Chapter Thirteen #3
for tonight’s feast. They all paused to greet her warmly before returning to work.
“Why don’t they just . . .” She wiggled her fingers. “You know.”
Rain laughed. “Certainly, there is some of that,” he told her, “but a fine meal is like a song, art that is meant to be consumed
by the senses. Besides, what pleasure is there to life if you never create anything with your own hands?”
Ellie raised a skeptical brow. She’d spent one too many hours laboring at the monotony of cooking, cleaning, and house work
to consider it a pleasure.
“Perhaps you will change your mind after you’ve lived your first hundred years,” Rain suggested. “Magic is just a tool, not
a replacement for the experiences and accomplishments of life. Forget that, and the pursuit of magical perfection will become
all that matters, and the Fey will follow the same dark path as the Eld.”
After leaving the kitchens, they continued on past banquet halls, conservatories, rooms of state, the palace library, and the king’s private courtyard and offices. Room after beautiful room, each a treasure in its own right.
From his well-appointed offices, Rain led her down a small corridor to the king’s personal armory. There, displayed on three
tall stands in a sconce-lit alcove, was the war armor of the Fey king.
Made entirely of gleaming golden-hued steel, the armor consisted of a woven chain mail, a complete set of Fey blades whose
hilts were embossed with the purple tairen rampant, seal of the Fey king, and protective plate mail made of golden steel and
layers of hardened and embossed black leather.
“The king’s armor was made in the Time Before Memory,” Rain told her. “Passed down from Feyreisen to Feyreisen since Tevan
Fire Eyes, the first Tairen Soul of the Fading Lands.”
“I’m surprised it has never been damaged or lost,” Ellysetta said. “Fey kings have certainly fought in many terrible wars
over the centuries.”
“There is a repair spell forged into the steel, and a return weave that brings the king’s armor back to this room if the Tairen
Soul wearing it dies.”
He approached the center stand, where the shining black and gold of the king’s armor gleamed like shadows and sunlight. Across
the black leather, tooled in gold and silver, were symbols surrounded by a varying number of circles. His fingers brushed
over them without touching. “These are the name symbols of every Defender of the Fey who ever donned this armor and led the
Fey into battle. The rings indicate how long each reigned. One silver ring for every hundred years, one gold ring for every
millennium.”
She stepped closer, peering at the symbols. No name had more than one gold ring, and very few had both gold and silver. “Where
is your name?”
“It is not there.” At her surprised look, he explained, “Only those who have worn the armor have their name set upon it. I never have. Johr Feyreisen died at the Garreval, only a few days before I scorched the world. The armor returned to Dharsa, and I couldn’t leave the battle to retrieve it.”
“You’ve never even tried it on since then? Just to see how it fits?”
In a voice both soft and grave, he said, “This is the war armor of the Fey king, Ellysetta. The moment a Feyreisen puts it
on his body, he commits the Fading Lands to war, and he commits himself to one of only two fates: victory or death. Only then
can the armor be returned to this room, and only then can the Fey cease fighting.” Her horror must have shown in her eyes,
because he gave her a bleak smile. “War is no game to the Fey, shei’tani, and surrender is no option.”
Barely conscious of doing so, she gripped his arm and pulled him away from the gleaming gold-and-black armor, tugging him
towards the armory door. “Then I pray your name will never be inscribed there.” But they both knew it soon would be.
From the armory, Rain led Ellysetta back to the wide gallery that opened into the tairen courtyard where her palace tour had
begun. Bel, Gaelen, Tajik, Gil, and Rijonn were waiting in the courtyard. They had changed from warriors’ leathers to rich
robes for the evening’s celebrations, and were all grinning proudly and discussing the highlights of the Feyreisa’s procession
and her overwhelming welcome by the Fey.
Before Rain and Ellysetta could join them, Marissya and Dax entered the far end of the gallery, followed by the five lords
of the Massan and their truemates.
Rain quickly stifled his brief, instinctive surge of aggression and greeted the Massan.
“Meivelei, Fey.” Putting a hand in the small of Ellysetta’s back, he ushered her forward.
“With pride this Fey presents to you his shei’tani, Ellysetta of Celieria.
Ellysetta, these are the honored Fey lords of the Massan, the council that governs the Fading Lands. ”
Rain clasped the forearm of the first Massan, a silvery blond Water master with eyes the same deep blue-violet as the waters
off the black cliffs of the Bay of Flames. “This fine Fey is Loris v’En Mahr—Water master of the Massan—and his shei’tani, Nalia.”
Rain smiled when genuine welcome filled Loris’s eyes, then laughed when golden-haired Nalia took Ellysetta’s hand and dragged
her into a warm embrace as if they were sisters, long separated. Nalia had that sort of way about her. Loris might be the
Water, full of secret depths and unseen currents, but Nalia was both the wind that drove him and the rock that stood firm
against even his most furious waves. What Nalia wanted, Nalia got. Thank the gods what she wanted was usually best for all.
“Meivelei, little sister,” Nalia greeted. “Welcome. Long have we truemates of the Massan prayed the gods would bring our king peace.
And now you have come.” Nalia pulled back to give Ellysetta a searching look. “Word of your miraculous weaves reached us days
ago, as did rumors of your brightness, and I can see now none of it was exaggeration.” A dazzling smile beamed across Nalia’s
face, and she clasped Ellysetta tight again.
After a brief hesitation and a slightly dazed glance at Rain, Ellysetta returned the hug.
“Let her breathe, kem’alia,” Loris chided, touching his mate’s arm. “She is used to shei’dalin restraint, not your exuberance.”
Nalia laughed, unoffended, and pulled back. “Sieks’ta, Feyreisa. I forget myself. Long ago, when I was a child, my mother would shake her head and sigh in fear of what havoc I
would wreak on the world. She always thanked the gods for sending me Loris. He smoothed the worst of my rough edges.”
“She should have been named Nimshorra, the whirlwind, instead of Nimalia, the windflower,” Loris said with a fond look for
his mate.
Rain touched Ellysetta’s elbow lightly and directed her attention to the next matepair. “And this is Nurian v’En Soma, Spirit master, and his shei’tani, Sianna. Nurian is a very old friend and bond kinsman. Sariel was the daughter of his cousin.”
“Las te miora a vo, Feyreisa,” Lord Nurian murmured. “Peace and joy upon you.” The Spirit master and his mate were as dark as Loris and Nalia
were fair. Lord Nurian bowed, the folds of his robes swirling gracefully about him, while his shei’tani, Sianna, smiled warmly enough but kept her hands clasped firmly at her waist. She was not half so effervescent as Nalia.
“Beylah vo,” Ellysetta murmured. “I’m honored to meet you both.”
Rain introduced the next couple. “Ellysetta, may it please you, this is Air master Eimar v’En Arran and his truemate, Jisera.”
Eimar’s sun-bright locks were threaded with tiny crystal bells that sang with every shift of his head, but his eyes were clear
and cold as a winter sky. Rain wasn’t completely certain what welcome Ellysetta would receive from him, until Eimar’s tiny,
dark shei’tani offered a shy smile and told Ellysetta, “My brother, Lothan, is among those whose souls you restored. His return brings my
heart much joy.”
At that, Eimar bowed his head, crystal bells tinkling, and said, “Meivelei, Feyreisa, te sallan’meilissis a vo.”
Earth master Yulan v’En Belos and his shei’tani, Mahri, greeted Ellysetta with a noncommittal reserve similar to that of Nurian and his mate. Last, they came to the Fire
master Tenn v’En Eilan, a Fey with whom Rain had butted heads on numerous occasions.
“Tenn is the leader of the Massan,” he told her. “His brother Johr was the Feyreisen when I found my wings. Tenn’s shei’tani, Venarra, is the keeper of the Hall of Scrolls.” Tenn, who was constantly comparing Rain to his dead Feyreisen brother, was
the source of much of Rain’s tension with the Massan. And Rain knew he hadn’t managed to hide that tension when Ellysetta’s
fingers flinched on his wrist.
“Lord v’En Eilan.” Ellysetta inclined her head and fought to remain open-minded towards the leader of the Massan, but it was difficult when Rain’s emotions were flaring against her fingertips despite his efforts to keep them caged.
The Fire master’s robes shimmered like flames leaping in a hearth. His hair, brown and cropped to shoulder-length, held glints
of gold and red, and his eyes were dark cinnamon shot with sparks of gold. His fire-kissed gaze made her belly clench tight,
but she couldn’t tell how much of that instinctive reaction was her own and how much was a reflection of the emotions emanating
from Rain.
She turned her gaze quickly to Tenn’s truemate, a black-haired, black-eyed beauty who seemed only slightly more welcoming.
“Lady v’En Eilan.”
“I understand you have quite an interest in Fey legends and poetry, Feyreisa,” Venarra said. The shei’dalin’s dark eyes pierced Ellysetta. A foreign consciousness brushed across Ellysetta’s senses, probing lightly. Ellysetta narrowed
her eyes and slammed her mental shields shut so hard and fast the shei’dalin flinched.
“I do indeed.” Ellysetta held the other woman’s gaze steadily. Rain shifted so close his arm rubbed against hers. “I’ve devoured
everything I could find about the Fey since I was a child. Little did I realize I was learning about my own heritage.”
Venarra inclined her head. “Rain has suggested I show you the Hall of Scrolls. It will be my honor to do so tomorrow, after
the tairen sing to the Eye.”
With their introductions to the Feyreisa over, the Massan turned to greet Bel, Tajik, and the rest of Ellysetta’s bloodsworn
quintet. Ellysetta watched them closely, waiting to see how they would welcome Gaelen. She didn’t realize how tightly her
nerves were wound until the brush of Rain’s hand over hers nearly made her jump out of her skin.
?Las, shei’tani,? he whispered on a private weave. ?You look fierce as a mother tairen guarding her kits. Gaelen does not need your protection.?
Only then did she realize her fingers were knotted in fists and her jaw was clenched so tightly her back teeth ached. For
herself, she accepted the suspicion of the Massan, but not for Gaelen. ?He has suffered enough. Can they not just welcome him??
?He knew he would find more suspicion than welcome when he returned to the Fading Lands. This is the path he chose to walk.?
All five of the Massan wore expressions of impenetrable stone, and their truemates had begun to glow with gathering power.
Even smiling, friendly Nalia looked formidable.
Marissya stepped between her brother and the Massan. “You need not Truthspeak Gaelen. I did so the day the Feyreisa restored
his soul, and the Mists let him pass without challenge.”
Ellysetta could feel her own magic rising. The memory of what had happened to her in the Mists was still painfully fresh in
her mind. If these shei’dalins dared attempt to Truthspeak Gaelen against his will . . . well, Marissya wouldn’t be the only one stepping to Gaelen’s defense.
Rain moved forward, open palms lifted in a gesture of peace. “Marissya is right. There will be no Truthspeaking here tonight.
Ellysetta Feyreisa has come to Dharsa. Marissya Shei’dalin bears Tairen Soul young.” The faint glitter in the lavender gaze that swept across the faces of the Massan turned his next
calm, smiling words to warning. “If there must be Challenge, let it come tomorrow. Tonight is a night for joy.”
After a brief silence, Tenn bowed his head. “Of course, Feyreisen.” He held out a wrist to his shei’tani and gestured for Rain and Ellysetta to lead the way.
The celebration that ensued throughout Dharsa lasted long into the night. The entire city lit up after sunset as Fire spells
turned Dharsa’s fountains and waterfalls into cascading rainbows of light, and garden paths shimmered with dancing fairy-flies.
Intoxicating fragrance filled the air, turning each breath into a perfumed delight. And everywhere, Fey voices rose in joy
as the Shining Folk danced and sang.
In the palace, the Massan and their mates joined Marissya, Dax, Rain, and Ellysetta at the head table for a grand feast extravagant even by Fey measure.
When the meal was over, Ellysetta’s lu’tans took the floor, daggers in hand, to perform the fierce warriors’ blade dance called the Cha Baruk, the Dance of Knives. Thousands
of razor-sharp Fey’cha flew from shining hands, flashing like arcs of silver lightning across the circles of dancing, weaving
warriors until, with a final fierce shout, the Fey’cha flashed back to their sheaths, and the warriors struck a final, triumphant
pose. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. As the lu’tans made their way back to their seats, a gentler music began to play. Rain held out his wrist to Ellysetta and they made their
way to the dance floor to lead hundreds of mates in the beautiful, courtly steps of the Felah Baruk, the Dance of Life, better
known to the mortal world as the Fey Dance of Joy.
And all through the night, until the celebrations finally came to an end at the break of dawn, a never-ending stream of Fey
approached Ellysetta, not just to ask for her blessing but also to offer their thanks for the return of the sons, brothers,
and beloved warriors so nearly lost to shadow.