A sudden fit of coughing overtook both Bel and, a moment later, Tajik. Gil suddenly found the plaster moldings on the ceiling utterly absorbing. Ellysetta regarded the three of them with a jaundiced eye, but when she lifted her freshly prepared cup of keflee to her lips and found Rijonn watching her with mournful brown eyes and an expression as woeful and penitent as a puppy’s…she couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. “Sweet hazel, ’Jonn? How in the Haven’s name could you mistake gallberry forsweet hazel?” Her choked laugh turned into a fit of giggles.
With that, Bel lost his fight and burst into open laughter. “If only you could have seen your face! Gallberry! Sweet brightness! ’Jonn, you’re a dim-skull, but flame me if that wasn’t the funniest thing I’ve seen in a tairen’s age.”
First Tajik, then Gil, then Rijonn and thelu’tanjoined in the laughter until the room rang with the sounds of unrestrained mirth. They laughed and laughed until tears streamed from the corners of their eyes. After the last weeks of battle, grief, and struggling just to survive from one day to the next, nothing could have felt better or more right.
Rain found himself reassured in King Dorian’s measure of men when the nobles he summoned turned out to be many of the same lords and Great Lords Dev Teleos had once invited to his home to rally support for the Fey and prepare Celieria for an Elden invasion.
Among them was a familiar face that made Rain smile in surprised welcome. “Lord Barrial…Cann.” He offered his arm in friendship and warrior’s greeting to the border lord who had only this summer discovered he was descended from the cousin of Gaelen vel Serranis. “I confess I am surprised to see you still here in the city. I thought you would have left weeks ago.”
Cannevar Barrial clasped Rain’s arm in a firm grip. “The king asked a few of the Twenty and the border lords to stay for military planning. My eldest, Tarrent, returned to oversee our defenses in my stead. His wife, Anessa, took their children south, to her father’s estate. The rest of my boys are here with me.”
«And your daughter?» Rain asked privately.
Cann’s mouth went grim about the edges. Though he possessed no mastery of Spirit, he still sent his thoughts across clearly. «Talisa is as well as can be expected. She and Colum are still here in the city, residing with me and my younger sons at our house in Tellsnor Square. Sebourne wasn’t pleased, you can be sure, but I wasn’t about to send my only daughter off alone with an angry, jealous husband and no father or brothers to keep him in check.» He took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. «Once vel Arquinas left, Colum started to settle down, but I’m keeping Talisa close as long as I can.»
Guilt pricked Rain’s conscience. He liked Cann. The border lord would not be pleased to find out Adrial had never left his truemate’s side and had, in fact, been hiding beneath Cann’s nose the entire time.
To change the subject, Rain turned to the formerdahl’reisenat his side. “You remember Gaelen.”
“Of course.” Lord Barrial nodded to the Fey whose cousin Dural had sired Cann’s family line. “You are looking well, Ser vel Serranis. Your return to honor seems to agree with you.”
Gaelen returned the nod. “What the Feyreisa did was a miracle, and one that I will spend the rest of my life striving to deserve.”
“I wish the same could be said of the otherdahl’reisenon the borders.”
Rain’s ears perked up. “There is trouble?”
“Not on my land—yet—but Tarrent sent word that an entire village on Great Lord Darramon’s land was burned to the ground, every man, woman, and child found dead in their beds. A farmer from a neighboring village saw smoke and went to investigate. No telling exactly when it happened or what killed them, but ’tis middling strange that not a single villager roused from bed or sounded the alarm while the village burned around them. The new Lord Darramon fears dark magic.”
“Did your son speak to thedahl’reisenon your land?” Gaelen asked. “What did they say?”
“Tarrent hasn’t seen ourdahl’reisensince the Fey arrived.”
“My lords.” King Dorian rang the Bell of Order, and Lord Barrial broke off his conversation to face his liege.
As Dorian explained his purpose in summoning the nobles, Rain glanced at Gaelen. «What are your thoughts on that attack?»
«Either the whole village was Mage-claimed and the Brotherhood executed them, or this was Mage work.»
«Your Brotherhood would murder infants?»
Ice blue eyes met Rain’s with grim frankness. «If they bore more than three Marks? Without hesitation.»
“You expect us to submit ourselves to magic spun by Gaelen vel Serranis?” A raised voice made them both turn towards the gathered Celierian lords. “Sire, you cannot be serious.”
“Ser vel Serranis’s weave is the only way to detect Mage Marks, and the news the Tairen Soul has brought is grave enough that we dare not share it with anyone who has been compromised by the Mages.” When no one stepped forward, the king gestured impatiently. “Come now. I’ve submitted to the procedure myself, and am none the worse for it.”
Cannevar Barrial stepped forward, his fingers already tugging at his neck cloth. “I’ll be the first. I’ve no fear of Fey magic.” He glanced at Rain and Gaelen, and the corner of his mouth pulled down in a grimace. “It’s the Eld kind I worry about.”
Despite Annoura’s continuing nausea, weariness crept over her. Her vile sickness had left her drained and lethargic. She never slept in the day—kingdoms didn’t rule themselves—but right now, if she were any other woman, she would happily let herself drift off to the sound of Jiarine’s low-pitched, pleasant reading voice.
Instead, a lifetime of stern discipline kept her anchored to consciousness, and when the soft knock sounded on her bedroom door, she snapped to instant alertness. Whipping the compress off her face, she wriggled into an upright position as Jiarine set her book aside and crossed the room.
A second series of knocks rapped out before Jiarine reached the door, and a thin, quavering voice called, “It’s Mirianna, Your Majesty. The doctor is here.”
Jiarine threw open the door, using her body to block any curious eyes from peering in at the queen in her bed. “Idiot girl. What are you thinking to keep the doctor waiting outside when the queen is ill? Show him in this instant.”
A moment later, Jiarine stepped aside to admit the flushed and harried-looking royal physician, Lord Hewen. His robes were mussed and long strands of his graying hair hung free of his usually tidy queue. He placed a small brown leather satchel on the exquisitely carved table beside the bed and opened the bag’s hinged mouth to reveal an impressive collection of powders, vials, and physician’s implements.
