“But nothing. You let him put his mark on you. In this very house. That’s the same as agreeing to wed him.”
“I didn’tlethim do anything, Mama! Besides, the mark’s just on my neck! I thought it had to be someplace more”—she glanced at the onlooking Fey and blushed bright red—“intimate.”
Ellie knew very little about claiming marks. Both she and her best friend, Selianne Sebarre, had overheard Kelissande and her friends giggling about the marks a time or two; but Selianne’s mother wasn’t from Celieria and didn’t know the ancient custom, and the one time Ellie had asked Mama about it, Mama’s nebulous reference to “passion roses” and stern caution to “stay away from boys and dark corners” had shed little light on the subject. The suspicion and close maternal supervision Ellie had received for weeks thereafter ensured that she never dared ask again.
It was only five years ago, after Selianne wed Gerwyn Pyerson, that Ellie and Selianne finally learned what a claiming mark was. Ellie still remembered Selianne’s fiery cheeks as she’d unbuttoned her chemise to reveal the dark smudge on the top of her left breast and the giggling that ensued when she explained how the mark was made. It never occurred to Ellie that a mark could be made against a girl’s will—or put on a place asnon-scandalous as her neck.
Lauriana set her straight on both counts. “The location of the mark doesn’t matter, Ellie. It doesn’t even matter if you were willing. Den Brodson put his mouth on your body and left proof that he did. You’re now a marked woman, a claimed one.”
“But—” Panic was setting in. Ellie took a deep breath and clung to the shreds of her composure. “Nobody needs to know about the mark. I’ll stay in the house until it fades.”
“Ellysetta, if your father hadn’t agreed to sign the betrothal, Den vowed to destroy your reputation. With that mark on your throat, there’s no one who would doubt him.”
“Then let him! People can say and think what they like.”
“Ellie, there’s more at stake here than just you. There’s your father’s business—and the queen’s commission. There’s Lillis and Lorelle and their future. A stain on you is a stain on us all.”
“Mama, I hate him! I can’t marry him—no! I won’t!” For the first time in her entire life, Ellysetta defied her mother. She didn’t know who was more shocked—herself or her mother.
Lauriana’s face lost all expression. “If you refuse, you’ll see this family destroyed.”
Ellie’s fingers curled into fists. Her chest heaved. In a billow of skirts, she whirled and fled upstairs to her bedroom, locking herself within as her tears began to fall.
Rain raced through the skies, flying as fast as his tairen form was able until the worst of his wild emotions passed. He wasn’t aware of the passage of time or distance until he recognized the frozen heights of the Tivali Mountains near Elvia’s border and realized the Great Sun was beginning to set.
Exhausted, he set down on a mountain peak, draping his massive black tairen form across a rocky outcropping. Snow drifted around him, but he did not feel the cold. He rested his tairen muzzle on his forepaws and looked out over the snowy peaks and the fertile Celierian lowlands to the north. His mind was calmer now, more rational.
A truemate. It was not what he had ever expected, never what he had wanted after Sariel’s death. He knew the agony of loss, knew it in rich, memorable, fresh detail, thanks to the Eye of Truth. Which, upon reflection, seemed a bit too tairen-devious tobe coincidental. In the process of punishing him for laying hands upon it, the Eye had resuscitated centuries-dead feelings, then sent him straight into the path of the only living being capable of making him feel those feelings again. The only living being for whom he would risk an emotional attachment capable of rousing the Fey Wilding Rage.
Once recognized, the truemate bond was irrevocable. He could no more deny it now than he could deny his own body breath. Not evensheisan’dahlein, the Fey honor death, was an option for him. He was the last Tairen Soul, the only living Fey capable of entering the tairen’s lair, Fey’Bahren. He could not seek death until another Tairen Soul was born.
«Rain.»The familiar sound of Bel’s Spirit voice sounded in Rain’s mind.«You must return. There is an...inconvenience...here.»
Bel quickly relayed the details of the recent confrontation with the man who stupidly thought to claim a Tairen Soul’sshei’tani. Rain’s exhaustion fled in an instant, along with all thoughts of Sariel, loss and death. Rising up on all fours, his tairen form crouched on the outcropping, bristling with tension, claws digging deep into solid rock. His wings unfurled and spread wide, the long, curving mid-joint claws stabbing at the air. His tail whipped against the mountain, sending showers of rock plummeting down the sheer cliff face. Venom pooled in the reservoirs in his fangs.
«I will return soon. Guard my shei’tani well, old friend.»
«Aiyah, Rain. With my life.»
Rain Tairen Soul launched himself into the air. His massive form plummeted, then soared high as his wings snapped taut on an updraft. The truemate bond tugged at him, urging him to fly faster back to Celieria City and the warmth of Ellysetta Baristani’s beckoning soul.
After his angry departure from the Baristani house, Den Brodson escorted his mother back home and marched five milesacross town to the imposing colonnaded white stone edifice of Celieria’s Office of the King’s Law. There, he headed down a twisting maze of corridors to the small, cramped office shared by four apprentice Clerks of the King’s Law, including Garlie Tavitts, an old chum from Den’s early school days. With Garlie’s help, Den spent the rest of the day completing, filing, and validating all the legal paperwork necessary to confirm his betrothal claim to Ellysetta Baristani and obtain a Special License for an immediate wedding.
After painstakingly copying the last of a series of legal documents, Garlie pushed one final parchment across his crowded and deeply scarred desktop. “Just make your mark here, Den, so I can submit the Petition for Special License to Master Wiley. Though I still don’t understand what all the fuss is about. I remember Ellie Baristani, and believe me, Den, there’s an entire ocean of finer fish out there just waiting to be caught. Fish with a little more... meat on their bones, if you catch my drift.” The young man cupped his hands in front of his chest and jiggled them suggestively.
“There’s more to love than big tits, Garlie.” Den dipped a ratty old quill into Garlie’s tarnished inkwell and labored to scratch his name on the parchment.
“Yeah, like money, but she’s got none of that either, Den. And don’t even think I’m dimskull enough to fall for that ‘love’ line. You never liked her. ‘Flat-chested, freckle-faced, wood-scratcher’s git’ was the nicest thing you ever called her. And stop your glaring. You know it’s true.”
Den gave the scrawny, big-nosed paper-pusher a last, hard look. “Careful there, Tavitts. That’s the future Madam Brodson you’re insulting.” He sprinkled sand over his signature and helped himself to Garlie’s blotter to remove the excess ink from the parchment. “There.” He blew on the document for good measure before handing it back to the apprentice clerk. “She might not have tits, coin, or much to recommend her in the looks department—though that does seem to be slowly improving—but Ellie Baristani hassomething else that outweighs all the rest. Something that’s going to make me a rich man.”
“And what’s that, Den?”
Den smiled, his eyes twin coins of cold blue greed gleaming in a broad, brutishly handsome face. “Magic.”
Chapter Four
Water pure, the path to cleanse
