“You’ve never liked hearing anyone speak ill of the Fey, especially not Rain Tairen Soul.” Selianne eyed her intently. “Aren’t you even the least bit afraid of him?”
“Of course I am. Who wouldn’t be? He’s the man who scorched the world. But, Selianne, when he held me in his arms this morning and said those things to me... I could have died right then and been happy. I’ve never felt so... at peace, so loved.”
“It was probably Fey magic—a glamour of some kind.”
“I know that. But, Sel, if you’d felt it... part of me thinks I would do just about anything to feel that way again. Even if it was a lie.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, Ellie. You’ve never wanted a pleasant lie over a hard truth. Never.” Selianne gripped Ellie’s hands, squeezing tight. “Don’t let them control your mind.”
Ellie smiled and shook her head. “I can assure you no one’s controlling my mind. Part of me may want Fey-perfect love, even if it’s an illusion, but most of me is still firmly grounded in common sense. In fact, I keep waiting for Rain Tairen Soul to come back and tell me he made a mistake in claiming me, and would I please just forget the whole thing.” She laughed.
Selianne didn’t laugh with her. “I’m worried for you, Ellie. Maybe your mother’s right. Maybe you’re better off marrying Den—or even old Master Weazman.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the five Fey standing near the wing’s entrance. “Handsome as they are, I’d never want anything to do with them.”
Ellie didn’t answer. The sensation she’d mistaken for tensionwas now a tingling in her skin, an odd awareness that grew stronger by the second. She lifted her head. “He’s coming.”
“He? He who?”
“Rain Tairen Soul.”
“He’s coming?” Selianne squeaked. “Here? Now?”
“Yes.” Shefelthim, felt the hunger and longing rise up within her in response to his nearness. The sensations were frightening and compelling all at once. “He’s here.”
Fresh panic flooded Selianne’s eyes. “Ellie, the Tairen Soul hasn’t sworn any vow against mind reading, has he?” Ellie shook her head. “Bright Lord save me; that’s what I thought. If he picks my brain and discovers the truth, he might decide to flame me instead of just Den.” She snatched up her shawl from the bench and hugged Ellie in a quick, fierce embrace. “I’ve got to go. Take care, dear friend.” She hurried away, heading for the rear exit of the Fey wing to avoid the approaching Fey King.
Ellie saw her cast one last, frantic look over her shoulder and freeze in her tracks, but even without that, Ellie would have known that Rain Tairen Soul had walked into the room. The shields Belliard had built dissolved. Ellie could hear the clap of Rain’s boots against the marble floor as he walked towards her, but it was the way her skin felt flushed and the blood raced through her veins that told her he was near.
She turned to face him. Everything about him called to every one of her senses, leaving her as giddy as an adolescent girl mooning over a handsome boy. His luminescent Fey skin shone against the blackness of his leathers. His eyes glowed with power, and Ellie saw his gaze flick from her to Selianne.
Worried that he would do just as Selianne feared—probe her mind and discover her heritage—Ellie stepped directly into his line of vision, drawing his attention away from her friend. “You’re here. How did you know where to find us?” She heard the sound of racing footsteps as Selianne took advantage of the Tairen Soul’s distraction and ran away.
The Feyreisen’s fierce gaze pinned Ellie in place. “Bel told me. But even if he had not, I would always be able to find you,shei’tani.” Anger rolled over her in waves. “You should not have attempted to leave the house without guard. You will not do so again.”
Though his anger frightened her, the barked command made her spine go poker straight. “I’m not your prisoner. You have no right to order me to do anything. I’ve gone for walks in the night many times in the past and never come to harm.”
“You weren’t the Feyreisa before now. While the Mages may have overlooked Ellysetta Baristani, the woodcarver’s daughter, believe me they will not overlook Ellysetta Baristani, the Tairen Soul’s mate.”
Ellie swallowed. He sounded so certain, so ominous. “Maybe what you say would be true if there were Mages in Celieria, but there are none. There haven’t been since the Mage Wars. They were banned a thousand years ago.”
His lips pulled back in a small snarl. “And do you really think they’ve stayed away all this time? They are cunning adversaries, patient and powerful.” He advanced on her, and she backed up nervously. “You can be certain they know about you by now, and they’re already plotting to capture or kill you.”
Ellie’s heart pounded in her chest, beating with sudden fear. She told herself that since he’d claimed her as his truemate, he couldn’t possibly harm her, but that didn’t seem to matter much. The way he looked right now, it wasn’t hard to imaginehimkilling her.
“Aiyah, you should be afraid. Perhaps fear will stop you from acting foolishly.”
She turned to run, but only managed half a dozen steps before he caught her wrist.
“Nei, Ellysetta. You will not run from me. You will...” His voice broke off, his attention captured by something just beyond her shoulder. Sorrow washed over her, deep and heartrending. The emotions were his, but she felt them as clearly as if they were her own.
She turned to follow his gaze, and her breath stalled. She had unwittingly run straight for the one room in the museum where she spent most of her time—the exhibit dedicated to the scorching of the world.
More than twenty oil paintings circled the room, vivid canvases painted by Celieria’s greatest masters, all depicting the tragic story of Rain and Sariel and the fiery aftermath of her death. Dominating the room was Fabrizio Chelan’s masterpiece,Death of the Beloved.
The look on Rain’s face as he regarded the great master’s most famous work would have made her heart ache even without the stunned, breathless pain radiating from him. Tears filled her eyes. For the first time, she didn’t find the famous painting tragically romantic or tragically beautiful. For the first time, she found it only tragic.
He released her hand, and the terrible rawness of his grief faded. “Her death was nothing like that,” he murmured. His gaze remained fixed on the central figures captured forever through Chelan’s unsurpassed mastery of composition, color, and perspective.
“How do you mean?”
