"A meeting is not a Challenge, Rain, and I'm certain the Massan would not even have done that much unless something had them deeply concerned."

Dax leaned forward, arching a brow. "Something like—oh, I don't know—your dahl'reisen brother, the Dark Lord, passing through the Mists, perhaps?"

"Former dahl'reisen." Marissya sniffed. "And sarcasm does not become you, shei'tan." Then she grimaced and admitted to Rain, "But Dax is right. That is why I think they met. And that's why I think Gaelen and Bel should start for Dharsa first thing tomorrow. Once the Massan meet Gaelen face-to-face they will realize there is nothing to fear."

Dax bent towards Rain to mutter, "Nothing to fear, but plenty not to like."

Marissya glared at her truemate. "Dax!"

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Rain smothered a laugh, but his expression flashed quickly to sobriety when Marissya turned her glare on him. He cleared his throat, tossed back the rest of his wine, and said, "Your idea is a good one, but I don't want Gaelen confronting the Massan without us. The four of us will leave for Fey'Bahren at first light tomorrow. Have Bel, Gaelen, and the returning warriors meet us by the Sentinels outside of Dharsa in four days. That should give us enough time to reach Fey'Bahren, let Ellysetta spin her healing weave on the kits, and then fly to Dharsa."

"Dax and I had planned to leave for Elvia after assisting Ellysetta at Fey'Bahren."

Rain twisted the empty wine goblet in his hand and shook his head. "There's no sense in negotiating with Elves before sorting out the Massan. Hawksheart will sense the disunity among us and hesitate to commit the troops we need. We'll see to the tairen first, then the Massan, and then Elvia."

After the meal, two dozen Fey took up flutes and stringed lutars to fill the night with music. And Ellysetta discovered that the warriors of the Fey sang as masterfully as they wove magic and wielded steel. The haunting beauty of their voices rose in soaring, crystalline swells interwoven with multiple complex harmonies, and made her want to laugh and weep all at once.

Following a rousing rendition of "Ten Thousand Swords," which the entire gathering of warriors joined in singing, the Fey made their way by the score to the front of the room. There, one after another, they approached the head table to greet Ellysetta and Rain, offer well wishes for the speedy completion of their truemate bond, and kneel before Marissya and the other shei'dalins to receive their blessings.

Ellysetta noted a large group of warriors at the back of the hall—Tajik vel Sibboreh among them—who did not join the others in approaching the front table where the women sat. The aura of somberness about them caught Ellysetta's attention and would not let go. They sang with the other Fey, but their smiles were not so frequent, and their laughter was quietly subdued.

"Rain, who are those warriors?"

Rain followed her gaze. "Those are the rasa. They are as Bel was before you made his heart weep again."

Ellysetta's heart contracted. She remembered how Bel had been when she'd first met him: his eyes full of shadows and pain, the careful way he had avoided meeting her gaze for more than a few brief moments at a time, the sorrow that hung about him like a shroud.

"Why are they not coming forward to receive a shei'dalin blessing?"

"They have seen too many battles and carry the weight of too many souls upon theirs. The shei'dalins cannot lay hands upon them without sharing their pain, so our women do not touch them except to heal mortal wounds."

"That isn't fair," Ellysetta muttered, frowning at the solitary warriors.

"Little in life ever is, shei'tani," Rain replied. "But it is the Fey way, and all Fey warriors accept that life is a dance of duty, honor, and sacrifice."

It was the one aspect of Fey culture that her heart railed against. Those men, those warriors, had sacrificed so much for their country, and ultimately, if they could not find their own truemates, they would have to choose sheisan'dahlein, the honor death, or they would slip down the Dark Path and become dahl'reisen, banished forever from the beauty of the Fading Lands. There wasn't even any guarantee a truemate existed for them—only the hope that if a Fey were honorable enough, worthy enough, the gods would eventually create and set in his path the one woman whose soul could call his own. But most Fey died before ever seeing that dream come to fruition.

Her fingers tightened, the nails digging into her palms. Ever since she'd been small, the call to heal those in pain had been a powerful urge. Those Fey were hurting. She could feel their pain pricking her senses like small, sharp knives.

Ellysetta pushed her chair away from the table and stood.

"Shei'tani?" Rain rose to his feet as well, a frown furrowing his brow.

"I'm going to talk to them."

His hand caught her wrist. "Just talk?"

He was coming to know her a little too well. She wasn't sure that was a good thing. "Perhaps offer them a shei'dalin's blessing," she admitted.

"Nei, you must not touch them," he commanded. When she set her jaw, he explained on a low throb of Spirit, «Though you mean well, your offer would shame them. You would force them to hurt you by refusing your gift, or hurt you by causing you pain with their touch. Either way, their hearts would bleed with remorse.»

Scowling, Ellysetta sat back down. She knew that if she went over to the rasa, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from trying to heal them. Earlier, the music and the joyful celebration had masked their pain, but now the rasa's torment—and her own urge to lessen it—beat at her.