«You sure you don’t want me to kill diSebourne after all?» Gaelen muttered on a private weave as Great Lord Sebourne continued his bombastic tirade. «I could do the father, too, while I’m at it. I’ll wager plenty would thank me besides the vel Arquinas brothers.» The lethal tonelessness of his Spirit voice made it clear he was not joking.
For one fraction of a moment, Rain savored the suggestion. To be honest, the idea of cutting off the air to Sebourne’s lungs and watching his face turn purpledidharbor a certain savage appeal. The arrogantrultshartwas the kind of man who made Rain grateful mortals were short-lived. Then honor reared its head, and with a sigh, he declined. «Not without cause, Gaelen. Besides, it looks like Dorian has reached the end of his patience this time.» He flicked a glance at the Celierian king, whose fists were clenched as tightly as his square jaw.
Dorian’s chest expanded on a deep breath. His spine straightened, and his shoulders seemed to broaden nearly half again their width.
“Apparently, Lord Sebourne, you have misinterpreted my tolerance these last months, mistaking my compassion for the emotional distress your family suffered this summer as a sign of weakness. Because clearly you have forgotten who is the Great Lord and who is the king.” Dorian leaned forward, faint green sparks of Earth magic flashing in his eyes. “How dare you insult your king, question his motives, and bark at him like an unruly dog because he did not beg your permission to call a meeting of his lords?”
Surprise and the first hint of wariness flickered across Sebourne’s face, but prideful temper soon eclipsed it. “An unruly dog, am I? Because I dare to speak my mind? Because I dare object to my king being led about by the Fey like a trained monkey on a leash?”
“Enough!” Dorian smacked a palm on the desk. Green sparks shot out from the point where palm hit wood, and the desk shuddered. The inkwell and lamp rattled across several fingerspans of desktop, and a stack of papers toppled off the edge onto the floor. “Guards!”
Boot heels clattered against marble floor as the King’s Guards standing outside the gathering chamber rushed to their sovereign’s call.
“Escort Great Lord Sebourne to Old Castle and secure him in the west tower.” To Sebourne, Dorian said stiffly, “Perhaps a few days of solitude will cure whatever maggot has possessed your brain before you bring your entire House to ruin.”
Sebourne’s eyes narrowed, glittering like shards of glass. “You will regret this,” he hissed between clenched teeth. When one of the guards stepped closer and reached out as if to take his arm, the border lord froze him with a glare. “Lay that hand on me and you will lose it.” With brittle pride, he adjusted his clothing and smoothed back his hair. After one final glare for Rain and the Fey, he marched away in the center of a half dozen King’s Guards.
When the Great Lord disappeared from view, the king’s shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a weary gesture. “He is right. I will regret that. He has been waiting for any excuse to divide the lords and set his followers against me.”
“He gave you little choice,” Rain said. “Your ancestor Dorian the Second would have tried and executed him for sedition.”
“Perhaps, but I blame myself for his insolence.” Dorian grimaced. “I’ve let Sebourne and his cronies grow too bold. I should have reined them in months ago.”
“Perhaps boldness alone is not the only reason for his behavior,kem’jita’taikonos,” Gaelen suggested. “You should let me check him for Mage Marks before we leave.”
“To what end?” Dorian crossed his arms. “If he is unMarked, it doesn’t make him any less of a challenge to my rule. If he is Marked, who among his followers would believe it? They’d just say it was Fey illusion spun on their weak-minded fool of a king, my kingdom would split in two, and the Mages would simply find some other lord to use against me.” He expelled a weary breath. “No, I’m better off to continue as we did today—trust the war council you cleared this morning, and consider all others potential agents of Eld.”
“And Sebourne?” Rain asked.
“Once he has time to cool off and come to his senses, I’m sure he will beg my forgiveness. I’ll keep him under watch. He will not catch me off guard.” Forcing a smile, Dorian held out a hand. “Beylah vofor everything, Rainier Feyreisen. I am indebted to you.”
Rain clasped Dorian’s arm, feeling for the first time a genuine affinity for the mortal king. Perhaps he had judged the man too harshly in the past. They were both kings leading countries divided in a time of war, struggling to do what was right for their people. Neither had an easy road before him.
“If it is within my power to convince Hawksheart and the Danae to aid us,” he vowed, “you have my oath I will. Farewell, Dorian vol Serranis Torreval. Until we meet again, may the gods Light your Path and keep you safe from harm.”
As night fell over the city, the Fey who had arrived without announcement left in secret. Impenetrable invisibility weaves surrounded all but the one hundredlu’tanleft behind to aid in the defense of Celieria.
In the queen’s apartment, Annoura stood at the open glass doors that led to her private balcony. A strong downdraft from the palace roof gusted through the door, setting rich draperies swirling and carrying with it the rich, earthy aroma of tairen. Her fingers tightened on the door frame, and her free hand splayed across her belly.
So, the Tairen Soul and his witch queen had left. She should have felt a measure of relief, but all she felt was agitation and a disturbing sour note of fear. She and Dorian had been happy until Rain Tairen Soul and that girl had entered their lives. And now here she was, her husband’s kingdom at war, pregnant with a child conceived through Fey magic—gods only knew what sort of monster it might turn out to be—and a husband who seemed determined to distance himself from her even when she needed him most.
A husband who’d suspected she might be in the service of the Mages.
After the Fey departed, Dorian had come to tell her about their suspicions of Mage-claiming in the palace. He’d shared what they’d learned from the Elden Mage, and informed her she would govern Celieria City in his absence. He’d also said she should trust only himself, Dori, and the lords of his war council, because only they had been checked and verified clear of Mage Marks.
The chime he’d said that, of course, she’d suspected the truth.
“My gods,” she’d breathed. “You had them check me, didn’t you?”
The guilt on his face gave her all the answer she required, and they’d had a row to end all rows. She’d screamed like a fishwife. He’d roared back like a surly bear. They’d said bitter things, angry things, ugly, hateful things. And he’d stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
He’d not come to visit her since. Not to apologize. Not to set things right between them. Not even just to sit beside her in silence and wait for her to unbend, as he often did after one of their arguments.
Three times, she’d started to send him a note, and three times pride kept her from it. He would come on his own, or not at all.
And so far, he’d chosen not at all.
Her hands tightened on the frame of the glass-paneled doors. All because of the Fey.
