“And yet, here we stand, and there is not an enemy in sight.” The Celierian king folded his arms over his chest. “Or is there perhaps some other important little tidbit of information you’ve been keeping from me? Some reason you wanted me here that you thought I’d be better off not knowing?”

“Nei, there is not. I have always spoken true. I may not have told you everything, but I’ve never lied to you.”

“Oh, right. You don’t lie. That would be dishonorable. Instead, you just manipulate and deliberately mislead.”

Rain’s muscles drew tight as his temper rose. Dorian had a right to his suspicions, but this was deliberate insult. “Are you going to throw that in my face every time I advise you? The enemy may not have attacked last night, as Hawksheart said they would, but there remains no doubt in my mind that they will. There is no doubt in my mind that we are facing the deadliest battle of our lifetime. Our ability to strike any sort of significant blow against this High Mage’s army will depend on how closely we can work together, how much we can trust each other.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you chose to deceive me.” A hard north wind blew Dorian’s blue cloak back off his shoulders and tugged strands of dark hair from his queue to whip about his face.

“Spit and scorch me!” Cursing under his breath, Rain stalked to the crenellated edge of the battlement. He grabbed the edges of the stone and held on as tightly as he was holding the fraying edges of his temper.

Ellysetta was down in the encampment with her quintet, checking on Rowan and making the rounds of the Fey and Celierian armies—ostensibly to see if any of the warriors needed healing, but really to start mending fences and rebuilding damaged trust. As important as that was, Rain should have known better than to take this walk with Dorian without her. Thanks to his encroaching bond madness, his ability to control his temper proved elusive when he strayed too far from Ellysetta’s side. Even the smallest conflict sparked his tairen’s ire—and considering that a tairen’s idea of diplomacy was to flame-roast his opponent and eat his smoking carcass, that was not particularly helpful.

Rain stared across the river at Eld and counted to ten. The enemy, he reminded himself, lay there—across the river. Not standing here beside him. He clung to that truth and used it to force back the growing threat of his tairen.

“I’ve already said I was wrong,” he told Celieria’s king. “But do not forget—the decision I made came after a summer full of difficulties dealing with your people. I warned you war was coming, but you and your Council ignored my concerns and rejected my warnings until the Eld attacked the Grand Cathedral of Light and tried to capture my shei’tani.” Ellysetta would have been proud of how calm and controlled he sounded, how neatly he laid out his argument, when all he really wanted to do was grab Dorian by the throat and shake some sense into him. “The anti-Fey sentiment so prevalent amongst your nobles—your Queen, among them—was still fresh in my mind.”

“All Annoura and those nobles ever did was warn me that Fey would manipulate mortal minds. It seems to me that all you did with the whole Talisa and Adrial fiasco was prove them right!”

Rain drew a long, deliberate breath. “As I told you,” he reiterated slowly, “I did what I thought best at the time. Adrial remained with his shei’tani, but I tried to make certain that if his presence had been discovered, you would be absolved of all blame.”

“So you lied to me—manipulated me—for my own benefit?”

“You and I are kings, Dorian. You know as well as I do that in politics, truth is often the first casualty. I doubt you can claim with any shred of honesty that you’ve never manipulated facts or obfuscated in order to avoid a conflict or do what you believed was right.” When Dorian did not immediately reply, Rain knew the thrust had struck home. “Fey do not lie. That puts us at a severe disadvantage when dealing with mortals who have no such scruples. So, we have learned to dance the blade’s edge of truth, to veil truths we do not wish to share. It is a survival tactic we have found necessary when dealing with your kind.”

“I am your kind—or so I always believed myself.” Dorian was the descendant of Marikah vol Serranis of the Fey, Gaelen vel Serranis’s twin. “But apparently my blood is not Fey enough for you to feel the same—or to trust me as I have always trusted you.”

“Setah,” Rain rumbled. “Enough.” His hands slashed through the air with curt command. “What is done cannot be undone. Will you allow hubris to keep us at each other’s throats, or can we agree mistakes were made on both sides and move on? “

“Hubris?” Dorian’s brows rose. “Is it hubris to want to know how far I can trust an ally? “

“You can trust us to defend Celieria from the Eld!” Rain snapped. “You can trust us to stand against our common enemy and give no quarter. To die by your side. You can trust that the Fey will not leave this battlefield so long as a single Eld soldier stands with weapon in hand. Can that not be enough? “

“I suppose it will have to be.”

Ill-humored and grudging though it was, that was the sound of capitulation. Rain closed his eyes for a brief moment and drew another long, deep breath of the icy northern air. His nerves felt as if he’d just spent a full day being scoured and pummeled by the Spirit masters of the Warrior’s Academy. His head hurt, and every muscle in his body was clenched tight with the effort he’d expended to keep his dangerous temper and wayward thoughts in check.