King of Sword and Sky by C. L. Wilson
“That night. That thrice-damned night at the palace, when the Tairen Soul spun his weave.” His voice choked off in sudden silence as his jaw snapped shut. Then, between gritted teeth, he demanded, “What effect will this have on my wife’s healing? You’ll still be able to help her, won’t you?”
“There is some risk,” one of the shei’dalins said. “We’ll need to go more slowly to avoid harming the child, but no matter what precautions we take, our weaves will be powerful and we will be spinning them in the baby’s earliest days of life. Our magic will imprint on the child.”
Darramon’s spine stiffened. “Imprint how? Will the child be deformed?” He was an old-school lord, born and raised in a harsh part of Celieria, where even now the common fate of children born with physical deformities was to be abandoned on a hillside, left to the animals and the elements. Winding, they called it. As if the winds plucked the child from the earth and carried it off to some happier clime. Romantic tripe meant to soothe the aching hearts of mothers who had their newborns ripped from their arms. Basha would never allow it. She’d tear the manor down with her own frail hands before allowing anyone to wind her child away. Even if the thing were a damned two-headed monster.
“Nei.” Another of the shei’dalins spoke, her veils fluttering gently. There was something ineffably calming about her voice. Despite himself, Lord Darramon felt the edge of his temper and his nerves begin to settle. “We are healers,” the shei’dalin continued, “not Mages. Our weaves carry no possibility of harm. What my sister means is that if we expose the child to such strong magic at such an early stage in her development, some remnant of our abilities will take root. She will most likely manifest her own magical traits once she is born.”
“She? The child is a girl?” Lord Darramon’s facial muscles went lax, and his voice cracked on the last word. “Basha always wanted a girl. Our six are all boys—men now.” A girl. A little daughter with Basha’s big blue eyes, a daughter to pamper and love, who would wrap him as firmly around her tiny finger as her mother had wrapped him around her heart. It was the secret dream he’d always harbored but never voiced aloud.
He caught himself before the fantasy took too strong a hold on his heart. His jaw grew firm again. “You didn’t answer my question. Will you still be able to heal my wife even though she’s pregnant? I won’t risk Basha—not even for a daughter.”
“Las, Lord Darramon.” The first shei’dalin spoke again.
“We are five, and our weaves are strong. We will heal your wife of the malignancy that drains her life, if that remains your wish.”
“But be warned, my lord,” a third shei’dalin said. “Your child will be born with magic. How strong a gift we cannot say, but her life in your world will be difficult.”
Darramon took a deep breath. He was no youngling to mistake the seriousness of their warning, and he knew better than many a lord exactly what difficulties might lie ahead. His lands lay along the Eld border, with Cann Barrial’s holding to his east, Griffet Polwyr’s and Teleon’s to his west. The dark Verlaine Forest, home to lyrant and all manner of other fell creatures, shadowed his southern flank.
His estates had been among the hardest hit in all Celieria during the Mage Wars. The bones and ashes of Drogans, Feraz witches, Elves, Danae, Eld, and Fey rotted beneath the black soil of Darramon, and to this day, there remained many a bleak place where naught but the unholy thrived. For centuries, Darramon’s villages had produced hearth witches and hedge wizards by the dozen, and even now, his villagers winded scores of peasant children each year—some because they were born with hideous deformities, but most because they manifested dangerous magical gifts.
Ta, he knew what the shei’dalins’ warning meant. He knew exactly. And he had only one possible response.
Lord Darramon stroked the frail hand cradled so gently in his own, and gave the shei’dalins his answer. “Save my wife and our child.”
The Fading Lands ~ Dharsa
Rain and Ellysetta flew west and north, following the River Faer that flowed from Dharsa to the Bay of Flame, stopping twice to rest, eat, and refresh themselves in the magic-infused waters of the river. Unlike the eastern half of the Fading Lands, the west was still heavily forested. The smoking, snowcapped peaks of the Feyls dominated the northern horizon, and to the west, the rolling hills Rain called the Vanyas followed the western coast of the Fading Lands, which they reached late that afternoon. Beyond lay the endless blue of the Lysande Ocean, and from inside the Fading Lands, the western Mists appeared no more than a gleaming shimmer that turned sparkling waves and blue skies into radiant, opalescent vistas.
The northern tip of the Vanyas ended on a curving spit of land capped by a walled city built of gray stone. Across a wide channel that fed an enormous bay, the mighty Feyls came to an abrupt end at the ocean’s edge. Waterfalls plummeted down sheer black cliffs and tumbled into the crashing waves below.
«The fortress is Blade’s Point, the northernmost city of the Fey, and the source of all Fey steel,» Rain said as they flew closer.
«And that is the Bay of Flame, where legend says the great tairen Lissallukai first sang magic into the world.»
A small group of fifty Fey clad in shimmering robes greeted them when they landed. They were led by a Fey lord who introduced himself as Eren v’En Thoress, lord keeper of Blade’s Point.
“Meivelei ti’Cha’Rik, Ellysetta Feyreisa,” the Fey lord greeted her. “Welcome to Blade’s Point.” And to Rain, he bowed and said softly, “Meiruvelei, Rain. My heart is glad to see you here again. Too long has it been since your last visit.”
“Too long has it been since I wished to hear what the night might have to say,” Rain replied.
“Well, you are here again now. That is what matters.” With a warm smile for Ellysetta, Eren said, “Come, Feyreisa, meet my shei’tani and the Fey who keep Blade’s Point.”
After Eren made the introductions, one of the Fey women led the way to a private room where Rain and Ellysetta could refresh themselves. Fresh silver and twilight blue robes that smelled of honeyblossoms and spring rain had been laid out on a velvet chaise, and a bath scented with rose petals had been drawn in an open-air marble tub that overlooked the city’s sheltered harbor and the Bay of Flame.
“They were expecting us?” Ellysetta asked as she and Rain bathed and dressed in the clothes laid out for them.
“I sent word ahead.” He had set aside his steel, retaining only a single black Fey’cha, which he sheathed and tucked into the pewter gray silk band cinched at his waist. Ellysetta followed his lead, leaving behind all her bloodsworn blades except the ones belonging to her quintet.
Outside, the Fey who had greeted them earlier had prepared a meal for Rain and Ellysetta. In addition to the robed lords and ladies of the Fey, twenty warriors in black leather and steel joined them. Conversation was pleasant for all that it revolved around the Fading Lands’ preparations for war and the armaments the master smiths here had been making for Celieria.
After the meal, all the Blade’s Point Fey requested Ellysetta’s blessing, which to her great relief she spun without any unruly or embarrassing flares of power.
“I think I owe Venarra an apology,” she murmured to Rain afterwards as they walked through the quiet, well-tended gardens of the fort. “I’ve been thinking uncharitable thoughts about her, but that was the first time my magic has ever come so easily when I called it and still done only what I meant it to do.”
A stone stair led up to the ramparts overlooking the Lysande Ocean. Rain stepped aside to let Ellysetta precede him. “I think sometimes, even among shei’dalins, chadins learn more from hard challenge than they do from kind instruction,” he said as he followed her up. “Marissya is a much stronger empath than Venarra, and although she is an excellent teacher, she sometimes has difficulty separating herself from the emotions of those she instructs. Venarra does not. In that regard, she reminds me of Gaelen. She is a hard taskmistress, but her weaves are always impeccably precise.
“Oh, yes,” Ellysetta agreed with an eye roll. “Venarra is very precise.”
Rain laughed softly. How many times as a young chadin had he bemoaned his own chatok in just such a voice? “Even though you may not appreciate it at the moment, precision is what you want in a chatok. It makes learning more straightforward and instills the discipline necessary to master great power.”
At the top of the stair, Rain gave her hand a tug. “Come. I want to check the city’s defenses, and we have only a little more than a bell to do it.”
“What’s the rush?”
“You will see.” Her sulky scowl made him want to laugh. Ellysetta did not like secrets. At least, not those kept by others.
The crenellated ramparts ran along the hilltop, the stone surface wide enough for defenders to stand four deep and still leave plenty of room for maneuvering men and weaponry and for evacuating the wounded. Every two tairen lengths, the outer wall curved out to form large semicircular platforms for the bowcannon and catapults.
“There’s something very important I need to ask of you,” Rain said as they circled the city. “As you know, our army marches to Orest in three days, and I must go with them to secure the Veil. I’m going to appoint you my proxy on the council while I’m gone.”
“You’re going to—” Her voice choked off and she stared at him, aghast. “Rain, have you lost your mind? Two months ago I was a woodcarver’s daughter who’d never even seen the inside of a palace. Now you want to appoint me to a council that leads a nation?”
“I know it is a great deal to ask, and if I had any other choice, I would not add this burden to the ones you already bear. I need someone I trust to lead in my absence and ensure my will is carried out.”
“But—”
“The Massan are all honorable Fey,” he continued quickly, “but they are not comfortable with the changes I’ve introduced. That’s why I need you to stay here and be sure my commands are carried out. Tenn and Yulan may think to…reinterpret my orders. And with Venarra taking Marissya’s place as the Shei’dalin, Nuri will not oppose them. Loris won’t be back for another two weeks at least, and the others will silence Eimar’s objections if you are not there to prevent it.”
Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “And you think they’ll listen to me? Half of them are waiting for me to turn into the Hand of Shadow and usher in the end of the world!”
He grimaced. He’d known this would be her reaction, but he had no choice. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not just throwing you to the thistlewolves. Bel has agreed to stay behind in Dharsa to guide and advise you. There is no Fey I trust more.”
“Oh, well. That will do the trick then.” She spun away, her skirts twitching furiously as she stalked a short distance down the battlements.
“Ellysetta. Shei’tani.” He went to her side and caught her arms, holding her when she would have turned away again. “I need you to do this. Listen to me,” he ordered, giving her a shake when he saw that stubborn jaw of hers clench.
She glared at him in angry silence, then focused her gaze on a point in the distance.
He ground his back teeth together. Really, much as he loved her, there was no woman alive who could infuriate him more. “There is another reason I want you to serve as my proxy. You need to understand how the Massan governs and learn how to work with its members. Because if I don’t return, you will be the next Tairen Soul.”
Her gaze whipped back to his, horror etched upon her face. “Good sweet Lord of Light. That’s what this is really about.” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re preparing me for your death.”
She tried to wrench her arms out of his grasp but he would not allow it. “Stop. Parei! Flames scorch it, Ellysetta! We do not choose what tests the gods set before us. We only decide how we will endure them!”
“Well, I’m not going to stand here while you tell me what to do after you die fighting the Eld in Celieria. There’s no need for this discussion because you will be coming back.”
“There is nothing I want more, shei’tani. But if I do not, you must rule. At least until Marissya’s child is old enough to claim the throne for himself.”
“But our bond—”
“—is not complete. You will survive my death.” He held her tight as she struggled against him. “Listen to me. Listen!” He gave her a brisk shake, and she grew still. “The Massan will not make your rule easy. They are used to command and will try to convince you to do as they want. Do not allow it. Tenn and Yulan delude themselves that if we leave the Eld in peace, the Eld will not attack us—or that we can hide behind the Mists and somehow live in peace with an enemy whose sole desire is to extinguish Light from the world and enslave souls for the glory of Seledorn. You cannot let yourself be swayed by their arguments—and they will be good arguments, full of reasonable concerns. But they will be wrong. You and I both know the Fey will not long live free if the Eld are left to spread their evil unchecked.”
“And why ever would they listen to me?”
“They will listen to you, Ellysetta, because you will be the Defender of the Fey.”
She yanked her hands free of his grip and crossed her arms. “I’m no warrior, Rain. And I’m no real Tairen Soul, either. I’ve found neither my song nor my wings.”
“Sybharukai has accepted you into the pride. You are tairen enough. As for being a warrior, don’t forget I’ve seen you in battle. You slaughtered two Primages and sent Eld soldiers fleeing like mice—and that you did with no wings and no training.”
“There’s a lot more to being a leader than just being good at killing people.”
His spine went stiff, then he gave a humorless laugh. “No one knows that better than I, Ellysetta.”
Remorse flickered in her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
“Perhaps you didn’t mean to, but truth is truth. I know my shortcomings all too well.”
She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “You’re a good king, Rain. You have the best interests of the Fading Lands at heart, and you’re willing to make the hard decisions, not just the easy ones everyone agrees with. That’s what leadership is.”
“Up until the last month, I haven’t been making any sort of decisions. I’ve been letting Marissya and the Massan rule in my name. It’s only because of you that I’ve finally begun to be the king I should have been all along.” He drew a breath and squared his shoulders. “Teska, I need you to do this for me, Ellysetta. Promise you will serve as my proxy while I’m away—and that you’ll lead the Fey if I don’t come back.”
Her arms crossed again and she scowled down at her feet. “Fine. I promise.”
“Beylah vo.” He wanted to say more, but he was coming to know his shei’tani well enough to realize that rock-stubborn clench of her jaw meant she was no longer listening. Anything he said now would just be wasted words. He glanced up at the sky. The sun was well past its zenith, the afternoon more than half-gone. “It’s getting late. Let’s finish the inspection.”
He offered Ellysetta his wrist, but she only gave him a dark look and stalked away without him. He sighed and followed. She was not pleased with him or the plans he’d been making for her, and he couldn’t blame her. He was asking too much of her, and he knew it. But what choice did he have?
They continued their walk of the perimeter, stopping occasionally to check defensive positions and greet the handful of Fey warriors manning the battlements. Though her eyes still flashed with temper, Ellysetta was a woman of her word. She clenched her jaw, listened to Rain and the Fey as they discussed the city’s armaments and defenses, and asked pertinent, probing questions that proved she was paying attention and trying to absorb and process the information.
By the time they circled back around to the northern wall overlooking the city’s sheltered harbor, the Great Sun was a scant two bells from setting, and Eren was waiting for them at the top of the stairs.
“All is ready, Feyreisen,” he said when they drew near.
<
“What is ready?” Ellysetta’s brows drew together in suspicion.
“The surprise I promised you, shei’tani. The real reason we came.” They returned to the fortress only long enough to change back into their leathers before Rain led Ellysetta to Blade’s Point’s sheltered port, where a sleek, low-slung boat carved of gleaming golden wood bobbed in the harbor, secured to the stone pier by thick woven docking ropes.
“You’re taking me sailing?” She stared at the boat in disbelief. “You bring me here, tell me you’re preparing me for your death, and you think I want to go sailing? Have you lost your senses?” She planted her fists on her hips, her eyes snapping with outrage.
“Las.” He held up his hands in truce. “Not just sailing. This is the Bay of Flame, and the Great Sun will set within the next two bells. I thought you might like to partake of its magic.”
Ellysetta remembered the legends of the Bay of Flame. According to ancient Fey myth, Lissallukai, the first tairen ever to cast a wing shadow over the Fading Lands, had breathed her fire upon the waters of the bay at sunset and spun magic into the world. Young Fey boys came here on their Soul Quest to swim in the waters of the bay at sunset and dream beneath the light of the fairy-flies to find their soul’s true magic.
“This is another thing you think I need to do so I can take your place as Defender of the Fey, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “I simply thought that since you’ve never had a Soul Quest, you might want to give this a try. There is magic here. Perhaps even enough to help you find your song or learn to trust yourself. Perhaps even enough to show you the path to completing our bond.”
The patience in his voice made Ellysetta feel petty. Rain was the one going to war. She was the one staying safely behind in the Fading Lands, risking nothing.
Nothing except the possibility of spending the rest of her life without him. She bit her lip and looked away, blinking against a sudden rush of tears. That possibility didn’t bear thinking about.