of the Fading Lands to another. Nothing living remained. Not a single blade of grass, not the smallest twig, not even the tiniest insect had survived. The Fading Lands were dead, as were the tairen and the Fey who had called this once-beautiful part of the world home.
"It's your fault, you know," a soft voice accused.
His eyes closed. He recognized that voice. He turned slowly, knowing who stood behind him, fearing what image from her life or death the beings of the Mists might have chosen to torment him with.
Sariel stood before him, slender, luminous, clad in a translucent gown of delicate dusky blue. She was so beautiful. Even among the exquisite comeliness of other Fey women, she had always been a flower beyond compare. Ebony hair spilled over her shoulders like skeins of silk, and eyes of deep, drowning blue watched him with sorrow and regret.
The sight of her didn't rip at his heart the way it always had before Ellysetta. Now, her image only filled him with sadness for the beautiful Fey maiden whose millennia of life had been cut so short. He had loved her with every fiber of his youthful being, but that love owned his heart no longer. Rain, the mate of Sariel, had died a thousand years ago on a bloody battlefield just north of Teleon. A different Rain had risen from the ashes, born the day Ellysetta Baristani's soul had called out and his had answered. From that moment on, no other—not even the woman for whom he'd once scorched the world—could lay claim to any portion of Rain's heart or soul.
"You brought evil into the Mists," Sariel accused. "You damned us all." Her voice was soft, and throbbing with shame and recrimination. Tears filled her eyes, spilled down luminous alabaster cheeks.
"I bring no evil. I bring our salvation," he replied. "And if you meant to torment me, you chose the wrong form. Rain, the mate of Sariel, is no more. Now there is only Rainier-Eras, truemate of Ellysetta Feyreisa."
The Mists must have realized their error. Sariel's beautiful face wavered. Her body stretched and split, re-forming as a man and woman. A tall man, fierce-eyed, black-haired, unsmiling. A woman, slender and shining. Beautiful. Beloved. His parents: Rajahl vel'En Daris and his e'tani, Kiaria.
They were no more real than Sariel had been, but the sight of them was like a knife to his heart. The blade twisted painfully when the two of them spoke.
"You are a Tairen Soul of the Fey'Bahren pride," his father said, "sworn to defend our lands against those who wish us harm, yet you have betrayed us all." Rajahl wore an expression of stern disapproval and, worse, disappointment—a look Rajahl had directed at Rain only once or perhaps twice in his entire life, because that look cut Rain so deeply he'd done everything in his power to ensure that his father never regarded him that way again.
His mother wept. "Oh, my son, my son, better you had died than come to this."
Even the illusion of their censure seared him. He wanted to cry out in protest, but he did not. He shoved his feelings aside. Illusion gained strength only when one believed it.
"Show your true face!" he challenged the pair standing before him. "I know my parents do not live in these Mists any more than Sariel did."
"We wear the faces of those whose counsel you once sought," his mother said. "We wear the faces we hope will make you see reason. Listen to us, my son."
But even as she spoke, her image shimmered. Both she and Rajahl faded, and then it was Johr vel Eilan who stood there, the Tairen Soul who had been king when Rain first found his wings. Johr, the fearsome, granite-jawed warrior who had led the Fading Lands for eight hundred years.
When Johr had sat upon the Tairen Throne, the Fading Lands had been strong. He had been a king worthy of his crown: strong, decisive, unwavering, fierce. Not some untried Feyreisen who'd been handed the crown simply because there was no other to take it, but a Tairen Soul who had trained for centuries in military
"It's your fault, you know," a soft voice accused.
His eyes closed. He recognized that voice. He turned slowly, knowing who stood behind him, fearing what image from her life or death the beings of the Mists might have chosen to torment him with.
Sariel stood before him, slender, luminous, clad in a translucent gown of delicate dusky blue. She was so beautiful. Even among the exquisite comeliness of other Fey women, she had always been a flower beyond compare. Ebony hair spilled over her shoulders like skeins of silk, and eyes of deep, drowning blue watched him with sorrow and regret.
The sight of her didn't rip at his heart the way it always had before Ellysetta. Now, her image only filled him with sadness for the beautiful Fey maiden whose millennia of life had been cut so short. He had loved her with every fiber of his youthful being, but that love owned his heart no longer. Rain, the mate of Sariel, had died a thousand years ago on a bloody battlefield just north of Teleon. A different Rain had risen from the ashes, born the day Ellysetta Baristani's soul had called out and his had answered. From that moment on, no other—not even the woman for whom he'd once scorched the world—could lay claim to any portion of Rain's heart or soul.
"You brought evil into the Mists," Sariel accused. "You damned us all." Her voice was soft, and throbbing with shame and recrimination. Tears filled her eyes, spilled down luminous alabaster cheeks.
"I bring no evil. I bring our salvation," he replied. "And if you meant to torment me, you chose the wrong form. Rain, the mate of Sariel, is no more. Now there is only Rainier-Eras, truemate of Ellysetta Feyreisa."
The Mists must have realized their error. Sariel's beautiful face wavered. Her body stretched and split, re-forming as a man and woman. A tall man, fierce-eyed, black-haired, unsmiling. A woman, slender and shining. Beautiful. Beloved. His parents: Rajahl vel'En Daris and his e'tani, Kiaria.
They were no more real than Sariel had been, but the sight of them was like a knife to his heart. The blade twisted painfully when the two of them spoke.
"You are a Tairen Soul of the Fey'Bahren pride," his father said, "sworn to defend our lands against those who wish us harm, yet you have betrayed us all." Rajahl wore an expression of stern disapproval and, worse, disappointment—a look Rajahl had directed at Rain only once or perhaps twice in his entire life, because that look cut Rain so deeply he'd done everything in his power to ensure that his father never regarded him that way again.
His mother wept. "Oh, my son, my son, better you had died than come to this."
Even the illusion of their censure seared him. He wanted to cry out in protest, but he did not. He shoved his feelings aside. Illusion gained strength only when one believed it.
"Show your true face!" he challenged the pair standing before him. "I know my parents do not live in these Mists any more than Sariel did."
"We wear the faces of those whose counsel you once sought," his mother said. "We wear the faces we hope will make you see reason. Listen to us, my son."
But even as she spoke, her image shimmered. Both she and Rajahl faded, and then it was Johr vel Eilan who stood there, the Tairen Soul who had been king when Rain first found his wings. Johr, the fearsome, granite-jawed warrior who had led the Fading Lands for eight hundred years.
When Johr had sat upon the Tairen Throne, the Fading Lands had been strong. He had been a king worthy of his crown: strong, decisive, unwavering, fierce. Not some untried Feyreisen who'd been handed the crown simply because there was no other to take it, but a Tairen Soul who had trained for centuries in military
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