She bit her lip and fell silent. She had been protecting him since the Eld attack, hovering around him like a mother tairen with one kit. He’d been getting stronger by the day, meditating each time they stopped to rest, using his magic only sparingly, constantly performing mental exercises to restore and strengthen his internal barriers. But she couldn’t forget the sight of his face soaked in blood, or his eyes filled with horror and fear that he might once more have committed an unspeakable act.
“Aiyah,” Rain told Fanor. “Death by tairen flame is an end from which there is no return. Mage Fire is another.”
“Perhaps Tairen Souls and Mages are more alike than the Fey care to consider,” Fanor suggested.
Gil reached for his Fey’cha. Tajik grabbed his wrist. “Don’t be a fool, Gil.” His gaze never left Fanor. “The Elf is merely testing us.”
“Elves have their own fair share of blood on their hands,” Ellysetta said. They were all on their feet now. “I’ve read the histories. Elvish armies slaughtered hundreds of thousands in the Feraz and Demon wars.”
“Bayas, but none who die at Elven hands are truly gone. They all return to the Light, to be born again into this world.”
“Then perhaps that is why the gods created Tairen Souls—because some evil is so foul it should be wiped from all existence.” She would not let Fanor Farsight impugn Rain even obliquely without challenge.
But Fanor was through with subtleties. “As it was at Eadmond’s Field?” His gaze pierced Rain as deeply as an arrow shot from an Elf bow. “Did all the souls who perished there deserve to have their Light extinguished for all time?”
Rain absorbed the blow with only a small flinch, but inside, where Fanor could not see, Ellysetta knew his soul howled in pain. His lashes fell to hide the shame burning in his eyes. “You know they did not. My act was a crime so great, only the gods could grant me forgiveness.”
“And is that why you returned to the Lake of Glass to spin memorial weaves for those who died there?”
Rain looked up again in surprise.
“Bayas,” the Elf confirmed. “I Saw the weaves you spun at Eadmond’s Field, so I went there before journeying to meet you.” The Elf tilted his head to one side, a quizzical expression on his face, as if he were trying to solve the puzzle that was Rain. “Why did you do it? Did you think a few memories woven in Spirit could atone for the innocent lives lost to your flame? Did you hope such a gesture of compassion would make the gods look more kindly upon you and your mate? Or make the children of those immortals who fell less likely to seek vengeance now that you have returned to the world?”
“I did it because it needed to be done.”
Beside Rain, Ellysetta bristled. “He suffered more torment than any one person ever should for what he did,” she told the Elf with a scowl. “And he survived, with Light still shining bright in his soul.” Her hands curled into fists. Her mate had once shared the merest fraction of his torment with her, and that small taste had nearly shattered her. She would not stand idly by while anyone—let alone this…this Elf!—criticized him. “He has already earned his forgiveness. The gods found him worthy, as have the tairen. So you will not judge him, Fanor Farsight. You haven’t the right.”
“Las, shei’tani.” To the Elf, he said, “I cannot undo what was done. That is a torment I will carry with me forever. But what I did at the Lake of Glass, I did because I wanted to make certain those who fell were not forgotten.”
Farsight eyed Rain thoughtfully. “Elvish Sight shows events clearly, but emotions are more difficult to ascertain. I did not See your remorse,” he admitted. “Nor how bright your mate truly is.” He glanced at Ellysetta. “No wonder the Shadow lies so dark upon her. It fights hard to extinguish its greatest foe.”
Rain’s spine stiffened and sudden aggression emanated from him like waves of heat from a volcano. “Watch your words, Elf,” he commanded. “Myshei’taniis bright and shining and I will not tolerate anyone saying otherwise.”
“I meant no insult,” Farsight said mildly. “It was a true observation, one that does your mate credit.” His golden-brown skin shone with a rich luster in the evening light, making the translucent green of his eyes all the more vivid. “And you, Tairen Soul, are different from what you once were. You have learned humility and regret. You truly are learning to be a king rather than just the madman who scorched the world…and slew my father.”
“Your father?” Ellysetta repeated. Her brows furrowed as fragments of memory began to piece themselves together. Elves…Eadmond’s Field…Fanor…She drew a breath. “You are Fanor…son of Pallas Sparhawk.” Her hand caught Rain’s. «The Elf bowmaster who fell at Eadmond’s Field…the one for whom you created that first memorial on the lake…Rain, Fanor is the young son who filled his last memories.»
“Does my mate speak true?” Rain asked.
The Elf inclined his head. “Bayas, Pallas Sparhawk was my father. I had seen but three winters when he fell to your flame. I had few memories of him…until I visited the Lake of Glass, where I met him again and felt his love for me and for my mother.” The Elf’s lashes lowered to hide his eyes.
Ellysetta felt the old demons of guilt and remorse that had haunted Rain for centuries rise up and sink their teeth into him once more. She laid a hand on his arm, offering what peace she could, knowing it was nowhere near enough.
“Sieks’ta, Fanor, son of Sparhawk,” he said in a gravelly voice. “There is nothing I can do to repay your loss. If I could take back that day, I would.”
“I think I believe that now.” Fanor drew in a deep breath. “When I touched that weave you spun for my father, I felt his presence in a way I never have before. It was as if you’d spun a bit of his soul into your weave. And perhaps you did.” Bittersweet emotion shone in the shadowed depths of his eyes—a sort of melancholy acceptance and a fragile sense of peace, as if some lifelong wound had finally begun to heal. “Perhaps, Rainier Feyreisen, those who perished to your flame did not die so utterly as I have always believed. Their Light did not return to the Source, it’s true, but I think perhaps at least some part of it still lives…in you.”
Rain’s gaze fell. “The gods will it should be so,” he said in a low voice.
The Elf drew up his knees and rested his arms atop them. “I never wanted to forgive you for what you did—not even after I stood in your weaves at the Lake of Glass and felt my father for the first time in a thousand years—but I should have done so long ago.”
“The resentment you harbored is understandable. You were a child who lost his father to my flame.”
“And you were a Fey called to do a terrible deed because that was what the Dance required,” Fanor countered. “I should not have blamed you for fulfilling the will of the gods. All Elves know those who call a Song in the Dance rarely have a choice of the tune. It’s what they do afterward that reveals their true measure.” He shook his head. “Anio, I clung to my anger out of grief, and I think you cling to your guilt from the same. Perhaps it is time for both of us to forgive what you did.”
Rain closed his eyes and leaned his head against the thick, ribbed trunk of the fireoak tree at his back. “Some things are not so easy to forgive.”
“Perhaps not, but I do forgive you. If you truly do carry what remains of my father’s Light, then I am glad. His was a bright soul, and something of him deserves to live on.”
