Chapter Fourteen #4
When Bel was free of the cursed Eld metal, Rain spun a rapid weave of Earth to replace Bel’s boots and tunic and restore at least a modicum of his dignity. Marissya reached out to Bel with healing weaves to soothe the worst of his burns.
Rain waited for her to finish before turning back to Dorian. Fire still sparked in his eyes and anger clipped every word. “Question him and be done. I’ll not abandon this honored hero of the Fey to your country’s unkind custody a moment longer.”
Bel stood in the center of the council chamber and submitted willingly to Marissya’s touch as he swore a Fey oath that the dead boy was the same one who had stabbed Ellysetta, and that he had neither murdered the boy, nor ordered his murder, nor harmed him in any way.
“Truth,” she announced when he finished.
“If you did not kill the boy, who did?” Lord Sebourne demanded.
“I don’t know,” Bel said. “We saw no one.”
“Truth,” Marissya said.
“So, you’re asking us to believe that a young Celierian boy—a boy you were pursuing for the attempted murder of the Tairen Soul’s mate—just happened to spontaneously combust when you cornered him?”
“I am not asking you to believe anything, my lord. I am merely telling you in all honesty that neither I nor my men killed that boy, and we did not see who did.”
“Truth,” Marissya confirmed.
“But he died by magic, did he not?”
“Someone spun the weave that slew him,” Bel admitted.
Lord Sebourne pounced. “Someone Fey?”
“Fey are not the only race to weave magic, my lord. The Eld do as well. And others.”
“Ah, yes, the Eld.” Sebourne cast a speaking glance around the chamber. “That’s who you really want us to believe is to blame, do you not?”
Bel ignored the lure dangled before him.
“My lord, as I told you, I did not see who spun the weave. I cannot tell you who wove it, but I can assure you who did not. If you are truly interested in finding the killer, I recommend you start by asking who would benefit most from making Celierians doubt the Fey. And while you’re at it, also consider this: I am a Master of Spirit.
I weave illusion as easily as you draw breath.
If I really had killed that boy, why in all the gods’ names would I have been stupid enough to let anyone see me do it?
And why would I leave them with memories of the crime intact so they could accuse me? ”
Sebourne’s mouth opened, then closed again without saying a word. Nonplussed, he glanced round the council chamber and saw similar confusion on the faces of his supporters.
“Enough of this farce.” On the opposite side of the chamber, a lord who had thus far remained silent now stood up. He had pale, faintly luminous skin, long black hair, and catlike eyes that proved more than a hint of Fey blood ran through his veins.
?Who?? Rain asked Dax.
?You don’t recognize him? You once called his ancestor friend, and I’ve always thought the family resemblance striking.? When Rain didn’t answer, Dax surrendered the name. ?Teleos. Devron Teleos. He guards the Veil now, as well as the Garreval.?
Rain eyed the young border lord with greater interest. Teleos was indeed a name familiar to him, and neither the Veil nor the Garreval were insignificant stretches of land.
“Ser vel Jelani has sworn a Fey oath, under shei’dalin touch, that he did not kill the boy,” Lord Teleos continued.
“That proves his innocence. And frankly, even if he had slain the little rultshart, you lords should applaud rather than condemn him. Which man among you would have let the boy live had he attempted to kill your queen?”
“Well said, Teleos.” A second, previously silent lord stood up, this one as dark and bronzed as Teleos was pale. There was a no-nonsense sturdiness to him that Rain liked instantly.
?Cannevar Barrial,? Dax supplied. ?Another lord of the northern march. His daughter recently wed Sebourne’s heir.?
“Sebourne, you’re being an ass.” Lord Barrial made the accusation with casual familiarity rather than ire.
“The Fey obviously didn’t kill the boy, no matter what the other witnesses think they saw, and the young would-be assassin has paid for his crime with his life.
Justice has been done. My lords, let us bring this unfortunate incident to a close and move on to the other very serious matters awaiting the review of this Council.
” Several lords murmured their agreement.
“Agreed,” King Dorian said, cutting off Lord Sebourne as he opened his mouth to protest and silencing the grumbling of several of Sebourne’s supporters.
“My Lord Feyreisen, accept our apologies for the injury done your lady, and for the accusations made against Ser vel Jelani. I promise you Celieria will make every effort to find the culprit responsible for this unforgivable attack.” He turned to address Bel directly.
“Belliard vel Jelani, you are free to go. Please accept my personal apologies for the manner in which you’ve been treated. ”
Bel bowed to the king and rejoined his countrymen. All the Fey bowed again and filed from the room. They didn’t speak until they reached Rain’s suite and the privacy wards were once more in place around the room.
“There is more,” Bel said as soon as the privacy weaves were complete. “The knife that set off the Fire weave was a Fey’cha, and I recognized the name-mark on it.” He cast a brief, unspoken apology Marissya’s way. “It was the mark of Gaelen vel Serranis.”
“Impossible,” she exclaimed. “He is dahl’reisen. I would have sensed him.”
“There was some other magic hidden in the weave that killed the boy,” Bel said. “I don’t know what it was. Perhaps your brother has found a way to mask his presence from you the same way he masked his magic from me.”
Was it possible? Rain wondered. Fey used red to fight their enemies and those unworthy of the honor of a duel with clean blades.
They used black against each other—always.
The numbed black blade used to stab Ellysetta could have been a taunt, an insult to Rain’s ability to protect her, and arranging for the injury to be dealt by a child could have been just a way to further underscore that contempt. Was vel Serranis calling him out?
Worse, if Gaelen was responsible, the possibility that he was also behind the murders in the north—possibly even in league with the Eld—suddenly became much more likely.
Rain prayed it was not so. Sending warriors to kill the dahl’reisen would take a terrible toll on the rapidly dwindling strength of the Fading Lands and push the Fey even closer towards extinction.
Marissya didn’t want to believe Gaelen had engineered the attack, but Rain could take no chances.
He spent the rest of the afternoon with Bel, retracing the boy’s wild chase and visiting the site of his death.
Nothing remained but a scorch mark on the cobbles.
There was no remnant thread of magic, no sign of any other’s presence, and no hint of dahl’reisen.
Whoever had engineered the attack had covered his tracks well.