Chapter Nine #5
“I think perhaps you lack objectivity in this situation. You suffered a great many personal losses in the Wars. You hate the Eld. You’ll never see them as anything but enemies.”
“Because that is all they will ever be!”
“My advisors,” Dorian said, “see this opportunity as a way to provide a needed boost to our economy. As do many of the nobles on the Council of Lords.”
“Your advisors,” Rain retorted, “and your nobles are greedy fools. When an evil man dangles a heavy purse before you, beware. Have you never learned that?”
“When his children are hungry, a desperate man will do desperate things,” the king countered.
“The last year has not been easy. Droughts and floods ruined most of last year’s crops.
Even with the help the Fey provided to manage the weather, our stockpiles of food are nearly depleted.
If this year’s harvests are not plentiful, there will be starvation come winter. ”
If Rain could promise Fey help to bring fertility to the Celierian fields, he would.
But any such promise would be a lie. Fertility was a woman’s gift, and the Fey women had been barren for centuries.
“I can send warriors to you, ones strong in Earth, Water, and Air. They can help manage the weather and bring the nutrients in the soil closer to the surface.” Fey with Earth magic could create food, but not on a scale large enough to feed Celieria for a winter.
Aiding the world in performing its natural functions would produce greater results.
“And in return?”
“Cease your trade with Eld. Do not open the borders. That way is dangerous, the threat far greater than starvation, even if you do not see it.”
Dorian turned to Dax. “Lord Dax, I have known you and my aunt all my life. I trust and value your opinion, yet never once have either of you mentioned the possibility of a revived Mage threat in Eld. Why is that?”
Dax didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Rain.
“Marissya and Dax don’t sense the darkness,” Rain bit out. “Only I do.”
Dorian’s expression went blank, as if a shutter had been drawn closed. “I see.”
“Marissya Truthspoke Rain before we left the Fading Lands,” Dax said. “There is no doubt of his honesty.”
“Forgive me,” Dorian replied, “but as we all know, Truthspeaking only guarantees that the one being Truthspoken believes what he says. It doesn’t guarantee that what he believes is true.
The distinction may be small, but in this case vital—as I’m sure you agree, or we would not be having the conversation. ”
Dax’s gaze dropped. Fey did not lie. He could not dispute Dorian’s conclusion.
Rain swallowed a bitter curse, hating the Celierian for his blind determination to believe the Eld and doubt the Fey.
Hating himself for being unable to offer proof or control his temper long enough to make Dorian see reason.
Hating the fear that perhaps Dax and Dorian were right, and there was no darkness, only Rain’s old companion, insanity, toying with him again.
He couldn’t say why he sensed what no one else did.
He only knew he did. Perhaps it was all those Mage souls anchored to his own.
Perhaps it was because he was a Tairen Soul, and they were not.
Perhaps it was because he had spent seven hundred years tormented by madness, his mind a wide-open field upon which all the millions he’d killed trampled without restraint.
Whatever the cause, he knew he was right. Believed it with unswerving certainty. The Mages had regained their power, and the world was in danger once more.
“Believe me delusional if you like, King Dorian, but protect yourself in case I am not. Keep your borders closed. You’ve survived a thousand years without the Eld. Surely you can survive a few more. At least give me time to gather the proof you require.”
“I will consult my advisors. The Eld treaty is scheduled for debate in the Council of Lords next week. We will discuss your concerns, so the lords may take them into consideration before they cast their vote.”
“This is not a matter for your advisors and Council to decide, King Dorian,” Rain countered. “The monarchy did not give up all of its power when the Council of Lords was established. Invoke primus. Make the decision yourself, and keep your borders closed.”
Dorian drew back. “Primus is a king’s tool of last resort,” he answered in a low voice. “It is not to be invoked except in cases of utmost urgency. To use it carelessly is to tread the path of tyranny.”
“Tyranny?” Rain echoed in disbelief. “It is not tyranny for a king to command the defense of his country and keep his borders closed to his enemies.”
Dorian shook his head and heaved a sigh.
“You have been too long away, Rainier Feyreisen. The Eld are not the enemies they once were, and I will not invoke primus on the basis of groundless speculation and hard feelings. The Lords of Celieria will debate the issue.” He held up a hand to forestall Rain’s next objection.
“And unless you can provide definitive proof to the contrary, they will make the decision, not I.”
Rain’s jaw clenched. Had this fool heard nothing?
The Eld were dangerous! They greeted you with friendship, wormed past your defenses, gained your trust, and only revealed the dagger of betrayal as it was plunged into your vitals.
Darkness was growing in Eld. The Eld were once again forming ties to Celieria.
And Rain had claimed a mate with a Celierian family.
It was as if history were repeating itself, only this time the Fey might be too weak to prevail.
“Then think on it and have your debate, Dorian vel Serranis Torreval, but while you do, think also on this.” His eyes narrowed, glowing so fiercely Dorian’s face was bathed in lavender light.
“If you open your borders to the Eld, you terminate your alliance with the Fey.” With a final glare for Dorian and Dax, Rain spun on one booted heel and stalked out.
Dorian frowned after the Feyreisen’s rapidly departing figure.
“The tairen are creatures of great power and great ferocity,” Dax murmured. “So, likewise, are the Tairen Souls, and with them temper is always closer to the surface than with other Fey. It is worse for our king, because of shei’tanitsa.”
Dorian turned and gave Dax a cool look. “You should never apologize for your king.”
“I do not apologize, bond-nephew. I merely explain.”
Ellie glanced at her escort of sword-bristling shadows and sighed. She’d hoped to enjoy a quiet outing in the park with her sisters before completing the rest of her day’s obligations, but “quiet,” it seemed, was a quality she’d lost when she’d inadvertently called Rain Tairen Soul out of the sky.
Despite her objections, all thirty of the warriors who’d accompanied her this morning had insisted on following her to the park as well.
They’d posted themselves throughout the park and surrounding streets, drawing all manner of attention and increasing the crowds of curious bystanders.
It was just as well Mama had stayed behind at the Grand Cathedral with Father Celinor to discuss the upcoming ceremonies in more detail and make her daily devotions.
She’d have curled up in shame over the attention such a conspicuous Fey presence was drawing.
On the bright side, at least the twins were having fun.
Earlier, Kieran had made them toys out of Earth magic—a little bear that walked and roared, a tiny kitten that sat in the palm of Lorelle’s hand and meowed sweetly, a small yellow bird that tweeted when Lillis stroked its silky feathers.
In return, the twins brought their own little gifts to Kieran—a gaily painted wooden top their father had made, a small rag doll with red yarn hair and green button eyes.
He accepted the gifts, to the girls’ delight, and let the teasing of his fellow Fey roll off his back.
He was courting a pair of infants, the warriors joked, and the infants were courting him back.
Lorelle hadn’t taken too kindly to being called an infant, and had promptly and fiercely set the record straight.
The warriors now bowed and called her “Little Fey’cha” just as the blond warrior Kiel did, which seemed to suit Lorelle just fine.
A delicate, tinkling laugh chimed, and Ellie groaned.
The day had just gone from bad to worse.
She tracked the familiar laugh back to a crowd of twittering local beauties drawn by all the handsome Fey warriors in the park.
In the midst of the crowd stood Ellie’s nemesis, the golden-haired, Fey-beautiful Kelissande Minset.
Her large, limpid blue eyes, exactly the same pure blue as a summer sky, flirted beneath thick rows of fluttering brown lashes.
The delicate heart-shaped face and lush red lips that had brought countless suitors calling over the years now smiled invitingly at the Fey.
Ellie couldn’t prevent the stab of envy she felt any more than she could have stopped the pang of wistfulness.
She had always longed for a complexion as smooth and creamy as the one Kelissande guarded beneath a wide-brimmed hat and delicate blue parasol, for a figure as petite and curvaceous as the one so exquisitely displayed in a form-fitting powder-blue gown of Capellan silk overlaid with delicate Elvian lace.
Ellie watched from the corner of her eye as Kelissande sauntered towards her.
Ellie was instantly and painfully aware of the grass stains on her skirts, the sturdy woolen cloth and simple cotton of her navy dress and white chemise, and the unruly hair that had snuck free of its plait to wave in wild tendrils about her face.
“Hello, Ellie.” Kelissande’s voice was a honeyed whisper, a perfection of sound cultivated by years of speech tutoring.
“Hello, Kelissande.”