The white-haired woman released Farel’s hands and accompanied him back to Rain and Ellysetta.

“This is Sheyl,” Farel said. “She will tend to you and your mate once we rid you both of the sel’dor.” He led Rain over to a smith’s forge built in a small clearing off to one side of the village. Six dahl’reisen followed—to guard the villagers from the Tairen Soul, Rain supposed—but the others dispersed, moving as far from Ellysetta as they could, some even leaving the village altogether.

The smith was not dahl’reisen, but neither was he wholly mortal. His muscles were thick as a Celierian’s, but his eyes were pure Fey, pale, crystalline blue and glowing with latent magic. He turned to Rain, a folded wad of leather in his large hand. “If you will allow me, Feyreisen, I’ll remove that collar. You can lay your mate on that cot in the corner, then come sit on this bench.”

Rain hesitated, searching the man’s gaze for any hint of treachery. When he found only sincere compassion, he nodded and laid Ellysetta gently on the clean bedding. A blanket had been folded neatly at the end of the cot, and he draped it over her before returning to straddle the bench near the forge.

The smith tucked the wad of leather between the collar and Rain’s neck, then slipped a small steel plate between the leather and the collar.

“Turn your head away.”

Rain obeyed, and someone—he couldn’t tell if it was the smith or the dahl’reisen—summoned a five-fold weave. The dominant thread in the weave was Fire. He could feel the concentrated heat of it. Cooling Water and brisk Air kept the heat from penetrating through the leather or spreading through the rest of the collar. The five-fold weave went suddenly ice-cold, and a sharp blow made Rain flinch. After repeating the process another five times, the despised collar fell away.

“Beylah vo,” Rain said, rubbing at his throat. He took a deep breath and winced as the shrapnel still buried in his chest reminded him sharply of its presence.

“Sha vel’mei,” the smith replied. And in perfect Feyan, he added, “Removing the manacles will be quite painful, I’m afraid. There’s no way to break open the bonds without driving the spikes farther in, and they leave thorns we must then cut out.”

“It can’t hurt more than it already does, but see to my mate first,” Rain ordered. Now that he knew what the removal procedure entailed, he would not allow Ellysetta to suffer her bonds a moment more than necessary.

“As you wish,” the smith agreed, “but I’ll need you to hold her. As I said, the procedure will not be pleasant.”

Rain returned to Ellysetta and knelt at her side, gathering her against his chest as the smith first removed Ellysetta’s collar then the manacles binding her wrists and ankles. Even with the weave keeping her unconscious, the pain of the procedure roused Ellysetta enough that she sobbed and fought Rain’s grip until the smith had removed the last of her bonds.

Then it was Rain’s turn again. He hissed through gritted teeth as the smith worked on the barbed shackles piercing his wrists. When the first shackle fell free and the sharp pain of the thorned spikes ripping out of his bone almost wrenched a cry from his throat, Ellysetta roused once more.

“Rain?” Her eyes fluttered opened, dazed and filled with empathetic pain. Now free of her sel’dor manacles, enough of her power must have returned that she was able to fight off the weave meant to keep her unconscious. She reached for him, groping blindly, and when her fingers grasped nothing but air, she pushed herself off the cot and crawled across the dirt floor to reach him. The dahl’reisen made no attempt to stop her. Instead, they carefully backed out of her way so that she could not accidentally touch them.

“Ellysetta, nei.” Rain tried to push her away when she grasped his hand. “Do not touch me while they are removing the shackles. You will feel it too clearly.”

Though barely conscious, she would not be dissuaded. Instinct, pure and Fey, drove her. Her long fingers curled around his bleeding wrist. She murmured his name over and over, weeping, as a featherlight weave of healing Earth and soothing Spirit penetrated his abused flesh. He felt her pain as the despised sel’dor buried in her flesh rebelled against her use of magic, but she persevered, ignoring her own torment as she tended his.

“Stop,” Rain pleaded, pulling away again. Even if she could ignore what she felt, he could not. “Enough, shei’tani—” The word he’d so carefully avoided using slipped from his lips. He glanced up in time to see Farel’s eyes narrow.

“Leave her.” The white-haired Sheyl stared at Ellysetta, her eyes sympathetic. “Can you not see she feels it anyway? Let her find what comfort she can in trying to heal you. Lian, finish quickly. She will try to bear the brunt of his pain for him.”

Rain kicked up a leg, halting the smith. “Nei, do not.”

Sheyl’s pale eyes flashed with sudden fire. “You Fey are fools,” she snapped. “Always trying to protect your women from their own nature. It hurts them more, do you not understand? Worse, you make them weak, when they need to be strong!”

The accusation took him aback as much as the woman’s fearless attack.

“Don’t scold him for what he does out of love.” It was Ellysetta who spoke, surprising them all. Her eyes were closed, but her voice, though quiet, was lucid. “If it is my nature to ease his pain, it is his nature to protect me from it.” Her lips curved in a wan smile. “He knows I am a coward at heart.”