"Escort Great Lord Sebourne to Old Castle and secure him in the west tower." To Sebourne, Dorian said stiffly, "Perhaps a few days of solitude will cure whatever maggot has possessed your brain before you bring your entire House to ruin."

Sebourne's eyes narrowed, glittering like shards of glass. "You will regret this," he hissed between clenched teeth. When one of the guards stepped closer and reached out as if to take his arm, the border lord froze him with a glare. "Lay that hand on me and you will lose it." With brittle pride, he adjusted his clothing and smoothed back his hair. After one final glare for Rain and the Fey, he marched away in the center of a half dozen King's Guards.

When the Great Lord disappeared from view, the king's shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a weary gesture. "He is right. I will regret that. He has been waiting for any excuse to divide the lords and set his followers against me."

"He gave you little choice," Rain said. "Your ancestor Dorian the Second would have tried and executed him for sedition."

"Perhaps, but I blame myself for his insolence." Dorian grimaced. "I've let Sebourne and his cronies grow too bold. I should have reined them in months ago."

"Perhaps boldness alone is not the only reason for his behavior, kem'jita'taikonos," Gaelen suggested. “You should let me check him for Mage Marks before we leave."

"To what end?" Dorian crossed his arms. "If he is unMarked, it doesn't make him any less of a challenge to my rule. If he is Marked, who among his followers would believe it? They'd just say it was Fey illusion spun on their weak-minded fool of a king, my kingdom would split in two, and the Mages would simply find some other lord to use against me." He expelled a weary breath. "No, I'm better off to continue as we did today — trust the war council you cleared this morning, and consider all others potential agents of Eld."

"And Sebourne?" Rain asked.

"Once he has time to cool off and come to his senses, I'm sure he will beg my forgiveness. I'll keep him under watch. He will not catch me off guard." Forcing a smile, Dorian held out a hand. "Beylah vo for everything. Rainier Feyreisen. I am indebted to you."

Rain clasped Dorian's arm, feeling for the first time a genuine affinity for the mortal king. Perhaps he had judged the man too harshly in the past. They were both kings leading countries divided in a time of war, struggling to do what was right for their people. Neither had an easy road before him.

"If it is within my power to convince Hawksheart and the Danae to aid us," he vowed, "you have my oath I will. Farewell, Dorian vol Serranis Torreval. Until we meet again, may the gods Light your Path and keep you safe from harm."

As night fell over the city, the Fey who had arrived without announcement left in secret. Impenetrable invisibility weaves surrounded all but the one hundred lu’tan left behind to aid in the defense of Celieria.

In the queen's apartment, Annoura stood at the open glass doors that led to her private balcony. A strong downdraft from the palace roof gusted through the door, setting rich draperies swirling and carrying with it the rich, earthy aroma of tairen. Her fingers tightened on the door frame, and her free hand splayed across her belly.

So, the Tairen Soul and his witch queen had left. She should have felt a measure of relief, but all she felt was agitation and a disturbing sour note of fear. She and Dorian had been happy until Rain Tairen Soul and that girl had entered their lives. And now here she was, her husband's kingdom at war, pregnant with a child conceived through Fey magic— gods only knew what sort of monster it might turn out to be—and a husband who seemed determined to distance himself from her even when she needed him most.

A husband who'd suspected she might be in the service of the Mages.

After the Fey departed, Dorian had come to tell her about their suspicions of Mage-claiming in the palace. He'd shared what they'd learned from the Elden Mage, and informed her she would govern Celieria City in his absence. He'd also said she should trust only himself, Dori, and the lords of his war council, because only they had been checked and verified clear of Mage Marks.

The chime he'd said that, of course, she'd suspected the truth.

"My gods," she'd breathed. "You had them check me, didn't you?”

The guilt on his face gave her all the answer she required, and they'd had a row to end all rows. She'd screamed like a fishwife. He'd roared back like a surly bear. They'd said bitter things, angry things, ugly, hateful things. And he'd stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

He'd not come to visit her since. Not to apologize. Not to set things right between them. Not even just to sit beside her in silence and wait for her to unbend, as he often did after one of their arguments.

Three times, she'd started to send him a note, and three times pride kept her from it. He would come on his own, or not at all.

And so far, he'd chosen not at all.

Her hands tightened on the frame of the glass-paneled doors. All because of the Fey.

Silk rustled behind her. "You should close the door before you catch a chill. Your Majesty."

Annoura turned to Jiarine Montevero. Dear Jiarine, Dorian had not come, but Jiarine had hardly left her side. "You are a good friend, Jiarine. The kind even a queen can confide in."

Eld ~ Boura Fell

Vadim Maur peered into the shimmering dark red liquid that filled the wide, shallow bowl of a Drogan Blood Lord's chalice. The discarded, bloodless body of an infant lay at the bottom of a small refuse cart nearby, its tiny throat slit from ear to ear, its skin a pallid gray-white. The rings of power on Vadim's hands glittered with red lights as he passed his palms over the chalice and murmured, "Daggarta droga." Around the mosaic-tiled confines of his private spell room, the sconces flared, and shadows danced like living silhouettes against the walls.