«And after...when I no longer teetered on the brink of insanity?»
«They’d been trading for years by then, with no ill effects...and there remained occasional threats of the plague returning. We didn’t see any harm in letting it continue.»
Rain shook his head in disbelief and turned his attention back to Dorian. “You Celierians with your short life spans. The Mage Wars are naught but a distant dream to you, a conflict that happened so many generations in the past it has no bearing on the present. But the Fey fought those wars. We died by the thousands, hideously, in those wars. We remember.” He speared Dax with another hot glance. “At least most of us do. We still mourn our dead. The Eld are not to be trusted. Ever!”
“Rain—” Dax held out his hands. “There has been no trouble with the Eld since the Wars. Perhaps Dorian’s advisors are right... perhaps it is time to heal the wounds.”
“Your own mate’s sister died at their hands. Her brother becamedahl’reisen—forever banished from the Fading Lands—because of what he did in vengeance. You dare say this to me? Trade with the black-souled practitioners of Azrahn?”
“It is because of Marikah, because of Gaelen, that I do feel free to speak,” Dax returned. “They are gone from the Fey forever. Nothing can bring either of them back to us. But the Mage Wars were a millennium ago. And the Mages were all but destroyed. You saw to that. The other Eld, those not from Mage families, they don’t practice Azrahn.”
“It only takes one.”
«Know your enemy, Tairen Soul. Opening the borders to trade gives us an opportunity to introduce our own eyes and ears into Eld. They can find the proof Dorian needs.»
«Never will I willingly put another Fey life within reach of Eld evil. The darkness is there. It grows. Opening the borders does not help us. It endangers us all the more.»
“Dax is right,” Dorian said. “The Mage Wars were a thousand years ago—provoked by a senseless assassination that snowballed into full-scale war thanks to Gaelen vel Serranis’s excessive vengeance.”
“The assassination,” Rain answered with clenched jaw, “was not senseless. It was retaliation by the Eld for a wound your ancestors delivered two thousand years earlier. The Eld don’t forget. And they count on the fact that you do!”
“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. Evenwith 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.”
