He looked so earnest. And so slight to her eyes after her months in the Fading Lands. The Mages would snap him like a twig. What was she even thinking to consider asking him to risk his life? She rose to her feet and paced a short distance away. “I thought…but nei. It is too much to ask. The risk too great. You could be killed, and I would never forgive myself.”
Master Fellows rose as well. “My Lady Feyreisa, for the last months, the men of Celieria—including boys half my age—have been preparing to risk their lives for Celieria’s sake. Though I long ago accepted that my talents were more suited to the drawing rooms of noble society than to battlefields, I have always been a patriot. If there is any way I may be of service to my king in the coming war, I should like to hear of it.”
“Do you think it wise to enlist the Queen’s Master of Graces in spying on the court when we have yet to determine whether the queen herself has been compromised?” Tajik asked after Master Fellows took his leave. “What if he tells her what you’ve asked him to do?”
Ellysetta stared at the gilded doors through which Master Fellows had just exited. “I don’t think he will,” she said. “While he listens to every whisper of gossip of the court, he’s quite discreet himself.” She turned to face the redheaded Fey general. “Besides, there is no one better suited to spy on the court than Master Fellows. He has entrée into every level of court society. He is a fixture in the palace. And since he has taken to carrying Love with him everywhere, no one will be suspicious.”
“Do you think Dorian will approve of your enlisting his subjects as spies without his consent?”
Heat warmed her cheeks. Impulsivity was her downfall. “Once I explain the situation, I am certain King Dorian will see the benefits of my idea.” When Tajik arched a single red brow, she lifted her chin. “And since I asked Master Fellows to report his findings directly to the king, I cannot see why he would object.”
She sank back down onto the settee’s blue brocade cushion and reached for the keflee pot. She started to pour a fresh cup of the still-steaming aromatic brew, then paused to give each member of her quintet a warning glare. “And don’t any of you dare to turn this cup of keflee into anything else, do you hear me?” She fixed her baleful glare longest on the cobalt-eyed leader of her quintet.
Bel held up his hands. “I swear to you, all I said was, ‘Change it,’ and that only because I remembered what happened the last time you drank keflee in this place.” He attempted to look innocent, but the effect was ruined by the laughter he was fighting to keep in check. “I was looking out for your best interests.”
“Clearly you have spent too much time around Gaelen.” She sniffed. “Gallberry? It’s a wonder I didn’t spew the entire mouthful directly into Master Fellows’s face.”
Bel’s mouth twitched.
“Oh…er…that was my fault,” Rijonn admitted. “Sieks’ta. I am not familiar with Celierian beverages. I thought it was sweet hazel.”
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 for sweet 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 the lu’tan joined 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 mea sure 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 former dahl’reisen at 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 other dahl’reisen on 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 the dahl’reisen on your land?” Gaelen asked. “What did they say?”
“Tarrent hasn’t seen our dahl’reisen since 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.
“You are not going to prod me with those,” Annoura said, eyeing several of the torturous-looking devices.
“Unless your symptoms are any different from those of the twenty other ladies I’ve seen in the last two days, there will be no need, Your Majesty,” Lord Hewen replied. He placed a hand on the side of her neck to feel the temperature of her skin, then placed a metal cone shaped like a hollowed cow’s horn on her heart and put his ear to the small, pointed end.
“Why? What have they got? It’s not poison, is it?” Another thought occurred to her. “Or some new variation of the Great Plague?”
“Shh. No talking, please, until I’ve had a good listen.” He moved the horn to her belly and listened again.
Her lips pressed tight but her eyes flashed with irritation. She let him command her in this one instance because he had been her physician since Dori’s birth and was frankly better at healing than anyone except a Fey shei’dalin. But she didn’t like it.
The moment the horn lifted from her belly, she asked, “Well?”
“Your heartbeat is fine and strong.”
“I have always found it works best that way,” she snapped. “Now, answer my question. What’s wrong with the other ladies? What’s wrong with me?”
“Calm yourself, Your Majesty. The other ladies have neither been poisoned nor Plagued, I assure you. In fact, nothing’s wrong with them that a little rest, pampering, and time won’t cure. As I was saying, your heartbeat is fine and strong, as is the child’s.”
“The child’s…” Her voice trailed off. Her brows drew together, then flew upward. “You’re not suggesting…”
A shocked gasp from behind Lord Hewen made both Annoura and the physician turn. Jiarine stood there, clutching her belly, a look of horror on her face. “You mean she’s…” A shaking finger pointed at Annoura. “And they’re…” The arm attached to the finger swung in a tremulous arc to point its accusatory digit at the door behind them, then slowly dragged back around until her finger was pressed against her own well-endowed chest. “And I’m…?”
“Pregnant.” King Dorian leaned against the closed door of the private room located at the rear of the council chamber and regarded the royal physician, Lord Hewen, with dazed eyes. “But…the queen cannot be pregnant. You yourself claimed her past that age two years ago.”
“Yes…well…” Lord Hewen scratched his head. “I would say I must have been mistaken, except that the Lady of every noble House—at least, all the ones I’ve seen here in the city—appears to be in the same condition…including grandmothers much advanced into their elder years.” The physician held out his palms in a bewildered gesture. “It’s the oddest case I’ve ever seen, Sire. Inexplicable, really. As if the gods themselves decided to waive the laws of mortal reproduction so that the head of every noble House in Celieria could have a child.”
Dorian groped for the back of the chair behind him to steady his wobbling legs. “How far along is she—are they?”
“Well, that’s rather odd, as well, Sire. I can’t really be completely certain, of course, with ladies who have passed beyond their…er…female times…but as far as I can ascertain, they are all about as far along as the younger ladies who discovered their own good news last month.”
“I see.” Last month, every noble lady of childbearing years who had attended a certain infamous dinner at the royal palace had been discovered pregnant. Glowingly so, in fact. Though considering the seven bells of weave-driven mating that had followed that dinner, the resulting pregnancies had come as no surprise.
These, however, did.
“Thank you, Lord Hewen.” Dorian managed to speak with some semblance of normalcy. “I appreciate your taking the time to deliver these welcome tidings in person.”
“It is my greatest plea sure, Sire.” The doctor bowed. “This is nothing short of a miracle, Sire. A miracle straight from the hands of the gods.”
“Straight from the hands of someone, that’s certain,” Dorian muttered beneath his breath.
The physician frowned. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”
“Nothing, Lord Hewen. Would you please instruct Davris to tell the queen I will see her soon? Thank you.” Not waiting for the physician to depart, Dorian slipped back into the adjoining room where Rain Tairen Soul was just informing the gathered lords about the Mage’s Army of Darkness and the planned targets of their main attacks.
“The army that reshaped the world?” one of the lords repeated in a disbelieving tone. “But Celieria’s greatest historians and military experts have long dismissed those accounts as myth.”
“Then Celieria’s greatest historians and military experts were wrong,” Rain replied bluntly. “Too many ancient Fey scrolls speak of the Hand of Shadow who created the Army of Darkness and nearly destroyed the world. Many of the details have been lost over the millennia, but we know his defeat ushered in the First Age. Apparently, this new High Mage intends to bring those ancient legends back to life.”
“The Army of Darkness was said to be hundreds of thousands strong.”
“Millions.”
Lord Barrial’s expression went grim and hard as stone. “Even if we put a sword in the hand of every Celierian from boy to elder, the entire kingdom doesn’t hold enough men to face such numbers.”
“No one kingdom does, nor ever has,” Rain agreed. “Not even the Fading Lands. Which means we need allies—including as many of the magical races as we can convince to join us. That is why the Feyreisa and I will be traveling to Danael and Elvia once we’re done here. Hawksheart rebuffed our last request for aid, but we’ll do everything in our power to change his mind.”
Dorian stepped farther into the room and cleared his throat. “I dispatched ambassadors to the mortal kings weeks ago. They are already in negotiations with twelve potential allies.”
“Time is of the essence,” Rain said. “According to the information we obtained, the Eld strike Celieria on the first day of Seledos—by land at Kreppes and by sea here in Celieria City.”
“Seledos!” Lord Swan exclaimed. “But that’s less than a month from now! I doubt half the kingdoms could send their armies in time.”
“That is why a dozen fast ships will set sail within the bell carrying Fey Water and Air masters who can help speed the arrival of all allied troops,” Dorian said. “And that is why I have summoned you, my lord
s. You either have estates directly in the path of the anticipated Eld invasion routes, or you have military expertise that is essential to planning the best defense against this invasion.”
“This is a matter that requires the attention of as many of the council as are still present in the city,” one of the lords said. “Certainly all of the Twenty. Where are Great Lords Sebourne and Ponsonney?”
“Excluding them was my decision,” Dorian admitted. “I doubted Sebourne or Ponsonney would have submitted to a test for Mage Marks, which means they would not have been privy to the information the Tairen Soul just shared with you. Nor should you share what you now know with them. We will come up with our plan. We will deploy troops according to that plan. But the intelligence we have and where it came from are secrets that cannot leave this room. Is that understood? Nor shall any details of our plan be discussed with anyone who has not been verified clean of Mage Marks—not even members of your own family. Not for any reason.”
He let his gaze move slowly from lord to lord, hoping to impress upon them his sincerity while also looking for signs of dissent. Finding none of the latter, he said, “Very good. My lords, we are at war. We must accept the possibility that some of our own nobles may have been compromised by the Eld, and we must guard sensitive intelligence against all possible leaks. Do not even discuss it with your wives.”
He drew a breath. “And speaking of wives, the earlier interruption was Lord Hewen, bringing me news of the queen. I’m afraid I must call a brief recess so that I may attend her. Those of you whose wives have also been ill this week might wish to do the same. We meet back here within the bell to plan the defense of Celieria against impending attack.”
“King Dorian?” As the other lords filed out of the main chamber door, the Tairen Soul followed him to his private exit at the back. “Nothing amiss, I hope? The queen—”
“Is fine,” Dorian assured him. “In excellent health, as a matter of fact.” He spread his hands. “It seems the sickness sweeping through the courts is not a contagion, but rather a harbinger of good tidings. The queen is with child.”