With a sigh, Ellysetta knelt beside him and nestled in his arms, resting her head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart sounded softly in her ear. He gestured and the quintet spun their shielding weaves to protect Ellysetta from her Mage-haunted dreams. Rain added his own five-fold weave to theirs.

"Rain," she scolded again. "You promised you would conserve your strength. Fanor said a single five-fold weave would be enough to shield my dreams in Elvia."

"If one is good, then two are better." He traced the curve of her lips with one finger. "Humor me, Ellysetta. It pains me to see the fear in your eyes when you wake. To know that I cannot protect you from what haunts you."

She pressed a kiss into his palm. "You are with me. That is protection enough."

"I will always be with you." «Even should I die.»

Ellysetta frowned at him. "Really, Rain. You need to stop talking that way." She shook her head. "Or, rather, thinking that way. You keep thinking about dying, as if you've already accepted it as your late, and I don't like it."

A faint flush colored his cheeks. "Sieks'ta, shei'tani. I didn't realize I'd said it so you could hear."

"Well, you did, and you shouldn't," She propped herself up on an elbow and regarded him earnestly. "The gods listen, Rain. Put a thought out there often enough, and they'll think it's what you want."

"Death is not what I want, Ellysetta. Believe me, even if that's what the gods have in store for me, I won't go without a fight."

"You won't go at all," she corrected fiercely. "I won't let you. I'll fight every demon in the Well of Souls if I have to."

To that, he merely smiled and said, "Come here, kem'feyreisa shanis."

She resisted his efforts to pull her close. "I mean it, Rain." He could call her his fierce Feyreisa all he wanted, but she wouldn't be diverted.

"I know, kem'san. I have seen you do it, remember? Now, come here and let me hold you. It's time to sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day."

With a sigh, she turned on her side, and he spooned his body around hers. One arm draped across her waist. She snuggled back into his warmth. He'd shed his blades and steel, but the body beneath was nearly as hard as the shell of armor, his long, lean form honed by centuries of training and discipline. Silky, fragrant skin, shining silver in the darkness, was his body's only softness. The realization comforted her. It was almost as if he were her armor, her living shield against the Darkness that hunted her.

She looked into the Elvian night sky, where silvery stars winked and shimmered against the black velvet of night. Soon, for that one month of the year, when the days were their shortest and nights their longest, Selena—Erimea—would appear, a fierce light gleaming low on the horizon, the brightest star in the darkest winter sky.

But which, she wondered, was the true name of that star? Was it Selena, Shadow's Light, a dreaded and fearful harbinger of the Dark, as the Celierians believed? Or was it Erimea, Hope's Light, the Bright Lord's promise that even in a world grown cold and dark, his Light would still shine triumphant?

And which, she wondered, would she be?

Chapter fourteen

A flick, of wrists, a seldom miss.

A deadly song, the Dance goes on.

So learn it well, this warrior's spell.

For a killing blade,

Means many lives saved.

Dance of Knives, a warrior's poem

by the chatok Remal v'En Alathir

Celieria ~ Celieria City

Lord Bolor was meeting with the young lieutenant again—the one with the unfortunate birthmark on his face.

Gaspare Fellows hung back in the shadowy corner of the Spear and Shield pub across from the army barracks and kept his eye on the two men. He had to admit Bolor was a genius to arrange his meeting here, in the middle of a bustling pub at lunchtime. It was so open, so crowded, who would believe a Mage of Eld would arrange an assignation with one of his minions in such a public spot?

Assuming, of course, that Lord Bolor actually was an Elden Mage.

For four days, Gaspare had surreptitiously followed Lord Bolor about the city. He'd watched the nobleman meet with a variety of individuals, from rabble-rousing pamphleteers and bully boys to shopkeepers, wealthy merchants, and lords of the realm, and even on one occasion a priest in the Church of Light. That was the problem: Most of the individuals seemed to be normal, ordinary people going on about their normal, ordinary lives. Several were decidedly unsavory, but then, many a fine lord had been known to utilize the services of such men.

And since most of Lord Dolor's actual meetings had taken place behind closed doors or in locations not conducive to eavesdropping, Gaspare still had no proof that Lord Bolor was anything more than a nobleman with an eclectic collection of acquaintances.

This second meeting with the lieutenant in the king's army was Gaspare's best chance to discover what Lord Bolor was up to. Patting the kitten-size bulge in the leather courier's pouch at his hip, he began to stealthily work his way across the crowded pub. He'd nearly reached the table where Lord Bolor and the lieutenant were sitting when Love let out a terrible screech and began to squirm and claw like a mad thing inside her pouch. Lord Bolor turned so suddenly Gaspare had to dive behind a wooden support beam to avoid being seen.

When he gathered up the nerve to peer around the comer of the beam. Lord Bolor and the lieutenant were heading for the exit. He flipped open the flap of his leather pouch and scowled down at the fairy white face of his disgruntled pet. "For shame, Love. You'll get us caught if you keep that up!"