Gods, this was ridiculous. Pathetic. When he found the High Mage’s daughter, his stench would bring her guards down on him long before he got within range of attack.
He rose to his feet, wobbled, and slapped a hand against the dark wall to steady himself. His feet shuffled forward and he staggered out of the alleyway into the dimly lit streets of one of Celieria’s lower-class districts. Keeping to the shadows, he made slow progress through the narrow, winding streets. Old memories and instinct would have steered him towards the royal palace and Marissya, but he resisted the temptation of seeing his sister one last time. She was in the palace under guard of hercha’korand close to a hundred Fey. In his current state, there was no way he would reach her alive to issue a warning.Nei, his first task must be to slay the High Mage’s spawn.
He stretched out his senses, seeking the pull of Fey magic, the natural affinity that drew him to others of his kind. He sensed the concentration of the Fey in the palace, and another concentration in a humbler district of the city. Gaelen turned and staggered towards the West End, clinging to walls, forcing his feet to move step after dragging step.
He followed his senses into the heart of the West End until he reached a barrier that shone to his eyes with a faint lavender glow. Spirit weave. He examined the weave, recognizing the redirection pattern meant to keep unwanted mortals out. Beyond the barrier, he saw a faint lavender glow on a rooftop, then another atop a buildingjust across the street. Fey warriors, cloaked in Spirit to hide them from mortal eyes. Guarding something. Guarding someone.
He stepped back into the shadows and marshaled his strength, managing a loose weave to hide his presence from them. It wasn’t a strong weave—thesel’dorshrapnel in his body prevented that—but it was enough to make their eyes skim past him without seeing unless they knew just where to look.
Leaning back against a brick wall, he considered his options. He detected some fifty or more Fey guarding the small house. He was so weak, he would never survive a direct assault on the Fey. He patted the pocket of his torn and bloodstained tunic, feeling the bulge of the twosorreisu kiyrhe’d removed from the dead Fey. They’d died, presumably, in the service of the Tairen Soul’s mate, which would have forged some small tie to her. He would use that to draw her out, away from her guards, and then strike. But where?
A cool, fresh scent teased his nostrils. Water, clean and pure. The Velpin. Sudden thirst overwhelmed him. The river’s magic-purified waters would cleanse him and soothe the worst of his wounds. The Fey magic permeating the Velpin’s depths would revitalize his flagging strength. He would draw the woman to him there. He lurched to the left and shuffled painfully down a tiny side street, out of the path of the warriors and towards the cool renewal of the river.
Ellysetta wrapped her arms around her waist and tipped her head back to look up at the square of starlit sky that shone down through the crowded buildings. Dizziness assailed her, and her vision blurred. A second set of stars seemed to superimpose themselves over the first, wavering. She smelled something rank, something awful.
Sudden nausea gripped her, and she fell to her knees, retching violently in the grass beneath her mother’s carefully tended orange tree.
When her stomach had emptied itself, she knelt there, panting.
“Ellysetta.”
Bel touched her shoulder, and she turned on him, snarling like a wild animal. He actually backed away from her. “Leave me alone,” she snapped.
“You are ill.”
“No doubt you’ve already told Rain.” Her tone was ugly, and she didn’t care. A terrible anger had come to life inside her.
“He has blocked himself. I cannot reach him.” Bel never took his eyes off her. “I thought you and I had become friends. Can you not talk to me?”
“Hasn’t there been enough talk for one night?” Awkwardly, her bones aching as though someone had taken a stick to her, she rose to her feet. A breeze blew across her face, and she became aware of a faint chill on her skin. She lifted a hand, touched her cheek, and brought away cooling wetness. Tears. She was weeping and had not even realized it.
“Ellysetta,” Bel insisted, “the Fey blame you for nothing, nor will we even if you don’t accept Rain’s bond. And we want nothing more from you than that which you are willing to give. The gods weave as the gods will, and we Fey accept what comes our way. You are a blessing to us all.”
She ignored him in favor of the new need that drove her. Thirst. She was so thirsty.
Bel took hold of her shoulders, shaking her. “Ellysetta. Talk to me.”
He was in her way. She frowned at him and he was gone. Gods, she was so thirsty she could drink a river.
“She’s in pain,” Adrial cried, struggling to free himself from Rain’s grip, “and they won’t let me go to her!”
“You haven’t the right to go to her,” Rain answered. “And if you’d killed a brother Fey, you would have lost her forever. Adrial, think. It’s the bond madness driving you. Believe me, I know. Findyour center and hang on with both hands. Talisa is safe. Marissya is with her.”
Rain didn’t release the younger man until the glow of magic had left Adrial’s eyes, and even then he remained watchful, not releasing the full measure of his power just in case he needed to summon it quickly.
“Let me go in, let me see her.”
“Adrial—”
“She’s calling for me.” The torment in Adrial’s eyes was plain to see. “Teska, Rain.”
It wouldn’t be long before Lord diSebourne learned of the fight outside Lord Barrial’s chamber. Adrial hadn’t been exactly subtle in his approach, and palace walls were notoriously thin, especially when it came to intriguing gossip. Still, if Talisa was calling for Adrial, and the husband wasn’t here to prevent it, who was Rain to keep ashei’tanfrom his mate?
“Quickly, then,” Rain murmured. “And if diSebourne comes, you go out the window. He can’t find you with her. Be patient until we can find a way to get out of this without starting a war. Just as I had to stand in Dorian’s court to appease his nobles, you must honor their laws and customs, too.”
Their eyes met, twoshei’tans, both unbonded but tied forever to foreign truemates. Adrial nodded and slipped into the room. Rain waved Rowan inside as well, in case Adrial might need the calming influence of his older brother. The others went to work erasing evidence of the confrontation before melting away into the shadows. Talisa’s quintet followed Rain into Lord Barrial’s chamber, closing, bolting, and warding the door behind them.
Talisa lay on a plum silk fainting couch, her cheeks wan, her eyes closed. Marissya sat beside her, healing hands splayed and glowing, but Dax was holding his truemate’s shoulders, which Rain knew was a sure sign that Marissya was unwell. Dax only did that when hisshei’tanineeded his strength to augment or bolster her own.
