"It's not the walking that concerns me this time, kem'falla. It's the destination."

She bit her lip. Rain wasn't the only one getting to know her too well. "You will not stop me. I have to do this."

"Ellysetta, did Rain not already forbid you to touch the rasa?"

"He warned me they would feel shame if they hurt me; but, Bel, you were rasa, and I healed you without a twinge of pain."

"The glamour that hid your abilities must also have buffered your empathic senses. And you had built hundreds of Spirit weaves on top of that, which provided further protection. But both that barrier and those Spirit weaves are gone now. You will feel the warriors' pain almost as strongly as you felt Gaelen's when you laid hands upon him. We cannot let you do this."

"You're assuming that without any proof that it's true."

"I was there the night you restored Gaelen's soul," he reminded her. "I saw what happened to you, and I remember the way you could hear everyone's thoughts and feel their emotions so strongly after Marissya unraveled your Spirit weaves."

She crossed her arms. "I'm going to do this, Bel. With or without your approval. I need to do this."

"You're asking me—us," he corrected with a quick glance at Gaelen, "to betray our bloodsworn oaths to protect you from all harm. Tell her, Gaelen. We cannot let her do this."

For a moment, Gaelen said nothing. He merely stood with catlike stillness and regarded her from pale, glowing eyes, his face expressionless. "She is the Feyreisa," he said at last. "And we are the warriors bound by lute'asheiva to serve and protect her in every way we can. We do not command her, vel Jelani. We are hers to command. If she says she must do this thing, then we must help her do it."

"Don't be a fool!" Bel exclaimed. "If she wanted to jump to her death, would you have us give her a shove? Simply touching them will hurt her! You know that."

Ellysetta caught his hand, and Bel went still. His dark brows were drawn tight, his cobalt eyes glowing like blue flames in the dark. "I'm a shei'dalin, Bel. Whether you like it or not, pain has become an inescapable part of my life. You can't protect me from that."

"Ellysetta—"

"Shh." She reached up to take his face in her hands. "You are my friend. I couldn't love you more if you were my own brother. But I need to do this. Don't you see? It hurts me more to feel their pain and do nothing. I know I can heal them. It's the one thing I know I can do."

"But—"

"Teska. Please."

His eyes closed in defeat, and he gave a reluctant nod. "Doreh shabeila de. If this is your choice, I will stand beside you."

"Beylah vo, Bel."

"You want to do what?" Tajik vel Sibboreh looked aghast. He speared Bel with a glance. "And you aid her? It is madness! Not even Marissya can touch the rasa without pain."

"She is not Marissya," Bel said. "The Feyreisa's abilities go so far beyond what we expect from a shei'dalin—even from one as powerful as Marissya—there is no comparison. And I aid her because I am her lu'tan, her bloodsworn champion, and she says she must do this."

"Nei, it is out of the question. Honor is all the rasa have left. You cannot take that from them." The general had changed back into his leathers and steel for night watch on the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers close to the silk-wrapped hilts of his Fey'cha.

"Vel Sibboreh," Gaelen interrupted, "how long has it been since last a shei'dalin laid hands on you except to heal a mortal wound?"

Tajik's jaw went hard as a rock, his eyes flinty. "Far longer than for most of them. I nearly lost my soul in the Mage Wars when my sister was taken. I serve here because I am the last of my line, and the Massan does not want to lose yet another of the ancient bloodlines."

Ellysetta stepped forward. "Then let me offer my first blessing to you, so you may see for yourself that I can do this."

"What? Nei! I will not. Of course I will not! It's out of the question."

She regarded him steadily, with far more patience than she was feeling. "Ser vel Sibboreh…Tajik … if another shei'dalin were standing right here where I am, what would she be feeling?"

"A measure of what I feel myself. Pain, torment. Despair." Shame crossed his face. "Enough to make all but the strongest among them weep, despite my efforts to keep my emotions in check."

"And yet I am not weeping. I feel your sorrow and your pain, but by far the greater wound comes from sensing your hurt and not being allowed to heal it." She shook back the cuffs of her robes and reached out to him. "Give me your hands." She looked deep into his eyes, trying to infuse her gaze with a measure of the command Rain wielded so readily. "Teska."

"Trust your Feyreisa, vel Sibboreh," Gaelen murmured.

"Do as she asks, Tajik," Bel added.

With obvious reluctance, Tajik lifted his hands and held them out to her. He did not let his skin touch hers. He just held his hands, hovering, over hers until she reached up to grasp his fingers.

The instant her skin touched his, a wave of pain smashed into her. The force of it caught her by surprise and actually rocked her back on her heels. Good sweet Lord of Light! How can he bear to live with such torment? How had she managed to heal Bel the way she'd done without feeling even the slightest twinge of pain when she'd touched him?