I need to do this.”
“You’re asking me—us,” he corrected with a quick glance at Gaelen, “to betray our bloodsworn oaths to protect you from all
harm. Tell her, Gaelen. We cannot let her do this.”
For a moment, Gaelen said nothing. He merely stood with catlike stillness and regarded her from pale, glowing eyes, his face
expressionless. “She is the Feyreisa,” he said at last. “And we are the warriors bound by lute’asheiva to serve and protect her in every way we can. We do not command her, vel Jelani. We are hers to command. If she says she
must do this thing, then we must help her do it.”
“Don’t be a fool!” Bel exclaimed. “If she wanted to jump to her death, would you have us give her a shove? Simply touching
them will hurt her! You know that.”
Ellysetta caught his hand, and Bel went still. His dark brows were drawn tight, his cobalt eyes glowing like blue flames in
the dark. “I’m a shei’dalin, Bel. Whether you like it or not, pain has become an inescapable part of my life. You can’t protect me from that.”
“Ellysetta—”
“Shh.” She reached up to take his face in her hands. “You are my friend. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own brother.
But I need to do this. Don’t you see? It hurts me more to feel their pain and do nothing. I know I can heal them. It’s the
one thing I know I can do.”
“But—”
“Teska. Please.”
His eyes closed in defeat, and he gave a reluctant nod.
“Doreh shabeila de. If this is your choice, I will stand beside you.”
“Beylah vo, Bel.”
“You want to do what?” Tajik vel Sibboreh looked aghast. He speared Bel with a glance. “And you aid her? It is madness! Not
even Marissya can touch the rasa without pain.”
“She is not Marissya,” Bel said. “The Feyreisa’s abilities go so far beyond what we expect from a shei’dalin—even from one as powerful as Marissya—there is no comparison. And I aid her because I am her lu’tan, her bloodsworn champion, and she says she must do this.”
“Nei, it is out of the question. Honor is all the rasa have left. You cannot take that from them.” The general had changed back into his leathers and steel for night watch on the
wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers close to the silk-wrapped hilts of his Fey’cha.
“Vel Sibboreh,” Gaelen interrupted, “how long has it been since last a shei’dalin laid hands on you except to heal a mortal wound?”
Tajik’s jaw went hard as a rock, his eyes flinty. “Far longer than for most of them. I nearly lost my soul in the Mage Wars
when my sister was taken. I serve here because I am the last of my line, and the Massan does not want to lose yet another
of the ancient bloodlines.”
Ellysetta stepped forward. “Then let me offer my first blessing to you, so you may see for yourself that I can do this.”
“What? Nei! I will not. Of course I will not! It’s out of the question.”
She regarded him steadily, with far more patience than she was feeling. “Ser vel Sibboreh . . . Tajik . . . if another shei’dalin were standing right here where I am, what would she be feeling?”
“A measure of what I feel myself. Pain, torment. Despair.” Shame crossed his face. “Enough to make all but the strongest among
them weep, despite my efforts to keep my emotions in check.”
“And yet I am not weeping. I feel your sorrow and your pain, but by far the greater wound comes from sensing your hurt and
not being allowed to heal it.” She shook back the cuffs of her robes and reached out to him. “Give me your hands.” She looked
deep into his eyes, trying to infuse her gaze with a measure of the command Rain wielded so readily. “Teska.”
“Trust your Feyreisa, vel Sibboreh,” Gaelen murmured.
“Do as she asks, Tajik,” Bel added.
With obvious reluctance, Tajik lifted his hands and held them out to her. He did not let his skin touch hers. He just held
his hands, hovering, over hers until she reached up to grasp his fingers.
The instant her skin touched his, a wave of pain smashed into her. The force of it caught her by surprise and actually rocked
her back on her heels. Good sweet Lord of Light! How can he bear to live with such torment? How had she managed to heal Bel the way she’d done without feeling even the slightest twinge of pain when she’d touched him?
A rumbling growl stirred at the edge of her consciousness. Rain was waking. Quickly, she flung up a barrier to try to stifle
the pain and keep it from flowing down the bondthreads linking them together. The last thing she wanted was for Rain to discover
what she was doing. He would be furious.
“Sieks’ta, sieks’ta.” Horror stamped Tajik’s face. “Release me, Feyreisa, I beg you.” The Fey general tried to pull away, but Ellysetta kept her
grip closed tight.
“Ellysetta, listen to him,” Bel urged. “Let go before you hurt yourself.”
“Nei, I’m all right. Please, just give me a moment.”
A hand closed around her shoulder. Gaelen. ?Is it too much, kem’falla?? He was a cool, steady anchor of strength.
She sucked in a deep breath. ?It’s worse than I expected,? she admitted. Her back teeth were ground tight together, and fine tremors shook her limbs. Merciful gods, touching Tajik
hurt! ?I don’t understand this.?
?I think Bel may have been more right than either of us knew. Take what you can from me and use it to shield yourself.? Along with the offer came a rapid series of instructions woven on Spirit.
She latched onto the power Gaelen offered as if it were a lifeline. As her mind processed the instructions in his weave, her
body was already instinctively following the commands, absorbing a portion of his strength into her own body and allowing
a little of Tajik’s pain to flow out along the same path.
Gaelen gave a quiet hiss, quickly stifled. ?Perhaps you should release him.?
Ignoring him, Ellysetta gritted her teeth and tried to shake off the worst of the pain. Why was she sensing it so strongly
when she never had before? Was this what most Fey women felt when they touched the rasa?
Gods save them, she hadn’t understood. No wonder the warriors were so fiercely protective of them.
And no wonder the rasa clung to the fringes of their society and tried to avoid contact with the women of their kind.
Her kind, now, she reminded herself. One thing that awful day in the cathedral had taught her for certain was that she was Fey,
not Celierian.
And she would not—could not—participate in this abandonment of the brave men who had sacrificed their own happiness and the peace of their souls defending the Fading Lands.
?Ellysetta, let him go now,? Bel insisted. ?If you don’t, I will call Rain.?
Her eyes flashed. Her lips drew back in a snarl. “Tairen do not abandon their kin. Tairen defend the pride. Either help me
or leave.”
Bel’s face went blank with shock. Beside him, Tajik’s did too. Good. They both needed a shock to jolt them out of their blind acceptance of senseless customs. They were so certain the ways of
the past could never change, they did not even want to try.
Ellysetta wasn’t so ready to accept defeat. These people, these Fey, were hers now. Her people. Her family. Her pride. She
would protect them. She would heal their pain.
“Take her other shoulder, Bel,” Gaelen snapped. “She can use the lute’asheiva bond to draw upon our strength and wield it as her own.”
Bel hurried to comply. “Kem’falla, has Gaelen shown you how to—” His voice broke off, then resumed in a slightly hoarse but rueful tone. “Ah . . . I see that
he has.”
The moment Bel touched Ellysetta, a fresh burst of renewing strength flooded into her. She responded with the ravenous, near-desperate
consumption of a parched man finding an oasis in the middle of a desert, drinking in as much of the vibrant power as she could
hold, then reaching out yet again, searching for more.
It came in a sudden rush, bright and blazing. And furious.
Tajik’s face went white. Bel and Gaelen both went stiff as boards. Ellysetta didn’t need to turn to know the source of that
power was standing right behind her.
Rain.