The Tairen Soul's mate—his queen—had been stabbed, in public, on Celierian soil by a Celierian citizen, and these honorless rultsharts squealed as if they were the injured party.

"I have listened to the charges and accusations of your countrymen as you insisted," Rain interjected when the current speaker paused to take a breath. "I do not dispute that they believe what they saw, but that does not mean what they think they saw is what truly happened. Now bring Belliard forth. Ask him to swear an oath of honor that he did not murder this boy.”

Dorian nodded. Near the back of the room, a door swung inward and Bel entered, bound in chains and surrounded by the King's Guards.

Marissya stifled a gasp, and Rain stiffened with outrage. Bel had been stripped of his blades, his tunic, and his boots, leaving him barefoot, bare-chested, and weaponless. Black metal manacles had been clamped around his wrists and ankles, and a matching black collar circled his neck. Short chains tied the bindings all together and restricted Bel's walk to a shuffle. Though the warrior held himself proudly erect, his face was drawn and pale, and his hands trembled, a testament to the terrible pain he was suffering. "You dare bind a Queen's Blade in sel'dor?" Rain hissed in a low voice. A wave of heat swept over the council chamber, and the flames in the sconces flared.

Shocked silence was the only answer to his challenge until Annoura sat up in her throne. "The man stands accused of murder," she pointed out. "Should his guards have left his magic unrestrained? I, for one, will not condemn them for taking precautions.”

"Precautions don't include torturing him until he scarce can stand! Sel'dor burns like acid on Fey flesh." He shot a furious, commanding glare at Dorian. "Remove that vile Eld filth this instant, or by Adelis's holy light, I swear I will visit Bel's torment upon you all so you may know what harm you do him." His hands clenched in fists at his sides. Hatred of all things Eld swirled around him like a black cloud, and he struggled to keep his violent emotions in check. Tiny sparks of escaping power flashed around him. "Now!" he barked.

"Do it," Dorian commanded, and the guards surrounding Bel hurried to unlock and remove the restraints. "My Lord Feyreisen, I assure you I did not order this.”

When Bel was free of the cursed Eld metal, Rain spun a rapid weave of Earth to replace Bel's boots and tunic and restore at least a modicum of his dignity. Marissya reached out to Bel with healing weaves to soothe the worst of his burns.

Rain waited for her to finish before turning back to Dorian. Fire still sparked in his eyes and anger clipped every word. "Question him and be done. I'll not abandon this honored hero of the Fey to your country's unkind custody a moment longer.”

Bel stood in the center of the council chamber and submitted willingly to Marissya's touch as he swore a Fey oath that the dead boy was the same one who had stabbed Ellysetta, and that he had neither murdered the boy, nor ordered his murder, nor harmed him in any way.

"Truth," she announced when he finished. "If you did not kill the boy, who did?" Lord Sebourne demanded.

"I don't know," Bel said. "We saw no one.”

"Truth," Marissya said.

"So, you're asking us to believe that a young Celierian boy—a boy you were pursuing for the attempted murder of the Tairen Soul's mate just happened to spontaneously combust when you cornered him?”

"I am not asking you to believe anything, my lord. I am merely telling you in all honesty that neither I nor my men killed that boy, and we did not see who did.”

"Truth," Marissya confirmed.

"But he died by magic, did he not?”

"Someone spun the weave that slew him," Bel admitted. Lord Sebourne pounced. "Someone Fey?”

"Fey are not the only race to weave magic, my lord. The Eld do as well. And others.”

"Ah, yes, the Eld." Sebourne cast a speaking glance around the chamber. "That's who you really want us to believe is to blame, do you not?”

Bel ignored the lure dangled before him. "My lord, as I told you, I did not see who spun the weave. I cannot tell you who wove it, but I can assure you who did not. If you are truly interested in finding the killer, I recommend you start by asking who would benefit most from making Celierians doubt the Fey. And while you're at it, also consider this: I am a Master of Spirit. I weave illusion as easily as you draw breath. If I really had killed that boy, why in all the gods' names would I have been stupid enough to let anyone see me do it? And why would I leave them with memories of the crime intact so they could accuse me?”

Sebourne's mouth opened, then closed again without saying a word. Nonplussed, he glanced round the council chamber and saw similar confusion on the faces of his supporters.

"Enough of this farce." On the opposite side of the chamber, a lord who had thus far remained silent now stood up. He had pale, faintly luminous skin, long black hair, and catlike eyes that proved more than a hint of Fey blood ran through his veins.

«Who?» Rain asked Dax.

«You don't recognize him? You once called his ancestor friend, and I've always thought the family resemblance striking.» When Rain didn't answer, Dax surrendered the name. «Teleos. Devron Teleos. He guards the Veil now, as well as the Garreval.»

Rain eyed the young border lord with greater interest. Teleos was indeed a name familiar to him, and neither the Veil nor the Garreval were insignificant stretches of land.