Vadim smiled without a trace of humor. “Shannisorran v’En Celay... my beautiful Elfeya... I am not happy that you’ve both been keeping secrets from your master.”
The man tossed his head, throwing the long strands of hair out of his face so he could see his enemy more clearly. His broad, naked shoulders squared and his eyes issued an open, almost sneering challenge. “What secrets would those be, Vadim?” Lord v’En Celay’s voice was rusty with disuse, but the deep, rumbling tones of it were as proud as they had ever been.
Vadim knew the legends of Shannisorran v’En Celay. He’d been raised on them, as all Elden children were raised on stories of their enemies. He knew that the great v’En Celay, Lord Death, had been the most feared Fey warrior of his time, commanding thousands of his brethren in battle, leading them to victory in some of the world’s most savage and bloody battles. The Mages had feared him as much as they feared the Tairen Souls. Lord Death was invincible, ruthless, impervious to pain, privation, and even defeat.
Until he had met and claimed his truemate.
In that one irreversible instant, Lord Death had become forever vulnerable. But until Vadim, no Mage had ever dared turn that vulnerability to its best advantage.
It was Vadim who had conceived the plan of capturing a matepair, for study, experimentation, and breeding. The other Mages had called him a fool, but he had persevered and plotted, winning several of the younger, less hidebound Mages like himself to his side. He had planned the capture of Elfeya, laid the trap, buried himself and five other Mages beneath the stink of rotting corpses while his fellow conspirators had driven the v’En Celay matepair into ambush during the height of the Mage Wars. It was Vadim who sprang the trap, Vadim who captured Lord Death and catapulted himself into the upper political ranks of the Mage Council.He had been the obvious choice to replace the High Mage Demyan Raz after that man’s idiotic decision to murder Rain Tairen Soul’s mate resulted in the decimation of the Eld race.
And it was Vadim, the High Mage, the visionary, who had devoted the last thousand years of his life to that aim so grand, so glorious that even now his enemies doubted he could ever succeed. Those doubters would soon bow down before his greatness. His ultimate triumph was at hand, and in just a few short bells, he would claim his prize.
Vadim smiled coldly at his too-proud captive. “What secrets, Lord v’En Celay? Are there so many that you don’t know the ones of which I speak?” Not waiting for a response, he purred the answer himself. “The child, Shan. The one you stole from me two decades ago. The one you and our lovely Elfeya somehow managed to convince me had no magic in her, though she’s been claimed as truemate by the Feyreisen himself. My child, Shan.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cold kiss. Bright steel. Sharp bite.
Black blood. Red death. My friend
Fey’cha.
The Blade,a warrior’s poem by Evanaris vel Bahr
“I have worked a thousand years for victory, and you have tried to rob me of it.”
A whip of Earth lashed out, opening a slice of skin across Shannisorran v’En Celay’s back, adding another runnel of blood to the countless wet trails already there. The man who had once been named Lord Death barely flinched. Over the years, pain had become a familiar friend. If Vadim Maur flayed the very skin from his bones, Shan doubted he would do more than groan even while his body writhed. Except for Elfeya. It was agony for her to watch his punishment, and her agony wounded Shan in ways the High Mage’s worst blows never could. When he would have slipped forever into the hazy, sweet freedom of madness, she kept him anchored. The irony of it had not escaped him over the last centuries. In the true dichotomous nature ofshei’tanitsa, she was both Shan’s greatest blessing and greatest curse.
Vadim Maur knew it and used that truth to his best advantage.
A lash made of Earth was both painful and bloody, unlike Fire, which cauterized the wounds even as it made them. Elfeya had never liked to see Shan’s blood running over his skin, not even before the Mage Wars, when most wounds had been slight nicksinflicted while he taught Fey younglings the complexities of the Dance of Knives.
«It looks worse than it feels, Elfeya.»
Love and sorrow flowed through him, healing and wounding all at once.«I know, beloved.»It hurt her to do nothing, not even take the edge off his pain, but they had long ago agreed that she should never attempt even the smallest bit of magic in the High Mage’s presence.
Not that it would matter much longer. The child’s true nature was stirring. The bonds he and Elfeya had placed on her were weakening just as the fear of her own magic they had regretfully instilled in her was waning. There was precious little time before she revealed what Shan and Elfeya had struggled so long to hide.
Rain Tairen Soul had claimed the girl as his truemate. He must protect her now that Shan and Elfeya no longer could. Shan had never known Rainier vel’En Daris well, but his father Rajahl had been a good man and a fierce warrior, a blade Shan had trusted at his back. Gods willing, his son would be the same, strong and fierce enough to face the Mages and win.
A sharp knife ripped into Shan’s side, and he convulsed in sudden, breathless pain. Vadim had tired of toying with him and had begun the torture in earnest. Elfeya’s silent scream made Shan’s soul howl.
He felt a distant, troubled stirring. An awareness forged between himself and the child by Vadim Maur’s darkest evil. Shan could usually block the link but he’d never been able to sever it, even when he knew firsthand the horrors it inflicted. He pulled back, holding the pain to himself and Elfeya alone, but the torture had only just begun. The pain would get far worse, and then he would not be able to keep his agony and rage from spilling over.
Oh, child, I am sorry.
The king’s carriage bounced over the cobbled streets. Inside the royal conveyance, Ellie sat alone, huddled in one velvet-cushionedcorner, furious at the Fey for their ways, furious at Rain for not telling her. Furious at herself for not thinking enough to ask.
Every Fey tale she’d ever read was a story of balances. For every light, there was a shadow. For every smile, there was a tear. For every gift, a sacrifice.
If she did not complete the truemate bond, Rain would die. And Bel, with his too-ancient eyes and carefully hidden hope, would strike the killing blow, destroying both his best friend and his own salvation. Rain and Bel both accepted the possibility without question and without complaint.
Perhaps life was more precious to mortals because they had less of it to enjoy, but she didn’t want even one more person dying on her behalf. Certainly not Rain or Bel.
The carriage slowed as it pulled up before the Baristani home. A moment later, the door opened, and Bel helped her descend the narrow steps. She paused in the street to look up at the welcoming lights shining from the windows of her family home. Her parents were still awake, and the Fey hadn’t yet woven their twenty-five-fold weaves around the house.
As she approached the front door, the familiar reek of onions and bacon made Ellie’s back stiffen. She knew that odor.
