Lord of the Fading Lands
Page 101
Smiling at the fancy, she set the pillow aside and sat up. It was early yet. Outside, the first soft rays of the Great Sun had barely begun to lighten the horizon, and judging by the silence from the room next door, her parents were not yet stirring. She rose, grabbed the robe from the wall hook opposite her bed, and slipped out of her bedroom. Downstairs, her quintet was waiting, Belliard vel Jelani among them.
"Bel!" she cried softly. She rushed across the room, ignoring his shocked look to throw her arms around him in a fierce, happy embrace. "I'm so glad you're safe." She pulled back. "Ravel told me they'd chained you in sel'dor. Are you all right?" She grabbed his hand and pushed back the leather cuff to inspect his wrist. Please, gods, let him not have suffered the slightest lasting hurt on her behalf.
His fingers curled around hers, warm and steady. "I'm fine, kem'falla.”
"And getting better by the moment," Kieran quipped, smiling.
"Aiyah," Bel agreed. He cocked his head to one side, cobalt eyes shining with affection and pride. "Ve stral miora la sa'dol stral liss, kem'feyreisa.”
"I weave joy like the Great Sun weaves light?" she repeated.
His brows rose. "A perfect translation. You've been practicing.”
"Ravel and his men worked with me all yesterday afternoon while we were waiting for word about you." The afternoon of immersion had helped tremendously. Once she'd figured out how the words were pronounced—and which vowels and consonants tended to be dropped or stressed when spoken—she'd been able to associate the sounds of spoken Feyan with her thorough understanding of the written language. A few more weeks and she'd be speaking like a native of the Fading Lands. "Are you truly all right? And what do you mean, I weave joy?”
"You were sharing your soul's warmth again, kem'falla." The rare beauty of Bel's smile brought tears to her eyes. "And, aiyah, I am truly all right. I deserved much worse than a few short bells in sel'dor chains for allowing you to come to harm while under my protection.”
"Don't say that!" she protested. "What happened to me wasn't your fault. No one could have known what that boy was going to do. Even I didn't realize he'd stabbed me until I saw my own blood." She squeezed his hands. "You aren't to blame in any way.”
"You are too kind, kem'falla, but yesterday I did not prove worthy of your trust. I promise to fulfill my bloodsworn oath better in the future." Bel dropped to one knee and bowed low, touching his forehead to the backs of her hands. "May every blade aimed at you find my flesh instead, and may I deal death to your enemies without hesitation and never fail you again." He lifted shining eyes. "Miora felah ti feyreisa."
Garbed once more as the unmemorable Merchant Black, Kolis Manza stood in the shadows of the garden beside Selianne Pyerson's small house. Through the curtained windows of the side door, he could see Tuelis and her daughter sitting at a table in the home's tiny kitchen, two steaming cups of keflee and a plate of small frosted cakes before them. As he watched, Selianne took a sip of the keflee her mother had prepared. A few chimes later, she slumped in the chair. The kitchen door opened, and Kolis walked past Tuelis to her daughter's side.
The vacant expression on Selianne's face didn't change as he slit the soft flesh of her inner wrist with his Mage blade and lifted her wrist to his mouth, drinking the salty sweetness of her blood directly from her vein. He drank until he could feel the buzzing connection of his previous bindings and the shadows of his first two Mage Marks darkened the swell of her left breast. He gave the small incision a final lick and closed it with a whisper of Earth.
As carefully as before, he summoned the sweet darkness of Azrahn, wrapped it in insulating Spirit, then plunged the binding magic deep into Selianne's heart. Her eyes went wide, and despite the powerful sedative she'd ingested, she gave a soft cry and struggled against his hold.
"Don't fight it, pet," he crooned. "Remember your sweet Cerlissa." The threat worked, as it had at their previous two meetings, and the barriers she'd thrown up against him wavered. "Yes, pet. That's it. " He held the penetrating cold of the Mark until it extinguished the last defiant threads of her current resistance.
Unlike her mother, Selianne had been born in Celieria, not Eld. She'd not received the bonds of blood that were made at birth for all Eld's children, nor been subjected to the ritual binding of souls that started on the first anniversary of the child's birth and were completed on the day the child turned six. Because of that, he'd been forced to bind her himself, using a less effective six-day method. A knife at the throat of her infant had convinced her to accept the first blooding and Mage Mark. Sedating herbs and threats had coerced her acceptance of the second—and now the third. But Selianne was no willing follower. She would continue to fight his control until she bore the full six Marks, and even then his hold over her would require effort to enforce.
He trailed a finger down the side of her face. Spirit and tiny, imperceptible threads of Azrahn sank into her skin. Though he could not yet force her compliance or inhabit her body without either her consent or a forceful use of Azrahn, he could plant directives in her mind and guide her thoughts and actions without her knowledge.
"Your mother told me you are having second thoughts about serving as Ellysetta Baristani's Honoria" His thumb brushed across her lips. "You must not let fear stop you from doing what is right. Go to the Cathedral this morning, but be sure you tell Ellysetta and her mother how concerned you are. The Fey aren't to be trusted. Look how they murdered that unfortunate boy and got away with it.”
"Bel!" she cried softly. She rushed across the room, ignoring his shocked look to throw her arms around him in a fierce, happy embrace. "I'm so glad you're safe." She pulled back. "Ravel told me they'd chained you in sel'dor. Are you all right?" She grabbed his hand and pushed back the leather cuff to inspect his wrist. Please, gods, let him not have suffered the slightest lasting hurt on her behalf.
His fingers curled around hers, warm and steady. "I'm fine, kem'falla.”
"And getting better by the moment," Kieran quipped, smiling.
"Aiyah," Bel agreed. He cocked his head to one side, cobalt eyes shining with affection and pride. "Ve stral miora la sa'dol stral liss, kem'feyreisa.”
"I weave joy like the Great Sun weaves light?" she repeated.
His brows rose. "A perfect translation. You've been practicing.”
"Ravel and his men worked with me all yesterday afternoon while we were waiting for word about you." The afternoon of immersion had helped tremendously. Once she'd figured out how the words were pronounced—and which vowels and consonants tended to be dropped or stressed when spoken—she'd been able to associate the sounds of spoken Feyan with her thorough understanding of the written language. A few more weeks and she'd be speaking like a native of the Fading Lands. "Are you truly all right? And what do you mean, I weave joy?”
"You were sharing your soul's warmth again, kem'falla." The rare beauty of Bel's smile brought tears to her eyes. "And, aiyah, I am truly all right. I deserved much worse than a few short bells in sel'dor chains for allowing you to come to harm while under my protection.”
"Don't say that!" she protested. "What happened to me wasn't your fault. No one could have known what that boy was going to do. Even I didn't realize he'd stabbed me until I saw my own blood." She squeezed his hands. "You aren't to blame in any way.”
"You are too kind, kem'falla, but yesterday I did not prove worthy of your trust. I promise to fulfill my bloodsworn oath better in the future." Bel dropped to one knee and bowed low, touching his forehead to the backs of her hands. "May every blade aimed at you find my flesh instead, and may I deal death to your enemies without hesitation and never fail you again." He lifted shining eyes. "Miora felah ti feyreisa."
Garbed once more as the unmemorable Merchant Black, Kolis Manza stood in the shadows of the garden beside Selianne Pyerson's small house. Through the curtained windows of the side door, he could see Tuelis and her daughter sitting at a table in the home's tiny kitchen, two steaming cups of keflee and a plate of small frosted cakes before them. As he watched, Selianne took a sip of the keflee her mother had prepared. A few chimes later, she slumped in the chair. The kitchen door opened, and Kolis walked past Tuelis to her daughter's side.
The vacant expression on Selianne's face didn't change as he slit the soft flesh of her inner wrist with his Mage blade and lifted her wrist to his mouth, drinking the salty sweetness of her blood directly from her vein. He drank until he could feel the buzzing connection of his previous bindings and the shadows of his first two Mage Marks darkened the swell of her left breast. He gave the small incision a final lick and closed it with a whisper of Earth.
As carefully as before, he summoned the sweet darkness of Azrahn, wrapped it in insulating Spirit, then plunged the binding magic deep into Selianne's heart. Her eyes went wide, and despite the powerful sedative she'd ingested, she gave a soft cry and struggled against his hold.
"Don't fight it, pet," he crooned. "Remember your sweet Cerlissa." The threat worked, as it had at their previous two meetings, and the barriers she'd thrown up against him wavered. "Yes, pet. That's it. " He held the penetrating cold of the Mark until it extinguished the last defiant threads of her current resistance.
Unlike her mother, Selianne had been born in Celieria, not Eld. She'd not received the bonds of blood that were made at birth for all Eld's children, nor been subjected to the ritual binding of souls that started on the first anniversary of the child's birth and were completed on the day the child turned six. Because of that, he'd been forced to bind her himself, using a less effective six-day method. A knife at the throat of her infant had convinced her to accept the first blooding and Mage Mark. Sedating herbs and threats had coerced her acceptance of the second—and now the third. But Selianne was no willing follower. She would continue to fight his control until she bore the full six Marks, and even then his hold over her would require effort to enforce.
He trailed a finger down the side of her face. Spirit and tiny, imperceptible threads of Azrahn sank into her skin. Though he could not yet force her compliance or inhabit her body without either her consent or a forceful use of Azrahn, he could plant directives in her mind and guide her thoughts and actions without her knowledge.
"Your mother told me you are having second thoughts about serving as Ellysetta Baristani's Honoria" His thumb brushed across her lips. "You must not let fear stop you from doing what is right. Go to the Cathedral this morning, but be sure you tell Ellysetta and her mother how concerned you are. The Fey aren't to be trusted. Look how they murdered that unfortunate boy and got away with it.”
