His Fey. He could just imagine how well things must have gone when Bel, Tajik, and Gil set eyes on a small army of dahl’reisen. Clearly, the Brotherhood’s service to Ellysetta had prevented—or at least delayed—the usual lethal vengeance Fey law demanded for any dahl’reisen who came within a mile of a shei’dalin, but Rain wasn’t looking forward to the justifiable tongue-lashing he was sure Bel, Tajik, and the others had in store for him, especially when they found out he’d let the dahl’reisen bloodswear themselves to Ellysetta.

The hearth witch led him through a maze of Fey tents to the far side of the encampment.

“She is there.” Sheyl pointed.

Even without the glow of powerful shields around it, a single glance would have told him which tent held Ellysetta, because stretched out on her belly, wings tucked against her sides, Steli-chakai had her whole body curled around the tent like a mother tairen protecting her nest of unhatched kits. Her tail had completed the circle around the tent, and the tip of it rose and fell in a rhythmic motion near Steli’s shoulder.

“I will take my leave of you here,” Sheyl said. “There are dahl’reisen in need of healing and I promised Farel I would come as soon as you woke. When your mate is recovered, Farel would like you to meet with him at the dahl’reisen camp. There are others who wish to serve, if you will allow it.”

The driving need to reach Ellysetta pounded at him like hammers, but Rain paused long enough to nod his assent. “I will meet with him, and thank you both for all that you have done to help us. Ellysetta and I are in your debt.”

“You offered sanctuary to our families. All debts are already paid in full.” Sheyl laid a hand on his arm. “Go to your mate. May the gods hold you both to the Light.”

“Beylah vo,” Rain said, and bolted for the tent without a single backward glance.

The great white tairen had ripped the stakes from the ground on one side of the tent and poked her head beneath the heavy fabric walls to keep a concerned maternal eye on Ellysetta. A mournful, crooning tairen song hummed in her throat.

As Rain neared, Steli’s crooning stopped, and her tail stilled. The white tairen withdrew her head from beneath the tent flap and great blue, pupilless eyes turned upon him, whirling with distress.

«Ellysetta-kitling does not wake. Steli sings, but she does not hear.»

Rain laid a hand on the tairen’s furred cheek. «I will sing, too, Steli-chakai. Perhaps, between the two of us, we can rouse her.»

The white tairen rumbled her assent and lifted her head so Rain could enter.

Inside the tent, six shei’dalins and the five warriors of Ellysetta’s primary quintet stood huddled around a table in the center of the space. They parted as Rain approached, revealing Ellysetta’s motionless form.

The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. He’d never seen her so close to death. Her natural, Fey luminescence had drained away, leaving her skin a pallid gray-white. Against it, her wealth of flame-colored curls seemed lurid, almost garishly bright. Dark rings shadowed the skin beneath her eyes, and her lips had taken on a bloodless blue tinge.

“Shei’tani,” he whispered, and he moved without conscious thought, crossing the remaining distance between them to take her hand in his. Her fingers lay cold and limp in his palm. He pressed them to his face, his lips, as if mere contact and desperate love could breathe warmth back into her flesh. On the threads of their bond, sent with a warming wave of his own essence, he called, «Ke sha taris, Ellysetta. Ke sha eva vo.» I am here. I am with you.

Ellysetta gave no response.

He glanced up at the shei’dalins and Fey crowded around. “She is alive.” He said it almost as a challenge, as if daring them to contradict him.

“Barely, I’m afraid. And only because we will not let her go.” The shei’dalin closest to him threw back her veil.

Rain found himself staring into the sympathetic face of Jisera v’En Arran, the dainty but indomitable truemate of the Massan’s Air master, Eimar v’En Arran. “Jisera falla, you should not be here,” he chided. “What is your shei’tan thinking? “

Jisera arched a slender blue-black brow. “What every right-minded Fey in the Fading Lands should be thinking, kem’Feyreisen. That if we lose this war, there’s no hope for any of us. So it’s best to go out fighting for what we know is right.” Her dark brown eyes were usually soft as a doe’s, but at the moment, they glittered like polished stones. As tiny and slight as she was, and despite her deeply empathic nature, like that of all the strongest shei’dalins, Jisera v’En Arran had a spine of steel.

As quickly as possible, she caught him up. “More shei’dalins will be coming—they stayed behind to see those villagers you sent to the Garreval safely through the Mists. Those children… so many children.…” Her throat moved on a convulsive swallow. “Some of them looked Fey. There was a little girl…” Her eyes grew moist, and she blinked rapidly. “I commanded the warriors at Chatok and Chakai to let them through and told them if Tenn objected he could just come to Orest and discuss it.”

Rain bowed his head, humbled by her bravery and unswerving support. “Beylah vo, kem’falla, and thank you for everything you’ve done for my shei’tani.”

“Aiyah, well, don’t thank me for that until she comes back to us.”

The mere suggestion of any other outcome sparked an instant, involuntary swell of fear and Rage. The Shadar horn went hot against his arm, and as the horn released is potent Elvish magic, he could swear he felt Ellysetta’s fingers twitch in his palm.