Chapter Six #3
?Mages? You are certain?? The question came from Gillandaris vel Jendahr, a white-blond, black-eyed Fey who was a scorching artist of death with his
blades. He’d lost both parents, two brothers, and a beloved shei’dalin niece to the Elden Mages. Not even a thousand years had been enough to dull the pain of so great a wound.
?Bel swears it. Three of them attacked the Feyreisa last week.?
Gil’s jaw clenched, and power sparked like stars in his midnight eyes. He dropped to one knee before the Feyreisa and offered her his hands. “May it please the gods, Feyreisa, I accept your offer of healing, that I may defend the Fading Lands and avenge the deaths of those I loved.”
“What is your name?” Ellysetta asked.
He tossed back his head, sending white-blond hair rippling across his black leathers. “I am Gillandaris vel Jendahr, Master
of Air and Earth and Fire, fourth-level talent in Water and Spirit, friend and blade brother of Tajik vel Sibboreh, and former
chadin of the great Shannisorran v’En Celay.” He sent a cool glance in Gaelen’s direction.
“If I restore your soul, Ser vel Jendahr, will you promise not to bloodswear yourself to me in payment? Will you accept my
gift as just that—a gift, freely given?”
Gil’s brows drew together. “Lute’asheiva is a warrior’s right, not a gift for a shei’dalin to allow or deny, no matter her reasons.” Gil had never been a Fey to softpaw around anyone or any subject. He was all warrior,
steel strong, blade sharp, fierce in his beliefs and his willingness to defend them. “Nei, I make no such vow.”
The Feyreisa’s spine stiffened, and for a moment, Tajik thought she might refuse to share her gift. But then her eyes flashed
and she reached out to seize Gil’s hands in a tight grip. Gil’s mouth opened in a soundless gasp. Light blazed around the
Feyreisa, enveloping them both. Bel, Gaelen, and Rain all swore and stepped forward to lend her their strength, but before
they could get close enough, Gil gave a hoarse cry. The light flared with sudden brightness, then winked out. Gil was shaking,
and the Feyreisa looked shocked and unhappy.
“What . . . ? Is that it?” Tajik frowned. Had she chosen not to heal Gil’s soul after all? “Feyreisa, he is a good man. An
honorable warrior, one whose death would be a loss to us all. Teska, heal him that he may defend the Fading Lands for another thousand years to come.”
A voice, hoarse and disbelieving, said quietly, “She did.” Without taking his stunned eyes from hers, Gil reached for his
Fey’cha, pulled black from its protective sheath, and slit his palm on the trembling blade. The words of lute’asheiva spilled from his lips in a torrent. Rain, Tajik, Bel, and Gaelen called witness, and with grim acceptance, the Feyreisa took
the bloodsworn blade from Gil’s hand.
“I do not want this,” she said.
“It is yours all the same, kem’falla.”
“I was angry, and I was not kind.” She looked up from the blade and met his eyes, dark misery in her own. “I hurt you. Sieks’ta. I should have used more care.”
Gil rose to his feet, his white-blond head towering over hers by two handspans. “A buzzfly sting, kem’falla. Gone almost before I felt it.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I suppose I deserved it for defying you. I should have
remembered tairen do not take insolence kindly.”
“Aiyah, you should have,” the Tairen Soul agreed, his voice a low rumble of sound. He laid a hand on the Feyreisa’s shoulder, and
when she turned to look up at him, his face bore an expression of such fierce devotion, Tajik felt his own chest grow tight.
Once he had dreamed of finding a woman in whose eyes he would see the Great Sun rise and set, a woman whose soul would call
to his. He no longer hoped for that in this life, but now, he did dare once more to pray for such a miracle in his next.
Rain sent flows of tairen song to Ellysetta, the melody vibrant with reassurance and pride as it rippled along the threads
of their bond. ?You restored Gil’s soul, shei’tani. I can see you are troubled, but there is no need. Look at him. He is unharmed.?
?Is he?? She looked up, her eyes filled with worry. ?I’m not so sure. I’m not sure I’m all right, for that matter.?
?What do you mean??
?I mean it didn’t feel right, what I just did to Gil. I was angry, Rain.? She bit her lip. ?He defied me and I didn’t like it. I think some part of me actually meant to hurt him.?
She shifted in Rain’s embrace, as if she intended to pull away, but he would not release her. ?Las, Ellysetta. Does he look hurt? Nei, because he is not. He challenged your authority. You showed him your claws. It is
the tairen way.?
?Nei, it’s more than that. The weave felt wrong. Like a sweetness gone sour. It reminded me of when the High Mage set his
Mark upon me.?
?You are imagining things.? He scowled at her, not liking the implication that any part of her magic was similar to the black arts practiced by the High
Mage.
?Am I? Rain, you know part of him is in me, and you know night is the time when I feel it most. What if he’s using the Marks
he put on me to . . . change me?? More than anything, she feared the evil High Mage would use those Mage Marks to corrupt her soul and destroy the Fey. ?What if the power I just used on Gil came from him . . . the Mage??
?Ellysetta, look around you. You’re surrounded by the oldest, most experienced warriors of the Fey. If anything in your weave
was like Eld magic, these warriors would have felt it.? He reached out to brush a tumbling lock of hair from her face. ?You didn’t hurt Gil; you restored his soul. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not happy that you’ve chosen to heal the rasa—and I’m
certainly not encouraging you to continue—but I won’t let you see Mages every time the tairen shows its fangs.?
She drew a breath, and he could see her almost visibly pulling a veil of calm around her emotions. ?Bas’ka,? she said. ?Perhaps you’re right.?
He smiled and bent to kiss the worry from her face. His song sang notes of confidence and reassurance until the tension in
her shoulders melted and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
Behind them, Tajik cleared his throat. “Kem’falla, may it please you, this next fine warrior of the Fey is Rijonn vel Ahrimor, my oldest and dearest friend. He and I were cradle friends, and chadins together in Tehlas. He is one of the strongest Earth masters ever born to the Fey.”
“Ser Ahrimor.” The warrior standing beside Tajik was the tallest and most heavily muscled Fey Ellysetta had ever seen. His
eyes and hair were brown as the fertile earth of the Garreval, and there was a deep, stoic strength about him, as if mountains
would fall before he did. She liked him instinctively and immensely. Ellysetta held out her hands. “Will you allow me to heal
your soul?”
The Earth master gave a nod and offered his enormous hands, not putting them in hers but leaving her to make the final choice.
The only sound he made was a soft gasp when she laid her hands upon him. Whatever wrongness Ellysetta had sensed when she’d
healed Gil, it did not recur, nor did touching Rijonn wound her any worse than laying hands upon Gil had done. When she was
finished, he sank to his knees and spoke the lute’asheiva oath in a low, gravelly voice.
From pallet to pallet, barracks hall to barracks hall, she walked the silvery white corridors of Chakai, seeking out the rasa and offering the gift of peace for their battered souls.
Many of the warriors she approached refused her offer. Some were unwilling to inflict their pain upon her. Others refused
to touch another Fey’s unbonded mate. A grim-faced few declared it dishonorable to escape the suffering the gods had seen
fit to lay upon them.
But for each Fey who turned away her gift, there were two or three others who did not.
Lured by the promise of confronting the Mages of Eld in battle once more—and seeing the growing number of dazzle-eyed lu’tans standing at Ellysetta’s side—warrior after warrior stepped forward and offered his soul up for healing.
Warrior after warrior wept as the peace he’d lost to war showered down upon him again.
One after another, those who had been rasa sank to their knees and swore the bonds of lute’asheiva to their new queen.
Chimes became bells. The ranks of the rasa shrank by the score. Word of what was happening traveled across the mile-long Warriors’ Wall to Chatok. The warriors guarding
the silvery blue ramparts heard of it. The shei’dalins sleeping in their chambers woke to shocked whispers: ?Come quickly. The Feyreisa . . . she is healing the rasa!?
Chatok emptied. Its inhabitants made their way across the wall to the white towers of Chakai to witness the miracle.
Marissya found Ellysetta in Chakai’s main hall, healing the rasa who had laid pallets upon the floor there. Her eyes were afire, her body enveloped in a shimmering aura of golden white light.
Behind Ellysetta, his own eyes blazing with restrained fury, Rain bored crumbling holes into stone with his bare fingers as
he allowed Fey after Fey to lay hands upon his mate.
All the lu’tans were feeding Ellysetta their power now. As each newly healed Fey fell to his knees and bloodswore himself to her, she seized
his strength and added it to her shining web. The glow of magic surrounded them all, bright and golden white.
Marissya stared in horror at the Fey warriors who should have been protecting Ellysetta—the same warriors who were instead
crooning encouragement. “Gaelen! Bel! What are you doing? Have you lost all sense? How can you allow this madness?”
“She said the pain is manageable,” Gaelen said.
“She said?” Her voice rose. Her hands clenched into fists. “Gods save me from fools and men! One may have been manageable—she’s so
strong, even the first dozen or so might be bearable—but how many rasa has she healed? Do you not understand that theirs is the sort of pain that accumulates?”