Chapter Eleven #2
She laid her hand on the nearest egg and concentrated, cautiously lowering her internal barriers and stretching out her senses
as Marissya had taught her to do in their lessons together.
Las, Ellysetta. Find the stillness inside you.
Don’t try to rule your magic. Let it flow freely.
Let it fill you, become you. She closed her eyes and tried to find the tranquil silence in her mind, where the world was glimmering light.
Relax. Breathe. All living things are made of Air, Water, Fire, Earth, and Spirit.
Do not seek their essence; let their essence
come to you.
Gradually, the sounds and scents of the world faded, and the shimmering darkness sprang to glowing life behind her eyes.
Threads of magic—silvery Air, red Fire, green Earth, lavender Spirit, blue Water—all gleamed and shimmered, some threads radiant, others barely more than a subtle glow.
The tairen were so bright they nearly blinded her.
So much magic, so brilliant and untamed.
Their light hummed with music: the beautiful, bold, colorful notes of tairen song, gleaming just beneath the surface, singing even when they were silent.
Beside them, Rain’s colors were slightly dimmer, as if covered by a thin layer of shadow. She’d noticed that about him once
before, that veil of darkness, as if the weight of all the souls he carried dimmed the brightness of his own soul.
When she turned to the eggs, the shimmering lights winked out. She could see Rain beside her, the tairen around her, but where
the kitling in the egg should have been, there was only darkness and silence.
“What is it?” Rain asked.
She frowned. “I’m not sure. I think I’m doing what Marissya showed me, but I can’t sense the kitlings at all. It’s as if there’s
nothing but a blank void inside the eggs.”
?They are afraid.? Sybharukai’s bright voice flared across Ellysetta’s open senses. ?They know Cahlah, Merdrahl, and one of their nestmates are gone. They shield themselves just as kits hatched outside the
lair did long ago to hide from hunters.? Along with the words flowed the image of a mounded nest covered with sand, baking in the sun rather than in the dark protection
of a volcanic cave. A predator pawed and nosed at the sand around the nest.
Ellysetta’s spine straightened. Of course the kitlings were afraid. They were babies who’d just been attacked and terrified,
who’d just felt their parents die. A fresh surge of confidence filled her. Magic might still be mostly a mystery to her, but
soothing frightened children was something she’d always been good at.
She knelt beside the egg and did her best to cradle it as if it were a child.
So many times, she’d rocked Lillis and Lorelle, holding their small bodies close to hers and singing to them until whatever sadness or fear they suffered melted away.
Remembering those times, she rocked against the egg and stroked the nubby shell as if it were a baby’s soft cheek.
Quietly at first, and then with growing assurance, she began to croon the melodies and lullabies she’d sung to her sisters.
At first the kitlings remained stubbornly silent, their light utterly hidden, but gradually, as she continued to sing, faint
colors began to swirl in the dark centers of the eggs.
Something fluttered at the edge of her consciousness, hesitant, weak, but curious. She turned her attention towards it. Tiny,
frightened, so tired. She probed gently, stretching out towards the sensation, and blinked back tears as a thready, shimmering
song played weakly in her mind. She huddled closer to the egg, stroking its surface with encouragement. ?Hello, there, little kit. Can you hear me? My name is Ellysetta, and I’ve come to help you.?
Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace
Gethen Nour buttoned the flap of his silk trousers, straightened his jacket, and toed the trembling woman curled on the floor
at his feet. “You may get dressed now, pet. I’ll have Brodson send in your maid.”
Lady Montevero nodded, swiping at the tears making streaks through the remnants of powder and rouge on her face.
“The maid—Fanette, did you call her? Does she have someone she loves, someone she would feel compelled to protect? A child
perhaps? A mother?”
He saw Jiarine’s bare shoulder tense. She knew why he asked. “A baby,” she whispered.
“Excellent.” It pleased him that she surrendered the information, even knowing his intentions. Brodson would follow the maid
home tonight. By this time tomorrow, young Fanette would bear the first of Gethen’s own six Marks. “And, pet—”
“Y-yes?”
“You will come to me tonight in Manza’s rooms by the wharf.
You may demonstrate any other intriguing tricks he’s taught you.
” Gethen smiled for the second time that morning, enjoying the way her flesh, not nearly so pampered and flawless as it had been when he’d first arrived, shuddered at the prospect.
And still she answered dutifully, “Yes, Master Nour.”
Perhaps Kolis hadn’t been quite the softhearted weakling Nour had always considered him when it came to the training of umagi.
“I look forward to it. Oh, and one last thing . . .” He bent down beside her and stroked a thumb across the delicate pulse
in her throat. His voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “While we are apart today, I want you to find out everything you can
about any recent activity near the Garreval. Do not rouse suspicion, but don’t come to me empty-handed either. I’m not a pleasant
man when I’m disappointed.”
The choked sob escaped before she could bite her lip to hold it back. Fresh tears spurted from her eyes. The mass of tangled
dark brown ringlets bobbed as she gave a jerky nod.
“Excellent. I can see we are going to get along famously.” He rose to his feet and left the room without a backward glance.
In the adjoining room, the maid Fanette, a plump little partridge with cornflower eyes and brown hair wrapped in a tidy plait,
sat still as stone in a chair across from Den Brodson. Her hands were clenched so tight in her lap, her knuckles shone white.
“Your mistress needs your assistance, girl.”
As the maid rose to her feet, Nour reached into his pocket. When she passed by him, he grabbed her arm and blew a small cloud
of somulus powder into her face. Her frightened blue eyes went blank. “You came in this morning to discover that Lady Jiarine has had
a run-in with a rather . . . brutal . . . nobleman. You know what harm he will cause if rumor of his habits gets out. So you
will tend your lady and you will keep silent, for her sake as well as your own. Now go.”
The girl walked with dazed, slow steps into the adjoining bedroom.
“Come, Brodson.” He waved to the butcher’s son. “The day’s half-gone, and we’ve much to do.”
Eld ~ Boura Fell
Elfeya v’En Celay lay upon her sel’dor-laced bed, exhausted and aching and filled with self-loathing after the last several bells she’d spent healing the High Mage
of Eld. Hatred was a dark emotion no shei’dalin should ever clutch to her breast, but over the last thousand years, it had become as much her companion as the constant acid
burn of the dread Eld metal against her flesh. Gods forgive her, but she did hate. She hated with every ounce of flesh and
every drop of blood in her body.
And if it were not for her shei’tan, Shan, chained in the lower levels of Vadim Maur’s dungeon fortress, she would have done what no shei’dalin ever did.
She would have killed.
If not for Shan, she would have twisted her shei’dalin powers and used them to slay the evil Mage who came to her for healing. And she would have wept with joy as the torment of
taking a life struck her dead.
Elfeya flung an arm over her face, covering her eyes as the weak, useless tears trickled from them. There was no sense in
weeping. A thousand years of tears—enough to fill an ocean—had not spared her one moment of misery.
?Shei’tani.? Shan’s voice, so beloved, whispered across the threads of their truemate bond. Soothing, comforting, Shan’s consciousness
caressed her own with such vibrant richness, she could almost pretend he was there beside her, holding her, making love to
her with the wild, sweet, passionate abandon they’d shared in their all too brief bells together.
She wiped the tears from her face, then laughed at the uselessness of the small vanity. He could not see her tears, but he
already knew she’d shed them. ?I am here, beloved.?
?You are alone?? he asked.
?Never so long as I have you.? A smile trembled on her lips, then fell away. ?He was here,? she told him, ?but he is gone now. His health is failing.? The truth should have pleased them both, but she could feel Shan’s deep concern, an echo of her own.
?He will be more dangerous now than ever. Desperate men always are.?
?Aiyah. He knows he cannot delay the inevitable much longer.? Time was against Vadim Maur now. He could no longer afford the skillful patience that had been the hallmark of his reign.
?At least our daughter is with the Fey now. They will protect her.?
?As much as they can,? she agreed.
Vadim Maur was too powerful a Mage for Elfeya to rifle through his mind without his notice, but he had come to her many times
over the years for healing . . . and other things. She’d used those occasions to gain what advantage she could, testing his
shields, gathering what thoughts he did not consciously guard, and slowly—very, very slowly—burrowing an imperceptible path
into the secrets he held locked away in his mind.
She could not pluck thoughts freely from Maur’s mind, but when he was weary and came to her for healing—as he had begun to
do with increasing frequency—that tiny thread of Spirit allowed her to influence him slightly, pushing him to relax in her
presence just enough that the occasional useful tidbit of information could rise to the surface of his thoughts, where she
could draw it unnoticed into her mind for later review.
?You discovered what he is planning?? Shan asked.