Her sleep had been tormented by more dreams. Not the familiar, violent dreams of blood and death or the dark, malevolent nightmares that had haunted her most of her life, but new, frightening dreams of fiery anger and pale purple eyes, of a soundless voice that called to her, demanding that she reply. She remembered tossing and turning, remembered trying to block out those eyes and that insistent voice. Not until close to dawn had she finally found peace.

Now, staring up at the bright blue morning sky, with the Great Sun glowing like a huge golden ball, she could almost pretend that the dreams were nothing more than her imagination running wild … that worry about the situation with Den was to blame ... that everything would be all right and life would return to its pleasant, comfortable routine.

She didn't believe it for a moment.

Twenty miles outside the city, two hundred Fey warriors and one Fey Lord traveled at a fast lope down the broad road that cut a swath through the Celierian landscape of lush fields dotted by small villages Farmers and villagers bordered the road in small groups, having come with their families as they always did to see the immortal Fey run past. This year, however, their attention was directed not at the road, but overhead, where Marissya v'En Solande rode the wind on the back of a massive black tairen—the infamous Rain Tairen Soul himself.

The Fey warriors had broken camp three bells before dawn and resumed their trek to Celieria at a fast clip. Marissya had run with them until Rain returned just as the Great Sun began to light the sky; then she continued the journey on tairen-back, allowing the warriors to resume their normal, easily sustainable run. They had traversed the next seventy miles in just under three bells. Everyone knew that something had disturbed Rain the night before and that he had gone in search of the source of the disturbance. But he had not spoken of it since his return, and not even Marissya could get him to talk.

When they neared the city, Rain landed, lowered Marissya to the ground, and shifted back into Fey form. He paced restlessly as Marissya and the Fey prepared themselves for their ceremonial entrance into the city.

Marissya shed her brown traveling leathers for a red gown that covered her from chin to toe and a stiff-brimmed hat draped with a thick red veil that covered her face. Her waist- length dark hair was braided and tucked out of sight. The garb would have been hot and stifling had her truemate, Dax, not woven a cool web of Air around her. Marissya was a shei'dalin, a powerful Fey healer and Truthspeaker, and none who were not Fey or kin were permitted to look upon her outside of council.

All around Marissya, two hundred Fey warriors donned gleaming black leathers and spent at least half a bell polishing and re-sheathing the scores of blades each warrior wore when he left the Fading Lands. Her mate, Dax, clad in the dark red leathers of a truemated Fey Lord, tended his own weapons with similar care. Though he was no longer of the warrior class—no Fey Lord was permitted to put his mate at risk by continuing to dance with knives—his blades would always stand between her and danger.

Marissya finished her physical preparations long before the men, and she went to join Rain. It had been many years since she'd seen him in such a state. He was restless, edgy, pacing back and forth with short, rapid steps. There was so much power in him, so scarcely contained that a shining aura surrounded him, flashing continuously with tiny sparks. His eyes glowed fever-bright. His nostrils quivered as if he were an animal scenting something in the air that set him on edge. If he'd been in tairen form, he would have been spouting flame. He was still in control of himself—she and all the Fey would have known if he were not—but he was in a high state of agitation, and that did not bode well for the long day ahead. She knew better than to touch him—one didn't touch raw power without receiving a shock. Instead, she reached out to him on their private mental path, the one they had forged centuries ago in friendship. «Rain, be calm.» She sent a soothing wave of reassurance along with the words, not surprised when he shrugged it off and continued pacing.

«She is there. For a moment last night I was in her mind; then I lost her again.» Frustration boiled through the link.

«Who, Rain? Who is there?”

He snapped around, eyes flashing. His long, elegant hands clenched and unclenched. His chest heaved. He was angry and frustrated, yes, but now Marissya realized it was more than that.

«She is.» he snapped. «She! The one!» And then, the one word she was sure to understand. The one word that explained everything. He shouted it out loud: "Shei'tani!”

There was a sudden clattering whoosh of sound followed by absolute silence as two hundred Fey warriors jerked around to stare at their king in stunned disbelief.

Marissya's breath left her in an astonished gasp. «But that cannot be.”

«It can be nothing else.”

The tumult of Rain's emotions blasted over their mental link, and Marissya stumbled back in shock, recognizing those feelings for exactly what they were. Her mind reached instinctively for Dax, her own truemate, sharing the shocking truth of Rain's emotions with him.

Their gazes met across the distance, and as one they turned to look at their king.

He was pacing restlessly once more. Every few moments his head turned towards Celieria and the power in him burned a little brighter. They both knew the instincts driving him, knew that because he was the Tairen Soul those instincts would be far more intense and far harder to control, fueled by Fey and tairen passions combined. If they weren't very careful, the coming days could end in disaster.* * *