Crown of Crystal Flame (54 page)

She lifted his hands to her face and opened her mind, offering him access to the part of her mind not even Vadim Maur could enter. “The information you need is here in my mind. Take it.” When he didn’t immediately take her up on her offer, she snapped, “Quickly, before I change my mind.”

He gave her a deep, searching glance, then nodded and said,
“Beylah vo, ajiana.”
The way he said it felt almost like a kiss pressed against her cheek. “And forgive me, this may be uncomfortable.”

She gasped softly as Lord Death dove into her mind.

She suspected he was being as gentle as he could, but she could feel him inside her head, briskly rifling through her thoughts, siphoning off the information he needed. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, and her breathing turned ragged, fearing that he would look beyond the thoughts she’d pushed to the front of her mind to the other thoughts… the thoughts of Shia and her son. But he did not trespass. He took only what he needed and no more. Then her mind was her own once more.

“This will do,” he said. “This will more than do. You have a good eye.”

The compliment made her flush with pleasure. “Go,” she ordered brusquely, to hide her reaction. “You don’t have much time.”

“Then come with us,” Shan said. “We’ll see you to safety once we kill the Mage.”

“I can’t. I’ve got things of my own to tend to.”

Shan nodded in understanding. “Good luck,
kaidina,”
he said. “I know you think the Fey would kill you, but you will always find welcome in the House of Celay.”

The woman, his mate, reached for Melliandra’s hands.
“Miora felah, ajiana.
Blessings of the Fey upon you, child, and may the gods grant you more joy than you ever thought possible.”

The soft words were accompanied by a rush of warmth so strong, and a feeling of such… such… Melliandra had no words to describe it. The closest she could compare it to was the dizzying pleasure when she’d called her magic that time in the refuse shaft. It was like freedom and Shia’s smile and sunlight and blue skies all wrapped up in a single moment that made her want to laugh and cry all at once. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself to hold the feeling to her for as long as she could.

When she opened her eyes again, Lord Death and his mate were gone.

Chained to the walls of a lightless cell in the bowels of Boura Fell, Bel, Gaelen, and the rest of Ellysetta’s quintet awaited their turn in the torture masters’ untender care. Since waking from their drugged sleep, gods knew how many bells ago, the screams of their blade brothers had not stopped. Those screams had been growing steadily louder, as the torture masters of Eld worked their way down the line of new prisoners.

A few chimes ago, however, the screams had fallen mysteriously silent.

“Do you think the torture masters have tired themselves out?” Gaelen pondered with black humor.

“More likely, we’re next, and they’ve just gone to sharpen their blades,” Tajik said.

Locked up in the room with them, Farel gave a grunting laugh of amusement. “Could be. They’ve been using them enough.”

“You know,” Gil announced, “as rescues go, I have to say, this one pretty much scorches
rultshart
turds.”

About a man length from the source of Gil’s voice came Rijonn’s rumbling agreement. “Tairen turds.”

“I told you,” Gaelen said, “I had backups. I don’t know what happened to them.”

A metallic scraping sound came from the direction of the door, and they all fell silent. The scraping sound was followed by the distinctive click of the latch lifting free. The door swung inward, and a sliver of light—the first in bells—spilled into the cell, widening rapidly as the door opened more fully. Two armored silhouettes stood in the doorway.

“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight,” a familiar Fey voice drawled.

“Kieran?” Gaelen sat up straight. There wasn’t much in life that could surprise him, but the appearance of Kieran vel Solande in the heart of Boura Fell definitely did. “What are you doing here? “

“Apparently, uncle, I’m saving you from a very nasty demise, though gods know, I’m sure it won’t take me long to regret it.”

Gaelen grinned, too pleased to take offense at his nephew’s cheek.

“Well, it took you long enough,” Bel groused, holding up his hands as Kiel ran over with a key to unlock his
sel’dor
manacles. “I was starting to get worried.”

Gaelen turned on Bel in disbelief. “You knew they were coming? “

Bel arched a brow. “You think the High Mage is the only one who plans backups for his backups?” Rijonn laughed, slow and deep.

Bel jumped to his feet, rubbing his wrists where the
sel’dor
piercings had chafed. “All right,
kem’jetos.
First we save Rain and Ellysetta, then we kick some Elden ass.”

*   *   *

«This way, shei’tani.»

Shrouded in blue Primage robes and guided by the information Shan had retrieved from the
umagi
girl’s mind, Shan and Elfeya made their way as quickly as they dared through the dark maze of Boura Fell. From the observation chambers, they had ascended several levels and crossed a wide common area filled with scores of Mages in green, red, and Primage blue. Though it cost Shan a great deal to keep his steel sheathed, they navigated that
lyrant
nest without incident and slipped down a hallway to the more private area they were in now. As they approached the intersection of two wide corridors, their steps slowed.

«The girl’s map says there will be guards up ahead,»
Shan said.
«At least six of them.»

The plucky little
umagi
girl had given Shan more than a simple map of the fortress and the path to the place Vadim Maur was holding their daughter. She’d given him all the details about all the rooms and wards and guard postings along the way, and identified spots where they would have to exercise extreme caution to avoid being caught.

«Let me check,»
Elfeya replied, and with a skill unaltered by centuries of confinement, she sent her empathic senses whispering out ahead of them. The tendrils of awareness curved around the blind corners and streamed, undetected, down the hallways, pale threads of invisible golden light, imperceptible to all but the strongest of senses. Swiftly, she verified the location and number of the guards.

«Four to the left, two to the right,»
she confirmed.

«I’ll have to take them all,»
he replied grimly.
«If even one of them raises the alarm, we won’t make it.»
Their path lay to the left, up a flight of stairs to a heavily guarded, private level of the fortress restricted solely to Vadim Maur and a select few Primages.

A flash of awareness made Elfeya’s senses tingle.
«Some-one’s coming!»
The tingle darkened to discomfort, then outright pain. Her breath seized in her throat as she recognized the feeling.
«Dahl’reisen, Shan.»

«Quickly,»
he said,
«into this room.»
He turned abruptly towards a door on the left and reached for the
sel’dor
handle. The door was locked but unwarded. Ignoring the sear of pain, Shan sent his senses into the keyhole, examined the locking mechanism, then pulled a black Fey’cha from his harness. A quick weave of Earth drew the Fey’cha’s tip into a shape that would release the lock.

He thrust the key-blade into the lock and turned just as Elfeya cried,
«He’s here.»

The door opened. He thrust Elfeya inside and glanced over his shoulder as he followed her inside. The corridor was empty. But Elfeya’s pain was real. Shan had long ago learned to trust his mate’s senses, even above his own. The
dahl’reisen
was there. Fey eyes could not see him, but he was there.

As the door swung closed, Shan’s own warrior senses flared to abrupt life, as certain and infallible as Elfeya’s empathy. He dodged left just as a red Fey’cha whirred past the spot his head had been.

The door shut. Another blade thunked deep into the
sel’dor
-braced wood. The first red blade, which had sunk into the far wall of the room, disappeared as the
dahl’reisen
spoke his return word.

«Scorch it. We must have given ourselves away.»
Shan shed his Primage robes and reached for his black Fey’cha as he scanned the room for a position of safety and attack. There was a table in the center of the room. Elfeya was already racing to take shelter behind it before he spun the weave to flip it on its side.

Shan went high, racing up the wall and launching across the ceiling on an Air-powered leap, just as the door opened. His senses merged with Elfeya’s, and he used her empathy to pinpoint the enemy he could not see. Black Fey’cha flew with unerring aim and blurring speed. The
dahl’reisen
grunted. Shan dropped to the floor, as magic spun from Elfeya’s fingertips, wrapping the still-invisible
dahl’reisen
tight in bands of power.

Shan thrust his hands into the center of Elfeya’s net, and sparks flew where his
sel’dor
bands touched the
dahl’reisen’s
invisibility weave. He caught a brief glimpse of a pale scarred face and a mouth opening—no doubt to shout the alarm. His fingers closed around the
dahl’reisen’s
throat, squeezing tight and cutting off his cry.

“I can’t kill you,
dahl’reisen rultshart,”
he hissed, “but I can make you wish I would.”

“That would be a shame,
kem’chatok,
since he came to save you.”

Shan’s spine went straight as a board, and he spun around, Fey’cha flying from their sheaths into his hands. “Vel Serranis,” he snarled, and he let fly his blades.

Shan’s most infamous
chadin
dodged and deflected with a skill that would do any
chatok
proud, but he still didn’t manage to escape all of Shan’s blades. One Fey’cha caught him in the shoulder and one in the back of the right thigh as he spun away, before a cry on the vel Celay family path brought Shan up short.

«Parei, Shan! Parei! Gaelen and Farel are friends.»

“Tajik?” Elfeya rose from behind the overturned table, whispering her brother’s name.

«Elfeya, get down!»
Fearing a trap, Shan thrust the
dahl’reisen
away from him and backed towards his mate, blades drawn. He’d never betrayed the vel Celay family path—at least not that he remembered—and he didn’t think Elfeya had either. But after a thousand years of torture, anything was possible.

And yet, there he was, Tajik vel Sibboreh, Elfeya’s youngest brother, appearing inside the room as he shed his invisibility weave. He looked older—much harder and world-worn—than Shan remembered him, but he was still, unmistakably Tajik. Blue-eyed, fire-haired, and staring at his sister like she was the sun and he was a man who’d spent a lifetime in darkness.

Elfeya’s empathic senses could never have been fooled by an imposter posing as her brother, so when she abandoned all caution and ran around the table to throw herself into Tajik’s arms, Shan knew his eyes must be seeing true.

“Tajik!” Wrapping her arms around her brother’s neck, Elfeya wept and laughed in a show of joy too great to be contained. “You are here. It’s really you.”

Tajik’s arms tightened around her. “I thought you were dead,” he told her. “I would have ripped Eld apart to find you if I’d known you were still alive.
Sieks’ta.
Forgive me for not coming sooner. I didn’t know. I came as soon as I could.”

“Las, las, kem’jeto.
Ssh.” She stroked his hair and kissed him, then drew back to cup his face between her hands. “There is nothing to forgive. I am here, and you are here, and we are together once more. Today, the gods are kind, and my heart is full of joy.”

“I don’t understand.” Shan looked around the room in confusion. He was beginning to think the madness that had haunted him all these centuries had taken fresh root in his brain. Three more Fey had appeared inside the room. Two of them were very distinctive Fey he recognized and remembered. Like Tajik and vel Serranis, Gillandaris vel Sendar and Rijonn vel Ahriman had been his
chadins
at the Warriors’ Academy in Tehlas. The third warrior, a Fey with black hair and cobalt eyes, he did not know. Nor did he recognize the two young, unshadowed warriors shrouded in Mage robes who slipped in after the others and closed the door behind them.

After spending the last thousand years in solitary confinement, the sudden appearance of so many Fey—and so many familiar faces—left Shan feeling overwhelmed. And the fact that these Fey could all be standing there, without a shred of concern for the
dahl’reisen
among them, confused and stunned him. He shook his head, trying to still all the thoughts and questions whirling about in his mind, and fixed his gaze on Gaelen vel Serranis.

“You were
dahl’reisen,”
he said bluntly. “Why aren’t you still? And why are Fey warriors keeping company with
dahl’reisen?”

A ghost of a smile played about Gaelen’s mouth. “You always were direct,
kem’chatok.”
He gestured to the Fey’cha still embedded in his shoulder and thigh. “Do you mind?”

Shan spoke his return word, and the blades he’d sunk into both Gaelen and the
dahl’reisen
returned to their sheaths.

“Ve ku’jian vallar, Gaelen,”
Elfeya said. Allow me to help you. Withdrawing gently from her brother’s embrace, she crossed the room to vel Serranis’s side and laid glowing hands upon his wounds.

“Beylah vo, Elfeya-falla,”
Gaelen said, as the torn blood vessels and flesh knit back together.

Elfeya glanced uncertainly at the
dahl’reisen,
who had already spun an Earth weave to staunch his wounds and seal the torn flesh until his body’s natural healing properties could repair the damage.