Scorched Earth

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The Scorched Earth Trilogy

Tapestry UnravelledShadowed Death

The Healing Queen

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The Healing QueenBook Three of the

Scorched Earth Trilogy

Written by:

Story Master:Crisia B. Ferguson

Contributing Authors:Brianna GibsonDee MathewsEmma Hart

Fred DubsonHelen PluckJennifer DuffKate StockMarie Sult

Mary BerquistMisty KennedyRyan Beaton

Stephanie VannTonia Signor

Published with full permissionfrom all writers involved.

Copyright 2006

Published by The Bardic Web

Dedication:

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The Story Master would like to thank all the authors who contributed to the Scorched Earth Trilogy for their time and monumental effort.

The Writers would also like to thank their families for their time, patience and support as we endeavour to follow our dreams.

Table of Contents

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Whispin - Western Continent 6Whispin- Eastern Continent 7Aerdon - Continent of Nehlmere 8

Chapter 1 9Chapter 2 40Chapter 3 72Chapter 4 103Chapter 5 134Chapter 6 166Chapter 7 198Chapter 8 231Chapter 9 262Chapter 10 299Chapter 11 329Chapter 12 360Chapter 13 396Epilogue 432

lLanguage Glossary 449Character Glossary 457

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Whispin – Western Continent

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Whispin – Eastern Continent

Aerdon – Continent of Nehlmere

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Chapter 1

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As the first moon rose over the horizon and sailed higher in the sky over the Temple of Ceres, the Goddess of Justice, a very different meeting was about to occur than had happened here not long ago. High overhead, wispy, moonlit clouds began to swirl unnaturally, then coalesce to form a funnel that snaked from the sky like some awkward tornado. Cold pillars of white marble laced with silver mithril suddenly illuminated in pale blue light as a female figure in brilliant white strode from the shadows. Around this figure, the veils that hung from massive archways between pillars began to swirl and dance and the wind picked up. Fires in braziers snuffed out in a whirl of flying sparks, some that died, others though seemed to find new life.

Fragile seeming fingers lifted to the deep cowl of her robe, then flung it back to reveal hazed eyes of pure white; she was blind to the world around her, yet saw more than any mortal ever could. White hair escaped the elaborate knot at the back of her head and crawled up her cheek. Her face was at once ancient, yet childlike, so incredibly old yet innocent and youthful.

"Oraex," She turned within the flowing, sheer cloth that flitted on the wind and seemed to watch as a figure dressed in grey with long white hair and brilliant, electric eyes manifested from the funnel that had dipped from the sky, "You are as bad as Xraden with your showy entrances."

"Not quite." The sparks from the dying fires blew across the stone floor, then whorled up to form a nebulous figure of a burning woman, then shrank in on themselves to reveal Brighid, dressed in her saffron silk and bare-footed, her flame red hair unbound and wild looking as it danced on the wind, "Xraden would have arrived in a troupe of drunken dwarves doing a blindfolded axe-throwing trick."

"Should I be offended?" The god of Chaos himself fought with a veil, then turned to face the other three. Who knew quite what he'd been doing right before arriving, but he was wearing a sombrero and smelled like coconut oil. And nobody was asking the question.

"After all, I would think drunken Dwarves are a little overdone these days. I can do much better than that if you like. I prefer to be original, you know."

The drumbeat of wings against air filled the skies, then fell silent as Soul drifted into a glide, faceted eyes searching out a clear place to land as he angled closer to the temple. Massive claws dug into stone where many a Silver had landed before, and the Crystal dragon managed to settle in relative silence.

The God of Light slid down his companion’s shoulder, lengths of white hair swirling about Jaran’s face as he alighted close to Xraden. He raised an amused eyebrow at the God of Chaos before reaching into his cloak and producing a crystal orb. The object was tossed to the ground where it shattered and released

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a white mist that ebbed and flowed, coalescing into the willowy form of the Weeper.

Arminiea sniffed delicately and cast a suspicious glance in Xraden’s direction, the white orbs of her eyes revealing nothing. “Greetings,” she murmured, “one and all.” The Dragon’s head dipped down close to the Goddess of Light, his clear scales glittering in tune with the thrum of blood that pumped visibly through veins just beneath his hide. A long serpentine tongue flickered out and snaked up Xraden’s face, apparently approving of the coconut oil.

"All?" The female voice was rich and throaty. From the shadows cast by the pale blue light a figure stepped forward, the darkness seeming to coalesce about her. Raven hair flowed about her shoulders, framing strong features and onyx black eyes. Her tall, lithe form was garbed in black leather, a sword hilt protruding above her shoulder. Yet even as they watched she seemed to shift so that the warrior woman was at one and the same time a white-haired crone, her aged form draped in black robes and in the shadows that formed about her could be heard the rustle of feathery wings.

"All have their place. Even you, sister." The storm clouds broke to let through a ray of golden sunlight, the rays pooling on the stone floor of the Temple. A blonde woman shimmered into view, her thick locks flowing about her shoulders in a gentle wave. Pupil-less eyes like molten gold rested upon Nuuruhuine, night to Aedammair's day, moon to her sun.

"Indeed." Ceres benign face flickered, seemed to rip away and absorb into itself, as the Goddess of Justice appeared to turn around, her back to the rest. As her motions paused, the rest of her seemed to fall away and gruesome tears tore through her flesh. In a matter of seconds peaceful, Ceres had dissolved into something far more brutal and savage. Nyn. Her body had been torn apart to reveal a fierce, feminine face behind the white hair, behind the veil of what was good and fair. Vengeance stepped forward and slowly slanted her eyes at everyone assembled, "There is a place for all here, sister." Her eyes settled lastly on Nuuruhuine.

"Even Ny-emarr. Even the Lord of Destruction."

Beside Nyn, the air tore open with a howling rent, and through the gaping hole stepped a massively built male form. Clad in bloody, battered battle-armour the Destroyer entered the presence of the assembled gods.

"I declare my interest in what is occurring and invoke the right to name a chosen."

"That is well and fine," Brighid's hair tossed in a wind that did not exist as the goddess lifted her head to look into the face of the newest god, "But we all have

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pieces in the game, and while we are forbidden to touch them, we can push them in the right direction. Hold your naming until we have discussed the circumstances in their fullness."

“The circumstances,” Arminiea intoned, “are dire. Light’s Hope fades into the darkness day by day, and the Sword of Peace has strayed from his appointed path.”

“It is becoming more and more difficult to bring about what needs to be,” Jaran continued, “but such is always the case when those affected are not ours to command.”

From the shadows between Jaran and Arminiea stepped another figure, a male with long straight silver hair and eyes like chrome. “There lies hope still,” the god of Twilight spoke in a near whisper, his presence an unsure thing like wisps of fog on a morning breeze, “answers may be found, even now their path leads them to roads long forgotten.”

“Welcome brother,” Arminiea seemed slightly startled when the third Whispinian God made his presence known, “It has been a very long time since you graced us with your presence, Krell.”

Brighid and Xraden inclined their heads to the new god, one they'd never met, but Ghauld, the god of destruction and Nyn, goddess of Vengeance, merely watched, their expressions defiant.

"There were many paths forgotten." Nyn finally spoke and stepped closer to the shadowy god, "Many things to be remembered." The Goddess of Retribution stopped just before the flickering figure, "Twilight is a place where we all dwell, neither in the light nor the dark, but at home in either. Our children have forgotten that."

"They must be reminded." Ghauld nodded slowly and canted his head to the side, "This will not be the last trial, if they survive this one, and it is within their hands their survival lays. Is that not so, Ny-emarr?"

"In their hands," the raven-haired Goddess of War and Death replied, "and in their souls. Deep within the core that makes them our Chosen lies their means to survive. We may guide them, harden them as a blade must be hardened in the fires of the forge, but it is up to them to find the strength that determines whether they will live... or whether they will break." A faint smile curved her lips, "even now the reminders of their true natures have begun. Only time will tell if those lessons which must be learned have been absorbed."

“Then we are agreed,” Krell spoke in a deceptively soft tone, “the past must meet the present, old alliances restored, ancient secrets uncovered for there to be a

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future. Mark your chosen and prepare their paths, for the way will fall much deeper into darkness before any may find their way back into the light.”

"We have our chosen selected," Nyn's strong, lithe form began to whither and slowly turn. Dark, blood stained fingers began to shrivel and turn pale and those same fingers for a moment clutched at Ghauld's arm before releasing him. Justice had returned from within Retribution, and her hazed, blind eyes shifted to each deity there, "I shall be understood as two within one again, his left palm and his right shall be branded by my wrath, but more importantly to this path, my priestess stirs in her sleep. A vision, she is walking and I stand beside her in this vision, and show her the possible future that lies before them all. If Light’s Hope should pass forever, nothing will be able to stop DeathDream. It is the fate of the Silver race to save themselves by standing in the path of the Storm once more, and offer shelter to those caught in its way. Nenlante will have healers, it will be made so. Time can be bought, and Hope shall live a little longer."

The Lord of Destruction only gave a low, growling grunt. It was time to remind him who he was meant to be. It was time for them all to remind their children what they were.

***

Rhagi was worried, that was obvious as he approached his father. It wasn't just what he had to say, and realising that he had to say it, it was also Ro's reaction. Something was 'off' about him lately, a wrong note that sounded whenever Ghet was mentioned. Something almost desperate in his eyes. It was the only reason Rhagi had waited so long to bring this up.

"Addah? Have you..." He worried his lip between his teeth. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to this. "Have you heard from Mum lately? Can you get through to her? Because... I'm pretty sure I felt her, on the Web, a few hours ago, and now I can't reach her. It's probably just the wards, but... she was so sad. Sad and tired, and I think... she was saying goodbye."

Y’Roden put aside the scroll he had been reading and regarded his son with a carefully schooled expression that was belied by flickering shadows in the back of his eyes. “No…” he said slowly, instinctively reaching for the Web and seeking out the familiar flame red strand trimmed with gold. Among the mass of green hues it was easy to find and follow, his thoughts passing easily through the patchy wards and beyond. Only to come against a wall of… nothing… It was like waking up in the middle of the night and swearing you were in the centre of the bed, only to roll over and fall onto the floor.

“Goodbye?” the word was slightly strained, but the half-elf maintained an outward appearance of calm. “I’m… I’m not quite sure what is going on ceren, but there must be a reasonable explanation.” Emerald greens met their reflection and Ro frowned, “A few hours? Rhagi, why didn’t you come to me then?”

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The fear in Rhagi's eyes deepened. He couldn't say what he thought, not all of it. "Because I thought there might be a reasonable explanation. But it's been such a long time now, and it feels all wrong, and..." Hells. Sometimes it was nice to be able to just fall back on being a kid. "And I'm scared."

“Well… why don’t we go to Rikers then, and you can see for yourself what is going on.” The moment the word ‘scared’ had left Rhagi’s mouth; Y’Roden’s mind was set. His son came before any personal angst, and if Galain had a problem with his presence there… he’d just have to learn how to digest his own teeth. The depths of Ro's eyes turned steady and clear as he focused on Rhagi, “We can go right now if you like.”

Rhagi's relief was obvious. He hadn't wanted to ask in case Ro said no: not an unreasonable fear given he couldn't remember his father ever going to Riker's. "Yes please." No matter how bad it was, it couldn't be worse than not knowing. He took Y'Roden's hand, simply trusting.

***

Riker's was oddly quiet, uneasy. The minute they stepped through the portal, Rhagi reached for his mother along the web, and the result was the same: absence. He heard a gasp to one side and turned: Laura. He'd known her since he was a baby. Her face was stricken when she saw him, and he just knew, he couldn't bear it. He tugged urgently at his father's hand, towards the stairs. "Up there. She must be in the medbay."

It took every ounce of Y’Roden’s self control to hide the surge of panic that rippled through his mind. Medbay. He never wanted to see that particular room again, and for several gut wrenching seconds he could smell blood… hear screaming, and yet, he never faltered. Millennia of controlling every movement, every expression, served him well, and the half-elf simply gave his son’s hand a reassuring squeeze and let him lead the way.

He was just grateful, for once, that humans were short-lived creatures, and not many were likely to recognize him. “Where is everyone?” he muttered, half to distract himself as they stepped into the medbay, his brain working overtime to keep unwanted memories from pressing forwards. There was a Doctor present, and she wasn’t screaming or pressing any alarm buttons… so that had to be a good thing. But… where was Ghet?

M'Sea turned at the opening of the doors, and smiled. "Rhagi!" She'd known the boy since, well, before he'd been born. Ghet's quiet, serious little son was well-loved in the Riker's family, and probably the only person who could get that smile out of Imadi M'Sea. Her eyes moved to the boy's companion. No-one she recognised, but there was an odd familiarity about him nonetheless. It had to be the resemblance, which was strong. The eyes, the brow, the shape of the face...

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this had to be one of the men whose gene records she was all too familiar with. "And who have you brought with you?"

Rhagi's eyes stopped scanning the medbay furiously, and belatedly he managed to concentrate his attention on the doctor. "This is my Addah, my father, Y'Roden. Where's Mum?"

Of course she was curious. Everyone was curious about Rhagi's parentage. M'Sea's natural reserve served her well; she simply inclined her head to the man, her eyes deep and serious. "She's in the ICU, at the back. Listen, Rhagi, we had to put her in stasis, to stop her getting any sicker, all right? It looks worse than it is." Her eyes moved back to Y'Roden, unsure how much to explain. "She's in an artificially-induced coma. She's on full life support, her physical functions slowed right down. It stops the disease progressing any further." There was nothing more she could say, nothing would make it real until they saw it for themselves.

She led them to the rear of the medbay, to an area partitioned off from the rest. As Rhagi moved around the end of the wall, he saw her, lying on a bed with monitors all around her, a faint blue light delineating the edges of the stasis field. She looked tiny, and very, very still. He blinked hard, and a tiny sound escaped his throat. Far away, he heard M'Sea's voice. "It's best if you don't touch her. It disrupts the field."

Y’Roden’s gaze slid towards the Doctor as she spoke and his hands went to Rhagi’s shoulders. For a moment, he couldn’t find any words. To see Ghetsuhm, normally so full of life and energy lying so still…

“She’s alive, that’s all that matters,” he said gently, looking down at his son, “she’ll stay that way, as long as it takes, and we will wake her up, there are answers, and they will be found.”

It was as much to convince himself as to comfort Rhagi. Everyone was slipping away through his fingers, but here at least, was a little spark of hope. The Medbay had gone from house of horrors, to a place of tenuous blessing. Time… he had time to find a cure, and Ghet would still be here when he did.

Rhagi swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Y'Roden was right. Ghet was safe, safer than a lot of other people. It just seemed odd because she looked so, well, dead, as if his eyes just couldn't grasp what his brain knew. So he fell back on the science, as he so often had. "Why isn't she breathing? Isn't that bad for her brain?"

M'Sea frowned slightly, though oddly she was reassured. This was her territory, concrete answers. "She is breathing, honey, it's just too slow to see. I can show you if you like. In the office, you can see everything that's going on there." She

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looked to Y'Roden. "Is that alright? We'll just be over there, it'll only be five minutes, and I think it would help him understand."

Tearing his eyes away from Rhagi the half-elf met the doctor’s gaze, then nodded, “yes, I’ll just… wait here.” He smiled reassuringly at his son, “Go ahead, I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Rhagi gave his father's hand a quick squeeze, and went with M'Sea. And she was right: once he could see the technical side, laid out in front of him, it was easier to deal with. One heartbeat every three minutes, one breath every five. One electrical impulse across her brain every ten. The emotions were deceptive. In the science he could see it, his mother was still there, just waiting.

Left alone, Y’Roden moved closed to the stasis cubicle and ran one large hand through his thick dark hair. “We always seem to come back to this,” he said quietly, “I can look, but I can’t touch.” A lopsided smile crept across his features and the half-elf drew a long slow breath, “I am going to get you out of here, as soon as S’Hea has been healed, I’m coming for you. I promise. Gods Ghet, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life kicking myself because I never confronted whatever this damn feeling is. I’ve made some sort of horrible mistake, and I’m going to fix it.”

Weapon roughened fingers hovered just shy of the stasis field, “I love you, Ghettie.”

***

Barra danced slightly beneath Fechine as the chestnut-haired youth brought him to a halt. His emerald eyes were filled with more life than they had been for weeks as he glanced over his shoulder. Somehow it felt better just being outside and active, yet it was more than just that that had eased some of the shadows from his gem-like gaze. The most important one of which was the delicate, blonde elf-maid mounted on the Obsidian Black mare. "Still there?" he asked with a grin.

Out of his peripheral came a flash of movement, white on green, a glint of light. At full gallop a pure white unicorn passed between Fechine and Meg, skimming close to the young male as it hurtled towards the tree line ahead. It came to a sudden halt within the shadows of the trees and turned to look at them, an air of patience about it, as if it was waiting for them to approach.

Wild giggles and the sound of fast hoof beats came up behind Fechine as the elf maid and her mount closed the distance, "It's not OUR fault you took off without warning! Merra wouldn't let me halter her!" The little mare came to a snorting, almost laughing halt then skittered sideways as she noticed before Meg they were being watched.

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"Ooohhhh. Fechine. Look."

The unicorn bobbed its head slightly and rose up to paw at the air, its form illuminating painfully bright. When the light faded, a woman was left in its place, the humanoid form of Arminiea Morelen. She smiled reassuringly and beckoned to them both as she turned to walk beneath the shade of the trees, bidding them to follow.

Emerald eyes, blinking slightly in the afterglow of that brilliant light, followed the figure for a moment before sliding over to meet indigo blue in silent enquiry. He felt no sense of danger from the deity, yet he found himself hesitating. Why was she here? What did she want? Fechine didn't want to lead Meghan into a trap. A feeling of protectiveness washed over him. He couldn't let Meg be hurt again, not if he could help it.

“There is nothing to fear little Raven,” Arminiea’s voice was a soft, reassuring touch on the young D’Riel’s mind. “Do you not know your family’s Patron Goddess? It is time, young one, to take up your studies in the Crystal Keep, as all D’Riels have done before you.”

"I have to leave?" Fechine wasn't even aware of speaking aloud, instinctively sliding to the ground, one hand clasping Barra's reins, "but..." He glanced over at Meghan once more and his heart sank. The thought of leaving his best friend behind hurt more than he cared to think about, especially now after the sorrow of the previous weeks. Then his shoulders sagged. He had been brought up to understand that his time in the Crystal Keep under the tutelage of the Goddess of Light would come once his conduit no longer lay dormant within him.

"Yes, Arminiea," he whispered, turning to follow that slim figure into the trees. Inwardly his heart screamed. He didn't want to leave his home, his friends, his family, but what choice did he have? This was the way things were meant to be. He remembered his feeling that everyone would be better off without him and the sheer irony choked him. Now they would all be without him, at least for a time. Perhaps not the lifetime he'd originally been thinking of, but for him he suspected it would feel like it.

"Bu... Who... Fechine?" Meg's eyes were wide as she all but fell off the back of Merra, "What does she mean? You have to go with her? I don't understand. She... she can't mean NOW?" A stab of panic began to rise in Meghan, "I just... I just got you back!"

The Goddess moved between one place and the next in the blink of an eye, her pure white eyes softly illuminated as she made a gentle shushing sound. “All will be well Starlight child,” she offered Meghan her pale hand palm up in invitation, “If you wish to learn, if you wish to discover your true potential, you may walk this path with your childhood friend.” Her head canted slightly, the flawless complexion of the Weeper altering only a margin, “the way will not be easy, my

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hand is not always kind, but to become what one is meant to be is never an easy journey.”

Fechine had turned back, an agonised expression in his gem-like gaze at Meghan's protest. "Meggie..." He held out a hand, his fingers hovering as if they would reach out to her. "I don't want to leave you," he whispered, "but..." The chestnut-haired youth looked over at Arminiea. "I don't want her to be hurt," he said. "I couldn't bear that."

The Goddess merely smiled at her charge, “the choice, Fechine, lies with Meghan. She will come to no real harm, you know this. The question is, does she hold the strength within her to withstand the tests she must face.” Arminiea’s snow-white gaze shifted back to Meg, “your answer, Starlight child? Will you walk this path with Fechine? Or does your future call you elsewhere?”

Meghan's fingers twitched as they reached out almost hesitantly to Arminiea’s and paused, "How can I know what other paths my future may call me to when I'm a mere mortal? I can only walk the paths revealed to me at the time of their choosing." The elf-maid's spine stiffened slightly then, she might not be a warrior, she might not even be able to defend herself long in a fight, but one thing she was not, was a coward.

Especially when it meant anything to fear would be faced alongside Fechine.

"I am willing to face any test you have to try me by," Meghan's voice held within it an echo of her father, an elf dead many thousands of years, an elf who had been brave and proud, and strong.

"I'll go."

Her fingers gripped those of the goddess and her other fingers reached out for Fechine.

The look on the Weeper’s face was one of approval as the three joined hands in the land of S’Hea. A flash of white light and the trio was gone, destined for the Crystal Keep and the lessons to be learned there.

***

The air rippled like a pool of water that had been set on its side, the surface glittering beneath ancient trees as shafts of afternoon sun struck the surface. The two men that waited on the other side were distorted by both the impression of staring through water and the overlapping images of two different worlds.

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Argent stepped through, and breathed deeply of fresh air that didn’t contain the underlying currents of death and grinned at the golden haired elf that came forward to grip his arm.

Meadow green eyes sparkled in the shafts of sunlight, accenting the sparks of life and humour that rarely faded from them. “Gent, its good to see you home.”

“It’s good to be home, I take it you received word from Adaron?”

Compared to the recent temperature changes on Whispin, Arlsyn was warm and shocked Adaron’s system as he followed his father through. The young elf’s temperature soared, spiking dangerously and giving his copper skin a reddish tint before settling on a temperature that kept him uncomfortable, his skin returning to its natural shade as it cooled.

Sky nodded, glancing briefly at his great nephew then looked to the portal expectantly. “Aye, mind introducing our guests before we go traipsing around in the dark?”

The portal rippled as Y’Roden stepped through, the large half-elf stepping slightly to the side to make room for Rhagi. Parental worry kept him close to his fair-haired son, especially now that Ghet was… gone, so to speak. The heat of Arlsyn was welcome, and stable compared to the wax and wane of cold and heat back home. He studied Sky curiously and nodded a greeting before looking to Gent for introductions.

“This would be Y’Roden D’Riel and his son Rhagi of Whispin. They’re here to help decipher the runes in Felya Nurta. Somehow it’s tied to S’Hea. And this would be Vilyahir Silverleaf, the acting Enrai’er until Kit feels up to taking the position, he’s also our mother’s twin and the local throw back proving that yes, even though we sometimes hate it, we do have human blood in the family.

“And you might already know Master Barnaby.”

Frowning, the older Silverleaf smacked his nephew upside the head and grinned at the D’Riel duo. “Just call me Sky.”

Rhagi was trying very hard not to stare, or indeed even really be noticed. His confidence had taken a beating lately with the death and resurrection of one parent, and now the total collapse of the other. Still, he liked Shadow, she'd always been nice to him, and now he was in a completely new environment with a new bunch of people who were her family... and that was a lot of human blood at this particular gathering. "Hello," he said shyly, tucked in close to his father's side. And then his curiosity got away on him. "You don't look very much like Shadow."

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Sky chuckled and tugged at the short golden beard as he watched Rhagi with dancing meadow green eyes. “No, probably not, but how many people do you know look like Shadow?” He asked, crouching down to get at more of an eye level. “You might say I’m the black sheep of the family and that there was a Viking in the woodpile somewhere.”

“See,” Ro said to Rhagi, “the D’Riels aren’t the only ones with a random blonde in the woodpile.” The S’Hean grinned at his son, then nodded a friendly greeting to Sky. “Which is the reason we are here, the last time I looked at those runes I’m sure I read the world Soul in a language very, very close to S’Hean.” Emerald greens moved down to Rhagi, “ready to do a bit of scrabbling around in the dark?”

"Yes," Rhagi said unthinkingly, "but Mum says the way your family breeds she wouldn't be surprised if some of them had tails." He wasn't at all sure what the woodpile had to do with anything: it was probably another one of those odd metaphors people used when they didn't want to talk about sex. He shrugged. "Sure. As long as it's actually dark, and you're not going to just blindfold me and tell me it's dark."

Argent barked out a laugh, “He has a point Ro.” The grin the Shroudling King shot towards Y’Roden bordered on evil.

“Alright, everyone have their best gripping boots on?” Barnaby asked, having remained quiet until now.

“Proper footwear accounted for,” Y’Roden chuckled, putting a hand on Rhagi’s shoulder as he stepped forwards, “lead on.”

***

Sounds in the dark, the pursuit of Nuru'kh-ai through the passageways of Rakka Keep. They were always there, just behind her, dogging her every step. Staying in her room had finally driven Vanyalin mad, and she refused to stay still any longer. During the passing weeks she had taken to ghosting through the halls, avoiding Tallin and his minions whenever possible.

Tangible memories tortured and drove her, and her skin itched so badly she had torn it open in places, raw and bleeding. Just over her spinal column and at the temples seemed to be the worst, adding to her madness and suffering. Sometimes she wondered if running was making things worse, Tallin grew angrier by the day. The longer she eluded his search parties, the more infuriated he became. The redhead could only hope he hadn’t taken it out on her siblings.

There were subtle changes in her as time went on that went unnoticed by Vanya herself. Lost in the struggle to keep her head above insanity, she failed to notice

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as movements turned more predatory than hunted, as crimson scale broke through skin, slicing its pale surface like small knives amidst rivulets of blood…

Starting awake the Elf froze in the corner she had curled up in, breath held as she listened for tell tale sounds, hoping it was Galain. The scrape of boot on stone and the stench of Nuru told her otherwise and Van rose silently, half crouched in a stance that was caught between flight or fight. Two completely conflicting instincts warred within her, and yet when the beast finally appeared fear fled and something else reared its head. A sound that was distinctly not Elven rolled out of her throat as the Nuru caught sight of her, then paused, suddenly unsure of itself.

That one second released what had been lurking, hiding in Vanya’s body and soul since her creation. The dragon set free, it completed the change, bearing down on the Nuru with talon and teeth and ripping the beast to shreds. She discovered what many a dragon had learned before her, Nuru flesh was rather distasteful… but it would do for the first kill of a ravenous Crimson.

For a moment, something brushed against her soul and the dragon paused, head lifting away from her meal as something tugged at spirit and memory. Elandriil…

Vanya stared at the wall, unsettled and confused. She wiped at her mouth and grimaced at the taste on her tongue. Realization set in as she looked down to find herself crouched over the barely recognizable form of the Nuru’kh-ai and the redhead scrabbled away, stomach heaving in protest. Retching and weeping uncontrollably she blindly clung to the wall with one hand till it passed, then fell on her back, curling in on herself in the dark.

***

The Crylos Citadel was a massive structure in the Black style, its vaulted halls supported by granite pillars. Located out amidst the desert sands to which the Renegade House had retreated, its isolation was only one form of security it employed. Dark brown eyes flickered to the figure beside her. If anyone had told Erinya Dhaunae only weeks ago that she would be trying to do anything in the company of Keser Datari that didn't involve her trying to slit his throat she would have laughed herself silly. She supposed trying to slit someone else's throat was not much of a difference, but it was quite a significant one in some respects.

"Ready to demonstrate that ability to get into anywhere you wanted?" she asked coolly.

Keser pushed away from the outer wall he had been leaning so casually against and flashed a grin at the Black. “Ready to keep up?” he shot back. The Ath’ar of House Datari was dressed in dark, natural toned clothing that let him blend into

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shadows. His hair was tied back and each weapon was carefully tucked into padded sheaths to avoid any reflection of light or scrape of metal.

Short silver spikes erupted from fingers and the toes of his boot as he turned to face the wall, his movements silent as he scaled a few feet and paused to look down at Erin. "I wouldn’t recommend flying." The movement of wings stirred up far too much dust, and beat too hard on the air, attracting unwanted attention.

Obsidian spikes dug into the rock as the ebony-haired woman raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm not capable of keeping up with you?" She hauled herself up beside him with the quick, lithe movements of the trained warrior. "You'd be a fool to underestimate me, Datari. Of course, if you wanted to be that dumb go right ahead. Far be it for me to dissuade people from making that mistake." A wolfish, faintly wicked smile curled her lips.

A dark eyebrow rose over a deep green eye, “You know, if you aren’t careful, people are going to think you have very little in the way of a sense of humour. You really need to work on that defensive streak.” Laughter danced in the back of the Silver’s eyes as he resumed the climb. Keser would likely be the last person to underestimate Erinya Dhaunae; his sense of self-preservation was too high.

At the top of the wall he settled into a crouch, one palm balancing on stone as he watched a solitary guard make his way along the path below. He was bound to look up; a Dragon would be foolish not too. Keser’s lithe fingers released a dagger made of nearly black metal from a sheath on his thigh. Dull in appearance, but wickedly sharp, it never caught the low light as the Silver dropped from his perch, just as the Black below happened to look up. His throat was slit before the cry of alarm made it past his lips and his body was lowered silently to the ground.

"Damn, I knew I was forgetting something. A sense of humour. I'll have to work on that" she snorted, her tone faintly acid. The Black dropped down lightly beside the Silver Ath'ar. "Were you planning on staying here all day, or were you just admiring the scenery?" Brown eyes met dark emerald for an instant and then drifted past his shoulder to the shadowy entrance beyond. Her lithe form merged almost seamlessly into the shadows as she moved swiftly along the walkway, pausing to one side of the entrance to listen.

“Just being a gentleman, ladies first and all that.” He came to a halt just behind Erin, then moved through the entrance, keeping to the shadows within the main hall. “I don’t think House Crylos gets many visitors anymore,” he observed, “but then, killing off a half dozen Houses isn’t the greatest way to make friends.”

"I don't remember Sorshia ever wanting to make friends. She's just not the friendly type." The Black made her way down the corridor and paused at a junction, eyes narrowing as they heard the sound of booted feet. There was a

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scuffle, and then a slap echoed off the stonework, shortly followed by a bitten-off cry.

"Damn it, she's useless." The words were a low growl, and there was a thud that sounded like a body hitting the floor.

"What do you expect? You don't get good slaves this far out in the godsbedamned sands, and you sure as hells don't keep them. Bloody Blackthorns..."

Erinya glanced back at Keser, making a gesture with one hand. Two Blacks and a human slave. Her hand fell to her hip, fingers curling about the hilt of her dagger.

The Silver nodded and went solemn, drifting close to the wall. Keser had a wiry build; he was made for speed and quick reflex, things that served him well as an assassin. He selected his target, zoning in the Black closest to him. Coming up from behind he slapped a hand over the brutish male’s mouth and drove the dagger clean into a kidney.

Before his companion could react, Erin slammed him hard into the nearest wall, the edge of her dagger ripping open his throat. Blood so dark it was almost black poured over her hand in a hot flood, the male's strangled cry dying stillborn. Almost carelessly, the ebony-haired woman stepped back to let his corpse fall to the floor, her dark eyes looking up the corridor.

Nothing.

They still had the element of surprise. Excellent. Her gaze met those of the Silver and she nodded, moving on up the corridor.

Keser slipped on ahead as they rounded a corner and came to a stop near a sharp turn. He hugged close to the wall and tilted his head, holding up a hand and signalling Erin to stop. From where he stood, he could clearly see a group of six guards near a bolted door, the entrance to the subterranean levels. He knew enough about Sorshia to realize she would be as deep in the citadel as she could possibly get, and be well guarded.

Still watching the guards he pulled a long narrow steel tube from his belt and unrolled a strap of leather. Tucked into small loops were a variety of miniature darts, the tips of which the assassin pointedly avoided touching. He slid one into the glorified peashooter and brought it to his mouth, then blew.

The dart hit one of the guards in the neck and he slapped at it in irritation, as if he had been bitten by a mosquito. Keser grinned at Erin and reloaded. The poison

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would take thirty seconds to actually hit the Guard’s heart, which gave the Silver time to take out at least three more in the meantime. The Black gave a quick grin. He really was very good at this, and in an odd way she found herself quite liking him, which was just downright disturbing.

Just as the fourth guard scratched at his neck, the first clutched at his heart and stumbled over backwards, knocking over the second as he crashed towards the floor. “Time to dance,” Keser announced a little too happily as long fingers pulled several throwing daggers from a brace that lay diagonally across his chest. He took far too much pleasure in his profession really.

Stepping out into the open he let fly, and barely hid an expression of surprise when the target dodged the dagger. Muttering several expletives in the Silver Tongue he tossed two at once, looking much more satisfied when one caught the Black in the soft tissue above the kneecap.

"Whilst I am aware how much fun it is to play with your prey, could we hurry this up?" Erin drawled. "Or have you forgotten why we're here? They do say the memory is one of the first things to go when you get old."

“Poor sport,” Keser muttered, “and I don’t see you helping any.” The Silver neatly slit the throat of the wounded Black and finished off the sixth on the way to the door. Throwing the bolt he grinned back at her, then cautiously let the door swing inwards. “All clear.” he announced before disappearing into the dark stairwell without a sound.

"Well, you seemed to be having such a good time that I hated to spoil your fun," the Black said dryly, following him down the stairs. She stilled as she drew near the bottom, listening intently. It was almost pitch black this far below the citadel, no movement showing even to the dragon's heat-sensitive vision. Where was Sorshia? They had to be close. In some respects Erin would have been happier if she'd run into a few guards. At least that would feel like business as usual. But this... was this luck, or something more sinister? Nobody had ever claimed the Vor'ill of House Crylos was stupid after all. Ruthless and ambitious, yes, but not stupid.

Some time, and a cartload of dead bodies later, the lurking pair found the subterranean chamber Sorshia had herself ensconced in. Keser switched weapons as he tracked her movements behind the closed door, listening to her voice as she spoke to an unseen companion, and the sound of her pacing boots on the damp floor. The idea was to incapacitate her and drag her back to Yarwin Blackthorn to face judgement, killing her was just too damn easy, and risked leaving an opening for blame being placed on Keser and Erin’s shoulders by any surviving Crylos siblings. Any one of them could point an accusing finger and claim that they had been behind the slayings all along, and had merely used Sorshia for a scapegoat. Keser had been a politician too long to fall into that particular trap.

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He glanced at Erinya, figuring she was as ready as she was ever going to be, and promptly kicked in the door. “Sorshia! Darling,” the Silver greeted, though his eyes were scanning the room for weapons and hidden guards, “we thought we’d pop by for a visit, you don’t mind do you?”

The dark haired woman paused what she was doing, which was scribbling by the light of a single incandescent bulb powered by solar generated electricity. Her head casually lifted, as if having her door kicked open was a normal thing. The quill in her fingers hovered over a semi-rolled piece of parchment, and a single drop of crimson ink, the colour of Kin blood dripped to the paper with a soft splat.

"I somehow doubt that." The Black female, Vor'ill of House Crylos hissed and shoved herself to her feet with a scrape of wood on stone.

"I know why you are here, Datari," Sorshia hissed the name out and shifted her gaze to Erinya, "Dhaunae... it was Gideon. His hate for the Black Guard and the Silver Houses has consumed him. He also wears the Illinsaad of Nargus himself. I believe he has been possessed by the Emperor and is beyond my control."

“And if you believe that one,” Keser’s tone was somewhat amused, “I’ve got some prime real estate in Say'ek Aydn you might be interested in.” The metal tube slid neatly from his sleeve, caught expertly in lithe fingers as the Silver brought it to his lips and blew. The dart struck Sorshia’s neck like an angry wasp and the Black female dropped like a sack of sun-melons. “Works every time, they gab away spinning their tales and make themselves easy targets.”

"Perhaps so, but we've still got to get her out of here," Erinya replied coolly, "don't start feeling smug just yet." She crouched beside the other female and started to lift. "Damn, she's heavy. Whilst public trials and so on are necessary, it would be a hundred times easier if we could kill her and be done with it. It would be less of a strain on the back for a start."

“Well you know, we can’t always have everything we want,” Keser said as he grabbed hold of Sorshia’s arm and hauled her upwards, flipping the female unceremoniously over his shoulder. He grunted a bit, “you’re right though, she should probably lay off the fatty foods. Though it won’t matter much soon, I doubt Araxmarr will care how fat her head is when it rolls along the ground.” There was a pause as he adjusted, “You know, I have nothing whatsoever against a portal out of here, if you wouldn’t mind doing the honours.”

"How trusting of you," his companion replied dryly, "there's no telling where I might open one to, after all." She raised a hand and an inky spot formed in mid air, spiralling outwards like a small cyclone until a gaping void hung beside the two of them. "However, on this occasion I think we'll go with the Keep. The sooner we get her locked up somewhere the better."

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Dark brown eyes were filled with wicked humour as she glanced over her shoulder, poised to step through the portal. "I do hope you're feeling sociable. Your presence could create quite a stir."

Then she was gone.

***

As the days on the Lisse Nwalme drifted by, Elandriil found himself growing more and more restless, more and more irritable and questioning the patron goddess of Silver Kin at every opportunity. Where was Justice now? Why was it taking her so long to move her hand, where had she been when Tallin Modar had invaded Nenlante? Within him, the Storm churned and frustration began to eat away at him, and so he found himself standing on the railing at the prow of the ship beneath the twin moons of Whispin, balanced on the balls of his feet, his arms spread wide, his head flung back. Without thought or will, silver scale flickered in the pale light and vanished, rippled like some strange fish beneath half-elven skin, welled up and faded, only to reappear in another place. So many emotions, so much pent up anger and fear made his two-legged form difficult to maintain, and made the growing resentment and hate for the goddess he'd always paid homage to, fester. All these emotions fed one another, leaving his Horizon more and more blurred. The line between right and wrong, order and chaos, pain and pleasure was fading, leaving the First Captain struggling to be patient, struggling to remain sane.

For what felt like hours, he remained where he was, his body a strange figurehead on the nose of the ship, his soul searching for his goddess, searching for answers, seeking comfort from a deity who seemed to have stopped listening. Visions of Vanyalin's eyes, wide with terror and outrage, haunted him, and his memory ran the images of Tallin Modar, dragging her away over and over again. Once again, he saw his father, dead in the Keep, his little brother on the floor, staring at the corpse that had been Aran Datari. He could see Areq's eyes as the crossbow turned on him and the trigger was pulled before the younger Silver realized through his shock who had walked into the battle-broken room. So much he loved in this life was gone, shattered, torn apart and destroyed, so much had been taken, and yet he had never once thought it was all about him. Never had he complained or questioned... until now.

His mind ran with a thousand thoughts, and above them all in this silent communion he sought with Ceres, he only asked one thing: Why?

And all he received was silence. Mocking, laughing silence broken only by the hiss of salt water as the prow cut through the steadily cooling seas.

Rage coursed through him and his fingers slowly curled around the silver dragon and emerald amulet that hung around his neck to lie against his bare chest. Those same fingers began to shake and tighten, causing what sharp edges there

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were around the pendant began to press into his skin, bite into the soft centre of his palm and his nails cut into his flesh as the fist grew tighter. Blood, the faintest trickle, no more than a few drops, nothing dramatic, smeared into the carefully designed scales of the pendant. Unseen and unnoticed by him as he stared into the distance, the iron-rich drops seeped into the jaws and lastly squeezed around the emerald and the swirling, verdant colour exploded in shades of ruby and crimson. The gem seemed to swirl within his tight grasp, as if filled with dark mist, and the blood that touched the stone vanished, seemingly sucked into the very pores of the stone itself.

"Vanyalin, I swear I'll find you. I'll tear Rakka Keep apart stone by stone to do it. In the name of any god that will listen, in the name of any god that will."

And the gods listened, and one began to stir in Elandriil Datari's soul. It was time the Kin'hoth of Aerdon remembered... it was time they were reminded that for every act of Justice, therein lay Retribution. It was time they realized within every act of Vengeance, within was Justice. They were one and the same, two aspects of one goddess, and just as Elandriil's soul was tearing, ripping apart, so to was Ceres, the Silver goddess of Justice and as the blind goddess began to fade, something savage and cruel arose. Nyn. The Goddess of Vengeance.

Something churned in Elandriil's blood, something dark and violent, and as his fingers began to ease around the amulet, agony like he'd never known struck him. Colour exploded in his vision and for a moment, he tasted blood, bitter and rotten, on his tongue. He saw his own hands covered in glittering crimson rather than silver, then felt a wash of confused emotions, shame, horror, disbelief, then it was gone, in the flash of a moment. It was gone and he was standing on nothing, his equilibrium was gone, and he had lost his balance. Despite the lingering echoes of pain that lanced through him, one silver wing shot up, its thumb claw hooked the railing, and there he dangled.

Foul language erupted from Areq and Delen as the pair of the bolted forward. Delen had been halfway watching his cousin from the crow's nest and halfway watching the Black Shoal as it skimmed along ahead of them. Areq had been at the captain's wheel when Landrii had vanished over the front of the ship; he'd taken his eyes off his brother for one second... and that was all it had taken.

"GODS DAMMIT! ZYS GET THE WHEEL!" The Eheiling Nahrn Navigator had made a wild dive for the wheel, had shouted something that could either be encouragement or something rude, it was difficult to tell with the Eheiling Narhn, then nodded as Areq shouted back, "I'll let you know later..."

***

Hours after he'd been hauled back on board by Delen and Areq, Elandriil sat quietly in the Captain's quarters, absently scratching his right hand. The indentions from his nails were still there, red and inflamed, which made no sense

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to Danya or anyone else on the ship. Minor wounds such as this tended to heal within the hour, at the most two or three, and that was Aerdonian hours. Not Whispin time. But it was well past midnight, and the wounds hadn't vanished, but had become itchy, as had the entire palm of his hand. Streaks of near black, the colour of his blood shot from the centre of his palm, and deep below the skin, he was certain there were blisters rising to the surface. Carefully, he made a fist, studied the back of his hand, then his palm again, then shrugged and pulled the chain over his head and studied the amulet.

It was ordinary mithril and emerald, smeared with blood, but otherwise, it seemed... ordinary... as opposed to anything magical... except for the fact someone entirely extraordinary and wonderful had given it him.

And while he pondered the amulet, and sleep finally lured him away from his thoughts, if not his dreams and nightmares, one goddess smiled in satisfaction.

Nyn... Retribution... the violent aspect of Justice, ran a finger down the bridge of Elandriil's nose, uncurled his fingers from around the amulet, drew an athame from a cord at her neck, and slashed his palm open.

Vengeance where Justice has failed, Retribution when no one else will help... you are my chosen, Elandriil Datari. Bring on the Storm, Rain down Destruction... Take. Her. Back.

When daylight broke, so to did the blisters on his palm to reveal a long red slash that looked suspiciously like a deep cut, obviously something received in his fall somehow, perhaps a previously unknown allergic reaction to the off-world sea water that had gotten into the cuts from his nails? In time, he would learn the truth, and in time, he would become a tool of Vengeance, a contradiction of everything either the Black or Silver races believed of their gods and goddesses.

And that was exactly what Nyn wanted....

***

The caves, at first, held nothing unusual, moss covered rocks paved the opening that started just under a gentle waterfall. A small spring had engraved a path into the stone, and the rocky floor was worn with footsteps. Argent led the way through the darkness, Elven sight penetrating the darkness as they followed the worn path as it twisted deeper into the earth.

Up ahead a soft glow beckoned, lighting the final steps into the first of many chambers. Crystal columns glowed from within in an array of pastel colours. Elegant scrollwork stood out in white contrast against the frosted stone that stood randomly throughout the cavern. But the gate they sought was beyond the majestic Hall, and their path took them deeper into the bowels of the earth across

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walkways that sat between natural heat springs, and trails that bordered the edge of sheer drop offs that roared with waterfalls which fell into large pools hundreds of feet down, sparkling a deep blue green, a hint of just how deep the underground lakes were.

Another twist through the hidden corridors left them at what appeared to be a dead end of smooth stone, almost circular in appearance and carved in runes from a time long passed.

Y’Roden smiled softly to himself as the circle came into sight and he gently squeezed Rhagi’s shoulder. The one and only time he had been here, was the day he had adopted Shadow. He had still been in a dark place then, torn… Ghet had been pregnant with Rhagi, and his relationship with Silverthorn had begun its downward spiral.

Drawn forward by curiosity and memory, the half-elf traced the runes with callused fingers. “Now I remember,” he murmured as his fingertips trailed over the top runes, “Doorway of the Dragon Children.” His hand slid down, coming to rest on the bottom runes. “It was this part that I wasn’t reading correctly. I knew it said something about souls, but it wasn’t galactic, it was surging. Surging Souls, the Danna-Riel… D’Riel.”

He shook his head and stepped back, “why here? Why a marking on a cavern wall on a plane no S’Hean had heard of until I met Shadow?” Running a hand through his sort cropped hair Ro shook his head, “and Doorway? There is no doorway… its just solid stone.”

“There have been many wars here,” Barnaby stepped forward, the staff that he always kept with him ticking along the rock floor, “much blood shed in this land for people that didn’t know that their lives were at danger or the cost that was paid for them.” The elder elf stared at Y’Roden with the same expression that he gave any of his students. “What history have you, your son, any of you learned within the last few days?”

Sky exchanged looks with his nephew and rubbed the back of his head. He knew that look; it was usually followed by a sharp crack if you didn’t catch on. Meadow green eyes looked down at the younger Silverleaf that had tagged along as he tugged out the notebook he had been using to scribble notes on and spread out on the floor.

“He said Doorway of the Dragon Children, right?” Adaron asked, lavender eyes scanning through the tome that he had taken from the S’Hean library, “and Surging Souls…which runes were those?” he asked, looking up at Rhagi.

“History?” Ro asked, eyeing the staff that seemed to have his name on it, “We have learned that we are not who we thought we were, that our ancestors hail

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from a continent previously unheard of… or, well, in living memory. We’ve heard the phrase ‘the way is shut’…” He looked from Barnaby to the wall and back again. “Are you saying that someone purposely closed a gate and sealed it shut?”

Hesitant at first, Rhagi stepped forward beside his father, running his fingers over the runes. The more senses you engaged on learning something, the easier it was to retain. Then, rather shyly, he returned to Adaron's side. "This one," he said quietly, "this is 'soul', circle-dot. That makes this one 'surging'." He frowned suddenly, a thought of striking irrelevance hitting him. He knew what his father's name meant; he knew what his surname meant, but Rhagi? He 'd assumed that, like Riker, it had no meaning because it wasn't S'Hean. He'd ask some other time. "If you lock a gate," he said slowly, "isn't it usually to keep something out? Dragon children?" He grinned suddenly, a bright flash that lit up his normally serious face. "Like Cal?"

Gent grinned at Rhagi, “He isn’t far from the truth. Gates here are protected; some are even closed depending on the importance or the danger that lies on the other side.” The annoyed look he received from his old Master had him grinning sheepishly.

Barnaby nodded, “There was a war many millennia ago in which all Gates had to be closed in fear that the same destruction would spill to other worlds and planes. After the war was ended, some of the Gates were never reopened, the secrets of how to open them died with their Keepers.”

Adaron grinned, scribbling down on the paper what the translations were. “Thanks!”

“Died with their Keepers?” Ro repeated, “That doesn’t bode well.” Emerald eyes slid back to the runes and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “But… if something is locked, it generally has a key. Doesn’t Shadow say that anything with a lock can be picked open? Everything exists for a reason… so the runes must be here for more than just aesthetic value.”

He glanced at Barnaby, then back at the walls, “the runes… the runes must be the key. But what do we do? Speak a code? Press a rune… the door… the door to what?” He was babbling, but it was how Ro worked things through. Rhagi’s finger was still on the circle with the dot in the centre when Y’Roden’s fingers touched on the rune for door. Both runes lit up with a familiar green light that lanced in a thin line of cracking illumination that met dead centre in the circle. “By the light of Arminiea,” the half-elf murmured as the wall slowly gave way to an opening that revealed nothing but continuously flowing green light, “the door to the soul.”

***

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Music drifted up into the air, slim fingers plucking deftly at the lyre strings so that notes rippled up, liquid and silvery, from beneath their caress. Chestnut curls fell over Chandra's shoulders, a stray lock tickling her cheek as she sat curled up in the window seat. Her rich contralto lifted up in song, the traditional folk melody oddly poignant as her hazel gaze looked out upon the frosty ground and blackening leaves of the gardens.

Oh, the summer time is coming,And the trees are sweetly blooming,And the wild mountain thymegrows around the blooming heather.

Will you go, lassie, go?And we'll all go togetherTo pull wild mountain thymeAll around the blooming heather,Will you go lassie, go?

I will build my love a bowerBy yon clear and crystal fountain,And on it I will pileAll the flowers of the mountain.

Will you...

The sound of a door opening brought her head around in startlement, the song coming to an abrupt halt. Then the forest elf relaxed. "Mak..."

Mak paused in the doorway and gave Chandra the best smile he could muster. Truth be told though, he felt and looked terrible and all he wanted to do was curl up into bed and moan a while. It had comforting to hear the melodic strains of the bard's song filtering down the hall and Mak knew the only person he wanted to curl up with was Chandra. He crossed over to the window seat and settled close beside her, then nestled his face against her hair and neck.

"Sing again some more?" he asked. "Haven't been feeling so well today and... It’s nice to hear your voice."

Letting the lyre fall to her lap, the bard wrapped her arms about the blond elf and drew him close, her fingers caressing the nape of his neck. "Of course, love," she murmured softly. For all her healing abilities, the forest elf knew there was nothing she could do to heal her lover. Even a Dra'kar Sin'ra was helpless to heal an entire world, her powers did not stretch that far, but maybe she could provide a temporary ease to one of those she cared about. This time as she began to sing, her golden voice sweetly winding about them, Chandra let a little magic fill the tune.

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Will you go, lassie, go?And we'll all go togetherTo pull wild mountain thymeAll around the blooming heather,Will you go lassie, go?

Oh, the summer time is comingAnd the trees are sweetly bloomingAnd the wild mountain thymeGrows around the blooming heather.

Mak smiled as Chandra sang, feeling the magic she wove into the words. For the moment the pain and nausea drifted away and he felt a relaxing drowsiness wash through his body. He wished she could sing like this all the time and a sigh escaped him. He was having a hard time believing he was feeling the effects of the illness. He generally felt he was impervious to this sort of thing and that somehow a cure would be found and they'd all be okay again. He'd just made a discovery after all -- the biggest one of his life and he'd be damned if he and Chandra were separated now when everything had just fallen together for them.

"Thank you, love," he said quietly, savouring a few brief, painless moments in his lover's arms.

At those simple words the bard's voice shook slightly, her fingers trembling against the nape of his neck, but the song never faltered, flowing seamlessly into another tune as the first ended. Chandra would have sung until she was hoarse if it helped to make Mak feel better. She loved him so much that the thought of losing him was almost unbearable, especially now when everything she had ever wanted was within her grasp. Not only to love, but to know that that love was returned, was a treasure beyond price. One that she had never dared to dream would be realised. One she still found hard to believe had been realised. It was like a glorious dream, and she half-feared she would wake and find it had all been nothing but a figment of her imagination.

***

As the weeks passed, Cully was gradually able to stand the pain and stem the nausea enough to function, and just in time. Catelyn was presently curled up in his lap, her wealth of blonde curls draped over her Addah’s shoulder as she whimpered in sleep. Most of the last few hours had been spent holding those beautiful locks out of the little girl's face as she tossed up the contents of her stomach. The illness in S’Hea had finally crept up on the youngest, and with it, what little hope they had that some, at least, would be spared.

The titian-haired elf was exhausted, and knew his wife wasn’t any better off. She too had been affected, the bond that linked them dooming Wilwarin as well. He

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tilted his head, but couldn’t quite see back into the chamber where his wife and son were.

Wil was holding Willem in her arms, rocking slowly in the chair, crooning a Brendari lullaby repeatedly, her dazed mind and pained body unable to do much more at the moment. She was exhausted and sick, but her mother's heart was for her children's survival. It had been so difficult to watch Cully hurt and when the sickness had hit herself and their children she had felt fear twist the sickness’ manifestations into a festering pain that haunted her. Her usually exuberant nature was vastly tempered although she still kept a smile on her face for the children. It was in Cully's arms at night that she wept silently.

Certain that Catelyn was sleeping soundly, the elf carefully slid from the chair and carried her back into the bedroom. He smiled weakly at Wil as he tucked their daughter into bed, dropping a kiss on the little girl’s forehead before he turned to his wife.

“Here,” he said gently, “let me put Will down to sleep, you need to rest.” Wil looked up at him and drew his head down for a kiss.

"We all need a rest," she answered him as she offered up their son who whimpered slightly. As her husband drew away she caught at his shirt, causing him to pause a moment.

"I love you, Cully," she said suddenly, impulsively. "I love you so much." She felt an overwhelming need to repeat herself and she couldn't explain why. She let her hand drop and then she sat back in the chair, drifting as a wave of nausea rolled through her senses.

The S’Hean smiled down at his wife and leaned in to kiss the top of her head, “I love you too,” he said gently before moving away to tuck Willem into the bed next to his sister. He watched the two of them sleeping for several long moments, worry and distress furrowing his brow. They were so small… so defenceless, it wasn’t fair that they should be struck down along with everyone else.

Shoulders slumping, the tall elf turned made his way back to Wil’s chair and crouched down, brushing at her long blonde locks with gentle fingers, “You should be lying down,” he murmured.

"Only with you," she replied. Her face suddenly lit up with a full-on Wilwarin smile and cupped her husband's face. "Only with you. So take me to bed, melori," she said. If they might only be able to cuddle and hold each other it was fine, but she had a definite opinion and it was of the position that her husband and her family were the best cure she had, even if the outcome was the same for them all.

Who knew though. Just who knew what might yet happen.

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***

Rhodry scribbled his signature on the parchment his castellan had been nagging at him about all morning and muttered under his breath as he rolled the blotter over it. “Alright, there you have it, is there anything else you want to harass me with?”

“No Milord, though I do have to say that the food stores are getting frighteningly low.”

“King Valin said there would be a delivery within the next few days old boy,” the one eyed Lord of Castle Arketh reassured him. Pushing his chair back the blond human shrugged, “there isn’t much more we can do other than hope the D’Riels find an answer, and soon. Now if you’ll excuse me? I’d like to go check on my fiancée.”

The Castellan nodded and bowed, his fingers plucking up the signed parchment and rolling it. “Yes Milord.” His worry filled brown eyes watched the massive ex-mercenary make his way to the door. Rani wasn’t well, and the entire Castle knew it. The usually headstrong and loud woman had been tired and unsettlingly quiet. They were worried not only for her sake, but Rhodry’s as well. The people of Castle Arketh had only just had hope restored when their Lord had taken up his mantle again a few years back, and they feared that Rani’s death would plunge him back into the black moods that had taken him from them in the first place.

On the top floor Rhodry swung open the doors to the chambers he shared with Rani as quietly as could be managed. Slipping into the room he shut himself in and removed his eye patch, tossing it onto a dressing table and rubbing at the scar that slashed across his eye. Making his way to the bedchamber he paused and leaned against the doorframe, taking in the tumble of ruddy gold locks that flared across the pillow and the sound of his lover’s shallow breathing.He was angry, not with her, but at Fate itself for making him feel so helpless, for threatening to take away the only thing that meant something to him. Rani was his reason for living, and if she were taken… all that he had done in the past few years would be for nothing.

On the outside she lay deathly still only her ragged breathing giving away that life still resided there. She had only just quieted down from a bout of convulsions that had tormented her. The sweat had slicked her hair and the lustre of her red gold tresses had diminished. Clumps of her hair seemed to barely be attached to her head and lurid black strands were filling the gaps.

The flesh on her arms and legs had thickened where it had begun to turn the same colour of the beast that was remaking itself within her. And the torment it caused her body was evident when it sent her into periodic seizures. The ring Rhodry had given her was still on her hand and no longer free to move but

3

becoming tight on the finger and threatened the finger on which it had been placed.

Madness too had insidious tendrils moving through her mind where a second battle for supremacy waged. There she had chosen to focus her strength and will in some wild hope that this was where the battle to win had to be fought. Heaving a deep sigh she opened her eyes, the peridot colour leaching into a sickly yellow shade. Not sure if she really saw him or not, she reached out toward him and rasped out his name through slowly transforming jaws.

“Rhodry?”

“I’m here,” he murmured, moving to the side of the bed and sitting on the edge. Taking her hand in his, Rhodry lifted it gently and kissed her palm. “Hey there Rosy Locks,” his tone was unusually gentle, his touch careful, “you look like hell love. Can I get you anything?” Perhaps not the most genteel of men, but he loved her honestly, and deeply.

“Promise… me…” she struggled to speak and the beast growing within hated his touch on her hand.

“Promise me… you will not… let this… come… to completion.” She tried to look at him but could not raise her head or focus her vision well. “Promise…”

Silence filled the room for a moment and Rhodry was completely blind for the space of a heartbeat. Killing his father had cost him an eye… killing Rani would cost him far more.

“I promise,” he said finally, his voice cracking, “but in return, you have to promise me something. Promise me you will fight this as long as you can. Y’Roden says there are answers, and he swears he will find them. You have to hold on until he does.”

Pain coursed through her as she struggled to answer him. Her hand started to tremble first and her eyes watered, unclear if from pain or her feelings for Rhodry. She hated asking this of him but there was no way she could do it herself. The beast within was growing too strong to overcome. Parched and cracking lips mouthed ’I promise’ as overly dark blood seeped from the split in her lips. Then her eyes rolled back again and she quaked all over, as another small patch of skin on her arm seemed to thicken and darken as he watched.

It took several minutes before her tremors eased and by then she was too tired to even open her eyes. Her breathing returned to its ragged shallow rasp, the once vibrant S’Hean warrior lay stricken.

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***

Summerlin felt listless these days and would dearly have loved to attribute it to her pregnancy. But she'd watched her uncle and brother and knew that they too felt as she did and they certainly were not pregnant. A smile curved a corner of her mouth at that thought and she shook her head. At least her sense of humour wasn't impaired, as odd as it might be.

The family was currently gathered in the large nursery set aside for Aarien. The child couldn't possibly need all the room and toys available within here, but her brother's youngest child was deeply loved and accordingly spoiled. Melian and Elerina played in here often and were actually the cause for the current gathering. They often wrote, directed and acted in small skits and today they were showcasing their latest production, no doubt something to do with dragons, quests, damsels in distress and the like.

Summerlin watched her brother intently, not caring if he knew it or not. Having him return alone had been a terrible blow to everyone and Summerlin had felt an immense frustration over their inability to find any sort of cure. Ghetsuhm was very dear to the Alcarin clan and Summerlin herself wished she could go to Riker's herself and speak with M'Sea. The laughing, life-loving Ghetsuhm was as close to a sister and friend Summerlin would ever have and to know there was nothing to be done for her was devastating. It was equally devastating to watch Galain. He was pale and feeling not just the physical pain of the illness affecting the land in S'Hea, but a pain in the heart and spirit that concerned her deeply. Something was desperately wrong with her brother that went beyond simple explanations of nausea and pain.

"What do you suppose we'll be treated to today?" Adarin leaned in close to Summerlin, a wry smile on his face. He too was pale, but seemed to be feeling less affected than the others. Despite his blood bond with An'Thaya perhaps the shortness of his time with her had curtailed the more serious affects.

"Oh some romantic tale of derring-do I imagine," she replied with a chuckle as she reached over for Reece's hand. The baby was kicking and she wished for him to feel the movement. Impulsively she drew Adarin's hand over too and smiled. It was moments like this that pushed back the symptoms of sickness.

Galain himself simply sat in a chair, somewhat removed from the others. Aarien was helping her cousins, mostly by getting in their way and demanding that she have a part in the play too. He was conscious of Summerlin's stare and looked back at her, watching her husband and the king touched her growing belly. He began to smile and then suddenly he frowned as memories of Ghetsuhm's pregnancy superimposed themselves over his brain. He had to look away, his heart and mind reaching out for his wife, knowing he would bump against nothing-ness. He stood up abruptly, desperate to leave the large room.

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"Uncle Galain! We haven't started yet!" Elerina declared and the elf gave her a confused look before he abruptly sat back down. His mind was a galaxy away.

Reece’s entire focus was on the kick beneath his hand, so he completely missed Galain’s near exit stage left. “Wow, that was a strong one,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss Summerlin’s cheek. Elerina’s outcry had his head jerking round though and the dark-haired SandShadow quickly looked away. Galain’s moods made him extremely uncomfortable for some reason.

“Well, get on with it then,” he gently teased the blonde child. Ignoring the 'Uncle' part that in no way described Galain's relationship to the child, and wasn't something Reece cared to dwell on overly long.

Aarien, who was sitting at the front of her cousin's little staging area being a very important flower who had to stay very still and quiet, rolled her eyes. "There," she said, in a scary but unconscious imitation of her nurse, "now I shall have to start all over again." She ostentatiously stood up, shook herself, and sat down again. The quiet wouldn't last more than a couple of minutes: her father's return without her mother had left her exuberant but on edge. There was a growing mountain of 'presents' and letters stacking up in the nursery waiting for her mother to come back. She wasn't unaffected, either, by the odd moods in her family. They'd been all strange since Aunt Summerlin had swallowed that baby, and Aarien was starting to wish it would come out and they could all get back to normal.

Elerina assumed an imperious air, as it was she who had created this particular play. In fact, she created all of them and so she gave Aarien one stern look and then turned away because it was much easier to boss Melian.

"Stand straighter! We're about to bow!" she exclaimed. Then she beamed at everyone. "We present to you... the Story of the Mermaid and the Incomprehensible, Frightening, Shellac-ed..." here Elerina paused for dramatic effect, then spoke boldly. "Caterpillar."

Of course she was the beautiful mermaid and Melian was the caterpillar. And Aarien? Wilful scenery that moved as she decided of course. Galain had totally settled and muffled a slightly hysterical laugh. If nothing else he could do one important thing and he held a tiny memory cube in his hands, willing it record the moments at hand. He was banking on his wife's recovery and he wanted her to see the little things that had occurred while she'd been sick.

As for Summerlin... she was feeling the supreme contentedness many an expectant mother feels and she was living purely in the moment, giving her uncle an affectionate grin as he blushed and then settled back, his hand tingling with the life he'd felt within her belly. And then she leaned into her husband and kissed him deeply, breaking off only when Elerina made her announcement.

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***

Anelain blew a white lock of hair out of her face as she slogged up the last few stairs to the chambers she shared with Kalab. She had a book held lightly in one hand, she had gone down to the library for it at dawn before her husband was awake, planning to do a bit of reading after breakfast. She had been to tired and worn down for Ranger duty during the past couple of weeks, so she had taken to staying in their chambers, only venturing out once in awhile to visit her mother and siblings.

Pushing open the door she shut it firmly behind her and set the book on a table. “Kalab?”

Kalab rolled over and reached for his wife, and muttered an oath when his hand came in contact with cold sheets. A cough escaped him as he sat up and threw the covers back; swinging his feet over the side of the bed he rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand.

“Ane?” Shoving to his feet Kalab grabbed at the nearest solid object and shook his head as the world spun. “Damn…” he muttered with a frown. It was starting to happen more and more, that odd sensation that something was trying to awaken and would throw him off balance.

Shrugging it off he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, leaving bits of it standing on end. “Morning, Elle Lote, out for a morning stroll?”

“Sort of,” she answered, eyeing her husband with a spark of worry, “I went to the library… are you alright?” A smile curled Ane’s lip despite herself; Kalab was terribly cute first thing in the morning… all ruffled and sleepy. Perhaps cute was the wrong word… but it made her want to ruffle him up a little more.

The Taurësúlë shrugged, “I feel like I’ve been on a three day drunk, slept it off, and I’m dealing with the aftermath.” He crossed the short distance to wrap his arms around his wife and lowered his head, “I’ll be fine with the right medicine, luckily it’s in arms reach.” He grinned boyishly, his lips meeting hers with a gentle slowness.

The redhead leaned into her husband, head tilted up to accept his kiss. There was a soft smile on her face as he drew back, and she touched his cheek with weapon-roughened fingertips. The expression turned into a frown for a moment, “you don’t think the sickness has crossed our bond… do you?”

Kalab thought for a moment, scrubbing at the back of his head in the process. “It’s attacking those that are tied to the Aethyr, right?” He asked, “I’m tied to you but its been proven that I’m a natural magic null zone. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how I mastered opening the wards without the necklace.”

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Sky blue eyes darkened slightly then shook his head, “No, I don’t think it’s crossed our bond,” he lied, and not very well considering it was his wife. “It’s probably the change in weather, even an Arlsynian elf has a difficult time adjusting to it with how quickly its been changing.”

Ane’s brow creased and she titled her head, “You’re a horrible liar,” she said softly. “What force is so inexplicably cruel that it could use a bond made in love to dole out death.” She had noted her sibling’s spouses of late; they all seemed tired… out of sorts. It wasn’t just Kalab, it was all of them, anyone that shared blood or soul.

“I could scream, or rant, or protest,” she murmured, “but there isn’t much point. Fate is fate, and at least we are facing it together.”

“I should be hurt by that,” a rumbling chuckle escaped him and he wrapped his arms tighter around his wife.

Kalab rested his chin on Ane’s head for a moment, listening to her. He had always thought her voice was musical and cherished it; the fact that one-day that music may fade away wasn’t something that sat well with him. He brushed his lips across her silken hair.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” the forest elf smiled, calloused fingers sliding beneath her chin as he rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t know what I’d do if…” he shook his head, not wanting to finish the thought.

“Well,” he started again, easily picking her up despite his dizzy spell earlier and headed back towards their bed, “there’s protesting and then there’s protesting. I think protesting in the fashion of telling the Fates we’ll look them straight in the eye and go on living until they cut the thread is a great technique.” Sky blue eyes sparkled brightly. He intended on holding his wife as much as possible, even if that meant that the world died around them and they were nothing more than ashes on ill winds.

The tail end of an old nursery rhyme chimed unbidden through his mind, told to him by a priest that had lost his religion when he stumbled upon a world that was so drastically different than what he was use to. The rhyme had changed to coincide with a new culture but the meaning was the same…

If I should die before I wake, I pray the Fates my soul to take.

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Chapter 2

Glory hadn't been feeling all too well for some time now, but had managed to mask most of the discomfort he'd been feeling. He'd watched his son very carefully, then Rilya and the newborn twins, desperately worried that his wife and then the children were going to start to feel the effects soon. He'd heard that his twin brother's family had retired to their rooms for some time now and Glory felt...

Anxiety.

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Catherine was just tired. Overwhelmingly exhausted. She couldn't keep her shields up and anybody's thoughts within a fifty-foot radius penetrated her mind, which was swirling and her sons were cranky. They just fussed; it wasn't a mad fuss, just a tired unhappy, rather pathetic thing.

"They won't eat," she said, desperately trying to get Nendil to latch on. "Why won't they eat?" The tears began to flow. "I don't think I have milk for them..."

Rilya sat beside her mommy patting Cat's arm. "Mommy, I'm hot, vewy, vewy hot."

Cat reached out to touch her. "GLORY! She is hot!" Catherine's tears flowed more; as it seemed her fears of the weeks past were coming to fruition.

Glory moved quickly toward his wife. He'd been checking Galen over himself and the boy was all right... but not great. He'd always been a sullen, cantankerous sort, and so it was actually worrisome that the boy was so quiet and quick to cling to his father. Glory hunkered down beside Rilya, kissed her feverishly hot forehead and bit back a groan.

"It's hitting us all," he said quietly before he looked up at his wife, compassion and worry filling his eyes. "We'll find help for your milk, okay? There's probably somebody who can help supply." His head buzzed as he spoke, unable to believe that his family was suffering so much now too. He'd so hoped for a cure before now. So hoped...

Cat took a deep breath; it was hard to think when one was this tired.

"I, help, yes," she finally said just at the moment Callie walked in without knocking. It was possible she had and not been heard, or just had a sixth sense that mothers have for their children whatever age they are.

"I wondered when it was going to hit you," she said, observing the scene. "Everyone into bed. Yes you too, Glory," she said directing her son-in-law. "Rest is in order, I'll care for everything."

"But, the baby he won't eat," Cat said as Nendil continued to toss his head back and forth at her breast.

"You're stressed, of course he won't, relax sweetie, and try again," Callie said wrapping Rilya up into her arms gently as she talked.

Cat stared at Glory's face, trying to focus. "I'll relax better if you sit, there's room for all of us in this bed I'm sure..."

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Not really, but Glory just smiled and fell away, bowing his head for a moment as Galen pressed up close against him. Thank goodness for family like Callie. She wasn't affected by the sickness at least, though who knew what she was feeling inside at the sight of them all. For a number of moments he felt like this was all his fault somehow. Then he shook his head and looked up at Callie.

"Thanks," was all he could say at the moment.

Cat was too attuned to Glory to not sense him taking the blame, she didn't; without him there would have been no Rilya, Coo, Nendil or Galen. In spite of her exhaustion she opened her heart and let him feel love; it was all she had to give right now.

As they adjusted themselves into bed Nendil kept tossing his head, though he was growing more listless about it.

"Mom, it's not working," Catherine said softly, too softly. "Glory, I don't think I'm enough... we might need a wet nurse, I'd rather that than formula, but will the S'Heans understand?"

The admittance that she was not enough to feed her children left Cat feeling like the world's biggest failure. It was a mother's job to nurse, period, end of subject and it was shattering her to speak it out loud.

Callie had stepped back into the other room, rocking Rilya, her heart was sick as she watched from afar. She would have given her energy to heal them, but she knew it wouldn't help. She could do nothing, but love and it felt insignificant.

"Of course they'll understand. A wet nurse is a willing giver of what she has and this will sustain life and... Cat... it's okay. It will help our sons and that's the most important thing -- their health and well-being. We'll muddle through the rest of it somehow," Glory answered. He was a little ashamed of himself and the guilt he was feeling, especially when he'd felt his wife's love and support along their bond.

***

“I can’t go,” Y’Roden was in the middle of saying, “with Ghet in stasis I can’t leave Rhagi on his own, and I can’t take him to a continent where his safety isn’t guaranteed, he has been through too much already.”

“I wasn’t about to ask you,” B’Rodyn reassured, “you don’t quite look up to the challenge anyway Cousin. The question is then, who do we send. None of us are in any shape to go wandering around a foreign land at the moment.”

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“Dante could go,” An’Thaya, suggested, “he is in good health, and I’m certain his ability to shift would come in useful finding a path over the terrain.”

Callan's dark head slowly nodded as he chewed on the pad of his right thumb thoughtfully then lowered his hand to drum his fingers on the table, "Hai. Dante' could, and would go. I'll talk to him as soon as I can. Count him in."

“Jack?” Y’Roden asked, “Drake said they wanted to help in any way they could. I can vouch for him, he is a capable warrior and despite appearances, a decent person.” The half-elf grinned in an evil fashion, “for that matter, we could send Meylor to keep him in line.”

B’Rodyn laughed and shook his head, having seen the pair in action within the halls of Windemiire. “All three are good candidates.” He shot a glance at Y’Roden, “I would like to send Imoreki with them, he has command over the land itself and we have no idea if the other end of the well is even open or not.”

There was only silence from Ro for a long moment, a nerve jumping in his jaw. He had always been over protective of Ki; the boy hadn’t entered the world properly and had suffered for it through the years. There comes a time in every child’s life, however, when a parent has to back down and let them prove themselves. “Alright,” he muttered, “but if he has to go, send Rhiannon with him. I realize she just gave birth, but she is in better health than most S’Heans and she will make sure Imoreki makes it home.”

“Fair enough,” B’Rodyn nodded, the scrape of his quill pen on parchment the only sound in the room for a moment before he handed it off to one of the Guards. “Summon the five people on this list,” he instructed, “its urgent.”

Turning back to the table he looked from Y’Roden to An’Thaya, then to Callan, and finally Argent. “Whilst we wait, I’d like to touch on another topic. We have run into another problem, the Healers are falling ill and we are going to have to call on our allies for help. I’ve sent a letter to Adarin already, with no response as of yet. Is there any way that Aerdon or Arlsyn could assist?”

"The problem may be solved." Callan's voice was quiet, "And I mean may, I have no confirmation yet of any of this, but." The Emperor paused until everyone was looking his way, "But. I've received word from the Silver Nation... it seems a priestess of Ceres has been given a vision. If my... source... is correct, the healers in the Temple of Justice will be knocking at the wards within hours. They take Ceres very seriously."

“The Silver Nation?” Y’Roden’s tone was more than a little surprised, “well, I’m not one to complain about divine intervention.”

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B’Rodyn eyed Y’Roden, then dragged his gaze to Callan. “I’ll be listening for the knock then… though with the wards the way they are these days, they might well just be wandering right in.”

Gent listened in silence, his fingers steepled before his lips. Slowly he lowered his hands and nodded, “What healers we have are offered freely, along with anything else that is needed, I can’t speak for the Taurësúlë nation however, but they may be able to offer some help. I hear that one of their healers, Kaylee, is already here.”

“D’Anke,” B’Rodyn’s thanks was heartfelt as he nodded respectfully to Argent, the Arlsyn alliance had become one of great importance even before Y’Roden had ascended the throne, and had only grown stronger in the years between.

The doors opened almost silently, admitting Imoreki whose expression was one of curiosity as he paused just inside, and looked expectantly to B’Rodyn.

“Dagar, Imoreki,” the S’Hean King greeted, please, “join us at the table. We are waiting on a few more people, I’ll hold off until everyone is in attendance before I reveal what you have all been called for.”

Jack stood just outside of the door, his arms crossed, his ears straining to hear what's being said on the other side, cursing the thickness of the door. He had been summoned, given no answers to the questions that still hung on the tip of his tongue. The guard was swift, telling him only where to go, and who to see, before taking his leave.

"What have I done now," he whispered, keeping an ever-watchful eye out for a certain white tiger. He had seen someone else stepping into the room moments before he arrived, and he wondered who else had been summoned. The stranger before him paused before stepping into the room.

"Why did they pause?" Jack whispered, his hand rushing up to run his fingers through his hair. "Well, there's only one way to find out," as steel fingers circled the door handle, opening the door. The very air around him seemed to draw him in. Finding a spot against the nearest wall, he rested his back against it, trying not to draw to much attention to himself. Pulling his arms up, he crossed them and his ankles before taking a well deserved sigh of relief.

Unknown to him, his somewhat silent entrance did not go unnoticed.

“Hello Jack,” Y’Roden greeted the human with a grin, then tilted his head slightly to the right, “I expected Meylor would be right behind you… she must be running late. But, no matter, the two of you will have plenty of time together in the next few weeks."

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Jack blinked. He could not believe what he had just heard. Meylor was joining them? But for what? Bringing his steel hand up, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Shaking his head, he could not help but laugh.

"By the fates Y’Roden, what did I ever do to you? And what do you mean, we'll be together over the next few weeks? What's this all about? The guard you sent didn't tell me squat! I'm being punished for something, I just know it. What ever she told you isn't true..."

“I haven’t told him anything…” Stormy grey eyes glared at Jack as she passed him, “Yet.” Meylor snapped out over her shoulder as she headed towards the table. Narrowed eyes turned to Y’Roden, an auburn eyebrow arching in question as she pulled out a chair and slid into it before looking around at the others present.

Gent couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face and he had a feeling if anyone could have, they would have kicked him under the table.

Curiosity buzzing, Rhiannon passed gracefully into the room where she had been summoned, letting cat green eyes touch on each face. That anyone of consequence should wish to speak to her caused the Felinumeara female to be cautious as she came to stand beside her son; then inclined her head to each person about the table in respectful acknowledgement. "You rang," she asked, one corner of her mouth twitching into a half smile as she waited, curiosity bubbling just below the surface.

Both of the elder D’Riel males barely suppressed amused smiles as Meylor made her entrance and they shot glances at Gent that said they knew how he felt. Y’Roden waited until the ever quiet Dante entered the room and the doors were shut behind him before he began.

“We have a request,” the half-elf announced, “we need your help.” He rolled out a map of the continent they were standing on and the surrounding seas where all gathered could see. “Whispin is a vast planet, and very little of it has been explored. The equator cannot be crossed, the heat from the suns makes sea travel unbearable, and it is too dangerous to randomly portal about in search of other landmasses. They do exist however, and a recent discovery proves that there was once travel between them.”

He pointed to the East, “we believe a second continent rests here,” his finger tapped on a blank expanse of ocean. “If our research proves correct, the ancestors of the D’Riel family hail from a place called Solere-Feyte, a race called the Danna-Riel that for some unexplained reason, are also known as the Dragon Children. The only way to get there is through the Aethyr Well that lies deep beneath Windemiire, and we have no way of knowing exactly what is on the other side. However, it is a chance we must take, it may be the Danna-Riel that

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hold the key to our survival. So the question I pose to each one of you is, will you go where those of us who have taken ill cannot.”

Jack was the first to step up, trying to ignore Meylor, which was almost impossible, seeing how she was sitting close to the map; he glanced down at the spot where Y’Roden had pointed. "So you're saying that there is an island there, and the only means of getting there is by going down some Aethyr Well? I, for one, can't hold my breath as well as some of you here might be able to do. And this well must be pretty deep, if not long to reach that far. Unless there's some magic spell that can make me breathe underwater, I don't see how I can help you."

“Aethyr is just another word for the spirit realm,” Imoreki spoke up, “it is the soul of S’Hea, and what our magic feeds off of.” He grinned at Jack and shrugged, “believe it or not, I’m not overly fond of water either, but there isn’t any in the Well.” His emerald gaze went to his mother, then across the table to his father. “I’ll go Addah.”

"Oh, it's just a Spirit Well," Jack sighed as his hand came back up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "In that case," he sighed, knowing there was no way he was allowing Meylor to go it alone, no matter what she thought of him, "you can count me in too."

Rhiannon took in the information she had been given, as well as what Ki had said about the well, feeling that there was something more to her being here other than the fact that she was one of the few who was not ill. In her usual no nonsense tone she asked point blank, “did you pick me because I am well or did you pick me for other more parental reasons?”

“Thank you Jack,” the words were barely out of Ro’s mouth when Rhiannon asked her question. The half-elf smiled and shrugged, “Can’t blame a fellow for obeying his parental instincts. What about you Meylor? Can you put up with Jack for that long?”

Frowning, Meylor looked from Y’Roden then to Jack and sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Well, I can’t very well let him go off and get killed, only the Sildanai knows how he made it this long.”

Grey eyes stared at the human and she shook her head. “This is going to be a long trip.”

***

The four that gathered at Valin’s council were a tired, weary looking lot. Three D’Riels and a Havenlock, all of S’Hean descent. The King of Corin scrubbed at

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his forehead and looked to Cullen, studying the larger man and noting the heaviness in the way the Captain carried himself.

“How are Anaya and the children holding up?” Imoreki asked, interrupting Valin’s train of thought.

“Not well,” his elder brother answered as he used a knife to cut the hard rind of a SunMelon brought in from Aerdon, “bonds and blood have stricken them down now as well,” he paused for a moment, “where is Helena?”

“Still recovering from the Audyo Vahnai. A near drowning experience will do that to a body,” Ki muttered from behind a tankard of ale, “she is back on Ingraelis for now.”

“Ah,” Valin’s mouth curved in a sympathetic smile. The Mars Corinth women were not exactly known for complacency. His sea-green eyes shifted back to Cullen, “and Rhiannon?”

“She is doing alright, a little queasy now and then but nothing major,” the Captain answered, “which is just as well, seeing as she has agreed to go with Imoreki to find the Danna-Riel.” He grinned at Y’Roce across the table, “just be glad I didn’t ask you to follow her there. I hear she gave you a fair bit of trouble when she was with child.”

Y'Roce gave Cullen a wry smile “Aye, that she did, but it was understandable… sort of. At least she mostly led for a merry chase and did not inflict too much damage.” Roc laughed at the suggestion of going with Rhiannon on the search. “Ha! Perhaps, but who is going to protect the others from the wrath or sharp tongue of that tigress? I, for one owe you, for that one.”

“I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear that Addah sent word that he wants you to join Ki and Rhiannon then,” Valin threw in with a slightly evil grin. “He feels that a slightly older representative of the D’Riel line is advisable and lucky you, you’re the only one not tied down by responsibility or too sick to go.”

“He what?!” Y’Roce spluttered when the implications of what his older brother had said registered. “Addah said…He did not!!! Did he??? No. You can’t be serious? Ki has a wife and he’s going and, well, Rhiannon is going just after giving birth, which baffles me, so what on S’Hea does my lack of family have to do with anything? I am sure Ki can handle Rhiannon although I don’t envy him…” pausing as his thoughts caught up with his surprise, Y’Roce realized the weighty responsibility being conferred to him and sobered quickly. “I will be glad to go.” I think. I hope. He sat back down to hear what else the King of Corin had to say.

“A wife?” Ki asked, blinking owlishly, “when did that happen?”

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“Oh hush, you know what he meant,” Valin chuckled. “Ki has only just passed the thirty year mark. To a race of pureblood elves, that makes him a child. Hells… I’d be a child to them… Regardless, you’ll be fine. Jack, Meylor and Dante are going as well. Here, have some wine, I have no idea what kind it is, but it packs a punch.”

“I’ll take a bottle of that to go,” Ki grinned, “maybe two, sounds like we are going to need it.” He waved a drumstick at Y’Roce, “and if you think giving birth slowed my mother down any, I say you’ve already been into the drink.”

There was a snort of agreement from Cullen who was nose deep in a tankard of ale.

Reaching over and grabbing the jug of wine, Y’Roce poured himself a full tankard of the stuff and drained almost half before he gasped and set the mug down. “Yeah, make that a case, or two.”

Y’Roce let the warmth of the wine sooth him for a moment then asked, “So tell me what the plans are so far?” He had only known the journey was planned and the general reason for it since, until now, he thought he would be of those in Corin that could still function in some manner of defence if needed.

“We are headed down the Aethyr Well,” Imoreki said with a short laugh, “It seems it leads somewhere, though we won’t know exactly where until we get there. Addah and the Silverleafs opened some sort of lock on Arlsyn that was keeping it blocked. The people chosen to go are mostly those that have been virtually untouched by S’Hea’s illness. You and I have different assignments. Since we don’t exactly know where we’ll come out, I’ve been designated the official Geo-Mage, and you apparently, are our representative of the bloodline.”

Having just taken another mouthful of wine when Ki answered, Roc choked and spewed it, hopefully in a direction that did not coat anyone, which was all the meagre control he had on the subject. “We’re what??!!!” the older D’Riel exclaimed. “That’s bloody insane!”

“Oh relax, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Valin insisted, “Grandmother Se’Liene played in the Well all the time… she just never tried to go down into it. Besides, none of you are sane in the first place, so it shouldn’t make any difference, should it?” He was rewarded with a dry look from Imoreki and he laughed, “If Addah is sending you in, I doubt it’s going to chew you up and spit you back out. Besides, any written account is probably designed to scare off anyone who gets a little too curious.”

***

4

“Where is she,” Tallin snarled at a male Nuru’kh-ai, nearly sending the beast to the next life as a bolt of blue fire sizzled from the Demon Mage’s fingers and exploded into the wall just to it’s left. “It's been weeks, and yet you incompetent swine haven’t managed to bring her to me. Find her, or its your life, am I understood?”

“But… M’lord, she ate the last team that was sent out to find her…”

“She’s an Elf you moron, there must be something else loose in the Keep. Find it and kill it before it gets anywhere near my children. Or I’ll serve you up to your peers as tonight’s main course.”

The Nuru looked as if he meant so say something more, then thought better of it and scuttled out of the room as a second flaming ball blasted stone from the walls.

Amilyn looked up at her mother, blood dripping from gashes across her pale back. "I told you, I don't know where she is."

Mystical snarled slightly. "And I've told you, I don't believe you. I know you've met with her and with your older brother since you've been our guest..."

Amilyn just glared at the Ali-Maera. "And so what if I have? Doesn't mean I know where she is now..."

Mystical growled and grabbed the scourge from Alatriel, who'd been trying to use it on one of her dolls. Her arm flew high and the lashes cracked across the tiny redhead's flesh, but Amilyn would not cry. Her teeth might go through her lip, blood might fill her mouth, but she would not give Mystical the satisfaction of breaking.

"Alatriel, go get your father." Her almost black eyes flashed as she looked at her youngest daughter and magic crackled in the air around her.

“No need,” Tallin’s voice came from the doorway, “I’m already here.” He watched the trails of blood running down Ami’s back with a practiced eye, “very nice my love. Maybe Alatriel can go for the salt instead.”

Strolling into the room he came round where he could see the little redhead’s face and crossed massive arms across his chest. “It’s the D’Riel blood,” he commented, “always a problem. They are as stubborn and pigheaded as their mother.”

4

Mystical smiled at the compliment from her husband and then tilted her head. "I was thinking maybe for the larger scourge. The glass tipped one..." She was determined to break this one...

Alatriel looked up at her parents and then at Amilyn. The blood made pretty splatters on the floor. "But Mama, what about Papa Daschae? You promised him we'd have dinner together, and you know how Papa hates blood at the table when it's not on the menu..."

Mystical looked at Alatriel with a smile. "You're right, poppet." Her gaze turned to her husband, a playful glint in her eyes. "Feel like helping me bathe, Love? Perhaps Galain will come and mop up this mess..." Amilyn would continue to bleed for a while, and she would always remember what it meant to disobey Mystical.

Tallin eyed his child for a moment, then nodded to his wife. “Galain! Get in here… now.” He was sure the Elf was lurking nearby, “You have chores to do.”

After a moment's hesitation the young elf made his appearance, gliding into the room soundlessly, his face stony with anger toward everyone here but Amilyn. He was proud of her like he was of Vanya. They were strong, but he was so afraid they were going to die. He wanted so desperately to keep them away from Tallin and Mystical, but in the long run, there was still no true place to hide. Even he was always found. His fists balled tightly at the sight of Amilyn's ruined back.

“Clean this up,” Tallin ordered; “I’ll expect to see the floor spotless by the time I get back from dinner.” Brushing by the elf the Demon Mage slid his arm around Mystical’s waist and escorted her towards the door. “Come along Alatriel, it would never do to keep your Grandfather waiting.”

Galain held himself still until the mage; his wife and their hell spawn had vacated the room. Then he walked deliberately over to Amilyn and crouched beside her.

"I will clean you up first," he told her. "The floor can go to hell. It probably will one day." There was a hint of tender humour in his voice, laced with a bitter hopelessness that he swallowed back. He rose then and retrieved a basin of water and several soft cloths and began gentle ministrations, his face closed in a concerned frown as he worked.

Amilyn mustered up a smile for Galain, her lip bruised and cut from biting down to keep from screaming. "Ammah will come for us, she won't leave us here to rot. She'd have come for you long ago, if she'd known." The redhead wiggled the rope holding her arms; stretching the rope just enough to pull her hands through and put her arms down by her sides.

4

There was a fire flashing in her eyes, a sure sign of a temper flaring. "You'd never believe that was the woman who gave birth to me... I hope I get the chance to reverse the scales someday..." Amilyn winced as Galain hit a tender spot. Her entire back was sore and painful, but some places were worse than others.

"Is there anything around here I could use as a shirt? I think this one is pretty well shot." Only the straps around her neck held her shirt on, the back was tattered and flying free.

"You can have mine," Galain answered, shrugging his shirt off and laying it aside for the moment. "Let's finish cleaning you up first and then you can change while I do my 'chores'," he said, grimacing. He did the best he could then before turning away, locating what he needed to clean up the blood that had spattered about the room and floor. He paused in mid-scrub, keeping his face averted from Amilyn as he spoke.

"You think they have a chance of getting through to us here?" he asked. He really wanted Amilyn, Vanya and especially himself to have a chance at giving Tallin and Mystical a taste of their own bitter medicine.

Amilyn closed her eyes and pulled the shirt on as quickly as possible, her eyes tearing up at the pain of moving her tender flesh. She yanked her ruined halter-top over her head and threw it to the floor.

"I know that they will do everything they can. Ammah will do anything possible to get us out of here. Vanya and I won't let them leave without you." Ami put her hand over his, a strength far older than her tender years in her face. She would've hugged him, but she was afraid the movement would make her bleed more and she didn't want to get this shirt all bloody as well.

Galain regarded the tiny hand covering his own, his face grave. And then he smiled and turned his hand so he could squeeze hers.

"I believe you," he said. Then he gazed around the room and felt his shoulders sag slightly. "You should rest, get yourself some water. The pitcher there on the washstand has plenty. I have to finish this." He directed one eye at the floor and walls and then gave her a rueful smile.

***

Anaya stirred restlessly in bed, struggling against unseen forces that pressed against her. She could feel the bonds of her Talents weakening, and she battled to reinforce them. No. Not now... She pleaded with herself, trying to restore shattered foundations.

5

Valin grunted as an elbow caught him in the ribs, his dark lashes flicking up as he turned his head to gaze at his wife. The elf’s brow furrowed with worry and he rolled onto his side, gentle fingers brushing damp hair away from Anaya’s face. “Hey,” he murmured softly, “Anaya? Elleska? Wake up.” Kissing her temple he stroked the side of her face, coaxing her slowly into a waking state, “what’s wrong y’vonna?”

Anaya's Celtic eyes shot open, and the blonde bolted upright before realising where she was, settling back down onto the pillows with a disconcerted look on her face. "Oh Gods," She whispered, stricken, "Its started."

The King of Corin pulled back just in time to avoid a full contact head butt as his wife shot straight up, than fell back into the pillows. He blinked slowly for a moment, only half awake himself, but increasingly concerned. “What… what has started?” he asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to pull his thoughts together.

Staring at the ceiling, Anaya was silent for a moment. It was more of an effort to pull her own thoughts together, and to keep up the mental walls that had always existed since she came into her powers. "The walls are falling down. And I don't mean the castle ones." She whispered quietly, before turning to face her husband. "I thought I'd have more time than this."

"Psi Talents usually come into their powers at puberty, but we were different, we had ours from birth. Every child is taught three things, blocking, dampening and shielding. You block yourself from reading others, you can dampen down another Psi Talent when they're getting a little... overenthusiastic, and you shield your mind from another reading you." Anaya paused. "I'm not making sense am I?"

"The Mars family is unique, in more than one way, the women even more so, but I didn't think you needed me to tell you that," The Queen smiled, "We are natural empaths, something the Corporation had spent years trying to create. But with all the power comes instability, as you can see with Rachel. She was already the less controlled of us, but now it seems she quite happily revels in it. I'm getting off the point. We are natural born telepaths, Telekinetics and empaths, and we have had these abilities from birth. We are unique because our powers haven't driven us insane - Rachel has walked the line a few times but there has always been an element of control even in her deepest madness - there's always been an anchor point we could bring her back to."

"The sicker I get, the less control I'll have. Its already started, it’s taking me more time and energy to put up the walls I've been able to do without thinking since birth. They won't just fall down; it will be a slow process. At first, it'll just be random strong emotions. Then all emotions. If things go badly wrong, my kinesis will get out of hand... mind quakes... and then the walls come down and the voices drive me mad." Anaya's voice had dropped to a quiet whisper. "There won't be an anchor point to bring me back. Even if there was, they couldn't do it. Ammah is... away, Rachel isn't stable enough and Helena doesn't know what to

5

do. It took me, Ammah and Jason to bring Rach back the first time, and we only just managed it."

Eyes shining, Anaya looked to her husband, fear in their depths. "You have to promise me something. When the walls come down, send me away. I will not put our children through this Valin. And you must block the bond, or it will get to you too." Her voice broke, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I can't, I won't put you through this... The more control a person has, the worse the breakdown is... I can't guarantee I won't hurt anyone..."

Valin was silent through his wife’s outpouring; the only change in his expression a slight deepening in the sea-green shade of his eyes. When she was finished, he found himself speechless for several long moments, his mind struggling to find words as he quelled a sense of rising panic. “Anaya, I can’t promise that. I couldn’t ever send you away from me, don’t you realize by now? What happens to you happens to me, and vice a versa. It’s my fault, through our bond, that you are sick. I’ll not abandon you over something that is out of our control.”

He paused, fingers stroking her golden blonde hair, “the most I will promise, is that I’ll send for Addah. He’s had experience with similar talent, he has Ghet’s talent to a lower degree, in the end, he may be able to help.”

Anaya leaned into her husband's fingers, distress evident on her face. "I don't want to hurt you, or the children, Valin. I just... Everything in my soul wants me to protect, and I can't, and it’s destroying me... I've always been the strong one, the one in control. The thought of losing that, when I've seen how much damage can be done, it’s..." The blonde broke off, closing her eyes and trying to bring herself back together.

"We could just get your Addah, Helena, Rach and Jase to gang up on me I suppose," She remarked dryly, "If nothing else, they'd keep me contained."

Valin settled back into the pillows and drew Anaya into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Just trust in me elleska,” he murmured, letting calloused fingertips rub soothing patterns across her back, “you don’t have to be the strong one all the time, I’ll take care of you. You’re my wife and I could never have imagined loving anyone as much as I love you. No matter what happens, I’ll be right here.”

Anaya settled against him, eyes sliding closed. "I know," She whispered softly, relaxing a little under his touch. "I love you too, more than anything or anyone I have ever known in my life."

***

5

Helena finally managed to drag herself out of bed several days after returning home, half drowned and severely dehydrated. She vaguely remembered asking her parents if the horse had made it back to Corin, but the silent anger they had directed toward her cut off any further questioning. Jaythall had been absent also, and Helena missed him sorely. This morning however, her son was peeking around the door.

"Mother?" He asked quietly. "Are you better now?"

"Yes Jay." She replied, stretching out her arms. "Come here, little imp, have you been keeping your Grandfather and Grandmother busy?" The blonde Queen asked, sweeping her son up into a hug and holding him tight.

"I've been good!" The young boy protested, a little too quickly. He turned, looking up into her Celtic eyes. "Mother? Where's Im'ki?"

The breath stopped in Helena's throat a moment as pain snagged at her. "He's at home for a while Jay," She managed, trying not to dwell on the sickness in S'Hea and its consequences for her landbound love. "Why?"

"I wanted to ask him something... but I don't want you to get mad, so I want to ask you too." His expression was serious. "I know you loved Father, and you miss him, but..." Jay's voice went very quiet, "Do you think maybe, someday, Im'ki would like to be my Addah?"

Something inside Helena broke at that point, "Oh Jay..." She whispered quietly, but any response she might have made was cut off by her parents entering the room.

Brianna squeezed Jason's hand as she went in. She was angry and she was scared and she was in a bit of a snit. "Jaythall, sweetheart, can you give us some time to talk to your Mother?" Bria waited until he left to look at Helena. It didn't take much to realize what was on her daughter's mind. She knew how hard it would be for her to stay put if it were Jase in trouble, and she knew that Helena had a wild streak.

"Helena, you need to remember your responsibilities here before you go charging off again. I know Ki's in trouble, and you love him so you naturally want to be there. But Kaelan can't keep taking over for you, and she shouldn't have to. She's exhausted and she almost lost her marriage not so long ago, that's why she finally moved out of the Palace." The Queen Mother eyed her daughter with an unusually steely expression.

"Your father and I are prepared to go to S'Hea and help however we can, including keeping Ki safe to the best of our abilities. S'Araia has offered to go as

5

well, swearing she would stick as close to Ki as she would to any of us. But your kingdom needs you here."

Helena watched Jay run off, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents within the room. She waited until her son was out of earshot before turning to both of her parents, expression unusually calm.

"As far as I was aware, I have been fulfilling my responsibilities for quite some time now, Amil. In fact, I pretty much uprooted Ki to Ingraleis after we began seeing each other. Yes, I attend a few functions every now and again, but save for the incident with the homicidal grandmother, and my participation in a horse race, which I admit, was rather reckless, but need I point out also involved THREE members of the S'Hean Royal Family, I've not been 'charging off' as much as I used to. So, my answer is, well... No."

Jason frowned. "No?"

"No, as in, no, I am not staying. No, as in why was it all left to Kaelan? And no, as in, well, no. Do you see Y'Roden chained to his throne? Or Callan? I took up my duty when everyone considered me still a child. Hells, they still think I am now. Whispin is dying Father."

The Human Ranger sensed a storm brewing, and glanced at his wife, then his daughter. "Helena..."

"What would you do Father?" She said quietly, fixing him with her Celtic stare, "If it were Mother? And don't tell me it is any different." Helena raked a hand through loose blonde curls and continued. "You both know what happened with Luthall! And I never got the chance to tell him I loved him." Pausing, the Queen looked at the floor for a moment. "I refuse to do that again. Gods, I understand, you want to keep me safe, you don't want me getting myself killed, and you don't want me leaving it all to Kaelan, but for the love of it all, why does it have to be now?"

Before anyone could answer, there was a sharp rap at the door. "Who is it?!" Helena bit out, but the door had opened before she had finished her sentence. "Aunt Rachel?"

"My apologies Helena, but I came for Jase." The redhead told her niece quietly. "I... Okay. What did I miss, because this room stinks of pissed off people."

Jase opened his mouth to reply, but Helena beat him to it. "They want me to stay here."

An elegant eyebrow was arched. "And that would be a good idea why exactly?"

5

"Because Helena needs to learn!" Jase replied, his temper snapping. "She cannot keep running off and expect everyone else to pick up the pieces! We can't do it, Kaelan certainly can't, and..."

"...And I notice you never even asked about Anaya," Rach replied coldly. "Exactly what is the problem here Jason? That she's running off? Shirking her duties? Would you like to go tell Callan that, because right now Yarwin is running the Black Dragon Empire." Her gaze flicked to Brianna, "And don't tell me the situation is different because even a blind man could tell she adores Imoreki."

Sighing, the half-dragon sat on the end of the sofa Helena had been occupying. "If the issue is you need someone of authority here, screw it, I'll do it. Unless I got disowned from the Royal family and no-one thought to tell me, I'm still a Princess here, right? And last time I checked, unless there's a small miracle, I'm looking at a rather unwanted promotion sometime soon. If the people of Ingraleis need someone to council them, they'll just have to make do with me. Aerdon is pretty quiet at the moment, and besides, it'll keep me out of the way of anyone who decides they'd really rather not have a Gold Empress thank you very much."

Turning, Rachel faced Helena, ignoring a rather dumbstruck Jason. "You'll owe me a shitload of babysitting for this, niece of mine." She turned back to her brother, "And if you don't mind, your sister is about to fall apart mentally, and Castle Corin really doesn't need redecorating right now."

Brianna growled softly. "Fine, Rach, you take over here, Kaelan will help, but don't let her take over. The main reason everything landed on her before is because she has a habit of just doing it herself instead of telling anyone it needs done." A quick glance at her husband had her calming slightly. "Helena, you take extra care, dammit. I will not lose you to a battle that's already taken my sister."

Tears filled her eyes. "Dammit Helena, don't you see? I know you adore Imoreki, that's not the issue. But I lost the only mother figure I ever knew when she gave up her soul to save his life. I just lost my sister to the disease eating away at Whispin. I am well aware of what is happening there, but at the same time, I can only fight to protect so much."

Tears fell down the blonde's face as she completely broke down, months of being strong and keeping everything inside just flooding out of her as she turned and buried her face in Jason's chest.

The Ranger held his wife tightly against his chest as Rachel slipped out quietly, Helena rising to wrap her arms about them both.

“I know Mother, really I do,” she said quietly, “I miss Mel, and Mystical... But, Gods, if I don't go... could you really cope with half of me again?” Resting her head against her mothers, she sighed. “I love you both”.

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Brianna shifted slightly, wrapping her arm around their daughter. "And we love you too, Helena Chloe." Bria's whisper seemed loud in the quiet of the room as the three simply stood together.

***

Imoreki stood watching the play of light from the Aethyr well off of the crystals in the cavern. It was beautiful here, though slightly eerie. There was an overall feeling of being watched emitting from the Well itself… as if dozens of pairs of eyes were peering out at those who stood in the chamber. Emerald eyes slid to his father’s back, watching Y’Roden who stood on the very edge of the column, peering down into its depths.

Jack stood a few feet off to the side of Ro, looking at the well, trying not to be hypnotized by the strange light it was emitting. Being his first time ever seeing a spirit well, his curiosity was starting to get the best of him as he drew a bit closer to it.

"Not thinking about jumping, are you Ro? I don't see any rope..."

Y’Roden laughed and shifted his gaze to Jack, “not today, though I’ve been in there before. It’s as close as you can get to flying without wings. My mother use to spend hours in there drifting on the Aethyr eddies,” he smiled in memory and shrugged, “I think she liked to watch the spirits of our ancestors… and those who went on before their time. It’s the only way she ever got to see Tysane.”

"So you’re saying that the spirits of your ancestors live here, in this well," Jack asked, inching closer to the edge. Whispering, so he hoped no one could hear him, he asked, "Can I push Meylor in first," giving Ro a wide grin, "just to make sure it still works I mean," glancing back with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Ah...Ro? We don't need to sacrifice any virgins, do we?"

Y’Roden’s expression went completely evil, “you’re right, a virgin is exactly what the Well is clamouring for.” Before Jack could protest, Ro had grabbed the human by the back of the shirt and tossed him forwards into the Well.

“Uh… Addah,” Ki spoke up, “you might have wanted to tell him to let the eddies carry him back up before you did that.”

Y’Roce choked down a snigger that helped to ease the mild trepidation he had over just what he was doing on this “field trip”. He thought he could hear Jack’s bellowing scream cut short as the eddies stopped his free fall. He could hardly wait to hear if Jack had any choice words for Ro. It felt as though some of the souls within the Well were equally amused.

5

The half-elf looked over his shoulder at Ki, shrugged, and kicked Roc down into the well too. “Now he has someone to show him. Feel better?”

As Y’Roce fell into the Aethyr tides he voiced his appreciation back toward the top. “AAAAAwwwwwww VEDE, Addah, You Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!” But he just grinned as he came alongside Jack. “Relax old man and the eddies will lift you back toward the top where you can personally bloody Addah’s nose” he gave Jack his cheekiest grin possible.

"I'll do more than that," Jack growled, as he floated on eddies that kept him aloft. He could feel something brushing across his cheek, heard a soft giggle next to his ear causing him to spin around. "You know, this is fun. And I'm not olllllldddd..." as he was shot straight up, causing his stomach to fall down around his knees.

“Don’t even think about it…” Meylor only half growled, storm grey eyes sparkling with amusement. “You shove me in there, and I’ll give you another good pounding.” The half elf kept a good distance between Ro and herself as she looked into the Well.

“Well,” the Roma pushed a lock of hair behind her pointed ear, “someone has to play grown up. See you when we get back, Porkchop.” Flashing a grin, she stepped off the rim and let herself fall.

Rhiannon looked from Ro to her son then back again as one by one all the little kiddies went into the well. The Felinumeara had butterflies the size of houses in her stomach and this whole jumping into a spirit well business was doing nothing to calm them. "Promise me Ro, that you will make sure Cullen has all the help with the twins he might need." Needing to hear that Cullen and her other children would be well cared for was all that was really keeping the Felinumeara on the edge of the well.

“I promise,” the S’Hean said solemnly, all the amusement fading from his eyes. “It’s the least I can do.” It was difficult for him, watching friends and family start off on a journey he felt should have been his own burden. But even worse, was the thought of leaving Rhagi on his own right now when the young boy’s world was turned upside down. His son’s needs were more important now than any sense of duty.

Rhiannon gave the S’Hean a lopsided smile, closing the space between them, understanding filling the cat green pools of her eyes. “Jato Suz, Ro,” she whispered then kissed his cheek affectionately. “If there is any help to be had we will find it and I promise to keep hawks eyes on these sons of yours.” A grin broke across the felinumeara’s face as she turned toward Ki.

5

“Well, I suppose we better get. I for one am not getting any younger.” With a grin at Imoreki, Rhiannon jumped into the well her scream of, “Caahswhet “echoing back up to them in the chamber.

Y’Roden gazed at the Well with a perplexed expression for a moment, “did she just say… cow sweat?” He shook his head and grinned at his son, “Never mind, I don’t want to know. You really should get going, you and Dante here are holding up the train.”

"What did she just yell," Jack asked as he skirted up next to Meylor, trying to keep the tigress from damn near dropping right on top of him. "Hey baby doll, how about giving me a push up, so I can jerk Ro in here by his big ears. That S.O.B. pushed me!"

“Call me baby doll again, and you’ll be joining the S’Hean ancestors.” Meylor only half growled. She was going to keep as much of a distance between them as she possibly could. His words still stung and she hated it.

"Train? I thought we were going down a well," Helena commented, smiling slightly too sweetly. "Sorry I'm late, had a small issue with finding someone to cover for me." She paused, eyeing the Well. "The things we do..." Slipping a hand into Ki's, Helena met his eyes for a moment.

I'm telling you this now, because if I don't, and something happens to one of us, I will never forgive myself. I love you, Imoreki D'Riel.

And then she let go of his hand, and jumped.

***

It really was too much for Jaiden these days. She'd been living on borrowed time for so long thanks to her bond with Tay, but everyone has to die sometime and the Windling knew that the sickness affecting the land and her wife was taking a final and terrible toll on her own body. It was an effort to get out of bed each day and the once vibrant brunette had a difficult time moving about. Age had caught up with her at last and when she settled before a mirror and contemplated her reflection the only vestiges of youth were warm, brown eyes... warm brown eyes framed by silvered hair she tried to keep in a neat braid these days. She often wore a simple robe of blue cotton around her now shrunken form, finding comfort in its warmth and its coverage. She who had always scorned clothing and gloried in living... she ached for an end although she knew it would hurt those she loved.

She figured that perhaps tomorrow or the next day some peace might finally come. She wanted her family with her -- her wife, her children, even that darling Callan fellow. She was sorry though that a few others wouldn't around so she could bid them a proper good bye, but she'd written a small note to Galain at

5

least. After all, it had been he who had officially joined she and An'Thaya together and she still loved him dearly no matter how many turns and curves life's road took.

I need air and wind, she thought to herself. She knew how her people chose to die in ideal circumstances and smiled to herself. She wasn't so sure as to what lay beyond death, but surely it had to be something exciting and glorious. Or perhaps it was simply oblivion. A part of her quailed at that last thought, but for the most part she was genuinely fascinated by the future before her -- the future beyond this life, that is.

Nevertheless she was mourning that she couldn't be by Tay's side forever although the Amazon would always have Callan. That at least, gave her comfort. As long as they were alive...

"Kerensa! Steren! Please come," she called out. She supposed it was time to prepare -- there was simply no other way to go about things, but she'd start with her daughters. She'd call for Eos in time... and her own wife.

In answer to her mother’s call, the diminutive dark haired Steren came in from the balcony where she had been leaning out into the wind and stirring up small eddies in the breeze. Her smile faded at the sight of her mother and the young half-Windling swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “I’m here Mother,” her voice wasn’t as steady as she had meant for it to be, and something deep inside of her screamed out with the knowledge of what was about to happen. She stomped down on it in firm denial, though her eyes shone with unshed tears that betrayed her.

Jaiden's heart broke when she saw her daughter. Kerensa was a silent shadow behind her sister, but the Windling woman's eyes were on Steren.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said quietly. Then she reached out her arms. "Please come," she asked.

Steren paused for a moment, then ran to her mother, slowing at the last minute with a gentle hug that betrayed how frightened she was of hurting her. “Its time… isn’t it,” she said shakily.

Jaiden let her daughter go and just smiled, albeit slowly. She was too wise and too aware. But she was Windling and S'Hean and a little bit more and Jaid could only smile at first.

"You're right, it's time," she finally said. "I hadn't realized how much time has passed or that I was doing so well considering. And now... I guess... You know I'm not totally away? Every time you feel the wind bless you, that will be me?" She laughed a little. "Okay, not every little breeze because that would surely

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annoy the hell out of your brothers and even Eos, but you know... right? I'm going, but I'll be near?"

She was sure of this.

Pulling herself together Steren managed a smile for her mother and nodded, “I know,” the words were barely audible, and the next… were nearly impossible to voice. “What do you need us to do?”

"Oh sweet little one..." Jaiden reached her hand to brush at Steren's cheek and then she pulled herself up and together.

"I don't need much, but whatever you wish... it is fine. I just need to be outside. I would love... well, here will be fine. I just would like those I love best to be with me. One cannot and I've taken care of that. I just require someplace quiet, someplace not too public and someplace a small tornado can spin around in and then take off."

Brown eyes sparkled.

Steren nodded and turned to look over her shoulder at Kerensa, “go fetch Ammah please? I’ll help mother down to the gardens and call for Cadan, Ruan and Eos.”

Kerensa swiftly turned and tripped away, running the gods knew where, but knowing she would find their other mother and quickly. Tears blinded her as she ran, but she never once made a wrong turn. Jaid listened quietly to the sound of her daughter's retreating footsteps and then nodded to Steren.

"It might take a while you know," she told her other daughter as she slowly stood and winced. It hadn't been so long ago that her body had been young, lithe and limber. This sickness in the land... it had taken so much away from her.

***

Sounds echoed unnaturally in the room and things half seen moved in the shadows. There was fear, and pain… the sort that eats away at the body and mind until sanity is lost. Tre’Ver backed blindly away from the echoes; dread quickening his blood as he spun around, searching out whatever it was that haunted him.

His breath caught and he stared at the Nuru'Kh-ai in front of him for a split second, hand going automatically for his sword. The ring of metal hurt his ears, but he lunged forwards anyway, striking at the creature from hell, only to watch the floor length mirror shatter and scatter in a thousand shards across the floor.

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His breathing erratic, the S’Hean stumbled backwards, glass slicing his bare feet, but he barely felt it. A sound behind him had Tre whirling around again to come face to face with another of the beasts… no… another reflection.

A yell of protest emerged as a threatening roar, the creature’s mouth opening to reveal a maw of sharpened teeth.

“NO!” The sound was real this time and Tre’Ver’s entire body jolted with shock where he lay in the bed. A light sheen of sweat glittered on his skin, making the blackened patching that grew daily even more pronounced. One arm tightened convulsively around Paiden and the S’Hean forced himself to relax.

A nightmare… one that would eventually come true… but a nightmare nonetheless.

Paiden's eyes were wide open in the darkness, amber irises almost fully eclipsed by black pupils and her fingers threaded between Tre’Ver’s. "It's okay." Her voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silent room, "It will not happen. I don't believe it." The simple truth was though, it WAS happening, and at a frightening pace. Every day Tre’Ver’s bulk seemed to have increased overnight and the already large S’Hean was growing stronger, his muscles heavier, less defined.

Slowly, she turned in his embrace, and in the night, it was easy to see his face as she remembered it, not as it was now, not as it would become, "I have to have the faith that a cure will be found. I have to." The Ranger swallowed as she considered what would happen if a cure wasn't found. Tre'ver was becoming an abomination, something hated, feared and loathed by all elves. Nahru-kii in the Starlight Elf maid's language, Nuru'Kh-ai to the S'Heans, they were all the same, the corrupted ones.

"And if they don't?" She swallowed hard, "I... want you to know this, if nothing else when the time comes that you can't remember anything else," Paiden pulled free of Tre'ver and rose to her knees beside him, covered only in her loose, honey blonde hair, "Remember that one elf loves you, and she's warm, and alive, and is praying to any god that will listen that you come back to her."

Tre’Ver pushed up to a sitting position, leaning on his hands, as he looked at Paiden’s face, the darkness no obstacle for S’Hean eyes. “There is a rumour going round,” he said softly, “they say a group went through the Well… most think the Well itself is a myth, but the Rangers, we know its there. No one has ever, in living memory, attempted to go down into it, but now they have, and they say there is a Kingdom on the other side.”

Shifting his weight, the S’Hean tangled his fingers in Paiden’s glimmering wealth of hair, “They have gone searching for a cure, and the D’Riels seem more hopeful than I have seen them in weeks.” Leaning in he kissed her softly, almost

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hesitantly. “I don’t know which is worse… no hope at all, or a glimmer of it accompanied by seemingly endless waiting. All I can think is that the fates couldn’t be this cruel, they couldn’t bring me you, then…” The sentence went unfinished, the words stuck in his throat. “But no matter what, Paiden, I’ll never, ever forget you.”

The Elen woman paused as Tre’Ver’s lips left hers, as if she were suspended in a dream, then her fist nailed him right in the tricep.

"You better not gods dammit." Tears shone in her eyes despite her harsh words, "A guy doesn't get fired out of a trebuchet with a gorgeous blonde every day you know. Well... if you're friends with Glory and Conor Urdrul you might, but that's beside the point." A strange laugh, a sound caught between sob and giggle came from Paiden, before she straddled him and pulled the light sheet over her shoulders, "You just better not."

“Glory isn’t my type,” Tre’Ver said with a snorting chuckle, “so he doesn’t count as a gorgeous blonde, though maybe Conor thinks so.” The S’Hean rubbed at his arm and grinned, “careful, ruffian, I may bruise,” he teased, then pulled her forwards against his chest. “I won’t, I promise, but, just in case, come here and… impress yourself on my memory a little more.” The Ranger’s roguish nature shone through as he cupped the back of Paiden’s head and brought her into a kiss as they fell back onto the mattress.

***

The stripe haired elf was left speechless for a moment, his eyes focused on Helena through the swirling Aethyr of the Well. He blinked, then looked up at his Father as Dante joined the others. “See you soon,” was all he said to Ro as he leapt into the column, disappearing for a moment before the currents brought him back up to eye level.

Y’Roden smiled at both of his sons, and then waved at all the companions, mouthing, “Good luck.” Then they were obscured from view as the currents roiled in anticipation as the mere thought of the destination triggered a reaction.

Within the well, Ki’s hand found Helena’s and he gave her a wild grin just before the pressure changed and the group as a whole was sucked into the depths with the force of a giant vacuum.

Jack felt the shift, the current suddenly changing, sucking him and the rest of the group down through what felt like a large drain. It looked as if they were all heading down in pairs, with just enough space to keep from crashing into each other. Meylor was beside him, and he could not help but swallow the lump that still formed in his throat. She looked beautiful, even if they were falling through a Spirit Well.

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Her words hurt, but he was use to that. He was only trying to add a bit of humour to a stressful situation, nothing more, but as always she found something in his tone that caused her to bite back. Yet it still caused the hair on the back of his neck to bristle. "Listen up Meylor! I didn't know that we would be paired up like this. Ro sent for me to help, and it seems he sent for you too. So you're stuck with me."

Sighing, Jack started to reach out, but stopped, drawing his right hand into a fist as he pulled it back to his side. "Do you still hate me," he whispered, "just because I...I still love you? Is that really a bad thing?" while soft giggles penetrated the air around them.

Y’Roce let out a wild whoop as he felt the current change. He hadn’t had a rush like that since he left the Angelhome Mountains. It reminded him of two of his favourite pastimes. One was the snowboarding he’d gotten into when he discovered the path leading up to the permanent snow capped peaks. The other was the wild unpredictable careening down the rivers after the spring thaws when the waters rushed forcefully down out of the mountains crisp cold and clear. This adventure/ambassadorship might not be completely dreary after all.

Rhiannon had just gotten use to the bobbing along effect of the eddies when, without warning, she was sucked down with such force it caused the hairs of her pelt to stand on end. Cursing in rapid-fire felinumearan the tiger elf looked about hearing a whoop then spotted Y’Roce. Well, if I have to die then at least I wont die alone, she thought before reaching out and latching on to the arm of Y’Roden’s second son. Smiling over at him the fiery Felinumeara managed a cheeky grin saying, “don’t ever become a mother, Roc, you do crazy things that usually have a high possibility of death.”

Laughing Y’Roce took the opportunity to let a bit of his playful side shine as he just grabbed his stepmother pulling her close to him in a tight hug. Then he grinned back at her “No chance of that Ammah!” chortling as he shifted their weight together and made them spin as a combined pair, adding some spice to the wild ride they were on.

Helena held on tight to Ki as the Well dragged them down, putting the disagreement between herself and her family to the back of her mind. They had a job to do, and she thoroughly intended to do it well. “This is like a demented water ride,” She told him, grinning wildly.

The stripe haired elf laughed wildly, then let out a surprised grunt as they came to a jolting halt, flipped, and started falling ‘up’ instead of down. “Well that was… interesting… I think my heart is in my toes now.”

Dante's eyes had remained closed the entire time, from the moment he'd stepped off into the emerald shaft of light and what should have been thin air. The rustle of the wind was a familiar sound, its caress a welcome touch, and

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around him, soft voices whispered the name Rhiannon but whether they could glean who his mother had been, or simply meant the Felinumeara female, he couldn't possibly know.

“Hang on tight Ammah, looks like the ride is only getting started.” Y’Roce said to Rhiannon as the eddies swirled and shifted direction suddenly. Y’Roce decided he was going to remember this place and he dearly hoped he could visit again after they got back. The S’Hean could not believe how good it felt to be connected again to the soul of his planet. It seemed the plague above had not yet tainted this place and he hoped it never would.

Meylor’s eyes reflected the emerald light of Whispin’s Soul, tinting the usual liquid steel they turned when her temper got the better of her. “Speak to me like I’m some common wench again and you’ll live to regret it, Steelhand.” Meylor snapped, twisting in the currents to face him, auburn hair whipping about her as they fell. “You can keep your so called love.”

Another twist and she careened ahead enough so that she no longer had to look him in the eye and he couldn’t see the pain etched into her face. But the distance was short lived as she was stopped suddenly and shot back up past him like the top of a bottle that had built up too much pressure. Meylor couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her at the strange sensation.

"So that's how it’s going to be, is it," Jack whispered as Meylor dropped below him, only to shoot straight up a moment later laughing. His heart fell to his stomach when he suddenly stopped and followed suit, shooting straight back up.

"They could give a fellow some type of warning," he yelled, wondering what was going to happen next. He decided not to talk to Meylor for a while, until he was able to get her alone, if that was possible. They were headed towards uncharted lands, and he needed to remain alert, and stop worrying about her. After all, she had that damn Blaster of hers to keep her company.

"Are we there yet?"

A few minutes later a startled yell came from the front of the column as Ki and Helena came to a sudden, unforeseen stop and bounced backwards, crashing into whomever was behind them and causing a pile up.

“OW! Holy Hells!” Ki exclaimed, “what the…” Moving someone’s arm out of his face he peered up the Well and blinked. “Well… that poses a bit of a problem.”

A few feet up there was nothing but rock and sand, the Well had apparently collapsed at some point, and the path led to a dead end.

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"Hey! What's the hold up," Jack squeaked out, after moving someone's leg from a place it shouldn't have been. Following Ki's line of sight, Jack could only shake his head. "A cave-in?" Reaching over the bodies, he was able to reach out and touch the sand and stone, causing it to fall.

"You don't think this 'plug' was placed here because there's something trapped on the other side, do you? I mean that there may be a logical reason the well is blocked off the way it is. Do you think it could it be possible, that there is a north and south pole to this Spirit Well, like good spirits on this side and evil ones on the other side do you?"

“I hope not,” Imoreki muttered, “either way, we’ll know in a minute or so.” He suddenly paused and eyed Jack, “that’s a fairly interesting view you have of good and evil you have there. You have met my father… yes?” He grinned cheekily, then pushed forwards to place his hands on the earthen block. “Brace yourselves… I have no idea what is going to happen when this thing gives way.”

Within the Well was all the power Imoreki could ever possibly need, in this life, and the next. Therefore, he was extremely careful as he slid open his conduit and tapped into the Aethyr. Fingers callused from both gardening and wielding a sword dug into the dirt and the elf tapped into his Mornay abilities, using the gifts given him by the last woman to have borne him, Saliyah Mornay. A hairline fissure slithered across the sand and rock, and for several seconds… nothing.

Silence filled the well, as if even the Spirits were holding their breath… and then with a shudder and sudden implosion, the plug gave way, sucking sand, rock, dirt and the companions with it, bursting into open air and flying skyward for several harrowing moments, before crashing back down towards solid ground.

***

Willow had spent an inordinate amount of time in the library. One scroll began to look and read like the next. The only break in the routine had been meeting Meylor. She had enjoyed the meeting and working with her. Yet, things were not the same. The heat had torn at her. Day in and day out she had trekked to the library and back. She had spent hours documenting the history of the S’Heans. But as they got sicker, she found she was succumbing in another way.

She had lost weight, instead of gaining. Her hair had lost its lustre; her skin had turned a pasty white. Her magic was tearing her apart and affecting the growth of the child she carried.

Drake’s son.

The days and nights of Whispin had begun to run into one long continuous period of time once Drake had left with the rangers. She had wanted to tell him

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something was wrong. The look on his face when they called for him had silenced her. His services were finally needed, he would be able to help and uphold his honour as a knight and friend.

Today things were worse. She had found it difficult to wake up and her thoughts were on the child she was carrying. Trying to push herself to a sitting position she lay back gasping as she rested her hands on her stomach, hoping to feel movement from the baby. Nothing. She knew she had to return to Merlin or she would loose their child. He had not moved for days.

Slipping out bed she made a decision. She would return to Merlin and pray that the child would live and that Drake would understand. It was risky either way. There was so much illness here, the healers were at their wits end and, if she stayed she would be just one more burden. If she returned to Merlin, there would be the risk of still losing the child. She was dealing with magic…something a bit different than Sierra. Both she and Drake had sensed the difference upon conception. The instant knowledge that a life had been created, the bonding of the life form within her with Drake. The knowledge that she carried boy, Drake’s son.

She stood at the window, staring out. Drake. Drake. She called out through the myriad of despair that seemed to surround this S’Hean world. Silence.

As she dressed she peered in the mirror and shuddered at her pale complexion. Packing her backpack she slung it over her shoulder and looking about the room she saw that there was no trace left that she or Drake had been there.

Entering the library Willow found it empty. She walked over to the table and pulled a sheet of parchment out and quickly left a note to Meylor, figuring she might be the only to look for her. It was short and to the point, she needed to return to Merlin.

Slipping out she headed to the airships and barely got passage back to where she could get to Corin. Feeling ill she had sat upon a piling of rope, not even enjoying the trip back as she had when she first arrived.

Again, she tried to reach Drake. Drake. Drake. She called out. She assumed it was her weariness that caused her to fail.

Once in Corin, with her last bit of energy she formed the portal to the cottage and collapsed on the bed, no longer six months pregnant, but only a few days along. This was so hard. She had wanted the time to be over, for Drake to be able to hold his son in his arms. Merlin had its own way of healing….

***

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Drake stood in the centre of a dying forest with a hand full of Rangers that had not fallen to the blight just yet, wondering who would be the first to fall, and if he alone would be able to save them. He had seen death in his lifetime, more then he wanted to see, but here the whole world seemed to be dying around him, and they had yet to find a cure.

Tired, hungry, and somewhat dirty, Drake didn’t sense any trouble at first, except for a chill that ran down his spine, which came more often than not. They had been there for what felt like years, but the time difference, the long days and nights were what made it feel that way.

His thoughts soon fell on his family, wondering how they were doing, and thinking that the Dragon inn would need to be rebuilt by now. A soft smile crept across his face, a sight no one understood when they happen to glance back. But like all things the smile did not last when he felt a tug along his bond with Willow.

“Willow…”

The next moment he felt himself running, calling out over his shoulder to anyone within hearing range, stating he would be back soon, telling them not to get themselves killed. It was not an easy choice to make, to stay and help the rangers, or to rush to his wife’s side. He was torn, hurting, knowing that he should be thinking like a knight first, and a husband, a father second. Yet his feet carried him back to the city, where he made his way to their room first.

“Damn it, where is she?”

A flash, a memory caused him to rush from the room, down the long halls that lead to the great library where she would have been stationed. Scrolls were scattered everyone, some were in order yet there was no Willow, and he missed seeing the scribbled note she left behind. His mind was so stressed, so worried, he failed to seek her out through their bond. Instead he ran around the city, checking every hall that the Healers had set up, asking if she was there.

After searching the last hall, almost exhausted from his search, he sat down on a set of steps, running his hands through his hair. Then he leaned back and laughed. It was a hurt; soulful laughed that caused him to stand. Running back to their room, he scribbled a quick note, catching the first servant that stepped past before opening a portal.

“Tell them that I will return, that I’ve not ran off on them. Tell them that they only need to send for me, in anyway they know how, and I’ll return. Tell them…I’m sorry, but I had to leave. They’ll understand,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “I hope."

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He stepped out into the gardens. “I know where you are, you little Minx,” he whispered, praying that the wards were still down as he tried to open a portal, relieved when one opened before him, showing the Dragon Inn. Without stopping, without thinking what he was leaving behind, he stepped through.

“I’ll be back… I promise,” he whispered, his hand reaching for the inn’s door. Stepping in, the portal silently closed completely behind him, leaving no trace of his exit.

***

With all the spinning that Y'Roce had initiated then the sudden sucking upward along with the crash into the others Rhiannon's stomach had not been the best. Now with Ki's removal of the plug sucking them out and the crash landing the felinumeara's tummy had had all it could take. As the tiger striped lady landed with a thud her stomach heaved and Rhiannon fought with all her might to keep from doing a fabulous Technicolor yawn. After several minutes the tiger elf mastered herself then sat up glaring at her son saying, "It’s a damn good thing I love you."

"You're the only one then," Jack groaned. "And next time he tries a stunt like that, tell him to give some of us a warning shot first," as he tried to sit up, only to find someone's legs sitting across his chest. "Gods I hope these are not mine," he started to feel them, pinching cloth and skin as he went.

"By the gods, I can't feel my legs!"

“Ow! Damn it!” Meylor growled, slamming the heel of her boot into Jack and grinding it into the juncture between his abdomen and the inner part of his thigh. “Can you feel them now?!” Deciding she had done enough damage for the moment, she rolled away, shoving her hair from her eyes and muttering an apology as she bumped into Y’Roce when she stood.

"I thought those legs felt familiar," Jack grinned, while rubbing his thigh.

Her hand paused in mid swipe as she looked up, grey eyes gazing at the graceful architecture of the building they had landed in. Flowering vines were interwoven with delicate carvings and scrollwork, splashing the white marble with vibrant colours.“Hey Ki? Either we made it to where we’re suppose to be, or we’re back in S’Hea…” though how exactly they could go through Arlsyn, into the heart of Whispin and end up back in S’Hea or where ever they were now, was still baffling to her.

Y’Roce was trying to clear his head when Meylor apologized for bumping him. “No problem.” Then his eyes followed hers to the design of the place they’d

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arrived at. He’d almost have agreed with her save he noticed one definite difference. “Hey! This place is clean; none of what plagues S’Hea is here!! Ki!! Can you feel it? Can any of you feel it too? This cannot be S’Hea Meylor, it is far too healthy.”

Looking around Y’Roce was aching for one thing right now, a sweet clean pool so he could ground himself to the planet again and finally feel whole once again. “Anyone see any water anywhere?” Then a nagging fear crept insidiously into his mind. What if the well had been deliberately plugged to keep the sickness from their side from getting here?

Ki stared at the ornate ceiling curiously for a moment, then spit out several strands of Helena’s hair. “Don’t get too excited Roc,” he murmured, “it may just be that this area isn’t affected yet. The Well itself is untouched on either side.” With some effort he sat up, the movement landing his lover in his lap facing up. “You alright?” The Elf grinned and leaned down, stealing a kiss before lifting his head again to get a good look around.

“Definitely looks like S’Hean architecture,” he said, “but Addah said a lot of Danna-Riel influence colored S’Hean culture thousands of years ago, so that can easily be explained.” He shrugged and looked at Rhiannon, giving her a decidedly mischievous grin. He had quite enjoyed the end to the trip, especially the part where Helena had landed on him.

Rhiannon suppressed a snicker at Jack and Meylor then rolled her eyes at Ki's grin. Pushing herself to her feet the tiger elf looked about, noting what the other's had and thinking this was gonna be one really interesting trip, especially if Meylor and Jack kept at it the whole way. "So, Feno, you got any idea where we are going or are we going to wing it?" Rhiannon's green gaze locked with Imoreki's as she spoke, while thinking that they were probably going to end up winging most of this trip since no one seemed to have much info on this place.

Standing, after getting the blood to flow back into his legs, Jack limped around, looking for any sign of life. "You know, I would think someone would have heard something and come running when Ki unplugged the well. Shouldn't we be preparing for the worst?"

After helping Helena to her feet, Ki brushed off his clothing and stepped over some of the rubble to peer down the Well. “You know, it’s hard to tell… but I think its sides may have just caved in,” he said to himself, then lifted his head to look at Jack. “The worst?” He blinked, then realized the human was right. They had no idea what was on this side of Whispin. “Well, I guess we should find a doorway out of here and see what is out there at least.”

He stepped towards one of the archways and peered out into the hallway, “seems to be clear from here to those doors,” he said, pointing a pair of ornately carved double doors. “Shall we take a look? Who votes for Jack going first?”

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Looking back at the well Y’Roce just shrugged. If it had closed again then they would either need to find alternate means of getting home or again rely on Ki’s skills to open the way again. In any case he hoped they would not have to do either at a dead run. “Sounds like a reasonable plan to me little brother. Perhaps Addah included him along just so we would have someone we could abuse… I mean rely on for that.” Roc just grinned.

Helena tucked the errant strands of her hair back behind her ear. “My hair must taste good, if you're not trying to eat it, then Jay is!” She observed dryly. "I'm in one piece," The Queen continued aloud, "Little bruised, but okay. And I say we toss Jack outside. Meylor, would you care to do the honours? Get him further than thirty feet and I'll supply you with alcohol for a year."

Lacing her fingers through her lovers, Helena looked about the room before her eyes slid closed, and she tentatively cast about with her Psi Talents. “Well, on the plus side, I don't feel anything bad. On the negative side, I don't feel anything good either...”

Meylor paused in trailing her fingers over a particularly interesting etching on the wall to look over her shoulder at Helena. “I may save him more times than I can count, but he’s too heavy for me to throw.” Grey eyes sparkled as they trailed over Jack, “Trust me. Besides, I’m not a big drinker.”

Looking around she shrugged, “I’ll go, want to come with Rhiannon?" The Breaklaw grinned, "We are the oldest here. It's our job to make sure they stay alive. That is unless Dante has us beat here.”

Rhiannon ground her teeth as her question was either not heard or ignored while the others discussed the options of throwing Jack out first. Dusting herself off the Felinumeara grumbled below her breath, “must be winging it as usual then.” At Meylor’s address the tiger elf took a moment to decide how she felt about the other female’s age comment then shrugged, she was old, well older than most anyway so she let it roll off her back with no offence taken.

“I would love to, however, before we go toting our butts out of here into Weaver only knows what I have two requests. One, could we please take a moment to establish how the hell we are gonna find these Danna-Riel? And two, if by some strange twisted chance I manage to get dead, would one of you please take my body back, every single piece of me, so I can be given Astra’Ka and not have to stay dead?”

“Luck,” Imoreki spoke up, “and we’ll need all we can get. As for… well, you know we wouldn’t leave you behind,” he said dryly. “Onwards…”

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Chapter 3

Alick and Ceria had stayed in Nenlante as ordered by Helena, helping out where they could. Often, it was simply moving supplies into the Healers Hall, or helping... Alick refused to think about what he was doing, he simply retreated into his mind. It was a trick he had learnt during the war with Auriana, and it still served him well to this day.

Ceria had gone off to find food, but his appetite was lacking these days, so the Lord simply found a quiet spot... and sat.

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And it was in that quiet spot that Mak found his lover. The young elf paused and watched Alick for a few moments. He'd been hoping to find him alone, although he wasn't at all sure of what he'd say or anything. All he knew was that he missed Alick sorely and he needed some time alone with him. He was also extremely tired and not at all feeling well. He'd worked hard during the visit to his mother and Callan's chambers to look as hale and hearty as ever, but when he'd seen his older brother collapse in a chair, Mak knew it was useless to continue the charade.

Right now he felt all right though and he stepped up behind Alick and laid a gentle hand on the other's shoulder.

"Been missing you," he said softly.

Alick's hand clasped his lover's.

"Been missing you too. How... how is everyone?" Alick had been about to say, How is your mother, but didn't know if that was wise. His own parents had died quickly, blindsiding him, but now the Lord was unsure whether he could have stood them to have a long, drawn out demise.

He didn't know if he could handle that happening to Mak either.

"All right," the young elf answered as he settled himself down beside Alick. "As best as can be given circumstances." Alick didn't need to explain his questions. Mak was attuned enough to his lover to understand what lay between the lines and he gave Alick an impulsive kiss before it suddenly deepened. Wild thoughts fled through Mak's mind before he shakily withdrew himself and then stared away.

"How are you doing?" he asked in a low voice. He shifted himself to lean intimately against the Ingraleis lord, deciding that he'd simply let their words lead them where they willed.

Alick was older than Mak, and usually a lot more controlled, but the destruction that was being wrought around them was wearing on the Lord, and he replied, "Better for seeing you, I'll admit."

Leaning his head against the blond, Alick was silent. For just a second, he wanted to freeze time, before everything could come crashing down.

Mak shut his eyes, his heart pounding heavily. He couldn't even begin to consider how to bring up his time spent at Castle Black, or the revelations made there within his heart. Not right now. Alick was hurting deeply and Mak felt the other's tiredness. He wrapped an arm around Alick and went quiet for several

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moments as well as he gathered his thoughts, simply letting the quiet wash over them.

"I'd have been here if I could have," he offered quietly. His hand had moved to the older man's hair and he brushed at it gently, not quite aware of their slight reversal in roles at the moment. He too had this intense need to just sit and be for a while. To steal whatever peace they could find before they were forced to march forward.

Alick felt selfish, for wanting to stop time, not to escape what was destroying the world, but for the sheer and simple reason that he knew what he had could not last. He held Mak to him tightly for a moment, then loosened his grip, looking into the gaze of the other.

"You were looking for me for a reason, weren't you?"

And that's when time didn't stop, but Mak's heart did.

"Yeah..." he said slowly. "I mean... " He looked away and let a silent string of curse words flood his mind as he realized that no matter what, something had to be said. And he didn't want to. He returned his gaze to Alick's and nodded.

"I've figured something out and I'm still figuring it out and -- I think I know what to do, but I don't want to and it's great, but it's such a weird time and I'm not..." he paused and colored. "I don't understand a lot." He had absolutely no idea how to broach what he wanted to say at all.

Alick froze, and he knew. And he remembered the promise he had made Mak, a long time ago at his home. I will finish this. A selfish part of him rebelled at the thought, but his deeper self despaired. He had let himself feel for the Alcarin, but as much as he adored Mak, he adored Chandra. And she deserved happiness much more than he did.

"Understanding isn't always a good thing anyway," Alick told him quietly.

"What?" Mak asked. He gave Alick a troubled look. "What do you mean?" He frowned and then gave Alick a sidelong look. How was this going? He had no idea, but he was troubled more so than before.

"Understanding makes you question things," Alick said quietly, "It makes you want to know more, and then you know too much and the shine is taken away. Or worse, your whole view is skewed. Understanding can be good as well, or we wouldn't want to understand. But I'm rabbiting." The Lord paused, before looking into Mak's sea greens.

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"You know now, don't you?" Before Mak could ask him what he meant, he continued, "You know about Chandra." It was no longer a question, but a statement, devoid of feeling. "So I have to leave." Alick held back the emotions that threatened to spill into his words, his expression, even as the pain lanced through him.

This is your own fault, He told himself sternly.

Mak had retreated backward a bit physically, his expression frozen with pain. He knew he had to tell Alick, he knew he had to make a decision and it had been so easy while away from the Ingralian lord, but now...

"I love her," he said quietly. "That's what I know. And I've realized that she loves me. I don't think she wants this to happen though. But -- " he paused and his head dropped. "There's something there that says I can't have both of you. It's one or the other. I don't understand it. I don't like it. I keep telling myself that I'm an idiot, that I can have Chandra and that I can have you. But that's me. And what about me..." he shrugged, deriding himself gently and before staring at Alick, his face reflecting the trouble in his soul.

Alick sighed very quietly. "You may decide you can have both of us Mak, but that requires me to agree, and I don't. I can't. So I'm going to go, but I want you to be happy with her Mak. And Gods forbid, if you hurt her, I will hurt you."

The Lord turned away then, and left without another word.

And that was that... that was... that... Mak watched Alick leave and all he could was sit and stare before his head dropped and he gave in to an absolute luxury of tears. He knew a decision had been made, he knew it had to be acted upon. And when it finally happened? The elf slid to the floor and covered his head. He was rocketing between the joy of loving Chandra and the misery of losing Alick and in between, he was so desperately sick. He dropped his hands and stared upward.

All he could do was go back to Chandra and make sure that he didn't let Alick down. He buried his head in his hands again, knowing there was more than just that, but for right now, it was all he could deal with.

***

It was strange, Chandra thought to herself, she had never expected to feel guilty for loving someone... but she did. Seated on a window seat, her feet curled up beneath her, the chestnut-haired elf looked out across the gardens that surrounded the palace of Windemiire. Yet her hazel gaze was distant, as if she was not truly seeing the foliage below, the greenery touched with frost and blackened in places by blight. Instead her thoughts were elsewhere, with a blond-

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haired elf with sparkling sea green eyes, and the brown-haired Lord of Ingraleis who loved him too.

Had it been wrong to tell Makilnar of her feelings for him? It had not felt wrong; indeed there had been only relief at being able to be honest. A hint of fear perhaps, but the sheer joy of his response had dissolved that in a moment. What of Alick though? She did not doubt Mak was fond of his other lover too, nor that Alick was fond of him. Even to her the Lord was close to her heart, a good friend and the brother she had never had. She did not want to think that her words would drive them apart, and it was that guilt that dogged her now.

"Was I wrong?" she whispered.

"About what?" Alick asked softly, his voice not quite masking the general weariness he felt. Helena's recklessness had added a century to him, and the illness that plagued S'Hea wore on him still. His conversation with Mak... well. That was going to be locked in a small mental box marked "do not open".

"To tell him the truth," the bard replied simply, looking over her shoulder at Alick. She had not known the man was there and yet in a strange way his presence merely reflected the direction her thoughts had taken. "To tell him I love him."

Alick regarded the bard for a moment before replying. He could never hate the woman before him, because as soon as they had met he had known her feelings for the Alcarin they... shared... were deeper than his own. He had made the mistake of falling for Mak, despite swearing that he would walk away as soon as Mak realised Chandra cared for him on a more than superficial level. And now... It was so painful, but he had to do it.

"Why would it be wrong?"

"Because you love him too," the forest elf said softly, "because I love you too and don't like to see you hurting." Her hazel eyes were shadowed as they lifted to meet Alick's. "I don't know what to do," she whispered. "I love him so much, but he cares for you too. I know he does. I care for you. I held my tongue for so long about the way I felt because I was afraid of driving him away or hurting others. To be able to tell the truth was a relief. Yet..." Her gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders sagging as if a heavy weight pressed down upon them. "Did I just make things worse for us all?"

"We cannot help who we love, Chandra. Just ask anyone." Alick replied quietly. "I always said to Makilnar, one day I would let him go. I knew how you felt about him, and I think he's been bloody blind not to see it himself. I promised myself I wouldn't fall, and I did. So if anyone's to blame for the hurt... its me." The Lord took a deep breath, sighing gently. "I can't deny it hurts, but I don't want you thinking what you did was wrong. You love him, and he you. He may care about

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me, but I know his feelings for you are different." He smiled. "Chandra, I could never hate you. You are a sweet, kind and wonderful woman and he is very, very lucky to have your love."

Despite her best efforts to stop them, tears welled up in her wide eyes. "You're going to leave, aren't you?" she said softly. Getting to her feet, the chestnut-haired elf crossed to him and took his hands in hers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it's not really anyone's fault, but..." She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I don't want you to go. I know that's probably selfish of me, and I don't want to make things harder than they are, but I'm going to miss you so much if you leave. You're the closest thing I have to a brother, Alick."

"I have to go, Chandra," Alick replied quietly. "I almost lost my charge, I wasn't there and she nearly drowned. I'll be lucky if Helena's parents don't take my head off for that one." The Lord squeezed the bard's hands gently. "I promise I won't stay away forever, I'll come back and see you, I swear. But right now, it would be a bad idea for me to stay."

"I understand." A smile, slightly watery but a smile just the same, curved her lips. "I wish I didn't. I wish I could throw a little tantrum and make you stay. But that's not my way and we both know it." Chandra hugged Alick tightly, burying her face against his chest so that he wouldn't see the tears that leaked from beneath her eyelids. "I'll hold you to that promise, Alick Ma'Kell. If you don't keep it I'll just track you down until I find you."

Alick held the bard close for a quiet moment, "I know you will... The Palace Guard will have a hell of a time trying to keep you away." He closed his eyes for a moment before gently releasing the smaller woman. "You know where I will be. If you need me... call. But right now, Makilnar needs you." Alick turned, then paused. "Take care, Chandra." And walked away.

***

A knock at the chamber doors had roused An’Thaya from a half sleeping state and she stumbled along to open them, only to find herself holding a teary daughter. “Kerensa?” she said softly, “what is it sweetheart?” The Amazon’s heart seemed to have stopped, even as the question left her mouth she knew the answer, and she cast a desperate look at her husband across the room. Her entire world suddenly came to a jolting halt when she realized that today, she would be saying a final goodbye to a woman who had been an integral part of her life, and her love for over six hundred years.

In a chair, on the other side of the bed, Callan Blackthorn sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him, in his hand was the Emerald that had become both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that it had sustained Tay where he had failed, a curse in that he couldn't put the damned thing down. He'd spent hours awake while Tay had slept, staring into the emerald depths of the gem, as if by

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some miracle, images would be revealed that would give him the solution to what was slowly killing Whispin... killing his Tay.

Softly glowing eyes shifted to An'Thaya as the Emerald pulsed in response to her waking and topaz eyes reflected teal for a moment. He knew... he had known for hours through the bond he shared with Tay. He may as well have been married to Jaiden himself, and while it tore at his heart to know yet one more beloved was dying today, he had waited on An'Thaya to wake on her own, when the moment was right.

Tay’s lips parted slightly, her eyes caught up in Callan’s as she drew a steadying breath, drew on him for the strength and love she needed so badly at this moment. One hand dropped from holding Kerensa to rest on her own, slightly distended stomach. In Whispin time, she was three and a half months into her pregnancy, which to a Terran would have been roughly six months, and in Elven terms, just over half way along.

“Alright,” she said slowly, her waking, startled mind becoming aware of where Jaiden was, and what she was doing. “We should go… the gardens, she is in the gardens,” she murmured hazily, stunned and unable to think completely straight.

Kerensa grasped her second mother's hand and squeezed it, not missing the life that grew within her.

"That's right, in the gardens," she said softly. Her own heart thudded heavily from both her headlong run toward here and the knowledge that assailed them. She cast a quick look toward Callan. "Please come," she said.

An’Thaya smiled and canted her head to regard Callan. Of course he was coming, not only because she needed him, but because she needed him… and the Emerald clutched in his massive fist. “Just give us a moment,” she said to her daughter, moving away towards the closet.

The shift the Amazon slipped into was pure white, the colour of grieving among the S’Heans. She left her hair hanging loose, a mass of flaming hair that framed a face that was much too pale, and tumbled down over slight shoulders in long curly tresses. Pausing by the bed she held out a small hand to Callan and gave him a steady smile. Falling apart could come later, right now… Jaiden needed her strength.

Callan's eyes had never left his Tay as she'd changed clothes. It wasn't easy to accept the fact he could count every rib, see the crackles of black that ran under her skin, or that she was growing weaker while her belly grew larger.

But still, she was his Tay. His soul, his life, his treasure.

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In silence they'd arrived in the gardens and he drew in a quiet breath as his eyes settled on Jaiden and his massive hand released Tay's fingers.

Kerensa had followed the pair and now stood aside, her eyes alighting upon her mother. Her brothers and sisters were all here and for a moment she regarded Eos who stood quite stiff and quite tall, a stoic expression upon her face.

Jaiden was seated upon a bench and had been speaking quietly to Cadan. As soon as Callan and Tay made their appearance she turned, her face lighting up although for a moment a cloud settled upon her brow. Her wife was too weak looking and her heart faltered. It couldn't be that Tay would follow her so quickly. She prayed a cure was found before it was too late. She stood and crossed over toward the couple. It was an effort that cost her dearly, but she wanted to feel Tay in her arms.

"Would you believe there's not a breeze in the air?" she asked after a moment, withdrawing slightly, a watery smile on her face.

***

The Right Hand of the House of Dhaunae slid through the shadows with the silent ease of one long accustomed to the darkness. With Sorshia in custody only one loose end remained, and if he was correct... Jaraxle paused, dark brown eyes intent. A sound up ahead caught his attention. So, his sources had been as accurate as he had hoped. A hint of a smile curled the assassin's lips.

The sound Jaraxle was hearing was a low humming, the sound of a hauntingly familiar tune, and one that the sole survivor of the Gardens would have remembered, had he been here to listen. It was an out of tune, merry little melody, something so at odds with the butchery Gideon was involved in.

Throughout House Silinrul, there was near silence and in the wake of Gideon Crylos was a path of blood and horror. Broken bodies lay scattered in their chambers, torn and bloody dolls that had been either cut or quietly burned from the inside out. The crèche had been his next stop and it was here, in the heart of House Silinrul Gideon was to be found, singing to several sleeping infants and two children who looked to be the age of five or six Aerdonian years.

"I can tell you a story," Gideon's went wide as one of the older children suddenly sat bolt upright and managed a whimpering sob before Gideon's bloody hand clamped over her mouth, "One to fall asleep to, if you'll be quiet. Once upon a time, there was a war, and the Silvers grew angry, and slipped into the Black Houses..."

Jaraxle paused, stepping over the corpse that lay outside the crèche. His dark eyes glanced down briefly. Eclavdra Silinrul, he thought to himself, hatchmate of

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the current Vor'ill. A DragonSteele blade slipped easily into his hand, the metal darkened so that no hint of a gleam would betray him.

Yet even as he moved silently into the room the irony of the situation struck him. Of a clutch of three only Barak now survived. One sister, Shar'ryn, had died in Nargus' clutches after her Randii met his end in the Hanging Gardens. Now the other sister lay with her throat cut in her own citadel. Millennia had passed, but the same old ghosts kept coming back to haunt them. House Silinrul had been one of the last hit by Silver assassins in the Wars long ago, an entire clutch wiped out at the hands of Aranduriil Datari, Barak's mate Meriah and eldest child Eden left for dead as they tried to defend them. Now the true killer would try to make them believe that lightning had struck twice.

"Aww, you don't want to hear my bedtime story?" Gideon's voice carried through the still nursery as the other child began to stir, "It’s really good, and has a happy ending, I promise." Then he stopped.

Grey eyes flicked with phosphorescence as he sniffed the air. Someone else was here, an adult, and a male from the scent. "Ahhh, Barak! You arrive just in time to witness the final stroke of my blade!"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Jaraxle replied, "but I'm afraid Vor'ill Silinrul is otherwise occupied. You'll have to make do with me." His fingers closed with brutal strength on the bloody hand that stroked the child's hair almost tenderly, spinning Gideon around and away from the bed. For a moment his thoughts dwelled on the horrors that could linger in the girl's mind from this night's events, yet he could not permit Crylos to escape him. This ended, here and now. If the price of that was traumatising a child then, as high as that was, it would be paid.

The assassin's blade sliced up between Gideon's ribs with expert precision, the tip seeking his heart.

As the blade slithered through his body, Gideon heard a chorus of wails and moans of pain and misery. One voice stood out among them all, and the cry was a scream of Rage and defiance.

"Go ahead." Nargus' eyes shown out from Gideon's face, "Kill him, Right Hand. But I'll be back. You cannot destroy me, you cannot end this existence of mine." Blood flecked spit sprayed with every word, then one, and another artery was cut. Black-red blood washed down Gideon's body and soaked the child's bed linens and began to drip to the floor.

Shaking, bloody fingers curled around Jaraxle's wrist as his life drained away, and darkness began to overwhelm him.

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Sanity sacrificed, possession endured, and all in the name of arrogance and greed.

A final gurgling verse of a strange lullaby came from the dying Black as he fell limp on the bed and slowly his fingers fell away from Jaraxle. The silence was broken by the sound of dripping blood and the girl-child's voice.

"Who is he? Is he dead yet?"

Dark eyes lifted from the corpse of Gideon Crylos to meet those of the girl. "Hai, he's dead," the assassin said quietly, but he knew it would be a long time before he forgot the moment grey eyes burned ember with the Rage of Nargus Blackthorn.

***

Imoreki leapt up onto a fallen log and looked skywards, searching for any sign of Dante' in his raptor form. The eagle had taken off hours ago to take stock of the terrain and look for any sign of civilization, leaving the others to slowly trek their way along an ancient path in the wood. It was overgrown in places, and Ki had threatened anyone who attempted to cut the vegetation with bodily harm.

There was wildlife here, slightly different from what could be found on the Western Continent, but similar enough to be somewhat reassuring. The forest was dark, the large, thick-branched trees allowing little light through from the canopy. It gave off a feeling of foreboding that had Ki on edge. He knew it wasn’t the plants themselves, but even they seemed unusually quiet… wary of some unseen force. It gave the stripe haired elf the crawls.

Jack was the one who broke the silence, speaking to anyone that would offer a straight answer. "Ah, you guys were just joking back there in the temple right? About throwing me out first? I mean what do I look like, some squeak toy for a wild beast? If anyone looks like a play toy, it would be her," throwing a thumb back at Rhiannon.

"No offence..."

Rhiannon arched a brow at the steel handed human and bit out, “really?” In the blink of an eye Rhiannon shifted into her full-grown tigress form. In one fluid leap she landed on Jack’s chest pinning his shoulders to the ground. Leaning forward the tigress licked Jack’s face with a wide scratchy tongue, pulled back seeming to wink at him, and then moved to stand near Ki much happier to be in the animal form as it gave her more power to protect those of their party.

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Y’Roce choked back some serious laughter at Jack’s choice of words, in the face of the watchful nature the forest seemed to have toward their party, Roc wondered just how long Jack would survive if he kept up like that. Y’Roce had, on one occasion, the pleasure of being the recipient of those fiery eyes when Ki’s mother had a point to make. But the stillness prevalent all around them made the S’Hean’s skin feel… not right. If something was not watching them, then he hoped what ever had the deep forest’s attention would not be a serious threat.

Sitting up while scrubbing his face with both hands, Jack tried to peel off the sticky goo that the tigress's tongue left behind while muttering under his breath, "I'm going to tie a knot in her tail and stick it between a tall tree limb if she does that again," until a chill suddenly down his back. The palm of his right hand started to itch, if a steel hand had feelings, meaning trouble was near.

"Any of you here feel like you're being watched? I do..."

Ki merely grinned and bent to scritch Rhiannon behind one ear, “you realize that only encourages him,” he informed her.

Jack’s words had him tensing again, straightening to look into the wood. “Watched? No… but, the place just feels… strange.” His gaze shifted to Helena, if there were anyone out there, she’d be able to sense them.

Helena had her eyes closed at that moment, using her other sense to see and hear for her. “I don't know... Its like, I think I can hear, or feel something, and then... blankness. It’s so strange.” She sighed as the bickering started up. “My life would be a lot easier if I could concentrate, but with those four, I'm not getting my hopes up.” Celtic eyes slid back open, and fixed on her lover. “You, however, have noticed something, haven't you? You're worried.” The blonde raised an eyebrow, as if challenging Ki to prove her wrong.

The stripe haired elf smiled wryly at his lover and let his gaze drift towards the trees. “They are quiet… as if they know something… they’ve… seen something. I’m not sure. It just gives me the creeps.” A shadow along the ground had cat-slit eyes flicking upwards, recognizing the avian form of Dante' ab Rhiannon as he glided into sight.

“Addah told me something BedreAmmah Helen told him once. "Trust in your gut, it rarely will guide you wrong," and I happen to believe her.” Her gaze followed Ki's upward. "Dante'. Wonder if he saw anything?"

The war-eagle let out a piercing cry, a sound that was carried off by the upper-level breeze as he spiralled down. It was sound that was more instinct that conscious thought, something ingrained into his raptor form, a sound to let his elven 'handler' know he'd returned. Mighty wings back-stroked as the large bird settled on a rare, nearby patch of open ground. For a moment, he seemed to

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have difficulty figuring out where to put those wonderful wings, as if they should be arms, not wings tucked against his back, then his head bobbed once, then twice, then his form began to change and twist, melt and writhe.

"There is nothing to the north of us." Dante' was now in Human form, a transition from Man to Bird one that was never easy, but one he would be willing to make under the circumstances, "A lake in that direction, and yet more forest that way. I saw no fires, no sign of living beasts but for a few birds and tree-rodents."

Imoreki scrubbed at his face and turned slowly, pausing once in each of the four directions. Internally, he went over the survival training that Y’Roden put all of his children through at some point.

Civilization almost always occurs near fresh water, it isn’t just a S’Hean instinct alone. You can go longer without food than you can without water, it is humanoid nature to congregate near a plentiful source.

“So… we follow the shore of the lake,” he said finally, “and hope we find them.”

***

Alcyone Camos would not normally have attended a gathering such as this. She was neither Ath'ar nor Vor'ill, and had no wish to be. Politics had never been an interest of hers, although she had learned to survive in that world if she had to. On this occasion though the blonde felt a vested interest in what was about to take place. Inside the grief and pain still burned. Perhaps only time would heal the wound left by the loss of her family, perhaps not? Either way she needed to know that those responsible had been made to pay, be it at the hand of Ceres, the Silver Goddess of Justice, or Nyn, the Goddess of Vengeance worshipped by the Blacks.

"Alcyone."

Turning, she found herself meeting the serious gaze of a dark-haired man. "Maren." Ice blue eyes looked over his shoulder and she nodded politely to Zephram Kanone, "Uncle."

The Ath'ar of House Kanone made a gesture of brusque acknowledgement. "Alcyone." His dark eyes studied his niece with a shrewd expression. He had not approved of her decision to journey to Blackthorn Keep during the War, nor her decision to become a member of the so-called Silver Guard, but he could not deny that the blonde woman carried herself with dignity despite everything that had happened. "We were grieved to hear of your loss."

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Not a muscle moved in the Silver Captain's patrician features. "It was a loss to all of us," she murmured, the words feeling oddly formulaic. Yet what else could she say? The last person she would ever confide in would be Zephram Kanone, if she were prepared to confide in anyone. Right now, she was not. Too much had happened, too many changes had taken place, and she needed time to assimilate precisely what that meant.

Alena was also in the category of ‘Neither Ath'ar nor Vor'ill (but here anyway)’, as she walked into the room, leaving the Ath'ar's a wide berth. If someone had told her as a hatchling she would prefer the company of a group of Blacks rather than her own Silver kin, she would have laughed them into the next week. As it was, she would rather withstand the sidelong looks of the Vor'ill's than the outright glares of most of the Ath'ar's.

Light's Traitor.

It was all she could be to them.

Already seated, Keser Datari watched the other House leaders find their places, his expression unreadable. The last few weeks had led him from one fascinating experience to another, and some thoughts and ideas he wasn’t ready to come to grips with yet. No matter what they had accomplished together, Blacks were still stupid and brutish, and he refused to let his opinion change.

Dark green eyes followed Alena’s progression and he wondered yet again what she saw in these people… why she chose them over her own. Keser himself was steadfastly ignoring the growing respect he had for his own nephew’s mate, clinging to his stubborn ideals.

"You look like you swallowed something sour," a husky female voice murmured in the Silver male's ear, an edge of amusement in the words. Erinya Dhaunae slid with a lithe grace into the seat beside Keser, her dark brown eyes studying him thoughtfully, "or like someone stood on your tail. What's the matter, Datari? Not feeling sociable today, or is it the company that offends your delicate sensibilities?" A wicked smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh it couldn’t possibly be the company,” Keser replied, “My breakfast must not be agreeing with me is all. I’ll have to have a word with the cook… I’m positively nauseated.” Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he leaned comfortably back in his chair and yawned, “How long do you suppose this is going to take? And do you want to lay bets on who gets to actually hack her head off? I’m all for a dull axe and someone with really bad aim. It’ll make for an entire afternoon’s entertainment.”

"Even a Black wouldn't take that bet," Erinya drawled softly. "I suspect if it's anyone other than Rax that gets to chop her into little pieces none of us will hear

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the end of it. He gets tetchy about that sort of thing." She leaned back in her seat, wiggling her fingers in a deliberately annoying manner at the Ath'ar glaring at her from across the room.

As the crowd began to grow, Atas Saad'ra slipped into the council hall and settled quietly in the very back row. His face was lined with the burden of sorrows only one here could understand, there had been no one else to talk to, no confidant, no friend to share his pain with. Only the whiskey and wine, and the heavy dirges sang in the Black tongue to the walls in his quarters behind a barred door. There was no one here he cared to sit with, to look on with. As he waited, he shifted around in his seat and unconsciously his left hand went to his chest and massaged the flesh over his heart. A tightness had been growing there the past few days, a band of steel that had been slowly constricting with every breath, and again, it was nothing he cared to share with anyone else here.

One saw though, icy blue eyes darkening with fresh grief as pain momentarily weakened the defences with which she met the world. Her sire, the concept was still staggering to Alcyone, all she had believed she had known about herself tipped upside down. She was not pure Silver, but half-Black. Not the daughter of Lanval Camos, but Atas Saad'ra. For now those facts she kept to herself, needing time to come to terms with them herself away from the gossip and speculation of the Keep rumour mill. Yet as she watched the older Black massage his chest a twinge of fear rippled through her, a fear that the Fates weren't done with them yet.

In another part of the Hall entirely, Daemonorel, Dorian, Altorian, Tyloril and many others in the Black Guard entered and found seats. There was a hush of expectation that suddenly fell across the massive room, and through the largest double doors, the high priestess of Ceres entered, clad in white, her frail seeming fingers clutched around a long, smooth staff of oak plated with silver. Beside her was the son of Callan Blackthorn, the Vesahd of the Imperial throne.

Dressed in the black uniform of the Imperial House, Yarwin walked beside the priestess in his true two-legger form, that of a male easily as large as his father, and lapis eyes looked out from a face scarred long ago by Thotin, a brute in the service of Nargus himself. To those who knew him, the greatest difference was in his overall build, his expressions were the same, his eyes just as blue, but the fact that he wasn't very much younger than his sire became very obvious when he allowed others to see him for what he truly was.

As the Priestess and Yarwin approached two chairs, one of silver, the other of onyx, behind them, the doors boomed shut. Both were seated, then from somewhere to their left, Sorshia Crylos was dragged out into the centre of the floor for all to behold.

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"Sorshia Crylos, Vor’ill of your House, do we need to explain why you are here, or skip all that nonsense and go straight to the sentencing?" Yarwin's voice carried easily through the room as they waited her reply.

Ivette ground the top of the chair in front of her into the arch of her boot as she slumped in her own seat. Her elbow rested on the arm of the empty seat beside her, her chin propped on her fist. A series of empty seats around her kept the usual distance between she and the rest of the Guard.

Flat golden eyes held a tint of green as she stared down at the proceedings. The cold numbness of betrayal had sunk into the marrow of her bones at the news it was one of her own kind that had slaughtered Altorian’s House along with many other Black Houses. She cared little that Silver Houses had also fallen prey to the treachery; she still believed the Silver Nation deserved every bad hand that was dealt to them.

"Tempting, isn't it?" The words were softly breathed in a warm baritone next to Ivette's left ear, "To just lob a handful of DragonFire on her, and roast her where she stands?" The Black Sargtlin's head turned slightly and his nose grazed her jaw as his right hand lifted just within her peripheral vision. Wavering shimmers of heat danced off his fingertips, "I don't know about you, but I'd love to see Nyn herself arrive and tear Vor’ill Crylos apart."

And just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he was gone, but not far. He was sitting right behind her, his glittering black eyes focussed on the back of Ivette's dark head.

Golden eyes glowed faintly, air slipping through her teeth in an irritated hiss. There was always someone that insisted on striking up some sort of conversation when she wanted to be left alone. Usually it was Domination, this time it was Kalleth, she didn’t know which one was worse. A Captain who thought he was Chaos’ gift to Kin or a Sargtlin who didn’t have enough brains to put two and two together.

She easily turned in her seat, “I’m not in the mood, Dosek.” she levelled the hand crossbow that was rarely from her side at his chest; she knew damn well at point blank range he had no chance in hell. There was something oddly poetic about the situation considering the other Black’s rank. “Tempting indeed,” it was hard to discern whether she was agreeing with him or remarking about the current situation.

Deciding it wasn’t worth the spent bolt she shifted in her chair, facing towards the trial, the crossbow resting in her lap, finger still on the trigger. “Though it’s a pity that Gideon didn’t get to your House.”

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Closer to the front row of seating, Tyloril Ashka shifted in his seat and chuckled softly, then glanced at his brother, "Wish I'd have thought to bring popcorn. This should be fun, to watch that whelp match wits with a renegade female. I'd be surprised if once its all said and done with, if she doesn't get to just walk away."

Something in Tyloril's tone grated on Altorian's nerves. His older brother had been his hero, his idol, the pattern on which he'd built his life after coming to the Keep once the elder Ashka had been taken a prisoner of war. He'd spent days and nights wanting his older sibling back, needing him to set the example, then he'd reappeared.

Nothing since that moment had been like Altorian had expected or had hoped for.

It felt wrong, and he couldn't quite get his mind around why. One simple thing kept nagging at him. Why would his father's most trusted aide have given the assassin any foothold to use for entrance into the heavily fortified citadel?

What had been in it for him?

Amber eyes slid to the floor and away from Tyloril. His brother had come home wealthy, claiming to have smuggled his wealth off Xudah IX when he'd escaped the prison world of the Silver Kin. Yet, not one Silver official had even glanced at Tyloril. He was an escapee, why didn't they seem to care that he'd taken the reins of House Ashka again, with massive amounts of wealth? Enough wealth to elevate the House Minor to Major status.

The only answer he could get from his thoughts was this, and as Sorshia's eyes lifted in defiance to the Vesahd, then skimmed the first few rows of observers, he knew.

His freedom had been bought. He'd not escaped, but had been set free.

"What's wrong, Altorian?" Tyloril's eyes shifted to Altorian's arm that had crawled with a sudden chill of understanding, "The bastard son of Araxmarr got your loyalty?"

"Tyloril." Dorian leaned across Altorian, "Why don't you skagging shut up?" The words were hissed out, "I for one would like to hear what the bitch has to say and last I looked, you're not a bitch. Unless I was mistaken."

"Shut up all of you," Daemonorel hissed and rolled his left shoulder. The dull ache had started again; working its way out from the bone and the First Captain was more than a bit agitated. Add the bickering and needling of these pricks and he was sure he'd kill everyone in a ten-foot radius just to get a bit of quiet.

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"I do not answer to the half-breed spawn of Araxmarr. Your scars do not make me respect you." Sorshia spat out, her accent thick from the deep Mother Sands of the Diirlathe, "I don't answer to a Silver pu'tah of their blessed Ceres either. I have done nothing wrong, and there is no crime to prove I had a hand in."

"Cut out her tongue." The Silver Priestess lifted one hand and gestured toward two hulking figures, one a Silver, the other a Black. Her voice was cool, casual, "I may be a Silver pu'tah to you, but make no mistake, Vor'ill, I can be just as malicious and savage as I must be."

A loud mutter and some wild whistles went up in the crowd of observers and suddenly, Sorshia was struggled in the grip of the two large males and looking to Yarwin Blackthorn for salvation.

"You cannot let them do this! I am a Vor'ill! As the Vesahd you CANNOT PERMIT..."

Her words were cut off in a strangled scream as the two guards held her down. Silence fell over the room again and Atas slowly leaned forward, curious about what exactly would happen next.

"Is that so?" Yarwin stood and walked slowly down the steps of the dais, then squatted down so she could see his face, "I find it remarkable you suddenly find me worthy of your respect, Crylos. I find your self-preservation amusing." A slender blade was slid from a sheath in his boot, "I just sharpened it," Yarwin nodded to the Silver he offered it to, "don't let it cut you."

Seconds later, he turned his back on her and left the Vor'ill shrieking and thrashing as she fought the inevitable.

***

Dulled green eyes managed a sparkle, though it was the beginning of tears as Tay regarded her wife. What would life be like without Jaiden? The delightful Windling that was always so full of life and love. It seemed like forever since the day they had met, and it still brought a smile to her face to think of that one little feather that Jaid had left in her wake…

“Aye,” she said softly, feeling profoundly grateful for Callan’s strong and steady presence. The Amazon wasn’t entirely sure she could bear this loss. Life was about to shatter into a million little pieces, and she knew from past experience that her husband would be there to pick them up. With that trust in her heart, she let herself feel the agony of grief and threw herself into the last moments she would ever spend with Jaiden Alasse.

8

“I love you Jaid,” she said finally, then faltered, “I… I have no idea what comes next.”

“Neither do I, actually,” the Windling replied before she cupped Tay’s chin and gazed at her. “And I love you too. I will always love you and it’s always just been you whom I have loved. I have lived an amazingly long and rich life thanks to loving you and even now my mind boggles over the loveliness of it all.”

She kissed her and then smiled. “I just look like hell now is all.”

At that moment the lightest of winds touched their cheeks and the Windling’s eyes widened a fraction. She thought she heard the whisper of her own people calling to her and she was surprised. Is this how it would happen? It was comforting to know that where she was going there would be others.

“I hear my name,” she whispered.

For a moment, An’Thaya’s eyes flickered past Jaiden to their gathered children. Eos, Cadan, Ruan, Kerensa and Steren. Each and every one created in love. A genuine smile lit the Amazon’s face then, and she brought her gaze back to meet the rich brown of Jaiden’s.

“You look beautiful,” Tay whispered, “you always have, and you always will. For as long as I live,” she inclined her head, “and for as long as they live.”

Small hands framed the Windling’s face and the Amazon leaned in to slowly kiss her wife. The breeze picked up, tangling crimson locks with rich chestnut as emerald strands of soul tangled with glimmering ribbons the shade of autumn.

Eos was watching her mothers intently, the stoic expression on her face merely a mask for the grief she was feeling inside. Neither of them looked well, and both were on the verge of death. She knew it. She hated it. She looked away and bit her lip, then caught Kerensa looking at her. She caught her younger sister’s hand and squeezed it and smiled. This was no time to be something she didn’t momentarily feel inside. If she had to cry, then she would.

“Ohhhh… it’s so miraculous when that happens,” Jaiden breathed, feeling their bond tickle around each other’s threads. Then she smiled and nodded to Tay. “Flirt,” she said lightly, but the look in her eyes said that she understood precisely what the other woman was saying. Then she reached a hand out toward Callan, reaching up a bit to stroke beneath his chin.

“I won’t be far away you know,” she said. “I’ve told my children that. I know you’re doing the best you can. I can’t say anything more because there isn’t anything more.” She smiled at him and then she took both Tay and Callan’s hands and

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headed them toward a clear bit of ground. “I thought about the ledges…” she started to say. “Such a natural place to lay down, catch the sun, feel the wind on your face. But my planet, or at least the part I grew up on, is so empty of greenery and this place is so beautiful so I had to come here.” She turned suddenly and winked at Callan. “I won’t leave much of a mess.”

For a moment, Callan tried to figure out exactly what she meant, his first thought being a mess within the soul he shared with Tay. Already he could feel the rich shades of autumn pulling away, gently fading and untangling, as Jaiden's soul grew closer to the veil, to the horizon she would pass over and Tay's sorrow became his own. It stirred memories of another time in his life when similar threads that had once been green and verdant had started to turn to shades of russet and gold. There hadn't been a gentle slipping away, a bittersweet fading beyond the realm of mortals.

One moment she'd been there, sick and dying, beyond his ability to help, then she was gone, suddenly and without warning.

"I..." Callan's massive fingers tightened around Jaiden's for a moment before he pulled both the women to him. Not for the first time in recent weeks, the mighty Emperor of the Diirlathe was reduced to tears.

"I simply can't imagine you could vanish and not leave a mess of some sort behind, Jaiden."

The Windling giggled against the Emperor's broad chest.

"Well I didn't make my bed, nor did I put away last night's robe. I think I left a bunch of hair in the pool too. That better?" She managed to peek up at the big man and gave him her best impudent smile. "I also left some stuff under your bed for Kerad Undal. It's probably all got dust bunnies now."

Then she just stood there and simply enjoyed the closeness of these other two before she insistently drew away.

"I wish I had all day, but I don't think I do."

An’Thaya could no longer find the words to express herself. All that she could think as the Windling drew away, was that she had been very fortunate in love. Despite all of the pain through so many years, every moment had been worth it… for it had all guided her path to where she was now. Jaiden had been a source of stability, a shelter from the storm, and an unwavering love when all else was changing. It was difficult to breathe, to let go of that anchor, to let the woman she loved so deeply exit her life as she had entered it. A mischievous dervish of air.

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Callan drew in a deep breath and slowly released both women as Jaiden began to pull away, "I bet you drank all the Budweiser and ate all the cheese I had hid out in the palace too, didn't you?" Despite the sorrow of the moment, he felt a strange laugh well up within him and it came out as a half-choked sobbing, wild sound then he seemed to regain control of himself and cleared his throat.

"Hai," Callan caressed Jaiden's cheek with one calloused palm as he kept his other hand at Tay's waist; the cursed D'Riel emerald was in its makeshift harness at his back, the same one he'd worn to the festival when the wards had fallen.

"But then, none of us ever have as much time as we think we do, do we?" Callan nodded and swallowed, then looked up at the sky. Around them, the tops of the trees were swaying with the breeze and it seemed the longer they waited; the more eddies of wind drifted down to them. Blades of grass shuffled and rustled, almost impatiently, and phantom fingers of air ruffled through Tay's long curls and set them dancing like flames before the same breeze tugged at Callan's ebony hair.

He knew little about the Windling people of Beta Blu, but it almost seemed as if they were waiting...

“If I drank all your Bud I’d have to pee, and if I ate all your cheese I’d be constipated,” Jaiden replied with a laugh. “Although if properly done one might have a properly balanced system going on.” Then she just nodded and smiled. She felt, weirdly, that these two had far more time than the present was allowing them to believe.

“Just live for today. Tomorrow will come in its time,” she told Callan before the small breeze suddenly blew into a caressing wind that circled about the three of them and then danced amongst the children. It bounced back again and a few loose leaves bounced against Tay’s abdomen and Jaiden smiled.

“It’s going to be good,” she said before she headed for the little area she’d claimed for herself. Her mind was roiling with so much and it was a strange thing to think that this body of hers, once so vital, now so old, would soon simply be no more. But her essence… who she was… she was realizing that wouldn’t be lost.

She didn’t lie down. She simply stood and regarded her family.

“Seems to be time,” she said suddenly, her voice distant to her ears. It was too sudden and too soon part of her wailed. But it was time and she was doing it right, the rest of her said. She was old beyond old, blessed with life beyond her kind and a love more than she could have hoped for. Perhaps she’d have had more time if not for the land’s sickness here, but it was all right.

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“Hold my hands?” she asked Tay and Callan, nodding to her children. “Please… place your hands on me,” she told them.

Kerensa and Cadan joined Steren, Eos and Steren, gently placing their hands on their mother as An’Thaya and Callan took her hands. The children appeared sombre, but somewhere in their eyes was a light that said they knew it was time, and the Windling side of them accepted what must be.

The Amazon managed a smile, resolute, drawing on her inner strength to give Jaiden all the love and respect she deserved in these final moments. Tay wished she had her wife’s confidence in the future… but what mattered, was right now.

This was harder than anyone knew. Jaiden loved and craved life. She’d cherished every moment of her life and she hated that she would be away from Tay for… well… she didn’t know. But it would be a long time.

“Just hold on a little,” she said quietly as the breezes grew more insistent. At first they nipped, then teased and then finally, whipped. Jaiden stood quite still and then let her head fall back, listening to her bond, listening to her children and then… listening to the voices that whispered into her ear. She threw Tay one quick look.

“I don’t want to leave you now, but I know I leave you in the most capable, the strongest of hands,” she told her.

“Eos! Be strong; be true to what you love.

My darling quads… each of you such separate entities and so precious. Grow strong and into your own selves. You are each so uniquely amazing.

Callan. Thank you. Okay, I did drink your Bud. You gotta up your tastes a bit, dear.”

And then she closed her eyes and breathed out one more time before the winds spun around her, using that final last breath to fill her soul and lift her beyond the fragile body she’d inhabited for so long. It was indeed a dervish that arose at first… something that would attract some attention, but not much. And then it grew in strength, quite contained but whipping slightly at those who stood close to Jaiden.

Her form was changing, shifting from the old, age-struck form to the youthful, vibrant form most remembered her as. For a moment she opened her eyes and a wild laugh escaped her.

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“This is so amazing!” she exclaimed, and then her form dissipated into the wind and she joined the growing tornado of energy that strangely grew higher and higher until suddenly, in a sudden crescendo of shouting, it was gone, and so was the Windling.

One couldn't miss gentle kisses of the wind though upon each one's cheeks. It was Jaiden's way of reminding them she would never be far away.

An’Thaya’s fingers touched at her cheek, emerald eyes turned upwards into the empty sky. She never made a sound despite the glistening tears that escaped the edges of her eyes. After a moment, she turned to bury her face in Callan’s chest, the shaking of her shoulders the only evidence that the Amazon had finally given in to wracking sobs.

***

The first sun had just crept over the horizon when Valin stepped out onto the balcony, pausing in the archway to stretch and breathe in the morning air before breakfast. Callused fingers scrubbed at his scalp and the Elf yawned as his vertebrae popped. It was unusually quiet, even for early morning… not a single bird flying about the Castle. Still sleepy, he didn’t think much of it. Instead, he approached the breakfast table and poured himself a glass of Mai’Tus juice, then paused.

The juice in a second container was shivering ever so slightly, as if someone were shaking the base of the table. Frowning, Valin reached forwards and touched the rim of the pitcher, feeling the buzzing vibration in the tip of his finger.

“What the hel…” the words were cut off by a sudden lurch and floor shuddering crack, the entire building swaying on its foundations. “ANAYA!” The King spun around in place, stumbling into the doorframe as he fought for balance.

The sudden sound and motion brought the Queen roughly from her sleep, and for one terrified moment, Anaya thought she had lost her mind and her kinetic power had been corrupted as the world shook around her. Common sense should have told her to stay where she was, but concern for her husband, and rising panic over her children, had the blonde bolting from her bed. It was a mistake that was quickly brought home, as the lurching threw her to the floor, arm pinned at an awkward angle with a sickening crack.

“Oh that's a fine start to the freaking day!” She cursed, hauling herself to her feet and leaning against the bedpost, trying to block the pain as she concentrated on locating her husband. “For the love of Gods, stay as still as you can and hope my aim is still okay,” Anaya told him, and 'ported to his side. Under the doorframe was probably the safest place at this second in time.

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Valin’s arm caught around his wife’s waist the moment she appeared and his fingers dug into the moulding of the doorframe, his heavy frame struggling to keep them sedentary, as the world seemed to collapse around them. “The kids!” Not for a moment had he thought of his own safety, but he was nearly choked by fear for his wife and children as stone and furnishings tore loose and careened about like the unsecured cargo of a ship.

Anaya forced herself to take a deep breath and concentrate, her eyes sliding closed as she tugged on mental connections, as well as skimming along the Web.

“They're okay... Ce has them. Smart girl had the sense to grab them and dive under her bed.” Anaya whispered softly. “I can't get them Valin, I can't focus enough...” The last word trembled, as the pain in her arm grew again. “Centre, centre,” She was muttering to herself.

Several floors down, Cullen had awoken to the cries of frightened infants and the bed crashing into the wall. Startled and half asleep the Captain of Corin’s guard fell off the side and scrabbled on the marble floor, his senses completely leaving him for a moment until the bond that linked the S’Hean to his children tugged hard, leading him towards the twins.

Stumbling to his feet he made a lunge for the bassinets, barely able to scoop his children from them before half rolling into the archway of the bathing room door and wedging himself in the doorway. It took him several moments of panicked breathing to come round to soothing the pair as debris rained down around them and a sudden flood of water exploded from the floor above, a cracked pool deluging them with its contents.

Miles away the halls of Castle Arketh were coming down as well, newly built walls giving way as the earth beneath them cracked and groaned as Whispin protested the intense changes it had experienced in the last few months.

Rhodry slammed blindly into a wall, cursing his lack of sight on one side as he made another attempt at the crumbling set of stairs that led to the chambers he shared with his fiancée. “Rani!” The heavy human went down on his knees for a moment, then pushed to his feet again, gripping the banister with callused hands as he hauled himself upwards. “RANI!”

The last round of changes had eased up, allowing the Captain to rest a bit more easily until the floor heaved suddenly and the massive bed began tearing free from the wall that helped support it. Among the cacophony of destruction Rani sat up just in time to see the top of the bed pull free from the wall and head straight for her. Instinct took over and S’Hean rolled away, only to be tossed roughly onto the stone floor which itself was beginning to split. Pillows flew off the bed, surrounding her like camouflage against the side of the bed frame.

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“Rhodry!?!?” she croaked out. Her voice starting to be affected by the changes giving it the sound of a guttural scream rather than a name called out.

The blonde human bounced off the doorframe on his way in and dove to the side as part of the bed careened towards him. “Rani?” It took him a minute between fighting for balance and digging through pillows to find her, catching hold of her waist and hauling the S’Hean into his arms, falling backwards into the wall just as a part of the floor gave way. “What God in the bloody pantheon did we piss off!” he snarled, “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

Rani just stared back into the face of her fiancée as a look of puzzled epiphany crossed hers. What he’d said triggered a thought that begged to be formed but seemed destined to remain bound by some unseen force. It was almost as if he’d hit on the exact cause of things but as fast as it had come, the thought was stolen from her. “What did you just say?” her voice cracking and breaking over thickened vocal cords. Just then the floor heaved again in earnest and more cracks appeared.

Rhodry’s grip on Rani tightened as their position became slightly more perilous and he gawped at her for a moment, “I don’t remember,” he said incredulously, “I’m a little busy.” The stone beneath his feet suddenly gave way and Lord Arketh made a wild grab for something, anything to stop their fall. His fingers caught the iron bracket to a torch and the pair dangled there in mid air as their bedroom rained down around them. “This is going to hurt,” the one eyed man observed, just as the bracket tore out of the wall and the couple fell down into darkness.

***

The Black Shoal slid into the calm icy waters of the bay like a shadow as it came around the coast. Captain Morgan Sloan stood at the prow, his dark eyes scanning the top of the jagged cliffs until the Keep hove into view. He glanced across at the Lisse Nwalme as the second ship cut through the Shoal's waves and matched her pace. He made a gesture at the Silvers standing along the rail and pointed up to Tallin’s black fortress, indicating that they had finally reached their destination.

Standing at the ship's rail, Angaste glanced over at Zys and nodded slightly. They were here and it was time to get what they had come for. There was no trace of the sea-induced nausea the dark-skinned elf had been suffering upon her fine-boned features as her ebony eyes studied the stark outline of Rakka Keep. As PortalMaster it would be her responsibility to use the elemental gifts of her Eldredae forebears to open a portal large enough for the ship to pass through once the captives within had been successfully retrieved. The Eheiling Nahrn permitted no trace of doubt to taint her thoughts. The task would be dangerous and hard, this was true, but doubt and fear of failure would not help them now. Confidence in themselves and each other was vital.

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"Alright." Alessen looked over her shoulder at Zys, Angaste and Nildanya. The Silver Healer was staying behind, saving her strength for those who would need her most upon their return, "Let's do this." Datari green eyes slid to Elandriil's profile. Her cousin had been growing darker, more temperamental the closer they'd gotten to Rakka Keep, and now, his fingers were twisted around the amulet at his throat.

"You think you can track her with that then?" Delen nodded at the gem as it burst into emerald light.

"Hai." Unnoticed by him, Landrii had responded in Black, "There is no place in that pile of stone and wood that can hide her from me. There is no one within that will stop me from finding her." A breath of silence passed, then he muttered, almost as if he'd slipped into a trance, "Vengeance when Justice fails. Bring on the Destruction, Bring on the Storm."

"Oookay. Landrii, you're scaring me." Areq's eyes slid to Delen and Alessen, than back to Captain Morgan, "Do you think he's the guy they named the rum after? No?" There was a glowering silence, "Hey, I just thought I'd ask. Gah."

"Alright then." Delen drew in a deep breath and stood taller, "Let's do just that. Let's bring on the Storm." Frost began to slip over his eyes and swirl in the black emerald depths of his irises, "Let's go get your Vanyalin back." There was a whoosh of air as Delen dropped the heavy cloak he'd been wearing from his shoulders to reveal worn, charcoal grey battle leathers. Down his back were two elegantly forged blades of elvish design not all that different from the sword Landrii had strapped to his own back. At the small of his back was a horizontal sheath within which was a slender dirk, and at his hip was a hunting dagger.

Alessen was dressed similarly, her hair drawn in a tight knot. Elegant fingers ticked shut, then open again and the sound of soft leather flexing could be heard. Her fingers were covered with butter soft leather gloves of the same colour of charcoal her leathers were crafted from, and for possibly the first time to any on this voyage, and to most that knew them, this was the first time the Datari siblings were seen for what they truly were. The assassins of their house, trained for stealth, designed to kill and ruthless enough to carry out the deaths of any that stood in their way.

"Won't our father just looove us for this?" Alessen's smile became a smirk. It was widely known Keser berated Delen for allowing the Storm to take hold, for giving the god Oraex a foothold in his soul. But what were they, if not children of the Storm?

"Aye, then let's make our true father proud," Delen's narrowed eyes shifted to Alessen, "Let's give Oraex the honour he deserves tonight."

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Areq's eyes tore from Rakka Keep, and in the seconds it had taken his joke to die about the rum, a change had come over the Silver Captain. Ice swirled in the depths of his eyes as well, and silver armour had began to flow across his form, then faded under the scales as his form began to shift, "Now you understand why we stayed in the Keep." Areq's grin was wicked as he leapt onto the railing and saluted the Captain of the Black Shoal, then plunged from the ship. Seconds later, his full form was climbing into the sky on wide wings the colour of midnight.

Taimië’s deep green eyes settled on the outline of Rakka Keep in the darkness as she joined the Silvers. Her usual sleek black leathers had been traded in for the rough black that drank in the light. Slender fingers tucked a lock of unruly blue-black hair behind her ear to tumble back over her shoulder with the rest of the unbound tresses.

“So that is the infamous Rakka Keep…” the corner of the Fire Mage’s lips quirked and she fingered the charcoal hued pommel of the dirk strapped to her thigh.

Sehaine wasn’t a fighter, nor was she an assassin like her siblings and her father, something that she often berated herself for, having preferred the upper crust of the ‘crowd’ that Areq did. But where she had failed in one area, she had succeeded in others. Whether in a brightly coloured party or the hidden alcoves of another’s home, reconnaissance had always been her forte.

Her dark brown hair was kept an in low, tight ponytail at the base of her skull, the auburn and brassy highlights hidden in the night. Her clothing wasn’t that different from her siblings but more suited to her preferred occupation. A pair of sai, an occurrence few, if any had ever seen before, were at her hips.

“I believe that Areq may have the way of it, but I do wish he would keep the dramatics to himself sometimes.”

“Looks kind of foreboding,” Tarsh commented, eyeing the Keep above curiously, “sounds like a fine evenings entertainment, don’t you think?” He winked at Taim, then leapt over the side, his form changing as near white wings exploded from his shoulder blades. He banked, swung round in full form, and plucked Captain Sloan from the prow of his ship. The Silver staggered slightly, sank a foot or two, then caught a wind current and sailed upwards. “By Oraex, he weighs a ton.”

Grinning, Taimië rolled her eyes at Tarsh’s comment and laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. Flames danced in her eyes, rimming the forest green depths for a moment before disappearing once again. “You three can stand here if you want, I’m going to go raise some hell.”

Stepping up on the railing she stepped off, free falling before bursting into flames, her body stretching and contorting as she shifted form. The form that rose looked more draconic than the phoenix of other worlds; the only distinction was the

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flames that it appeared to be made of. In a blink of an eye it disappeared as she shifted again to the totem of her family, the large glossy black wings of a thunderbird taking the place of the fiery wings of the phoenix.

"Lets go Maggie M’Lady." Delen saluted the insane woman and dove neatly off the ship's railing then into the icy waters of the frigid sea. It was his silver form that burst from the water and began to climb into the midnight sky, but not before he snagged Maggie Sloan from where she stood on the ship's deck.

"I hear nice girls don't hang around on the deck of a pirate ship, waiting on the first guy to come along and sail off into the sky with her. But then, I never liked nice girls anyway."

"Wrath and Ruin, Storm and Vengeance, Destruction and Death." Landrii quietly called on the names of the gods he felt would be with them tonight, then nodded to Sehaine and leapt into the air.

It was time to take back that which did not belong to Rakka Keep...

***

Morgan was none too impressed that his younger sister was having all the fun, running of with Grandmother Aeryn, who hadn't even stopped by to say hello. So, he and his twin had decided to wreak some havoc of their own. All the children were supposed to be meeting in this room today. It would just have an extra couple of pieces of furniture...

"I told you not to go into my room," Caolan muttered, "didn't I, B'Roden?" He gave his younger cousin a baleful glare. "What part of 'do not go in' is that hard to understand? You're almost as bad as Muirne. In fact, I think you might actually be worse." He was going to get the blame for this one, he just knew it. The fact that he'd told the young D'Riel not to go in wouldn't matter. It would be the fact that he'd consequently gotten caught by the booby traps Caolan now regularly set around his room that would matter. The raven-haired boy muttered under his breath.

B’Roden giggled and waved at Caolan from a snare of sticky string that was bound around him like the threads of a spider web. So far he had discovered that the more he struggled, the tighter it bound, and that whatever the sticky substance was, it tasted horrible. With a squeal he rolled to one side and somehow wriggled to his feet, then proceeded to hop forward. The string caught on everything he passed, dragging knickknacks off shelves and sending them crashing to the floor as the littlest D’Riel made dubious progression.

Morgan had been posing as a small chest of drawers when tornado B'Ro passed, snagging on one of the drawer knobs with his stickified self. "Oww!" The unit

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declared, before shifting into the shape of the Mars-Blackthorn twin. "B'Roden? What the?"

He was stuck to the D'Riel by his hip. This was not a good development.

Robin cringed at B’Roden’s squeal but couldn’t help but grin, the little D’Riel had quickly become as cherished to her as Cal. Though some may have thought of it as some twisted personality trait. The current Boy Wonder, not to be confused with the absent Wonder Boy, was fun to be around.

“Aw, come on Caolan, he’s just an elfling, and he’s just like T’Oppa. You tell him no, he’ll do it anyway.” Grinning, the resident Silverleaf watched B’Roden with no small amount of amusement as she swung her leg over the arm of the chair she was reclining in.

“It serves you right, Morgan Blackthorn,” she declared, suddenly wondering where the other twin was. For that matter, why hadn’t Lianna come back yet? She was still waiting for Yarwin or Rachel to get a hold of her and demand why she had agreed to help the little Seer leave the Keep.

"It's not that," Caolan muttered, "it's the thought of having to explain how he got like that to Aunt Thorn. Do you have any idea how difficult that stuff can be to get off?" Jade eyes studied B'Roden consideringly, "perhaps if it was frozen it would crack? I've almost got the ice thing figured out."

The D’Riel boy bounced with excitement, shaking Morgan in the process and breaking several more knickknacks. “ICE! Freeeeeeeeeeze me!” Perhaps, at times, he lacked a little common sense. Or maybe, he just had his Father’s masochistic nature.

“Which would you rather explain? How he got all sticky and wound up? Or how he was frozen?” Robin asked, putting aside the book she had been pretending to read. Crystal greens watched the enthusiastic toddler and snickered. “But then again, he is demanding it.”

"True," Caolan nodded, studying his young cousin with an analytical expression that would have had any sane person running for cover immediately. "And we can always melt him again, right? There's lots of people around here that are good at melting things. Like Muirne." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of his blonde-haired twin sister. "She even melts things you don't want her to melt."

Jade eyes narrowed as the raven-haired boy pondered. Now how did this go again? He'd almost got the hang of the air mage part of his abilities. In fact, on the rare occasions when he got angry, hanging on to his air mage abilities wasn't a problem in the slightest. Shutting them down was usually the more pressing issue. Mini tornadoes had been known to break out, which was bad enough

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inside the Keep, but was actually worse outside given that they tended to pick up any sand and dust that was lying around and throw it into peoples faces. The dragon side of his persona was always one Caolan had had difficulties with, however. He'd learnt how to transform into a raven long before he had learned to change into a dragon, and where Muirne had acquired the use of her talent with Flame with almost terrifying speed once it had begun to materialise, the electricity and ice which were Caolan's Silver birthright were abilities he still struggled with. Instinctively he patted at his pockets, looking for his notebook. He knew he'd made notes on this somewhere.

SMECK! Caolan's notebook whacked him in the back of the head, "YOU SHUT UP! The only time I melt stuff I don't mean to is when I don't mean to!" Muirne bellowed as if that cleared everything up and exonerated her completely.

"And I'm TELLING! You've got dirty pictures drawn in there!"

Muirne was still blushing furiously over the chapter on reproduction and all the possible genes it would take to create the ultimate dragon.

"Ow! Hey! I have not. I kept them out of the mud," Caolan protested indignantly.

That was when the door flew open and Taylon skittered in yelling, "MORGAN! LOOK WHO I FOOOUUUNDDD!" The boy's mop of ebony hair was sweaty from his running down the halls, followed closely by a fluffy cat marked up like a neon green and black zebra, which promptly tried to stop and got tangled in a stray end of whatever fibres it was that had Morgan and B'Roden stuck together.

"Mreow?"

"Oh, great Taylon! Now I have kitty attached to me, as well as the loonatic D'Riel!" He turned his head toward Caolan. "GET ME OUT HE... Wait a sec!" The Shai'ay boy's eyes glowed a moment. "I have an idea." He waved his hand around for a moment, until it turned into a pair of scissors. "Now hold still B'Ro..."

"I was just about to freeze you," Caolan began, and then his jade eyes narrowed. It was possible to almost see the mind beginning to whirr away as he absently picked up the notebook his sister had thrown at his head and then patted his pocket in search of a pencil. "How do you do that again?" he asked Morgan, gazed fixed on the Blackthorn twin's shape-shifted hand. The raven-haired boy was already thinking of all the fascinating tests he could run on people who could turn themselves into all sorts of funny things.

B’Roden held very still, then started giggling as the string simply stuck to the scissors. “Sticky,” he said helpfully.

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Morgan's eyes shot wide as B'Ro stuck himself to his scissor-hand. "ARGH! B'Roden! Caolan, freeze him! GET IT OFF MEEEEEEEE!"

"It would be easier if you stopped shouting," Caolan retorted, trying to concentrate and remember what he'd been taught. Frost or ice was cast from an organ similar to that of the Black's firelung, the raven-haired boy remembered, thinking back to some quite educational moments spent with the healers. It was a specially designed bladder that trapped and retained a combination of natural gases such as nitrogen and compressed them to a near-liquid state. In the draconic shape this was expelled from 'pits' located under the tongue and froze on contact. In human form... He studied his hands. "Okay, I think it works something like this," he muttered.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he concentrated hard and hoped for the best.

Robin had a terribly bad feeling about this. “Uhm, Muirne?” She questioned, her voice rising in pitch she grabbed the blonde’s hand and quickly dragged her behind the safety of the door to the room.

And there it was, Morgan and B’Roden frozen together in effigy. That was, until B’Roden started to glow like a miniature sunlamp and the ice slowly started melting away.

"Hey, look! It worked! Muirne, look it worked! Muirne?" Caolan looked around for his twin, failed to spot her and Robin behind the door and then shrugged. "So, who's up for the next experiment?" he asked cheerfully.

***

Guttering torches cast twisted shadows on the walls as Tallin made his way down the hall, his dark cloak billowing about his massive form. Blue eyes glittered like ice beneath his furrowed brow, anger leeching off him like a palpable entity. His ally in Aerdon had been captured, and even now awaited her fate in the Dungeon’s of the Diirlathe’s Keep. Callan, it was said, would have the final judgement.

If he lived…

Which was precisely what Tallin intended to prevent. His plans, however, were beginning to disintegrate. Mystical’s attempts to break Amilyn had failed, and Vanyalin continued to evade his troops, often leaving them twisted, broken corpses. Something had to be done. Perhaps another raid would bring him D’Riels more easily broken… younger females such as Kerensa and Steren who might bend to his will more easily.

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Pushing open the doors to Amilyn’s chambers he came to a halt and regarded his wife, who stood just beyond the entrance, with a questioning eyebrow. “So, what is it you have come up with at this hour?” he inquired.

Mystical smiled darkly, her eyes glinting. "Well, my love, as I see it, we have only a few options... Another raid, which takes time and resources we can little spare with the evasive Vanya laying waste to your troops... Or we can try for another way to get a D'Riel." Mystical stepped close to her husband, gliding her hand over his shoulders; sharp nails caressing through the clothing between them as she stepped around him.

"Since we can't break one, perhaps we should try for breeding one..." She glanced over at Amilyn; the girl was far too much like her other parent for the Ali-Maera's comfort. Luckily, the young woman was delusional with the pain from repeated lashings in the last few days...

One of Tallin’s dark eyebrows shot up in response to his wife’s suggestion, and he canted his head to regard Amilyn in a new light. “Breeding one… what an excellent suggestion.” He paused and looked to Mystical, “and who, my love, would you propose as a candidate for this child’s father?”

Mystical smiled and pressed up against her husband's back, standing on tiptoe to nip at his ear. "Much as you'd enjoy the chance to do it, my love, I find myself quite unwilling to share... I was thinking perhaps we double the chances of the conduit being usable... And perhaps two D'Riels combined would make a stronger conduit?" Oh yes, the Ali-Maera was thinking of using the only other resource at their disposal, as their own son was way too young to be considered...

The Demon Mage considered the matter for a moment, his gaze traveling back to Amilyn, then he nodded. Turning to Mystical he drew her roughly up against his chest and kissed her. “Very well then, prepare her. I’ll go retrieve him… the sooner it is done, the better.” He bit at his wife’s bottom lip, then released her before disappearing back out into the hall.

Mystical smiled and eyed her daughter before she stepped further into the chambers, using her abilities to start the water flowing in the large bath in the adjacent room. A gentle hand stroked over Amilyn's head. The redhead turned and looked, her eyes wild though her body stayed still. The brunette untied her daughter's hands and pulled her up, ignoring the wincing and groaning as she did so, and then she pulled her towards the bath.

Amilyn stayed silent throughout, determined not to give any further reaction to what she knew was some sort of horrific plan. There was no other reason Mystical would be so much more gentle now than she had been since Amilyn's arrival.

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Mystical led Amilyn into the water, using the scent of the soap to mask a drug that would slide through the Amazon's pores and make her biddable, at least for the time being. The Ali-Maera herself was immune to the concoction, but Amilyn's S'Hean and human heritage would make her succumb.

When all the blood was gone, and Amilyn was no longer as wild looking, Mystical led her out of the water and gently dried her off. She dressed her in a sheer, loose robe of forest green and then sat Amilyn in front of the mirror as she combed out the fiery curls and adjusted various things in the room to make it more conducive to their plans. Candles made the room shimmer softly as freshly washed sheets waited for the pair.

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Chapter 4

The last of the corpses had been removed from the citadel as Barak Silinrul watched, his dark eyes fixed on the broken form of his hatch-mate Eclavdra as she was carried out of the bloodstained corridor where she had lain. His sister and those others present in the House had given their lives in defence of each other and the young in the crèche and now, here on this rocky outcrop located where the mountains met the desert sands, they would rejoin the Flame together.

A near-silent footfall brought the Vor'ill's head around, his dark gaze falling upon the fair-haired form of his eldest child and heir. Beside her walked his Randii, Meriah, whose vivid aquamarine gaze and blonde locks their first clutch had inherited.

"This is not the end," he grated, "until Sorshia Crylos' blood stains the rocks of the Diirlathe, this is not over."

Eden gave a short nod, her blue-green eyes as hard as DragonSteele. "That I promise," she replied coolly. "Until the Vor'ill of House Crylos pays for this atrocity with her life then Nyn will be our guide."

"The assassin is slain," Meriah reminded her mate and daughter quietly.

"Hai," Barak replied, remembering the corpse that had been found just outside the crèche door, "But Gideon Crylos did not plot this. He had neither the brains nor the guile. No, some other began this and until she dies then we have not reached the end."

A hint of a frown had crept into Eden's gaze as her parents spoke. The blonde felt a hint of disquiet she was careful to conceal. As far as her sire was concerned, Gideon had met his end at the hands of one of their retainers whose body was found entangled with that of the other Black. Yet the Vor'che remained dissatisfied. It was too clean, too neat. The wound that had taken Crylos' life was almost too tidy looking to be one inflicted in the heat of battle, especially by someone known to be 'messy' even under less pressurized circumstances. And who was the 'dark-eyed Kin' that one of the girl-children in the crèche said she saw? True, that description applied to Gideon's apparent slayer too, and yet...

She gave a mental shrug, putting aside the problem for another day.

As a hand fell upon her shoulder, the female glanced back to see her brother, Gabriel. He smiled at her grimly, his aquamarine gaze going to the retainers who brought forth a torch. The circle of people fell silent as this was handed to the Vor'ill, eyes intent as Barak walked forward to stand beside the pyre.

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For a long moment he stood, his head bowed, and then he threw. Like a shooting star the torch fell, landing amongst the bodies of the slain. Sparks flickered and fire burst into sudden life, red and orange flames licking up the pyre until everything was consumed.

***

Ki wasn’t able to sleep. The time difference was irritating, night when it should be day, day when it should be night, but he was use to such things traveling to Ingraelis and back as often as he did. It was something else… a far off rumbling, something not quite right in the land… and something along the Web.

All at once, flashes of fear and panic stabbed along thin filaments of emerald, visions from Valin… Anaya and the children. The higher echelon of the D’Riel Web… the world was shaking… falling down, the earth cracking open in an attempt to swallow the land of Corin.

“Wake up!” The Stripe haired Elf sat bolt upright, shaking Helena into wakefulness. The Geomage knew exactly what had happened, an earthquake… the ailing lands of Whispin were protesting the sickness, writhing in pain. He also knew what the rumbling had been… there was a mountain range not far off; it had been within their view a few times when traveling on higher ground to make their way around obstacles. Only one thing made that noise…

Involuntarily Rhiannon shifted back into her bi-pedal form, terror from the twins and Cullen’s concern shooting through her like an arrow piercing her soul. Vaguely, the Felinumeara was aware that Ki was saying something to someone, who or what she could not say however. Concentrating the tiger female followed her Fela bond with her newly born children, as well as the Aer’Tamdo bond she shared with Cullen. All three-heart echoes were strong, much faster than normal, but still strong, telling Rhiannon that those she’d left behind in Corin were alive. Though there was something definitely wrong. More than anything she wanted to reach out to the Captain of Corin’s guard and ask after the problem, but gut instinct told her that to distract the half-elf now would only put the twins in more danger. Holding off, Rhiannon pushed herself to her feet, refocusing on what was going on around her.

“Ki,” she asked in a questioning tone, very aware that all was not well with her son and not really clear of the why.

Emerald eyes shifted to Rhiannon in response to her call, “Wake the others,” he said, “we have to get out of here. Now.”

With a nod of acknowledgement Rhiannon turned, pulled in a deep breath, and then let out a deep bellowing roar. Placing hands on hips cat greens eyes trained on the other’s waiting a split second to see who had woken and who was

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sleeping like the dead. Those that did not immediately react to her wake up call, the Felinumeara began to wake individually by shaking them saying their name rather roughly.

"I'm awake Father! I didn't sleep through Council honest!" Helena protested, although she caught on to Ki's urgency rather quickly, and then felt the images from her family. "Shit! Anaya! Oh my Gods, what is going on?!"

Imoreki couldn’t help but laugh, despite the stress of the situation, though he sobered quite quickly. “Earthquake,” he said, in mid scramble to his feet, dragging Helena with him, “and what is about to happen here isn’t much better. We’ve got to move toward the lake.”

"The lake? But you don't..." Helena caught on to Ki's train of thought and her eyes widened. "Oh. Hells. Right, lake. You know I can walk of my own accord, right?" Helena began helping Rhiannon wake everyone, "Y'Roce? We need to leave, like, now." She prodded the older D'Riel mercilessly - she had younger siblings, and they were just as hard to wake.

The roar had been loud enough to wake the dead and set off avalanches across five snow capped mountains, but Y’Roce had just fallen into the best rest he’d had for so long now he wasn’t sure he could recall it any longer. Only the mention of water itself was going to bring the half elf back up from where he was. The mention of a lake got him to his feet he blinked a few times. “What’s all the fuss and rush about?” as he noted the hurried and worried faces around him.

Jack had been sleeping peacefully for once. The long trek, plus the time difference had made him quiet through most of the trip. He had his weapon drawn now though, with one eye cracked open, until he heard Imoreki laughing. Slowly sitting up, Jack tried to stretch the kinks out of his back while glancing up at the female Felinumeara.

"Rhiannon, if you roar like that again, so help me I'm going to tie two knots in that tail of yours and hang you from the tallest branch I can find. Then I'm going to find a big stick and beat you senseless."

Scrubbing his face, Jack yawned while trying to stand. "What's up? I heard someone saying something about a...earth lake?"

Nerves already on edge due to what was going on with the twins and Cullen back in Corin, as well as the imminent danger the group was in. Rhiannon cocked a brow at Jack as he threatened her, gritting her teeth. Closing the space between herself and the silver handed human the red head narrowed her green gaze. “I don’t know why Y’Roden would send a baydo like you on this trip, but I can only assume you have more sense then you display. However, if you touch me or my tail I will personally make sure that we are all spared any chance of you

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procreating. Now I suggest you stop being pissy about the way I wake people up and we concentrate on getting our asses into that lake before we all die.” Turning sharp on her heel Rhiannon made for the lake with long, quick, angry strides silently cursing The Great Weaver for the path she was currently on.

"Roc, get your butt moving! I am not explaining to your father why you are dead," the Felinumeara commanded over her shoulder, having recalled her promise to Y'Roden to keep his sons safe.

“You touch him, and I’ll burn a hole through your pretty little skull,” Meylor’s tone was deathly calm, but the look in her eyes stated that the likely hood of her threat being carried out in a swift and efficient matter before anyone stopped her was a high probability. However, they were nearly the same words she had once told Jack when he had threatened her horse so there was no telling if it was a compliment to him or not was debatable.

Personal feelings were placed aside as she offered Jack a hand up. “She has a point, if Ki says we have to get going, we’ve got to get going.”

Ki stared at the others for a moment, then dragged Helena with him as he headed off towards the lake at a dead run. “I’m not sure what’s going to kill them first, the volcano, or one another!” A concussive blast went off in the distance and the S’Hean stumbled, nearly going down as the ground shook beneath their feet. “Faster would be better!!!”

Taking Meylor's offered hand, Jack stood. "Can I help it if I'm not a morning person," he sighed. "Does she remind you of anyone we know?" Brushing his backside down, he glanced at Meylor, giving her a knowing smile just as the earth shook, causing him to reach out for her.

"Ki may be right. Lead the way, and thanks for backing me up. And the reason Ro asked me to come," letting his voice travel to the felinumeara's pointed ears, "is because he thought I may be an asset to the group."

Meylor grabbed Jack’s arm on instinct, “Knowing Ro he might have gotten asset mixed up with ass.” The break-law flashed a grin, “And for the record, yes she does…and Estai is still alive and kicking by the way.” Another rumble had storm grey eyes widening, “But if we don’t move? I don’t think we will be…shit…” Letting go of Jack’s arm, she took off running after the others, knowing full well that he was right behind her.

As Rhiannon ran, the earth heaving beneath her feet, she snorted at Jack’s comment, several quip replies coming to the tip of her tongue. It was neither time nor place to indulge in such childishness however, so the red head ignored him as best she could and shifted back into the form of a tigress. Picking up speed

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the female tiger became little more than a blur, racing toward the lake and blocking out all internal and external distractions, focusing on her goal.

On the horizon loomed a dark mass that was definitely not standing still. When the earth shook like spasmodic hiccups, Y'Roce looked up as he tried to steady himself and saw doom building and heading their direction. Having grown up playing on the uneven surface of the Angelhome Mountains, Y’Roce’s agility to move over various obstacles became apparent. “Ohhhhhhhh Craaaaaaaaaaaaap!” he yelled and took off like a startled gazelle, straight for the lake. “Ruuuuuuuuuuuuun like heeeeeeeelllllllll!” he bellowed as he passed Jack caught up to Ki and was closing the distance to Rhiannon.

Jack had to glance back, not because he wanted to but because he needed to know what he was running away from. What with the earth heaving and tossing him around, he was able to just spot the large blackish-grey cloud that was headed towards the group like some angry beast, ready to swallow them up. Already the sky was turning darker, as flakes of grey colored ash rained down around them, mixing with the damp air. The ground was starting to become slippery as the ash and soot stuck to anything and everything it fell upon. Breathing was almost senseless, because no matter how one breathed, either through the mouth or nose, the ash and soot found its way in, burning and choking ones lungs.

"Don't stop! Don't even look back, just run!" Ripping the sleeves of his shirt off he tore it into wide strips as he ran, handing them to anyone nearby.

"Put it over your mouth, you'll be able to breathe a little easier. Once we hit the lake...Lake? Oh shit! I can't swim..."

It was as soon as Jack said, "swim" the memory of her near-drowning hit Helena and she stumbled briefly. Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap began running through her brain, eyes frantic, “Ki? Don't let go of me, okay?” She muttered, finding her feet again. “Okay, maybe I can't walk on my own...”

“I’ve got you… hold your breath,” came the rushed reply from Ki as they hit the edge of an overhang and fell several feet through the air, the cloud nipping at their heels, and hit the water with a smack before sinking beneath the surface.

Y’Roce was right with them as the ash prevented a more controlled leap from the edge, scrabbling feet becoming flailing arms and legs as he launched himself off the edge. “Oh Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllls” he bellowed before taking his last deep breath and going under the surface. The normal murky underwater visibility was rapidly diminishing as the super heated volcanic ash began coating the lake. Adding clouds of steam to the mixture while it was raising the water temperature significantly, and quickly.

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Jack stumbled ahead blindly, until his feet no longer struck the earth. With arms flapping like some young bird with no feathers, he plunged head first over the edge.

"Ah shit..." he was able to say before he was surrounded by water. Holding what breath he was able to save, he slowly started sinking, his eyes wide trying to comprehend if he was floating up, or sinking to the murky bottom like a rock.

Then panic started setting in.

As for Dante', the Human hadn't had a problem waking up, or running, or jumping. Fear of heights was something he'd experienced only once in his life, when he'd found himself flung into the air by a Black Kin in Human form, and he'd thought his eagle form forever gone. Now, however, feathers raced across his body as he leapt from the cliff face and as everyone else hit the water, Dante' soared into the sky, high above the clouds that were churning in the air.

Meylor was far enough behind the others to prepare herself for the long drop off of the cliff. Her first thought as she watched Dante’ take flight was she wished she could do the same, followed by the fact she couldn’t remember Jack ever being in water. A muttered oath escaped her as she leapt, diving instead of falling through the air, the world turning dark from the ash as she hit the water.

***

Choking clouds of dust, stone and debris took its time settling around those within Castle Arketh. Once the main trembling ceased those still conscious were trying to pull themselves from the wreckage that was once the proud legacy of Arketh. Here and there servants’ voices could be heard calling out for others within the household. “Lord Arketh!” then seemed to drift slightly away.

Whole floors had given way, pinning anyone unfortunate to be under them. Stair railing hung impotently from walls where once proud elegant staircases had been. Chandeliers were either destroyed from the fall or hung so loosely as to be another threat. Not a casement in the structure had glass in it any longer. Gaping cracks etched themselves wickedly up what few walls that were left standing.

In the fall, somehow it was that Rani ended up under the Lord of the castle with arms and legs at wrong angles and debris poking sharply into tender areas of her body. As the air slowly cleared all that could be heard was her ragged breathing and moans of pain. Feeling about for why or what it was that pinned her, she finally realized it was Rhodry. Panic flashed through her. wondering if he was even alive. “Arketh?! Move!!…. Rhodry please…. you’re hurting me…. please? Rhodry?”

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Swimming black pain roiled around the one eyed human as a voice cut through the fog, forcing him to consciousness and agonizing reality. A long, wheezing breath shuddered through his bulk, ending with a choking hack as Rhodry instinctively tried to roll over, somewhere deep in his mind knowing he was crushing the woman he loved. A muscular arm rippled with the effort that finally flipped Lord Arketh onto his back, and left him gasping for air, the fingers of one hand ripping at his shirt. He couldn’t breathe… he couldn’t see… and he couldn’t speak.

His warrior’s mind overrode the panic, taking stock of bodily injuries. His ribs, his ribs were broken, and from the feel of it, one had punctured a lung. That would explain the feeling of drowning, and his good eye was blinded by blood. He couldn’t tell if he had lost the second eye or not… but the gash that split open his flesh from eyebrow to cheek was dangerously close.

Andrev and Padrig had been near stables when the earth shook violently. Instinct had them securing the horses and both men were pleasantly relieved when Lady Al’Trekis’ horse Telpe did not resist their help. Then they were on a dead run to the Castle to see if help was needed there. Upon arriving both men stopped short, aghast at how very little of their Lord’s dwelling was left. Fearing the worst, they entered the framework where once a door stood. Alistryna and Myghin, weeping and full of concern, immediately descended on the men. “We cannot find him, or her, the whole upper floors caved in upon themselves.”

Great sturdy beams had fallen in such a way over the couple as to make a small area to confine them in. Tiny shafts of light and air made the dust in the air sparkle as it settled. The place was not the haven it would seem though, for if an after shock were to form it would dislodge the beams, crushing anyone below them.

There was just enough light that Rani could see blood flowing slowly off yet another gash across Rhodry’s face. “Rhodry? Talk to me, can you see anything? Can you move?” Now freed, Rani herself tried to move. Finding her right arm to be useless broken in at least two places, her back hurt terribly but still would allow her painful motion. What other injuries or bruises there were seemed of little import as she tried to move to a position to help her lover. Cursing lowly in her elven tongue, Rani knew she could not tap any of her heritage to even ease his suffering. His breathing scared her to the core. Of all times she could not use her limited healing abilities, now was certain poor timing. With the changes taking place in her own body, how could she help the one person to whom life itself had come to dawn.

The human grabbed for Rani’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Someone was above them, he could tell, see the shadows flickering in the light and hear the shifting of debris as his Guard tried to dig them out. Patience… they’d be all right, they’d just have to wait.

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Meanwhile, as the second sun crept into the sky, Valin regained consciousness and lifted his head; eyes squinted as he peered into the dust filled air. Anaya was tucked beneath him on the floor, safe beneath the heavy frame of her husband. The King could hear the voices of the Castle Guard somewhere beyond the door, heard his name being called as they searched through the outer rooms.

“Anaya?” He brushed her hair back and kissed her dirt-smudged face, “Anaya? Are you all right?

"Define all right," The blonde choked out, trying in vain to ignore the shooting pains in her arm. "I broke my arm, dammit. My good arm! I'd never broken this one before!" She sighed, "Are you okay? We should answer them, you know." Closing her eyes, Anaya reached for the nursery, "Ce'Leste is still under her bed... she's okay, a little shaken, but okay. The twins are caterwauling, that’s to be expected, but otherwise fine, Ce did good." Proud of her daughter, Celtic eyes flicked up to her husband, "Last time I checked, earthquakes didn't happen here Valin. It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Finally plucking up the courage, the Queen looked down at her arm and winced. "I change broken to totally mushed. That's really gonna hurt when the adrenaline wears off..."

“I can fix that, you know,” Valin murmured, breathing a sigh of relief over many things. His children were alive, his wife was alive… and the Castle seemed to be still standing, for the most part. But then, Castle Corin had been to hell and back, literally, and survived intact.

“We’re here!” he called out to the searching guard, then looked down at his wife. “Aye, it is, and we sent the only person that had a hope in hells of stopping it to the other side of the world.” A geo-mage might have felt the disturbance, might have been able to calm the earth beneath their feet… but Imoreki had been needed elsewhere. “Come on, let’s get you up and I’ll see to that arm.”

"We didn't have much choice on that front." Anaya looked up from her arm. "Yes, and if you do fix it, you'll just make yourself weaker. I've had worse." She flinched as she rose, gingerly. "Not by much mind. Right now I think getting to the children would be a good idea, although we might not get Ce'Leste out from under the bed for a while, I think she's found a new play spot."

***

The Crystal Keep was a strange place, Fechine thought to himself. The pale, crystalline structure shone like a diamond within the Dark Wood. Standing within its walls felt almost like being trapped within a gem, or perhaps like a fly in amber, preserved forever as time moved on around it. Restlessly, the chestnut-haired youth roamed the building. He had agreed to come here, it had been his

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choice, and yet there were times when he felt almost like a prisoner and he couldn't quite explain why.

He sighed, resting his forehead against a prismatic wall and berating himself once more. He was a fool; he knew this, a fool with a bad attitude. A short laugh escaped him and he pushed away to pace restlessly once more. He knew his father loved him. He knew he had apologized. Yet he suspected those words would haunt him to the grave. Perhaps because in his heart of hearts he feared that they were true.

“You seem troubled,” Arminiea’s voice whispered across the shimmering walls, a beautiful echoing sound that seemed to go on forever. “So much like your Father, young one, wearing tracks in my floor.” She did not appear in solid form, but seemed to be all around him in a million shades of light. “Tell me… what weighs so heavily upon your mind, my child.”

Fechine spun around nervously, emerald eyes a little wild as the Goddess' voice hung in the air like the delicate chimes of a bell. Beautiful, seemingly fragile and yet as clear as the crystal, which formed the Keep. "If I'm so much like my father why can't he understand me?" he said harshly, "or why does everyone claim that I'm so much like my mother? Not that any of them seem to think that that's a good thing."

“Your father,” Arminiea said gently, “often doesn’t understand himself. Fechine, you come from a race of elves that are very long lived, your Father is still very young despite his experience, and there are times when he stumbles and falls. Every young man sees his father as a hero, but there always comes a day when he realizes his father is as fallible as anyone else. Y’Roden makes mistakes; his emotions get in the way. It happens to us all… even the Gods.”

She was quiet for a moment, the walls reflecting colours like the inside of a prism. “You are very much a reflection of both of your parents Fechine, and there is nothing wrong with that. Both Y’Roden and Arianne are strong people; warriors that very often do the right thing. Everyone has good and bad qualities; it is unavoidable, what makes you who you are comes down to the choices you make. You have many paths ahead of you Fechine, and it is ultimately up to you to decide who you will become.”

"What if the choices I make are the wrong ones?"

The question was an agonised whisper, the youth unconsciously wrapping his arms about himself. He felt a chill run through him. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm constantly screwing up, and that I'm hurting people because of it. I'm tired of feeling like I'm letting people down or that they need me to be somewhat different. I never seem to get anything right anymore, and it hurts so much inside when I see how disappointed or hurt everyone is when they look at me." His shoulders hunched, his gaze lowering to the floor. "I'm tired of being me."

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“There is no such thing as a wrong choice, there are only choices,” the Goddess answered, a soft ray of light fluttering through the young Elf’s hair like a gentle touch. “Fechine, the opinion that is of the greatest importance, is your opinion of yourself. The time you will spend here is a time of inner reflection. You must learn to look inside yourself and discover the reasons behind your actions. If your heart is in the right place, there can be no wrong choice. Other people may not always agree with you, but one of the greatest lessons you will ever learn, is that there are too many systems of morals and beliefs to ever please everyone. As long as you do what is right in your own heart and follow the path that is right for you, then you will have fulfilled your destiny.”

A warm, comforting sensation seemed to permeate the air, “I am not disappointed in you Fechine, and all that I see when I look at you… are possibilities. You are loved, and not just by me.”

A soft sigh escaped the boy, the tension that strung through his tall frame relaxing as the warmth seeped through him. "I know," he whispered, "but that's why I'm so afraid of disappointing people. I know that they love me, and I love them. I don't want to let them down. I want them to be proud of me. Is that so very wrong?"

“No, it's very natural,” Arminiea assured him, “but perhaps you are mistaking worry for disappointment. You have done nothing that warrants disappointment; worry perhaps, but not disappointment. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Your father is not familiar with the emotion of fear, it hasn’t touched on him often since he was very young, so sometimes when he seems angry or disappointed, its more likely that he is afraid. A parent often fears for their child, or fears losing them.” There was a hesitant pause before she spoke again. “Perhaps you would understand your father more clearly if you were to speak with Valin.”

Fechine's gaze shadowed. He couldn't imagine how fear could have driven his father's words the day he had criticized him so harshly. Anger or disappointment, yes, and perhaps he even had had cause for that, but there was no obvious source of fear to his eyes. How could his father have feared losing him when Fechine wasn't the one that had gone away? That didn't seem to make any sense at all. Yet he nodded, aware that the Goddess was far wiser than he was. Perhaps she was right? It wasn't as if he knew anything about anything anymore.

"What should I speak to Valin about?" he asked.

“He and your father haven’t always been on the best of terms. He is the eldest of your siblings, your Addah’s first child. Their road has been a long and often rocky one. Yet, they love one another unconditionally, do they not? They have survived the break up of Y’Roden with Valin’s mother, and so many other things that caused both of them pain through the years. Where there is honest regret and forgiveness… there is hope.”

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Fechine let his gaze fall to the floor, feeling a sense of chastisement in those words. Yet it was not that he did not forgive his father for the words he had spoken in the heat of anger, instead it was that even after Y'Roden's apology he found himself fearing that the words were true. Self-doubt ate at him like acid, the self-loathing that had led him to believe that everyone would be better off without him welling up from deep inside, thick and corrosive. Almost desperately he forced it down. He wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't. He had promised himself that he wouldn't hurt Meghan anymore. The memory of her indigo eyes filled with tears was one that still had the power to sting.

"It's not that I don't love Addah," he muttered, feeling as if he was no older than B'Roden again.

“I know,” Arminiea’s tone was soothing, “I did not mean to suggest that you did not. Believe in yourself Fechine, and take me at my word that your Father did not mean to cause you pain. He loves all of his children more than he loves himself. He suffers from self-doubt, self-hatred. There are things buried deep in his soul that he would not have you see. There are reasons for his actions, he would, and has died to protect you. He would rather have you believe he was angry, than have you know the truth of his own pain. He would never say these words to you, but you deserve to know at least that much. I cannot betray his trust and reveal his secrets to you, so I will say nothing further on the subject.”

A light breeze stirred up and mussed the young Elf’s hair; “Just believe me when I say there is no reason to blame yourself. You responded out of fear, and so did he. There is no shame in being fallible.”

"I only wanted to understand," he whispered, "I thought if I could understand why that it might hurt less. Instead I just made things worse." Tears shimmered in his gem-like gaze as he lifted his head. "Nothing I do seems to go right these days. I just seem to go around and around in circles as if I'm stuck in some twisted labyrinth and I can't find the exit.

“Sometimes the answer isn’t something you want to hear.” She went quite for several heartbeats of time, as if gathering her thoughts. “There are some things that a person is never comfortable speaking about. Look inside yourself and find the deepest, darkest secret you have, something that you are so ashamed of, you can't think straight at the mere mention of it. Now imagine that secret having the power to hurt those that you love. Would you not do something… anything to protect them from it? To stop yourself from hurting others? Even by pushing them away? Find peace in the fact that your father loves you so much that he would do away with his own existence to protect you, just as you would to protect Meghan.”

The light changed hues again, softer. “Everyone experiences times in their life where everything seems to go wrong, when they end up going backwards every time they step forwards. You are here to get past that time, to find yourself and

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shed the dark feelings that haunt you. There is light ahead… all you have to do is reach for it.”

"What if I can't? What if I don't know how?" A tremor entered Fechine's voice. "What if I fail? Must I stay here forever if I can't manage to do what everyone wants me to?" The walls seemed to close in around him, the atmosphere becoming claustrophobic. As much as he appreciated the Goddess' comfort and guidance, the thought of remaining in the Keep eternally with no end in sight made him feel trapped.

“You will do just fine,” Arminiea reassured him, “and you are not a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you choose. Fechine D’Riel, you have the strength and intelligence of both your parents, believe in yourself, put self doubt aside, and you will prevail. This is not about what everyone wants you to do; it is about you, finding who you are and what you want to be. This is not a test you can fail my child.”

"Isn't it? Then why does it feel like one?"

The chestnut-haired youth took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Why doesn't anyone seem to understand? I know who I am. It's everyone else that seems to want me to be something else. Even you. I must do this or shed that. Nobody ever seems willing to accept me just as I am. So does it feel like a test? Yes, it does, and one that I'm never going to win."

He turned on his heel and started to walk away.

Somehow, the light dancing through the air and walls seemed to smile. She had heard those words from many a youth who had not yet found their centre. There was nothing more she could say but to let the young Elf find the way for himself. Life always held more than one expected, and that was something Fechine would have to see for himself.

***

Shifting shadows moved in the guttering torchlight, the wall seemingly alive, twisting and buckling as if something was trapped within. A moment later, Captain Morgan Sloan stepped through, two Silvers in tow. “Start tracking,” he said to Elandriil, “I’ll be back with the others.” Leaving the brothers standing in the hall, the SandShadow melted back into the wall just as Maggie appeared with Delen and Tarsh.

“What the hells is that noise?” the young Silver hissed, looking off down the hallway. In the distance he could hear screaming… but it didn’t sound human… or Elven for that matter.

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"It doesn't matter." Elandriil growled back as the rest of their party arrived along with Morgan, "I don't give a damn if its Human Hell and all its minions. Vanyalin is why I'm...we're... here." Between his fingers, the gem flickered a strange mix of emerald and crimson, and Elandriil started walking.

"She's... this way. Somewhere. But..." Elandriil paused and Alessen stepped up beside him while internally shaking off the odd feeling left from being brought within Rakka Keep as she had, "But what?" Her soft voice was pitched only for his ears.

"Something isn't...right." Molten silver eyes sparked a strange colour of indigo and brilliant white, "She's... her... but... not."

Vengeance when Justice has failed...

The words whispered through his soul as he squeezed the amulet tighter. Slowly, he forced his fingers to uncurl around it, letting it dangle at his neck and Areq's black-emerald eyes went to his brother's hand. His eyes then cut to Delen, then back at Elandriil's hand pointedly. It was shaking, Rage was roiling through Elandriil, and Areq knew there would be no way to stop it, no way to control it, especially if something had happened to Vanyalin.

Tarsh opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind and exchanged a glance with Taimië. Just at that moment a Nuru’Kh-ai rounded the corner ahead and came lumbering down the hallway. The Silver tensed, ready to fight, then stared as the beast ran right on past, the smell of fear thick on the air.

“What the…” The end of the hall illuminated, flames licking at the stone and melting the braces off several torches. “Ok… that can’t be good,” he muttered, “who wants to be first round the corner of doom?”

The forest elf shivered and rubbed one arm that had gone numb at some point. The short journey through stone left her skin crawling, muted flames rolled up her arm, burning away the last of the unwelcomed feeling. She shrugged as she exchanged a glance with Tarsh. She had never been bonded and had only to kill someone for harming whom she loved once…but the love of a mother to a child was different than that of two lovers.

“Whoa, did someone get the license of that…” the Fire Mage coughed and wafted air in front of her nose, “never mind, he can be identified by the stench.” Turning, Taim looked around at the others and shrugged, “I’ll go, if there’s flame I can tame it.”

“I’m not sure I want to meet what a Nuru’Kh-ai will turn tail and run from” Morgan said in the background, his gaze still riveted in the direction the beast had fled in.

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“Oh come on you big chicken,” Maggie snickered, elbowing her brother in the ribs, “what happened to standing on the prow and yelling ‘today is a good day to die’?”

“If you haven’t noticed,” the massive SandShadow muttered, “This isn’t a boat.”

At that moment a ground shaking roar echoed through the hall, followed by an ear-splitting scream. The body of a Nuru hurtled into their line of sight, cracking into the wall with a sickening crunch before sliding lifeless to the floor.

“Well that’s encouraging,” Tarsh said lightly, “Let’s go then.”

“Do you think I could get the name of that decorator?” It was obvious that a bad sense of humour and cracking jokes at just the wrong time was a Silverleaf trait that Taimië shared with her older sister. Just heaven help the person that pointed that out…to either of the two.

The Fire Mage flashed a grin and in an act that looked more like a parent would do to a child, she patted Delen on the cheek and winked at Tarsh. The older Datari was quickly becoming her favourite person to humiliate, or at least try humiliating, “I’m going for a walk; you can come with if you want.”

Grinning, Taim separated from the group and headed down the hall, her long hair swinging with her hips. As far as she was concerned whatever was around that corner couldn’t be all that bad and had good taste since it was splattering Nuru around like rag dolls.

Before the Fire Mage could reach the end of the passageway a glittering ruby scaled head poked around the corner, followed rapidly by the rest of a medium sized crimson dragon. It was a female, and in hot pursuit of two male Nuru’kh-ai, the broken remains of a spear dangling from her heavily muscled shoulder. The backfiring sound of a dragon about to flame filled the enclosed area before a searing belch of fire exploded from her jaws, licking up the walls and catching light to the two fleeing beasts.

“SHIT!” Tarsh howled, ducking low and instinctively tossing up a shield of ice. The two SandShadow’s behind him took the lower road and leapt directly into the wall, out of harms way.

"Wha...HEY! Where'ya going!?" Delen blurted out when Mad Maggie vanished, then he heard it, the sound of forge bellows being kindled. "GODS DAMMIT! He's got a Crimson!" Bolts of blue and white electricity launched in crackling arcs at the female from his open hands before he was tackled from behind and taken to the ground by Areq.

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"STOP IT DELEN! GODS! Its VANYA!" The younger Datari used his newfound bulk to pin the eldest son of the Datari House to the floor.

As the flames and lightning faded, Elandriil walked through the smoke and stench of burnt bodies. They seemed to swirl and part for the Silver as he stepped over the dancing flames and ashes of the Nuru the Crimson had flamed, and in silence, he lifted his fist into the air and slowly uncurled his fingers.

The amulet slithered out of his grip, its stone pulsing violent shades of green and jewel tone crimson. It stopped as it came to the end of its chain, which was wrapped around his fingers, and there it swung, held aloft for the Crimson to see.

"Vanyalin..."

Maddened by pain and shock the crimson shook the hallway with a bellowing roar, her head snaking down, jaws agape as she bore down on the Silver. The glinting light from the amulet caught her great faceted eye and her head came up short, snapping backwards in surprise. She became very still for a moment, the silence deafening. Then, hesitantly, she lowered her head until it was level with Elandrill and slowly inhaled, the suction of air tugging at his hair and clothing. The Crimson’s wedge shaped head canted, revealing the depths of an emerald orb that shone with sudden recognition.

“Elandriil?”

"Von’dhal, yes." Silver wings arced out from his shoulders and stretched high only to vanish in the wafting tendrils of smoke. His fingers, calloused and cracked, settled gently on her muzzle and the palm of his hand that had been blistered and oozing for days seemed to finally stop its insane itching. "Soooo..." An irreverent grin twitched the corners of his mouth, "What have they been feeding you, love? You've... put on a little weight."

The eye batted uncomprehendingly for a moment before she seemed to remember herself, a low snort blowing a smoke ring that settled around the Silver. The tension seemed to go out of the Crimson’s form; her level of adrenaline sinking as sheer relief sank into Vanyalin’s half crazed mind. The sound of snapping, popping tendons and bones filled the hallway as Dragon gave way to half-elf, the broken spear clattering to the floor and leaving Vanya naked and shaking. Seemingly unaware of the wound in her shoulder, the half elf gave a strangled little cry and fairly fell against Elandriil. “Nuru’kh-ai taste even worse than they look,” she choked out through tears.

Elandriil's arms caught the delicate, dirty and bruised, scarred and shaking red-head before she could crumble to the ground, "Oh gods, yes I could have told you that." Despite the fact it must have been days since she'd been allowed a bath, Elandriil buried his nose in her hair and pulled her tight against him. His

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words were choked with mixed emotions, Rage and sorrow, relief and love, "Dwarves are worse, I understand, too much course hair and metal."

Behind them, as Areq let Delen off the ground, Delen and Alessen seemed uncertain what to do next, then the female seemed to start thinking through the inevitable adrenaline rush they'd all felt, "Well, this is the shortest rescue on the books, I think. Danya... we need blankets, a warm bath, she's not in good shape, and that's just on the outside."

"Alright. Let's get the gelehor out of here." Delen nodded at Tarsh and Sehaine, then Taimië, "It won't take long for more of those nasty bastards to find us, not with the fireworks and smoke."

"Iiii, think they already have." Areq pointed down the corridor, guttural shouts and torchlight was flickering their direction.

“No!” Vanya went rigid in Landrii’s arms and she turned her head up to look into his eyes, “we cannot leave, he still has Amilyn and Galain. I won’t leave without them.”

***

Beneath the surface of the lake, Imoreki fell back on the S’Hean genes he often steadfastly ignored and let instinct override thought. Wrapping Helena’s arms around his neck he urged her to hold on, resting against his back as the S’Hean darted forwards in the water. He headed away from the rising heat along the shoreline, seeking out cooler depths as the Geomage in him led him away from the exploding volcano.

Hot lumps of thick ash sank like sooty grenades around them, hampering progress as they were forced to avoid them. Even Ki’s cat slit S’Hean eyes were having trouble seeing through the murk, and he hoped to hells everyone else was following.

Y’Roce's first sensation as the water enveloped him was pure and sweet, despite the thickening murk that was around him. He knew exactly where Ki was; he could feel him more than anything else. Then as two more concussions made the water vibrate he guess it had to be Jack and Meylor since he’d followed Rhiannon off the ridge. The prince did, however, catch a glimpse of the human Jack as he fell through the murk making Y’Roce wonder why the man did not try to work against sinking. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he could not swim, or that hand of his was like some sort of anchor.

Having run ahead of the human Y’Roce had never heard him say. Guessing not, the S’Hean dove down to Jack, catching his belt just as he hit bottom. He did not

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see Meylor but hoped she’d managed to maintain herself by some measure of buoyancy.

Remembering something his mother had told him when they had been swimming; he realized Jack’s air supply would not hold him for as long as he needed it to. There simply was no other choice, as much as the idea of getting that personal with Jack made the half elf quake.

As soon as he’d gotten past some of the worst of the sinking ash globs, Y’Roce plastered his mouth over Jack’s and forced some of his own air supply into the human. This was so much more than he’d bargained for and he was going to tell his father just that when they got back…. IF they got back. “Ki, you and Helena ok? Rhiannon? Have you seen Meylor? Jack can’t swim and he sinks like obsidian. I have him and will force him to share my air.” He added with a mental groan.

“You don't have to shout Y'Roce,” Helena managed to tell him dryly, clinging on to her lover for dear life. “They can probably hear you in Corin.” The Queen wasn't usually so bitchy, but it was a distraction from the overwhelming sense of panic threatening to crash down on her. “I'm fine. For now.” Her thoughts were then strictly directed at Ki, “Although if you needed an excuse to kiss me, why didn't you just ask?”

Rhiannon hit the water as she shifted into natural form and found that the heating of the water from ash fall was too much for her infravision to deal with, leaving the Felinumeara temporarily blind. Focusing on Ki’s heart echo and using it as a beacon to guide her, the disabled tiger elf began to swim as Y’Roce’s words sounded in her mind. “I’m fine, Roc, but blinded from the heating of the water,” she sent back, finding the Web a very odd thing to use and unsure if she had even used it correctly.

Forcing herself to move down into cooler waters Rhiannon kept focused on her son’s heart echo, knowing it was the only thing that would keep her from getting separated. Thinking she had gone deep enough, the Felinumeara proceeded forward, testing the opening of her eyes, but to no avail, she still could not see. Guessing it would take her a while to recover, if what had happened was anything like regular flash blindness, the red head continued on until her fingers brushed against something. Grabbing onto it with one hand and feeling it with the other while she tread water, the Felinumeara smiled to herself as her fingers touched shoulder, neck, and face. “Roc, Ki, which one of you do I have a hold of,” she sent out, thinking it must be Roc since Ki’s heart echo was not pounding wildly in her ears.

“Not me,” Ki answered his mother, then silently laughed at Helena. “And here I thought I was being subtle.” He paused for a moment, bringing his mouth to hers as he turned in the water, sharing precious air before striking out again. The elf

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was silently berating himself… a Geomage should have sensed the oncoming eruption days ago. What the hells was the matter with him?

That question’s answer was something he didn’t want to face. The plague affecting his homeland and his family was affecting him as well.

Jack felt his lungs burning. He cursed himself for not taking a deeper breath before hitting the water, but that wouldn't do him any good now. Opening his eyes was out of the question, because the murky waters caused them to burn when he tried, and there was really nothing to see except the bottom of the lake anyway. Just as he was about to give up, to let his lungs fill with water, offering his fate to the gods, someone placed their lips to his and gave him a much-needed breath.

Meylor, Jack thought, thinking it was her that had found him, and was sharing her own breath with his. He didn't fight the strange feeling of having someone’s lips on his own; instead he took the breath with a smile. There was a nagging feeling that something wasn't right, but for the moment he didn't care. He was no longer drowning. Leaving his hands by his side, knowing if he tried anything Meylor would bite him, or leave him to drown. He was just thankful to be alive.

He would thank her later.

Roc mentally winced at Helena’s note he had been yelling. It never occurred to the half S’Hean that his panic was being broadcast. He had just grabbed Jack by the back of the trousers and belt and exchanged a bit of air with the man when he felt a hand grab him and feel his face. A mental smile was returned to Rhiannon through the web “I believe you have found Roc, Lady. I am trying to keep Jack from sinking so if you need to stay close you are welcome but the human needs more help.”

“Ki, you can beat yourself up about this later,” Helena told him, her lover's concern fairly obvious with the close contact and strong empathy she had. “I'll help! But right now? Stay calm, I'm the one who's supposed to be losing their head, and I don't think you have enough air for the two of us to be freaking out. Let me do it. I'm better at it than you are!” In truth, Helena was feeling fairly calm, if deliberately not thinking about the lack of air situation. It occurred to her that if anyone breathed a word about her winding up under water again without proper breathing equipment, her parents would probably chain her to her throne...

With an affectionate pat to his chest, Rhiannon moved on, following Ki’s heartbeat, but had not gone very far when she bumped into yet another figure. Once again she reached out, feeling face and body determining from the fact this person had breasts, Ki’s heart echo was no stronger than before, and Helena was most likely safely in Ki’s arms that the person she had was Meylor. Slowly the Felinumeara felt along a shoulder to her companion’s hand and guided it to her arm closing the fingers around it to indicate to Meylor she should hold on.

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When that was done the tiger female, not sure what race Meylor was, but assuming she was human, leaned in and gave the woman a breath. Thankful the men could not see her do so, as it was her experience men usually found great interest in such things. Once she was sure the other female would be okay for a few minutes, Rhiannon kept a hold on Meylor’s arm while following Ki’s heart echo, hoping she didn’t bump anything more dangerous than her companion’s in the lakes murky depths.

There were three things that kept Rhiannon from getting hit, the water would slow down the punch, the strength could be put to better use, and the air that, while not needed yet, was helpful. The brush of fur beneath slender fingertips clued Meylor into who exactly her swimming buddy was. The murky water reminded her of a dense fog leaving visibility next to nothing. Even her elven sight did little to help.

Managing a thumb’s up to Rhiannon she pushed forward with the Felinumeara to who knew where.

It was some time later when Ki finally reached the limits of his S’Hean lungs and had to strike out for the surface. The air was likely still hot, and filled with ash, making it difficult to breathe, but it was better than nothing. Dragging Helena with him, he broke the surface and inhaled a choking breath that burned his throat and filled his lungs with particles of dust, setting off a fit of coughing. It wasn’t until a sound that didn’t quite belong reached his ears that the stripe haired elf realized… they had just leapt from the frying pan into the fire.

Not ten feet away a troop of Nuru’kh-ai stood hip deep in the water, beady eyes trained on the couple and weapons drawn.

“SKRUN!”

It seemed that the intrepid group of would be Ambassadors just couldn’t catch a break.

***

Y’Roden had returned to Silver Dragon Ridge after the departure of the team sent to look for the Danna-Riel, bringing Rhagi with him. His thoughts were still in chaos, his heart swaying down a dangerous path he had sworn never to travel again. On the surface he fought it, but somewhere deep inside the half-elf knew he was falling. And it was pointless, nothing had changed, nothing would change. That had been made abundantly clear many, many times. But… why then, didn’t the feeling go away, the gnawing ache that told him a mistake had been made… and if he didn’t do something his life would be a massive pool of regret. What that something was… he had no idea.

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It was still early morning when Ro stepped out onto the balcony, seating himself in a warm patch of early morning sunlight. An oddly shaped guitar was gripped in one hand, and he ran rough fingertips over the silken gloss of the wood. The instrument hadn’t seen the light of day for well over thirty years, but it was still in perfect tune.

Resting the curve across his thigh he plucked experimentally at the strings and found the frets with his fingers, strumming a few chords and letting the vibration touch his soul. The sound was somewhat akin to a Hawaiian guitar from terra, a surreal resonating echo that fit his somewhat melancholy mood. He let his hands coax the music into being, letting it take him where it willed, and the words soon followed.

There is a questionBurning deep in my soulThe one thing I can’t touchCould make what’s broken whole.

It’s searing through my veinsAnd it’s eating at my skin…There is no way outOf this precious love I’m in.

Illusion creeps on inAnd I cannot tell what’s realCan’t trust in anythingThere is only what I feel

It’s searing through my veinsAnd it’s eating at my skin…There is no way outOf this precious love I’m in.

It is a sweet tormentThat holds me to my dreamsHaunted by your faceAnd sheltered by your screams

Deep in the darknessThere is only a memoryA burning reminderThe reason why I set you free…

Of this precious love I’m in.

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As the last strain faded Ro let his gaze drift towards the waterfalls, lost deep in thought as the reality of early morning crept in on him. It would soon be time to wake up Rhagi and enjoy a quiet breakfast in the sun, time to put away memories and ‘what ifs’ and live his life.

His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden discordant flash on the Web and the S’Hean tensed, following through panicked moments, as Corin’s foundations were shaking, and the awakening panic of Imoreki and Y’Roce half a planet away.

Shoving his fingers into his hair Ro growled and scrubbed at his scalp, mussing the silver streak and sending the thin braid behind his ear dancing across his shoulder. He was helpless to do anything but wait, confident in all of his children’s ability to survive.

Rhagi woke to the faint sound of his father's voice, drifting in through the open windows. It was oddly comforting: some of his earliest memories were of his parents singing. Separately, of course, he couldn't ever recall hearing their voices together.

When it stopped, he sat up, pushing back the covers and raking his fingers through his shaggy auburn hair. It was as he was pulling on his pants that he realised, something somewhere was wrong. The older he got, the more sensitive he seemed to become to the flashes of feeling that came through the Web.

He grabbed a thong for his hair, tying it back as he ran down the stairs, heading out to Y'Roden. "Addah? What's happened?" It sounded dumb as he said it: there was always something now. Snowstorms, floods, dying animals, sick parents and friends... everything was disintegrating around him.

The half-elf put aside his guitar when Rhagi appeared and met his son with a solemn expression, “the planet is making a bit of a ruckus,” he said, “everyone seems to be ok so far.” Rhagi had been lied to by omission far too much in his life, so Ro was fairly upfront with the boy about most other things. He was intelligent and calm where other children may have panicked. “It's an Earthquake, there seems to be a fault line running beneath Corin.”

There was a small shudder through the building and the half-elf glanced around for a moment, “just an aftershock,” he said, “sometimes you can feel them a great distance away from the epicentre. The shift in the plates seems to have triggered a volcanic eruption on the Eastern continent as well.” He smiled reassuringly at Rhagi, “here, feel the Web with me.”

His soul touched on his son’s, leading him to vibrant threads of green and brushing across them, “Here is Valin… and this white gold one is Anaya… there are your two nieces and your nephew. Over here, this one is Imoreki, and this

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one is your brother Roc.” There was a distinct pause, “We just won’t ask why he is kissing Jack.”

Rhagi flashed a quick grin, following his father's soul through the Web, sucking down knowledge voraciously. "We can ask when he gets back. Then we can see his face. Innocent little children can get away with asking awkward questions." The grin changed to a slight frown. Asking awkward questions wasn't an ability he used a lot, and there were a lot of awkward questions around. "You could have gone with them, you know. You didn't have to stay here for me."

Y’Roden canted his head and smiled at his son, “I wanted to stay,” he said simply. “This is where I need to be right now.” He leaned back in his chair, emerald eyes dancing with self-amusement, “That is the horrible thing about parents, we tend to dote and worry and hover around when you’d rather we just bugger off. Now… breakfast? Or do you want to learn how to play this thing?” he nodded towards the guitar.

Rhagi smiled shyly. There was a lot he still didn't understand; just why his father felt such a need to be here, with him, just as he hadn't understood why his mother had left him here in the first place. Sometimes, though, he just had to trust them to know what they were doing. "I don't want you to bugger off." It was his way of saying everything in his life was falling apart, and Ro was the only thing he had left to cling to. It never occurred to him that his father might feel the same way. "Food first. Then you can teach me how to play."

***

“Get moving,” Tallin snarled at Galain, shoving the young Elf along in front of him, “You should be happy, you know, we are going to make you a father. Not that we’ll let you raise it, but every male likes to know they’ve passed on their genetic material to the next generation. Just make sure it’s a girl, or you’ll just have to keep laying with your sister until you get it right.”

The Demon-Mage had no idea his Keep had been invaded; his mind was totally distracted by the plan in motion at the moment. The Keep had been in chaos for days as the Nuru’kh-ai rampaged through in search of the missing Vanyalin, so a bit of noise was hardly about to distract Tallin now.

Happy?! Galain was panicked. He knew from firsthand experience that Tallin and Mystical were capable of some pretty heinous things and this... well while this certainly didn't cap them all, it was pretty damn close.

"I'm not every male and she's my sister!" he retorted, stopping yet again in a desperate bid to slow Tallin down and perhaps find a way to avoid the inevitable. He sounded pathetic to his ears and knew Tallin would just laugh so he grit his teeth when he was propelled forward yet again, stumbling briefly to his knees.

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"I'm not going any further," he said, deciding then and there to just remain where he was. "You'll have to drag me." His body tensed. Just try it, he urged Tallin silently. Just try it.

Tarsh, meanwhile, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fingers twitching as he watched the Nuru’Kh-ai. “Galain?” he asked in surprise, “what is your Father doing here?” The Silver whirled around as the shadows shifted behind him, revealing Morgan and Maggie as they stepped out of the wall.

“Not my father,” Vanyalin shook her head, fingers tugging at Landrii’s shirt, “my brother. Please… I have no idea where they are, but we can’t leave them behind.”

“I’d be more worried about them at the moment,” Morgan observed, pointing at the oncoming Nuru, “We have two more to retrieve? I say we split into two teams then. Go with them,” he instructed his sister, gesturing towards Elandriil and Vanyalin, “We’ll meet you back at the ship.” He inclined his head at Areq and Alessen, inviting them to follow as he backed down the hall to Taimië with Tarsh gravitating automatically to the Fire Mage.

Mystical eyed her daughter critically, her dark eyes sweeping over the petite redhead. She'd drugged Amilyn fairly heavily, having to conquer the child's extraordinarily strong will. But once she'd reached the biddable stage, preparations had begun. The Ali-Maera had bathed Amilyn, dressing her in a sheer robe, pure white laced with silver and gold embroidery. She'd ornamented Amilyn with small jewels, the material she'd used to hold them functioning as an aphrodisiac. She knew it would be easier for Amilyn to conceive if she were willing. Hints of perfumed oil were next, followed by a thorough combing of the flame red curls that spilled over her shoulders.

Landrii's fingers loosened around Vanyalin and scrubbed his face. Two more had not been in the plan. Two more could cost them everything. But it was those two more they couldn't leave without, and he understood why.

"Van, we have the Lisse waiting, just beyond those walls. Y'Roden let us take her to get you. Let me at least take you to Nildanya. She's a healer, a Silver, and an old family friend. Let Areq and Delen and the others deal with getting your brother and sister back, aye?"

Delen's dark emerald eyes watched the shadowed corridors as Areq and Alessen followed the Captain and left Maggie and Sehaine behind, "We gotta move, Landrii. If you're taking her to the ship, do it now gods dammit."

The elder Datari then shifted his thoughts to his younger sister, Sehaine. He didn't like this, not at all and his Sending was growled, gruff. “Can you remember

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where we've been and get us out of here if we lose the stone-walker along the way?"

Sehaine shot Delen a dirty look. Could she remember? The better question would have been if she could forget but given the circumstances she would let it slide. A curt nod was her answer.

“Like hells” Vanya growled, “you are not leaving me behind.” The diminutive redhead straightened, nothing but her hair for covering. “They are my family, which makes them my responsibility. I promised them both I’d get them out of here. Besides,” she peered around Landrii, “we have company. Anyone have a shirt and a dagger or two I could borrow.” Just her luck, stranded naked with a group of Aerdon Dragons… not a stitch of clothing on them.

Maggie grinned at Delen, then shrugged and looked over her shoulder. “Morgan! Be a gentleman and toss me your shirt!”

The Captain of the Black Shoal stared at his sister for a moment, then stripped his shirt off over his head and tossed it to her. Without a word, Maggie handed it to Vanyalin, who hurriedly slipped it over her head and wriggled into it.

“Let’s go,” Van urged, “we’re wasting time.”

Elandriil wanted to argue, wanted to drag her out, kicking and screaming, yet something in him cause him to think twice.

Vengeance where Justice fails... The words whispered through his soul, seeped into his thoughts and seemed to spiral away into utter blackness.

Vanyalin had the right to seek vengeance, more so than he did.

"Fine." Elandriil nodded, "Let's go get them." As Elandriil started walking, he lifted the amulet and let the chain drop over his head. It had stopped its crimson and green pulsing and had returned to an ordinary enough emerald. Or so it seemed.

***

The air was still thick with sulphuric gasses and ash as Y’Roce broke the surface of the lake, following Ki. It took all of his reserves to keep Jack from dragging the pair of them back under the surface, but from the way the human sank there was no way he was going to tread water on his own. Giving an extra tug on him, Y’Roce tried to make sure the man’s head was above the surface, despite the fact breathing wasn’t all that great above either. Y’Roce just heard the expletive from Ki when he too noticed the why. The shore and water’s edge had far too

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many Nuru and not a one looked liked they’d missed those coming to the surface.

The nearest Nuru let out a bellow of challenge and lunged, its sword cutting an arc through airborne ash, aiming for Ki and Roc. With a yell the stripe haired Elf tightened his grip on Helena and threw himself to the side, feeling the air current as the blade sliced down just inches from his moving shoulder and cut through the water. The beast howled in rage and changed its grip on the hilt, rising above the couple with the tip pointed down as he attempted to simply skewer them.

Ki shoved Helena behind him as best he could in the water, his free hand darting up to grab the Nuru’s wrist, visibly straining to keep it from dealing the lethal blow. Letting go of his lover the elf grabbed at the hilt of the dagger in his belt, tugging it free and driving a hard strike across the beast’s chest.

Jack's head exploded from the waters surface, just long enough for him to take a much-needed breath. Gasping for air, while trying to tread water, he sunk under the surface just as a heavy blade slapped the water above him. Surfacing once again, he reached out for anything, or anyone, grabbing the wrist of the Nuru warrior, who had moments earlier tried to kill him. Clearing the murky waters from his eyes, he blinked and stared into the warrior’s hate filled face.

"You're not Meylor!"

Thinking the creature was the one sharing his breath, Jack felt the bile starting to burn his throat as the Nuru let out a war cry. While still holding the it's arm in his steel grip, Jack spat, cursed and tried to wash his mouth out by swallowing the lake dry before spitting it back out.

"Who in the five gates of hell..." Jack questioned before he was forced back under the water. While still holding the beast’s wrist he felt bones being crushed under his and the Nuru dropped his weapon. With a twist of his body, Jack was able to pull it down with him and they slowly sank towards the bottom of the lake, clawing and fighting each other every step of the way.

Helena spat out water as Ki fought the Nuru. "Don't you guys ever quit?" She hollered, drawing her pike. "Leave him alone!" There was a sickening crunch as metal met skull. "I mean it!"

Sensing the acceleration of Ki’s heart echo, Rhiannon figured something must be wrong and followed to the surface. Once free of the water the Felinumeara opened her eyes, though it didn’t do her much good, as they were still recovering from the flash blindness. The tiger elf could, however, make out huge black shapes, one of which reached out, grabbing her by the hair and hauling her the rest of the way out of the lake.

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Reacting on instinct the red head roared, though it was hard to tell if it was in protest or a battle cry, while extending claws and swiping at any and all flesh she could find. The instant Rhiannon was dropped she landed in a crouch, attacking as eyesight steadily improved, though not fast enough for her to avoid a rather painful slice to her ribs from her enemy’s sword. Roaring again, the feisty Felinumeara swung with all her might at what she believed was the big black ugly’s jugular, getting lucky and hitting her target. Not waiting for her opponent to fall down dead the tiger elf turned, drawing her long knife, ready for another attack.

“Holy Hells,” Ki observed, slightly startled despite the situation as the Nuru dropped like a stone. He shot Helena a wide-eyed look, only to whirl back around as the unmistakable crack of a whip snapped through the air. For a moment, he thought he was seeing things. He could have sworn he glimpsed his Dera Thaya through the smoke and ash… but he had never, ever seen her use a whip, and certainly not anything like this one. The razor tipped ends slashed across a Nuru’Kh-ai’s face, tearing it to ribbons and leaving the creature bellowing in pain, hands pressing to its face as it was blinded by blood, flesh torn open to the bone.

The redhead emerged from a cloud of ash like an wraith in a storm, emerald eyes flashing as her sword twirled in her right hand, the whip now coiled in the left as she plunged the blade into the Nuru’s gut.

It wasn’t An’Thaya, but the resemblance was startling.

“VALLAH KAI OLNE SIG!”

“Oh my gods,” Ki breathed, “We’ve found them.”

More elves were emerging from the tree line, not flamed tressed, as the woman was, but golden and beautiful.

Meylor burst from the water, blaster drawn to point at the nearest object that wasn’t familiar. The familiar glow radiating from the crystal in the barrel was soothing to her, but when the trigger was pulled and the magnified light proved quite different as it struck its target, burning a whole clear through the black skull in moments. A smirk pulled at her lips as she admired her handy work, the smoke rising from the bloody, oozing hole as the Nuru fell into the water with a dead weight splash.

Grey eyes searched the watery battlefield in search of Jack before she continued shooting.

Helena was, above all, a Mars female, and they defended what they loved. The Nuru's may have initially eyed her as less than a challenge, but after the first had

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tasted the metal of her pike, they were expressing a bit more of an interest. Ki's stunned comment was met with a laugh that carried more than a touch of insanity.

"One of these days, someone, somewhere, will realise, that it makes life a lot easier if you leave my family alone!" The pike was almost a blur in her hands as the Queen fell back on her training, and deeper bred survival instincts, barely aware of the cavalry that had arrived.

The blond elves were deadly and quick, for all their fair nearly angelic appearance, they were fierce and merciless in battle. They fought like demons from hell, war whoops filling the air as they descended on the Nuru’kh-ai in what could have been construed as gleeful bloodlust. The sound of steel on steel shrieked through the grimy air, grunts and splashes filling the shadows as the murky water turned dark with the putrid blood of Haldanuru’s minions. And then… there was silence, only the sound of the angry volcano in the distance as the air churned and billowed with dust.

A voice, a low feminine alto, cut through the low rumbling, “Elkin de dai?” Who are you?

***

The light from the shimmering surface of a portal danced over a dust and rubble covered floor in the Castle of Corin, but none of the workers paused to look as Y’Roden stepped through into the room. He kicked at a piece of broken furniture and sighed. The structure itself had held up to the abuse of the earthquake for the most part, but a lot of the contents had been shaken and smashed. “All clear,” he said to the glimmering vortex, and managed a smile for Valin who entered through another doorway.

“Dagar Addah,” the King of Corin greeted, “did you bring the healers?”

“Aye, I did, they’ll be along shortly. You’ll just have to tell them where to start.” Y’Roden’s large hand closed on his son’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “How is Anaya?”

"Anaya is mushed, but fine," The blonde replied, her good arm carrying An'Lin, while Ce'Leste carefully held her younger brother. Her broken arm was bound and splinted, and for now the Psi Talent was able to block most of the pain, still refusing to let Valin heal it. "Ce'Leste, I can tell you're dying to pounce your BedreAddah. Give your brother to Addah and you can," She said quietly, watching her daughter solemnly hand over Va'Lan to Valin, before aiming a flying tackle at Y'Roden.

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Rhagi slipped quietly through the portal behind his father, looking around with interest at the state of the Castle. He'd never seen the aftermath of an earthquake before. Then he sidestepped rather quickly before Ce'Leste hit.

“That’s good to hear… ooof!” Y’Roden laughed and stooped to pick up his granddaughter, swinging her up and hugging her tight. “Dagar sweetheart,” he chuckled, “I’m glad to see you in one piece too.” Kissing the dark haired little girl on the cheek he settled her in the grip of one muscular arm and shot an understanding smile in Rhagi’s direction. “So how far did the quake reach?”

Valin cradled his son carefully in one arm, sea-green eyes flicking up to his father, “It hit the Wyvern and Arketh estates as well as some others, but it didn’t reach as far as the Black Estate.”

“That’s fortunate, they just recovered from an Tsunami, an earthquake on top of things would have been… more than devastating,” Ro sighed.

Anaya nodded, cradling An'Lin against her. Ce'Leste's skin was flushed, and Anaya was aware of the fever she was running, yet the emerald eyed girl seemed to ignore her ails and carry on going. "How bad is it elsewhere Ro? Not the earthquake... everything?"

Ce eyed her half-uncle, then offered him a tentative smile. "Hi Rhagi. How are you?"

Rhagi returned Ce'Leste's smile, trying to find a more genuine expression. She was just a little kid, from his rather world-weary ten. "I'm okay, Ce. And you're okay too, right? And that's what we'll keep on telling everyone." In truth he was starting to feel, well, scungy, but there was so much on everyone's minds it didn't really seem worth mentioning.

Ce'Leste nodded. Normally, the little girl would pounce any relative that came within bouncing distance, but something about Rhagi made her stop. It wasn't that she didn't want to; just something warned her it wasn't a good idea. "We'll keep telling everyone until they listen. And then tell them some more!" She replied, grinning.

Anaya sighed. "As you can see, Ce'Leste continues to defy everyone by acting like she's absolutely fine. If that doesn't wear us all out, I don't know what will."

Kara was next to step through the portal, her wind blown hair seemed more wild looking, her eyes darker than normal from lack of sleep. On her shoulder she bore the weight of her satchel that she had filled with supplies, but little herbs. Most had been all but used up trying to save lives. Argon stood beside her, his left shoulder bandaged, one ear red and raw. Looking about, she took a deep sigh her hand resting on the tigers back for support.

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"Excuse me," Kara said softly as she stepped up next to Ro with Argon by her side, smiling softly at the young girl in his arms. "Where do you need us?"

Y’Roden had been about to answer Anaya, but was distracted by movement behind him. He smiled at Kara, then looked to Valin, “where are the folks in need of assistance?”

The King of Corin looked back to the doorway and called for one of the guards, “can you take Kara here to the ballroom. Direct her to Captain Havenlock please.”

The young guard nodded and looked expectantly to Kara, ready to lead the way.

“Thank you Kara,” Ro said quietly before turning back to Anaya,

“Things are… about how you would expect. I’m keeping track of Ki and Roc though, hopefully they will turn up something soon."

Kara's heart almost stopped when she heard Captain Havenlock's name. Swallowing, she quickly nodded, adding a soft smile before following the young guard down the hall to the ballroom.

"Captain Havenlock," the young guard spoke out above the crowd that had gathered there, "there is a young lady here that wishes to see you."

Stepping out from behind the guard Kara stood there and smiled. "Hello Captain Havenlock. I was told to report to you..."

Cullen turned around from setting a young human’s arm, brown eyes focusing on Kara in surprise. “Well hello Kara, we can certainly use your help.” Straightening he wiped his palms on his trouser legs and smiled, “Mostly broken bones, but a few have more serious injuries.” The half-elf was fairly experienced with setting bones and healing wounds, it had been a necessity in Tenobrous, and as Captain of the Corinian Guard. “Let me help you with your pack and we can get to work.”

Blushing, because she had been so formal around the young guard, she allowed Cullen to take her pack, slipping it from her shoulders while trying not to stare into his eyes. She waited until the guard took his leave before speaking.

"Show me to the more serious injuries first, if you please. I was able to bring fresh bandages, some balm for burns and salve, but most of my herbs have been used up. I still have a few things to make tea that calms the nerves and lessens the pain," she blushed once again for babbling. Staring into the Captain's eyes of brown she gave a great sigh.

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"I'm happy to see you...Cullen, at least in one piece. How...are you? How have you been?"

The half-elf smiled tiredly as he led Kara across the room where several makeshift cots had been set up for the more grievously injured. “I’m alright, I’ve been… alright I guess. Busy… very busy.” He shifted uncomfortably, “just really tired between my duties and the twins, its difficult to keep up, and with their mother gone,” he shrugged, then paused, the tips of his ears colouring slightly. “You don’t know… do you? How could you know?” He laughed at himself and shook his head, “I’m a father… again… its, complicated.”

"Ask a silly question," Argon chuckled until he felt Kara's hand gripping the skin across his back, and he struck out at her.

"Sorry," Kara whispered, pulling her now red hand to her throat, while staring at Cullen in disbelief. "Twins? And their mother's gone? Where are they? The twins I mean. Shouldn't you be with them..." she asked, her mind reeling but in her heart wanting to throw her arms around the man, to comfort him during his time of need.

Instead she slapped him. "Have you gone mad? Who's taking care of them? They need their father and you’re just standing here, you should be bonding with them. Y...you are all they have now. And if you get down, or sick they'll have no one to care for them. I'm not going to let that happen. Now just don't stand there, go see to the twins." Rolling her eyes she pulled the pack from Cullen's grasp.

"I swear if you get sick..."

Cullen blinked in surprise, then laughed softly, “The twins are with the nursemaid at the moment, she’s watching them whilst the King and Queen tend to their own children. I’m needed here. And… their mother isn’t dead, she’s just… away.” He smiled, eyes sparkling with humour as he eyed Kara, “you can see them if you like, after we’ve finished here.”

Cassey preceded her mother, a basket in her arms full of extra bandages, ointments and salves that the healers would need. She blew a black lock that had escaped her braids out of her eyes and stared around. She was learning new things all the time it seemed and the aftermath of an earthquake on a castle made her glad that she lived in a tree.

Kaylee ruffled her daughter’s hair, sliding to the side to make way for other healers. It was good for the girl to be outside of the forest and work on triage. It would be good experience for the years to come. Chocolate eyes followed the direction in which the younger Taurësúlë gazed and she bit back a smile, gently taking the basket from her hands she nodded towards the other two children. Cassey grinned and slipped towards Rhagi and Ce’Leste.

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Kaylee gently touched Ro on the arm, “Which way?”

Rhagi looked up from Ce'Leste, and while he wasn't grinning his head off, the light in his face would tell someone who knew him just how happy he was. "Dagar, Cassey." He gave an uncertain, lopsided grin. "If we'd known you were coming, we'd have cleaned up a bit."

Y’Roden’s gaze halted on his son and the half-elf disguised the small spark of relief in his eyes with a smile for Kaylee. “They are in the ballroom, I can show you the way. Rhagi? You know where to find me.”

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Chapter 5

Rhodry lay with his head propped against a large stone that had once been part of the castle itself, his expression dour as he eyed the destruction. His fingers rubbed gently at his ribs, the bindings were itchy and it had taken a lot of convincing to get him to leave them alone. There were no S’Hean healers here, and Tobin had yet to arrive. The ribs he could handle, it was the small thin tube stuck through his chest into the lung that annoyed him, and the sound of his own wheezing breathing. The real frustration was looking at his shambles of a Castle and being helpless to do a damn thing about it. Not to mention, Rani wasn’t getting any better, and he couldn’t help her either.

The local healer was seated close by, keeping a close eye on the Lord, and only receiving glowers for his trouble. He managed a weak smile for the ex-Mercenary, and personally hoped that Lord Black would be along soon to take the miserable bastard off his hands.

"Is that any way to look at someone trying to help you?" a soft voice chided with just a hint of amusement.

The words had been preceded mere seconds before by the sound of footsteps. Fionna Aedui nodded at the healer and then crouched beside Rhodry, quiet concern filling her azure gaze as she studied the one-eyed Lord. "You're a mess," the blonde half-elf said bluntly, "and your castle doesn't seem to be much better. How's Rani doing?"

Lord Arketh couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out as a choking burbling sound that shot liquid out of the tube in his chest. “I’m always a mess,” he wheezed, “but thank you for noticing. I’d offer you my hospitality, but it’s a tad lacking at the moment.” He paused, labouring to breathe for several seconds, “Rani… is her cantankerous self… well, mostly herself.”

“Ok, I think its time for you to shut up now,” Tobin observed as he bent over his friend, “I’m going to need you to be flat on your back for this.” He shot Fionna a worried look before reaching down to grab hold of the massive human, “Give me a hand?” he asked his lover, “maybe we should give him something to bite down on.”

“Just give me your fingers,” Rhodry suggested, “that ought to do just fine.”

"Bite your tongue," Fionna replied, "I like his fingers attached, thank you very much." As she spoke she was reaching out to help the large blond human with his ornery friend. She gave Rhodry a stern look, "you're in no condition to be objecting. Shut up and let the healers do their job."

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The one eyed man growled, then let out a brief snort of pain as he was pulled down flat. Tobin shook his head and produced a finely honed dagger from his boot. Slicing through the bandaging he let it fall to the ground and gently probed at Rhodry’s skin, which was black from bruising down the rib cage. “Man, when you break something you certainly do it right,” he muttered. “Needless to say… this is going to really, really hurt.”

The Healer tapped Tobin on the shoulder with a stick wrapped in leather, “Will this do?”

“Nicely, thank you,” the Lord answered, jamming it between Rhodry’s jaws when he opened his mouth to say something. With a quick movement he straddled his friend and pinned him with his weight. Applying pressure around the hole in his chest, he pulled the tube free, then slid his finger in under the flesh, searching for the broken ribs. Features grim with concentration he ignored the other man’s thrashes of protest as he hooked the snapped ends and brought them back together, using his gift to fuse the bone whole. “Ok… ok… I’ll be done soon, stop moving, you are making this really difficult.”

Having at least mended the rib that had actually punctured the lung, he turned his attention to the organ itself, muttering as he attempted to reform ripped tissue. Broken bones were usually as far as he went with healing, but the situation called for him to stretch his abilities. He just hoped he was regenerating the right parts into the right place. As it was, Rhodry was going to have breathing problems for some time to come at this rate.

What Rhodry’s household was not telling the seriously injured ex-merc was that his fiancé was not doing as well as they let him think. They had yet to even give him the tally of those lost. The head Castellan himself was among those fighting to stay alive from his injuries. For Rani it was not her injuries that were threatening her well being but the poisons from the land that now seemed to be running wild. When one of the healers tried to set her broken arm it caused her excruciating pain and accelerated the mutation of the appendage into the dark skinned thickness of the beast she was transforming into.

During the times when she was conscious but not herself, cantankerous would be one of many milder displays the tormented S’Hean guard was experiencing. Andrev had set Padric to reinforcing one of the stable rooms to confine her in for everyone’s safety. The times when Rani was lucid and aware were getting fewer or shorter lived. Those were the times when she was the most quiet and withdrawn, knowing the thing she was becoming and dreading it. They had not told her anything about Rhodry either.

“There finished.” The last rib melded into its original position and Tobin pulled his fingers free, making way for the healer who gave Rhodry a warning look that said he wasn’t going to take any guff before opening a container of tree sap sealant. It

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was organic, but lasted for weeks, holding the flesh together in a natural fashion to reduce scarring.

“Why is it that you can mend bone and lung tissue, but not skin?” Rhodry asked curiously, his brilliant blue eye and the foggy damaged one focusing on Tobin.

“I have no idea,” the SandShadow answered, “I’m not sure I managed so well with the lung tissue either, you should probably see a S’Hean healer if you get the chance. I’ve tried healing skin; it generally scars up badly. Best to let nature do its work.” He canted his head and looked at the Healer, “Where is Rani? I can see to her broken bones too.”

The human gestured over his shoulder at the building, “They have her in one of the more… uhm, intact chambers. They already tried setting her arm, it didn’t go so well.”

The comment had only just left the man’s mouth when several loud crashes could be heard, followed by absolute silence. Rani had just suffered another one of her fits and collapsed again into melancholy. The war she was waging was internal and there was no telling at this point whether she would win. Rani had made Rhodry promise her the transformation would not be complete but she had seen in his face he would hold out until there was no hope before he would honour that promise.

Fionna exchanged glances with Tobin. "We should go and see her," the blonde said before looking at Rhodry, "but you should probably stay here. Even with the additional healing Tobin's managed, you still need to rest. You'll be no use to anyone if you just keel over again because you push yourself too far too fast."

Rhodry opened his mouth to protest and Tobin merrily stuck the leather wrapped stick back in his mouth. “She’s right,” he informed his long time friend, “be a good boy for the healer and we’ll go check on your fiancée.” The SandShadow looked to the healer, “sit on him if you have to.” Ignoring the enraged snort from Lord Arketh, the blonde human offered his arm to Fionna as they made their way over rubble to an opening in Castle Arketh’s wall.

***

“Dagar,” Y’Roce broke the eerie silence as he stepped forward and bowed. “We are a contingent of S’Heans of the Family D’Riel seeking the Danna-Riel, our cousins.” Y’Roce turned slightly to introduce the others, “I am Y’Roce D’Riel, this is my brother Imoreki D’Riel and the Lady Helena, Queen of Ingraleis. This is Rhiannon K’Tral of the Felinumeara; Jack Steelhand, Meylor Blackheart and finally, one of us who can fly is Dante. He rose above the ash cloud and will rejoin us when the air clears.”

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Y’Roce turned back to face the woman who so strikingly resembled his aunt. “We come seeking answers and aid to stop the blight which pollutes all of S’Hea, as well as the neighbouring land of Corin. Our land sickens our people are falling ill.”

“S’Hea?” The woman intoned in elvish, stepping into view through blowing ash, “that is a name that has not been spoken here in many millennia. The way is shut…” The redhead fell silent for a moment, her gaze settling on Jack. “What manner of creature are you?” Oddly, she didn’t seem phased by Rhiannon at all. “Round ears?” she sounded incredulous, “what use are those… how do you manage to hear anything?”

Several male Danna-Riel drifted out into view, bows drawn, expressions wary as they listened in on the conversation, and one, still hidden by the murk could be heard chortling in amusement.

“He is human,” Imoreki answered, “he can’t understand what you are saying.”

Jack was still trying to catch his breath, after snapping the Nuru's neck with his bare hands, leaving him for fish food at the bottom of the lake. He quickly learned how to swim too, if one would call it swimming, kicking up from the bottom of the lake to reach the surface in time to find the battle over. What surprised him more was the fact that a strikingly beautiful young woman was talking to Y’Roce; setting her gaze on him as she asked something he could not understand.

"Y’Roce! I hope you just told her I'm not very good to eat," he said, brushing his wet hair away from his face. "Meylor can vouch for that. She's bitten me enough times..."

High overhead, Dante' wheeled and waited. Sharp eagle eyes had seen the other band of elves arriving, despite the clouds' tendency to come and go, thin and return. From here he watched and studied the ground around them, what he could see of it, and was prepared to follow them if they left or fight with them if it came to that.

If Y’Roce had not been the designated ambassador on this little trip he would have told Jack that he’d said exactly the opposite. In addition, humans were far tastier than S’Hean, he would have added. He still had not told the human whom he’d shared air with and was thinking he’d save that tidbit for blackmail later.

“Lady, we did indeed come from S’Hea and my brother here,” he indicated Ki “has skills that allowed us to pass through. Please M’Lady our land is dying, as are we.”

“Human,” the word sounded strange on her tongue, and Khai’Laya made a displeased face before turning back to Roc. “The sickness is here as well,” she answered, “in the recent weeks the land has protested… as you can clearly see.”

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She shook her head, “It is not I who can provide your answers, I will take you to my Father. Perhaps with the combined knowledge of our Kingdoms we may find the source of the blight before it kills us all.”

“I’m sorry,” Ki interrupted, “but we didn’t get your name M’Lady.”

The redhead paused in the motion of turning towards the bank and looked back over her shoulder, “It’s Khai’Laya, Khai’Laya D’Riel.”

***

The muffled footsteps of those in Elandriil's company came to a silent halt as the sounds of a familiar voice talking to someone echoed down the corridors... Tallin Modar and another. Silver eyes slid to Vanyalin as he became certain of who was walking their direction. He had no idea what she'd gone through, but he knew enough about the D'Riel women to know that for the Crimson to surface, it must have been hideous. The tiny, bookish red-head he'd known was gone, replaced by a woman covered in the blood of the bands of roving Nurus they'd ran into to get here. She'd lost weight, had more than a few old cuts and scrapes, fading bruises and new scars and every mark on her caused the chemical swamping of Elandriil's system to grow worse by the moment.

"Get her out of here Delen." Elandriil nodded at his cousin then Vanyalin as his eyes met hers and he slowly drew the sword of his father from its sheath at his back. A strange mixture of frigid air and electricity danced over his left hand, sent tendrils of power up his forearm. Both palms had been itching, to the point of driving him near mad since his fall from the deck of the Lisse and now it was much, much worse. Red lines, oozing and angry welled up, the patterns becoming more and more distinct.

With every step closer to Tallin Modar, Elandriil was becoming the Left Hand of Justice, as his Sire had been, but also the Right Hand of Vengeance, the chosen of Justice, the chosen of Retribution, one goddess with two very different faces.

"I'll bring your brother home, but not before I kill your uncle."

Before she could argue, Elandriil stepped around the corner and into the full view of Tallin Modar.

“What? NO!” Vanyalin lunged after her lover, throwing her weight and struggling as Delen grabbed hold of her. “Let me go! Nyfader! Put me down!”

The redhead’s outraged cry caught Tallin’s attention and he looked up from the effort of hauling the struggling Galain along the hallway. The Demon Mage came to an abrupt halt, shock registering on his expression, as well as recognition.

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“How the hells did you get in here?” he hissed, shoving his captive into the wall and drawing his sword. “I don’t believe I sent out any invitations,” he observed, “and I don’t tolerate trespassers.”

Maggie peered around the corner and loaded her flintlock, then raised an eyebrow at Delen, “I’m not sure its worth the skin you are about to lose,” she observed to him as Vanya dug at his arms and twisted in an attempt to strike the side of his head.

Delen's dark emerald eyes sparked a bright, phosphorescent colour as Vanya began thrashing and struggling and his arms slithered under hers, his fingers locked behind her head before he hoisted the shorter, lighter woman off the ground.

"Lady, for him, I'd lay my head on a chopping block, a little skin lost to his Van’dahl is nothing... and entirely worth it."

His eyes shifted to the top of Vanyalin's head, "Vanyalin, Stop IT! You don't understand. Didn't you see his palms?" Delen had been suspecting for days what was happening to his younger cousin and knew Sehaine had as well; it had only been confirmed by Elandriil's behaviour. The eldest son of Aranduriil was becoming a creature of myth and legend, the Ildrynor Kefonn, a force of Justice, yet a tool of Nyn, a confirmation of the old history... Justice dwelled within Vengeance, and vice-versa.

"Sehaine? Get us out of here..." Delen hauled Vanyalin up even higher as her heels struck at his knees, "Orrrr, don't." Delen had turned, only to face a corridor choked with Nurus. The only path left to them now was filled, shoulder-to-shoulder with foul smelling, simple-minded, pissed off Nuru'kh-ai or currently occupied by Tallin Modar and one enRaged Silver.

"Ah, but you did invite me... by taking what is mine." Landrii's silver eyes seemed to swirl like frosted, liquid metal and the indigo rims vanished beneath the glow that left his eyes an eerie colour of white-blue, the colour of lightning as it strikes the ground, "But you've also taken more than what is mine, and once I've killed you, I'm taking Galain with me, as well as Amilyn... and there is no. One. In. Rakka Keep. That can stop me."

Maggie sucked in a startled breath, then blithely shrugged, pointed her flintlock at the forehead of one of the Nurus, and fired. The beast hit the floor like a sack of grain, leaving the others staring stunned by what appeared to be some new form of magic.

“I’d recommend putting her down and drawing your weapon,” she said calmly, “whilst they are still distracted.” The pirate woman had already drawn her cutlass, and launched herself at the enemy with an all too exuberant whoop.

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Tallin’s chest seemed to expand, eyes of ice filling with inky black as rage flashed in their depths. Confident, long strides carried him forwards, no fear evident in his expression as he bore down on the Silver. “You…” he snarled, taking the first strike, “think far to highly of yourself, runt.”

Elandriil's own elegantly curved blade swept up to meet Tallin's as the mage took the opportunity to go on the offence. The reforged sword Elandriil had named Undrehearn, the blade that had been drawn from ash and was born anew, rang with the jarring impact of a blow blocked. Frost streamed down the blade and a frigid fog rolled from the adamantine. A surge of bright white power swept in the wake of the ice and connected with Tallin's blade before coursing down into the mage's hands.

"I think very little of myself, Modar, and very highly of the goddess that guides my path." And therein lay the difference between the first time Landrii had met Modar and now. Now he was prepared to allow the power of a goddess his kind had never claimed as their own to conquer his soul and give him strength where his own had failed before.

"I come in the name of Nyn, with the power of Retribution, to take back what you've stolen."

Tallin roared in pain and let go of the hilt, the sword dropping to the floor and shattering on hard stone. He held his hands gingerly in front of himself, taking a step back, lip curled in a pained sneer. “Retribution? What power does Retribution have over the Hand of Death?” Heat seeped through the Demon Mage’s arms, drawing beads of sweat across his palms as the flesh reheated, then soared in temperature to leaping blue-black flame. “Death takes all, it is its right, there is no retribution against the ultimate end, against what needs must be.”

Roaring flame exploded from his fingertips, licking across and melting the stone floor as it raced for Landrii’s boots, “I am the right hand of Death himself, I may be staved off, but in the end… in the end, I will win. There is no other logical conclusion.”

"That's not how Nyn views it, Modar." The flames began to blow back as Elandriil walked through them. The frigid air that had surrounded his sword arm crept down and drifted over the stones, leaving the path of each footstep on solid rock while all around him the stones were growing soft and white-hot. "That's not how Justice views it. Together, they've sent many to meet your god of Death. I don't think Haldanuru would care if you were just one more they gave unto his hands. Death may be the final end, but he's rarely the tool that spills life out on the floor."

Wrath and hate poured from the very core of Elandriil's soul as he continued walking forward untouched by Tallin's magic.

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"Now you've talked about your god, let me tell you about mine." Elandriil's right palm began to glow a sickly shade of gold, "For every wound, for every bruise, for every broken bone, for every shattered piece of Vanyalin's soul, I have the right to do the same to you. It is the right of Vengeance, and if by ridding this world of you, it means I've given homage to your god as well, then I'm willing to pay the price to see you take your last breath." Shards of dancing lightning ripped through the dark flames and struck Tallin Modar directly in the chest. By the time he'd recovered from the charge of electricity, Elandriil was standing right in front of him.

***

“It’s damn cold in here,” Morgan observed as he slashed at an Nuru with his cutlass, “be a gentleman and give her your shirt Morgan… gods… men have nipples too you know. How the hell do we even know we are heading the right way?”

Tarsh shot a glance at the hulking SandShadow that held a hit of amusement, “well the more of these ugly buggers get in our way, I figure the closer we are getting,” he said casually as ice formed beneath several running beasts and sent them skittering into the wall at high speed. “I suppose we could ask one of them for directions.”

Flames flickered over slender fingers as Taim tossed Morgan a nearly insane grin, “I can warm you up, but I don’t think you’d like my way of doing it.” She eyed the Captain approvingly and her grin turned decidedly wicked, “You look good without a shirt.”

Taimië turned her attention back to the matter at hand and laughed, “two in the corner pocket…” she loved watching Tarsh work even if he was icing things over. Fire flashed from her fingertips igniting a Nuru who went screaming down a hallway. “We can always follow him.

“Why thank you,” Morgan shot back, flexing his pecs for Taim’s benefit in a jolly little dance.

“Shhh,” Tarsh waved a hand in the SandShadow’s direction, his head cocked slightly to the side as he brushed by Areq. “Do you smell that?” He sniffed softly and took another step forward, “Its,” another sniff, another step, “pheromones… I smell pheromones… young, half-Elven, ready to be shake’n’baked pheromones."

"Oh for gods' sakes." Alessen shoved Tarsh on the back of the head, "Mearta, I swear, that's YOU. And you don't look that good without a shirt on, Sloan." The dark haired Silver female sighed and rolled her eyes, "Testosterone is what I'm smelling and in large quantities."

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Taim snorted a laugh at Alessen, “Lighten up, sweetheart, if you can’t joke around what’s the point in starring death in the face in the first place?”

"No, no. He's right." Areq held up one hand and paused to sniff the air, "And perfume... there's perfume... silk... candles... Where the hell are we? Does he have a harem or something?"

Another sniff and Areq's eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together, "And... Dog. Burnt dog hair..." Dark emerald eyes slowly widened a bit, "Oh yestu... Dyrewolves... and something else... something worse. Sloan, what the hell else does he have in here?"

“What’s a dog?” the Pirate Captain asked inanely, “and how the hell do I know? Its not exactly on my list of places to holiday.” He paused, staring down the hall as something big, ugly, and definitely unfriendly lurched into view. “Oh… Gods… you know, its not so much the smell as it is the burning of my eyes. What is that thing?”

Dark eyes looked at Morgan then turned towards the hall. The forest elf took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hell hounds…” her tone of voice mirrored that of an executioner right before the blade hit home in the guillotine. She hoped to hell no one asked her later how she knew what the beasts were.

The Fire Mage looked at Tarsh with slightly startled eyes, “I’m useless, I can deflect the fire, but I can’t harm them.”

“Oh HELLS!” Tarsh exclaimed as three of the beasts loped in their direction.

“Hey,” Morgan said dryly, “I think he has hit on how they got their name. Wait… where are you going? Wait up!”

The Silver had grabbed Taim’s hand and darted to the left, running head long in the opposite direction of the baying pack. At another junction of hallways he bounced off of Areq and somehow lost the Firemage’s hand as the entire group of companions dominoed and entangled, then flew apart again, leaving Tarsh and Areq separated from the others by a slavering hound.

Alessen's eyes went wide as the beasts came into view and the others tore off running. Apparently, Sloan had grabbed her by the wrist, because she'd have never ran from scaly dogs, no matter how ugly and large they were. Then they were in a pile-up, which had Alessen cursing everyone there, their parents, friends and family as well.

"Gods damned MORONS! WHAT are you DOING!" Then she looked around... it was her and Taimië looking at the pack of hounds, which had split into two

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groups, one of which was trying to encircle Areq, Tarsh and Morgan... and the other hounds?

"Hope they don't like lightning..."

As for Areq, the Silver Captain was growling back at the hounds; he'd been knocked to his hands and knees by Tarsh as the younger Silver doubled back, screaming...

"Sonofabitch... you think you're bad, huh? I live with ERINYA DHAUNAE!" No fire breathing, sulphur-smelling dog was going to scare him... and none of his dog buddies were either, not when he had to live in the Barracks every day of his life and was bonded to the meanest, bitchiest Black female around. Gods...she was great! In a single, lurching motion, Areq shoved himself to his feet and pure, crystalline ice flowed like liquid quartz around the feet of the hounds, then swept up their bodies, leaving them encased like bugs in amber.

"HA! BITCH! How do you like that!"

Apparently not very well... within the translucent ice, fire began melting the encasement.

***

The nursery door swung open without so much as a creak and Y’Roden leaned head and shoulders into the room, emerald eyes searching the empty play area that was the central chamber. “Dagar?” The only immediate answer was an odd chirruping sound and the rustle of wings as a small Draeder divebombed the S’Hean. “Hey! Chyppe, knock that off.”

A raven-haired little girl was curled up on a bedroom window seat. A book lay open beside her, but she wasn't reading it. Instead she hugged her knees to her chest, her long hair shielding her face from view. Drysi D'Riel was a long way from being a happy little girl. Quiet and sensitive, the recent upheavals in her life had left her feeling unsettled and insecure. The joy she had felt at her father's resurrection had quickly disintegrated as she was brought crashing back down to earth. Her parents were divorced. The secure, happy little family she had known was shattered, and she didn't know what to do about it. What she wanted more than anything else was to truly believe that she was loved, yet she was afraid to ask. What if they didn't want her anymore? What if their new lives didn't include her?

Nobody ever seemed to be around anymore. B'Roden had had to go to Aerdon with their Ammah because he was sick, Addah was concerned about Rhagi because his Ammah was poorly too, even Fechine had gone away with Meghan. Everyone was so very busy, and so many were so very ill, that it was easy to feel

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just a little excluded. She could understand now why Rhagi used to say that he didn't feel as if he entirely belonged, because she felt the same way. The only person who seemed to understand was Yseult, and the raven-haired little girl found herself clinging to her more exuberant twin as if afraid of losing her too, hiding behind her and letting her more out-going sister speak for both of them.

She rubbed at her eyes and then dropped her head onto her arms. Her head ached a little and, as much as she was fond of the Silverleaf triplets, she couldn't help but feel a little glad that Beth had decided they and Cal could do with going outside for a bit. The sound of a voice brought her head up again slightly, emerald eyes peering out through a veil of raven hair. "Addah?"

The half-elf patiently removed Chyppe’s little jaws from his braid and set the Draeder down on a nearby shelf before turning to smile at his daughter. “Dagar, lil’sig.” The hue of his eyes darkened slightly as he took in Drysi’s appearance and the S’Hean moved closer, large fingers brushing the little girl’s hair back from her face as he took a seat beside her. “You look tired sweetheart, are you feeling alright?”

Drysi ducked her head, her vivid gaze dropping as she shrugged awkwardly. "Just a headache," the little girl mumbled, feeling oddly uncomfortable under her father's scrutiny. She knew how ill so many of the others were, a slight headache seemed trivial in comparison. Her fingers pleated the delicate fabric of the skirt of her green S'Hean-style dress. "Where's Rhagi?" she looked around as if expecting to see him.

“Down begging for something to eat in the kitchen, of course,” Ro answered with a slight tone of amusement. “Just a headache?” His palm brushed against her forehead, resting there for a moment, “you feel warm. Drysi, you have to tell me when you aren’t feeling well. Even if I’m not here physically, I’m just a tug away on the Web night and day, no matter what time.” He sighed and withdrew his hand, taking up her tiny one in his and giving it a gentle squeeze, “I love you, my little Raven, you and your siblings are the most precious things in the world to me.”

"I didn't want to bother people," she confessed quietly. "Everyone's so busy lately." Emerald eyes gazed up into emerald, all the uncertainty and insecurity she felt shadowing their depths. The questions that had been plaguing her for weeks hovered on the tip of her tongue, and then died unspoken. Was it worse to wonder whether you were wanted, or to have someone confirm that you weren't? The raven-haired little girl wasn't sure she could bear to find out that she didn't really belong anymore. It hurt too much to even think about it.

“You could never, ever be a bother,” Y’Roden assured his daughter, his heart twisting in guilt when her emotions reflected deep in emerald eyes. The last thing he had wanted was to hurt any of his children, but ultimately, there had been no way to avoid it. “I would lay down my life for you Drysi, you are so important to

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me, and to your Ammah. We may not be together anymore, but we both want what is best for you and your siblings. We both love you very much, we want you to be well, and happy… and Drysi, we are still a family, nothing can change that.”

The little girl dropped his gaze, her cheeks burning. She hadn't meant to be that easy to read. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I know you've had a lot on your mind and I didn't mean..." Drysi stared at their clasped hands intently. "I was so scared," she managed to say, her voice cracking, "I was so scared that you didn't want us around anymore."

“Don’t apologize sweetheart,” Y’Roden’s baritone was low, his tone comforting, “how you feel, what you think, its all very, very important to me. No matter what is going on in my life, you are more important. There will never be anything that anyone could do to make me not want you.” He leaned over, drawing his daughter into a tight hug as he kissed the top of her dark hair. “When you are scared, I’m your safe place… I always will be, remember that, ok?”

“Well that should keep you busy Addah,” Yseult’s teasing tone came from the doorway where she had been standing, listening for quite awhile, “Drysi is scared a lot.” The platinum blonde smiled at her twin and her father, quietly reassured by what she had overheard. “Is there room for me too?”

The raven-haired girl snuggled close, comforted by the strength of her father's arms. "I'm not scared a lot," she said softly, "not all the time." She looked up at her father. "I'm not."

“I know,” the half-elf smiled down at her, “you are a very, very brave girl. And of course there is room for you too,” he answered Yseult, who promptly bounded across the room and snuggled under his arm opposite her twin. “Miscreant,” he teased, “be nice to your sister.” He kissed her platinum hair and held both twins close until Yse protested with a small grunt as the breath was forced out of her.

Intrigued, Chyppe fluttered over, settling on Yseult's shoulder. A chirruping sound was heard from high up in the draperies, and a small red Draeder, clinging onto the gauzy curtains by his claws, peered down at the little group.

Drysi giggled and looked up at Phish. "He got stuck the other day and Beth had to rescue him," she said. Her expression was brighter, her smile more genuine as she held out her other hand towards her sister. "Yse is nice to me most of the time," she added. In truth, the raven-haired little girl would have been lost without her twin. They had always been together and she couldn't imagine what it would be like to be without her presence, teasing or not.

Yse took her sister’s hand and grinned brightly, then giggled as Chyppe stuck his head in her hair and nuzzled one delicately pointed ear. The little girl may have

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been more outgoing than her sister, but Drysi was a calming, stable influence in her life that she could never imagine being without.

“Well I’m glad to hear that, about Yse I mean, not Phish. Poor little beast,” Y’Roden’s dark head leaned back as he peered up at the little critter. “Why don’t we take these little beasts, find Rhagi, then spend the rest of the day out in the gardens? I think we could all do with some fresh air and a picnic. Don’t you?”

"With shrimp?" Drysi asked hopefully, who was mildly addicted to seafood. "I haven't had shrimps for ages." A statement that was possibly a slight exaggeration.

“With shrimp,” Y’Roden confirmed with an amused chuckle. He pulled both girls up with him and set them neatly on their feet. Offering a hand to each he raised an eyebrow at a highly excited Phish who flitted around their heads like a deranged bat. “Have you been feeding him sugar?” he asked, “That is the most hyperactive Draeder I’ve ever seen.”

"Toffee," his raven-haired daughter replied with a giggle, "he likes it. He chews and chews and gets all gummed up until his teeth and claws stick together." She gave her father a look of supreme innocence, and then burst out laughing as the red Draeder hit Y'Roden squarely in the face with a muffled squeak.

The S’Hean went crossed eyed, then blinked at the Draeder before suddenly sneezing. The little red critter flew across the room with a startled squawk and Ro was left blinking watery eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ow.”

Yse nearly fell in a heap of uncontrollable giggles, hanging off her father’s arm like a little dead weight that had him stumbling for a moment before he managed to regain his balance. “Come on,” she snickered, hauling at his hand, “let’s go! I want shrimp too!”

***

“Care to join me with the screaming now?” Tarsh asked, suddenly and suspiciously calm. “Wow… are they ever hot… I mean, not in that way. Can we go now?” The young Silver backed up into a doorway and twisted the handle, thanking Justice profusely as it swung inwards. He grabbed Areq by the back on the trousers and yanked him backwards, pulling the other Dragon through with him before spinning round and slamming the door shut.

“HEY!” Morgan protested, then remembered himself and simply ran through the door… and the two Silvers whilst he was at it. Coming to an abrupt halt the SandShadow stared at the woman who turned to face him. “Well hello…” the words trailed off as he spotted the tiny redhead behind her on the bed.

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Mystical smiled dangerously at the three males. "Tsk, tsk.. Didn't your mothers teach you it's not nice to enter a lady's room without invitation?" The brunette juggled a small ball of flame from hand to hand as she eyed the three before her, trying to decide who was more of a risk. Part of her mind was already reaching out to Tallin, warning him of the invasion of their home.

Daschae stepped out of the shadows behind the bed. "Apparently, daughter, they were never schooled in manners... Should we remedy that, pet?"

With that, the god of darkness shifted, a large serpent coiling around the bed, his head coming to rest at Mystical's side, reaching about to her waist and larger around than the Ali-Maera.

“Morgan,” Tarsh stage whispered, “Aren’t you forgetting somebody?”

The massive human turned his dark head slightly to the side as he backed away from the serpent… and the snake. “Uhm… oh yeah… you will pardon me, won’t you M’Lady. Pressing engagement and all.”A moment later the SandShadow was running through several walls and grabbing hold of two startled females.

“Don’t mind him,” Tarsh said with a grin, “he uh… has snake issues. Wow… you’d make a really kick-ass pair of boots. Several… pairs of boots, really.”

"Sooo, I guess this means if we say, ‘Can Ami go hang out with us for a while, and we promise to not get her drunk’, you're not going to go for it?" Areq's eyes slid to the young woman on the bed, "Of course, that line was never the truth anyway."

Alessen barely had time to yell profanities at the bolting males before she was caught around the waist by Morgan. The lightning that had been gathering in her fingers discharged at a wild angle, lanced over the rapidly thawing hell hounds, then slammed into the closed door. Wood splintered and exploded in, and the second bolt from her other hand sizzled between Areq and Tarsh to hit the serpent right between the eyes.

"Tarsh GRAB HER!" He meant Ami, but if Tarsh had the spine to grab Mystical, that was fine too.

For once in his life, the young Silver managed to run in the right direction. Before Ami could protest or even so much as twitch, the Silver had her by the wrist and hauled the tiny young woman up off the bed, tossing her over his shoulder and hoping to hells Areq had him covered as he made a mad dash for the door.

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“Whoa! Hey! Nice shot,” Morgan yelled, “you get the door prize if you can hit the Bitch too.”

Taim shoved Morgan away to stand squarely on her own feet and turned towards the door. She stared at the snake for a moment. Damn she was glad her sister wasn’t here…what was she thinking? Damn, she had to be getting soft.

“Tarsh! Move your japhing ass!” She shouted, it was Taim’s way of being concerned. Her mind raced in circles of what she could do, there were plenty of options but considering what was before them and what was behind them, not too many of them were a good idea until she caught the ‘Bitch’ as Morgan put it, playing catch.

The Fire Mage easily took control of the ball of flames in Mystical’s hands, manipulating it and keeping the Ali-Maera busy while she threw her own fire balls into the room as cover fire.

Amilyn couldn't do much, her mind was all fuzzy and she had no idea where she was. So for the moment, she was passive, despite being manhandled by total strangers.

Mystical, however, was just plain pissed now. A feral growl leapt from her throat as the flame jumped out of her control. It didn't burn her, couldn't burn her, but it did anger her. With a scowl, she pushed the flame towards the intruders, catching some of Amilyn's red hair among others with the flame.

Daschae shifted back and eyed Mysti. “I'll tail them, you go to Tallin.” The Dark God turned invisible and melted into the shadows, his eyes following his granddaughter as she lay immobile over the young Silver's back.

“I’m moving my japhing ass!” Tarsh yelled as he bolted through the door, “Oh crap! Fire! Fire! Put her out!” There was a fog of ice and glimmer of a portal and the group disappeared, just as one of the Hellhounds defrosted and leapt through after them.

Delen wasn't about to put Vanyalin down, but he couldn't hardly fight with his hands full... or could he? The Silver male shot Maggie, then Sehaine a vicious grin before his body began to twist and change form. In a matter of seconds a grotesque mix of 'elf' and Kin stood on three legs while Vanyalin was tucked back beneath one massive, scaled forearm. Behind him, a scaled tail tipped with spinal spikes lashed side-to-side and slithered snake-like across the stone floor. As the Nuru recovered from their moment of stunned silence over the change and as one rushed forward in an attempt to swarm the half-shifted Delen, lightning lanced through the air and struck first one, then another, then leaped from Nuru to Nuru. Answering thunder exploded down the corridors and shook

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the Keep, cracks racing up the walls and across the floors from the concussion, and then came the ice.

As Tallin Modar battled with the Chosen of Nyn and Justice, the Nurus were learning that while Delen had yet to be 'chosen' he was most favoured by the god of the Storm. The power of Oraex coursed through his veins hot and cold and dark emerald eyes frosted over as the Storm ripped through his soul and blood. Shards of ice formed in the air, drawn from the humid climate the Keep was situated in. Like razor sharp blades wielded by phantom hands, the crystalline blades shot downward, jerked by Whispin's own gravity, into the skulls and shoulders of Tallin's army.

Vanya twisted and struggled against the scaly arm that held her loosely at Delen’s side, finally freeing herself with a sharp buck and turn that landed her on all fours. Once, in a battle against Nuru-Kh’ai, she had cowered and wept, relying on Glory and Mak to save her. That Vanyalin was a distant memory now, lost with the sweetness of innocence. Gem-like eyes flashed behind coppery curls, and crimson scale scattered across her features, though she retained humanoid form. One moment she was there, clearly visible, the next, she was gone, Captain Morgan’s shirt fluttering empty to the floor. The only evidence of her path a line of surprised and dying Nurus.

Maggie ducked a bolt of lightning and cast a scathing look in Delen’s direction, “Hey, big and ugly, you mind watchin' where you are shootin'? I’m working here.”

Sehaine rolled her eyes, “Show off” she both sent and said aloud. Lightning crackled from her hands, diverging to slam into two Nuru-Kh’ai who jolted with the electricity before freezing where they stood.

The younger Datari looked over towards Maggie, “You might as well save your breath, he is a typical male and only listens when he wants to.”

Tallin’s eyes widened in surprise and he snarled, automatically grabbing the Silver by the neck.

“Neat trick that… pretty light displays and ice sculptures, but… have you ever wondered… just how I earned my name? Hasn’t it ever struck you as odd that the name I go by is Elvish… the very thing I hate most in the world?” Sharp nail tips dug into Elandriil’s flesh, the pinky sinking far deeper than the others, the skin surrounding it beginning to sizzle and turn black. “Think on it, most carefully my friend, what does Tallin… mean in S’Hean.”

"I know what tal'yon means in Silver," Elandriil growled out through teeth clenched against the pain and the sword of his father clattered uselessly to the floor. "It means sorry bastard." The words were choked out as the fingers of his left hand curled around Tallin's wrist while the mage's little finger continued to

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sink dangerously deep into Landrii's flesh. "And I know what tal'yhon means in Eldredae Elvish." Both words sounded similar to Tallin and the Silver felt an agonized grin peel back his lips to expose canine teeth that were growing a bit too sharp to be those of the elf he appeared to be. With a hissing grunt, the Silver Captain drove the heel of his right hand into Tallin's soft stomach, then jerked up. Whisper quiet, a silver blade had slid out, slicing through Modar's clothes and skin, then curving into the shape of a gut hook.

"It means the forgotten dead..."

An explosion down the hall rocked the floor beneath them. The second half of the rescue party had portalled in just beyond the hoard of Nuru-Kh’ai, and brought an unexpected guest along with them. The Hellhound barrelled into the dark-skinned beasts, jaws agape with flame that billowed out through their ranks, burning flesh from bone and bowling them over like dominoes as the canine careened into their midst, claws scrabbling on the slippery floor as it fought to regain control of its momentum. The dark forces turned on one another then, complete chaos breaking out in the hallway, and leaving one Tarshille Mearta wondering if Xraden himself was lurking somewhere.

“This guy really knows how to throw a party,” he observed to Morgan, then paused, “Hey, buddy… don’t EVER run through me like that again, alright? It’s going to take months of therapy to get over that.”

Tallin stared in surprise into Elandriil’s eyes, then coughed up dark blood as the hook drove deep into his flesh. The look of shock turned into a slow grin however, and his eyes slid past the Silver’s face as Mystical appeared in the hallway.

“Elandrill! Look out!” Vanya’s voice rang from somewhere down the corridor and the stones seemed to move as she darted towards the trio and the unconscious Galain Jr.

Mystical growled low in her throat at the sight of her husband's blood. A dark blade seemed to fly into her hand as she rushed the Silver. "Damned dragons... Always butting in where they aren't wanted..." Even as she spoke, Mystical was calling for her father, having him take her place in the fight so she could heal her husband. No one else would be given that responsibility.

Daschae grinned as he wielded his blades. "Let's see how your goddess likes someone of her own strength, boy. After all, Vengeance does have a bit of a darker nature..."

Galain was only now returning to consciousness, not quite having expected to be tossed against a wall and knocked out. It was rather a surprise to find himself in the middle of a spectacular battle and for a moment he just blinked before his

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addled wits sorted together enough to realize he might be able to do something useful here. He had figured the fellow facing Tallin was somehow one of the 'good guys' and that somehow a rescue was being attempted. Why else would Tallin be coughing up blood and Mystical hurrying toward his aid? Why else would... why else would... He didn't have time for more thought. This was the greatest chance his sisters might have for escape from Rakka Keep and he wouldn't have it dashed all to pieces.

The young elf staggered to his feet, knowing that neither Modar cared if he was dead or not at this point, and launched himself directly at Daschae. He had no weapons, couldn't even begin to call upon his abilities and so relied upon the strength of the element of surprise. If he got lucky maybe he'd roll up against Mystical and knock her down when he got tossed away. Just for the pure fun of it he added a wild, completely meaningless war cry of "Die! Die! Die!" as he struck Daschae, quite unaware of how often his namesake had done the same in the far past.

"Tell Haldanuru the Right Hand of Nyn said hello." Landrii growled out as Mystical lunged for them. The hook ripped upwards with ease, leaving Tallin Modar split from navel to sternum. With a near casual motion, the Silver tossed the mage to the floor and in one fluid move, his fist connected with Mystical's jaw. The force of the blow combined with her forward momentum was enough to cause the sharp crack of breaking bone to ring through the corridor.

“Vanyalin, its time to go.” Elandriil Sent the tiny elven woman, as well as the others there that could hear him, "I've got Galain, Tarsh has Ami... its time to go home."

Strong fingers caught the younger Galain at the shoulders and hauled him off the stunned man beneath him, "Delen! Get out of there, Grab Vanyalin and let's go!"

Behind Elandriil a portal was opening, and he hoped like hell the other end came out over the Lisse or the Black Shoal and not the centre of an ice floe.

Areq's dark eyes flicked to Elandriil as his brother and the elf he had a grip on vanished into nothing and the portal slammed shut with a low rumble of space and time displaced. Who knew what would have happened had Galain not acted in time, and Areq, for one, was thankful. In rapid succession the portals opened and closed, and soon, nothing was left behind of those who'd came but a little bit of blood and a whole lot of anger and frustration.

***

Cullen and his children had been moved into another set of chambers while the hole in the bathing room ceiling was fixed. It was smaller and near the back of the palace, in view of the falconry instead of the gardens, but it sufficed. The

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curtains were drawn against the harsh sun of Zenith when Cullen and Kara arrived, a word to the nurse excusing her from the room. The half-elf leaned over the double bassinet, keeping his blood and dirt smeared hands and arms well back as he listened to their steady breathing. “Sleeping sound,” he whispered, turning his head slightly to smile back at his companion. “Come here,” he nodded towards the children.

“My boy has the dark hair,” he continued, “his name is Rennon, and the downy little redhead is my daughter, Raellen.”

Straightening he took a step back to give the elf room and stripped off his shirt, using the bunched material to wipe the worst of the grime from his arms and hands as the silver locket bounced off his chest. “You know, we really didn’t have much time to get to know one another before you went to S’Hea. Do you have any children?”

Kara stepped up when asked to, keeping her arms to her side until she found time to wash. They had spent most of the time together helping the wounded, where she learned she had a natural ability that she hardly ever tapped, an art of the healing touch. But it made her weary, more drained than simply using her herbs and salve. They’d hardly had time to speak, but now they could.

"They are beautiful," she whispered softly. "Your son has your nose, your daughter has your ears and chin," glancing back in time to see Cullen pulling his shirt off, causing her to blush.

"Do I have any children? No, I've never found the right...mate to bear any children," her voice low as she turned back to stare at the children. "I've only been bedded once, by a young elf, who I've learned is now married, with children of his own. You may know him, he's called Glory."

Reaching up, she brushed her wild looking hair back, before bending down to whisper in each child’s ear. She spoke softly, her breath caused both children to smile before she stood.

"They are so...perfect. I can't believe they are yours," covering her mouth while she yawned. "Tell me you’re about to draw a hot bath, because I think we can both use one," she said, looking at her hands.

"Do you wish to bathe alone?"

“Glory? Gloraelin Alcarin?” Cullen asked in surprise, “He is the son of Princess An’Thaya, and yes, I’ve met him quite a few times. He was around quite often when King Derwin and Queen Se’Liene were still alive. He married…” the half-elf paused to think, “Catherine Rain, a pixie, they just had twins too so I hear.” He pushed aside the curtain that led to the bathing chambers, “The water draws

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itself,” he gestured towards the pool that was swirling with warm water, lily pads bumping up against the marble sides. “A S’Hean invention, the water is always fresh, Valin was kind enough to give me one of the few rooms that still has a working system. A lot of the pipes were cracked in the quake.”

Stepping into the tiled chamber he tugged at the laces of his trousers and shrugged, “I’ve yet to meet a S’Hean elf that is shy about nudity in mixed company,” he laughed, “You can join me if you like, not as if you are going to find another ready source of water, aside from the lake, for awhile.”

Kara smiled while she slowly undressed, her eyes never leaving the children. "I only knew him as Glory, but that was...ages ago. And I too am not a bit shy about my body, covered or otherwise. Argon told me one day, when I was very little, that I came into the world without clothes, so I should never shy away from being naked around others."

Kicking her clothes into a small pile, away from the bassinet, she looked down and noticed the thin film of dirt, blood and waste on her skin, leaving a clean line where her clothing had been. Following Cullen into the next room, she stopped short and stared at the pool.

"That looks so-o-o-o inviting." Slowly she stepped into the bath, feeling the warm water slapping against her skin, until she was floating on its surface, watching the lily pads swirl around her. "Well just don't stand there! Get in, because I'm not letting you touch those children until you’re squeaky clean. And be sure to scrub behind those ears of yours," laughing before going under. Coming up, Kara brushed her now wet hair away from her face, motioning Cullen in.

"Tell me...how did the two of you meet?"

Lowering himself into the water, Cullen grabbed the strawberry scented soap and started scrubbing at his forearms.

“Rhiannon and I?” he said, “Well, she is living here in Corin at the moment because she somehow offended her Goddess. One of her sons is the child of Y’Roden D’Riel, his name is Imoreki, you may have seen him around. Emerald eyes, striped hair. Anyway, since she is considered family in a way, Valin insisted that she stay here.”

He shrugged and slid deeper into the water, dunking beneath for moment before surfacing again and shoving his long dark hair back. “Rhia is the type of person that doesn’t care how sorry you are feeling for yourself, she is bound and determined to kick your arse into a better mood. We are… friends is the best term for it I guess. I lost a wife and child during the wars three years back and I’d been avoiding personal relationships for the most part. When Rhia went into heat

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and asked me to father her children… I… well, it’s a little strange to make that commitment with someone you don’t love romantically.”

He paused in the motions of bathing and stared at the callused palms of his hands. “No one will ever be able to replace Lisbeth… I loved her more than I love myself. It’s an amazing feeling that… and I miss it, I miss her… and our daughter, Hettie. I mean, Lisbeth was human, I knew she wouldn’t be with me long, but ten years?” It almost seemed as if Cullen were speaking to himself, like he had forgotten the presence of anyone else but the memories.

Kara remained floating near Cullen. All of the questions she wanted to ask, all the things she wanted to know swam from her mind, leaving her to stare at the large man before her, seeing him in a whole new light. "Yes, I remember seeing the young tiger elf around, but not her son. You know, that was a noble deed you did, giving the children's mother a chance to bear a child...two children if your counting. And I'm sure she never asked to take your first wife’s place. I know I could never do that...ask you to push your first wife aside. She must have been very...special. You honour her and your daughter by remembering them for who they were, not what they've become. You've been blessed to know what true love is all about. I wish I could find someone like that, someone that would love me enough to sire my children."

Suddenly she blushed, slipped deeper into the water. "Not that I'm asking you to sire any more children, you big lug. Now, are you going to hog all of the soap for yourself," she asked as she lunged for the soap in Cullen's hand.

"Was that the children crying," she added, hoping to distract the big elf long enough to grab the soap, without getting drowned. "Hey! If Imoreki is the children's mother's son, and she's a tiger-elf, then that means her children are too."

Resting her chin on the man's shoulder, Kara sighed. "I'm so confused."

Cullen laughed softly and turned his head to look at her, “Yes, she is Felinimura, and Ki… well, he is difficult to put a finger on. His genetics were altered somewhere along the line and he doesn’t look Felinimura at all. Mornay, he looks like his Mornay mother, Saliyah.” He dabbed a few suds onto Kara’s nose and smiled, “and if you would like the soap, just asking nicely would get it.”

Kara had to laugh. "Now where is the fun in asking," she grabbed for the bar once again, watching it fly from their grasp and skip across the water's surface like a flat stone.

"Felinimura? I've heard of that race. That would explain a few things, which reminds me. I need to keep Argon away from her, if or whenever she falls into

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heat again. He's always looking for another mate," laughing, "as if having two already wasn't enough."

Slipping away, she found the soap and started scrubbing her arms, chest, legs and face, breathing in the scent of fresh strawberries. After submerging under the water, she came back up, holding the bar out in her now clean hands.

"Is this all those children do, sleep all day? I want to hold them, to count all their fingers and toes, to smell their clean skin. I want to tell them how brave their father is, how strong, yet gentle these hands can be," she placed her hands under his, her thumb brushing his course callused palms.

"You are so lucky to hold them in these hands, feeling their every breath, their every heartbeat. Let's go see if their awake, please." Dropping the soap back into Cullen's hand she climbed up the stairs.

"I need a towel, or should we just check on them like this," chuckling softly she glanced down into the bath. "Be sure to wash behind those ears now."

The half-elf laughed and tossed Kara a towel before snagging one of his own. “I can tell you right now that they are,” he chuckled, “in fact, Raellen is currently experimenting to see if Rennon’s nose is removable.” Emerging from the bath he wrapped the towel around his waist and led the way into the outer chamber, where his daughter was indeed trying to pull off her brother’s nose.

Wrapping the offered towel around her, tucking the end in tight, Kara followed Cullen on tiptoes, her breath still in her chest. Hearing the children fussing, she stared over the bassinet and laughed softly. "I see she's already starting to learn how to get even with her brother. If you look closer you'll see that Rennon's hand is clutching a hand full of her hair. I'll take him, if you'll grab her and we'll see if we can pry them apart."

Reaching in, she carefully scooped Rennon up, cradling his neck and head in one hand, while pulling Raellen's hair from his tiny fist. "He has your strength," she chuckled as she pulled the boy up and against her chest, cradling him in the crook of her arm. "He's so warm and soft. He'll make a handsome young lad when he grows up. Are you sure he's yours. Did you see that? He smiled at me..."

Cullen laughed softly, cradling his daughter in one muscular arm, “yes, indeed I did,” he said, watching Kara thoughtfully for a moment. “You can come see them whenever you like, you know,” he offered, “I can probably use a little help with them while their mother is away.”

Kara laughed, teasing the small child’s chin with her finger, watching him as he tried to find her, his tiny yet full lips suckling, begging to be fed.

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"You'll have to beat me away with a stick. I'll be here when ever the need arises, any time of the day or night. If you wish, you can send the nurse away to help with the others, and I'll stay with them when we’re not needed to help with the healing."

Looking into the child's face, she bent her head down, kissing the boy's forehead. "Cullen...Will they become sick...like the others? I mean they are your children after all, they have your blood. And speaking of the sickness, how are you feeling? Shouldn't you be resting too? I can care for the children if you would like to close your eyes for a bit." The elf smiled into the big man's eyes, showing that she cared, that she worried about him and the children.

"Must I call Valin in here... to order you to rest? I...we'll do it you know, all three of us. You'll have to admit, your outnumbered three to one."

“They’ll be fine,” Cullen said, “they have not been tied to S’Hea. If necessary… they can leave this planet and find another home.” He smiled at his daughter as the babe latched onto his finger with one tiny hand. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me… it never has.”

***

Nildanya had watched Rakka Keep from the time the rescue party had left. Her vigil was not alone, Zys and Angaste had stayed with her, and together, they'd paced and worried. The longer they were gone, the more worried Danya had become. Then, the air seemed to split and emerald green power crackled as one portal, then another, and another, opened to dump the entire rescue party on the deck of the Lisse

"Danya!" The moment Areq's feet hit the deck, he was running, "we've got three! Not one in need of some serious healing!" The Silver Captain's eyes fell on Zys and Angaste, "You gotta get us out of here, NOW! We need a portal home for both ships!"

Zys nodded sharply and his eyes flicked to Angaste. It was time to do what they'd been brought here for, and that was a quick exit. In silence, the patterns of the stars and the wind were transferred to the mind of Angaste. It was knowledge a Navigator simply absorbed from the earth, knowledge a PortalMaster would need to get them to the point they'd begun at.

Angaste barely acknowledged him. She did not need to. She knew he would do his job, and he knew she would do hers. The air seemed to crackle around her as the petite dark-haired woman began to draw on the Ay'thryn of Whispin, the soul of the planet itself.

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The last portal to open was that which brought Delen and Vanyalin through. The redhead was still slashing and snarling, fighting Delen with every breath as though he were a Nuru himself. Crimson scale feathered and faded as she fought, and Delen was bleeding from wounds caused not only by the Nuru he'd fought, but from Vanyalin.

"Landrii! Help me! I think she's lost it, completely. Her Horizon is gone, she's completely out of control!"

Aboard the Black Shoal, Morgan was already barking out orders, bringing the sleek ship in closer to the Lisse to make things easier on the Portal Masters as Maggie shoved the Lisse's helmsman out of the way and took the wheel. The ships lurched in perilously close and it was all the first mate could do to hold her steady.

Meanwhile, Tarsh was having his own problems with Ami. She was small but hysterical, and the Silver had set her down, backing off slowly and looked to Galain Jr. for help before casting a wild-eyed look at Taimië. He was beginning to think that the real wounds here were nothing that Danya could fix.

Vanya’s mind had completely snapped, her conduit flaring open and starting to pull the fragile stars of her soul into the black vortex. The deceptive calm she had held up completely deteriorated into incomprehension and hysteria. Someone was touching her, and base instinct triggered fight or flight, so she took the only option currently available.

Galain was dazed, wounded, confused, but his focus was on his sisters and when he caught Tarshille's look he staggered away from his rescuer and nodded.

"Okay," was all he could say as he quietly shushed his sister. He would have helped Vanya too if he could, and he could only hope she might be in good hands.

"Amilyn, it's Galain, your brother," he told his sister, his head ringing and the rest of him aching. He'd sustained wounds from Daschae despite the surprise element and the world was spinning.

"Please, you cannot stay up here," Nildanya was touching Galain and Amilyn gently, "Portals this large can suck the unsuspecting right into the vortex, and there is little that can be done to bring one lost like that out the other side, please. Come." With careful movements, Nildanya slipped an arm around the hysterical Amilyn, "Shhh, you're okay now, we're going home... back to Sargasso. We'll be out of his reach in minutes, but they can't move the ships until we're below deck."

Already the sky was turning an inky, strange shade of deep black. Tongues of emerald power were beginning to appear out of nowhere and crackled here and

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there, as if the soul of Whispin itself was seeping through tears in the fabric of time and space.

As Nildanya did her best to get Amilyn and Galain below, a bloody and bruised Elandriil wrestled Vanyalin from Delen's grip. "Help me get her below deck before she hurts herself," Elandriil grunted as he grappled with Vanya and started for the steps.

Delen nodded and shot a gaze at the Black Shoal. Sehaine and Alessen had ended up there with Captain Sloan, and were apparently telling them the same thing Danya was telling Galain. A second later, he was charging down the steps below, opening the door into the Captain's quarters and helping Elandriil hold Vanyalin down on the bed.

"You've got to get your people below deck!" Alessen bellowed at the Captain and stabbed a finger at him, "NOW! Forget steering this thing, it's going to Sargasso, whether someone's at the helm or not!"

Below deck, Elandriil's fingers gripped Vanyalin's jaw and forced her thrashing head to remain as still as possible, "Van. Look at me. Look at me."

Wild, Aethyr-sparked eyes stared up at Landrii without recognition and she continued to struggle to no avail, her small form pinned effectively by the two larger males. The screaming dwindled to incomprehensible babble, tears leaking from the sides of her eyes and blood trickling from her nose and ears. Bright crimson scales waxed and waned across her flesh, two sides of her personality warring for dominance.

The conduit flared wider, and several objects in the room exploded as arcs of emerald lightning danced across the walls. The tiny redhead bucked in resistance and screamed as the collar at her throat sizzled with punishing electrical charge, calling out blinding the second time for Elandriil before emerald irises rolled back into her head, and Vanya went suddenly, frighteningly still.

Updeck Galain simply nodded his acquiescence to Nildanya, giving her a thankful smile. He was suddenly aware of how inappropriate this upper deck was for helping one sister or the other.

"Come along, Ami," he whispered to his sister. "Down decks and then we can go." His world was still spinning, but he held on.

"Merciful Justice!?" Delen's eyes were wide, "What in the name of the gods just happened? Is she breathing? Good gods!"

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Fear lanced through Elandriil, had they come this far, had he sold his soul to Nyn unaware, simply to recover her body? No... No she was alive... he knew it. He could feel it.

"She's alive..." Elandriil's fingers fumbled and tugged at the collar around her neck and profanities in Black and Silver filled the air, "It's burnt her... it's... some kind of shock collar, like I've heard people put on Lathian horses to keep then under control.... and." He finally let out a bellow and slammed his fist into the wall behind the headboard, "It won't come off."

Delen could only nod slowly and watch, "Elandriil..."

"Leave us alone." Elandriil's eyes slid shut, "Please."

The older Silver nodded again and swallowed, "Aye. If you need anything, between here and there... well." He paused, if Angaste got them right in the harbour Elandriil wouldn't have time to need anything, but the odds were she wouldn't take them that close to land and run the risk of the portal dumping them in the heart of the city or worse, leaving them half-buried in the earth then close on them, leaving them entombed partially in Whispin itself.

"Just... if you need me. I'll be here."

The door closed in near silence and Elandriil sighed, then began to strip off her clothes.

"Vanyalin, stay with me." The Silver's fingers began running along her broken and bruised form, and in the wake of his touch, damaged flesh began to heal. Dirt seemed to vanish, removed by the ability the Kin had to transmute almost any material. Soon she was clean as she could get without a real bath, and still out cold. Two fingers pressed to her throat, her pulse was weak, erratic, but there.

"Gods, what has he done to you?" Silver eyes examined her body for any more injuries as he carefully touched her, why was her pulse so weak? Her breathing so shallow? Her body was healed...

Blonde brows knitted together as he sat on the bed and his fingers stroked her cheek. The fingers on the other hand gripped the amulet at his neck, the gift she'd given him, then he blinked and looked down at it.

"Oh sweet gods on high..." With a sharp tug, the chain broke at the clasp and his eyes studied the emerald colored stone, "A fragment... you gave me a fragment of your soul and I didn't even know it."

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The stone had grown dull, its colour leeched away... and Vanyalin's breathing began to slow. Silver eyes squeezed shut and his hands began to shake, Tallin Modar couldn't have her, and neither could Death. With a deep breath and without a second thought, Elandriil pressed his forehead to hers... and let his soul follow the residual paths of the temporary bond they'd dabbled with that afternoon that seemed so long ago.

There was nothing that could have prepared the Silver for what would happen next....

Meanwhile, above decks, Maggie had got the message and abandoned the wheel, which caused the ship to lurch and the Pirate Wench to struggle across the deck to the hatch. Had she not been use to the pitch and sway of a ship, the redhead likely would have been tossed overboard. The last one below decks, she let her boots slide down the sides of the ladder, then caught the top rail and grabbed the rope, fighting with it to close the trap, lest they all be sucked out in the vacuum like force.

“Gods be damned!” she yelled, “Could ye have waited 'til we was below to start up the vortex from hell?”

Maggie’s brother wasn’t fairing much better, though he had a nice soft landing atop two Silver females when they all tumbled into his cabin. “Ah,” he said calmly as the door slammed shut, “this be the life, aye lasses?”

In the silence within Vanya’s personal storm, silver threads dangled within her reach, teasingly close and beckoning to take hold. There lay life… there shone love. Terrified and aware that she was sliding perilously close to the vortex within her soul, Vanya hesitated. Which was her greater fear? Death? Or loving too deeply and losing Elandriil…

Either way she could lose him, but death was the definite end to what they had found. She couldn’t leave him, so therefore… Van had only one option.

Emerald green tendrils latched on to Silver and held there, twisting in the buffeting storm as her soul tried to fall apart. Yet the silvery strands held fast, anchoring the half-elf’s core within the rain of softly glowing stars.

Amilyn's screaming slowed down as she recognized Galain's presence. He'd tried to shield her from the hells she'd been through. He and Vanya were likely the only ones present who could even begin to get through to her. Slowly, the screams subsided to sobs as she found herself below decks. And then she was sitting on the floor, her head on her knees as she cried.

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When there were no more tears, she looked up at her brother. "Galain? Can you find me a dagger?" Her eyes were calm, her voice quiet. She had something she needed to do before she could really believe herself free.

The black gaping vortex yawned open above the ships that surged as if on a storm-tossed sea. Waves crashed, the ocean itself being sucked towards the portal opened by the Eheiling Narhn. Buffeted both above and below, their timbers creaked ominously and then began to lift, spinning above the waves in a slow circle before being sucked through.

Moments later the portal opened and they were through, in the span of three breaths and intact... somewhere out on the Whispin sea. The air slowly grew warmer, more humid than before. They were close to home.

***

An’Thaya had known the moment Vanyalin and Amilyn had set foot back in the palace, but it had taken her awhile to make her way down to the chambers several floors below where the party had portalled in. Illness compiled by pregnancy was slowing her down, even with Callan right there to draw on. By the time they made it to the partially open doorway, they found Y’Roden already there, patiently working on the collar around Vanya’s neck. It seemed he had already freed Amilyn from hers, and as the Amazon came through the doorway, the second collar slid free.

The heavy S’Hean straightened and tossed the cold implement onto the bed then turned to look at An’Thaya. There was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite read, though he was looking at Callan, not her, but she was pretty sure her brother was warning her husband to brace for something.

“What is it?” she asked, automatically reaching for Ami and drawing her close, or as close as she could manage around her growing belly, fingers twining in the girl's now shorn curls. “They look fine… what’s wrong?” Her eyes darted to Elandriil; questioning, and only then realizing there was another presence in the room. “What?”

Amilyn leaned into her mother, breathing the scent of the jungle from the curls that matched her own. "Ammah, we have someone for you to meet..." Her hand reached out to Galain, pulling herself further from her mother and standing side by side with her elder brother. She was intent on hiding the scars on her back for the moment, the glamour drawing on her sapping strength, but necessary for her own sanity.

The Amazon’s expression went completely blank and her face, already pale, lost what remained of its colour. It was like looking into her own eyes in Galain’s face… almost. Her thoughts tumbled all over one another, none making sense,

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and there was an odd buzzing in her ears. The redhead’s lips parted, but all the sound she managed to make was a strangled intake of air before her knees went out from under her.

Amilyn cried out, "Ammah!" and then she was silent, tears beginning to fall from her emerald eyes. The emotional stress of what she'd been through was starting to show.

Galain gave his sister an uncertain look and then he moved quickly, catching his mother before she fell to the floor.

"It's all right... Ammah..." he whispered to her. "Are you all right?" He threw Y'Roden a wild-eyed look and then looked up toward Callan.

Massive hands had caught Tay as well, and the Emperor found himself in an awkward, stooped position, staring eye to eye with someone who was calling An'Thaya Ammah. So, this person had been the cause of the 'look'.

Tay's confused disbelief was coherent enough for him to pick out the memory, and it was one that left him hating Tallin Modar even more than he'd thought possible until this moment.

"You..." there was a pause, "look like your father." His words were an echo of Tay's rioting thoughts. He looked so much like Galain, yet the set of the mouth was different... the arch of the brow... those...

Those were Tay's. And he looked very much like a child Callan had met in the Well... Tysane.

Galain was utterly still, pinned by Callan's expression. He colored deeply, his eyes shifting to his mother's when he felt her touch.

The expression on An’Thaya’s face was almost quizzical as she reached up, hesitantly touching the face of a young elf she had never seen before, yet knew from the depths of her soul. It was impossible… surreal, yet there could be no doubt, this was her son… Galain’s son…but how?

She knew, if she turned and looked deep into her past, if she overturned that stone under which lay the memory she tried to keep dead and buried. The child she had lost, her Tysane… had not been alone. How they had missed the second child growing in her womb, An’Thaya would never know. Perhaps it was the sheer giddiness of those days, the freedom and adrenaline of having defied the Gods and won, of reclaiming a relationship thought six hundred years buried. It was easy to miss things when your vision was clouded by love, or panic. And in

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those last months before her miscarriage of Tysane, Tay had been panicked in a way she’d never experienced before.

The world stopped spinning. Callan was there, solid and anchoring, keeping her sane, keeping her breathing, his voice putting order to her chaotic mind. Her eyes dropped to the collar around her son’s neck, and it all clicked into place. Where he had been, what he must have suffered… and they had left him behind… by the living Gods… they had left their son behind.

Somehow she found the strength to move, or maybe Callan anticipated her and moved her, at the moment, she couldn’t tell one from another. Her arms were around her son’s neck and emerald eyes were shining with tears that dampened golden curls. “Oh my gods,” her voice was a strained whisper, “I am so sorry… y’ceren…” How could she explain? How could she tell him she hadn’t known, how could she express how much she loved him, unbreakably within the few moments she had known of his existence?

“He knows Ammah,” Vanyalin said softly, “he knows you would never have left him behind, had you known. Neither of you would have.”

"And he helped keep us safe, Ammah. He tried to shield us from Tallin and..." Ami couldn't even bring herself to say Mystical's name, choking on the very taste of the thought. Without support, the petite Amazon had stepped back towards the wall, until she had been able to slide down the cool stone, sitting on the floor with her arms around her knees. The captivity and the sickness were taking their toll on Ami.

There were tears now in the younger Galain's eyes as he fell into his mother's embrace. This was all he'd ever wanted, he was sure of it. To know that he really had been, would have been, would be loved.

"You didn't know -- neither of you. How could you know?" he said in a broken whisper.

“Of course he did,” An’Thaya said to Ami, though she was drawing back to look at her son, “because no matter what Tallin did to him, his spirit was too strong to break.” She smiled, an expression full of wonder and the indescribable love of a mother for their child. “He is the son of Galain Alcarin and An’Thaya D’Riel, he couldn’t help but be any other way than amazing.”

Her eyes dropped to the collar at his neck and her eyes darkened, “Y’Roden,” her tone was hard, her seeming unending source of strength returning with a vengeance, “get this atrocity off of my son.”

As Y'Roden began working on the collar around the young elf's neck, Callan's eyes slid to a very tattered looking Vanyalin and the Silver shadowing her...

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Elandriil. Both were bruised and battered, torn and broken, hurting.... yet not. The look deep in Elandriil's eyes was something Callan was very familiar with and that look explained much.

"Tay..." he nodded at Vanyalin, "I know that look... unless I'm wrong... he's keeping her alive."

The Amazon’s eyes drifted from her newfound son to her daughter. “I know,” she whispered through their soul, “and just barely.” Tay could feel her daughter’s soul crumbling, sense what must have been Elandriil struggling to shore it up as it fell to pieces. It hadn’t bee that long ago that Callan had done the same for her, but Mira had been involved. Vanyalin and Landrii needed a soul healer, and soon.

“There we go,” Y’Roden’s voice intruded on her thoughts and there was an audible click as the collar fell away. “I bet that feels a lot better,” he said to Galain.

He felt at his throat and gave Y'Roden, his mother and Callan a wondering glance. He'd worn the thing for what seemed ages now. But he didn't have time to exult over his newfound freedom. One glance Vanya's way and he knew they needed to have her attended to and immediately.

"Thank you," he said to Y'Roden before gathering up the thing that had fettered him for so long. He stared at it, wondering. And then he edged away. "My sister needs help."

"Hai." Callan answered slowly, "She does," His topaz eyes met Landrii's, "But there's no one here on Whispin that can offer her the help she needs." One massive hand scrubbed at his mouth, "She needs Mira." He shifted his gaze to Vanyalin, "You need a SoulHealer."

Vanya looked at her stepfather blankly for a moment, one hand pushing coppery red curls away from her face. “I want to see Addah first,” she said, “you know you have to send for him Ammah.”

An’Thaya nodded without argument. Galain deserved to know his daughter was alive, if not well, and… gods, how was she going to tell him about their son? “I’ll send Mena to get him,” she answered, her voice filled with weariness. “Y’Roden? Can you take Amilyn to her chambers please?”

The large half-elf nodded and bent to coax his niece up from the floor, he didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when Galain arrived anyway. Finally lifting the tiny redhead into his arms he nodded to the others, then vacated the room.

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The Amazon watched him go and sighed deeply… she was all at once happy and dreading what was coming next… it was going to be a long day.

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Chapter 6

The hallways of the Palace at Alcarinque always seemed… surreal to Mena. Everything was so… perfect and white, and the Elen went about their daily activities like long forgotten ghosts. She loved it there though, especially the rose gardens and the beautiful elves themselves, no matter how lost in the past they seemed. They were part of her, half of her heritage, a clean white reflection of an ancient people.

Her boots echoed loudly on the stone floors, preceding her footsteps as she approached her father’s chambers. Mena was unsure of his mood, with Ghet in stasis and so many sick, it was hard to judge how Galain would react to things from one moment to the next. But, no matter what, he was her father, and she loved him more than anything. Drawing a steadying breath, the strawberry blonde knocked softly on the door, “Father? It’s me, Menelanna.”

Galain was buried in the depths of the apartments he and Ghetsuhm shared, staring at a blank canvas. Not a servant was in sight and that was as it should be. Sharp hearing caught the knock and the muffled voice of his daughter and he tossed everything down and made his way from the sunny room he used, through the bed chamber, past a waiting, and onward through into his office and then the main door. He swung the door wide open and stood still, regarding Mena, before he stepped back, beckoning her in.

"Hello you," he said quietly, glad to see her.

“Hello Daddy,” Mena smiled and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek as she stepped into the room. “How are you holding up? I’d ask how you are, but giving the circumstances, that would be a bit silly of me.”

"Not silly, but damned considerate," Galain replied mildly. "As for holding up..." His shoulders sagged and for a moment he nearly dissolved right there, but he caught himself and offered Mena a watery smile. "I have never prayed so much nor so hard and I don't even have anyone to pray to." He went quiet and then offered a hand to his daughter.

"What brings you here, daughter?" he asked.

Mena’s sea-green eyes were warm with love and concern as she watched the changes in her father and she gave his hand a firm squeeze, saying so much in that little gesture that words could never convey. Then he asked the question, and her mind raced around in little circles for a minute as she tried to work out exactly what to say. She didn’t feel it was her place to tell him, that was her mother’s right.

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“Addah,” she said softly, “Ammah wants to see you,” there was a slight hesitation as she caught his eyes with a questioning gaze, “she wants you to come to Nenlante.”

Galain froze and stared uncertainly at Mena. There were few reasons to go to Nenlante and he had one specific request for his next visit there, so his mind raced about as he tried to frame the simple word:

"Why?" but it seemed his daughter couldn't or wouldn't answer him. Then he dropped his gaze and forced his mind to calm down. "Okay. She wants me to come, so I will."

It was weird to think it was that simple.

Mena gave him a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry Daddy, it's nothing really bad.” Thank the Gods for that; she wasn’t sure her father could take much more bad news. “But it is important.” She hugged him impulsively, a little of her excitement shining through. “Are you ready? Anything you need to do before we go?”

"Really?" Galain was mystified and gave his daughter a puzzled look. Of course these days bad news was all-relative. "It's not really bad, but it's important..." He ran a hand through his hair and immediately regretted it. A smear of cerulean now mixed with his golden locks. He looked upward and sighed.

"Let me straighten up a little, okay?" he said before he turned around, located the nearest washstand and dumped cold water over his head. He shivered, scrunched his hands through his hair and then turned back around, shaking his head. "Aarien'll be all right. She's with Linna. It's supposed to be naptime." Then he regarded his daughter again and was again mystified by her excitement. Had a cure been found? Was An'Thaya improving? He discarded each question as they popped up and put his hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"Let's go," he said.

Mena took her father’s hand as she opened the portal to Nenlante, lending him her support and unconditional love. The young elf knew how difficult this must be for him and fully intended to be his rock if need be.

Then they were stepping through the vortex… and were gone.

***

An’Thaya was surprisingly calm, her small frame relaxed as she stood looking out the balcony doors at the slightly frosted scenery beyond them. The Amazon hadn’t spoken directly to Galain Alcarin in a very long time. She still winced

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internally when she thought back and envisioned the look on his face when he realized that she had been with Callan, and more than just the once. Her anger and resentment had been over the top, emotion exploding from deep within her soul that had been bottled for way too long.

He had loved Ghetsuhm more… and Tay's life had been strangely empty for a very long time, despite all of the people in it. Callan had revealed a path to her that was completely different from any she had known before. The door to a relationship filled with passion and fidelity, a chance to be so deeply a part of someone else that the beginnings and endings of self were blurred… though not lost. She had thrown herself into him without looking back, instinctively knowing it was right.

She had done something that until that moment; she had thought herself incapable of. She had hurt Galain, and turned her back on their relationship… forever. Giving in to what she had known somehow from the moment she had first lay eyes on Callan Blackthorn, that the intensity between them wasn’t hate, it was something far more complicated and in the end, completely irresistible.

Now she found herself in an odd situation. Filled with joy at the discovery of a son she had never known existed, and at the same tame… feeling extreme trepidation at the thought of coming face to face with his father.

Turning her head she smiled a little shakily at Callan. He knew every thought, every emotion; there were no secrets here. She could feel Vanyalin’s presence in the room, sense her exhaustion threaded with quiet anticipation. Like all of her siblings, she loved her father very much.

The glimmer of the portal splashed emerald light across the floor, and An’Thaya turned to face it, calm, steady, and so unsure of the right words.

Galain followed his daughter out, looking dishevelled and anxious. They hadn’t spoken when they met eyes at Melaina’s death so it had to have been… well… a while since they’d last spoken or even faced each other one on one. And here they all were… Callan and An’Thaya, he lowered his shields just a little and sensed, and then saw Vanya. Relief leaped in his heart. This? Yes?

“She won’t tell me a thing,” he said suddenly, tweaking Mena’s ear gently before he managed a smile at the couple before him. He desperately hoped it wasn’t a twisted grimace.

Elandriil managed a respectful nod and a ragged smile, but said nothing. He was exhausted, every breath a fight to keep he and Vanyalin from sliding off into that awful nothing at the core of her soul. Soon they would find Mira; soon he hoped the SoulHealer could shore Vanyalin's soul up enough that she wouldn't need him.

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An’Thaya’s smile was genuine, brought on by the safe return of their daughter… and the surprise she had in store.

“Galain,” she said softly in greeting, then went silent as she collected her thoughts for a moment. “Well, to begin, as you can see… Vanyalin made it safely back to us. Thanks to Elandriil and his family… as well as a few others.” She glanced across at the couple, then moved forward to take her ex-husband’s hands in hers and give his fingers a gentle squeeze. “But I have something more to tell you.”

The redhead pursed her lips and stared down at their hands for a moment. “Or, maybe it's just best that I show you… since I can’t seem to find the words.” She looked to Mena, “could you go get him?”

The strawberry blonde nodded and ran to a door leading to the adjoining chamber and disappeared through it, her voice barely heard from the other side as she urged the other elf to come out.

Galain was... what could he do or say when his ex-wife came forward like this and held his hands, speaking so gently and yet in circles? He was still staring at their joined hands, utterly startled and even more mystified by the moment. What in the worlds was going on?

It was when the younger Galain finally emerged that Galain himself simply froze. His eyes went wide and his jaw fell open. The resemblance hit him immediately although he stared in the emerald of An'Thaya's eyes.

"What..." he paused and stared at her, confused. Then he stared back at what had to absolutely be his son. But by the gods and all that... well all that was holy and unholy, he was absolutely confused.

“Unsettling, isn’t it?” she asked, slightly amused. Turning her head she smiled at her son, “Come meet your namesake Galain,” she said to him, “this is Galain Alcarin… Senior, your father.”

The younger elf stepped forward, transfixed by the scene before him. He knew they were no longer together, but to be presented like this... he gave his sire a look filled with trepidation, and yet he was thrilled.

Galain was still transfixed. It took him a few moments to find his voice. His what?! Eventually his jaw clicked shut and he focused first on the boy approaching them.

"Hello," he said finally. "Hello..." his voice trailed off and he tilted his head to one side. "Son." Before anyone could say anything else he kissed An'Thaya's

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knuckles and then broke one hand free to beckon to the boy. His mind was reeling and when his son joined them he nearly went to his knees.

"Oh my gods..." the Elen prince gasped, hugging his son close with one arm. "Oh my gods, how?"

An’Thaya nearly lost her composure again. No matter how much had gone wrong, how much hurt there was between them, it still touched her deeply to see Galain moved the way he was. They had shared too much love, too deep a connection for her not to care, on some level. It was oddly comforting to know that before she died… she could give something to him that wasn't pain.

She swallowed hard then, and managed to say a name she rarely said aloud, though it came out as a barely audible whisper. “Tysane.”

Galain gave An'Thaya one stricken look as that name and the existence of this unexpected child drove home. Their daughter... so much just a dashed hope and mangled dream for ages now. Their first child purely together -- he stopped right there. He stared hard into his son's eyes and then just went still, gazing. The younger Galain met his gaze and felt... odd. It was disconcerting to stare into a close resemblance of one's own face and realize this was one's father.

"Surprise?" he said, half-heartedly. At that his father let a laugh escape.

"Nice," he said slowly, then embraced his son more fully.

“Galain,” Tay said softly, smirking a little when both elves looked at her at once. “I mean the old one,” she teased, then sobered quickly, “Galain… you have to take him home with you, to Alcarinque. He can’t stay here… not now.” Her emerald gems darkened, an almost pleading looking them. She had lost Tysane; there was no way she was going to risk losing Galain Jr. Even her younger children were falling ill now… but this one, this one would live, if he stayed off of S’Hean soil.

Galain, the older one, blushed a bit and ducked his head, unconsciously mirroring his son. He'd simply had no idea and it was still hitting him. He gave An'Thaya a quick look and then glanced at their son. He was aware of their children's sickness and that had added to his grief. His wife was in stasis, his children with An'Thaya were becoming desperately sick and now here was a son they'd never known. He gave his ex-wife a solemn look.

"I will," he said. And then his heart stopped and he cupped An'Thaya's face. "I will," he said speaking beyond those words.

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For a moment, Tay couldn’t speak, and she simply nodded into Galain’s hands, a familiar but oddly surreal sensation. A single tear escaped, running beneath the Elen’s palm and the Amazon drew a shuddering breath. “Tyrel,” she managed to say, “his given name… yes?”

"Tyrel," he said, finding the name hugely right and correct. He glanced from An'Thaya to their son who was staring right back, realizing he was receiving the name he should have had at birth.

"Tyrel." It was said at once by both father and son.

"I'll take him home," Galain said, stirring a little. An'Thaya was still dying, Callan was still standing there, his own wife was in stasis and... The land was still sick. He himself felt a gnawing nausea and sickness that left him wakeful, aching and more most times.

But Tyrel.

"Tyrel," he said again, aloud. He turned wondering eyes upon the younger Galain, again utterly amazed.

Callan himself had remained completely silent, little more than a presence in the room, but from time to time during the interaction, a gentle smile would cross his features... the reflection of Tay's joy. His own gaze had met Galain's before the elf prince had turned his own eyes upon his son and there had been a quiet understanding there.

Soon. Not today, but soon.

Today was a day for greetings, not goodbyes.

An’Thaya settled, seemingly satisfied, and she reached up to brush small fingers through her son’s hair. “You will love it in Alcarinque,” she said softly, “it's beautiful, clean, white and splashed with colour.” Lifting up slightly on tiptoes she kissed his cheek, “Calima Almare y’ceren.”

Stepping back she looked to the Elen Prince for a moment, a rueful smile on her face. Callan and Galain would meet face to face again, but An’Thaya wouldn’t be seeing him again. This she was sure of. “Goodbye, Galain.”

Tay looked to Callan then, slipping her hand into his. She couldn’t watch her son leave, she couldn’t say the word goodbye to him, so she didn’t.

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Tyrel, Galain, he'd have a bit to get used to the name. But he liked it. He kissed his mother back and felt his heart jolt. He had to leave so quickly?

And Galain himself?

"Goodbye, An'Thaya," was all he could say. And it was odd because there was so much he could have and would have said in another place and in other circumstances. He could only look deeply into those emerald green eyes of her and recall a near lifetime before he withdrew and abruptly formed a portal on his own. It had ended too fast and hard and he couldn't stand what the near future so rudely held.

Goodbye and thank you, he thought silently as the portal formed and he and his newfound son slowly stepped through and away.

***

The knotted feeling in the pit of her stomach Khai’Laya always felt when faced with returning home made its discomforting arrival and the redhead paused at the top of the rise that revealed the city of the Surging Souls.

The group of odd people she was traveling with had been fascinating to watch over the week it had taken to arrive here. The human and the dark haired Elven woman especially, she claimed to hate the man, but any woman worth her salt could see the love in the depths of steel grey eyes. During the passing days, Khai had picked up the language known as ‘common’ with amazing speed, but hadn’t spoken much to the others. Neither had she spoke much, if at all, with the Danna-Riel rangers that made up her company. Khai was a lone wolf, and she preferred it that way.

Coming through the wards had been easy enough, one Ranger had been assigned to each of the strangers, keeping physical contact as they traversed the deadly force field until they were all safely on the other side, and now… here they were. On the fringes of the ancient Elven civilization.

Imoreki hauled himself up the hill and came to a halt next to who he now thought of as a very distant cousin. The differences between Danna-Riel and S’Hea were immediately apparent. No airships dotted the sky, no grand palace shimmered by the waterfalls, and there wasn’t a dark head to be seen.

Small, elegant gondolas cut paths across the emerald green waters and elaborate pulley systems led into the wide limbed trees that surrounded the lake and bowed out over the waterfalls. Homes made of woven, living wood blended in so cleverly one wouldn’t know they were there unless they were pointedly searching for signs of it. It was all completely in harmony with nature, and Ki was left filled with awe and wonder. He was a creature of living earth and plant life,

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and too see a place in which nothing had been harmed for the building of it left him speechless. S’Hea was a marvel, but Danna-Riel was miraculous.

Stepping up next to Imoreki, a bit out of breath, Jack looked out across the waters and whistled. "I know I've asked you this question before, but I feel the need to ask it again. Are we there yet? And why does she keep staring at me like that," nodding his head towards the red headed goddess that reminded him of someone, but he couldn't remember who.

"Maybe it’s the hand? Chicks dig the hand you know."

"No, we just pretend to." Helena deadpanned, coming alongside her lover and Jack. The sight of the Danna-Riels’ city was awesome, and Helena was curious as to how it was constructed and worked. It was beautiful.

Meylor rolled her eyes, but other wise kept her comments to herself…for the moment as she stepped up on the other side of Helena. “Beautiful…” she whispered. It had taken some time to get use to trees, greenery, and worlds that didn’t consist of smog-laden streets of zipping hovercraft and graffiti filled walls. Growing up she had learned the hard way that her father’s land had been bought with blood and she had thought the shrubbery there had been wonderful.

The Danna-Riels’ city was out of her childish daydreams when she was living in mould-infested tunnels.

Jack had to grin. "Oh come on! You know you want to touch it," as he held his steel hand up. "It won't bite, I promise," winking at Meylor. "It's nothing more then a simple piece of steel, formed to look like any normal looking hand, see," as he pulled his shirtsleeve back, showing where the steel stopped and flesh began.

"The only true draw back is the damn thing seems to weigh a ton when it hits water. Which reminds me..." as he stepped over, throwing an arm around Meylor's shoulder, "thank you for saving me back there at the lake. If we hadn't shared our breath, I would have drowned for sure. Someday I'm going to learn how to swim with this...anchor by my side," he held his hand up again and flexed it.

"Does steel rust?"

. It was all Roc could do to keep from an outright guffaw over it as he choked down his sniggering. The dense human hadn’t given a moment’s thought on how it was he was being carried along for so far; he had been sinking fast when Roc grabbed him. The S’Hean’s mirth turned to awestruck wonder as he beheld the city of the Danna-Riel though.

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Such intricate balance and harmony took his breath away. With their wards still in place the sickly feeling was not as noticeable as it might have been. It was truly lamentable that S’Hea was dying and it made his heart ache thinking of it, but that the blight on their precious planet would rob all life of this place was totally abhorrent to think on. It made the young prince wonder if they would allow him to come here to learn all about his distant cousins. That was if there was anything left of life on Whispin soon.

Meylor crossed her arms, and scowled at Jack, surprisingly enough though, she didn’t shrug his arm off of her shoulders. “It wasn’t me. Try another guess…and the reason why it hasn’t rusted is because it has that dreadful thing you hate in it…magic.” The break-law stated the word like someone would proclaim the world’s doom and flashed a grin.

“Oh my Gods,” Ki laughed, grinning at Y’Roce. He knew full well where his mother had been, and whom she had been helping. That only left one possible person. “Anything to save a life huh? I would have let him drown.” Sometimes, Imoreki was very much his father’s son.

Khai seemed to ignore the others as she started down the hill, readjusting the bow on her back as it slid forwards. She hadn’t seen her father in some months, and whilst she loved him, sometimes theirs was not the easiest relationship.

Looking up from his hand, Jack stared at Meylor, his eyes growing narrow. "I wish you wouldn't smile like that when you mention magic around me. But if you didn't save me, then who did?" That's when he heard Ki. Blinking like a frog in a hailstorm, he turned back to look into Meylor's eyes, noticing that she still kept her smile. Or was it an evil smirk now?

"He's not saying what I think he's saying...is he? I didn't share breath with Y’Roce, did I? I mean he's a guy. Guys don't do that...do they? You're all are just pulling my leg...right?"

Roc could not stand it any longer when he saw the look on Jack’s face, it was priceless. Erupting into a full long belly laugh, Y’Roce was nodding to the human confirming his suspicions while tears from pure hard laughter ran down his face. It seemed in a way sacrilegious to be laughing in this wonder of all cities and in the presence of one as solitary as Khai appeared to be, but it was simply impossible for the S’Hean to contain himself.

Rhiannon had kept mostly silent during their trek to the city, focusing most of her attention on the welfare of the twins. It was not that she did not trust Cullen to care for them, but more the profound love all Felinumeara felt for their children. Parental protectiveness was a strong emotion in all Felinumeara. Blending and entwining with love and an extreme sense of responsibility the feline elves of the Kelvarian Jungle kept tabs on their fei through parental bonds for at least the first hundred years of their lives.

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Every now and then though, the red head would glance over at Ki, feeling that somehow she had failed to do right by him and her appearance in his life was too late. It was all she could do to keep regrets of the past and concerns of the present from breaking her completely. Fortunately for her, Lorn always knew when she needed a pep talk and it was his gentle tone within her mind through the Neuth’Aer bond they shared that helped sooth worries and fears, helping Rhiannon stay focused on the matter at hand.

Coming up to stand beside Y'Roce, cat green eyes beheld the breathtaking city before her and Rhiannon could not help but feel a sense of wonder in the midst of all her worries. It was one of the most glorious sights the Felinumeara female had ever beheld. However, that sense of complete awe was dampened down a bit by the fact she could not share the beauty of the city with Cullen or their children.

Looping her arm around his waist, Meylor encouraged Jack down the hill, “Don’t dwell on it. I don’t have enough lung volume and someone had to keep you alive, Laurel needs her father. I’m sure when she finds out, she’ll thank you Y’Roce, me on the other hand? I may end up beating you to a bloody pulp at some point…Our guide is leaving us.”

Y’Roce sniggered and gave Meylor a ‘you can’t be serious’ look before shrugging it off, knowing somehow that had to be Meylor’s way of thanking him. Extending an arm out to Rhiannon in a gentlemanly fashion Y’Roce nodded to her. “May I have the privilege of escorting you the rest of the way into the city?” He smiled warmly at her sensing, she had things weighing on her mind that he could not help her with, so he did what he could to alleviate things a little.

Taking the prince’s arm Rhiannon smiled at him thankfully, then spoke in low tones so the others could not hear her. “I would greatly appreciate it if you would stay close to me, Roc, as I feel more out of place here than back at Corin.”

After taking a deep breath to steady herself for this new adventure into an unknown culture, or at least she considered it to be, the feisty Felinumeara added, “Besides I’m sure to need a translator if I’m to understand anything that is going on, as I am a consummate busy body and control freak.” With a sidelong glance the red head winked, then squeezed Y'Roce's arm affectionately. She was more thankful than she could say for his presence, as he was the only member of their party she felt completely comfortable with.

Jack sighed as he felt Meylor's arm around him, falling into step with her as she led him away. She was right after all, that it was something that was done to save a life, his life, and he would have done the same if the need arose again, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He was also going to stick close to her like glue.

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"You know, you could have just lied to me," he laughed softly, "and when you start to beat up on Y’Roce...can I watch? I'm always on the receiving end when you're beating on someone."

Pulling Meylor closer, he took another deep sigh. "And our daughter doesn’t need to know what Y’Roce did for me. The important thing is I'm still here. I have enough trouble trying to tell her about the birds and the bees...Oh gee; we're not having to swim across this lake are we? We're taking a boat across...right?"

As for Dante', the war-eagle had rode through the wards on the shoulders of a blonde elf, and had anyone seen it who'd been alive on Aerdon more than ten thousand years ago, the scene was eerily familiar. The war-eagles had been forced to serve the Nahmenrae, the elite rangers of the Eldredae. The haunting moment passed once the wards had fallen back into place, and Dante' had took to the air once more, only this time his feathered form began to shift mid-flight, then booted feet had settled on the ground and beside Khai stood a fully formed Man.

"This place is indeed beautiful..." A memory embedded deep in his genetics tugged at his thoughts, and finally, brown eyes shot with gold shifted to the strange female with emerald eyes, "Like the Ruauldnahm... long before the war."

Khai shot a startled glance at the WarEagle, eyeing him assessingly in human form. “The what?” she asked, frowning as they came to a halt near the shoreline. The sleek gondolas bobbed in the shallow water like glittering tubes of glass, the substance they were made from difficult to identify. She gestured for the others to get into the boats, then gave into her rampant curiosity and looked back to Dante. “What is a Ruauldnahm?”

***

“Ow.” Came from beneath the table where Yseult had crawled to retrieve her favourite toy, only to whack her head on the leg. The platinum blonde rocked back, landing hard on her behind and holding her forehead. “I can’t reach it,” she complained, “where’s Beth? The table will have to be moved.” She kicked the table leg petulantly and fell over onto her back. “Is it red?” she asked her siblings, moving the hand so they could see.

"Yep," Rhagi said cheerfully, "and I think it's going to swell up too. I'm sure we can move the table ourselves if we all try." Despite the constant dull pain in his head and body, he was in a very good mood. He'd been worried about his sisters and how they were dealing with their parents' split, and he felt more than a bit guilty that Ro had spent so much time with him lately. He was still a bit worried about Drysi, and there were an awful lot of things that he didn't understand. It was, as it had always been, very hard to be sad around Yseult.

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"We could put ice on it," Drysi observed, the top of her head just visible above the book she was reading, "that can make the swelling go down. I watched Beth do that once with B'Roden when he'd fallen over splashing about in the fountain." The raven-haired little girl could still be unusually quiet even for her. Her Addah's words had been reassuring, easing the hurt confusion, but she was by nature an observant child and knew that even now things were still not 'right' within the palace. So many people seemed to be sick, and her own head still ached. "Would Chyppe get the toy, do you think?" she suggested, looking around for the purple Draeder.

Yse paused to think for a moment, after giving Rhagi a long suffering look, then she whistled for Chyppe, and in the process made the throbbing in her head worse. “I’m not sure Chyppe is that smart,” she said, “but we can try.”

The little Draeder landed on the floor at the top of Yse’s head and craned his neck over to look her in the eye. “Chirp?”

The little girl laughed and sat up, picking up her little companion and setting him near the table. “Can you get my Rune Ball?” She asked, pointing towards it. Chyppe gave her a blank look and chirped in reply.

After several more attempts she sighed and looked at Rhagi, “Well… that didn’t work so well. I’m not so sure the two of us can move the table though. Maybe we should get some of the others to help?”

Cassey giggled, “They usually get smarter as they get older. I’ll help though, I’m not sure we can get those three to help…” as if on queue there was a shout and the contents of a child sized book case toppled over. The books were moving so it appeared that Kegan was safe, Kaiden on the other hand, quickly made himself scarce.

“Well, maybe Cade.” She shrugged and blew an escaped lock of hair out of her eyes.

Jumping at the crash of the books hitting the floor, Drysi watched a little wild-eyed as the heap shifted above Kegan. Instinctively she had clutched her book to her chest, peering over the top of it. "Should we help him?" she asked, wondering if the boy was all right.

“Nah,” Yse drawled, “He’s a Silverleaf, I’ve heard Addah say they are ‘hard headed’ lots of times.” The young girl paused and eyed the Silverleaf trio, “Hey, maybe we can send them in after it. After all, if they are hard headed, a bunk to the k’noggin shouldn’t hurt any… right?”

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Her raven-haired sister considered this. As a theory it seemed sound, she just wasn't entirely certain that was what their father had meant. Adults could be weird sometimes after all. "We could try I guess," she said slowly.

Cade waded into the dumped books, walking on his older brother in the process, “Found it!” he crowed, holding up his favourite picture book before staring at the older children with wide ivy green eyes. “Wha?” he asked, stumbling as Kegan shoved him off, sat up and shook his head vigorously.

Scowling the younger boy padded over near where Drysi was, oblivious to everyone else until he could plop down beside her. “Yse, why you t’yin’ to be a unifo’n?”

Rhagi was lying on his stomach now, peering under the table and trying to work the problem out from a mechanics point of view. That last comment made him snort with laughter, though, and also inhale dust and choke for a bit. "Yse would make a great unicorn. She could take you for rides. Maybe we should stick a fake horn on her head until her real one comes all the way through. Could we knock it out with a really long stick or something? The ball, I mean, not Yseult's horn."

Yse stuck her tongue out at Rhagi, not really concerned that he couldn’t see the rude gesture, then immediately flopped on her stomach next to him to consider the problem. “I’m not trying to be a unicorn,” she assured Cade, whilst surreptitiously elbowing her little brother in the ribs. “I think a stick might work,” she agreed, “how about a broom? Beth keeps one in the closet by the door.”

"There's a real unicorn in the stables. Ammah called her Mealla," Drysi said as she went trotting over to the closet. "The man with the steel hand gave it to her and Addah before..." For a moment her emerald eyes shadowed as the fact of their parents separation hit the little girl once more. She opened the door of the closet, burying her raven-haired head inside and searching for the broom so that the others wouldn't be able to see her whilst she regained her composure. She wasn't afraid all the time. She wasn't. She'd be brave just like Addah had said she could be. Involuntarily she bit her lip.

Rhagi waited a moment on the floor, shot Yse a glance, and then rolled to his feet. He padded over quietly and laid a hand gently on Drysi's shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said, his voice level and nearly inaudible. "It'll never be the same, but it will be okay. And when you want to talk about it, Yse and I are here." He didn't know if he was helping, but instinct drove him to try. He'd had just about enough of people not talking about things.

Drysi glanced around at her younger brother. Oddly it was harder to be brave and not cry when people were kind than when they were not. The raven-haired girl tried not to sniff, feeling the tears clogging her throat. "I... I'm fine. Really," she managed, smiling at him with more determination than conviction. "I found the broom, look." She held it out.

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***

In the heat of Zenith, a small white Draeder fluttered down a hallway in Nenlante making small chirruping noises as it made its way along, zipping from one side of the hall to the other until it finally found an open door, tucked in its wings, and darted inside. With a startled sound it avoided a curtain blowing on the breeze and landed with an almost inaudible thump on the bed.

Fragile white wings stretched out one at a time, and Sault rose to his feet indignantly, glaring at the culprit accusingly. The creature’s small wedge shaped head turned as a line of flashing colours caught his eye, and with an inquiring little rumble, he crept forward across the comforter to investigate.

Beady little eyes lit up with interest as they watched the pretty display, and small-clawed hands reached out tentatively to touch it. When nothing untoward happened, he made a pleased little noise and shuffled a little closer, tail lashing back and forth as he studied the band that simply had to be his, and gave it an experimental tug.

The S’Hean shifted slightly in his sleep, and Sault froze, waiting and watching until he went still again. Then, when it seemed safe enough, he slowly pushed and pulled with both little hands until, after what seemed hours to the Draeder, the clasp came free.

Delighted, Sault crooned to himself and gently pulled the band free, clutching it to himself as he hopped closer to the edge of the bed, totally unaware of the ugly black lines that suddenly spread out through the Elf’s veins.

Y’Roden stirred slightly, making a low sound as the poison crept through his blood, an awakening fire that stole quickly through his system with nothing to stave it off. With a sudden roar of pain the half-elf shot upright, clutching at his arm where the medical band had been. Sault screeched in terror and fell off the edge of the bed, scuttling under a chair and hunkering down out of sight.

Agony wracked Ro’s body and his head snapped back, dark lashes lifting to reveal emerald irises eclipsed by crimson. Blind with pain he fell to the side and rolled from the bed, hitting the floor as a spasm arched his back and clenched his fists, bone white spikes exploding through the flesh at his wrists and temples. Ragged breaths interspersed with growls of pain and he reached for something, anything to grasp on to, finding nothing.

Sault hesitantly stuck his head out from his hiding spot, and made a distressed little chirp. Wings folded close to his body, he darted past the rolling S’Hean, narrowly avoiding being impaled by a sharp spike as Ro’s wrist hit the floor, and ducking beneath a thrashing barbed tail as the Demon elf forced its way free.

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With a panicked cry the Draeder launched himself upwards and through the door, screeching in fright as he flapped down the hall.

“Sault?” it was a feminine voice, a calm voice, “What have you got there?”

B’Elya reached up to catch the frightened little animal and plucked the medical band from his claws. “Where did you get this? Shhh… its ok, what’s wrong?” Her concentration on the Draeder her gaze was focused down as she continued up the hall, lithe fingers stroking the miniature dragon’s scales in a comforting manner. She was feet away from the doors when they exploded outwards, coming off the hinges and slamming into the opposite wall. The roar, when it came, turned Belle’s blood to ice, and Sault squeaked in protest as her hands tightened on him.

The redhead forgot to breathe as a shadow slid across the sunlit floor at her feet, and terror filled emerald eyes remained riveted on the doorway as the Demon-Elf lurched into view. “Y’Roden?” her voice was strained, a bare squeak of a sound, her entire body shaking in terror as the eight foot horror filled the doorway, wings flaring out as it turned its head, sniffing at the air like a predator on the hunt.

A low laugh rattled through the Demon’s chest and its tail snapped in anticipation. “B’Elya,” the sound was more of a growl than a word as the beast ducked through the doorway, “It has been a very… very long time.”

The diminutive half-elf stared dazedly at what her brother had become for a moment, then self preservation overcame shock, and she screamed, turning to bolt down the hallway at full speed, tossing Sault into the air to fly on his own, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea where to run, or the remotest inkling what to do, there was just the vaguest thought that it was flight or die… and even flight was just delaying the inevitable.

Shadow grew deathly still, the rocking chair she sat in creaked one final time then nothing. Deafening silence hung in the room as tension grew, thick enough it could be cut by a knife. It was there, a flare of temper that was different, a subtle change that most wouldn’t understand but not only was the feeling on the Web, but on the Tapestry too. Daerkal moved in her arms, a cry of protest escaping him as he picked up on his mother’s change in attitude. Carefully standing, she whispered reassuring words to her son as she laid him down in his crib.

“Balan, could you watch Daerkal for me? Gent, come on.” At the younger elf’s nod, she strode across the room before her brother had time to get out of his chair.

“Kit? What’s going on?” Gent frowned; standing in the process, bursts of emotion weren’t unusual on the Tapestry and he attributed the strangeness of it to not

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being use to Y’Roden on the Tapestry. Flashes of images echoed through his mind and he suddenly knew what was going on. He was about to get first hand experience in something he had only learned about second hand.

The younger Silverleaf pulled open the door, any muffle that might have been disappeared at the scream that echoed down hallways.

“Belle!” In an instant Argent was across the room and running down the hall, following gut instinct and the coordinates that Shadow was sending to him as to where they were heading, his sister at his heels.

An’Thaya’s eyes flew open and she stared at the ceiling, unsure for a moment what had jolted her from sleep. Lying quiet, listening, she frowned, then went impossibly pale. “Callan,” she hissed, “Its out.” Somehow she rolled to her feet and made her way to the doorway, just in time to see Argent go charging by.

Down the hall Belle had reached the rail near the stairwell, she could hear as well as feel the Demon behind her, moving impossibly fast for something of its size. It leapt, hitting the floor just behind her running feet, the floor shaking beneath the impact and setting the redhead off balance. With a shriek she hit the rail and tumbled over it, falling into the open space beside the stairs.

She came to a jolting halt, the feel of cold, bone white fingers crushing her wrist. Screaming she thrashed in mid air, struggling helplessly as he slowly pulled her upwards. “Now Belle,” he growled, “is that any way to greet your brother?”

It's out. Tay's words brought him fully awake from the shallow, Madness tinged dreams and nightmare tainted sleep he'd found during the heat of zenith. He'd been dreaming of Tay, and in her hands had been the D'Riel Emerald... and she was alive, beautiful, vibrant again.

I know you not from her... A whispered, multi-toned voice echoed in his head, a fleeting, fading memory of the dream. Then her words and the meaning behind them cut through the haze of the dreams

It's out.

Topaz eyes snapped open as he shoved himself up off the bed where he'd been laying face down with that damned D'Riel Emerald strapped to his back.

"Tay," Callan was already shrugging out of the harness, "You've got to hold this," The Emerald sparked a brilliant shade of crystalline green, "Don't be afraid of it, it won't hurt you and I can't tell you how I know, just know that I do. You can't go with me, not this time."

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An’Thaya looked at her husband as if he had lost his Skrunning mind. Emerald eyes stared into Topaz for a moment, then dropped to the D’Riel Emerald. If it had been anyone else… but Tay had complete trust in Callan, she always had… every single time her life had been in his hands. He had never, ever let her down, even when they had ‘hated’ one another with a passion.

Without question, she held out her hands, palms up and met his gaze steadily, unafraid and nodded.

"Whatever happens, don't let it go, don't put it down, don't take the chance. For the sake of S'Hea itself, Tay, don't put it down." The Emerald, secure in its modified battle harness, was pressed into her trusting palms. A brief, twisted grin flitted at the corners of his mouth at her expression when she didn't die on the spot, and then he was gone, bolting down the corridor.

"Is that anyway to greet your brother?" A familiar voice echoed down the corridor as Callan raced through the stone hallways.

"No. But this is."

Black armour flowed around Callan's chest and back, forearms and thighs as his full weight slammed into the Demon's spine prickled back and the pair sailed over the railing and into thin air.

The Emperor would soon learn that in emergency circumstances words on the Tapestry were abandoned for images that could quickly be exchanged. It was how Argent and Shadow knew he was coming and knew what was going to happen. The twins spun out of the Callan’s way simultaneously, flanking the Black as he crashed into the Demon.

A growl, low, animalistic in nature rumbled in Argent’s chest as he raced down the staircase closest to B’Elya, if anything happened to her, he would gladly rip the culprit apart. Across the distance he could see Shadow, keeping pace.

A roar of surprise ripped from the Demon as they fell into open air, wings spreading, then tucking back in as they struck the sides of the staircases. His free hand drew back and slammed into Callan’s jaw as they hurtled downwards, his tail looping out to catch on an ornate protrusion in the architecture.

The three dangled there, the beast snarling as it lost its grip on B’Elya, dragging long rents in her flesh as she slid through his fingers. With a short scream she fell, grabbing for any sort of purchase, and ending up with the end of his wing. She looked down, the world spinning as she realized how high up they were, and panicked emerald eyes snapped to the staircase, catching sight of Argent just beyond her reach.

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“Hold on…” it was a desperate whisper that Gent wasn’t sure B’Elya could even hear. Anger and fear were pushed to the back of his mind as he locked eyes with the elfin redhead.

“Kit…” the nickname floated through the Tapestry amongst flashes of images, “If I can’t.”

“I’ve got it.” Shadow replied, judging the distance of the drop. Shadows were already departing from furniture, sliding across floors and down walls to pool below the other female. An image flashed towards Callan of what her brother planned on doing while relaying the same to Belle.

Argent raced back the way he had come for a few steps then climbed onto the railing, Taurësúlë instincts keeping him balanced. Muscles bunched and he leapt from the staircase to catch Belle before the combatants began falling again.

"Miss me?" The main claw of a single black wing snagged at the railing of another landing near the swinging demon. Callan's teeth were stained with black-red blood as he leered at the demon Ro had become. Faith in the Silverleaf twins and brief images and emotions along the D'Riel Web and the Silverleaf Tapestry told him all he needed to know, Belle would be okay. Topaz eyes seemed to leech of all colour, leaving them not the teal streaked colour they'd been while holding the D'Riel Emerald, but pale, ice blue. Phosphorescence tinged the irises, making the pupils seem lost behind a veil of glowing colour.

"Let's have some fun." Callan's lips peeled back even further before he head butted the demon in the mouth and dropped two more floors to balance on the railing there.

"Come on!" The Emperor's arms spread wide in invitation, as did his wings. What the returning Demon didn't know was just how close to dropping over into full Madness Araxmarr was... and this time, Callan had no intentions of simply restraining the beast.

Or the demon.

Belle’s arms closed around Argent’s neck and her face buried into the Taurësúlë’s hair as they plummeted into the shadows. The abject terror had left her the instant he had grabbed her, replaced by a solid sense of safety even as they faded like spirits and fell into darkness.

Howling with rage over the loss of his prey, the Demon zoned in on the cause of it. Uncoiling his tail he dropped directly onto the Emperor, smashing off the rail and bouncing off the sides of the stairs cases as they shot downwards. They hit the floor with a force of impact that shook the building, shattering the near

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unbreakable Obsidian glass and bringing down a rain of shards and chunks of alabaster.

Brilliant colours in shades of exploding crimson and orange, vivid yellow and white punctuated with pockets of pitch black erupted in Callan's vision as their dense bodies slammed into the floor. Blood from cuts and scrapes smeared the shattered floor and shards of fractured, obsidian glass threatened to carve through Callan's scale armour and flesh.

"You picked a bad time to come visiting," Araxmarr's words were laced with spit and blood as he hauled himself off the floor and flung himself at the recovering demon. Scale-covered fist slammed into the demon's face, "I'm not in the mood to be careful and worry about Y'Roden this time."

“I’m sure he’d be offended to know you had been holding back on his account,” the Demon snickered, grabbing the Dragon by the ears and slamming a spiked forehead into Callan’s, “and here I thought we were becoming fast friends.” The beast threw its weight upwards, retaining a grip on the Emperor as it regained its feet, then tossed him across the room and into a plant laced alcove, taking out the marble benches and flower pots. An explosion of Fae flew out of the enclosed area, small peeps of distress filling the air as they fled the scene.

Low, rasping laughter shook the Demon’s chest as he lurched forward, pale white lips pulling up over sharpened teeth as it leapt into the rubble. “I hear you took Samara up on her offer however, can’t say as I blame you… redheads, always a great piece of ass. Too bad you had to steal her from someone else though eh?”

His weight shifted, crushing a surviving flower pot under one foot, “But… that is where you and I are so much alike. We take what we want.” A forked tongue flickered out and crimson eyes seemed to dance with malicious laughter, “Tell me, what was more satisfying? Bedding the bitch? Or knowing she belonged to someone else? I have to admit, the soul trick was incredibly clever. The only way she can leave you… is to die… very dramatic.”

A bestial snarl followed by a deep, thundering growl shook the shards of pottery and rumbled off the walls and floors as soil and greenery, broken pots and other debris exploded into the air. The Emperor lurched to his feet, but his form was far from half-elven. What arose from the ruin of the alcove was something as equally twisted and unrecognizable as 'Callan' as the demon was 'Ro'.

Massive muscles flexed and rippled, curved ram's horns spiralled out from Callan's temples and ended in points just behind his chin. Scale had clattered down his body, and a black, muscular tail lashed at the remaining broken pieces of shelving and stone to send the pieces skittering across the littered floor.

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As the demon took the step forward, Araxmarr's tail drove over his left shoulder; its razor sharp tip punctured the hard shell of the demon at its ribs and exited out its back. Spines erupted on either side of the exit wound and acted like grappling hooks.

"Don't be shy now," Rax's basso echoed like thunder through the palace as he jerked the demon forward, then slammed him into wall at the edge of the alcove, “I'd hate to say it, but you sound jealous... So I took what I wanted, and made her mine by force... You're just pissed off because you can't do it yourself. You don't know how to hide what you really are... I do."

The Demon shook its head like a dog, momentarily stunned from the blow. It looked down at the tail impaling its body, its mouth slithering into a bloody leer. “If you wanted a little penetration, all you had to do was ask,” it snickered. A shifting plate of armour slid downwards, slicing off the tip and spines as the beast hauled itself backwards, blood spurting and splattering across the stone floor as the combatants came apart.

From the stairwell leading from a floor down, B’Rodyn D’Riel emerged, skidding to a halt as the scaled and spiked pair came into view. “Nodvig Vede!”

Crimson eyes darted in the S’Hean King’s direction, and the grin shot his way was extremely unsettling. There was a shimmer around the Demon’s form, and suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore.

B’Rodyn tensed and backed up, feeling Gwen just behind him on the stairwell. “Where did he go?” he hissed at Callan. “Go back downstairs,” he sent silently to his wife, “slowly…”

"What? No. I will not. He could be anywhere, and I really don't want to run into him down there, when you're up here." Gwen whispered a little too loudly, her words tumbling out a little too quickly to betray her terror.

The gushing blood slowly tapered off and became a slow drip as the appendage began to heal over in rapid fashion. Short, animalistic sniffs of the air could be heard and a low growl. The half-shifted form of Callan Blackthorn dropped to all fours and curving, onyx talons tapped the floor; the rubble was grinding beneath his massive, dense form.

"Heee'sss not gone far," The words rumbled out as serpentine eyes set in a grotesque mix of half-elven and draconic features flicked side to side, "In faaacctt," The black slashes of Callan's pupils widened and his lips parted as he seemed to taste the air with every breath, "He's rrriiight here."

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"Peeeeekaboo." Glowing, topaz eyes riveted on thin air in front of him and the Emperor lunged forward, seemingly at nothing, but he trusted his nose, he trusted the sketchy thermal outline before him.

B’Rodyn straightened, emerald eyes going wide as Callan came right at him, then seemed to impact on thin air. The crack of a tail could be heard, the Emperor slid sideways, and before the S’Hean could do more than blink, he had been lifted off of his feet and slammed into the wall.

“Y’Roden,” he rasped out as the Demon attempted to crush his larynx, “Don’t…” Heavy shoulders bunched as he pulled back, then slammed his fist into where he approximated the Demon’s head to be. The snap of bone was from B’Rodyn’s own fingers on armour plating, but he was oblivious to the pain.

Booted feet swung up and braced against an invisible chest as B’Ro threw his weight, driving the beast back far enough to force the iron grip off his throat. With the innate grace of his race, the S’Hean dropped to a crouch, frowning as the air in front of him flickered, the suddenly went solid.

“Oh my Gods…”

The QuickSilver Amulet that Y’Roden wore had finally revealed its nature, responding the darkness of the Demon and turning on it.

“B’Ro!” the voice was An’Thaya’s as she appeared in the stairwell with the Silverleaf twins and B’Elya, “B’Ro it’s killing him!” In her hands, was the D’Riel emerald, and she was eying her husband warily, one wrong move…

Shadow lurched to a halt, leaning over an upper balcony to stare down at the fighting duo. With a frustrated growl she shoved unbound hair from her face as it cascaded over her shoulders and obstructed her sight. Forest green eyes widened in near panic as she watched the solidifying Demon.

“Kiyana…” she half whispered.

Arms wrapped tightly around the younger D’Riel, Gent looked over the edge at the destruction below. For a moment, it looked like the Demon was contained but at what cost? Death to it meant death for Ro.

Shadow whirled around, fear in her eyes as she looked at the Amazon, “What stops it.”

“Nothing,” An’Thaya said in a flat tone, “no one can release him from the amulet, except Athena.” She swallowed as the Demon tried to lurch to its feet, fighting blindly and swiping for B’Rodyn. “A S’Hean can hold their breath for about twenty

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minutes… Y’Roden can hold his for about thirty… usually. Someone has to go for Drake, you have twenty minutes to find him, get Athena, and get back here.”

B’Rodyn’s conduit lurched open and power crackled around the S’Hean elf, sending his long chestnut hair adrift around his face. With careful precision, he erected a force field around the Demon, as much for Ro’s protection as anyone else’s. Emerald eyes watched with dawning horror as liquid silver swirled over the creature’s skin, covering eyes, nose and mouth in an obvious bid to smother the life out of it.

“The only place I’m going is down there!” Shadow jabbed her finger down towards the next floor and took to the stairs.

“I’ll go.” Gent turned forest green eyes to the Amazon, “I know where through Kit, I just need to get past the wards.” The Taurësúlë looked down at Belle, gently wiping her cheek, leaving behind a smear of her own blood and tucked a flaming lock behind her ear. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Aye,” she said, “but I’m coming with you.”

***

Sunlight streamed in through the round shaft in the ceiling, illuminating the mosaic floor. No longer dusty, its colours glowed as if freshly laid, the history of House Dhaunae since their first days on Aerdon depicted in the intricate design. Erinya trailed an alabaster fingertip over the surface of a massive ironwood table that now stood at one end of the Great Hall and reflected on how much things had changed, not just in the months that had passed since Areq's departure for Whispin, but in the centuries since her parents death.

A similar table had stood there then. Valas Dhaunae had been as arrogant as any Black, but he had been no despot. Alliances had been forged more by respect than fear, and the symbols of those alliances had been seen in the emblems that decorated the edge of the table. Smashed in two during Nargus' attack, it had remained, a symbol of what had once been, but was no more.

Now a new table stood in its stead.

Carved from ironwood like its predecessor, in its centre showed the Dhaunae crest, the sword blade picked out in silver and wreathed in thorns of black enamel. A callused fingertip paused beside one of the smaller crests that decorated the edge, one that would never have been seen in her Sire's time. Amongst the scarlet and gold of House Silinrul and the crimson and black of House Ashev, the rampant dragon of the Imperial House and the emblem of House Saad'ra were two silver dragons, jaws open wide wings spread, their bodies in an aerial attack position on a background of midnight blue. The emblem

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of House Datari or at least those members of it that had chosen to follow Callan Blackthorn, the emblem of her Randii.

Ebony lashes drifted shut for an instant, her head lowering. She would not have believed it was possible to miss someone so much, but it was as if part of her very soul was missing and the deepest parts of her being ached with the loss, an ache that only grew worse as the days went on, providing a foretaste of the grief that could drive the Kin to Madness. A hand curved around the dagger at her hip, tightening hard enough to impress her palm with the silver wire-bound hilt. The blade itself was engraved near the guard with an unusual symbol. The life-tree of the Elven kind was superimposed over a sketchy outline of a diamond shape, and stamped at the base of the diamond was a single, short horizontal line... it meant the apprentice, not the master, had made the blade... yet it was perfect. Born in the forge of Owen Diamondwood, it had been created, not by the hand of the human once known as the General, but by a seemingly half-elven boy he had come to regard as his own son. Callan Blackthorn.

Through trade it had found its way from the NeutralLands to the forests of the Silmetaurea, and it was there that it had been bought by a Silver who had been able to see its worth. Centuries later that same Silver would be killed during the war for the Keep, his life given to save those of Rachel Blackthorn, her daughter and an elven Seeress called RuneBard. Taken from the scene of the battle by his son, it had remained in his hands until a day at the Silver Dryad when, after yet another skirmish between a Black and a Silver who could never quite leave each other alone, it had found its way into her possession.

Erinya could still remember the words she had spoken to Elandriil that day.

"He told me to keep it, as long as I gave him the bottle of brandy of course... a decision I expected him to regret later. You are his brother, it seemed... safer for you to return it. However, since you declined that offer, on your own head be it. I'll return it in a manner and at a place and time of my choosing. Don't blame me if you don't like the way I choose."

She drew the dagger, watching the blade flash in the sun as she did so. She was not certain even now why she had never returned it to Areq. She had always meant to, but an opportunity had never arisen, and now... Now she carried it as much to remind herself that she wasn't insane, that she wasn't caught in some horrible nightmare where everything she cared about was snatched out of her grasp to leave her broken and alone, as because it was a good weapon.

The ebony-haired woman sighed softly, re-sheathing the blade as she turned away.

"I know that look..." a figure moved in the shadows and slowly stepped out into the illuminated room, "Just can't quit thinking about me, can you?" The words echoed a conversation long ago, at the war-torn and shattered Keep, and just

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like then, a reckless grin tugged at Areq's mouth. With that smile, he let their bond spiral open for the first time since returning to Aerdon that morning. Silver and black-emerald strands wound with shades of velvety black and sensual, pulsing garnet.

"I missed you. Mi'doka lyeen eleau Ai'iisa."

"Now why would you believe I was thinking of you?" An ebony brow rose as the cool words fell easily from Erin's lips. She moved across the floor with the sleek, slow grace of a hunting cat, her dark eyes meeting Areq’s in challenge even as her soul wound around his with shuddering pleasure. "Battle whore, am I?" she murmured, her lips brushing those of her mate.

"We've talked about this before," Areq laughed softly against her mouth as their lips met, "You just can't get me off your mind." The Silver's fingers curled around her waist before his palms slid down her buttocks and he pulled her even closer to him, "And yes, you're a battle whore, you can't deny it, but I love you anyway."

Her breath slid out of her on a warm sigh, the Black's arms sliding about his neck as he drew her closer. He was right... on both counts, and for once she couldn't be bothered to argue. It felt too damned good just to have him hold her. The kiss grew hotter as the months of waiting poured into it, the mark on her arm flaring into life as their souls spilled through one another, her body pressed against his as if she would imprint it on her senses. "I've missed you... so much," she whispered against his lips.

"Aye, and I you." Areq's blond head lay on her shoulder and he drew in her scent with deep breaths, "Gods its good to feel you again, to have you here, solid and real." A soft, rumbling sound of pleasure came from the Silver as the mirror bond-mark on his forearm burned in the most wonderful way, "The House looks good by the way. House cleaning suits you, woman."

Alabaster-pale hands drifted down his back as she leaned into him, a husky laugh escaping her even as she pinched him. "Personally I think you were just using any excuse to get out of using a mop." Resting her head on his shoulder, Erin could feel his heart beating beneath her ear, the scent of him drifting through her system. Turning her head, the ebony-haired female let her lips drift over the skin of his neck, tasting the pulse that beat at the base with the tip of her tongue. "Don't get used to it. Domesticated, I'm not." She bit down lightly.

A rippling shudder rolled through Areq, gods it seemed like he'd been gone for years. Dark emerald eyes sparked a brighter shade of glowing green as his fingers slid up her back with a scrape of fingertips before they tangled in her hair and cupped her skull, forcing her teeth to press into his skin, "Domesticated I can live without, but what I want to know is, how do you feel about breaking in that new table the right way?" His words came out in a low, growling tone, husky with need, "I've been at sea a long, long time, you know..."

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The taste of his blood coated her tongue as her teeth broke his skin, and a sound somewhere between a purr and a growl caught in her throat. "Then perhaps you should demonstrate the 'right way' to break in a table?" his Randii replied, dark eyes glowing with the desire that pounded through her veins as her fingertips dug into his flesh. "Very, very thoroughly."

***

Twenty minutes…

That’s all they had to find two people and return to S’Hea. He didn’t know what this Drake looked like and he hoped to hell that he knew where this Athena was. Thankfully it wasn’t that hard to find the Knight. A single pinpoint of light hung in the air then rippled outwards, the undulation quickened as Argent stepped through and held his hand out for B’Elya. His gut instinct of not wanting to let her out of his sight having kicked in when she dangled in the air and he didn’t care if it was his right or not.

They had Twenty minutes, he assumed Whispin time, but it didn’t matter if it was though any other time then they had minutes to spare and it was far more simpler to use standard minutes and gave far more of a rush on things.

“Drake Silverwing!” Argent roared, certain that anyone within a few miles could hear him.

Drake turned, reaching up towards a weapon that wasn't there. He had sensed something wrong only seconds before he heard his name, causing the small hairs on his neck to stand on end. His nerves already on edge he stood there chastising his self and crossing his arms, he glanced over at the weapon that rested nearby, measuring the distance with a quick glance.

"You found him," he said at last, relaxing after seeing the large man helping a young woman through the portal. "How can I help you..."

Despite the dire nature of the situation, Belle couldn't help a momentary grin. She wiggled a finger in one ear and gave Argent a reproachful look before eyeing Drake Silverwing. She remembered him from An’Thaya’s wedding, but had never officially met the Knight.

“An’Thaya sent us to fetch you…” her voice trailed off and she looked to Argent to explain.

"An’Thaya..." Drake whispered, his voice suddenly lost as a million thoughts of dread suddenly entered his mind.

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Gent offered the redhead a sheepish smile before returning his attention to Drake. “We need you and a woman named Athena to unlock Y’Roden’s Quicksilver amulet, something went wrong and it’s smothering him. We have twenty minutes to get her and get back before it succeeds.”

It took only a moment for the man's words to soak in and Drake didn't offer to question him, knowing that there would be plenty of time for questions later. Reaching up, he pulled the small rose medallion from around his neck and closed his eyes.

“Athena! You're needed to right a wrong! Drop whatever you're doing and come to me. Ro...A fellow knight is in dire need of our help. We have...very little time. Hurry!”

Opening his eyes he simply nodded. "She's on her way...I hope. Now tell me what happened. When Athena made these," as he held the small charm out for the pair to see, "she placed safeguards in Ro's and An’Thaya's medallions to help them, but only during difficult times. If it’s smothering him, then that means Ro's sickness..."

"...Has made him too weak to control the demon within him. The Demon is free, and must be in full control. I hadn't anticipated that scenario." Standing there, just behind the couple stood a large Silver Dragon, with a shimmering portal slowly wavering behind her.

"How can I help you?"

Belle blinked and canted her head to look at the Dragon behind Drake, curiosity undisguised in her eyes. “Dagar… Athena? Y’Roden needs your help… wait… you know?” She cast a baffled glance up at Argent, then shrugged it off. The half-elf had no idea whom her brother had taken into his confidence… or accidentally revealed himself to.

“He is running out of time,” she said finally, “come with us, and we will see you through the wards.”

“Just watch your step, they made a hell of a mess.” Now that was an understatement, Gent thought to himself as he looked back at the Silver.

Craning her neck, Athena dropped her head until she was eye to eye with the couple. Folding her wings against her back, she smile. "You seemed surprised that I knew about Y'Roden's condition. When Drake came to me, wanting me to forge him the charms for An’Thaya and her brother Y’Roden, I made it a point to learn all I could about them, through a number of different means we will not discuss here, for our time is short. Let me...change, and we will be on our way. Drake, bring Selina for I fear we may need her."

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Pulling her head up she closed her eyes as a bright light enveloped her, shrinking down until a young woman with short white hair, silver shirt, pants and black, silver tipped boots stood where the silver dragon once was. Sky blues eye sparkled with life as she slowly motioned for the portal to be opened.

"Was the Quicksilver ever tested?"

Belle shook her head, “I don’t think so, as far as I know, this is the first time he has used it, and An’Thaya has never used hers.” She stepped ahead of Argent through the portal and back into the halls of Nenlante. Questions could wait until they checked on Y’Roden’s condition.

***

It seemed that all eyes were on the group of companions that had arrived in the city of the Surging Souls. Khai’Laya pointedly ignored the crowds that paused to stare and point, a general humming murmur drifting among the trees.

Her expression changed slightly as one of the pulley systems kicked into gear and a tall, blonde elf with emerald eyes was slowly lowered into view. The curiosity in his eyes was clear as he stepped off of the lift and approached the group, a smile lighting his face that said this was his daughter.

Khai’Laya leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek before turning to the others. “This is my Addah… my father, B’Roce D’Riel. He has ruled over the Danna-Riel for many thousands of years with wisdom and bravery in the field. The Nuru’kh-ai have forever been our enemy, and he has kept them at bay for longer than many of us can remember.”

Gesturing to each of the companions, she made the introductions. “Addah, I would like you to meet Y’Roce and Imoreki D’Riel of S’Hea, Queen Helena of Ingraelis, Rhiannon of the Felinumeara, Meylor i Blackheart of Arlsyn, Jack Steelhand of Merlin, and Dante ab Rhiannon of Aerdon.”

The King of the Danna-Riel nodded in greeting to each of them, “Welcome to our home. I must admit, I’m a little perplexed. You come from S’Hea, you say? How can that be? The way was shut, and has been for many, many millennia. And yet, obviously you are here, and I assume it is the illness plaguing our lands that brought you looking for answers. I can tell you this; the blood of Haldanuru has infected Whispin’s Gaia… more than that I cannot tell you. Our Scroll Keepers have been busy in the great library searching for answers, for a cure, but they have had no luck as of yet.”

Y’Roce stepped forward and bowed to the King of the Danna-Riel, “I am Y’Roce, my Lord, and I come with my brother and companions on behalf of our King B'Rodyn D'Riel, and our father Y’Roden D’Riel of S’Hea. As you have guessed

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we indeed come in hopes of knowledge and understanding, and even now you have already given us much we have been blocked from learning. As for how we were able to return to find you, in our search for answers and solutions we found scrolls that had been lost that spoke of a passage through the Well of Souls. My brother, Imoreki has been blessed with a gift that allows him to manage the earth, it was he that found and opened the way to here.”

“Well,” Imoreki said quietly, “actually, it was our father and some of his companions that found the way and unlocked it. I simply moved a little dirt that was blocking our way.”

“Sword of Peace,” B’Roce mulled for a moment, “an interesting name, and… Sword’s Son?” He looked to Imoreki, “I’m afraid I do not know the meaning of your name.”

“It is my birth mother’s tongue, Your Majesty. It means Land’s Heart.”

B’Roce thought for a moment, then nodded. “And these others… half elves, humans… S’Hea has had contact outside their wards?”

“Aye Your Majesty. For about four thousand years now.”

“Interesting,” the King said, half to himself. “You must tell me all about these other cultures. But, I’ve been rude, come, you must be tired. Khai’Laya will show you to quarters and provide you with food. After you have eaten, bathed and rested, I will show you to the library. Perhaps together we may find an answer.”

As everyone seemed to be speaking in a language she could not understand, Rhiannon thought it would be best if she stayed in close proximity to one of Y'Roden's sons. Opting for the older of the two, the tiger elf took a step closer to Y'Roce. Looping her arm about his the red head gave the princeling a sidelong glance and smile then waited for whatever was to come next, a bit unnerved by the fact she was in an unknown place surrounded by people she couldn't understand.

Jack was beside himself, surrounded by people that he didn't know, that spoke a language unfamiliar to him. He stood out, with his short stature, steel hand and round ears. Stepping closer to Meylor he tried to blend in, tried to look like he belonged.

He just knew it wasn't working.

"Imoreki is telling him how Y’Roce saved my life, isn't he? I'll never be able to live that down..."

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Meylor eyed Jack critically then promptly smacked the heel of her hand into his forehead. “No, from what I can understand is we were introduced, something was mentioned about Whispin’s dark god and a library. How a library works into Y’Roce shared air with you I don’t know, but then you mix things up anyway.”

Helena was rather blessed with the same gift her aunts had. The twins had been mute, and relied on telepathy to communicate. As such, their minds developed the ability to pick up on the thought behind words, the "impression" of it. That, combined with a smattering of words she knew, and the odd one she was pretty certain she could guess at, meant the Queen of Ingraleis had a reasonable idea of what was going on.

“He did mention rest, right? And food? I'll tell them all they want to know about Ingraleis and its cultures if I get dinner, a warm bath and bed...” She told her lover quietly.

Rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, Jack gave Meylor a sheepish look. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he laughed softly, his arm circling around her waist. "People may think we're a couple...or worse yet...married. Oh look," as he quickly tried to change the subject.

"We're moving..."

***

Following the couple through the portal, with her hand resting on Drake's arm, Athena took in a deep breath, causing her nose to wrinkle up. She could smell the sickness, a stale sticky stench that hung in the air. The woman's words struck her like a sharp dagger through her heart, causing her to stumble. She was thankful that Drake was there to catch her.

"I never tested them," Drake whispered. "It was during their birthday, and they were having such a good time..."

"I was afraid of that," Athena said, cutting Drake short. "The Quicksilver should have been tested the moment the chain went around Y’Roden’s neck, and I can only blame myself for not doing it personally. It should have been awakened when he was...himself. I placed safeguard in both of their charms, for I know what they could become. I fear if we do not hurry, we may have more trouble than we all bargained for. Where is he..."

Shadow squatted outside of the emerald shield that B’Rodyn and erected, her eyes focused on the male on the other side. She hadn’t moved from her spot since she had made it to the bottom floor. The Taurësúlë had lost one father to death, she wasn’t about to lose another because of some japhing vakren Demon didn’t have enough sense to not use something he didn’t know anything about.

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“It won’t be long, Desh’ketai…” it was all she could think of to say for the moment that wouldn’t show her frustration, “You know how Gent is, he ambles…he’s always ambles.”

B’Rodyn watched Shadow with eyes hued deep with worry and strain. Her presence seemed to be helping, the twisted figure on the inside of the shield subsiding as the minutes passed. At least, he hoped it was Y’Roden’s response to his daughter, and not the half-elf nearing the end of his air supply. The S’Hean King had no idea if the Quicksilver had entered his Cousin’s airways… he could only hope it was merely on the surface.

He glanced at An’Thaya, who had finally picked her way down to their level and was seeing to her growling husband, smacking at him when he protested. It was then that he truly noticed what she was holding, and confusion mixed with wonder flickered across the elder D’Riel’s features as he watched the bonded pair.

From time to time, a rumbling snarl would echo through the relative quiet of the area as the frightening, unnatural mix of half-elf and Kin began to vanish, replaced by a bruised and cut, scraped and bleeding Callan Blackthorn. "Sorry bas'tord," Callan's fingers went to his lower spine and came back bloody, the Emperor had lost a good foot off his tail, which translated into a gaping hole at the base of his spine.

Araxmarr would have the last laugh though. If they somehow managed to get Ro free of the demon AND the armour, the half-elven King would still have the severed end of Callan's tail to contend with. The spines alone could cause serious damage if not removed correctly... much like the manta rays of Terran, the spines of the Kin were covered in razor sharp barbs invisible to the naked eye. Once sank in flesh, if they were jerked free, the damage would be far worse than could be imagined.

Despite his own wounds and the fading Rage that left him feeling every wound, Callan pulled his Tay to him, "You okay? No strange green power trying to burn you from the inside out or anything?"

“I’m fine,” the Amazon assured him, “certainly in better shape than you at the moment… I don’t care who you are, that’s gotta hurt,” she teased gently. Her attention shifted to the portal as they others arrived and she breathed a sigh of relief when Athena came into view.

B’Elya’s grip on Argent’s arm tightened as they entered the smashed up room, but she was slowly gathering her senses together. “He is going to need his armband,” the redhead said softly, “its what caused all this, Sault thought it was a toy and somehow got it off his bicep. He has extras in his chambers… come with me to get them?”

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Stepping in behind the couple, Drake stopped and stared at the destruction. With a quick glance towards An’Thaya he lowered his head. Seeing Y’Roden lying there, covered in Quicksilver, watching it shift and move across his entire body made him sick to his stomach. He started to step over, to help, to comfort him, but Athena held his arm in a vice like grip.

"You can't help him now, but I can, if we're not to late."

"You keep saying that. What do you mean," Drake asked tearing his arm from her grasp.

"You must understand the true workings of the Quicksilver Drake," Athena said while staring at the trapped Demon. "It is a living, breathing being, that once awakened, protects its wearer. Normally the Quicksilver tests the heart and soul of its wearer, and if it finds evil intent, it will smother its user. That normally takes a few minutes, then it returns to its original shape. But if the wearer is able to hold on longer, say thirty, maybe forty minutes then the Quicksilver starts to think that it was wrong, that the soul still remains true to heart. If that is the case it will take on a whole new life, that of evil. The armour will shift from silver to black, and its wearer will become unstoppable."

"Then we have little time before the armour changes," Drake asked, his eyes wide with fear, and anger.

"Correct! Now have the shield removed and I want everyone to stand ready. I may need help..."

Callan's attention swung to Athena and Drake and one hand left Tay. At his fingertips, a darkness seemed to play like black fire and licked at his blood-stained wrist and forearm... the dark magic given to him inadvertently by Linnis, Silverthorn's daughter, "Oh, I'm ready," Ro might be his friend, but the demon was not, and if it came to it, Araxmarr could and would make certain the half-elf was put out of his misery before he could do anymore damage to himself... or anyone else.

B’Rodyn stepped forward and nodded to Drake and Athena, then dropped the force field. “Hurry,” he urged, “He hasn’t moved in some time.”

Athena nodded. "That may be a good thing. Struggling with the Quicksilver only causes it to tighten around the body tighter, constricting the body’s ability to breathe. If you'll take notice the silver armour is still in flux, meaning it’s trying to understand why its wearer is not rightfully dead."

Stepping away she drew closer to the silver clad creature that was once a close friend of Drake, watching the Quicksilver flowing over the still body, shifting and moving like liquid, silver glass. Kneeling down, she placed her hand on the

1

creature’s chest. The demon's armour rose up like liquid, covering Athena's arm while she spoke.

"I am the one that forged you, one that gave you life, gave you a purpose. You know me; you know my soul, my words. You are to release your hold on this...creature. He is sick, and his illness has caused a false evil to come forth, an evil that now controls this body. You cannot destroy him, for I will not allow it. His soul may not be pure, his heart may look black, but it’s because of the sickness. Search deep, find the living soul within and see for yourself. Feel the illness within this body, for it is tied to this land, this world. A world that is dying."

The Quicksilver slowed, then grew very still. For a moment she thought she had touched the soul of the armour, but she felt a stirring under her hand. Trying to pull her hand free she cursed as the Quicksilver failed to turn her lose.

"By Gregor's second head...I need some help here. He still has some fight left in him."

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Chapter 7

Homecomings were generally a joyous occasion, but this one would not be. There had been friction between Keser and Delen for a long, long time, and it had all begun after he had been sent, along with Alessen and Sehaine, to make an offer to Landrii and Areq.

Abandon the Keep, walk away from the Guard and Araxmarr, and you can have your holdings and rank back.

Choose to stay? And they would lose anything left, their colours, their crest, any claim to the Datari family; they would be the forgotten, khael in the Eldredae tongue. Their names would be erased from the family records, the history of their mother and father destroyed, they would become dead to the Silver Nation, it would be as if their branch of House Datari had never existed.

They'd chosen to stay, and not only had they chosen to stay, but they'd all but spit on Delen for it.

That moment had started Delen's questioning, and he could see it in Alessen and Sehaine's eyes, as well as those of their mother. It wasn't right; there was nothing right about it at all. They deserved to be remembered, Aran deserved to be honoured, and yet their father insisted on erasing them.

Delen's bare feet paused on the cool tile floor as he stopped in the entrance to the courtyard, his sisters were there already, his mother, and his father. It seemed they were waiting on him. He stood for a moment, watching them, then turned his back to walk away. Only his mother's clear, musical voice stopped him short.

"Feel better now that you've bathed and slept?"

Keser’s dark green eyes riveted on the back of his son, practically boring holes into it. “Come have a seat,” he said in a low tone, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Anaril… now would you?” The Ath’ar settled casually back into his chair and drank slowly from his glass before speaking again. “She is simply dying to hear what you’ve been up to during your absence from Aerdon. Aren’t you Nahmen?”

Delphina's dark gaze cast a sidelong glance at her Uoma, she was eager to hear how her son had fared on his journey, and his sisters hadn't had much to say, merely that she'd have to hear a lot of it from Delen himself. What she didn't like was the undertone of... smug smirkness in Keser's words.

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"I have wanted to hear, yes." Her words carried all the power of a steel encased fist wrapped in velvet slamming into Keser's jaw, "Please, come sit down, we have chilled wine and a light lunch waiting for you."

Her elegant, tanned hand gestured to a whitewashed lounge chair next to her, "Come tell about your adventures. Sehaine and Alessen have been horribly tight lipped about it all, but I understand you helped rescue two of the Empresses daughters and a lost son?" That same hand lay gently on Keser's forearm and her fingers tightened slightly as Delen stepped into the full light of day.

"Merde." The word was breathed in a soft whisper and her eyes widened as she looked at Delen's exposed arms, which were revealed by the sleeveless, loose tunic he wore.

Delen never flinched, never changed his expression as he walked across the cool grass and sat between his mother and younger sister, Sehaine. What had surprised her so were the streaks of angry, black-red running in a band around his bicep. No mark had risen to the skin, but as he was not bonded, there were few other things it could be.

The mark of the Storm... a claim on his life by Oraex himself.

"So. Where do you want me to begin?"

Keser showed no outward reaction, either to his wife’s words and grip, or the mark on Delen’s arm. His eyes slid slowly to Sehaine, then Alessen, and back to his son. “How about what you were doing out at sea when you were suppose to be keeping a visible profile in Corin,” he suggested.

Delen raised a challenging brow directed at Keser, then nodded to a servant who was pouring his drink. As the man stepped away as unobtrusively as possible, Keser's son took a drink, savoured the wine a moment, then swallowed.

"Perhaps my profile wasn't visible in Corin, but I can't imagine a better way of convincing the Black Imperium that we were not the assassins by going on a rescue party for the Empress' daughter... and returned with two more of her children." A polite, calm smile came across his face as he set the crystal glass down with a soft tink on the stone table next to his seat, "I can only imagine that would go over much better than staying in S'Hea or Corin and living the life of a glorified tourist, don't you think?"

“Well,” Keser drawled, “that all depends, on how much you trust Araxmarr Sar’Da’s faith in your… companions. What was to stop him from claiming ignorance to the location of any of you? He could easily have pointed a finger at them as well, and taken out two birds with one stone.” Which was exactly the

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reason Keser himself had let Sorshia Crylos live… he did not trust the Emperor of the Black Thorn, or anyone who swore allegiance to him.

"He could have," Delen conceded with a slight shrug, "By why would he? He could have gained nothing from it, and in the process, would have called our watcher a liar. I don't think for one moment he'd be fool enough to attempt to discredit Nildanya Rhiadas." The dark haired Silver smiled at his father, and his fingers curved around the bell of the wine glass before he lifted it once more, "I understand while we were away, you had a bit of fun yourself. What was it like, getting back in the swing of things again without your brother Aran to aide you, but Areq's mate, Erinya Dhaunae?"

“They were also allies of the former S’Hean King.” Sehaine stated softly yet firmly, not willing to risk her father’s anger but not agreeing with his treatment of her brother. She loved her father, but sometimes she loathed him…right then it was aimed towards loathing but all that was shown on her face was her usual cool calmness.

Dark eyes flickered between father and brother before turning to the glass in her hand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“You seem to think you know a lot about Araxmarr’s thought process,” Keser observed in slight amusement, “that is dangerously close to foolhardiness. Never, ever make the mistake of guessing what that Black Bastard will or wont do. His actions have not always followed the path of logic… or were you not paying attention in history studies?” He shrugged, “if he had chosen to point the finger in your direction, Nildanya Rhiadas would have had a burial at sea. Its as simple as that.”

One dark eyebrow rose, and he laughed aloud, “Why yes, it was fun, now that you mention it. As for Erinya Dhaunae, she is quite something, a pure Black female if I’ve ever seen one.” He grinned and emptied his glass, “Wouldn’t trust the Bitch as far as I could throw her were I in this form and she in full Draconic. Areq has more balls than I expected.” Deep green eyes softened as they settled on Sehaine, as far as he was concerned, his beloved daughter had only been following the whims of her misguided elder brother.

"Areq... as well as Elandriil, are much more than you ever expected," Delen, unlike his sisters, had no problems in raising Keser's ire, "You made a mistake, casting them out, more than you can imagine. Elandriil has become the chosen of Justice... and Nyn. Like Aran, he is the Hand of Justice, but he has also become the Right Hand of Retribution."

Delphina's eyes flicked to Alessen's and Sehaine's at this pronouncement, "He cannot be. Nyn is a goddess of the Black Kin. No Silver has ever been favoured by her. Ever. You are mistaken."

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“It is true, Anaril.” Sehaine confirmed, “Elandriil bears the mark of the raven’s skull on blood red thorns. I saw it with my own eyes. He has changed and grown in ways that no one would have imagined.”

Keser grunted and slammed his glass down on the table, shattering the stem and sending the plates dancing across the tabletop. “It only goes to show how far he has strayed,” he snapped, “His loyalties are divided. Even the Gods can see it, but not you,” he glared at his son, “What is it that tempts you so? Is life at the Keep so much better than what you have here? So much better than the family that raised you and taught you how to survive?”

"What I see in that life is balance," Delen rose to his feet and his eyes sparked an eerie shade of illuminated green, "I see honour in the way of gods you would expect us deny, and in Elandriil, I see that more than in anyone I've met...aside from Araxmarr."

Alessen had started to protest at her father's outburst, but held her silence, choosing instead to watch and listen.

“Kedom iechi eldkust!” Keser snarled, the chair he had been seated in falling over with a clatter, his palms pressed to the table as he leaned over it, “speak that way in my house again, and you may find yourself testing the truth of those words.”

Sehaine cringed at the sound of shattering glass and jumped at the commotion of the toppling chair. She had a terrible feeling rolling in her gut. The urge to try and get her brother to step down washed away by the fact Delen wouldn’t have listened. She exchanged a glance with her sister then looked to their mother. Couldn’t they have a simple meal without someone upsetting their father?

Delen was giving voice to all their feelings, he just had the nerve, or was it stupidity, to stand up and say it.

***

B’Rodyn tensed, then looked across at Shadow questioningly before settling his gaze on Athena. “What do you need us to do… and by the Gods, be careful. I’m not entirely sure which is more treacherous, the QuickSilver or Y’Roden.”

With her sealed hand still pressed against the silver clad demon's chest, Athena looked up, her eyes turning dark. "Oh for gods sakes...You can stop judging your own cowardness and start by helping me hold him down, so he doesn't end up killing me. I'm his only salvation."

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Turning back to the business at hand her sealed arm slowly started inching it way up towards the creature’s throat. "Well? Just don't stand there," as she glanced franticly around the room, "give him a hand. I need to find the damn chain's clasp. If he gains full control of the armour, we're all dead!"

The Demon lurched up off the floor at that moment, a massive hand latching onto Athena’s throat. With a heave of a muscular arm it flung her up into the air, slamming her back down on the stone floor with a sickening crack. Snarling and weaving its head blindly it increased pressure on the female’s larynx, not caring in the least who it had, or whether they lived or died.

“Well, I did warn her,” B’Rodyn muttered as he jumped forward, wrapping a thickly muscled arm around the beast’s neck and hauling backwards. “Any suggestions?” he asked Drake, “besides a funeral eulogy. Wait… wait… there is something caught in my hair…” Pulling his head back he tried to look down at whatever had snagged his dark locks. “Shadow? A little help?”

Meanwhile, over against the wall, Tay was firmly rooted between her husband and the fight in the middle of the room. There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to let him kill Ro… not yet anyway.

Drake just stood there, his arm's crossed, with a wide-eyed look and a smile masking his face. "I'll only get in the way and it looks like you have everything under control. Oh! Don't count Athena out. He's only just starting to piss her off. Hang in there now, it'll be over soon. I hope..."

Argent nodded to Belle, “I’ll go, but it looks like we need to get there fast.”

“Of course he has fight left in him, the bastard lives for pain.” Shadow snapped at Athena, determined that the Silver needed a firm education in ‘what not to do around a demon’ but she seemed to be learning the first lesson hands on.

“No one bloody listens anymore, do they? Why in the hell did we have to depend on someone else for help, and who was the eshai’kiyana who thought it was a good idea to give him one of these things in the first place!” She didn’t know it was Drake, and if she had known, she probably wouldn’t have cared anyway.

“Keep your head still or I’m burning your hair off…” the Taurësúlë’s rantings faded away into her native language and it was probably a good thing few in the room understood as not only was some of it impossible to do but she said it with a venom that meant she’d be more than happy to make sure that it was done despite it.

Copper fingers carefully brushed the S’Hean King’s hair out of the way then grinned, “I think…we have…a winner.” The down side was that the clasp looked like it had been melted together so she did the next best thing. She slipped a

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shifted finger through the clasp, shifted the finger solid again, gave it enough of a jolt for the Quicksilver to part and yanked, the chain snapping under the strain.

Athena had just pulled the thin silver chain out from the Quicksilver when all hell broke loose around her. She felt the creature’s hand circling her neck, and the next instant she was seeing stars, while trying to catch her breath. The hand that had been dipped into the silver armour had been torn free and now hung useless by her side. Reaching up with her good hand, she gripped the creature’s wrist and slowly started to squeeze as the Quicksilver flowed up her arm once again.

"Do you think your strength matches mine," she asked, her voice straining to speak, "do you think you can win this struggle by trying to kill me? Yes, the clasp may be broken, but the Quicksilver remains. Only I can set you free, but you've just pissed me off," as a silver glow enveloped her once again as she shifted into the form of a Silver Dragon.

"Tell me Demon, why I should let you live," as she applied more pressure on the creatures wrist, slowly tearing it from her throat. Her wounds slowly healed as she hauled the creature, and B’Rodyn up in the air. "Never mind, there's no need to answer that. If I kill you, I also kill a close friend. You're lucky I don't know a way to rip your half from my friend's body, for you would make a fine meal for me tonight," as she turned to glare at B'Rodyn and Shadow.

"And next time I ask for help, don't hesitate, don't question me, just do it, or you may find yourself dangling from my grasp. Now you said that this...creature lives for pain? Well he's never felt pain like this I'll bet," and she slowly started peeling the armour from the Demon's skin, ever so slowly.

Then she suddenly stopped and smiled.

"You know, I should make you suffer the way you've caused others here to suffer. I should make you feel their pain, and mine. But I won't give you that satisfaction. I will not allow you to enjoy the sensation of pain, agony so intense it would make even you weep, make you beg for more. But I won't do it, and do you know why? No, I doubt your tiny one-track mind could understand. It's because I can be one cruel bitch when I want to be," she laughed.

"Now this won't hurt a bit, and I truly mean that..."

A deep-throated growl escaped Shadow, forest greens deepening to pure black. “Threaten me again, and I’ll rip your pretty little heart out from your chest before you know what hits you. Is that understood?”

Athena turned to stare down at the raven-haired woman before laughing, her eyes turning to a deep ice blue. "My dear child, if you think that was a threat, then you are indeed sadly mistaken. Now if you wish, we could take this little spat

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outside and see who's heart is ripped from who's body first. But allow me a moment to take care of this...riff-raff first.”

She pulled more of the Quicksilver from the dangling demon's body and the room's temperature suddenly dropped to a bone chilling cold as frost and ice started to form along the ceiling and walls, testament to Athena's powers. A cool bank of fog swirled and flowed slowly across the floor, towards the foursome as Athena chuckled softly.

"Tell me child, do you have any next of kin that you wish to notify of your up and coming death? I promise I'll leave enough of you to be identified, say a strand of hair should do the trick, don't you think? But tell me, is it true what they say about your race, that you are stringy and taste like chicken? You see, I hate stringy chicken. It gets caught between my teeth..."

B’Rodyn eyed Athena with a tired expression and sighed, “Would you knock it off with the pissing contest and just do what we asked you to do? If you haven’t noticed, our friend here is enjoying the attention. The more pain you dole out, the less chance we have of Y’Roden surfacing.” At least he knew that the Taurësúlë were immune to Temperature change… as for the S’Heans in the vicinity, they were in for a nasty case of frostbite at this rate.

“It IS me,” Y’Roden snarled, emerald eyes reflecting a riot of crimson as he eyed the Dragon currently trying to peel him like a Mai’Tus fruit. He looked over his shoulder and down at Drake, “Are all your lady friends this cranky? No wonder your hair is grey.” His head whipped back around and a low growl rumbled in his chest as more of the Quicksilver was peeled away, “Watch the chest hair woman! Ow!”

Belle and Gent reappeared on the landing, the tiny redhead’s feet slipping on the ice. “What the Hells is this?” she snapped. “Drake? We asked for help, not the frickin ice capades.” She had one of the armbands in her hand as she skittered across the room, “He needs this, now.”

***

"If you think threatening me will make me sit down and shut up, then you are badly mistaken." Delen's words were almost hissed out, "You question my... our... judgement? But leave YOUR House with a Black Vor’ill... Second in the Imperial Guard only to Daemonorel Ashev, slip into a Renegade House and take Sorshia Crylos back TO that Keep you hate so badly? You question how we knew we wouldn't be set up? HOW did you know Erinya Dhaunae wouldn't cut your throat and seal the fate of our House? Go ahead, strip me of House and Holdings... if you're fool enough to damn me for doing exactly what you did while I was gone? Then you can have House Datari."

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“I don’t threaten,” Keser said in a cold tone, “I promise. There is a damn big difference between what I did, and what you did. I was ordered to cooperate with The Diirlathe by the Silver Council, you had no such orders. If Erinya had the dumb luck to manage to slit my throat, the entire council would have hunted her down and chopped her lovely head off.”

His spine went rigid and the Silver straightened, eyes flashing phosphorescent, his next words were calm, laced with the ice that was his gift. “Congratulations Ath'ere Sehaine.” Turning on his heel the Ath'ar of house Datari kicked the chair out of his way and disappeared into the shadows of the doorway.

Stunned silence filled the courtyard, broken only by the sounds of bubbling water in a nearby marble fountain. Delen's fingers pressed lightly to the surface of the dining table, his eyes were lowered, seemingly studying the grain of the wood.

"Delen," Delphina tore her stricken gaze from the doorway and rose from her seat with fluid grace, "You shouldn't have pushed..."

"Do. Not. Touch me," Delen's black-emerald eyes went pointedly to her fingers, which were only inches from his forearm, "Do. Not. Tell me it will alll be better tomorrow, that you're sure he didn't mean it."

Alessen slowly rose to her feet and her fingers curled around her mother's arm, gently pulling her back. What she'd seen and her mother had missed was the change in Delen's eyes.

"Ny'sendi Oraex dominae."

The words were no sooner spoken than Delen's fingers caught the edge of the massive table and flung it end over end through the courtyard. The polished wood smashed into the marble fountain and caused the delicate fish spout to snap off at the tail, topple over and shatter on the carved waves beneath it.

As water began running, burbling up from the shattered fish, Delen turned on his mother, "Go ahead, bargain with him, negotiate with sex, do what you like with this House, I want. No. Part of it. Do whatever it is you do to manipulate him, but do NOT do it on my behalf!" Green eyes frosted with wrath shifted to Sehaine, "Enjoy your status... it lasts only until you stop rolling onto your back and pissing yourself to say 'yes' to anything he wants."

Shock gave away to numbness that gave away to anger as Sehaine stood and turned towards Delen. She understood his words, heard the warning in it but the tone was something she hadn't heard turned on her in years and she didn't like it. "You don't have to outright defy," the younger Silver all but hissed, "when there are far more subtle ways to prove your point, Delen."

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It was one thing she had always excelled at, the subtle ways, manipulating someone when they didn't know they were being manipulated. The hidden jealousy towards her brother and sister to be able to follow in their father and uncle's footsteps vanished, leaving behind a hollow feeling that echoed the hollowness that followed upon the ties that had been cut with their cousins.

"It can be done without abandoning pride or distancing yourself from those that love you."

"And I hope that subtlety keeps working for you, Sehaine," Delen growled out, "Because with me gone? He won't have anyone to blame for leading you astray."

Perhaps later he would regret letting the Storm dictate his actions, perhaps. But not today, and more than likely, not for a long time.

"Get used to the distance, Sehaine. You'll get to experience it first hand one day." His frosted eyes shifted from her to Alessen, then to his mother and the rest of his siblings that had gathered to see what the racket was, "Have a nice life."

The enraged Silver turned his back on them all and stalked out of the courtyard. He was gone before any of them could stop him, and he'd left with no illusions.

He was a fully trained assassin, the Nahtahri Dahnna of House Datari, and he walked in his uncle's footsteps... even to the point of leaving everything he had ever known behind. He would be marked from this day on, son of Keser or not, the Ath'ar of House Datari would never permit a renegade assassin to live, not if he could find him.

***

The Danna-Riel library was located deep in the catacombs behind the waterfalls, and Imoreki’s head was on a swivel as B’Roce led them down carved stairways into the depths that were lit by softly glowing lichen and humming crystals that soothed the nerves.

“There are several different levels,” The King informed them as they reached a quiet room where several fair heads were bent over the task of writing. “Each with its own designated content. Learning materials, histories…”

“What keeps the parchment from decaying in the moisture?” Ki asked curiously, his eyes traveling over carved out niches that were neatly labelled and filled with hundreds of scrolls.

“A combination of things,” B’Roce answered, “The niches are lined with a moisture absorbing form of moss, and the parchment itself is… coated after the

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writing has been completed.” He lifted a scroll from one of the sections and unrolled it before handing it to the stripe haired D’Riel.

It was slippery to the touch and appeared slightly glossy, an invisible film of solid substance forming a barrier between his fingers and the paper. “That’s incredible,” he murmured, “what is it?”

“A form of tree sap. It is harvested and heated, then lain out in flat pans. The Scrolls are slowly immersed in a thin layer, and when they dry… there we are, moisture resistant.”

"Neat," Helena breathed. "If I had half the library I used to I'd invest in that... Bloody grandparents..." The blonde shook herself, and smiled at Ki. "Sooo, pick a topic, any topic, so long as its Aethyr related, right?"

Rhiannon moved along with the others that had ventured to the library, understanding nothing and wondering why she had felt compelled to join them. In reality she was starting to get a little edgy about the fact she could not feel her children through the Fela bond. Guessing that it probably had something to do with the wards, the Felinumeara female tried to reassure herself that Rennon and Raellen were fine in their father’s care. It didn’t help much, but it did keep her from going totally insane.

N’atayo sat hunched over his work, unable to concentrate as he’d heard rumours of one like his mother’s people coming to the city. The instant the words had touched his slightly pointed ears the scribe had been impatient to venture from the library and seek this new comer out. Fiddling with his quill the white haired elf was in the middle of wishing he could just shove work aside when he heard unfamiliar voices.

Slowly, Nate shifted his gaze from the parchment before him to the where the king stood with the new comers, almost afraid that the moment his eyes reached them they would all disappear as if they were naught but a dream. The elf could feel his heart hammering against his chest and blood rushed through his ears. He was sure that at any moment he would burst from the anticipation of finally seeing one of his mother’s people.

Then suddenly the tiger female came into view and for the reclusive scribe it was as if he’d been transported elsewhere. Mint green eyes covertly took in the russet orange of the Felinumeara pelt, the deep black of her strips as well as the patters they made, and the vibrant red of lustrous locks as they cascaded in gentle waves over the tiger elf’s shoulders. If only he had the nerve to approach, to actually speak to her, but Nate knew he did not. So he just continued to stare, memorizing every thing he could, wanting it to stay in his memory for all the days to come.

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Jack had no idea why he had followed Ki, except he was thinking that maybe they were heading someplace to eat. Finding himself standing in a great library, still unable to understand anything anyone was saying, he glanced about until his eyes fell upon a white haired young elf that looked to have been disturbed by their sudden presence. While studying the young man, he could not help but follow the man's gaze, causing him to chuckle softly. Stepping silently up behind the tiger elf, Jack leaned in, to whisper in her ear.

"Don't look now, but I think you have an admirer. The poor young elf there can't seem to pull his eyes off of you. Seeing how we're new here, don't you think it would be the polite thing to do and introduce yourself to him, before his eyes fall from their socket? I would do it myself, but I would surely get us all hung..."

Y’Roce had gone along, very curious about this library and knowing he had his own role to play in everything along with Ki. It also had come to be that he was serving as interpreter for Rhiannon, and anyone else for that matter. Being so absorbed in all the volumes of scrolls that were everywhere, neatly catalogued and preserved, the Prince was awed by the potential for finding long lost or little remembered knowledge. The things waiting to be found were potentially mind-boggling. So it was that the half elf wasn’t paying any attention to anyone possibly ogling the tiger elf.

Rhiannon half turned to gaze at Jack over her shoulder, disbelief clearly evident upon her face as she asked, “and you think I wouldn’t,” she said in response to his comment. Shifting her gaze after a moment, the tiger elf curiously studied the one who'd been so interested in her, trying to decide if she should act or let it go.

Keen elven ears had picked up what the human had said, causing N’atayo to quickly avert his gaze, unaware until that moment his interest had been so obvious. A slight blush crept up his neck to settle on his cheeks and now incredibly self-conscious, as Nate was loath to be of notice to anyone. The white haired elf steadfastly resisted the urge to check and see if they were still looking. Doing his best to appear as if he were actually working and trying to muster up the courage to speak, the scribe was sure that with the way his heart was hammering it would fly from his chest at any moment. Then, much to his horror the choice of interacting or not was taken from him as a shadow fell across the parchment he was staring at.

With extreme trepidation the scholar shifted his head, to find the tiger female standing beside him with a questioning look on her face. Instantly Nate’s heart leapt into his throat, leaving him speechless. As he stared at the female, mint green eyes became as round as saucers and a myriad of emotions surged forward so rapidly that it was a miracle he hadn’t fainted strait away.

Rhiannon arched a brow, as the elf seemed to stare at her in horror, wondering what she had done to engender such strong emotions. “Ummm, I don’t suppose either of you Prince types would care to play translator for me,” she called, never

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taking her eyes off the elf before her. Something in her gut told the Felinumeara female that there was more here than met the eye and she intended to get to the bottom of it.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” Ki said to B’Roce and Helena. Moving over to his mother he raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

Y’Roce looked up, but Ki had reached her first. He had taken to seeing that she was ok since Ki had Helena to see to. It did not seem right though, to shout across the room, so he made his way over just as soon as he could. “Everything ok?”

Rhiannon grinned as first Ki then Roc responded to her request. “You two always move that fast to help a lady? Or are ya just scared I’m gonna get us all knee deep in phewts’ba?” The tiger elf gave both princes an impish grin before allowing her face to take on a more serious expression.

“Seriously, I need one of you to ask whitey here how come he keeps eyeballing me and then tell me what he says.” Looking from one to the other Rhiannon waited for Ki and Roc to decide who was gonna do the talking. Arms crossed over her chest she was very aware that the elf was still gazing up at her, as though she had two heads.

Imoreki gave his mother a half amused look before turning to eye the pale haired elf. “Dagar beken. Nydel ere in nye? In ere Felinimura.”

Nate had to try several times before he finally managed to swallow the lump in his throat, and the library seemed to become terribly warm while the stripe haired elf addressed him. Gathering the whole of his courage and hoping he recalled the language correctly, as it had been waaay too long since he had spoken his mother’s native language he replied first in Danna-Riel, so as not to be rude and then in ancient felinumearan so that the lady could understand him, he hoped.

“Yes she is, and I know her race. My mother was of the Felinumeara and thus my interest in her, though, I hope I am forgiven for staring.”

Imoreki managed not to look too terribly startled as he shot a look at Rhiannon.

Bowing at the waist Rhiannon gave her admirer a friendly smile then shifted at bit to look at Ki.

“What I want to know is how it is possible his mother was Felinumeara when my people keep extensive records of all births and the Danna-Riel are not mentioned in our histories as even visiting CathEska.” Curiosity shone in the depths of the tiger elf’s green eyes as she added, “Do you think they would have a record of it

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here? Something I could perhaps copy and take back to my people for our histories?”

Imoreki shrugged, “these are a reclusive people. If his mother lived and died here behind the wards, what way would she have had to send word to your people? Simple enough I suppose. As for records,” his eyes sparkled with amusement, “I suppose you can just ask him.”

***

Tilting her head back, Athena had to laugh. "A pissing contest? Is that what you think this is all about? If that was the case, my dear fellow, you all would be treading water up to your pointed ears by now, not be surrounded by a chilly fog of ice and frost."

Hearing Y'Roden's voice she glanced back down and grinned. "Well now, something good has come out of this after all. Welcome back my friend, and as for the chest hair comment goes, you'll have to just grin and bare it. If you weren’t so damn stubborn, and allowed Drake to test the armour the moment he placed the amulet around your neck, you wouldn't be in this predicament. So hold still and take your medicine like a good little half elf. I haven't even started down at the neither region yet. If you want to really feel pain," as she pulled the Quicksilver down.

"Can you feel the burn..."

All Drake could do was laugh. "Athena, listen to the man. Behave yourself. After all he's very sick, a man that enjoys pain, but very sick none the less. Leave him with some chest hair, but I'll bet his ass could use a good waxing," as he stepped up, jerking Athena's arm back, causing the rest of the Quicksilver to peel off rather quickly, only to have it reform into a small amulet that hung from a broken silver chain.

"That's for the grey hair comment, you big lug."

“OW!” Y’Roden eyed Athena for a moment, then suddenly leered at her, “You know, people pay for this sort of thing, I could get you a very well paying job at Rikers.”

“Don’t encourage him,” B’Elya sighed to Drake, “here,” she handed him the armband, “snap this on his bicep before we run into any more trouble. I’d highly recommend not putting that,” she pointed at the amulet, “back on him. Come to think of it, considering whom she is married to now, you may want to remove An’Thaya’s as well. We can’t tell the difference between her soul and Callan’s

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anymore, so I doubt your Quicksilver would be able to either. We can have the ‘which is worse, the Demon or Callan’ debate later.”

Staring at the armband Drake looked up, giving B’Elya a devilish grin. "Does it have to go on his bicep? I have a much better place to put it, and trust me, no one will want to go there to set it free, and he'll never worry about losing it again."

"And you tell me to behave," Athena chuckled. Turning Y'Roden loose, she turned to smile at B'Elya. "I understand your concern, and you are correct. Even if it means losing two great knights, I will remove An’Thaya’s amulet as well. I will ask though, that the two of you that once wore the amulets to consider offering them to someone else. I can wipe away the memories that Y'Roden's amulets holds, giving it a clean slate. There is no harm in asking for two new knights to take place of the...old ones. Now is there?"

Shadow eyed the frost and snorted, “Cute parlour trick.” The forest elf crossed her arms and scowled, “Drake, shut up and put it on him or I’ll make Willow a widow. Then we can see to the wounds.”

Drake sighed as he glanced at Shadow, his eyes still sparkling with laughter. "Don't threaten me Shady. If you don't behave, I'll turn you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve. Then I'll strap you down and place one of these amulets around your neck and test you for a knight. And don't think I won't do it!"

Slapping the armband on Y'Roden's bicep, he patted the large man on the shoulder. "Damn Ro, even with the armband you still look like shit. You had better let Shady and the others here see to your wounds. They look bad."

Meanwhile Athena had stepped over to An’Thaya, asking her to stand. "Have you thought about what I asked of you? Would you like to offer the amulet to another? A friend or a loved one?"

“I really can’t think of anyone off the top of my head,” she admitted, “but I will think on it. For now though, Belle is correct, its best that I don’t wear the amulet.” The Amazon cast a look back at her husband, “Especially now.”

Glancing down, Athena simply smiled. "I understand your concern. It's a shame though, losing two fine knights in one day. Now if you'll allow me," as she reached around An’Thaya’s neck, her fingers working the small hasp free. Letting it slip from around the redheaded woman's neck she held it up for all to see.

"There we are, a bit less painless than your brothers." Taking An’Thaya's hand, she placed the chain and amulet in her palm, closing the woman's fingers around it.

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"Find someone with a true heart. Don't allow Drake to remain the last knight left alive. It's a lonely place, being the only knight. He needs someone to talk to, to tell his tales to, besides his wife and children. You understand..." she once again bowing her head, before stepping away.

An’Thaya gazed at the small pendant in her hand for a moment. It felt odd to have it removed; she had been wearing it for years now. Her neck was bare, for the first time in a very long time. The emerald choker had been taken off several years ago after her break-up with Galain, and now a gift from a father figure had been removed as well.

Just one more loss in so many lately. She closed her fingers, slipped the amulet into a pocket portal, and went back to Callan. “Come on,” she said with a wry smile, “Let’s get you fixed up, shall we. Then you can proudly proclaim to everyone that you lost a full two feet and you are still damn impressive.”

Y’Roden shrugged off B’Rodyn’s arm and sighed, “aye… alright. Shadow?” He was looking for her help as much as distracting her from disembowelling Drake on the spot.

“Try it, Knight, and there will be a large gapping whole in your chest. I wouldn’t have one of those foul things around my neck.” The forest elf gave Drake one last look that promised various degrees of pain then turned to Ro, her personality changing drastically.

“You might want to sit, Desh’ketai, those barbs look rather nasty unless you think you can handle it?” Shadow was fairly sure her father knew what she was referring to, there hadn’t been too many times that she passed through people without intentionally killing them, mostly because it left people with a slightly eerie feeling.

Y’Roden gave his daughter a wan smile and braced his hands against the edge of the wall, “I’ll be alright, you know me, anything for an adrenaline rush.” He looked from one face to another, and finally asked the question that had been weighing on his mind. “What the hells happened anyway? One moment I was fast asleep… the next…”

Shadow shook her head, as her hand passed through the half-Elf’s skin. “All I know is it came out and we heard Belle scream.” A frown appeared on Shadow’s face, “Hold on, you’re going to get cold really quick.” The forest elf announced then disappeared into her father’s body as she worked on unhooking parts of the viscous barbs. Then popped back out and dropped the bloodied spikes on the floor. She quickly glanced over at Callan, “They aren’t poisoned or anything, right? Just the barbs?”

"What? I'm sorry?" Callan seemed to suddenly pay attention. His thoughts had been wandering after Athena had asked An'Thaya to pass the amulet on to

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someone true of heart... good. Callan himself had little faith in 'goodness'. He'd known good and noble people to do horrible things, and some of the most vile and malicious people to give their lives to save that of another. If the amulet could only define 'good' from 'bad', Callan wanted no part of it, nor did he want anyone he knew to have it.

"Oh, yeah, right," Callan scrubbed at the back of his neck and eyed Ro, "No, no poison. Just... lots of pain and flesh damage." His eyes narrowed as he studied Y'Roden, "Just because I'm a shameless, heartless bastard, what happened is, I gave you a piece of tail while you were sleep walking."

***

Quiet mornings were something the Dragon-elf treasured, she always had. All her life she'd been awakened in the pre-dawn hours and made to train, to study, to learn. There had been little time for relaxing and just enjoying her family.

Far too little time....

This morning was one of those mornings, and at the chateau she and her husband shared, Mira had slipped out at daylight dressed in nothing but a thin, silk gown. Her hair was loose, and in her hands was a steaming mug of spiced kej wodi. The citrus drink was wonderful with peppermint and other mild tasting additives, and it was better at waking her up than the coffee her Sire was so fond of.

"Mmmmm, its going to be a beautiful day, isn't it Vershan?" Mira settled into the rocking chair next to her husband and smiled at the blond-haired elf. The silence of the morning was broken only by the melodic yet mournful call of a buraia.

A half-smile curved Bran's lips, the expression in his eyes appreciative as they met his wife's. "Not as beautiful as you," he murmured softly. A quiet sound made him look down at the small form curled up in his lap. His smile gentled into one of paternal pride as he ran a hand over Seren's raven-dark curls. Her brothers were still abed in the nursery under the watchful eye of a maid, but his little star was an early bird and had insisted on joining her parents for breakfast. The toddler's jade eyes were bright as they watched her mother. "Isn't that right, slyan na'dah?" He tickled her with a finger.

On another world, far enough away from Aerdon to be little more than a vague smudge of starlight on the other side of the galaxy, Elandriil Datari had awakened from Zenith and from what could only be described as hell.

"Vanyalin?" The Silver shook the sleeping red-head next to him, "Van, wake up..." She was shredded at the core of her being, and by clinging to her soul, by trying to be her anchor, Elandriil was being dragged into a yawning vortex of

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nothing, into the heart of her conduit, and with every breath, he was growing more and more tired, it was becoming more and more difficult to fight the undercurrents that were dragging them both down.

"Van, come on, we gotta get you to Mira, you've got to let her try to help."

The diminutive redhead opened her eyes… it was an effort to even manage that much. Between the illness in S’Hea and the condition of her soul, Vanyalin was in bad shape, and she knew it. The last week had been plagued by nightmares of Rakka Keep… the sound of her own screams and the stench of Nuru’Kh-ai… and the laughter in Tallin’s eyes through every moment of it.

If it had been just her… Vanya would have let go, she would have slipped quietly into the depths of her own conduit and let the darkness claim her. It had been wrong of her to accept Elandriil’s help, to put his life at risk, she could see that now, but it was too late, and if she died, the Silver would be dragged down right along with her. Life… she had no choice but to accept it… for his sake.

With a weak murmur she nodded, giving in to what he was asking… she couldn’t fight it anymore.

Mira's lips had parted for her to answer Bran, she'd leaned over and her fingers had slid along Seren's back gently, when the fog enshrouded lake before them began to boil and churn. The air over the waters split and the portal that had formed cause the steaming lake water to spiral up like a waterspout, drawn to the fissure in time and space.

"Bran..." The dragon-elf slowly rose to her feet and waves of heat began to dance at her fingertips, but snuffed immediately when she caught a glimpse of Silver scale and flame red hair, "Oh good gods, its Elandriil and Vanyalin."

Also on his feet, his infant daughter cradled protectively to his chest with one hand, the fair-haired elf's eyes narrowed as he saw the condition of the newcomers. "Get them to sit down before they fall down," he said bluntly to his wife, sending a quick call to the young woman who tended their children. Somehow he suspected that Seren might be better off breakfasting with Elthahir and Elythar this morning.

As the Silver landed and carefully shifted form to a half-elf with molten silver eyes, Mira darted off the porch. In Landrii's arms was a barely conscious Vanyalin.

"I tried... I tried what your father did, only... I can't..." Elandriil swallowed and seemed to choke on his words, "I'm not strong enough, she's dying... that... hole in her soul is... sucking her in, and she can't... stop. It’s taking her, Mira, and I can't help her."

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"Sweet Flame and Chaos, Elandriil. You tried WHAT? What my father did?" For a moment Mira's confused expression warred with the compassion as her fingers smoothed masses of flame red hair back from Vanya's face, "What my father...." It was a perfect morning... and her blood suddenly ran cold, "You forced a bond to her? To a dying D'Riel?" Wide jade eyes darted to Bran, forcing a bond was the equivalent of rape in the worst sort, lovers or not, and in the case of forcing one to a dying D'Riel, it was suicidal rape.

“No,” Vanya’s voice was weak and she couldn’t seem to summon the strength to lift her eyelids. “Not forced,” she murmured, “offered… accepted.” Her mind seemed to spin and drift…Forced? Callan had forced a bond on her mother? She couldn’t see anyone forcing anything on her mother… ever… but it explained why her father had been so damnably angry. To put it mildly… The thought was lost, and her head turned restlessly beneath Mira’s touch.

"Landrii," Mira blinked and shook her head then looked to Bran, "I... what are you asking of me?"

Elandriil's eyes met Bran's, then Mira's jade, "You did it for them, maybe you can do it for us, maybe you can help?"

"Oh gods, Landrii, I don't even know what happened, and I enabled it, I was already healing her when the bond was forced... This? This was done backwards, her soul had to have been shredded for you to even manage a light bond, let alone work this close to her core," Mira's fingers tightened across Van's forehead and her eyes softened, lost focus, "And you are that deeply woven in, but the damage is still there, the edges are still raw and bleeding. Callan forced it, while I was healing her, he... didn't give her a choice BUT to live, and as best I can tell you, it was by accident they are melded as they are, not by design."

Bran sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "You," he said bluntly to the Silver First Captain, "sit down. You can still hold Vanyalin like that, but you look about ready to fall down and if you do that you'll squash her." The fair-haired elf could just sense that this was going to be one of those days that gave him an astounding headache.

Joining his wife, his jade eyes met Landrii's with a stern look that suggested it might be best not to argue, particularly given that he'd come here for help anyway. Yet the hand that clasped Mira's shoulder was a gesture of gentle reassurance. "Can we help?" he asked silently, "or is it too big a mess?"

***

Amilyn sat up on the bed, her head resting against the wall behind the headboard. "Conlan, you're being ridiculous, I need to be able to get out of here on occasion..."

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"Amilyn, you can hardly stand up. Let alone the fact that we just got you back, when we thought you might be dead... You're staying where we know you are safe." The half-Elen crossed his arms, looking more like his adopted brother than he might realize.

The redhead growled lightly and leaned up, wincing in pain as it tugged the still healing welts on her back. Drow curses she'd picked up from her Dero Y'Roden tumbled out of her mouth as she bit her lip.

"Don't let Ammah hear you say that, she'll wash your mouth out with soap..."

"Oh please, Conlan, if she'd seen what I hid from her, she'd say the same. And then she'd kill the dratted pair with her bare hands." Amilyn looked up at him and searched his eyes, seeing a reflection of something she'd thought a sign of her own failing health. "My gods, Conlan, you've had the dreams!"

Conlan sighed and sat in the chair near the bed. "Aye, I've had the dreams. I thought perhaps it was just the loss of my twin, making me dream of her, but I definitely have heard from Mel. And I don't think I'm the only one."

“Well it's just like Mel,” Cully’s voice rumbled from the doorway, “She wouldn’t shut up in life, you expect her to clam up in death? She’d never let a little thing like being deceased stop her.” He paused and looked at Conlan, “and who do you think taught us to swear?” he asked, “Ammah happens to have an extensive foul vocabulary, in more languages than I care to think of at the moment.

Conlan eyed Cully. "You didn't see much of Mel after the war for Corin, did you? She changed a lot, even more after the attacks on Gala Nodel..." He figured he'd point that out before Ami got defensive. Mystical had left much of her responsibilities with Ami to Mel's care, and the tiny redhead was rather protective of her sister. "As for the other, I still say she's too young..."

"Conlan, shove it up your arse! I'm not exactly a child anymore. For crying out loud, Mystical and Tallin planned to make me a parent... If I'm old enough to be a pawn in their blasted schemes, I think I'm old enough to say whatever I damned well please." The redhead shot a look worthy of An'Thaya at her elder brothers. "But the dreams... What does she say to you?" She bit her lip and thought back to the dreams she'd had herself, where Mel had told her to find Shadow, that she needed to come back, to right her wrongs.

Glory stood just behind his twin, but hadn't said a word. Instead he merely listened, glad to see Amilyn home, not glad to see the changes in her.

“No, I hadn’t seen her in quite some time,” Cully admitted, “but everyone changes. As for whether Ami is too young,” he shrugged, “don’t you think that is her Ammah’s prerogative to judge? Not anyone else’s? Unless of course, you

2

would like to go tell her you don’t approve of the way she raises her children. Glory and I will happily take bets on your likelihood of survival.”

He looked back at Ami and gave her a blank look, “she doesn’t say anything to me. I’ve just… seen her a few times is all.”

Conlan eyed Cully. "I'm not totally stupid. I've just lost one sister, Van's still pretty sick and I refuse to lose Ami too." For a few seconds his guard dropped, allowing the twins and Ami to see the fear under his normally unbreakable control.

Ami eyed the two carefully, a wisdom beyond her years showing in her gaze. "Have you seen her Glory?" Of all of them, Glory'd be the one she'd trust Mel to talk to most. Conlan had pulled the overprotective routine a few times too many for Mel to really tell him much, but the blonde had always been close to Glory.

"She wants to come back," Cully's twin replied slowly. In his mind's eye he was seeing Melaina die all over again and he shifted uncomfortably. "But she needs help to come back." He dropped his eyes. "Her voice doesn't always come through, but it's easy to tell what she wants."

“Come back?” Cully’s tone was incredulous, “how in hells can she be brought back? She isn’t a D’Riel. No one put her in a preservation casket.” He blinked wildly, “is there something about the Al’imeara I don’t know? The Elen… well, once they are gone, they are gone.”

Conlan eyed his sibling. "Neither was Shadow, but we brought her back once or twice." He looked at Amilyn, who nodded. "And Mel gave Shadow a piece of her soul, it's in a necklace Shady wears. I think that's why she tells Amilyn to find Shady..." He fell quiet, thoughts racing through his mind, mostly dealing with the return of his twin.

Cully shrugged, “I don’t really see the point. Everyone with any connection to D’Riel blood is dying, why bring her back just to die again? Ammah went through enough hell watching her die the first time. Just let it alone, for her sake at least... just let it lay.”

***

"Well," Mira's tone was far lighter than it should have been, "WE won't know until we try, will we?" The emphasis on 'we' meant much between Bran and Mira. Always in the past she'd tried to help torn souls without letting him in, without seeking the support he wanted to give his bondmate, but things had changed, slowly... but they'd changed.

2

"Now do what Bran says, Landrii, before you end up in the grass, and the dew is awful chilly this early in the morning. I don't know why, but I never found heavy dew to be something I liked, and I doubt you would either." The dragon-elf slipped one arm around Landrii's waist to help support the exhausted Silver and cut her eyes at Bran, suggesting he catch the Captain on the other side.

As the four of them made their way to the wide porch, Elandriil stumbled once, then again, and finally all but fell onto the structure. Silver eyes went from the fragile redhead in his arms to the not so distant lake and the mountains that rimmed it to the north.

"Is that? The lake where Task..." The question wasn't finished before Mira lay her fingers on his lips.

"Shhh, yes, but that's not important right now. Be quiet, and pay attention as best you can, we may need your help, and hers." Mira's head angled up as one of the servants stood just inside the house, waiting and watching if she were needed.

"Y'leri? We'll need a room for them, get one ready with fresh linens, and a fire... blankets, food. They'll need a hot bath drawn and fresh clothes as well. I'm sure we've something here that will fit Van, if not, make something."

The female nodded and darted off. Within the house could be heard the sounds of people preparing the things Mira had asked for.

"Alright. We don't have much time. How long has she been like this?"

"I... I don't know. On the voyage home, through the ship-portal, was when I tried it, and she was already coming apart. It’s been... about a week... on Whispin?"

"Oh, a challenge, wonderful." Mira's brows rose, "We have less time than I thought then."

"Which means we've no time left for spoken words.

With no more effort than that, ribbons of black and tarnished silver, steel and jade began slipping into the storm of emerald green and the purer silver that now riddled the slowly revolving hurricane.

Emerald greens snapped open, the yawning conduit visible in the rioting depths, a glimpse into another realm in the beyond. The redhead drew in a shuddering, choked breath, her tiny frame shaking and arching upwards as her soul recoiled from the unfamiliar touch.

2

"Easy, it's alright."

It was not clear which of the other three the quiet reassurance was aimed at as Bran steadied his wife, letting her take the lead as their entwined souls slipped into the whirling vortex that was the innermost parts of Vanyalin and Elandriil.

"Damn, what a mess," the fair-haired elf muttered under his breath, barely aware that he had spoken aloud. He could see the silver threads of the First Captain's spirit clinging desperately to the emerald galaxy of the petite redhead, but even that hold was fraying, threads pulling free as her soul began to collapse in upon itself. The force of it was powerful, strong enough to draw Mira and himself in too if they were not careful. Deliberately he kept hold of her, anchoring them both whilst she sought out the place to start.

As Mira's soul hung, suspended like a spider dangling from a single strand anchored to something solid, memories raced past her, leaving her buffeted in a phantom wind. At times it was difficult to sort Elandriil's from Vanyalin's; there was joy, agony, sorrow, lust and terror. So many emotions that made each of them an individual. Then it became clear to the SoulHealer... the trick... ah... the real trick here, was to provide one final element, a glue to hold it all together.

“Sha'tris...” Mira's 'voice' sounded bemused, “All they need is balance... its all being outweighed by this...” Slashing, roiling strands of pure emerald jolted through the mixed souls. “They were mid-portal... the Aethyr was summoned, folded and shifted to open the portal, and when it closed, it became part of them, but there's too much, more than I've ever seen in any D'Riel... it's killing her, compounded with the other problems that have ripped her apart.” The Dragon-elf seemed to be talking to everyone, and no one at the same time.

Landrii's silver eyes rolled open and stared at Mira, then Bran, without seeing their bodies, just their souls, "Sha'tris? But... you can't... its not part of her... it could kill her."

"No, no it won't. It's not the Aethyr, but Sha'tris is a kindred power, its like donating blood, Landrii. Its not the same, but the body doesn't know that." A soft, almost illuminated smile lit Mira's face. "The Crimson changed the balance, you restored it, now the Aethyr has overwhelmed it. Its time to restore the balance."

Her husband stayed silent, aware of just how risky what Mira was suggested could be; yet her words rang true. Without balance, there was nothing. Without balance, Vanyalin would die anyway. For that reason alone he knew they could not do anything but try, yet the wound from the last time he had been involved in a SoulHealing was still fresh enough to sting, painful enough to cause him to hesitate before giving a resigned sigh. They had no other choice.

2

Vanyalin went still, whether from Elandrill’s reassuring presence, Bran’s words, or some sort of acceptance of what Mira proposed, was hard to tell. Cat-slit eyes shifted to meet jade green and there seemed to be a silent agreement in their depths before crimson lashes fluttered down, the redhead’s gaze turning inwards to the battle being waged within her soul.

“It will be okay, Vershan.” Mira's words were for Bran, yet at this moment, there was no way to conceal her thoughts from Landrii and Vanyalin. What was about to happen was entirely unlike what had happened with Silverthorn and Y'Roden, and perhaps, just perhaps, this would restore the balance in her own soul, in Bran's.

It was time to put it all to rights again.

As the Dragon-elf began to tether shredding threads, securing emerald green with silver and indigo blue from Landrii, gold tendrils of power began snaking up from the ground. Like electric feelers, it crackled and slithered, then seemed to find what it was looking for... Bran and Mira. The soul of Aerdon was being summoned, and here by the lake, was a nexus of two ley lines, a union of sentient power. It was here a trapped soul had been set free from the prison of its own making, it was here, by this same lake Mira's mother had bonded to her father, it was here they'd been married.

It was here that two souls were about to become one not only with one another, but with the souls of two worlds.

Glittering gold seemed to trickle like sunlight breaking through clouds, warm and alive, into the jumbled mix of Bran and Mira, Landrii and Vanyalin. Strands of steel and jade green, black and tarnished silver began to stitch the torn places, and slowly, the storm began to subside.

What seemed like hours later, Mira began to unwind from the nebulous mess that was now charged with equal parts green and gold, emerald and silver, and she could feel Bran's presence withdraw with her.

"The pain isn't over,” her voice whispered to Landrii and Van, "Its just beginning... your soul will change, it will pull into alignment with hers, and in time, there will be a conduit in the core of your being. Your fears will become hers, her pain will become yours." A slow trickle of blood started sliding down Mira's lip as her eyes flickered open and a trembling hand went to Vanyalin's face, "Don't hide what happened from him, he loves you... trust him like no other, because he is no other."

***

2

After their encounter in the library, Rhiannon had taken the time to get to know Nate. He seemed to the Felinumeara to be a very intelligent individual and very shy, unless spoken to one on one in private. Much to her relief, the white haired elf was also extremely observant and when he asked about her seeming unease, the red headed tiger elf explained to him about the wards interfering with her ability to check on the twins she had left behind. Graciously, Nate had offered to take her outside the wards so that Rhiannon could check on her children and speak with Cullen.

As they had journeyed, Rhiannon had asked many question of her newfound friend. Mostly concerning the fact his mother had been Felinumeara. The discovery that the overly shy, soft spoken, Danna-Riel that walked beside her was indeed family came as one hell of a shock to the redhead, rendering her speechless for several moments after hearing the name of N’atayao’s mother. It took the Felinumeara female a bit of time to adjust to this turn of events, but eventually she stopped treating Nate as a stranger, treating him with the same open blunt affection she did the rest of her loved ones.

Now they stood outside the wards and Rhia was doing her best to concentrate on the sound of Cullen’s heart echo within her chest. Reaching out along that steady rhythm, Rhiannon tapped lightly on the captain’s mind, “Cullen, are you there?”

“Where else would I be?” came the instant reply, a shadow of relief in the Captain’s mental tone. “And as you can plainly tell, our children are happy and healthy. We are working double time here to get Corin back on its feet. How are things there? Are you alright?”

Rhiannon let out a breath she had not realized she been holding, then smiled over at Nate to let him know things were fine. “Thank The Weaver; I have been worried sick about you and the babies. It seems the Danna-Riel also employ wards. I’m fine, though I might be bringing a new friend back with me. Who is watching the children while you help get the city back on its feet?”

“Wards? Well that explains the sudden loss of contact. Kara Little, she is an old friend of Y’Roden’s, a Healer, and she has been kind enough to offer her help. Wait… a new friend?” The half-elf’s tone was bright with curiosity that was clearly obvious across their connection.

“Yes, it seems that I have family on Whispin that you and I did not create,” the tiger elf replied, a bit distracted as she searched for possible recollection of having met a Kara Little. Finding none she added, “I don’t know any Kara Little. What does she know about children? How does she know Y’Roden? What kind of healer is she? Where does she come from? Is she human, elf, or other? You don’t let her handle the babies do you? Weaver only knows if she’s doing it right or if she realized she has to be very gentle with them, hold their heads correctly, not drop them. How could you trust a stranger with our children”? The longer Rhiannon went on the more panic and protective anger came through the link.

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Every anxiety and regret that she had over Ginevera, Kaylin, and Imoreki welled up and exploded, overwhelming the Felinumeara until she was ready to either burst into tears or rip someone’s head off.

There was silence from Cullen for a very long moment, “You know, the last time I checked, I was the Addah of these children,” he said in a tight tone, his instincts as a S’Hean male raising their hackles. “I think I’m qualified to decide who can and cannot properly care for my own children. Kara is perfectly capable, and she has taken time out of her own busy schedule to help out, I’d think you’d be grateful to know that our children are being given the best of care. And you’d think you’d trust your children’s father to decide who is safe to handle them.”

Grabbing a hold of herself, aware of the fact that not only was she reacting from high emotion due to past mistakes, but Cullen was now angry, Rhiannon closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths and forcing herself to fall back on the discipline training she’d received as an adolescent. “I am not questioning your ability as a father, Cullen”, the Felinumeara began in calmer tones. “I am, however, being the overprotective fela that past mistakes compel me to be. It’s a shortcoming I know, but I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me for it, considering the circumstances at present.”

Falling silent the tiger female scrubbed hands over her face, cursing the situation she was in and feeling that, at some point in time, she and Cullen would need to speak of her past. It was not a conversation she was looking forward to, however, considering he was the twins' father, he needed to know some of the reasons if they were to learn to work as a team to raise Rennon and Raellen.

“Apology accepted,” Cullen said in a slightly amused tone, “Just hurry back, alright? The twins miss their mother. We’ll talk more then.” The conversation ended with an affectionate tweak to their connection, and then he was gone, his duties in Corin drawing his attention back to what he had been doing.

***

B’Rodyn gazed at the blonde elf across him with more than a little curiosity. B’Roce D’Riel had accompanied the S’Hean team back through the Well and now… it seemed rather surreal as the Kings of two Elven nations sat across from one another, the silence thick between them at first.

“You bear my father’s name,” B’Roce said finally, “It is strange that it would be now, generations later for you, that the name B’Rodyn should appear in the line again.” He smiled, “a sign of the Fates blessings perhaps, and the answer to what your Cousin has brought with him.” He gestured to Imoreki, who stepped forward and handed a rolled up scroll to the S’Hean King.

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Crisp parchment whispered beneath B’Ro’s fingers and he placed it on the table to unroll it, scanning through the contents, his expression slowly changing from mildly sombre, to suddenly enlightened.

“It is similar to the prophecy found here… but I see the answer more clearly now.” He looked up at the King of the Danna-Riel. “The key has been here all along, we just didn’t have the directions to use it.”

“Aye,” B’Roce nodded, “or the keys, to be more exact. You, B’Rodyn D’Riel, are the genetic descendent of both continents. You must be the one to enter the well and restore Whispin’s Gaia, then purge both of our lands of Haldanuru’s blight.”

B’Rodyn sat back in his chair, chestnut hair shifting across his shoulders and settling as he scrubbed at his face with callused fingers. “So Y’Roden was right, he interpreted the S’Hean prophecy correctly at least. Its beginning to all make sense now. Shadowed Death will reign within the veins of Light, Haldanuru’s common name is Shadowed Death, and it is his blight that has been killing Arminiea’s children… the veins of Light. Peace and Hope were obvious, Sword of Peace… Y’Roden, and Light’s Hope, An’Thaya.”

He looked up at B’Roce again, “Beneath the Demon’s Blight… again, quite obvious, Haldanuru is as much Demon as God. Lands long lost to time…”

“Would be where I come in,” B’Roce chuckled, “but what of Thorns caught in the web?”

The S’Hean King looked to the others in the room for a moment, then back to his distant relation. “I assume it is referring to Y’Roden’s ex-wife. The lands illness has cost my cousin more than his life.”

“Ah, that part had me slightly confused, I must admit. However, now that I know you exist, Spirit Wells and Dragon’s Heart makes perfect sense, but the last line still confuses me. Dream stems the poison’s ebb?”

The S’Hean King managed to look slightly uncomfortable for a moment. “The key,” he said calmly, “lies in the hand of Death’s Dream, and it is a hand that it will not be easy to pry from.”

***

Y’Roden’s eyes were dark as he looked at B’Rodyn, the two S’Heans framing the double doorway that led into the chambers belonging to Callan and An’Thaya Blackthorn. Ro had been in Silver Dragon Ridge when his Cousin had summoned him, the news all at once incredible… and heartbreaking.

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“You realize what we are asking,” he said, his baritone rough with suppressed grief. “He won’t agree to it, and I don’t blame him. I don’t want to agree to it… she’s my sister B’Rodyn.”

“And she’s my cousin” B’Rodyn said softly, “but is it right to spare one life when we can save so many? If this isn’t done… you know what will happen. She only has a matter of days at best as it is.”

Y’Roden’s shoulders tensed, then slumped, “there are days,” he growled, “when I really hate you.” Despite the words, he knocked on the door, staring at it blankly as he waited for someone to answer.

"Yeah, I love you too," Callan muttered as he opened the door and stared eye to eye with Y'Roden and B'Rodyn, "You realize, you woke us up from a nap, right?" He scrubbed at his eyes with one hand as the other pushed the door open further to reveal the D'Riel emerald lashed to his hand again, "I hope you two can be quiet, pregnant women need their sleep and so do their husbands."

“Sorry,” Y’Roden said in a slightly lower tone. “We need to talk,” he looked past Callan at his sister, who was still curled on the bed, pale and half-asleep as she watched the trio at the door. “It’s… important.”

An’Thaya stirred finally and rose up slightly on her elbow, pulling the sheets up with her as flaming curls tumbled around her shoulders. “Come in,” she offered with a smile, “it must be important for you to haul yourself to our doorstep all the way from Silver Dragon.”

Callan quietly closed the door behind Y'Roden and his cousin, B'Rodyn. There was something in the posture of the two elves that put Callan on edge and suspicious, "Talk about what? I heard the party is back from the Well... did they find a cure, or are you hear to tell us there is none?" His tone was level, tinged with a mix of hope and at the same time, doubt. Had there been a cure, he'd have thought Ro's face wouldn't have seemed so long...

The two S’Heans exchanged a glance, and B’Rodyn nodded to Y’Roden, holding to silence. The half-elf drew in a slow breath and looked Callan in the eye.

“They found the answer in Danna-Riel,” he said steadily, “though we had it within our grasp all along. It just took fresh eyes to see it.” He paused then, looking to An’Thaya and searching for the words.

The Amazon gazed straight back at him, her expression calm and unfazed. “They need the Emerald,” she said to her husband, “and they don’t think I’ll survive long enough for them to heal the Land. That’s it, isn’t it? The D’Riel Emerald is the key, but it is going to take time to fix the damage done to Whispin.”

2

There was a long, tense silence before Callan spoke again, "Yeah, so? We can just stay in the Well. Ro can toss in dinner from time to time and we'll be okay, right?" Eyes shot with a strange shade of teal, topaz and emerald from the gem in his hand, shifted to Y'Roden, "Right? Tell me that's all, a long stay in the Well... that's it, right?"

“Callan… we’ve been friends far to long for me to sugar coat anything for you.” Y’Roden answered, “The Well is the lock, it is Whispin’s Gaia, her living soul. The Emerald has to be taken into the heart of the Well, and the only person both sides of this planet will listen to is B’Rodyn. He must be the one to enter the Well, and he must go alone.”

"What?" Callan's expression wavered between disbelief and outrage, "No. No, there's got to be another answer, a piece you've overlooked, some other way..." Y'Roden and B'Rodyn's silence said 'no there is not'.

"Y...You're sitting there!? Asking me to let. Her. Die, when a cure is this close? She's..." the Emperor rose to his feet, emerald in hand. The stone seemed to flash an angry shade of green in response to his words, "She's carrying MY CHILDREN! TWINS, Y'Roden... Your nephew and niece... they have names! Th'rax and Tay'la!"

“Callan,” An’Thaya said softly, “Don’t… please? He knows, they both know. It doesn’t make what needs to be done any less necessary.” Her darkened green eyes focused solely on the Emperor, voice steady, accepting. “These are my people Callan, this is my world, my heritage, the future of my children and my family. Don’t… don’t ask me to watch it all fall apart if there is something I can do to stop it. We both know I’m not going to make it anyway… if S’Hea dies, if Whispin dies, the children and I go with it.”

Emerald strands drifted slowly, caressing ribbons of silver black. “Doste Iman, Callan… in this life and the next. Please… just give B’Rodyn the Emerald, help him save what was once my home, and let my children, let Cal’Lanth live.”

"Tay?" Callan's head swivelled around and his gaze fell on his wife. She looked so tired and pale and the dark spider-webs of black had spread under her skin to the point that she looked like a porcelain doll who's glaze had crackled in fine lines, "No. No, there has to be another way, I can't just... let... you... Tay'la and Th'rax... Gods dammit... GODS DAMMIT!"

His voice trailed off as he sank to the bed and the fingers of his free hand raked hard through his hair and finally paused at the back of his neck. His eyes stared blankly at the space of floor between the end of his toes and the toes of Y'Roden.

"Get Glory and Cal." His voice was low, unsteady, "I'll let you have the damned thing, but not before we talk to Glory, not before we see Cal one more time."

2

***

The complete silence in the room in the wake of Y'Roden and B'Rodyn's departure had seemed to creep on in incremental, crawling little seconds. To Callan, each breath seemed drawn from beneath a crushing weight on his chest. Topaz eyes had slid shut and he'd carefully slumped back on the bed, gathered his dying Tay into his arms, and buried his nose in her hair.

In some strange way, he was almost relieved. One way or the other, she would be fine, she wouldn't hurt anymore, this long struggle would end, but not before she passed through even more agony. Still, by the time the sunset today, they would both be okay.

The slow passage of time was suddenly broken by laughter and giggling and a child's voice echoing in the corridor. Cal... and Glory.

"Daddy? Where daddy?"

"Time to put on our 'we'll be okay' faces," Callan softly whispered along a shared soul that was slowly breaking apart, a soul that couldn't endure much more, even with the help of the Emerald.

The door swung open and Callan swallowed hard, drew in a shaking breath, and as the dark-haired, topaz eyed child squirmed out of his half-brother's grasp, he found the smile that crept to his mouth a genuine one as Cal scrambled across the room and began scrambling up the edge of the bed.

"I see B'Rodyn found you?" Callan pushed himself upright and scrubbed at his face as though he'd just woke up, but in truth was trying to conceal the slow leak of tears that had left his eyes red.

"Yeah, he did," Glory replied. He was pale, a little uncertain, and when his eyes dragged over Callan's face he couldn't help but see tears there. His eyes flicked to his mother and nausea of a sort different from what the sickness always left him with welled up.

An’Thaya gathered Cal’Lanth up in her arms and held him tight, pressing her face into his unruly dark locks for a moment before looking up at her older son. She attempted a reassuring smile, but was fairly sure it didn’t come out quite right. A pale hand beckoned him closer, the look in her eyes steady if the rest of her was not.

“It's coming close to the time,” she said softly, “Where you are going to have to keep the promise you made me.”

2

Glory's heart sank and he nearly sank physically, but somehow he remained standing and instead gave his mother a solemn nod. Her smile hadn't fooled him and the smile he gave in return was a watery one.

"All right," was all he could manage to say though.

"It will be." Callan nodded and met Glory's eyes, "It will have to be." For a moment, a true smile worked its way to Callan's mouth. He remembered his first meeting with Glory, the conversation they'd had. He'd liked the boy immediately, and hadn't liked the fact at all. He thought he was going 'soft'.

"Sometimes, Glory, once you've been redeemed, the gods call you home before you can screw up again. Don't worry about us, just take care of Cal, okay?" Callan's massive hand ruffled Cal’Lanth’s hair and the child made a sudden dive for his father. Tiny black wings exploded and flapped wildly for a moment, then settled when he realized his daddy had caught him.

"Goorrwweyyy," Cal crooned and patted his hands together, "I go wif Gorwey?"

"For a little while, yeah" Callan's eyes flicked to Tay; that 'little while' would be the time it took Glory's father to kill Cal's... and Callan hoped and prayed his son would grow up understanding why, understanding it was necessary, that it was part of being fortunate enough to find a soul-mate, the high price of finding a love so complete.

"YAY!" Cal giggled and bounced free of Callan's grip, hit the floor with bare feet and paused to look over his shoulder at his mother, then his father, then flung himself back into Glory's lap and began climbing up by using Glory's trousers, then his shirt as a handhold.

Glory was very quiet. He'd accepted long ago that his mother and Callan were meant to be. It was difficult to believe it could end so soon. It was harder when little Cal... Maniacal little monster that he was... was so filled with the life of his parents. He caught the kid though, wincing slightly under the child's onslaught Okay... that was another set of trousers and shirt totally trashed.

"You're irredeemable," Glory said and grinned.

A short snort of laughter and a crooked smile came from Callan, "Yeah, I love you too Glory." His smile was genuine, it was hard not to, given the fact Cal was now smooshing up Glory's cheeks with two tiny hands on either side of this half-brother's face.

An’Thaya smiled a little ruefully at her two sons and leaned into Callan, “There is a letter on the table,” she said to Glory, “its for the twins.” The Amazon paused,

2

her smile a little shaky, “if you could give it to Adarin for me, I would be most appreciative.” Emerald eyes slid to Cal and she suddenly laughed, a bright and loving sound, “and you, you be good for your brother my little imp. Ammah loves you.”

"Suuurre!" Cal abruptly released Glory and thrashed around in his lap to turn and face his mother and father, "I be good!"

Callan's smile slowly shifted to something more serious as he slid to his feet and stepped up to Cal and ruffled his son's hair before walking past Glory with quiet steps to stand in front of the open doors to the balcony. With his back turned to his friend, son, and wife, the quiet words came to Glory, "Once its finished, take him to Mira. You'll know when its over," the remaining strands of an old blood-mark prickled on his and Glory's wrists, "only one of the three will remain."

***

Soft green light danced across B’Rodyn’s features as he stared into the Well, the D’Riel Emerald clutched in his fingers as it had been so many times before. This time, however, was different. Along with the gem, he held every life on the planet of Whispin in the palm of his hand. It was a massive responsibility that threatened to crush the S’Hean King beneath its weight.

“It’s time to go,” Y’Roden’s voice came from somewhere behind him, “every moment you spend, the further they slip away.

Whether he referred to the lives of those on Whispin as a whole, or An’Thaya and her unborn children, was hard to tell.

Without turning around, B’Rodyn nodded, the gesture a ripple of chestnut hair across his broad back. He stepped forward, falling into the spirit of S’Hea… of Whispin, with complete trust. The elf disappeared for a moment, then buoyed back up, spinning slowly, emerald in hand, eyes closed as strands of dark hair billowed across his face.

Dark lashes lifted, D’Riel eyes gazing out at Y’Roden and Gwen as the slow rotation came to a halt. He was held there, frozen for a moment, then suddenly dropped, falling into the depths, rocketing through the Well and into the heart of Whispin itself.

A brilliant flash of light exploded through the column of Aethyr and Y’Roden instinctively shielded his yes. His hands remained over his face as he backed against the wall and slid to the floor. Everything hung on one strand in a fragile Web… his sister slid closer to death and one of his closest friends plummeted into insanity… every heartbeat in S’Hea seemed to echo in his ears… deafening… overwhelming.

2

Far above the hidden chamber in the palace of Windemiire, An’Thaya lay tangled in sheets of black and silver, her small frame shaking with the agony burning through her veins. Emerald eyes glittered with defiance, Tay knew where the sickness had come from now, and she’d be damned if Haldanuru won even a scream from her.

The Amazon’s life had been spent entrenched in battle with the God of Death and his greatest follower, Tallin Grendorin Modar. She had fallen, she had been broken, always climbing back up from the depths of despair and fighting her way free. This time… there was no way out, but if she was going to die, it would be in silence, and without fear.

Tay's agony sent echoing waves of pain through Callan, but pain... pain he could deal with. Pain was something he was no stranger to, and had suffered far less than Tay had through the past several weeks. Now though... now he did all he could to shift the physical pain, tried to draw it to himself in the hopes somehow he could buy her enough time, buy his children enough time, buy a future with Tay, and if enduring more misery than he'd ever suffered to himself would pay the price? He was more than willing.

What he couldn't deal with was the slowly shredding half of his soul... that was a pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He'd long given up on the bed, on trying to hold her, to beg her to hold on a little longer. Every touch from him seemed to send more splintering slivers of agony into her body, seemed to make their soul fall apart quicker. The harder he tried to hold her, the faster she faded.

Far beneath, somewhere within the core of Whispin herself, B’Rodyn D’Riel hovered within the very soul of the planet he loved. Eyes closed, body spread eagle, he welcomed her embrace, and suddenly, he understood the pathway of his life. It was crystalline clear now, why he had been robbed of his ability to feel pain, why he had lived thousands of years with more caution than most. For one injury gone untreated could be a death warrant.

It was this, this moment as the conduit between Whispin and the Emerald… He felt only joy, not the pain that should have been driving him into madness. Around him there was light, black tendrils of sickness evaporating on the Aethyr wind, and from him, through him, billowing out through the vortex that lay open to its limits within his soul, flowed the life giving spirit, the answer… the cure…

And it was too late perhaps, for one… at least.

A last, shuddering breath shook through Tay’s small frame and crimson eyelashes drifted shut, her body relaxing into unnatural stillness, as her soul broke loose from the Web. And in her mind… was silence.

2

2

Chapter 8

It was perhaps a mere minute or so from the moment An’Thaya Blackthorn slipped into the silence of what appeared to be death before Galain, attuned to the D’Riel Web as he was, realized what had happened. He’d been discussing the latest debate between the Council and the royal family with Adarin although he felt impossibly tired, distraught and unfocused. Too often his wife’s still image would rise in his mind and he’d suddenly jump to his feet and pace. Adarin simply sat patiently and watched his nephew, his own concerns focused upon his own former bondmate’s state of being and how Melian and Elerina were handling the sickness and despair affecting everyone.

Galain had just seated himself once more, attempting to regain his train of thought when realization struck him and he stared at Adarin, dumbfounded. One moment An’Thaya was connected, the next it felt like she’d been plucked away.

“I must go,” he simply said, springing back to his feet. “She’s gone. I made a promise.”

The portal was cast and he was through it before Adarin could rise to his own feet, a cry escaping him as his nephew disappeared from Berelath and Alcarinque and reappeared quite suddenly in the palace of Windemiire, just outside An’Thaya and Callan’s rooms. His heart beat heavily as what he was about to do crashed down on his consciousness with a tremendous force. There was no time for grief – just enough time to keep Callan Blackthorn from wreaking mad havoc in the wake of his wife’s death.

Time and Threads in the Tapestry were strange sometimes. Sometimes the Fates wove a similar pattern more than once in a lifetime, and the pattern between Galain Alcarin's quiet arrival and Callan's focus on what could have been, what would never be, was a pattern repeated from that night in the forge. A night that neither would forget, a night when Callan had been blinded by balefire, a night when Galain had lost an arm, a night when a bond had been forced and the necessary rape of a soul had happened to preserve a life

Now it was all coming apart, disintegrating. What he'd taken by force out of fear, out of obsession, out of love, was falling apart, and there was no SoulHealer here, and no SoulHealer that could have helped. She was dying.

Within their Infinity shaped soul, the distant edges of the Horizon began to tear away. The soft, constant rhythm of Tay's heart began to slow, faltered, skipped a wild beat, then it was silent. The thrumming of their soul, which had always felt... like the warm, comfortable vibrations of a body just before sleep overwhelmed... was gone. Shreds of emerald began to unravel and slip away into the black void at the core of her dying soul, and like a man scrambling to catch fireflies in the dark, Callan Blackthorn desperately tried to gather as many of her star-like memories to himself as he could before they all slid into the whorling, widening

2

black hole at the centre of her core. A frantic mantra of no, no... no no no... echoed like a half-forgotten whisper, torn away from his thoughts by the collapsing conduit.

Crackles of emerald and crimson began to tear free of its moorings, its ties to Callan's own black and topaz, and the balance of Aethyr and Sha'tris, crystalline green and rich gold slowly pulled apart. At the very nexus of their souls, at the union of the two circular shapes, there was a burst of brilliant light, then he was alone. She was gone, ripped away, and only the thinnest threads and faintest memories remained, clutched to his soul like random bits of flotsam after a shipwreck. It the darkness that remained, in the faintest remaining threads spinning endlessly like damaged silk, two lights pulsed and flickered, then shattered... his son. His daughter.

She was gone... and his unborn children had crossed the veil with her.

Denial and terror began to swamp his soul and laughter began to invade his sanity. Was it his own, or the god who had finally torn her from him forever? Massive shoulders began to shake as Callan's knees hit the floor and his fingers began the hopeless search for a pulse, a bit of warmth, any stirring of life, and found nothing.

The laughter that echoed in his mind grew louder as the Elven strands of topaz in his own essence began to writhe, then spin free of the black and the void at the core of his own soul, the conduit that didn't belong there, began to buckle. Its mirror was gone; it had no purpose, no reason to remain behind. In the wake of her death, that which had been Callan was the first to dissolve into the unstable void, and once 'he' was gone, nothing would remain but Araxmarr, and an Araxmarr suffering the Madness, in possession of a collapsing D'Riel Conduit.

The heavy shaking of his shoulders and hands became tremors, the denial became loss, and within his blood, the withdrawal was beginning. Bonded Kin lived their lives in a constant 'high' of endorphins and serotonin, and eventually grew used to it. Once the bond was gone? They plummeted into darkness, into insanity. If suicide or the Uskkden Sar'da, the Honourable Death, did not happen, they'd been known to raze their own Houses, slaughter their own children, kill their own Blood.

The mad laughter finally welled up inside of him and escaped his mouth in an anguished howl as Tay's lifeless, gravid body was jerked off the bed and clutched to his chest, crushed against him as the tears began to run down his face and drip into her hair. Deep within, some part of him that struggled to remain lucid prayed to Flame and Chaos Galain would not be an oath breaker, that his strike would come in seconds, that in seconds, he would cross the veil to be reborn, to begin a new life, perhaps on another world, perhaps here, perhaps on Aerdon, a life where hopefully, the Fates would cross his thread with Tay's once more and they would have another chance at forever.

2

***

The blade seemed almost to sing as it sliced through the air, the movement balletic and graceful. Alcyone's features were a mask of cool control, ice blue eyes both distant and intent as she focused on that inner space in which she could feel each movement before she made it, becoming one with the long sword she held with such competence and letting her body take control. Here in the practice arena the Silver Captain could push all her inner turmoil to one side, suppress it, bury it. Here she could push to one side the memories of her childhood, forever shattered, the pieces rearranged into a pattern she no longer recognized. Here she could forget, just for a moment, the confusion that still reigned within her soul. All that mattered was the cold steel of the blade and the athleticism of her tall figure. All that mattered was the simplicity of life and death.

In the shadows of the Keep, just inside one of the many sets of doors that led in to the arena, Atas Saad'ra leaned heavily against the wall, watching from the shadows, in the cool of shade. Many had asked him if he was feeling... fine, many said he needed to get out and sun... he was looking pale lately... and Atas had very little to say in response. The old Captain drew in a deep breath and winced; the stitch in his side seemed to refuse to go away, always lingered, always nagged if he trained too hard. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit, maybe he was just too tired.

Maybe he was just grieving for a family he'd never known.

Glittering, dark eyes watched the Silver female as she fought invisible demons, but for all her grace and skill, Atas thought the demons were winning.

"All your life, I've tried that... fighting air, training, killing, taking and giving orders, and you know what? It still hurts."

The blonde's smooth movements stuttered, the quiet words shattering the concentration she had to fight so hard to maintain. Sunlight flashed off the sword's blade as the swing went wild, slim fingers tensing around the hilt as her arm trembled. "You're right it does," she bit out, "but what exactly do you expect me to do about it? They're DEAD, and I can't do anything to bring them back."

For a moment the shell that surrounded her cracked, her pale eyes reflecting her anguish. "No matter what I do I can't seem to get away from it. They're with me from the moment I wake up in the morning until I go to sleep at night, and even then I dream about them. It's like I'm being haunted. So yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot." Alcyone drew in a deep breath, wiping a shaking hand across her cheek. "But I will deal with it, the same way I've dealt with everything else. It's not as if I have any other choice."

2

"Yes, you do." Atas finally spoke out loud as he stepped from the darkness and into the arena. Sand crunched beneath his boots and black wings rustled as he walked across the pit. His coarse, gravelly voice grated almost as softly as the soil beneath his feet, "You can continue training, running yourself into the ground each. And. Every. Single. Day and eventually, it won't hurt as bad. Eventually, you'll get used to the pain, and you'll forget the little things, like how your mother laughed with her entire soul, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. You'll forget the time your brothers set your toys on fire when they first learned to use the Storm, and you'll forget what colour their eyes were."

He stopped at arms length from her, "Oh, you'll remember the basic colour, I guess, but not the exact shade of blue, and you'll find yourself hoarding things that make you think of dark lapis eyes and the way your mother smelled right after she came in from the gardens. Things that remind you of home, of family."

He paused and studied her face, the thin lines of grief there that Alcyone tried to conceal from everyone and the shadows deep in her eyes, "Or," He nodded slowly, "Or you can choose to let that pain remain sharp, let them haunt you, stay with you, remain alive. Embrace the memories and hold them dear. Otherwise, they'll become little more than pride scars, waiting to be torn open again when you're old and just when you think you've finally gotten beyond the pain, you’ll have finally forgotten them."

The tip of the sword brushed against the sand as the blade lowered, a fine tremor running through Alcyone's fingers. "The voice of experience?" she said, her voice husky, ice blue eyes meeting his with a faint air of challenge. "What do you hoard, Atas? What do you remember?"

Her fair hair gleamed in the sunlight as she shook her head. "You, of all people, have no right to judge how I deal with the pain. You made your decisions a long time ago."

A strange smile crinkled the corners of Atas' eyes then faded, "Hai. I made my choices, and for them, I have watched you grow, I watched your brothers become fine, strong males. My decisions, however difficult for you to understand or accept, gave you a chance at a life you would have never had. Nargus would have killed you in the egg. I would be hoarding ash, not silver and wind chimes, to remember her by. I do not judge how you deal with the pain, I'm begging you."

The blonde woman's shockingly pale eyes closed, an expression that might almost have been agony crossing her face. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't beg. I think that's the one thing I could not cope with right now."

Golden lashes lifted, her gaze meeting his. "I hope I am not such a child still that I expect the world to always be fair and just. As much as I can regret lost opportunities to be told the truth, I can see why I was not and I can accept the reason why the decision was made. That isn't why I..." She shook her head,

2

sheathing the blade she still held in her hand with fingers that were far from steady.

She looked up again, "I had a family. I might not always have seen eye to eye with them, and my father... the man I thought was my father... never approved me coming here. But I always knew they were there. Now they're not. And in the process of dealing with that revelation hundreds of other skeletons came tumbling out of the woodwork. I just don't know where that leaves me, or what it leaves me with."

"Then I won't beg. I'll ask," calloused, dry fingers that had been covered with blood so many times in his life gently gripped her jaw and his thumb stroked her lower lip, "He was your father, Alcyone. Make no mistake, and that's the curious thing about family. The people closest to you are the quickest to challenge your beliefs, and the most difficult people to hold your own with. You loved them, and they you. Don't do them the dishonour of trying to banish them forever." His hand fell away and he took a step back, "As to what you're left with? I can't tell you. That's a discovery you'll have to make on your own, and it will take time." He nodded slowly, "And once you think you've sorted it out, I have something to share with you. But only after you've grieved, only when you're ready, hai?"

For a long moment there was silence, and then a faint smile touched her lips. Soft and surprisingly gentle, beautiful both for its rarity and the revelation it made of the warm, feminine core that lay beneath the composed, self-contained exterior. "Hai," she said quietly.

***

Far removed from Whispin and the sickness that had struck its people, far from the anguish and loss of their Emperor, a counsel was converging in the heart of the Il'nihar Iniiken, the Mother Sands. In pairs or alone, the Black Vor'ills were arriving, some by portal, some by air. Soon, the temple of Brighid was filled with Vor'ills of Houses Major and Minor. Behind a massive, semi-circular table that curved around a pit containing the Mother Flame, the source of the FirstSouls, sat the 'founding' Vor'ills, sixteen of the leaders of the most powerful, oldest Major Houses known to the Black Kin’hoth.

The setting sun cast shades of rich coral and vibrant orange onto the stone steps that formed a square granite platform upon which the enormous temple sat, and saffron yellow silks fluttered between each set of pillars that supported the angled granite roof. Overhead, copper braziers hanging from chains suddenly ignited, and around the edges of the room, smaller pits burst into flame. The air was about to become cool, nearly frigid as the desert night descended, and the Black Kin rarely handled the cold well.

2

Behind the table of Elder Houses sat one Vor'ill in particular, and behind him, quiet and deadly, stood his mate. Loros Il'dia and his Randii, Iscera Veriil, watched as the granite seats rose like molten metal from the smooth floor, one for each Vor'ill as they arrived. Among the Houses Major and Minor, two grandsons they'd never known outside of name and basic features, were now seated in the House Major section of the Counsel... Tyloril and Altorian Ashka. In the two seats to the left of Altorian and Tyloril sat the Ashev sons, Daemonorel and Dorian. Daemonorel, Loros knew from reputation and his tragic history, as being the more unstable of the two, yet like the Flame itself, the hottest fire often burned out quickest. Once his Rage was spent, it was over. Dorian, on the other hand had never risen past the rank of Lieutenant in the Imperial Black Guard for one practical fact. He was impossible to control once he'd been pushed too far, and his malicious destruction was always carefully plotted out to have the longest, widest effects... which made him an excellent candidate to deal with more bull-headed Corporals and Sargtlin under his command.

Iscera's eyes traveled not to Daemon and Dorian, but to Altorian and Tyloril. She knew little of the eldest, Tyloril, except that he had been chosen to be taken to the Keep by Nargus when the former Emperor had began taking Vor'ches of Minor Houses. He'd served under the command of Thotin and Gideon Crylos, and had fallen in the wars for the Silmetaurea. He'd been a guest of the Silvers on Xudah IX for the remainder of his life... until 'escaping' only several weeks ago. He also hated Araxmarr down to the marrow of his bones, but had the good manners to conceal it in most instances. Most.

Altorian she knew a little more about. He'd followed in his brother's footsteps, idolized him, and had given up his birthright to emulate him. Where the Blades of Ghauld had gone, she had no idea, but they were the one treasure his mother had been allowed to leave her birth House with when she chose to lower herself and become the Randii of a loathsome House Minor... to become the mate of a conniving, power hungry eld-torick like Dravis Ashka and every Ashka before him, was known to be.

He was being watched, studied, and he knew it. Altorian at first tried to ignore the penetrating gaze of a female he knew to be his maternal grandmother, then finally straightened his shoulders and returned her gaze unflinchingly. Weak... she thought they were weak; he could read it in her eyes. Weak like Dravis had been, petulant and spoiled like Fyre had been.

She was wrong, and the set of his jaw, the folding of his arms across his chest, and the defiant light in his eyes would show her, even if she never believed it.

"Where are they?"

The softly spoken, yet accusatory words filtered into his mind, channelled tightly so he and he alone heard her.

2

"The Twins? The Blades? Are they still possessed by you, as they were in your youth, or have you forever forsaken them for a sword you were never born to wield?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The words were spoken out loud, muttered, and to his right, Tyloril's head swivelled around.

"What?" His dark eyes stared at Altorian as though he'd grown a second head, "What are you talking about? I didn't say anything to you."

"Nothing... its... I was thinking out loud." Altorian's eyes slowly shifted from Iscera to Tyloril, "Just thinking out loud. Nothing else."

From his seat around the table, Barak Silinrul stirred, dark eyes gleaming as the sound of booted footsteps was heard crossing the stone floor. Beside him his eldest daughter and heir also turned, regarding the female who joined the gathering with cool aquamarine eyes. The expression was strikingly similar to that of the other woman, the iron strength that belied their delicate features betraying their relation to one another.

"Erinya," Eden murmured, as the ebony-haired woman slid into a nearby seat. Her sire nodded grudgingly at his niece. Their relationship had never been a close one, and it was even more uncertain now. Barak barely knew what to make of the dark-eyed woman whose appearance reminded him more of his sister Shar'ryn every day. That she had helped to bring Sorshia Crylos before the combined authority of the Black Imperium and Silver Nation was to her credit, even that she had resurrected House Dhaunae to its true status was something he could only applaud, but that she had taken a Silver as her Randii he found abhorrent. To mingle the bloodlines of Black and Silver was bad enough, but for a Vor'ill of a House Major to do so was beyond lhis comprehension.

A thin, coolly malicious smile curved Erinya's lips at the look on the other Vor'ill's face. Her dark brown gaze swept around the table in silent acknowledgement, noting the demeanour of all and betraying little herself. An ebony brow rose as she met Altorian's amber gaze. Talking to yourself, Ashka? She sent in tones of dry amusement.

"Of course he is, Dahma," Tyloril smoothly answered and his dark eyes traveling up the length of Erinya's elegant form, his expression wolfish, "he's the only person that takes himself seriously, after all... well, aside from," his hand waved at her negligently, "those... idiots that call themselves Black Guards."

A low warning growl started just past Altorian from his left. Moss green eyes slowly shifted to the slice of Tyloril's dark head Daemon could see around Altorian, "Be careful, where you tread, Tyloril. I'd hate to spill your blood before a Council, but I would do it, and not give a yestu about politics."

2

"Ah yes, and therein lies the problem with this... House Ashev..." soft laughter came from Tyloril, his expression one that said he was aware he was being watched by the many, and revelled in it. He had their attention.

"The notion of the holdings of Asmoor being elevated to House Major status is simply ludicrous. Your Vor'ill made a better pet for the old Emperor than the House patriarch. You're just too imbalanced, Asmoor. Pathetic, really."

The entire section where Houses Ashev, Dhaunae and Ashka were seated erupted in shouts and growls. In the middle of it all, was Altorian, the fingers of one hand closed around Tyloril's throat, the force of his grip crushing his windpipe while the other hand had Daemon by a fistful of hair. The massive Captain had stopped Daemonorel a fraction from driving a black blade into Tyloril's ear.

"He's not. Worth. It." The only truly secure channel Altorian had to use was the Guard bond, the mark on his back writhed and the skin beneath it tingled like an electric shock was coursing through his shoulder, "Let it go, Daemon. Just this once. I swear to you, there's a reason or you can kill me yourself later."

Choked, gasping sounds came from Tyloril... the Black was literally turning blue, and slowly the vice-like pressure at his throat began to lessen, allowing for some air.

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Altorian's amber eyes flicked to Dorian, who was on his feet, apparently with the intentions of climbing over Daemon and Altorian in an effort to get at Tyloril.

"Now!" Dorian's black sapphire eyes narrowed and a single finger pointed at Tyloril, the words, 'You're mine' were silently mouthed at the elder Ashka brother.

"It's okay." Daemon growled, "Go ahead, let it go Dorian." Carefully, Daemonorel began to relax and the black blade silently vanished beneath his flesh, "It's okay. Pax rata athan. You can let go of me, Altorian. You have my word as your Captain."

***

Y’Roden pushed back to his feet as an odd pulsing rhythm of light thrummed through the column of Aethyr, his gaze shifting to Gwen for a moment with a quiet questioning wonder before he took a hesitant step forward. None of them knew what the healing would bring, what effect B’Rodyn’s open conduit and the D’Riel Emerald in the very heart of Whispin would have.

2

He was mid step when the blinding flash of emerald power exploded from the Well, a wall of Gaia that sent every crystal within the room singing to near the shattering point as it washed across the cavern. It hit Ro like a sledgehammer, seeking one of the eldest D’Riels and Grounding him so hard the half-elf was blown off his feet and slammed back into the cavern wall in a shower of exploding crystals.

Stabs of emerald lightning thrust into his body and soul like a long denied lover, invading flesh and spirit alike and eating at the dark stain Haldanuru had left behind. Cat-slit eyes shone with stunning illumination and Aethyr spilled from his mouth as his voice was cut off, every part of him filled with the very thing that had given his people life.

It was agony; it was pleasure, an ending, and a beginning.

Galain entered the chambers of the Black Dragon Emperor and his wife, slipping quickly toward the bed where Callan sat, holding An’Thaya’s lifeless body close to himself. That inhuman wail of Callan’s had made the hairs on the nape of Galain’s neck rise and his heart thudded heavily. But he was not an oath breaker and what he was doing was not murder but a necessary release for a man he still managed to respect despite everything that had happened. His own wife was dying and if he could have, he would have joined with Callan’s howl.

Instead he simply remembered what he’d been told on that strange day at Riker’s

The heart of the Kin was on the right. Don’t make it a target. If he was standing in front of Callan he’d never get a clean shot. It was perhaps to the better then that the Emperor’s back was to the Elen although it struck Galain as somehow unfair. But then, given the ferocious nature of Callan, a nature he knew altogether too well, this was perhaps to the better. Galain’s right arm gave off a ghost twinge as he remembered how the Emperor had sliced so cleanly through sinew and bone that day in the Forge. The unbelievable pain…

“Forget honour, forget hope, forget anything else that might stay your hand. Find that hate again, if for just the moment, Galain.” The elf shuddered and drained himself of compassion. He wanted his children to live and for that happen, Callan had to die.

Stab up at an angle, and under the shoulder blade. He had to remember that Callan’s build made the bone larger and wider. He couldn’t get the angle wrong… he might as well kiss his own life goodbye if he did.

Somehow Wyrmfinder was already in his hand. Zt’Mournirac. Galain’s arm arced upward as he gauged the necessary angle and then abruptly switched his grip and drove back, down and then upward – up and under.

2

He'd known the moment Galain had crossed the crumbling wards, he'd smelled him the moment he'd entered the room. Rapidly disintegrating memories began to skew and slant, run together in a melting blur. Laughter... rich and lilting... Mira's... all his children and grandchildren's. A pair of smiling, jade green eyes and bouncing, auburn curls seemed to bleed into outraged emerald and flame red and he could hear her shouting his name, demanding to know why any mark of his was now on her body. He could feel her, just as he did that night, her body surrounding his, her nails ripping at his shoulders, water burying them both. They'd lived so much in so few years, and like one large, moving picture, he relived it all in that span of two breaths.

And it all ended with one vision.

The dagger forged by his own hand had struck true, its point sliding home with ease... and he could see her once more, her eyes closed, suspended in a force of her own making, revolving in a pit of endless night, surrounded by a crumbling fortress. She seemed so far, a tiny pinpoint of unnaturally pale skin and copper hair. His booted feet slid on cracked and litter-strewn stones, overhead sharp black lines erupted in the domed ceiling and began to crawl across his soul. Heavy chunks of carved stone and rock began to tumble down, crashed into the shattered edge he stood on and fell into the abyss. The dust and smoke choked him, and in the real world, his cough was strangled by very real blood from the lung Wyrmfinder had split to reach his heart. Within, equal parts of his own soul were tearing free, sucked into the warped and imbalanced conduit.

It was all coming apart, collapsing around them, and there was only one place go.

With her. To her.

Topaz eyes squeezed shut as the darkness began to close, then simply... let go. The ledge that had supported him shattered, his heart stopped, mid-beat, and he plunged into darkness with the final hope he would find her there as he had in Tenobrous.

Inky black began crackle at the edge of his awareness, skittered closer and narrowed his vision down to a single flash of green in the far distance, then came the thrumming. It started behind him, before him, around him, and ran through him, comforting, lulling, promising, inviting him to rest, to shed the burdens of the life he'd led, and almost he was willing. Almost, he could let it take him into whatever life he would have next. He had but to turn around, look behind him. But something held him here, transfixed, staring forward into a growing pool of watery emerald that grew brighter, more solid, more tangible with every fractional advance of meaningless Time.

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“I would welcome you home, Araxmarr...” A warm alto whispered from the darkness, and shards of flame lit orange and yellow exploded in the narrow path before him.

“We would give you both a second chance, another life, DeathDream,” a cooler tenor spoke and a riot of mixed colours and Chaos joined the raging Flames that separated him from the emerald pool.

“But now is not the time for second chances of that nature. Rules have been broken by another of our kind, and we will respond likewise. We give you a choice, against all the laws of Fate. Use it, as you will.”

Slowly, his body began to slump forward and blood poured down his bare, scarred back, soaked the loose black trousers he'd been wearing, and the blade began to slide free as his form went still. The thrumming grew louder, became a deep rushing sound, and his lifeless body collapsed against An'Thaya, an explosion of shimmering, living green rocked the room, enveloped them all, then was gone. In its wake, Callan Blackthorn hung suspended between Galain and An'Thaya, his back arched, his body revolving, just as Tay's had that day in Tenobrous, in a prison of roiling green. Fat drops of black-red blood hung in the air, frozen in time and space, like richly colored garnets and within the bubble, thin, random tendrils of emerald power wrapped around his legs, arched across his abdomen and seemed to gently explore the oozing wound at his back. An impossible breeze ruffled his hair and glazed, topaz eyes stared sightlessly, unblinking, into nothing. From the outside, it was impossible to tell Callan was anything but dead.

Far below, blinded by light and dazed by being bodily slammed into the wall, Y’Roden D’Riel lifted his head and canted it slightly to the side. The half-elf’s expression was unreadable as he suddenly pushed to his feet, guiding himself by feeling along the wall to the entrance then disappeared into the tunnels, leaving Gwen standing on her own in the Cavern of Life.

***

After getting back to S'Hea from the trip to the Danna-Riel, Y'Roce went looking for Rhiannon. Making sure she was doing ok while his cousin and father did whatever they could to unlock the death grip on the land. Finding her wandering down a hall, pacing like a caged rabbit, Y'Roce made an offer.

“Rhiannon? C’mon let’s go to my chambers while we wait for things to get done? If nothing else we can wash the dust of the road off us in my bathing pool. Sound good to you?” he wrapped a companionable arm around her shoulders, hoping he could help out until the wards were in balance again.

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Rhiannon smiled up at the young prince fondly. The time they had spent together in Danna-Riel had created a soft spot in the felinumera’s heart for this particular son of Y'Roden. Reaching up she touched his face, doing her best to still the restlessness brought by the separation from her children. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Ke'mo," the tiger elf breathed, worry creasing her brow as she gazed upon his sweet face, the signs of the land’s illness and the toll it had taken on Y'Roce evident in every line.

Even knowledge of the forthcoming healing did not ease the strain the sickness had wrought on the prince. The trip to the Danna-Riel had taken its own toll as well. He had not wanted to be alone when that moment came, for some reason it unsettled him. “Thank you.” He said, genuine relief in the undertone of his voice. “I am feeling a bit odd as well as tired. I hope you do not mind keeping me company.”

"I could never tire of being in your company, Ke'mo," Rhiannon replied, letting the hand that had touched his face drop, then glide around his waist while the other reached up, lacing fingers with those of the hand that draped over her shoulder and moving them slowly toward his chambers.

As they walked Y’Roce marvelled at the inherent grace with which the woman who moved. It made him think briefly of Rune, but then the moment passed. The long months since she’d had to go and the land took ill only served to add loneliness to destruction. The short walk to his chambers was made in silence and as the pair arrived at the door, he opened it for her. “Come in and make yourself comfortable. Would you like some Mai’Tus juice?” he offered.

"That would be lovely, Jato Suz," she replied, letting her green gaze travel around the outer chamber as she entered.

Moving to the table that always seemed to have a fresh supply of the staple beverage, Y'Roce took the pitcher and filled two glasses, handing one to Rhiannon. He knew she’d had to leave her new babies back in Corin, yet she seemed to be holding up well enough on the outside. “How are you doing, Rhiannon? Addah has gone to see to the healing of S’Hea. Things should get better soon, but until then, B’Rodyn has sealed the wards to protect those inside and out.” He thought if he tried to explain things to her perhaps she’d feel better too.

Rhiannon took the glass of dark purple juice Y'Roce offered, taking a sip before answering. "I am surviving. I cannot deny nor, it seems, hide that being away from my children upsets me greatly. I have made far too many past mistakes and they do weigh heavily at moments like this." Once again shoving the anxiety and restlessness caused by the separation from Rennon and Raellen, into the very depths of her the tiger female gave the princeling a weak smile before taking another sip of the uniquely flavoured beverage. "As long as I live, I will never get use to how this stuff tastes," the Felinumeara chuckled, more to herself than Roc.

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Y'Roce chuckled “Why, don’t you like it?”

"I don't exactly dislike it," Rhiannon studied the juice for a moment, thinking over how it tasted on her tongue, the texture, and then glanced back at Y'Roce. "It's more the fact that its a Whispin oddity that I will never quite get use to, since my palette is partial to those fruits indigenous to the Kelvarian."

With that Y'Roce laughed, amused by the honesty of her. “Fair enough, I imagine your fruits would do much the same on my tongue.” He changed the subject back, “I don’t believe for a moment Cullen would allow anything to happen to his… your children. And I know if something happened to Cullen, Valin would step in to protect them until you could be there.” Roc took one of her hands and led them toward the pool. “Come join me in the pool and relax for a little while. The warmed water will do you good.”

Setting the glass down, Rhiannon nodded and followed, " you should visit my home sometime. I am sure you would cause quite a stir. I have every confidence in Cullen, but that does not change my fears, it only helps to keep them from overwhelming me."

Trying not to make light of her feelings, yet still amused by her assessment of him Y'Roce chuckled. “A stir? My Lady whatever do you mean by that?” he said with mock surprise.

"I mean you are very well formed, handsome, charming, and quite tempting," Rhiannon teased as they entered the bathing chamber. Not for the first time, the tiger elf felt her cares and worries melt away while in Y'Roce's company. It was something that seemed to happen each time she conversed with the young prince, with the exception of their first conversation. With a smile she recalled the harshness with which she had spoken to him then and was a bit surprise to notice he had changed, though it had not been all that long ago. Letting the memory fade away the Felinumeara female took another look at the S'Hean and found to her surprise that she did not really think of him as a son at all. Not really sure what to make of this discovery, or even what to do with it, Rhiannon tucked it away, intending to examine it at a later date.

A deep flush put the most colour into his face since the sickness had begun. Roc made an embarrassed cough before he just shook his head and laughed fully. “Rhiannon, you are quite skilled in the undoing of a man. Please excuse me a moment and then we can enjoy the pool.”

He stripped down to a brief loin wrap, foregoing complete nudity this time. He wasn’t sure why, it just seemed right. The sigils he had received when he and Rune had joined were there on his inner thigh but faint, barely noticeable. Stepping into the shallow end of his pool he was glad to note its temperature was perfect. “Will you join me?”

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Just then the ground shook hard and a wave of energy seemed to pass through the room. As it did, it manifested itself as an electrum of green, completely enveloping the half elf. His body froze, tensing as the Aethyr rose and surrounded him, dancing up from the water and across its surface as well it seemed to penetrate Y’Roce… drawing off the toxins. It danced for what seemed several minutes before it subsided and faded away, leaving Y'Roce to arch his back hard then crumple up, sinking under the water.

Blinking several times, green eyes landed on the crumpled elf in the water. Without hesitation Rhiannon dove in, grabbing Y'Roce about the waist and hauling him to the surface. Holding one hand under the prince so that he would not sink and using the other to check for a pulse, the tiger elf instinctively prayed for the life and well being and fear knotted in her belly.

It took several moments before the grounding back to his beloved land stabilized in him. When it did, Y'Roce lurched in Rhiannon’s arms, gasping and coughing until his lungs realized all was back to normal. Opening his emerald eyes he looked up to see the cat green orbs of Rhiannon staring back at him with panicked concern on her face. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

The instant the limp elf jerked, Rhiannon clutched Y'Roce with both hands while he coughed and gasped. Relief flooded the tiger female as a smile tugged at the corners of Roc’s mouth. "Thank The Weaver," Rhiannon breathed. a second before she pulled Roc's well-muscled form to her and kissing him, more thankful than she could have ever expressed in words that he was alive.

The surprise bled into shock as the felinumera’s mouth met his. The shock grew into a fire as he returned the ardent gesture. At this point, the son of S’Hea was unsure which grounding dealt the stronger jolt. As the moment lingered Y'Roce felt different somehow, as if he was not only whole once again with S’Hea but also that something was missing. Pulling away from Rhiannon, he sat up of his own to check his groin and leg where sigils had once been. What he saw was clear unmarked flesh and a void where his connection to Rune had been. In that moment he knew she was gone from him, not dead just gone. The stark revelation was written boldly across the young prince’s features. “She’s gone.” He said flatly.

"Pardon?" Rhiannon asked. dealing with her own emotions in connection to the kiss they'd just shared.

Y'Roce was stunned for a few seconds until Rhiannon’s voice registered in his mind. “She’s gone.” He repeated. “Rune, Rune is gone. We were sort of bonded some time ago. Not mated, actually, just connected and we talked of making more of it. But she had some task she was required to do and could not take me with her. I can only surmise this means her life has changed as much as mine and we are no longer connected as we once were. It’s rather odd actually, to no

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longer sense her. It feels empty, yet strangely all right. Does that make any sense?” he asked.

"Absolutely no idea," Rhiannon replied absently as one fingertip brushed over her lips. It was clear the tiger elf's mind was still firmly focused elsewhere. It seemed oddly right somehow, that she'd kissed Roc and he'd reciprocated. Nothing, however, had prepared the Felinumeara female for the heat that had infused her body.

Suddenly her mind seemed to snap back to attention as cat green eyes refocused on Y'Roce's handsome features. "You kissed me back," she blurted, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it easier to understand. "I should really stay away from D'Riel males," she added, not realizing that she had spoken aloud.

It took a heartbeat or two, but Rhiannon’s words made it to some conscious level in Y'Roce. “Yes I did. But if that’s how you feel about it then fine.” Shifting so he could stand on his own, Y'Roce moved in close again to Rhiannon kissing her once again. “Dwell on that if D’Riels are such a hazard.” He then got up and exited the bathing pool, feeling stronger and more whole than he had in far too long. Retrieving his clothes from the floor, he moved as if to go into his bedroom.

For the space of a heartbeat Rhiannon stood dazed in response to such intense passion. His words worked their way through the haze of desire, clouding the felinumera’s mind, causing her to scramble none too gracefully from the pool and grab his upper arm to keep him from leaving. "Roc," she let her hand drop, feeling very off balance, "I was just surprised is all. I'm sorry about..." biting her lower lip Rhiannon looked for the right word, having no wish to offend or upset him again.

"I'm not sorry about the kiss, but I am sorry for being a bit loopy and blurting out the first thing that popped in my head."

Y'Roce turned to face Rhiannon, eyeing the hand that had just left his arm. A fire smouldered in the depths of his emerald eyes and lifting his hand, he drew the back of his knuckles along her cheek, slowly feeling the soft sleek fur that decorated her features. Lifting her chin just a little he smiled slowly. “I am not sorry either. But I think we may have been overwhelmed by the power of S’Hea just now. You have new babies to keep you busy and a partner I have no desire to infringe upon. Do not misunderstand me; you are a very attractive female, perhaps too much so. I think I can understand now what attracted my father to you, which also presents it’s own set of issues. So for, now it is safe to just blame the healing for that lapse and let time determine what the future holds.” Reaching to a nearby stand Y'Roce lifted a large towel and handed it to Rhiannon “But I am definitely not sorry for the kiss.” He smiled.

2

For several long moments Rhiannon just stared at Roc. She appreciated the fact that he recognized the complications that would arise if their kiss became anything more. Still, the thought of never sharing another one left a hollow sensation at the very centre of the Felinumeara that made her skin to feel as if it was on wrong. Try as she might, the tiger elf did not grasp why the idea of just walking away from Y'Roce should have such an affect on her, she only knew that it did. Very aware, however, that she had made a commitment to Cullen that she could not walk away from, just because Roc was a fantastic kisser, Rhiannon took a deep breath and resolved to find understanding and perhaps acceptance.

"There is wisdom in your words, Roc, but I will not blame the healing for the second kiss, nor will I deny that I liked it much more than I probably should have. This is not over, between you and I, nor do I think it will be until we can understand how it came to be." Thinking that she should leave, but hating the thought, Rhiannon leaned in, letting her lips brush lightly over his cheek. "I will see you later," she breathed, pulling away. Then turned and left.

Staring after the form of the Felinumeara, Y’Roce stood frozen in the spot, trying to figure out what had really just happened. He had developed a fondness for the tiger female shortly after her well-deserved scolding, but exactly where and when things changed he couldn’t say and it shocked him. Murmurs were already spoken in corners of the sons of Y’Roden D’Riel and he hardly wished to add to them. Shaking the moment off, Y’Roce turned and went into his bedroom, tossing the worn clothing on a bench. Scrubbing both hands through his hair he moved toward his bed, sitting on its edge and pondering the exchange that had just occurred. It made him wonder just how much the patriarch of the web could discern as well.

***

Mak was feeling a deluge of intense and terrible emotion at the moment. He had been lost in his own level of pain and discomfort, vaguely aware that Chandra was close by when he felt his mother slip away from the Web. He stood in the centre of the room, eyes wide as the cry of anguish that had left him slowly died away. He tried to shake off the shock and disbelief and managed to turn slightly to face his lover.

"I knew... I understood when Glory took Cal back to Garden, but I didn't... She's gone, Chandra," he was speaking, but he felt disjointed, that someone else was speaking for him. His numbed brain was not connecting thoroughly yet and all he felt was loss.

His own grief was reflected in the clear hazel gaze of the bard as she crossed the room, taking his hands in her own. The Tauremornan had no words to express the pain she knew he must have been feeling, instead she chafed gently at his fingers, frightened by how very cold they felt. There had been so much sorrow,

2

so much suffering... Surely the Gods must take pity on them soon? Yet now there was this.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she murmured, blinking back her own tears.

Mak suddenly needed to sit again and felt his knees buckle.

"What's going to happen now?" he whispered hoarsely, quite certain he didn't want to contemplate what this sickness might bring next. Instead he clung to Chandra as his knees finally gave way and he dragged her down to the floor with him. It was a relief to sink to his knees and he buried his face in his lover's chestnut curls. He breathed in the health and sanity of the bard and held his breath momentarily. He couldn't begin to think about the next few minutes let alone tomorrow or next week.

The forest elf wrapped her arms about him, holding him tight. "I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could say something profound and helpful. I wish I could take the pain away because I hate to see you hurting. I wish so much, and I can't do any of it." Chandra's fingers shook slightly as they smoothed down Mak's spine, her voice little more than a whisper. Her own fear crept into her words, her knowledge that one by one those with S'Hean blood were falling victim to this plague and even the return of those who had journeyed to the Danna-Riel did not appear to have brought a halt to it.

How long would it take? How long could everyone else last? How long before even Mak's Elen blood stopped acting as an impediment to an illness that had already claimed his mother's life?

"You're here, that's what matters," Mak said, unaware of a growing change around them that was sweeping the land and the very palace itself. He just clung onto Chandra, miserable with pain and relief, his breathing a slow and agonizing exercise in trusting that there was a future. When the Aethyr swept over them he went rigid and rose upward for a few seconds, a startled expression filling his eyes and face as the pain of healing and the pleasure of being healed filled his body. The land was whole again and he was as well -- suddenly and amazingly.

"Ammah..." he whispered.

The dragon singer’s breath caught as the tidal-wave of brilliant green light filled the room, lightning arcing from floor to ceiling as it swept through everything in its path, burning through the veins of all those with ties to the land.

"Mak?" she murmured, and suddenly she was both laughing and crying as she hugged him, the relief at his healing so intense that for a moment she could barely think about anything else.

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"Yes!" Mak answered, amazement and exultation a bittersweet sensation as he guessed at the price of healing. And then he embraced Chandra tightly to himself.

***

Vadim Vesran stepped into the temple, the last of the suns rays flaring red across his armour. The look on his face was one he'd cultivated over the years, calm displeasure with just a hint of sarcasm, as if he always had the punch line to some unknown joke. Brown eyes scanned the other seats of those who had arrived, an almost elegant brow rising at the sight before him.

Taking his seat among the major houses, he hid his amusement behind a cool gaze. He was the only one from the House Vesran; but Vadim didn't seem bothered by this knowledge in the least. "So it seems the party has started without me. Pity," he said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest.

"You're always last to the party, Vesran. Haven't you worked that one out by now?" Erinya drawled coolly without turning around. Her rich brown gaze remained locked on the Ashka brothers, in particular Tyloril. Only a hint of garnet red, the true shade of her draconic form, betrayed the temper that had flared at the eldest Ashka's words. He was too confident, too smug, and the instincts that had served her well for centuries sent out a warning call. Whilst she might not be close friends with Altorian, she had knew him better than she did his brother and well enough to respect his judgment on most occasions at least. Tyloril had never been one of her favourite people even before his capture though, and his past associations with the likes of Nargus' pet thug, Thotin, did him no favours either.

Her dark gaze ran slowly over him in much the same manner as he had her, but there was a colder, more predatory intent lurking in the depths of her eyes. "You're either very brave or very foolish to make such a statement, particularly within arms-length of those you're disparaging. Which is it, Ashka?"

"Brave or foolish? Darling," Tyloril cast a sneering smile in Erinya's direction, "what I am is something you turned your back on by taking a Silver pu'tah... I'm a Black. Through and through, with no... markings..." his eyes slid to her forearm and the bond mark there, "to declare me otherwise. Would you prefer I acted like a Silver..." his head turned slowly and his eyes settled on the still seething Daemon, "or maybe an Elf?"

Altorian drew in a deep breath, and his eyes were closed. When they opened, they were glittering, phosphorescent gold, "Shut up." The words were hissed, "Just shut the Rhul up," His words were forced between gritted teeth. He felt like a pet dog, a big, vicious, chained dog... here to protect a master that didn't deserve air to breathe, let alone the shedding of his brother's blood. Tyloril had changed... why had he ever put his faith in this person, why had he ever followed him, adored him.

2

Why had he ever tried, with countless kills in battle, to avenge him?

"Do. Not. Presume too much on our Blood, Ty. It’s growing thinner than my patience. Understood?"

"As entertaining as this undoubtedly is," a deep voice cut through the tension that threatened to explode into a brawl once more, "it is hardly the matter for which this council convened," an older Black observed, his gravely baritone coolly dispassionate. He settled his massive bulk more comfortably in his seat, flint grey eyes sweeping over the assembly. The thin white lines of old scars traced their way up one seamed cheek, barely missing his eye. More scars emerged from beneath the charcoal-coloured shirt he wore in place of the armour others had chosen, snaking across his collarbone and encircling one wrist. "We are here to discuss the matter of the Imperium and its continued existence."

"Indeed, Vor’ill Satavo." Loros Il'dia was on his feet, his fingers pressed lightly to the cool table top, "Whatever quarrels we have with one another, on a personal or House level, must be set aside for this counsel." Loros' warm tenor carried easily through the 'room', despite the area's lack of good acoustics.

"Now, since I believe we are all here," Loros took a deep breath and looked to his left, then right, at the Elder Houses. One Vor'ill was missing; the House had been a victim of the recent Kanley. Dark grey eyes slid out over the gathered Vor'ills before him; many House Minor seats were empty for the same reason, "Let us begin... and this time, Vor'ill Ashka, I strongly suggest you hold your tongue before you find it in the same jar with Sorshia Crylos'."

A slow hush began to fall over the counsel. The fact that Yarwin Blackthorn had summarily concurred that Sorshia’s tongue should be removed in as brutal and public as fashion as he had had shown a different side of a creature that had always been viewed as something of a joke. He had the dark streak, he had the pride scars, he was the current General, but did he have the mettle to withstand the ages as the Emperor? Could he command the respect and rule with the authority necessary? That was the question on most minds in the noble houses, and while the Vor'ills loathed the idea that a... freak... of nature and his equally freakish wife could be lording over them in a matter of weeks, the simple, undeniable fact that he was Araxmarr's Blood and eldest off-spring.

"I suggest," Loros slowly settled to his chair, "we start with the Emperor and Empress' current condition. It is our understanding she is gravely ill, and may well die soon. Is this true, Vor'ill Dhaunae?"

Only the tension stringing Erinya's spine taut and the slowness with which her head turned to face the other Vor'ill gave any indication of how close Tyloril was to finding out personally the kind of thing her so-called 'weak and submissive' bondmate had survived for a year or more.

2

"It is true that if a cure is not found for Whispin soon then many of its inhabitants will die, including An'Thaya Blackthorn," she replied. The black grief that set the bloodmark that bound all the Guard to their Emperor glowing with heated fury however made her suspect that it might already be too later however.

The ebony-haired woman met Daemonorel's moss-green gaze, remembering their promise not to interfere with the Uskkden Sar'da and to prevent any retribution falling on to Galain Alcarin's head because of it. It had not happened yet, the emotion she could still feel coming from the man she had supported from Vesahd to Emperor and beyond proved that. Until it did her loyalty lay with him first and foremost.

The First Captain's back went suddenly rigid as his eyes met Erinya's. The involuntary reaction was almost identical in every Black Guard here, only in varying degrees. The wrath and misery that had long been white noise along the bond suddenly snuffed out and the blood bond to the Black Guard abruptly seemed to begin with Daemon, rather than Rax. Moss green eyes slowly shifted from Erinya's garnet to Dorian's black sapphire. The source of the blood that had brought them together, made separate warriors a single, brutal force of one mind and one goal in battle, was gone.

Rapid-fire thoughts ran through every Guard's mind, but were interrupted by Loros, who as of yet was unaware what had just happened.

"And should An'Thaya D'Riel die? Are we to assume the Imperium will be dealing with an Emperor who has already survived one Madness, and may well survive another? And if this be true, then how can we expect to survive, should he turn on us in his Rage and Madness?"

"We leave the Imperium. That's how." Tyloril sniffed and sat up straight, "We choose to become Renegade Houses. We call home our younger sons and daughters from the Keep. Together, we're strong enough to withstand any attack by Araxmarr, and should fortune smile and he die? We'll be strong enough to take the Throne ourselves."

The entire Council dissolved into a riot of supporting mutters and outraged shouts. What Tyloril Ashka had just suggested was simply beyond the pall, even for the Black Kin.

***

The suns were glaringly bright… or maybe he was just becoming more sensitive to light. Regardless, Tre’Ver had a pounding headache. A shaking, leathery black hand pressed to his pronounced forehead as the Ranger paused in the doorway of his hut, leaning heavily on the frame as he squeezed yellow eyes shut and

2

grimaced with pain. Heavy muscles bunched in his shoulders and the S’Hean… that wasn’t quite S’Hean, growled low in his throat.

The thoughts of suicide had increased over the past few days as he inched closer and closer to insanity, losing more of himself every hour as the changes asserted themselves on his physiology. Soon, there would be nothing left, and he would turn, loathing everything he had once loved and tearing it to pieces.

From a safe distance, with her back to the waterfall, Paiden Trayhan held her ground, despite the horrible change that was almost complete in Tre'ver. Amber eyes watched him warily, yet no trace of disgust could be found in her gaze. In her fingers was her bow, a deadly, elegant curve of carved and polished wood. An arrow was knocked and others hung from a quiver at her hip. If the 'cure' didn't work, if it was too late and Tre'ver was lost, dying, being replaced by something he hated, suicide wouldn't be an option. Paiden would... could... end his pain.

She hoped.

"Not yet... not yet Tre'ver. Give him a bit longer...."

The beast shook its head in irritation; a mass of tangled dark locks shifting about its hard corded shoulders. The voice went half heard, partially understood by the twisted conscience that was swiftly burying Tre’Ver beneath it.

Yellow eyes rolled open to stare across the distance at Paiden, a stark contrast to the blackened skin around them. The low rattling sound exploded into a full throated roar, something suddenly snapping in its head as he lurched forwards, moving faster than seemed possible for the heavy muscled form and bearing down on the armed Elen.

"Tre'ver...don't." The words were whispered as the distance closed between them. The smooth wood of the bow creaked and yawned as it was drawn, "Blessed Aeglos, please, help him." Tears began to brim in the Ranger's eyes, and the catwalk groaned in protest as it struggled to support Tre'Ver's monumental mass, mass the timbers were never meant to support.

One arrow slammed home in his chest above and to the left of his heart, a warning shot, and still he came. It was as if the Elven arrow had never embedded itself in his flesh. Arrow was knocked, the string drawn, and the distance between them almost closed, he was no more than two spear's lengths away.

"Forgive me." The words were a breath that ruffled the smooth feathers that fletched her arrow, and the missile was set free, its alignment perfect to lodge the arrow in one of his eyes. The very fabric of time seemed to rip, fold back on itself, and in that breath of a second, the taint in the Aethyr buckled and warped,

2

resisted the distant presence of B'Rodyn D'Riel, denied his authority and power in the Well. For an instant, the arrow hung, its point suspended an eyelash from Tre’Ver’s eye, then the twisted form he'd been forced into rippled, faded, and the arrow passed through a flickering wraith. Wood shattered, timbers broke, and his very solid, very real Nuru form crashed into hers. The catwalk began a slow collapse, the railing ripped free and both the Nuru and the Elen Ranger were flung into space. Blonde hair whipped around her face as her breath was crushed from her body by his bone-snapping, crushing embrace around her waist and ribs.

Shattered shards of emerald water exploded around her and the last of her breath was gone, knocked from her lungs by the force of the impact. Heavy wood plunged into the water with muffled, bubble-laden thuds and as Paiden's vision began to darken, her head flung back as she and the Nuru spiralled deeper. The glittering green surface was gone, eclipsed by tons of sinking wood. She would die here, pinned beneath the wreckage of the once beautiful framework of Tre’Ver’s world and the monster he had become.

Flashes of light illuminated the darkness, creating twisted silhouettes in the depths, as the water grew heavy, bubbling and roiling with Aethyr that was slowed down by the pressure of time. Glimpses, momentary visions revealed the rapid change in Tre’Ver A’Ren, eyes leaching back to green as they met Amber in the darkness, as if the water itself were washing away what he had become.

They came to a slow, crawling halt several feet from the sandy bottom and the S’Hean lowered his head to press his mouth to the Elen’s, giving over the last of his air as the world came to a standstill.

Then time snapped back into reality like a slingshot and exploded around them, sand raining up form the bottom of the pool, the pressure thrusting them upwards towards the timbers that suddenly gave way and burst skywards. It was then that the Ranger actively put in an effort to reach the surface, and by some miracle broke through clear of blasting logs and sucking whirlpools. Gasping for air he kept a tight grip on Paiden’s waist, a dazed expression on the S’Heans face as he shook soaked chestnut locks out of his eyes.

Paiden's surprised gasp turned into a ragged, strangled scream as brilliant waves of colour clouded her vision. Many of her ribs were broken; they'd snapped like twigs beneath the grip of the Nuru which was now gone. As the scream faded to quiet sobs and whimpers, Paiden struggled to understand who held her and why.

"Tre'Ver?" Her breathing was raspy, her voice hoarse as she coughed and choked on the water that had just almost filled her lungs, "It worked?" Shaking fingers went to his face as the pair stumbled and fell into the shallow waters, "Ohhh, it worked. It had to, because we'd be dead, and broken ribs don't hurt when you're dead. I don't think."

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The S’Hean laughed, a coughing rattling sound that was filled with mirth and relief. A callused, but purely Elven hand cupped Paiden’s face and he kissed her, “It most definitely worked, and we could always ask Y’Roden if anything hurts when you’re dead. Wait? Broken? Dammit… now you need a healer. Unless, of course, you trust me to do it.” Tre’Ver’s skills with the Aethyr were dubious. He could open a portal and mend a broken bone or two here and there, but anything more was beyond him.

"Broken ribs I can live with. A good tight wrap around... around..." Paiden felt her eyes begin to burn and tears joined the fresh water that dripped down her face to Tre'Ver's fingers as the kiss ended. For a moment, she bit at her lower lip in a vain attempt to stop it from trembling, then gave up.

"Its over... its really over? You... you'll be okay. Whispin will be okay." All the past week's fears, worries and heavy dread suddenly collapsed within her, leaving her crying and laughing, unable to do more than cling to Tre'ver and hope eventually she could stand up.

***

Myn'Ette Lis'Suna lay curled up on a palette in the Healers Hall. Once glossy brown hair lay dull and lifeless about a face and form blackened and twisted by the ravages of the sickness. Slim fingers were thickened, her body a grotesque hybrid of S'Hean and Nuru'kh-ai features. Pain wracked her body as bone and muscle contorted as the disease continued its inexorable advance.

Ly’Anna reached out to her the young girl who lay on the palette next to hers. It was all she could do to move her hand towards the young S’Hean healer. She had shown so much promise. Then they had been struck with the disease.

“Myn’Ette,” she whispered, barely able to move her lips or make a sound, “Myn’Ette?”

Then she slipped into semi-consciousness once again only to be hit with excruciating pain. If only the end would come…

At the sound of the voice, the young woman stirred slightly, a soft groan falling from her lips. By her side a tall blonde gave her fellow Healers a look of dismay and frustration. Like others amongst the Shroudling race, Eluned Te'al had responded to their Szar's call to aid their allies, but for all their knowledge both they and the Aerdonian Silvers had been helpless to stem the tide of an illness tied so inextricably to the well-being of a whole world.

Another cry, this one strangled sounding, brought the Shroudling's grey gaze back to her patient. "Myn'Ette?" she murmured, resting a hand on the S'Hean's

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forehead. The dark-haired elf's body arched as if an electric current had connected with it. Brilliant green lightning flared, the effect almost blinding. Involuntarily Eluned stepped back, blinking against the hot white afterglow that blocked her vision.

Ly’Anna eyes flew open as she stared at Myn’Ette. Was it happening? Was this the cure they had heard of or was this… her own body suddenly seemed to be surrounded by shards of pointed green light. She could barely see the healer as she moved from her friend. Green flashes surged around her as her body began to tingle.

A searing agony racked the apprentice healer's body as muscle and bone contorted, the monstrous progress of the disease melting as Whispin's light burnt away the taint of Haldanuru's darkness. Malachite green eyes opened wide, staring up at the ceiling as a choked scream escaped her parted lips, a shuddering gasp following. Returning health was a painful blessing, the land's loving benediction scorching through her veins like fire to leave an exhilarated joy in its wake.

Ly’Anna tried hard to focus as her body arched with each prick of pain that raced through her like the arching lights that surrounded her. Her mind was clearing. She tried to think of the outcome, the healing. This was nothing like she had been taught. Nothing. Was she the one that had just screamed? Turning she looked at the apprentice. Relief washing over her as she realized the young girl was herself.

As the bones and tissues seared with the reforming she shut her eyes and clenched her hands, hands that were now their normal shape, she could feel with them once again. Tears ebbed as she shook with uncontrolled sobs. They had survived the darkness.

For all the natural serenity of her demeanour, Eluned could not prevent the soft sound of astonishment that fell from her lips. There were books within the Great Library at Sha’Dar that spoke of the connection between the land and its people on some worlds, but she had never seen anything like this. Shroudling longevity and love of knowledge had given the Healer's District of Sha’Dar a reputation for skill in many forms of the healing arts, but this... this was truly remarkable.

The tall, elegant blonde moved forward as the green lightning began to ebb, the light silk of the sapphire-hued gown she wore whispered softly as she did so. Slim fingers touched gently upon the now smooth skin of Myn'Ette's wrist, feeling the pulse that now beat strong within the younger woman's veins.

"Ly'Anna?" The apprentice healer brushed a lock of rich brown hair out of her eyes and tried to sit up, her whole body still trembling from the violence of the healing process. She stared at her hands, astonished to see delicate fingers

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rather than thickened claws. "I'm... I'm all right, but how? Ly'Anna? Is she okay?" Concern for her friend and mentor made Myn'Ette struggle to sit up and see.

With a deep shuddering sigh Ly’Anna relaxed, her eyes focusing on her surroundings. She raised her hands and saw they were normal, then heard the voice of her friend.

“I’m fine, Myn’Ette, I… are you okay?” Rising up she tried to smile, “Are you okay? She repeated.

"I'm fine. Oh, Ly'Anna it worked!" Excitedly the young woman bounced out of bed, landing on the edge of the one in which the elder woman lay. "Look, our skin's not black any more, and it doesn't hurt and..." Her malachite green eyes sparkled with life. "Isn't it amazing?"

***

Fadil lay beside his wife, cradling her hand in his gently so as not to hurt either of them. He'd kept going as long as he could for his land and his King, stretched thinner and thinner until now, even though he knew this was the turning point one way or another, he couldn't stand.

Ild'ashi. No matter what had happened to her, she was still beautiful, the fine bones in her face thrown into sharp relief. Such a short time she'd been his to hold, and yet if this went wrong and they died now, he'd have not a single regret.

He shut his eyes, aware of how much his eyeballs hurt and how little there was to see. "It won't be long now," he told her, his voice quiet and rough. "Not long. It's B'Rodyn after all, it's not like we have to wait for Y'Roden to find his pants."

"Aye," Ash drew in a deep breath that left her shaking; the changes that had began in her were far from complete, yet no less painful. Self-loathing had mingled with hope and fear, yet hope had begun to narrow to a thin sliver of 'maybe', then even that was beginning to fade.

"Not long... I..." A rattling, choking sob came from Ild'ashi as once smooth, lithe muscles rippled involuntarily and contorted, some becoming sharply concave, others bulging unnaturally. Already patches of thick, black skin were overwhelming her normal flesh, leaving parts of her feeling dead, less sensitive to Fadil's careful touch.

She was becoming what she hated, the nyfaders that had helped the demon elf destroy her mother, her father, and everyone else she'd cared about as a child.

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"I doubt whether his royal majesty can find his trousers," tears began a slow leak down the side of her face and pool in the corner of one eye as she turned to her side, spooning into Fadil's arms, "will be much of a worry in a few hours." Ash tried to smile, then dissolved into tears of sorrow, rather than agony... her face... it felt like the simple action of smiling would make her skin split.

"Yona Elleska Dai, Fadil Elgerig," The words were almost lost in her sobs as she turned back over to face him, "Now hold me, gods dammit. I don't care if hurts either one of us... I don't want to die without feeling you."

Breath hissing through his teeth in pain, Fadil rolled onto his side, every inch of blackened skin that was touching anything screaming. The pain was welcome; it connected him to the world that threatened to slip away from him. Slowly, he managed to gather her against him; his touch controlled and careful until he could finally pull her to his chest, kissing her hair, heedless of the agony it caused both of them. "Yona elleska dai, Ash, y'vonna. Until death."

There was a silence then, a profound pause, as if the faltering heart of the world stopped beating for an instant. Fadil let his eyes close, utterly at peace in a moment that could be his last.

Abruptly, his eyes flicked open again, unseeing, as a sensation shot through him rather like slamming into a tree trunk at high speed. There was no thought, no vision, just fighting for breath as the verdant energy of S'Hea's Gaia shot through him. His body's convulsing slammed his wife hard into him, locking them together, but Fadil could barely feel her, lost in total, simple astonishment that they weren't going to die.

Ild'ashi's dark fingers had trailed a trembling, shaking line up Fadil's arm and had curled around his elbow when they were caught up in the explosion of green energy. A silent scream parted her lips and the force of the Aethyr ripped through them, leaving her body rigid, suspended in a brilliant sparkling of green. The scream slowly became laughter, rich and husky, the sound that her laughter might have been, had so much innocence not been stolen from her so early in her life.

Within, a soul that had been fading, growing dark in the inevitable, perpetual twilight, suddenly flared vivid green and in rapid succession, cracks began to appear in the darkness, then the black that had tainted the land and the soul she shared with Fadil began to shatter and fall away, like ice breaking away from warm, living light.

It was a moment Fadil might have chosen to stay in. His wife's laughter, the falling away of the despair they'd quietly carried for so long, the closeness of their land... one of the things that drew and held the two Rangers together was their mutual devotion to S'Hea, and now she repaid them in kind, giving them back their lives and filling their souls with her presence. Lost in the sensation, he had

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no idea how long it was before it started to fade, and he became aware of the world around them again. There were tears on his face, and his arm muscles protested at being locked around Ash, but it was a good hurt. Slowly, he shifted a hand and stroked his fingers through her hair. His voice was a harsh whisper. "We made it, elleska. I believe we made it."

"Oh, I think we did, aye," Ash's laughter slowly faded as the wave of green left them in its wake. Calloused fingers explored Fadil, touching every part of him as if she somehow had to make certain he was whole again, despite knowing it in her heart.

"But Fadil?" She spoke after a seemingly long silence. The Web felt different, there were threads of emerald here and there dangling free with no connection, no nexus of soul to hold them together before reabsorbing and making the Web complete again.

"Who didn't?"

***

Cully’s head was down, shaking hands covering his face. He had been aware when Glory had left for Garden, taking their youngest brother with him… had been more than aware when their mother’s soul had snapped from the Web… and now?

Shoving a strand of titian blond hair out of his face the young elf leaned heavily on the table and just breathed for a moment before pouring himself a drink of Mai’Tus wine. He stared stupidly into the rich purple liquid, not really thirsty… not really anything. Grief was bringing the entire house of cards tumbling down, and it was only the beginning…

Smaller hands gently removed the cup of wine and then wrapped themselves around Cully's.

"Hello melori, you were about to dribble wine down the front of you," Wil said softly. The words were meaningless, but the tone expressed the anxiety and love she felt for her husband. And the grief she felt as well over An'Thaya's separation from the Web. It could only mean one thing and she reached a hand up to pull Cully's face down to hers.

Sea green eyes focused on brilliant blue for a moment, the elf’s expression warring between a profound sense of sadness, and a deep abiding love for his Brendari wife. Large hands cupped Wil’s face and he kissed her softly, pressing his forehead to hers.

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“Have I told you today, how much I love you?” he asked, eyes still closed as he breathed in the scent of her. The hair on his arms suddenly pricked, goose bumps washing across his skin as some part of him sensed a change in the air.

Lifting his head abruptly, Cully turned his head in towards their chambers, a perplexed expression on features that were suddenly lit with a brilliant emerald light.

“Blessed Arminiea,” he breathed as the wall of Aethyr swept towards them, and then it was upon them, bright and powerful, crackling across Cully’s skin and arching his back as his ancestral land reclaimed him.

Wilwarin's mouth dropped open, not quite realizing what was washing over them, healing and restoring. Cries from her children had her spinning around, but she was unable to move, realizing suddenly that they were all right -- in fact, better than before the Aethyr had hit them.

"Sweet jesu," she breathed at long last, turning back to her husband and running trembling fingers over him.

Within the glowing green light that filled the palace, Cully stared blankly at his wife for several long moments before lifting one hand, watching the static energy of power leap restlessly between his fingers.

“What in hells,” he murmured, “How?”

Wil was afraid to answer her husband. She didn't want to. Instead she simply focused on the miracle of the moment.

"I don't know," she answered, her voice shaking. "Let's see the children?" she asked softly, running her hands over her husband's face before she gave out a low laugh and watched the play of power. It was positively mesmerizing -- and life affirming.

Cully caught Wil’s hand and kissed her palm, closing his eyes and just breathing in, thankful through his grief, that his little family at least, had been spared. “Aye,” he murmured, “let’s.”

***

Far below the city of Nenlante, Imoreki stood with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his hands holding Helena’s as they watched the waterfalls thundering into the lake. Not far from where they stood a herd of Unicorn’s were nosing half

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heartedly at sparse, dry grass, until one, the Stallion, lifted his head suddenly and sniffed at the air. It wasn’t a wary gesture, rather one of curiosity… and hope.

Ki squeezed his lover’s hands and smiled down at her, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “You’ll want to stand back,” he murmured, “It won’t be long now.” Releasing the Ingraelian Queen he took a step back, and then another, hands held out to his side, a look of anticipation on his face, eyes locked on Helena’s as he awaited what was coming.

Helena started locking down her empathy and magic lest a random thought get caught in what was about to happen. "I should get hazard pay for this," She muttered as she watched Ki with anxious eyes. "This had better work."

The stripe haired elf merely offered a smile to her, his emerald eyes reflecting the glimmer of light that was emerging from Nenlante and advancing towards them at breakneck speed. The wall hit Imoreki with enough force to send him stumbling back several steps, his body arching upwards in thrall as Whispin filled him and surrounding him, searing Haldanuru’s taint from his body and soul.

The yell that exploded from the young elf was welcoming despite the pain, arcs of lightning playing over his skin as he Grounded to S’Hea’s positive energy, eyes aglow with ethereal green fire.

Helena's eyes shot wide, glad she was clear of the blast radius. Several inane and vaguely humorous comments shot though her mind, but the Queen managed to keep them in check. She would just stand, waiting until the poison was purged, and then she'd smack her lover upside the head for not telling her it would be this... violent.

With a last gasp, Imoreki fell to the ground in an un-glorified heap. He was breathing heavy, but grinning as he dug fingers into grass and dirt, feeling how much the land and foliage had changed in a few short moments. It was… home again.

“Wow,” he murmured.

***

The day had a kiss of warmth to it that had not been felt in quite sometime on Whispin, but to Anelain, it seemed the world had gone even colder. Her mother’s disconnection from the Web had not come as a shock, but it had plunged the redhead into a deep depression.

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Curled up on a marble bench in the garden, her head resting on Kalab’s chest, she stared out blankly at the decaying foliage. Blackened leaves and shrivelled flowers filled the landscape as far as she could see… a vista of the dead and dying. In the past few days she had seen several Rangers put down, knifed by their peers as they crossed the threshold from Elf to Nuru’Kh-ai… people she had known well, that she had cared about. Yet in their last moments, Ane hadn’t recognized them at all.

It was terrible to feel gratitude over being spared such a fate, but it was there nonetheless. Death would be painful, but it was far more preferable to twisted existence.

Faded sky blue eyes stared up at Whispin’s sky, his arms tightly wrapped around his wife, as he pondered the irony of everything. Greyfords seldom had a destiny. Their path had points that they had to reach, but for the most part they were considered a wild card, a family that even the Fates could not predict the future of as those around them caused the change. They were the favoured of Keala Noelani, the Wild Child, as some called her, the Goddess of Freewill.

But somewhere it had been decided that his fate lay not on Arlsyn, but on Whispin when he first touched the hand of the blue-eyed daughter of an Amazon and Elen and led her back to the village where her mother was so she would not be frightened of the fight between the Taurësúlë Enrai’er and Shroudling Szar.

Kalab closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his lips to her hair. Friends were gone, and now his mother-in-law had slipped away like water through fingers. It left him with the feeling of walking down a narrowing tunnel. Darkness was closing in and there was nothing that could be done, and that light at the end, like hope, seemed to be forever out of reach. So he held his Ane and tried to be everything he possibly could for her, to be a bright spot in a deadening world.

“Remember,” he coughed and made a sour face when it had passed, “when we first met? I think you were the cutest little thing I’d ever seen.”

A small laugh escaped Anelain and she nodded against his chest, “I remember,” she murmured, “even then you were keeping me safe…” There was a pause as a glimmer of light caught the elf’s eye and she sat up a bit in Kalab’s embrace. “Do you see that?” she asked, canting her head slightly as it seemed to grow brighter, “What is that?”

Before their eyes, a wash of Emerald swept through the garden towards them. Everything it touched sprang to glorious life, trees bursting with limbs full of leaves, flowers exploding into fantastic full blossoms, vines regenerating and creeping across marble archways, even the grass beneath their feet stretched upwards in greeting to Whispin’s soul… and before she knew it, the Emerald light was embracing them.

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Crackling, near painful energy gripped Anelain’s body, burning through her blood and cleansing darkness from the light. Small hands gripped Kalab hard and an elated scream ripped from the redhead as life overrode pain, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, she felt Whispin’s love.

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Chapter 9

The weeks following the land quake at the Arketh Estate were full of tension and worry. Some kept busy converting the stables into temporary living quarters until the task of rebuilding the castle could be tackled. Even though none of them were going through the changes that afflicted Rani they were all less able to work as they had previously. The land still had a sickening effect on all things. Food and good water were there but needed to be rationed.

It was determined there were no really safe areas left to the old castle, so what could be salvaged was gathered and used again, or stored for when it could return to the rebuilt manor. The days were not so bad for Rhodry’s household, for they kept themselves distracted as much as possible with the things that needed to be taken care of. Each of them dreaded their turn at tending what was increasingly becoming anything but the woman Rhodry loved. The periods of calm between violent outbursts were getting shorter as she changed into a creature they all feared. Harder still was trying to keep Lord Arketh resting and not raging on as he watched helplessly.

And still… Rhodry was a man of practicality, despite what his heart might have told him. Centuries of life living by the sword, killing others for coin and a roof over his head had made Rhodry a callused, hard-bitten soul. In the time he had spent with Rani she had softened him a little, smoothed out a few rough edges until he, at the very least, valued her opinion and respected her ability as a warrior.

It was not a soft love he felt, nothing like the hearts and flowers in the cheap romance novels favoured by the ladies in Corin’s Court. It was passionate and burning, never would a sweet word fall from Lord Arketh’s lips, merely for the fact that he was incapable of it.

Now here he was, for the first time feeling something other than outright lust for a woman, and Fate had raised its ugly head. Perhaps everything he touched was doomed to be twisted and ruined… perhaps he hadn’t been meant to know love. All Rhodry knew now, was that the woman who had claimed his heart was suffering… she was nearly gone, in fact, and replaced with something he didn’t care to see.

And so it was that he found himself seated on the side of her makeshift bed, one hand pressed to his sore ribs and labouring lung as he watched his lover sleep. In one hand he held a dagger, slim and lethal, damnation and release. He could end it all here, stop her pain, put an end to the misery… but in doing so, Rhodry would begin his own.

Could he walk that path again? Carry the knowledge that he had killed someone he had once loved and go on living? Especially now that he had been blessed with a brief taste of what life could be like beyond death and the glory of battle.

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Would it be a mercy to slay her now? Or would it be easier, somehow, to turn the blade on himself…

Deep inside the beast was the woman and although the healers had heavily sedated her to keep violent outbursts under control, she was still there. Lurid yellow eyes turned and looked at the man sitting there and a gurgled snarl fell from drooling lips. For a moment, the eyes betrayed no recognition of who they saw, until tears began to flow from them. She fought the beast with all her might, still hoping that a change would come and fearing it would not. Once bright red gold hair lay in darkened stringy mats on the pallet and she was too drugged to do more than look at the him… Rhodry, the name still held meaning in the distorted mind. More unintelligible sounds came forth and sedated fingers moved weakly.

There sat her soul, her saviour from the darkness that had followed her beyond Railen. Yes, she could now recall the elf and the child they’d lost and accept it as past. Here sat what was to be her future, a hope for something happy and good, all but gone forever. She loved him like a Soulmate, warrior-to-warrior, friend-to-friend, and lover-to-lover. It was different from anything in her past, and now it became more and more fleeting with every breath. Rhodry she thought, and tried to say, but only grunts now came forth.

Tears streamed down the greying skin from eyes that were no longer hers, but held Rani captive within. The monster roared, fighting the despair inside, but could not move against the man she loved. Let me go. She thought to herself and closed her eyes.

Rhodry’s fingers tightened convulsively around the hilt of the blade, his head bowed as he struggled with his conscience. He was being selfish, but then, he had been all about himself for years and never felt a twinge of guilt over it. This was different… every breath Rani took was torture, every moment she lay locked in the prison of a body that was almost all Nuru-Kh’ai was an eternity of hell.

Heavy muscled shoulders shook, built up tension seeking release, and the Mercenary let out a yell of protest as the blade swung upwards, glinting in the low light of the room, before plunging downwards in a deadly arc…

Everything seemed to slow, the light reflecting off the blade taking on a surreal, glimmering emerald glow, then the shockwave hit, pure Aethyr power sweeping across them like a tidal wave. Rhodry was tossed from the bed, the dagger flying from his hand and embedding in the nearby wall as the massive Lord hit the floor with a grunt of pain.

Aethyr danced like a network of electrical charges over Rani’s body. The power of it lifting her into the air briefly before it dropped her back onto the ground to land close to Rhodry, shuddering for several more seconds before the tremors ceased, along with any visible signs of her breathing.

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Heartbeats of time passed that seemed like minutes before she gasped, drawing in a long deep breath again. A shaft of sunlight landed across her, allowing Rhodry to see that a reversal had begun, bringing a more natural tone in her skin. Her eyes were half open showing promise of returning to the clear peridot green. Clearly what ever had just occurred was trying to heal her, but she was too far into the transformation and too distant from S'Hea.

As she lay next to him, semiconscious, small additional jolts tried to complete the job but only managed minor changes. Without going to S'Hea, it would take a long time to reverse the damage done and then possibly not all the way. Rani was S'Hean and had been too long away from the unique connection to the land that loved her.

Rhodry pulled his head up off the floor and shoved his eye patch up into his hair. “Rani?” The Lord heaved himself up onto hands and knees, callused hands brushing his lover’s matted hair away from her face, his somewhat panicked gaze taking in the subtle changes. “Bring me a portal master!” he bellowed over his shoulder, “Now!”

There was a flurry of activity out in the hall, the servants dealing with the after affects of the energy wave and the sudden shouted commands from Rhodry. It was some long minutes before a young S’Hean appeared in the doorway looking disoriented.

“Milord?”

“S’Hea, I need you to open a portal to S’Hea.” Rhodry barked out, gathering Rani up in his arms. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

“The signal, Lord Arketh. Tyrne B’Rodyn has a lock down on entry until it is safe to pass through. Which… should be in another few seconds, I cannot open the Wards until they allow me too.”

Lord Arketh shifted in agitation, still in a half crouch with Rani cradled against him as he waited, breathing a sigh of relief when the young elf finally relaxed and opened a shimmering portal, revealing the land of S’Hea beyond it. He didn’t wait for Rhodry’s encouragement, fairly falling through the vortex onto the land of his birth, dropping forwards onto his hands as crackles of lightning danced up to greet him.

Rhodry’s boots made a soft swishing sound in the long grass as he stepped through to S’Hea, a wild yell of surprise nearly toppling him off his feet as, in its haste to get to Rani, the Land barrelled straight through the human to get there.

A vortex of wind and crackling energy surrounded the Lord and his lover until a strong surge separated the pair, jolting Rhodry and sending Rani rolling several

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feet away from him, completely engulfed in a cocoon of Aethyr charged energy. Before him the long torturous change was being undone. Her hair floated out like a rose gold halo in the winds of the energy that held her suspended. Her back arched and became rigid as the healing power of the emerald made the repairs all had been seeking.

What had taken months to consume the elven warrior was now taking minutes to reverse, skin becoming its natural shade and texture again. Bones and features lost the horror of the Nuru as the poisons ebbed into the emerald flames and were consumed. The pain that of becoming was no less so in the undoing, but finally, a rosy haired elven warrior fell to the ground in an exhausted heap. The land had given the woman back to the Lord.

***

The wards were closed on Garden once again. In order to protect Cal'Lanth the pixies had concluded they must be. Justin had not been happy when he had arrived, if it hadn't been bad enough that he had lost many of his people to Callan's war, now he was being asked to risk his world as well. He and his sister had heated words over it, but in the end the redhead had acquiesced, their burden, their call was to protect the innocent and the Black Dragon Emperor's son was truly the innocent in this case. The irony was seen by Justin, but he bit his lip and walked away.

This left Cat to lead her little family to the small pink cottage by the ocean in her small village. They were all still feeling the effects of the sickness, but the clean crisp air of Garden felt so good. The twins had not had a chance to see Garden yet and though they were still small, Catherine felt a small joy in being able to bring them here, to let them see it. The wet nurse also joined them, Catherine's niece Belinda had been more then willing to share with the boys and was also quite happy to be back home.

Catherine, Rilya, Nendil, Coo, Glory, and Galen were all sitting on the porch watching the waves and trying to pretend they weren't feeling miserable. Glory was watching Cal play with the sand, smiling a little as he did so. The kid was excellent at flinging the fine stuff here and there, mostly into everyone's eyes. But he was chilled. His half-brother was here because of very wrong circumstances and it hurt the young elf very deeply. He couldn't even guarantee his own lifespan. He knew his mother had slipped away though and he held himself inward, afraid to just let go before his family. Slow tears leaked their way down his cheeks and the smile twisted a little.

Nevertheless he beckoned to Cal who ambled over after a moment and he hugged the small child. He was a rough sort, but thoroughly ingenuous and fantastically lovable. Both of them eyed each other though for a few moments, there being an odd expression in Glory's eyes as he sensed a change along the Web. He was disbelieving and unsure and so remained where he was.

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Could a cure have been found? And why so swiftly after his mother's death? The answer was there but Glory just sat still, realizing his health and his family's would have to wait momentarily. But the idea that...

He threw a look toward his wife.

Catherine stared at Glory trying to understand, and found herself letting out a breath she'd been holding for a long time. "Love, there's hope." She said in a whisper. She hugged Nendil close to her. "There's hope."

Glory's heart thudded hard, but his wife had spoken what he felt and he could just nod and smile. Relief was foremost... he clung to that.

Their small family would be okay, but Glory's mother and Callan it appeared, were lost. It almost seemed wrong to be feeling relief and the tears that had been in the forefront of Catherine's mind for months released again.

She felt guilty for feeling hope, and yet it was there all tangled up with grief. "Now that the wards are down, I suppose we better..." Cat dwindled off. The energy to return to S'Hea was barely there, but she stood up and began to gather children to her.

"Yes, we better," was all Glory said as he rose and stepped over to his wife and bent over, embracing her long and hard.

The hug was precisely what Catherine needed. She clung to her husband for what seemed like hours. It lasted until Rilya started pulling on her mommy's skirt. "I gotta go potty." The munchkin declared.

Cat began to giggle, no matter the crisis the normalcy of life always returned. "The princess has spoken," she declared and rushed her daughter off to take care of that little detail. "It's a good thing we didn't unpack," Cat said as Glory as she gathered up the bags and headed back to Moinear, the place of portal in Garden.

When they arrived Justin was waiting and gave his sister a hug. "You were right, I'm sorry." Catherine hugged him back and patted his cheek. "I'm always right don't ya know?"

A moment later a portal was open and Catherine was waiting for Glory and company to step through. They did so, a small gaggle of children and two weary adults, Glory holding his half-brother in his arms as they arrived on the palace grounds. Almost immediately the sensation of healing and wholeness crashed over them and Glory gasped with relief and awe over how complete and whole he felt again. He went to his knees, gently depositing Cal on the ground, not quite

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aware of the drama occurring within the palace at the same moment. Glory simply settled shining eyes on his wife and smiled.

***

Cullen’s excitement was barely hidden, a rare thing for the Captain of Corin’s Guard, who had been slightly subdued since the death of his wife and daughter in the wars. He couldn’t help grinning at Kara, the spark of life relit in his soul from the shockwave that had rolled through Corin not twenty minutes before.

“You will carry them for me? Yes? I can’t cross the Wards with them; the Aethyr will be on me the moment I cross. They’ll need you… as a buffer.”

Kara was still a bit taken back by all that was happening around her, unsure what was going on, but the look in Cullen's eyes and the bright smile on his face caused her to blush softly before answering him.

"Now that's a silly question to be asking me now. Of course I'll carry them over," she looked down at the two children, "so long as you’re with us. But what do you mean they'll need me as a buffer? Are the children in any danger?"

“Danger? No, no danger. Grounding is just far more intense for an adult that it is for a child. Since you aren’t S’Hean the land won’t latch onto you.” The half-elf had finished dressing, though he had foregone his standard boots and opted to go barefoot. A subtle gesture on his part had a portal yawning easily open, the Aethyr responding better than it had in many months. Smiling at Kara he crossed his arms and waited, obviously impatient to be through the Wards and linked to his beloved S’Hea.

Kara saw the look that Cullen was giving her, and quickly jerked her shirt down, pulling the drawstrings closed. She had found out at an early stage not to carry the children around while bare chested.

"I'm coming. You could be helping you know, by gathering up their satchel. We're not going anywhere, for any period of time without fresh diapers and milk," she bent down and threw the heavy satchel up.

"I'll grab the children, you just stand there looking smug, and handsome too, I might add. Though you do look a bit silly without your boots on. If you step on a sharp rock, don't come to me for healing. I have enough to do with these two," she added, holding and rocking the children in her arms.

"Hey! Those are not play toys," her chin brushing the children's hands from her breasts. "You're as bad as your father." Stepping over she placed her head on Cullen's arm and laughed.

2

"If I get shocked, you're going to hear about it. Now lead the way, and if I knew you were going barefooted, I would have painted your toenails...red," as she glanced down, teasing the poor man with her own bare foot.

"We still have time..."

“I think I’ll pass,” Cullen said dryly, “ red just isn’t my colour.” Flashing a cheeky grin at the Elven woman he gestured for her to go through the portal, following in her wake and making an odd purring sound as his feet touched on the grass. Being half human had somehow spared him many of the ravages affecting the pure S’Heans, though his skin had turned strangely black in places and his brown eyes had turned slightly off shade. Eventually, the disease would have taken him too.

Lost in the wash of Aethyr crackling about his form he lost site of Kara and the children for a moment, his connection to the land blinding him to all but Whispin’s soul during the precious time it took to Ground him.

As Rhiannon walked down the hall after leaving Y’Roce’s chambers she felt Cullen and the twin's heart echoes strengthen within her chest the instant they crossed the wards. Instinctively she reached out to each child; infusing them with the tremendous amount of love she held for them and strengthening the Fela bond they shared. Wanting desperately to go to them, hold them, feel their smooth skin against her own, and reassure herself visually the twins were well, the Felinumeara female sprinted toward the front gates, pushing the incident with Roc to the back of her mind for the moment. Eventually she knew she would have to sort through and deal with her feelings where Roc was concerned, but at that moment nothing was more important than Rennon and Raellen. Reaching out with her mind she knocked lightly on Cullen’s mental door.

Kara thought Cullen was right behind her as she played with one of the children's hand, that had wrapped itself around her finger. Turning, she saw Cullen grounding. Never having seen a S’Hean ground before, she thought that he was having some type of reaction, or the Wards had somehow mistaken him for an enemy. Running back, with both children held tight against her chest, she started to reach out, but stopped, pulling her hand back.

"Cullen...a...are you alright?"

The Captain dropped to his knees, only half hearing Kara’s words and Rhiannon’s knock on the door to his soul. He gasped in a shuddering breath of air and fell forward onto his hands, closing deep brown eyes and getting his bearings before answering both women.

“I’m fine,” he said with a bit of a hysterical laugh, “In fact, I haven’t felt this good in months.”

2

“Hey Rhia… we’re down near the waterfalls”.

***

A heartbeat that had barely registered suddenly roared back to life as the Aethyr burned through blackened blood. A laboured intake of air began the gentle rise and fall as consciousness reasserted itself, scrabbling back out of the coma that had gripped her.

Emerald eyes snapped open, glazed over with pain and confusion, searching. They froze on the suspended form of her husband, wavering as she took in the drops of dark blood caught in suspension as his massive form spiralled slowly in the air… caught in time, caught in death.

The rise and fall of her breathing increased to a frenetic pace, gaze focused on Wyrmfinder where it sparkled, held in a familiar hand. Jewel like eyes glimmered with a veil of tears, then sparked with rage as they met sea green.

“NYE!” The Amazon shot up to a seated position, seeming to burn with wild fury as power crackled around her form, within her soul, and shot from outstretched fingers, a deadly ball of balefire that exploded at the feet of her ex-husband. “Nyfader!” It was only her weakened state that saved Galain from the misplaced magic, but she was slipping from the bed, bare feet hitting the floor, her small frame barely able to stand as her fingers gripped the hilt of one of her daggers on the night stand, the blade screeching over the marble top and carving a thin white line as she stumbled forwards, catching her balance on a chair before levelling a look of sheer hatred on the Elf she had once loved.

Too much was happening too fast and Galain shouted and staggered backward, his senses reeling from the sudden healing of the land, the miraculous recovery of An’Thaya and then her attack. He cast a quick glance at Callan’s arched form and then held up his left hand, palm outward. The look in the Amazon’s eyes was worse than actually being physically attacked by her and the Elen backed further away

“Wait, An’Thaya,” he said, his voice urgent. “Just wait. He asked me to do this when you died. I made an oath to kill him if you died. Do you hear me?” He took a step forward; actually anxious to help the Amazon back to the bed and then he stopped. It might just be best if he beat a hasty retreat.

“Do I look dead?” The Amazon snarled, knuckles going white as her grip tightened on the hilt. With a scream of rage she lunged forwards, slashing at Galain’s throat, but only managing a thin line of blood before she drew back to strike again.

2

Large fingers caught her wrist in an iron grip, forcing her back, and Tay found herself face to chest with her brother. “Stop it,” he growled, “he was only doing what Callan asked him to.” With the words, time seemed to snap, and the bubble holding the Dragon Emperor collapsed.

The sound of her husband hitting the floor snapped An’Thaya’s attention away from both elves and she jerked away from Y’Roden, falling to her knees by Callan. The dagger fell forgotten to the floor and as one hand went to cup his face her fingers slid to a halt, feeling the slow, but steady beat of a pulse.

Eyes bright with madness and fear, yet somehow reflecting hope, Tay pressed her small hands to the wound, stopping the gouts of blood that pumped with every beat of the Dragon’s multi-chambered heart. “Freme ye! Freme ye! An tus!”

Galain had no idea what he could do to help. He was far better at delivering kills blows than stanching the resulting flow of blood. Nevertheless he gave Y'Roden a sober nod of gratitude and stood over An'Thaya and Callan. Unconsciously he wiped at the thin line of blood on his throat and swallowed slowly. Then he reached over to the bed and pulled a sheet off and handed the wadded cloth to An'Thaya.

"This will work better than just your hands," he offered, his speech sounding thick to his ears.

Tay stared dumbly at the sheet, her eyes traveling from it up to Galain and staring at him like he’d sprouted a second head. She felt more than saw Y’Roden crouch down behind her, muscular arms encircling the Amazon as the half-elf lay his hands over hers.

“Keep the pressure on,” his gravely baritone murmured, “and keep your conduit closed. Do you hear me?”

In shock, An’Thaya nodded, keeping her hands firmly in place and concentrating on her own soul. She couldn’t take part in the actual healing; it was too dangerous for the children safely tucked in her womb. “Callan? Ol’Shann… please”…

“The land has healed, Galain,” Ro’s voice was distracted as his conduit slid open, his fingers weaving the Aethyr and delving deep into the Dragon’s chest. “Go get Ghet out of stasis, Gods only know what sort of mood Callan is going to be in…come on you Bastard, don’t die on me now.” He seemed completely oblivious to the large chunks of crystal embedded in his own back, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay for the moment.

Galain dropped the sheet and spun about on his heels, his head buzzing. He had absolutely no desire to stay here and never said a word as he opened a portal for

2

Riker's. It was only just now dawning on him that the healing of the land meant Ghetsuhm would be healed. He'd have to find Marius and then they'd all three return to Whispin and... His mind began working feverishly as hope for his wife's future and life suddenly sprang to life and the portal snapped shut behind him.

Breath tried to return suddenly and painfully to Callan's lungs as his heart began beating once more. The choice was made, he had a life to finish, and today it wasn't over. Brilliant flashes of scarlet and jags of black, shards of white and yellow replaced the shimmering Emerald he'd willingly walked into. Peace was shattered, replaced with agony, silence was replaced with a loud ringing, rushing sound as he began to come around.

He couldn't breathe... something rattled in his lungs and deep in his chest, and as his body healed, Callan pulled in a long, choked breath, then promptly began coughing. He could taste his own blood in his mouth, sharply metallic and almost bitter as his lungs involuntarily spasmed to clear the passageways for much needed oxygen.

"Where..." His voice was strained, and another fit of coughing had him fighting free of Y'Roden's touch and rolling onto his hands and knees. "Where is she? Where's Galain?" Topaz eyes shifted to the now empty bed and hope began to carve through the split second of fear and doubt. There had been no promises Tay would be here and alive, no guarantees, only suggestions. They'd been promised a second chance, but it hadn't been specified as being together, in this place and time, and if his god and goddess had been able to offer her a choice, had she taken the same path he had? Would she know he'd had the same choice, and had chosen a chance that he could have her now, rather than the certainty of having her in another life? Life was full of chances though, and Callan had never been one to take the sure path.

Tears of relief prevented Tay from speaking at first, her shoulders shaking violently beneath Ro’s hands as they settled there, a gentle squeeze of reassurance letting her know that it was going to be alright, that she wasn’t completely mad, or dead for that matter.

“I’m right here,” she managed to choke out as she lay a hand on his shoulder, “Right here…”

The sound of her voice and the feel of her touch seemed to take the last of his energy and his massive arms began to shake as he struggled to remain where he was, rather than crash to the floor.

"Right here... you're here." Within he could feel it, see it, her soul flickering like city lights flipping back on after a blip in the power. The conduit at her core began to slowly disgorge what it had devoured... she was right here. A slow, warm weakness began to spread through him, he was tired. The weeks of illness had taken their toll on Callan, and the dawning realization she would be fine was just

2

starting to truly register when two more lights blinked on the Web. The twins... they were there, their souls as a strong as ever.

Callan's head slowly turned, his eyes meeting emerald green. She was still too pale, but the crackles of black were gone from beneath her skin, a blush of colour was starting at her cheeks. They would be fine. All of them. His forehead lowered to lie on her shoulder and his own tears dripped to the floor to join the puddles of blood.

Exhaustion overwhelmed the Emperor and once again, his massive form collapsed to the floor, this time in a deep, dreamless sleep, and one that he desperately needed.

***

It was strange setting foot on S'Hea once again. An ill-defined feeling of discomfort had settled over Silverthorn from the moment the portal had opened. She did not feel like she belonged there. If truth be told, she did not want to be there. Yet if not there, then where? Where did she belong? Where could she actually call home? Even despite her efforts to avoid those she had no wish to speak to, the raven-haired woman had felt more comfortable at Blackthorn Keep than she did here in Nenlante, yet she had even less connection to the Diirlathe than she did to Whispin.

She sighed inwardly, putting the thoughts away for now. They would return, she knew. It was not an issue she could avoid forever, but there were those who had to come first. Her jade gaze dropped to study one of them, instinctively checking to see how B'Roden was reacting after their months away.

“Look Ammah!” the young boy chirruped, “is pretty again!” The elfling dashed out across the thick grass of the garden, small crackles of emerald electricity sparking beneath his feet and dancing around his ankles as he zipped past the rose bushes and through an archway. “Look! Yse and Drysi!” He waved at the girls in excitement over a burbling marble fountain and received a laughing, joyful greeting from Yseult in return.

The fair haired girl circled the fountain at a run and leapt at her mother, wrapping small arms around Silverthorn’s waist and beaming up at her. “We missed you,” she announced.

"I've missed you too," the raven-haired elf replied, kneeling so that she could gather the little girl into her arms. She buried her face in her daughter's mass of platinum-blonde locks and hugged her tightly. Relief poured through her so strongly that she was almost shaking. To leave Fechine and the twins behind when things had been so precarious had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. Seeing B'Roden blossom beneath the Aerdonian sun had been a blessing, but every day she had worried about those left in Nenlante.

2

She raised her head, drawing Drysi closer with one hand as the raven-haired little girl approached, hovering nearby with an air of anxious excitement. "I've missed you too, sweetheart," Silverthorn murmured, wrapping an arm about her and kissing her on the cheek. Callused fingertips trembled faintly as they stroked down her daughter's dark hair, two small arms wrapping around her neck. "Have you both been good for Beth?"

Yseult nodded, pale hair rippling with the movement and she leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Well, mostly,” she admitted, “it was the Silverleaf triplets that broke the bookcases… honest.”

A splash behind them had Yse’s head coming up and looking around, only to giggle madly as she spotted B’Roden, who had made himself at home in the fountain, sans clothing.

Silverthorn laughed softly. "Now that I can believe. Drysi here has far too much respect for the books in the shelves to go around breaking them." The raven-haired girl giggled as the reassurance of her mother's presence soothed the nervous anxiety that was so close to the surface these days.

Lips twitched as jade eyes regarded the small boy paddling around in the water. "Fechine used to do that as well," his mother observed wryly. "Almost cracked his head open once on the one in Castle Corin, as well as spraying everyone with water."

“Fechine!” B’Roden crowed from his makeshift pool, “Where Fechine?” He pushed towards the side and managed to splash both his sisters and his mothers quite nicely, an evil little laugh betraying the fact that it probably hadn’t quite been an accident.

Drysi shrieked and ran over towards the fountain to splash her younger brother liberally with water in retaliation. "Little imp," his mother laughed. She smiled, enjoying the sight of the two children playing. "Fechine is with Arminiea at the Crystal Keep," she told B'Roden, carefully concealing the disquiet she felt when she thought about her eldest son. "It's part of the D'Riel tradition to do that when you're old enough." Whatever her own thoughts about deities, she would not denigrate the beliefs of their father and his family before her children. Through him, they were in part their traditions, as much as through her other things were too.

Drysi looked up, regarding her mother with emerald eyes. "Fechine was sad before," she said quietly. Shyer than her twin sister and of a more book-ish tendency, the raven-haired little girl was nonetheless a sensitive soul who could make surprisingly shrewd observations about others. Silverthorn presumed it came from the fact that she more likely to watch and listen than to talk, but whatever the reason she had learned to respect her daughter's judgment about how others felt.

2

"I know," the elven woman agreed. "He perhaps just needs a little time and space. Arminiea offered to give him that. We're all here if he needs us. Sometimes though people have to work things out for themselves, and as much as we might want to help because we love them, we have to let them do that."

Yse turned, listening to her mother and twin with a reflective expression on her face. She frowned and finally asked the question that had been weighing heavily on her mind. “Is that why you and Addah don’t spend time together anymore? Do you just need time and space?” There was a glimmer of hope in her tone, though deep down she knew it wasn’t that at all.

"No, sweetheart. Your Addah and I have separated." She released her daughter enough to raise her hand and display her now ring-less fingers. "See. We're not married anymore." The raven-haired woman drew Yseult close and dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Sometimes no matter how much you might love someone, being with them just makes you unhappy. Your Addah and I were like that. Even when we didn't want to, we kept hurting one another. That isn't a nice way to live."

"Are you happier now?" Drysi asked quietly, her gem-like gaze solemn.

Silverthorn brushed a gentle hand over her hair. "Well, it will take some getting used to still, I was with your Addah for many years, but yes. I think I am. I think both of us are." She looked seriously at the twins. "That does not change the way either of us think about you though. We still love you, all of you, a great deal. We still want you to be happy, and we will both still be around. We just won't be living together any more. Can you understand that?"

Yse bit her lip. She thought about Rhagi and what he had said standing here months ago. At the time, she had never imagined being in his place. Now, here she was. Mother and Father living separately, though there was a difference. Yse knew she belonged in S’Hea, that she was meant to be here. But then… if Addah and Ammah weren’t going to be living together anymore…

“Where will you live?” she asked quietly. If it were anything like Rhagi’s situation, there would be times when they would be living somewhere else instead of here.

"I don't know," her mother replied honestly. "I've been so busy being worried about all of you lately, and how ill everyone has been, that things like that seem to have been pushed to one side. They just haven't seemed as important. Now I guess I will have to think about them."

"You could stay here. S'Hea's big, and you could have a cottage and we could visit," Drysi suggested. Her emerald gaze was just a little anxious, the girl aware of just how unstable her life still felt.

2

"Oh, sweetheart." Silverthorn hugged her tightly. "I'm not sure that I can. I don't belong here, not really. I'll come up with something, I promise. I'm not going to just disappear. I want to make the best decision for everyone. I'm just... not sure what it is yet. I'm sorry. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything alright, but I can't, and I don't want to lie to you either."

“It’s ok Ammah,” Yse told her mother; touching her face lightly, “no matter where you go, we’ll come visit.” She was still a little frightened and unsettled, but armed with the truth she was able to deal with things a little easier. Like all young children, she just needed the assurance that both parents would still be in her life, and that at least, gave her something to hold on to.

"I'm glad." The raven-haired elf smiled at her daughter. "I will want you to visit as often as possible. I miss you all very much when you're not around. It will all work itself out though I'm sure, I'll make sure it does." She kissed Yse's cheek. "I know it's hard, love, and I will do my best to make it as easy for you as possible. Nothing stays the same forever though, and you never know, this might be the start of a new adventure."

***

Amilyn stretched, her petite form moving through the forms and motions of the elaborate workout with ease, despite missing a few weeks of regular training. She could feel the protest in her muscles, and her body was nowhere near the condition it should have been, between the illness and captivity. But the familiar motions kept her sane, and calm.

Of course, Conlan thought she was reading or sleeping, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And if she'd spent another moment in that bed, she was likely to go as crazy as Mystical and Tallin.

The sound of soft footsteps outside had her moving quickly to a chair, pulling the blanket over herself to make it look as though she was resting. It never hurt to be cautious...

Mena stopped in the doorway and smiled at her little sister, shaking her head slightly. “You know, Conlan may fall for that,” the strawberry blonde said, “but its not going to work on me. You’re flushed, you’ve been working out again, haven’t you?”

Amilyn grinned. "Of course. I can't just sit around all day, much as Conlan might like me to do so." She stood, tossing the blanket onto the chair. "Want to work out with me?"

“Me? Work out?” Mena asked with a mock look of shock, “Why, that involves strenuous physical activity without the benefit of sex.” She snickered softly and

2

tilted her head; “I was really coming to see if you were ok after… whatever that was. Apparently you are feeling much better, along with just about everyone else in the palace.”

Amilyn grinned, knowledge beyond her years showing in her emerald eyes. "From what I've heard whispered, when they thought I couldn't hear, these exercises are supposed to increase all those benefits." Hey she wasn't completely out of it all the time.

“Why you naughty little girl,” Mena snickered, “what else have you heard whispered?” She grinned suddenly, “maybe I’ll sneak you into Rikers sometime soon… as long as you don’t tell Ammah.” The strawberry blonde would never admit the stunningly profound relief she had felt when her mother’s thread had reconnected with the Web, nor the tears she had helplessly shed alone in her room before the wave of Aethyr had rolled through.

Amilyn grinned. "Now how would I tell Ammah when I don't see her all that often? Since I won't go to the Keep more than rare occasions, and I'm in the Jungles more often than not when she's in S'Hea..." Ami slid into a stretch, her muscles groaning at the familiar motion of the split. "Besides, you'd be surprised what people talk about when they assume you can't hear... Just because I'm quiet..."

“Osmosis,” Mena nodded, “Ammah knows and sees all, haven’t you figured that out yet? You just have to stand near her and all the naughty things you’ve done seem to ooze right over.” She grinned cheekily and took Ami’s spot in the chair. “But, hey, don’t let me interrupt. Go ahead and work out, I’ll just sit here and watch… and sweat just thinking about it.”

Amilyn giggled slightly. "You might learn something to use next time you decide to engage in some strenuous activity..." She winked and slipped into a few more stretches. If the healing kept up like this, it might not be long before she felt like taking up her weapons again. Her curls had begun to grow back as well, short, unruly ringlets that danced around her eyes. She'd taken to clipping them back with some tiny clips she'd found in Mel's stash of stuff, which had been left basically untouched.

"Mena? Do you know anything about bringing someone back from the other side? Someone who's not in a preservation casket?" It never hurt to ask, right?

The elder elf looked up and eyed her sister for a moment. “Bringing someone back? Erm, no. I’m with Addah in the firm belief that when something is dead, it should probably stay that way. Though, once I think about it, if that were true, I wouldn’t exist, and neither would you. Ammah has sort of broken that rule a few times. But, no, I haven’t a clue. I’m more in the killing business than the ‘bringing back to life business’.”

2

"Normally, I would agree with Galain on that, but I keep having these dreams about Mel. Conlan and Glory have had them too..." Ami couldn't bring herself to say how clearly Mel was asking Amilyn to find a way, or that this was why Conlan had been spending so much time buried in books as of late.

“Yeah, Cully mentioned something about it,” Mena shrugged, “I… well, you know, good luck with it and all. I’m just not entirely sure that messing with life and death without the Messenger of the Fates being involved is a very good idea. But, you do what you think is right, ok honey?”

The strawberry blonde had always been more of a practical, down to earth sort. From her point of view, staying out of the Fate’s line of fire seemed… prudent. So, she intended to stay on the sidelines… probably way over on the other side of the sidelines, with her eyes closed and ears covered.

"The Messenger of the Fates? Chezlar? Maybe I can find a way to talk to him... Ammah'd know how to reach him, right?" So a light bulb had just gone off in the tiny Amazon’s head. She'd never even thought to go to Chezlar...

“Well… no, not really. Chez isn’t the sort of being you can rub out of a bottle. He does what the Fate’s tell him to, and that, is that. You can try, I suppose, but Ammah has likened trying to talk Chez into something, to trying to beat something into Addah’s head with a bat. It just doesn’t get through. “

"I don't really want to talk him into anything, just get his take on the situation... Can't hurt to have his opinion, right?" Ami grinned and went back to her workout, making a mental note to ask An'Thaya about where Chezlar might be found. Somehow, the unknown in this case was less frightening than asking Shadow, perhaps because Ami didn't know the older elf very well.

***

Valin gazed down into his son’s cradle and gently stroked his cheek with a callused finger. “I think its best that someone else carries them,” he said to Anaya, “I can’t risk them being caught in the force of my Grounding.” Sea green eyes lifted from the baby to meet the stunning Celtic of his wife’s and he smiled, “It is safe now, to cross the Wards. When you are ready… we’ll go.” He was feeling much better after the initial wave, but instinct was practically driving the elf towards his homeland. A desperate need for the connection to Whispin’s soul making him edgy, though he concealed it well… much like his father.

"You're right, I'll take them, I should be safe enough, right?" Anaya replied quietly. "I'm still a little unsure as to how this is going to work you know..."

2

“You’ll be fine,” he answered, then paused, “well ok, the shock you get will be a great deal less than mine. Just… don’t panic, all right? What I’ve sensed so far has been fairly spectacular, so expect a light show at the very least.”

"Light show?" Anaya replied, paling slightly. "Uhm, okay then. Ce'Leste? Come on sweetling... time to go." She called their daughter, and the young half-elf appeared in the room.

"Time to go Addah?" She asked quietly, looking up at him with concern in her eyes. "Will it hurt?"

“Hurt? No,” Valin answered his daughter, “it will tingle though.” The land tended to be a great deal gentler with children with undeveloped conduits or weaker ties to the Aethyr. As for himself, he wasn’t so sure the event would be pain free.

“Come along,” he said gently, opening the portal and waiting for his family to gather, “and no matter how it looks, just remember… S’Hea loves us, and she’d never hurt us.”

Ce’Leste nodded slowly, took a deep breath and stepped forward into the portal, her mother, twins in arms, followed.

The King of Corin watched his family with a content expression. Everything was going to be all right now… life and death were no longer in question and the future was clear for the first time in many months. With a last glance around to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Valin stepped through to S’Hea and the final step to being whole again.

***

As Galain stepped through the portal onto the main floor of Riker's his knees suddenly went weak. He was only now realizing how fortunate he was to have escaped with just the cut on his throat and the venomous look An'Thaya had given him. He still clutched Wyrmfinder in what amounted to a death grip and Galain looked himself over. He was splashed with Callan's blood and when he held the dagger up before his eyes all he could see was crimson coating the weapon and his hand. His hand, wrist and forearm burned, the iron-rich blood of the Black Emperor burning the Elen's sensitive flesh with a fearsome vengeance. Galain's mind registered the pain, but a far more urgent need controlled him. He was oblivious to the stares and looks his appearance attracted.

"Marius!" he called out, dropping his hand and heading toward the lift. "Marius! The land's been healed. You know where to meet me!" He headed directly toward where his wife lay so deathly still, hope and anxiety clashing together in a tight tornado of emotion in the pit of his stomach.

2

The only reaction Imadi M'Sea gave to Galain's entrance was an annoyed tut. "What in hell happened to you? Sit down. You're not going anywhere until that's taken care of." Over the last couple of decades, she'd got rather used to treating elves for iron burns, not part of her initial training, oddly.

"Stabbed Callan," was Galain's laconic reply. "He's got a lot of iron in his blood." He was impatient to go to Ghetsuhm's side, not having seen her in a couple of months, but he let the doctor administer to his burns for the moment.

Marius entered a couple of minutes after his father, frowning. It all sounded a bit too good to be true. "S'Hea is healed? She can go back?" He shot a glance to the back of the medbay, where his mother lay in exactly the same position she'd been put in two months ago. It seemed utterly improbable that she should get up and walk again. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Galain answered. "I was there." He followed his son's gaze and let his eyes rest on his wife's still form as M'Sea finished her work, and then he stood. "It's hard to believe I know... but she's going to be up and about again in no time," he said, his voice soft.

Marius took in the expression on his father's face, and then nodded. It was enough for him. "Then we need to take her to S'Hea."

"Wait a minute," M'Sea said, her face stern even for her. "You expect me to let you just switch her off and take her away? For some kind of magical, totally unscientific healing? Taking her out of stasis could throw her into shock. She could die." She pursed her lips tightly. Yes, Ghet was safe where she was, but it was no kind of life, and while she'd never been sensible enough to nominate next of kin, these two were clearly Ghet's closest family. "Alright. But I'm coming with you, in case something goes wrong."

With a last check to make sure Galain was all right, she moved over to the ICU, and began shutting down the stasis field. "She won't last long once this is off. We need to move quickly." Her hand paused on the last switch. "You're ready to go now?"

Galain had followed M’Sea and stood just behind her, regarding Ghetsuhm’s still form. He’d turned as soon as the doctor began turn off the field and gave Marius a quick look.

“Yes, we’re ready and M’Sea… I wouldn’t dream of taking her into an unknown danger. I am magic and even magic has some sort of logical basis to it.” He managed to give her a crooked grin. “I’ll take you on a tour of Alcarinque’s library sometime.”

2

Then he leaned over Ghetsuhm, itching to gather her up into his arms and take her to the turbolift. “Shall we?” he said. Only Galain had access through the wards and the other two were reliant upon him.

This wasn’t the time to be getting into an argument, and M’Sea was going to leave the science/magic one alone for now. She’d had it with Ghet a couple of times already. She flipped the switch and the blue glow surrounding Ghet’s body faded away. Absolutely nothing else changed. Scanner at the ready, M’Sea winced. “Let’s make this quick then. She’s not breathing on her own.” She was already doing the maths: how long before Ghetsuhm’s brain started to suffer?

***

Galain’s wife’s little cottage on Whispin wavered into his vision and he sighed. There would be a perfect place for her to rest and recuperate.

Marius was already off through the portal and he was surprised at the level of anxiety that clung to his heart. The heat and weight of S'Hea hit him, and he had to wonder, weren't they just going to crush Ghet's fragile body?

The elf wasted no time and cradled Ghetsuhm in his arms. It was frightening to realize she wasn’t breathing. He stepped through the portal, figuring M’Sea would have to trust magic to leave the Riker’s and enter S’Hea on her own. He didn’t care about that though. He simply cared that this return wasn’t too sudden and shocking to Ghetsuhm’s system. They emerged directly beside the cottage at a bridge. A small river ran by and not far away was a lake. Galain didn’t waste time heading toward the lake. Instead he sank to his knees beside the river and very slowly let Ghetsuhm’s body make contact with the ground. His heart pounded madly because he knew S’Hea would react and swiftly. Instinctively he moved away and quite possibly began to pray.

The minute Ghet's body touched S'Hean soil it began to crawl with sparks, verdant energy pouring up out of the ground and swarming over her. A swirling mass of green fire seemed to converge on her chest, and her back arched up off the ground, a huge tearing gasp echoing across the shocked silence around her as Ghet took her first unaided breath. Eyes still closed, she pushed an arm out, flipping herself over onto her stomach, her fingers burrowing through the grass, anchoring in S'Hean earth.

Behind her, M'Sea watched in amazement, eyes flicking between the scanner she held in her hand, and the astonishing display around Ghetsuhm. "Chet’fu’rk. It's like... it's like it shocked her heart. Respiration, pulse... through the roof and fluctuating like mad, but whatever that green stuff is, it knows what it's doing."

"Yeah, it does," Galain replied. His voice was full of awe, relief and worry. He wanted to reach for Ghetsuhm, but stayed himself, letting the healing process

2

take full effect. His eyes betrayed a strange mix of emotions he couldn't even begin to put a name to and for now he chose gratitude.

"Beloved?" he asked, letting Ghetsuhm take her time.

Ghet moaned, rubbing her face against the ground like a cat as the firestorm around her died down. Her instinctive motions were caressing, responding to the warm, loving feeling that cradled her. She was home: something she was never going to be able to hide from again.

Slowly, very slowly, she rolled back over and sat up, pushing her hair unsteadily back from her face. She felt as she had after the soul healing; terribly weak, but full of energy. She looked up at Galain, and for a moment, her eyes sparked green. She smiled, her shaky gaze moving from him to Marius, taking in Imadi M'Sea in surprise. She coughed weakly, in no hurry to stand. "How long?"

"Two months," Galain replied. He was smiling back at her, relieved to see that expression on her face, to see her living and breathing after so long. "You've been sorely missed." He eased back to her and caressed her face with the back of his hand. "The good doctor here insisted she accompany us. You'd have loved the expression on her face..." His voice trailed off and he suddenly embraced her; mindful of her as yet weakened state. It wouldn't do to accidentally crush her now when she had just returned to health and a future.

Ghet's expression flickered as Galain hugged her. Something was... off, and it wasn't him, but her. It was like there was a layer of clear plastic between her and the rest of the world. Everything felt distant, removed. She couldn't help but wonder, had she really woken up, or was she still in a coma, dreaming? She shook herself and embraced her husband, reaching for a warmth she couldn't properly feel. At the same time, she moved out along the Web and touched her son's soul, feeling his joy. Even that couldn't touch her.

"I'm tired," she said wonderingly. "That seems completely stupid. I'm exhausted from lying down for months." She glanced down at her pale, wasted body and winced, she looked terrible. "I think I need to sleep for a bit."

Marius nodded, and touched M'Sea's shoulder, dragging the Khazani woman's eyes away from her readouts. "We'll leave you to it, head back to Riker's and get out of your way."

It wasn't stupid that Ghetsuhm was tired and Galain said as much.

"Your body's fought a terrible battle for a long time -- it needs to just catch up now," he said quietly, looking up when his son spoke up. He forced a stab of dismay down. Leave already? Just leave her here? He could sit all day and watch her sleep and would have done so quite gladly.

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"May I carry you to your bed?" he asked. "Or do you want to sit here on the ground all day?" His grin was crooked, but his eyes were searching his wife's face, a level of disquiet lurking within his core. She still seemed absent in a weird sort of way. Perhaps the rest she so sorely needed would change that.

"I can walk," Ghet said, levering herself to her feet and swaying. "Okay, scratch that, I can't. You can stay if you want, love, I'm not sending you away. I just... I'd have thought you'd seen enough of me sleeping."

Galain was quite happy to scoop his wife off her feet before she tumbled back to the ground.

"At the risk of sounding facetious, I could never grow tired of watching you sleep -- especially when I know you're going to wake up now. Besides, I haven't gotten to sit and watch you sleep for some time now. Although eventually I suppose I'll have to tell a certain little girl that her mother's awake again. For now though... let me get you into bed, let M'Sea do her doctor thing and let Marius return to Riker's and spread the good news. 'Kay?"

He threw a look back at his son and ignored M'Sea. He'd stay out of her way, but he wasn't going to leave immediately.

***

Y’Roden had left Callan and An’Thaya to themselves, checked on his children in the nursery, seen to the hideous task of slaying the few S’Heans that were too far gone to respond to the healing of the land, washed away the blood, then rounded up Rhagi and headed for Silver Dragon Ridge.

Life had come down to doing what needed to be done. He held no remorse for the blood spilt only a short time before, it had been a mercy to those afflicted, simply something he had to do, just as healing Callan had been. Another motion in a day…

And now? He was merciful again, and removed himself from where Silverthorn would be drawn. B’Roden would need to ground, and his needs would be foremost on her mind, as they were on Y’Roden’s, for all of his children.

Now, in the light of afternoon, he sat cross-legged on the grass with Rhagi, teaching his boy how to meditate and commune with S’Hea, both basking in the feel of her now that the Gaia was whole again. It was here, in the roar of the waterfalls and the peace of nature, that Y’Roden felt Ghet reconnect, her fiery strand becoming bright and vibrant on the Web once more.

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A smile lit his features, revealing the dimple in one cheek as a single emerald eye cracked open to look at Rhagi, knowing he must have felt it too.

After the agitation and uncertainty of the last few months, Rhagi was profoundly enjoying the serenity of the afternoon. He wasn't a kid who had any trouble sitting still, and doing it now was soothing the ragged ends of his nerves. A lot of it was just seeing his father at some kind of peace, too.

Feeling his mother's thread on the Web re-ignite just seemed to fit perfectly. Everything was all right now, from the moment he felt her oddly muted touch. He opened his eyes and mirrored his father's grin. The quiet acceptance lasted all of about thirty seconds, before the questions came nagging back. "Can we see her? Can she come here?"

Fortunately, Y’Roden had intuited his son’s question, and kept any discomforting emotions from his eyes. “When she is ready,” he said simply, “she needs to rest a little first, get her bearings.” Reaching out the half-elf ruffled his son’s hair a little. “We can be patient a little longer, can’t we? Let Mummy pull herself together?”

It was inevitable, of course, that Ghet would come to see her son, and Ro would be ready. There were questions of his own that remained unanswered… and the redhead was the only one who could answer them. After all that had happened lately, he was tired of ignoring the things that seemed… off. Life was tenuous, even for the relatively immortal, and leaving things undone could drive a body mad.

Rhagi blushed a little and nodded. When he was little he hadn't understood, he'd rushed his mother after she'd been hurt in Tenobrous and felt guilty about it when he'd realized. She wasn't going anywhere, and she would want to see him. He could wait. And maybe this time she'd really be okay, not like when she'd left him here by himself in the middle of the night. "You don't want to wait until she's all the way together, right? Cause I don't think I've ever seen that." He was hoping the grin would cover the earlier twinge of unease, the nest of unspoken words he found himself in so much. "Have we done this for long enough now? Can we go swimming?"

Y’Roden laughed, genuine amusement sparkling in his eyes, “Just until she can make it here under her own steam,” he said to his son, “and yes, time for a swim, race you down to the lake.” The half-elf pushed to his feet and winked at Rhagi before running for the path that led down to the lakeshore. “Last one in has to wash tonight’s dishes!”

***

2

"And who are you proposing to set up as Emperor? You?" Erin demanded, her words falling into the hubbub that follow Tyloril's words like a lead weight. Her dark brown gaze had iced over, the fire that burned at the core of her soul a tightly banked flame. The dragon wreathed in thorns lay dead and cold on her shoulder, a strange feeling of disassociation wrapping around the Black. Araxmarr Zavern Sar'da was gone, and with him the link that had connected the two Guards under his command. Instead there existed two chains of blood ties; one headed by Daemonorel Ashev, the other by Yarwin Blackthorn. One Black, One Silver. The chain he had worked so hard to forge split asunder.

Yet of those Guards, two had met, fought, loved, bonded. The mark that stretched from wrist to elbow on the inside of Erinya's arm burned, now the only tangible connection between the two groups. Instinctively she had reached out to her mate, without thinking about what she was trying to do, even as the cutting words fell from her lips. She looked at the dark-haired male scathingly, her contempt apparent. "You, Vor'ill Ashka, might claim the Throne, but it would be through luck, not skill, and as for keeping it... that you will never be strong enough to do."

"I have skill enough to take anything I want, and the Throne is no exception. And if my ability to hold the Keep by what. Ever. Means. Necessary are being questioned by you, Erinya," Tyloril began to slowly rise to his feet, "I have no problem proving I'm as ruthless a bastard as you'll ever meet."

Daemonorel felt Dorian slowly shifting along the blood-mark, trying to use it by cutting Daemon out of the loop.

"Altorian, move." The older son of House Ashev had just been pushed too far, which made him more dangerous than Daemonorel.

Altorian's head swivelled from where he'd been watching Tyloril provoke Erinya to Daemon and beyond to Dorian, who held concealed in his fingers a slender length of balanced, razor sharp metal... a throwing knife.

"Go Renegade? You can't be serious." Loros began laughing, but his Randii was watching Altorian.

"Yes, I said 'go Renegade'." Tyloril hissed out at Loros and began meeting the eyes of those who had supported his comment.

"There are other Renegade Houses and they've existed before the Arrival as Houses Major, Houses Minor. They exist today, without the help of the Imperium, without the protection of the Black armies, of the almighty Black Guard," contempt laced every word as his eyes slowly slid to Daemonorel, then Altorian.

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"And why not me? Why not let me be one that cleanses the Keep of the slag that Araxmarr has polluted it with?"

The subtle changes between the two Ashka brothers during this council had been fascinating. Perhaps the blood of Il'dia and Veriil had not died in at one of Eryus' sons. Perhaps there was hope he yet possessed the Twins?

Amber eyes slowly slid to the back of the female in front of him, who was watching Tyloril as well, but his focus wasn't on her.

Go Renegade...

Like pieces of a broken mirror, the puzzle began to come together, its edges sharp and cutting. No one had ever 'escaped' the prison Xudah IX had become... and if they had, they wouldn't be walking free, in the open, living in wealth, advertising they were alive and fine. Only those who were 'bought' out of Xudah did that. The question was, why would the Silver Nation not know, or not admit, he'd not escaped, but had walked away a free Kin?

That's it, Altorian Iscera thought to herself, as she watched Altorian. He was thinking, and looking at him reminded her of a piece of heavy machinery, slow to start, but the cogs were starting to turn, and once they clicked correctly? He would not be stopped.

The truth is like a tangled knot, one thread wound around another, blurred by perspective, by the need for vengeance, by the drive to justify past wrongs. Follow it to the source, find the first threads of the lie, and unravel this false truth Tyloril wraps himself up in, or we may yet all find ourselves dead in our own Houses.

Altorian's head shook slowly side-to-side and his eyes went to Dorian, "Not yet, Ashev. Not yet. He's a Kinslayer, I feel it, I know it. His life is mine by right to take at a time of my choosing. Put the knife away, remember those that support him." The words travelled freely on the jangled blood bond, there for all Black Guard to hear. His words had just invoked the Right of Blood, despite it not being a public declaration. That would come in a matter of days, but now was not the time, this was not the place.

"He will die, I swear it, but not because I let any of you kill him tonight."

Vadim had remained stoic, watching with quiet eyes, only the slight flash indicating his temper was barely in check. He wouldn't lie at least to himself, the thought of going renegade had cross his mind briefly in the last few days, questions that nagged at him, hounded him in sleep leaving him with little peace as he tried to come to terms with his own beliefs. It was a well-maintained secret

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that the Vesran line still held and exercised the slave trade, but that wouldn't be enough to push a decision from him.

But here it was, and a decision had to be made, would he continue to align his house with the Emperor even if he should die and Yarwin take over? Or would he take his house from that protection?

Snorting derisively, Vadim shook his head, "You're no better fit to mind a yetsu heap, let alone be Emperor." he growled with a slight smirk, "When it comes down to it, I would rather follow someone on the brink of insanity than you, Ashka."

A vivid aquamarine gaze shifted from one to another, their expression intent. Eden Silinrul knew more about each of them than even they suspected, her network of spies and informers extensive, stretching even into the upper echelons of many Major Houses. First and foremost to the blonde came her House. The madness, extreme even by Black standards, of Nargus had led to their support of Araxmarr Zavern Sar'da, and his strength had ensured he had kept that loyalty during his years as Emperor.

Was his son as strong? That question remained to be answered. If he was not, if it was not in the best interests of House Silinrul to support him, then they would not. Yet sometimes the choice was not between good and bad, but between two less than perfect options, the choice of the lesser evil. There was a subtle weakness at the core of Tyloril Ashka that Eden found distasteful. A weakness inherited from his sire.

Loros and Iscera had disowned their own daughter when Eryus had taken Dravis Ashka as a mate. They had not wanted an Eld-torick such as him to lay a talon on the wealth and power of House Ashka. Now Dravis' eldest son was showing his true colours, but what of the younger? Her aquamarine gaze settled speculatively on Altorian.

"Regardless of the smoke being blown by Vor'ill Ashka," the Vor'che interjected coolly, "it would perhaps be sensible to remind ourselves of the fact that even if Araxmarr Zavern Sar'da dies, his heirs are very much alive. Neither the Vesahd nor the Vesai strike me as the type to give up their family inheritance lightly. Whatever we as individuals may think of their ancestry or their choice of mate, let us be honest about their personality. To turn Renegade, as some amongst us would have us do will have consequences, ones we would be wise to consider carefully. As for Vor'ill Ashka's claim to the Throne..."

Eden's cold eyes settled on Tyloril, "perhaps he would be wise to recall that a House that is declared Renegade can expect no support from anyone outside their House. Under those circumstances it is every House for themselves, and every House entirely on their own."

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A ripple of murmurs ran through the counsel and Tyloril knew then he'd lost this bid to sway the Council, but this was only his first attempt, and wealthy now or not, the fact remained, without more Houses willing to follow him, House Ashka would be come a target for those who wanted what he had, and he would have no way to defend it. For now, he had to rely on the protection of the Empire... and it grated like sandpaper against his skin.

"Thank you, Vor'che, for reminding me the...fragility... of a House gone Renegade." Tyloril's dark eyes settled on the vicious blonde without bothering to conceal the hate and malice there. Slowly, Tyloril sank back into his chair and shot Altorian a 'thank a whole skagging lot' look. Altorian would have to be taken care of... Tyloril could feel it, and like the forgotten first infant hatched from Altorian's egg, the surviving twin would soon join the other. It would be something of a farewell surprise from big brother...

Casually, Tyloril began picking his teeth with a sharp claw of a nail while Loros nodded and addressed the Council, "I believe there is one final order of business, in that case," The Vor'ill studied Daemonorel and Dorian, "I believe Vor'ill Ashev wished to abdicate his seat to the elder son?"

Another surprised ripple went through the crowd, and even Dorian's expression revealed his shock as Daemon slowly stood.

"Hai. No matter what happens with Araxmarr, I am still his First Captain," The words held gravity now that hadn't been present before, "House Ashev needs a worthy Vor'ill. I wasn't raised for this position not after..." He stopped there and shrugged, "Dorian was."

"Then the Council recognizes a new Vor'ill of House Major Ashev." Loros nodded and Daemonorel sat down, "Dorian Ashev, we extend our respect and hope House Ashev continues to surprise us in the future as it has in your recent past."

***

After checking over the twins from head to toe and making sure they were well, Rhiannon had put both to bed. Her newly discovered feelings for Y’Roce returned to the surface. Running a hand through long, fiery locks the Felinumeara turned to face Cullen, trying to work out if what had come to life between her and Roc changed anything between them. The answer was an undeniable yes, but it was not just Y’Roce that changed things.

“I need to have a rather serious discussion with you,” she began then moved across the room to sit crossed legged on the bed. Once she was comfortable, Rhiannon scrubbed at her face, hating the fact this particular conversation was needed, but also aware that it would work in the best interest of the twins if their parents knew where they stood with one another.

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Having never been one to beat about the bush on any subject, the tiger female got straight to the point. “You will never love me as more than an extremely close friend, will you?” For a moment she cringed inwardly, thinking perhaps she should have addressed the matter with a bit more tact, but then shrugged the feeling off, as Cullen always seemed to appreciate her blunt approach to things.

Leaning against the doorframe Cullen eyed Rhiannon with a veiled expression, his mouth tugging slightly to one side. He didn’t answer straight away, brown eyes unreadable as he struggled to find the right words.

“Rhia,” he said finally, “I’d like nothing more than to tell you that there was something for you to look forward to. When it comes down to it though, I can’t lie to you. Waiting for me… is just a waste of your time. You are a wonderful, passionate female, and you deserve more than I can ever possibly give you.”

Long moments stretched between them as Rhiannon digested his words. Then suddenly she began to laugh, a deep rich genuine sound of mirth that she could not have kept from escaping if she had wanted to. Shaking her head and working to bring herself under control, the Felinumeara female casually tucked strands of fiery hair behind one tiger striped ear. “I figured as much,” she finally managed. “It seems I have a talent for such things. So, what do we do now? I personally would like the appearance that nothing has changed, if for no other reason than the twins, but if that is not something you can live with I will understand.”

Cullen smiled in a self-depreciating way and tilted his head to the side, “We do what any responsible parents would do. Raise our children and enjoy one another’s company whilst we do.” Pushing away from the frame he crossed the room and sat down next to her, holding her hand lightly. “Just, promise me, if someone else comes along that you can love, and can love you back, then don’t hesitate. Alright?”

“It’s not in my nature to hesitate, Lock, you of all people should know that,” she teased squeezing his hand before adding, “but you have my word on it anyway.”

***

Some time after Y’Roden D’Riel left the Chamber of Life, the crystals started to hum, singing softly to the tune of the power expelled by the column. From its depths a last, brilliant flash of power pulsed as the healing reached its completion and the Well went utterly, completely… dark.

There was a soft whisper of wind that moaned through the cavernous room, then silence.

For several breathless heartbeats it seemed like the darkness would go on forever, until a small beam of light reached up from the deep, a fragile, faltering

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sliver of green that flickered, nearly went out, then stabilized. The familiar misty shapes stirred within its depths, and with a burst of new life, it spilled outwards to fill the well once more.

It remained empty for several minutes, thrumming and glittering with power, until finally, after what seemed forever, she gave up her willing captive from deep in Whispin’s heart. Unconscious, the emerald still clutched in one strong hand, the form of B’Rodyn D’Riel floated up within the Aethyr pillar and spun slowly within its confines.

A soft gasp came from Gwen as she felt so many lives end, too weak to survive, too close to becoming the abominations they so feared. The Aethyr had swept through S’Hea and those it couldn't cleanse, it destroyed. A slow leakage of tears trickled down Gwen's face as she watched the pillar of emerald green. Something had happened with An'Thaya, her thread to the web had snapped, and with it, her husband's... then it all seemed to pause, to move so slowly, like a butterfly trapped in thin honey.

"B'Rodyn?" Gwen's tiny feet moved her forward and her fingers trailed over the glittering curtain of verdant green light and she swallowed hard as he revolved away from her, "B'Rodyn?" Her fingers slid through the light, "I think it worked... but..."

The S’Hean’s body jerked slightly, as if he had been startled out of a dream. Dark lashes flickered open as the slow spin brought B’Rodyn back round to face his wife. His eyes were overwhelmed with Aethyr, verdant beams of light seeping from them like the warning beacons of a Light House on the shore.

The slightest movement brought him close to the edge, and a moment later he was stumbling onto solid earth, falling to his knees beside Gwen, head dropping forwards to hide his face behind a curtain of chestnut locks. Fingers braced against the floor as the elf caught his breath, unsteady and shaken, yet unbelievably relieved.

A choked, sudden sob welled up in Gwen as she stumbled in an attempt to catch her much larger husband, and ended up on her knees beside him, her arms around his neck.

"You're okay... It worked... oohhh, it worked." Her nose buried in his hair and tears began to fall freely as the stress and sorrows they'd endured since their return seemed to overwhelm her. Slight shoulders shook with hysterical laughter and loud sobs, "But we've lost so many. Oh gods, B'Rodyn, why did this happen?"

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The elf pulled himself together enough to turn and pull Gwen to himself, making a soft, soothing sound in her ear, “I’m okay, yes…it’s alright elleska, are you and the baby okay?”

Why did this happen?

A question on many minds, with no real answers aside from one God’s lust for power and revenge, an answer that left a cold hollow spot in the heart of many, and gave no comfort to those who grieved their losses.

He had sensed his Cousin somewhere above some time ago with a small crew of rangers, cutting down those who had made it through, but not as themselves. It was a cruel, but necessary mercy… and perhaps one Ro was better suited for.

“I do not have any answers,” he murmured finally, “but we are alive, that is something we didn’t have a year ago, and many of our people will live on now. There are blessings in even the deepest darkness, it falls to us to find and embrace them.”

Gwen's sobs slowly faded, and the one-time Queen of S'Hea sank back on her heels as her husband embraced her, "Aye, and if there is one blessing I am immediately certain of," Her fingers scrubbed away the tears as they continued to fall, "it is that you and I are here, and yes, our son will be fine."

***

A day later, and Ghet still felt curiously remote. You weren't supposed to remember being in stasis and she didn't, but she did feel as though she'd been switched off, and then on again. Somewhere in the process, something had gone missing.

Blessedly, Galain had realised that she needed some time to herself. He'd been so gentle and understanding with her through all the upsets of the last few months, and it made her feel both grateful and guilty. Alone, she'd wandered as much as her strength allowed, pushing herself just to feel something. A trip to the lake to swim had left her totally exhausted and she'd dozed off under a tree. Waking, she'd realised she was about to be caught outside at Zenith.

Her eyes drifted upward to the Ridge. She'd been intending to head up there today and see Rhagi. Being away from him any longer would just be mean, when he was so aware of her presence. And yet somehow, she'd ended up delaying so long that now he'd be sleeping.

Well, it made sense, she told herself, aware that she was being self-deceiving. She needed to sort things out with Y'Roden before they tried to play normal in

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front of their son. He was too much her child not to realise that things were strained between them. And if she was perfectly honest, which she tried not to be, what burned more than her need to hold her child was her need to know why.

She'd never have managed the climb to Silver Dragon Ridge in her current state, in this heat, so she portalled up and simply walked through the door. It seemed absolutely absurd to knock, when she could feel Y'Roden's presence all around her.

“Dagar,” it was one word, full of surprise and shaded with so much more. The half-elf was seated in a bay window, and he wasn’t alone. A healer was carefully pulling the last of several emerald shards out of the S’Hean’s back, but she had paused, looking up in surprise as Ghet entered the room.

“It’s alright,” he said to her, “You’re dismissed.” Standing he brushed the woman’s hand away from his back, verdant green eyes focused entirely on Ghet as the Healer made her exit.

“Rhagi is sleeping,” he said quietly, slight hesitation in his tone, “I’m glad to see you though.” There was a silent pause for all of a heartbeat, “come sit down before you fall down.”

Ghet's eyes darted nervously round the room, looking anywhere but at his face. It was hard to be alone with him, worse with someone else around. She tried a fake reassuring smile as she walked across to join him, then let it drop. "I'm stronger than I look," she said, her voice unusually hesitant. "I just... you know, not a lot of sun lately." A genuine smile quirked at her lips; the old patterns between them were strong even despite the horrible awkwardness. "What have you been doing to yourself? I'm quite sure you're not supposed to get glass in your back without me around."

Ro’s warm baritone laughter filled the room and he shrugged, “just a small accident in the Chamber of Life. Whispin can really pack a punch when she wants too.” The half-elf’s hand came up, his index finger tilting Ghet’s chin in a habitual gesture that didn’t even seem to dawn on him. “It was… difficult, you know, seeing you in stasis… you looked so pale, so fragile. I wanted to go rip you out of there myself, but that hasn’t been my place in a very long time.”

And then the question rolled out before he could stop it, “Why did you come for me Ghet? Better yet, what could you possibly have said to make me want to come back?”

"Don't," she said without thinking. "I can't have this conversation, I can't. Wait, you saw me? You went in there?" The fear in her eyes, the instinct to flee, was replaced by compassion. She knew what it would have cost him, and in the face of that... she slumped, leaning against the window. "It doesn't matter. I can't help

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you, I probably remember less than you do. When I woke up in Riker's, all I could think was, why? Why would you send me away after that? But I don't know what happened, I don't remember anything after talking to Callan and Thaya."

That was true, but it was also dishonest. "I woke up in the middle of the night just knowing I had to get you out. And I knew I had to be able to give you something, to bring you out. I..." Gods, why couldn't he just understand, how could she tell him? She turned, staring out through the window unseeing. Her hands wrung together, twisting her wedding band. "I left Rhagi here because I wasn't going back to Riker's. Look, it doesn't matter what I intended. I was Crazy Lady, and now, you're back, and I'm still married, and everything's just going to go on like it did before."

Confusion darkened Ro’s eyes and his jaw went slack, a nerve jumping slightly as her words sank in. “Sent you away? Ghettie, what else was I suppose to do? You are Galain’s wife, you were mentally gone… have you any idea what it did to me to let you go? Again. But you were not mine to keep…” His words faded into oblivion as something more clicked into place.

“What do you mean you weren’t going back…” Heavy hands touched Ghet’s shoulders, turning her around to face him, “Are you telling me… that I made a mistake?” A riot of emotion swirled in emerald depths as full realization struck him. “Ghet… just what did you offer me?” He knew then, just what had been offered, and what in his ignorance, he had turned away.

Everything he had ever wanted or needed… and he’d hurt her in the process.

Something inside broke, and he pulled Ghet to his chest, dipping his head, his mouth nearly on hers, but not quite. “Why?” he growled out, “To make me live and breathe again, no matter what it cost you? Or because you wanted it too?”

"Both." She could sense it in the roughness of his touch, the trigger that could break through her isolation and make her feel again, and by gods she wanted it. "You know I love you. But when I knew you needed me that much... it tipped the balance. What I want..." She stopped, unable to confront the turmoil those words brought. Instead, she closed the gap between them and kissed him fiercely.

A ember that had been banked for decades flared and swept through Y’Roden’s blood like wildfire, igniting passion that for years, he had swept beneath the proverbial rug. The half-elf returned her kiss, hard and biting, one hand sliding into thick hair and tightening in deep red locks. The other swept down her back, his arm catching Ghet’s waist and lifting the redhead from delicate feet as he backed her into the window, pressing her back hard up against the cool glass.

Pulling his head back a fraction, breathing ragged, Ro drew in a rumble of a breath that left him shaking against her. “What you want?” he asked hoarsely,

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pressing his temple against hers as he sought some sense of control, and failed horribly, “Gods… I love you Ghettie,” his thumb traced over her cheekbone, trailed over her mouth, “if this happens now there is no going back I won’t be able to let you go… you know that…”

Lost under a flood of sensation, Ghet could barely breathe. Focus and higher thought were right out. She'd resisted this before, but this time... it was so fast, there was no time to think and she'd had enough of thinking anyway. "Remember who I am," she said, her voice low and harsh, her nails scoring across the smooth skin of his back, digging in. "What I'm capable of, what I'm not..." The look in her indigo eyes was heated and reckless. She bit at his thumb. "Not this time, Rodi. No thinking, no more talking. Please."

Ro had never been able to deny Ghet anything, even if he’d wanted to. As it was, the look in her eyes was enough to rob him of any willpower left, and the light bite was his undoing. It had all started centuries ago with that same word… Please, spoken in just that tone, and it had the same power it had held then.

His body came up hard against hers, effectively pinning Ghet against the window as his hand went to her thigh, encouraging her leg up over his hip. His free hand grabbed at one of her arms, sliding down the wrist and bringing her palm to his mouth, teeth scraping across the sensitive skin there. Turning Ghet’s hand over he drew her ring finger into his mouth, emerald holding indigo as he hooked a canine onto the gold band and tugged it free.

His mouth moved back to her palm, and when his head lifted, the warm ring of metal was in the palm of Ghet’s hand. “Not with him between us,” he muttered roughly against her mouth, “Not this time.” The intensity of the kiss rocked Ghet’s head back against the windowpane and Ro’s fingers jerked the redhead’s shirt free of her trousers, brushing against heated skin.

Ghet flinched as if he'd struck her, a moment of real pain in her eyes. Ironically, it vanished when he smacked her head into the window and she moaned, flooded with need and frustration. There was guilt, there was, but gods, she'd already fought him with everything she was. To give in... Her body was soft and languid against his, her hands drifting to his waist. It had the inevitability of a tidal wave; she could just let go and drown. Her fingers went lax, a small, insignificant sound as her marriage dropped onto the floor beside them.

It was her fault anyway; she'd been the first to take her ring off. She struggled for breath, though her hands had a mind of their own... no, dammit, she just didn't want him to be able to stop. She wanted him to hurt as much as she did. Her small, delicate, empty hand slipped down his abs, smoothly beneath his waistband, gripping the length of him hard, taking a certain twisted pleasure in how much she was hurting both of them. Last chance, last throw. "I... Can't promise." She renewed the kiss between them, pushing back, biting his mouth. "I can't."

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Ro’s hips jerked instinctively into Ghet’s grip, a low, dangerous growl vibrating through his chest. “I’ve never,” weapon worn fingers hooked into the neckline of her shirt and he tugged hard, splitting it open down the front, “asked for promises.” Pain and pleasure sparked in his gaze as it met hers, “Only a chance, that’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’ve never even asked for that… but I’m asking now. If you were willing months ago, why not now?”

His head snapped back and he stared desperately at the ceiling for a moment, “Gods… Y’Roden… just shut up,” he muttered to himself, then shot forwards again, back into her kiss, his palm hitting the window so hard that spidery cracks laced over its surface. There was blood on his hand when it closed on Ghet’s waist, teasingly hard, bending a rib before slipping down to tug her trousers open.

"Balance," Ghet said, her voice shaking as badly as her body under his touch. "The balance is... oh gods..." Her eyes slid closed, her body arching towards him, yearning, unsteady hands fighting to free him from his clothes. She was lost, the scent of him, the smell of them both painfully aroused, and blood... sweet, familiar. The last time...

The last time.

"You know what I want," the answer slid easily from his tongue, crimson eyes burning as they raked over Ghet's form. "I've been locked away too long... and you, you are the perfect playmate." He grabbed her hard with hands that had so often touched her gently... lovingly. He kissed her viciously with a mouth that had placed feathery kisses on her flesh... that had worshipped her and spoken words of undying love.

Lifting the redhead from her feet he set her on the table, forcing her legs apart, moving to stand between them as he fisted his hand in Ghet's hair, yanking her head back. His mouth came down hard on hers, bruising... unmerciful. Hard fingers gripped her waist, squeezing hard, snapping a rib.

"NO!" The tenor of Ghet's struggles changed completely, from teasing resistance to outright panic, lost in a maze of sensation that blended past and present seamlessly. She fought to get free of his hands, screaming and crying even as her mind caught up and tried to tell her, it wasn't him.

Ro’s reaction was immediate, releasing his ex-lover and taking a step away, his blood suddenly running cold… he knew what she was remembering, why she was fighting, and a painfully sick feeling coiled in his gut. “Ghettie,” he said gently, remembering just in time not to touch her, “Ghettie it’s me… Y’Roden. Ghettie, please.”

“Y’Roden, step away.”

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The tri-toned voice was all too familiar, and the half-elf’s expression was openly shocked as he turned to look at the Prince of Inligh.

“Step away,” Chez repeated, his tone soft, but insistent. “Between the two of you, you are going to drive her utterly mad. She needs to get away from both of you, just for awhile.”

“Do you make it a habit of peeking in on people when they are…” the sentence went unfinished and Y’Roden’s jaw shut with an audible click, but he stood back, more concerned about Ghet than his own personal space. He was responsible for the mental state she was in now, the least he could do was let someone else try to help her.

Ghet's body folded, taking her to the floor, and she lay weeping, sick with horror and guilt. She had to pull herself together, she had to... She managed to scrape herself to half-sitting, pulling her torn shirt around her, tears still running freely down her face. Her face worked for a moment while she fought not to throw up. "It's not your fault, Ro, it's not. Oh gods, what have I done?" She rubbed at her face, smearing tears across her skin, her head spinning from the after-effects of too many hormones. Finally, she managed to look him in the face. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't... what in hell am I going to do?"

For the first time, she noticed they had company. "Chez?" Her fragile composure wavered at the sight of her friend. "How..." She grinned lopsidedly. "I got to be that big a mess?"

Y’Roden shot a look at Chezlar, hating that he was there, yet knowing why. Pulling himself together he took a step forward, crouching down so that he was eye to eye with Ghetsuhm. “Don’t apologize,” he said softly, “don’t ever apologize, alright? It isn’t your fault either.” The half-elf went quiet for a moment, then manage a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“As for what you are going to do.” He tentatively reached out and took her hand, “You are going to go with Chez. Get away from me, get away from Galain, and think about what it is that you really want and need, for once in your life Ghet. Put yourself first and take the time to heal.”

The Changeling held back, respectfully maintaining his distance, though he did smile at Ghet, the liquid gold of his eyes shimmering as he peered out from behind lengths of raven dark hair. He seemed to fill the room with his presence, even down to the calming scent of cinnamon and nutmeg that lingered in the air.

Ghet returned the pressure of Y'Roden's grip, letting him know it was all right to touch her. With her other hand, she reached up and gently pushed his hair back from his eyes. Her smile was ironic, but much calmer. "You're right. I can't think here, and it's pretty clear, you and I need to be a lot further apart." She drew

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breath, then bit her lip. There was so much she wanted to say, but she'd just be talking herself round in circles. "I have to start again. Clean slate. And 'for once in my life', I need to make an actual decision. I've done more than enough damage. Let me own my faults, love."

Shakily, she got to her feet, wanting to hold him, holding herself back. "I love you. Tell Rhagi..." Gods, just thinking about what to tell her son sent her head spinning again, panic still just over her shoulder. "Something." And Aarien, Galain... Unable to cope, she turned away, hurrying to Chezlar and wrapping her arms around the big Changeling's waist like a child, small and defenceless.

“I love you too,” Y’Roden said after her, an almost wistful look in his eyes as he watched her go to Chez. Emerald greens lifted to meet molten gold and the tension in the half-elf’s shoulders eased slightly. She would be safe with the Changeling, there was no one Ro knew who was more neutral in all of this. Chezlar held as firm a friendship with Galain as he did with Y’Roden, and he had no vested interest here. No matter the outcome, no matter who railed and perhaps screamed at him, it would all bounce off of Chezlar Khor without making a dent.

This is what he did, his purpose, nothing more.

The S’Hean nodded, running a hand through his mussed up hair and smiling at Ghet. Everything would be all right, one way or another.

The gesture was returned by Chezlar, a slight tilt of the head that rippled his ebony hair. In any other circumstance, it may have been an amusing sight, the small redhead clinging to the Changeling who was easily two and a half feet taller than her, not to mention a good four hundred pounds heavier. A massive arm slid reassuringly around Ghet’s waist and the rustle of dark feathered wings filled the silence. “We will return when she is ready to do so, Y’Roden D’Riel,” he said finally, “in the meantime, find your rightful place again, my friend. She is not the only one who needs to make a decision.”

Essence rained down on them, warm and soothing, and in a swirling explosion of light, they were gone.

“Aye,” Ro murmured to himself, looking down at an object sparkling near his foot. Bending down he picked up the golden wedding band, fingers clenching around it for a moment as he pressed his fist to his forehead.

So much in the balance again… his heart… his life… where did he go from here?

And in a place out of time, far out of reality, Chezlar and his charge appeared on the shimmering blue bank of the Isle of Inligh. The golden sea pushed at the sands behind them, moving with a slow, mercurial sound that was far to heavy to

2

be water. The sky above their heads was laden with planets, hanging low like party lanterns on a deck, almost within reach… and the one just above, was the planet of Whispin.

Before them stretched crystalline blue cliffs up which wound a little used pathway. It had been made for human feet, for someone in particular who was now gone from this place, leading up to the palace that was a collection of soft curves and graceful spires, home to the Lars of Inligh.

“It is quiet here,” Chez murmured to Ghet, “Not quite what you are use to, but no one will disturb you.”

Ghet lifted her head and looked around, the lines of strain in her face easing just a little. "Thank you. I could do with some peace right now. I have a lot of thinking to do. Can you... would you stay with me for a bit?" There was a sweet, seductive voice in the back of her head that told her, there was a way to make all the pain stop... she didn't want to be left alone with it. "You know I think by talking pretty much incessantly, right?"

“For as long as you like,” the Changeling answered, inclining his head towards a boulder near the pathway. He led her to it, crouching in his odd perching stance beside her, elbows on his knees, wings neatly folded behind his back. “It has been awhile since someone just talked… and I listened,” he said, “I would welcome the company.” His smile was soft, purely Chez, ready to be a soft place to fall when all other avenues bore sharp edges.

Ghet slipped up onto the rock gratefully. She had an affinity for sun-soaked boulders, over many worlds. "Do you know what happens? I know you can't tell me; I just want to know if there is a way out. Because..." She gave an unsteady grin. "Oh, you poor thing, you have such self-pitying crap to listen to. Why don't nice boys like me? Why don't I like nice boys? Why can't I be like everyone else and just love one person at a time? Hells, why can't I be ugly and undesirable? That would have to make life simpler, surely."

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that there is a way out,” Chez said after a moment’s thought, “There is a right answer for you, but then… you are perfectly aware of that, somewhere deep inside. Somewhere deep under the pain there is strength and confidence, and needs that find fulfilment in something only you have the answer to.”

The Changeling’s head canted and he studied Ghet’s features for the length of several heartbeats. “You have a gift Ghet, which can often feel like a curse. You feel more than most, and as an ironic result, people feel more for you. The way emotion spills from you like an overflowing cup is intoxicating to them, and they cannot help but want to be part of it… of you. This gift… it makes you more susceptible to the way others feel, how much they hurt, how much you hurt them… but Ghet, for the pain to stop, you have to heal the agony in your own

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soul first. You will never be happy with anyone until you are happy with yourself, with your own choices, and the life you choose. If none of that feels right, then you will forever be in chaos.”

He smiled, slightly amused suddenly, “and no, being less desirable or less attractive would not make your life easier. It would just bring different questions as to why you are in misery.”

Ghet gave a lopsided smile. "Ah well, if I have to be miserable, at least I get to do with nice breasts. You're right of course, you always are. I tried so hard not to hurt anyone..." She took a deep breath, and stood up. "I need to clear the decks first. I need to tell Galain where I am, so I don't have to worry about him. You'll see a message gets to him?" It was going to be hard, putting herself first, putting aside the needs of her children and her men, but now that it had actually come to crisis, she was determined to do it.

“I will,” Chez said with a nod, rising effortlessly from a crouch to a full standing position with a fluid motion. “Come, I’ll show you your room, Marion use to use it to write in… she could see the sea from there, it reminded her of her father I think.” He smiled, a bittersweet expression, and offered his arm as he stepped towards the pathway. The Changeling could sense Ghet’s determination, a good sign, one way or another, answers would be found… and soon.

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Chapter 10

There was a strange expression in Erinya's gaze as she watched Daemon. It was the expression of someone who had been half-expecting someone else to have come completely unhinged, and was now trying to work out if the fact that they hadn't was somehow worse. The Black First Captain seemed to be taking Araxmarr's death far too calmly, and that was having the effect of making the female just a little twitchy. Their Emperor had been far more than just a General to her companion, and knowing that, knowing how much he had meant to her too, made the male's reaction a little peculiar to say the least. It was almost as if he didn't believe he was dead, that they weren't going to Nenlante to return the body of their friend to the Flame, and the denial of what all the Guard could feel through the mark that lay cold on their shoulder was probably more alarming to her than all of the grief-born Rages could ever have been.

"Stop looking at me like that," Daemon growled over his shoulder, "I've told you, I can't explain how, but I know he's not dead." The blonde First Captain leered at a passing S'Hean female as the three of them strode down the corridor.

Altorian's head slowly turned, his eyes meeting Erinya's. Who should stop looking at him like that was open for debate, since both of them had almost identical expressions. Heavy fingers tapped at the hilt of a curved, razor sharp dagger that hung suspended in its scabbard at his hip. A few more spears’ lengths and they would be at the door, which was guarded by two massive S'Hean males.

And when Daemon saw Araxmarr was well and truly dead, Altorian wouldn't hesitate if it seemed necessary to end yet one more life to save countless others.

"You felt him die, Daemonorel. We all did," Erin replied coolly, dark eyes meeting amber in silent acknowledgement as Altorian glanced her way. The words of her friend and Emperor on the last occasion she and the First Captain had visited S'Hea rang in her ears.

"I have orders for you, and only you... Being First Captain may not be the only thing that holds him here. Being MY First Captain, I think, is the heart of it. Once I'm gone, watch him, closely. He won't ask for it, but the Uskkden Sar'da may be the last option. Don't let him cause the death of my Guard, because he's lost the Horizon, hai?"

She had given her word, and she would keep it, no matter what the cost to herself. Yet in so doing she would lose one of the few people she considered a friend, and she could not help but feel grief at that thought.

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"Hai. I did." He couldn't deny that, that he'd felt part of the mark at his shoulder die, and it had remained cold and dead. But something else seemed to whisper another story, something different... and he wasn't going to keep trying to explain it.

Instead he shrugged, "Forget it. We're here to take him home." For a moment, as the trio came to a pause just before the pair of guards outside the door, Daemon began second-guessing the sensation, the precious little hope. Maybe it was his own desires; his own desperate need to find something solid as his Horizon continued to crumble with every attempt to grab at something to anchor him.

"Its okay." Altorian's amber eyes slid to Daemon's profile, "None of us want to admit it." That he'd died here, on this humid, heavy world, far removed from blood and battle, Flame and Chaos. None of them wanted to think about it. Today was a day to take things one-step at a time. Grieving could come later... he hoped.

Without a word, the massive Elven guards snapped to the sides of the door and nodded at the three Black Guards.

"We were ordered to wait another hour, then send for you had you not arrived." One of the green-eyed guards spoke, "Not that we think you will, but we will remain here, should you need us." Leaf green eyes shifted to Erinya, then to Daemon, "That one had him worried. He'll rest better now."

The Elf's fingers curled around the door handle, there was a soft snick, and the heavy wood swung slowly open to reveal a darkened room. The scent of strawberries and other herbs, scented candles and other perfumes wafted out and seemed to fade into the corridor and Daemon's mossy eyes narrowed.

"He'll rest better once his soul has been released, elf..."

"I'd rest a lot easier if the three of you weren't so gods damned noisy, skag releasing my soul."

A rich, low tenor that almost, were it pitched just right, could be a baritone, rolled out of the shadows, "Took you long enough. Remind me to not die during a council of Vor'ills again..."

The sound made Erin's breath catch, a tension she had barely been aware of sliding from her shoulders. "What was the rush?" she asked, the tone her usual cool acerbity, masking the disbelieving joy behind remote malice. "Dead people don't tend to get any deader. Admittedly there's the whole getting smelly and bloated part of things, but you had that bit down pat anyway."

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Daemonorel and Altorian both let out a simultaneous exhalation. Both had been holding their breath in the silence between Daemon's last words and Callan's growled complaint, and for a moment, Daemon felt the Horizon spin wildly, then level off.

"You sorry, half-breed," Daemon's voice carried quietly through the room, in a near hiss as he walked into the room and stopped right at the edge of the bed, "son of..." The First Captain's words were cut off as his eyes fell on Araxmarr, "Holy Rhul, Rax, you look like crap."

Altorian's palm slammed into Daemon's back between his shoulders, "What'd you expect, ass? Him to look like he'd been on vacation?"

"Shut up... both of you, gods." Callan pushed himself up in the bed, mindful of the sleeping redhead next to him, "You think I look like yestu, you should see her. The sickness affected her bad enough she nearly died." Pale, washed out topaz eyes went to each of the Kin in front of him, "Glad to see you're all excited to see me alive. Erinya, if I didn't know better, I'd say you looked disappointed." As it were, the Emperor himself was fighting the urge to grin like a loon.

"So. I'm still alive. Not from a lack of Galain trying though."

"Well, who wouldn't be disappointed?" Erin drawled, "Although I suspect Tyloril will be more disappointed than I. We've had to sit through the most fascinating discussions about your replacement." The ebony-haired woman tilted her head slightly, evidently considering something. "Actually, could you play dead for a little bit longer? I want to see if Eden will actually murder Tyloril or not. She didn't seem hugely enamoured at the last Council meeting."

"Tyloril?" Callan snorted as he pushed himself up a bit higher on the bed, "Tyloril couldn't hold sand in his hands for five minutes, much less the throne for a lifetime." He cast a sharp glance at Daemon, then Erinya and Altorian, "Why do I get the distinct impression his actions in the council were less than impressive?" His eyes shifted to Altorian, "Why don't you enlighten me about your older brother, Altorian... I want to know everything. Including any intuitions any of you have." A dark expression slid into place across his face; the change from convalescing husband to Emperor was immediate and left no doubt that while he might have came near death, he was still very much Araxmarr, and the Keep, as well as the entire Diirlathe, was still very much his.

***

A week had passed since the land had healed, and in that time An’Thaya had spent most of it with Callan. Just… amazed to be alive, to still be with him, reassured by touch, scent and the feel of their fused soul. Today was the first out on her own, when she felt strong enough to leave the palace and wander the

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gardens, finding her way out onto an airdock where the breeze lifted the heavy locks of her hair and whipped her shift around her small frame, making her pregnancy swelled abdomen all the more apparent.

It was here, out in the fresh air and open wind, that she had the sudden urge to shift, to let Agaru take the reins for awhile and fall into the sheer freedom of flying. With an exhilarated grin the Amazon closed her eyes and reached for the internal trigger that was the catalyst for the change, and suddenly found herself stumbling forwards like a Terran fumbling for a light switch in the dark.

Pain lanced up her spine, exploding between her shoulder blades where two crimson wings should have appeared, but failed to do so. With a startled cry she went to her knees, disoriented and confused…

“Agaru?”

There was only the silence of her own mind in response.

“Oh my Gods… Callan!” Pushing to her feet the redhead turned round to run back up the airdock, but suddenly came to a halt. Kneeling down, fragile fingers skittered across the stone, lifting a glittering ruby scale from the ground. “Oh… no…”

"Tay?" Callan's voice echoed out onto the airdock as he paused, obviously from a blind run through the palace, "What's wrong?" He was gasping for air as he bolted out into the morning light and stopped beside her in a crouch, one hand on her shoulder, "Labour? You're not in labour are you?" The bond between them was still incomplete a week later, but had been rapidly, painfully reknitting. Topaz eyes settled on the ruby scale between her fingers, then her fear and agony hit him like a war hammer.

"Tay? What's wrong... Where's Agaru?"

The Amazon shook her head blindly, rendered mute by shock for several, breath stealing moments. “I do not know,” she managed finally, her voice a strained whisper, “something is wrong… its as if she has faded, and no matter how hard I grasp those crimson strands, they slip from my grip.” Emerald greens flickered up to meet topaz, “I don’t know what to do.”

She owed Agaru her life several times over, and so much more. Agaru had brought her to Callan, and nothing could ever repay that debt.

Confusion filled Callan's own eyes; Agaru's threads in the whirling memories and essence of their joined souls were there, but not... right. It was like touching vapour.

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"Maybe you’re just tired... she can't... be gone, or going," Callan's brows knitted together as his arms went around her waist and the Emperor began helping her to her feet, "once the Crimson hatches, they never leave, never die... unless you do. And you didn't die."

Tay let him support her, swaying unsteadily, “but she is,” was her quiet answer, “you can feel it to, don’t lie to me. I can’t shift, and she doesn’t answer.” One hand scrubbed at her face, then pushed back masses of brilliant curls, “I need to talk to B’Rodyn, maybe the Emerald can fix this? Maybe the Well? Something… anything.”

"I know I don't have to say it for you to know I can feel it, Tay," Callan picked her slight form up easily in his arms, "And I didn't let go of you without a fight, I'm sure as hell not letting go of that bitch Crimson that I bonded to first..." his words were spoken with deep affection, and looking back on the way he and Tay found one another, he didn't know who he'd fallen for first, Agaru or An’Thaya, but he wasn't willing to let either one step beyond the veil.

"Let's go find B'Rodyn."

***

Down below the Palace of Windemiire, close to a crashing waterfall, was another redhead who was, at present, frustrated and impatient. Vanyalin gave Elandriil the kind of look that said she was about ready to give up and go for a swim. For the past hour or so she had been trying to shift, unsuccessfully. The pain didn’t really mean much, every time she shifted was agony. The popping of bone and ligament, the ripping of muscle… It just felt… different this time.

“I can’t do it,” she said almost plaintively, “it just always sort of… triggered before, and I can’t seem to find it again.” The elf sighed and shoved delicate fingers through her curly locks, biting at her lip. “I was a dud as a Gold hatchling, maybe I’m a dud as a Crimson as well.”

"Dud? I can only assume that means something else in S'Hean. Dud is slang for potato in the Human lands." Elandriil's fingers gripped his chin thoughtfully as he tilted his head and studied her. "So. Maybe it just takes the right trigger?" The Silver stepped back several paces. Bare feet were silent in the soft, low growing moss and he was dressed nothing but a pair of flax colored linen shorts held up with a simple drawstring.

Carefully, he concealed his thoughts from his new bond-mate as best he could, and without warning, conjured ice to one hand, lightning to the other, and launched it at her with his full ability.

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Distracted by Landrii’s state of… nearly dressed, Vanya almost didn’t see it coming. For a split second she was positive her fate was either going to be ‘fast fried’ or ‘flash frozen’. As it was a gout of Aethyr flame met the stream of ice as she whirled out of the path of the lightening, several curls freezing in mid air and clunking against her back as she came to a spinning stop.

“Are you trying to KILL me?” she growled, quite unaware that she had left a small shower of ruby red spine plates behind her on the ground. “Potato or no, I don’t fancy ending up a French fry.”

An even more powerful repeat of the attack lanced through the air before her words had died, this time in a random pattern, that abruptly stopped as his eyes caught a flicker of crimson on the ground. Crimson that looked like... Silver eyes darted back to Van in the split second, but the gift of the Storm, like an arrow loosed, could not be called back.

"Merde!" Landrii vaulted forward in the wake of the ice and lightning, and prayed to Justice and Retribution in the same breath she would survive his last attempt to scare her into shifting.

There was a startled yelp as Van was blown off her feet, landing in an undignified heap of limbs and copper red curls at the edge of the emerald sands. Yet more of her hair was icicled and there were scorch marks up the front of her shins.

She was muttering as a small hand pushed thick locks of hair out of her face, muffling what was certainly not conversation suitable for civilized company. The look she gave Landrii was as icy as her hair. “I love you too… I think.”

Landrii was still muttering to himself as he dropped to one knee next to Vanyalin and eased her up into a sitting position, then began running skilled fingers over her body, checking for external and internal wounds.

"I'm sorry Van, I really thought you had it there for a moment... you..." He stopped his probing and silver eyes slid to the scattering of glittering crimson on the grass, which vanished as a pair of high clouds covered one of the Whispin's twin suns, then reappeared as the clouds passed on.

"Van... do... the Crimsons shed? Like cats?"

“Is that some sort of crack about the purring?” Van asked, then followed his gaze to the shimmering scale. Her face fell, a look of uncertainty darkening emerald jewels. “I… I don’t know… I don’t think so.” The elf fell silent for a moment before tilting her head to look up at him, “Maybe… maybe she wasn’t meant to be?” It was a hideous loss in the centre of her soul, and so far beyond her ability to cope with at the moment that Van just felt completely numb.

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***

The Council room was deathly quiet, a pall of silence that fell heavily over all present. The S’Hean King himself looked at a complete loss as he stared at the small, sparkling scale on the table in front of him.

“They aren’t… suppose to come off?” he asked, completely out of his realm of expertise when it came to Skinwalkers. Callused fingertips picked the glittering object up and held it to the light. “I… An’Thaya? Can you survive without her?”

“I don’t know,” came the immediate answer, “and I’d rather not find out.” The Amazon was seated in the chair next to her Cousin’s, pale and tired, stress overwhelming her. “It’s not just me,” she gestured towards her daughter, “It’s Vanyalin too.”

Landrii's silver eyes slowly slid to Vanyalin, then back to the others gathered. He was remaining quiet for now, waiting to discover what could be done to help his Vanya.

“May I see that?” The voice belonged to B’Roce, King of the Danna-Riel, and current guest in the Kingdom of S’Hea. Now that things were returning to normal for most, he was engaged in diplomatic negotiations with B’Rodyn, and had just happened to be in the room when the small group had arrived.

B’Rodyn handed the scale over, exchanging a look with Y’Roden, who shrugged and looked to An’Thaya, worry etched into his features.

“I know what this is,” B’Roce drew the attention of everyone in the room, “we trade with the Telmae, and this is one of the rare commodities we get from them. See… watch.” He held the scale up to the light again, and turned it slowly, until suddenly, it seemed to disappear. “We make armour out of them, though admittedly, they are usually much larger. The refractive surface will, in the right light, allow the wearer to disappear, or at least, seem to.”

He set the ruby colored belly scale on the table, “they are Arthaem scales, at least, they strongly resemble them. However, the Arthaem Dragons cannot Skinwalk. They have no shifting ability, nor do they have voices. They are Oracles and telepaths.”

Y’Roden stared for a moment, blinking slowly, “but the Arthaem are a myth, or at least, extinct. How could…”

“Ro,” B’Rodyn interrupted, suddenly laughing, “Do you remember the old story about Lord Wyvern?”

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“Lord Wyvern? What, the Fairytale about Oracle? The Dragon who took human form?”

“Aye, one and the same. For love, she gave her natural form up forever, becoming a human woman so she could be with the man she loved. Wasn’t your Grandmother a Wyvern?”

It was An’Thaya’s turn to stare, but there was a glint of hope in the depths of emerald greens as they turned to B’Roce. “Where would we find the Arthaem?”

“We haven’t had contact with them ourselves for many generations I’m afraid,” the Danna-Riel answered, “but perhaps the Telmae could help you, I would be more than happy to take you to them myself.”

"But the wearer doesn't vanish. The scales merely bend light, creating the illusion of disappearing." Callan finally looked up from the polished tabletop and drew in a deep breath, "Shy can help us. She has ties to her kind, but its been... probably eight thousand five hundred years, Aerdon time." He'd been seemingly not paying attention at all, yet at the same time had literally been chewing his tongue. Ahhhh, the dilemma. Reveal his own Right Hand or save his wife's life.

It hadn't been a hard decision.

"She lost touch with them a long time ago," His topaz eyes shifted to a place directly behind B'Roce, seemingly at nothing, "But she'll help us."

The Danna-Riel King met Callan’s gaze with a curious expression, then turned to look over his shoulder. Nothing indeed… his sharp Elven vision could detect little beyond a slight wavering of the air.

“Shy,” he said the name in a low tone, “an apt name for someone who remains unseen… and yet, I have the suspicion that it proves untrue in the long run.”

"That is exactly what it means." A rich alto voice, thick with the accent of the Keep, purred from behind B'Roce as a slender hand appeared from nothing and its fingers curved over B'Roce's shoulder, "Shyam'rr... She Who Remains Unseen. A name given to me by my mother. It is a name in the tongue of the Arthaem Nosmoc... and it has nothing to do with my disposition."

A dark haired woman seemed to coalesce from thin air. Her figure was lithe, elegantly made, and her torso was clad in a crimson corset woven with gold flowers. Tight, dark crimson leather trousers covered long legs and high-heeled boots clicked on the floor as she stepped closer. Those same slender fingers slipped to the nape of B’Roce’s neck, then into his hair. As she stepped closer, it was revealed her hair was truly deep crimson, so dark as to be almost black.

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"As you can see, they are not extinct, and..." Dark eyes settled on B'Rodyn, "Oracle was no fairy tale. Her name transcends time, her sacrifice for love more than mere myth. She is a great truth, not a legend."

Callan's arm slipped around An’Thaya’s shoulders as his eyes shifted from Shy to Vanyalin, Elandriil, Y'Roden, then B'Rodyn and B'Roce.

"Meet Shyam'rr..." Callan gestured to the female, "Hellsbane. She is my sister... my half sister."

Y’Roden merely blinked at his old friend, then laughed softly over B’Roce’s comment, “It’s settled then, let’s just hope they have some answers.”

***

Healing had been a sudden and welcome sensation for both Summerlin and Adarin. Elerina and Melian were hardly affected, but there was an added colour to their cheeks that had left many an Elen fond of the children breathing with relief. A trip to S’Hea hadn’t been necessary for such removed bonds as Adarin and Summerlin, although the twins, despite the colour in their cheeks, would soon be meeting up with their half-sister, Auntie Anelain, as it was most convenient to call her, who would whisk them away to Whispin for a true healing soon enough before a much delayed trip to Aerdon was made.

Meanwhile, Summerlin’s pregnancy had continued and the last few weeks were a combination of blessed relief from the sickness and usual nausea, and a growing bodily discomfort.

“Gods! No matter which way I lay, opposite our babe goes!” Summerlin growled one night, switching over yet one more as the child comfortably rolled against its mother. “Contrary!” Summerlin exclaimed, for once actually blowing off steam. Her other children had had their own idiosyncrasies, but it had been a long while and the Elen princess had forgotten some very specific facts of late pregnancy.

“Blast!” she exclaimed and this night she trundled out of bed and heaved her body upward, her hands clasping the small of her back before she felt something odd. She tilted her head and headed toward the privy… she liked to call it a necessarium – a lovely Latin term from various earth types in the multiverse. It was better than the guttural “gong” she’d heard one time.

Oh gods… sweet Creator… her mind was wandering and she was… Summerlin was finished with things as far as she knew as realization hit her. She turned toward her sleeping husband and rocked his shoulder.”Beloved! Love! The baby is coming! I need the midwife and Adarin!”Always a midwife was present… and a mage to name the child’s talent, to recognize its birth. Summerlin wished terribly that her sister-in-law could have

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been here. Circumstances dictated otherwise and so she proceeded onward, life was being renewed and born when things had seemed most desperate and that was what mattered.

Reece shot up in the bed and clock his head off the post, resulting in a laid out SandShadow for a moment as he got his bearings. “I hear bells,” he murmured before rolling out from under the comforter and onto the floor. “Midwife… Adarin… Adarin the midwife? Gods!”He hadn’t been present for the birth of the daughter he had sired so long ago on Whispin, so the entire process was new to him.A moment later and he shot up off the floor and stared at her. “Right! I’ll… well I’ll be right back.”

The human didn’t bother opening the door, simply shooting through it, and several seconds later, through Adarin’s as well, likely scaring a few years off the Elen King’s incredibly long lifespan.

“Baby!”

“No!” Adarin shouted instinctively, sitting upright in bed like a shot, staring at some indistinguishable shape in the darkness. He had no idea where that answer came from, but then he was shielding himself and going for his sword.

“Avast!” he shouted. “No babies here!”and then he paused, feeling utterly foolish as he recognized the dim outline of Reece. “Baby?” he inquired before he leaped from his bed. “Baby!” Summerlin! Of course! The Elen King almost clapped Reece on the back, but stopped, not entirely sure his hand would meet solid flesh. Instead he threw on pants and a robe, found a pair of slippers and then paused.

Was he going to have to go through the walls?

Meanwhile Summerlin had taken a more normal route and had found the bell. One intense jangle was all the waiting midwife needed and Summerlin giggled hysterically to herself. The palace had been on alert for so long… She greeted Mistress Sera with a wild-eyed smile, not quite realizing how dishevelled and startled she looked.

Reece and Adarin piled in behind Sera, both looking just as wild as Summerlin after a mad dash back through the walls. The SandShadow took several sharp breaths, then seemed to calm a little, “Ok… I have Adarin, now what?”

“Baby,” Summerlin managed to say, not quite sure how she could sound so serene at such a time. “But you two… you don’t have to be so close unless you have to,” she said. She did crook an eyebrow at her husband, not at all expecting her uncle to get too close.

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And the king was looking quite green about the gills. He’d been quite, quite present for the birth of his twins and now stepped discreetly back.

“I’m fine here,” he said. He had to recover from the whole wall-walking-through thing and now… hey, a baby birthing.

Birthing was a natural, but watched process amongst the Elen. It was entirely monitored and greatly glorified, although even amongst the royalty, it was private. Other cultures were vastly different, but the Elen chose the simple bedchambers of the couple involved. When Summerlin finally settled herself down she grasped the hand of her husband and the hand of Sera. And when the baby came even Adarin instinctively stepped forward, rapture on his face.

“Hail, beautiful child,” he said in the Elen tongue. “Welcome.”

Reece, by now, was completely calm and beaming in amazement over his newborn daughter. He kissed his exhausted wife as the baby was settled into her arms and gave her a quirky smile. “And, have we decided on a name?”

"Rellin -- for both us," she said. The labour had been just that: labour, and she was immensely grateful it was over. She gazed at their little one and then, despite her tiredness, beamed up at her husband, uncle and the midwife.

"She'll live close to the earth like you, Summerlin," Adarin said quietly before he gave Reece an owlish expression. "No doubt she is going to be an interesting and unusual child thanks to her parentage." The king had a feeling play peek-a-boo with his grandniece would take on a whole new dimension in time.

***

There was still something that she didn’t have settled with Jack and it was something that neither could put off…they had for so long as it was, or rather Jack had. Meylor was quite a different story. They had adopted Laurel together and when push came to shove, though she was doing most of the pushing, Jack had walked away. Oh she wasn’t so stubborn to not blame herself. Its what she wanted. She had feared that she’d watch him die; she had never thought that she would watch their daughter mourn her father like she had.

The breaklaw smiled and pushed open the door to Jack’s quarters. He wasn’t that hard to find after all, you just had to listen for the terrible singing to realize that he was taking a bath. How fitting, she thought. Their first real encounter had been her threatening him after he had walked in on her while she was showering. Her boots made no sound as she crossed the marble floors.

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Her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, a smile curving her lips as she noticed all the steam floating about. “You know, for someone that doesn’t like magic, you’ve sure taken to the S’Hean baths.”

"What the..." Jack said as he spun on the heels of his bare feet, staring at Meylor through the mist while standing just outside the bath, naked and dripping wet. Slipping on the wet stone floor he fell back into the water cursing, his arms flaying causing a rather large splash. Coming up for air, he spat out a mouth full of water he had swallowed, choking while slowly making his way over to the edge.

"Damn it Meylor! You know you should knock first before entering anyone's room." Brushing his hair back he took a needed breath and sighed. "What brings you here? And don't tell me you're trying to get even for the first time I walked in on you. I think we're even..."

The break-law slid down the wall, holding her stomach and laughing as she did so. She couldn’t help it, the scene played out before her was just too good not to laugh at. “Oh, I’m suppose to knock when you walked in on me in the shower?” She asked, chuckling and wiping away the tears that had come with the laughter.

The laughter suddenly died, he didn’t seem to be finding any humour, “I didn’t know we were still keeping score, but if you want to bring up that, I’m the one usually saving your hide.” Meylor sighed and raked a hand through her hair. “I didn’t come here to argue, I came here to ask you what we should do about Laurel. She may be grown, but she’s still little more than a child and she needs both of her parents.”

Stepping from the bath Jack reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist. With one hand holding it closed he stared down at Meylor and chuckled softly.

"If you're asking for my hand in marriage you’re going the wrong way about it you know. And while we’re on the subject of saving lives I remember saving your ass the last time we were together. Also how many times have I asked you about our daughter, only for you to tell me that she's fine? She doesn't sound very fine to me," his voice suddenly becoming serious.

Stepping up, Jack took a seat next to Meylor, pressing his back to the wall as he pulled his knees up. Staring straight ahead he asked, "This little talk isn't going to end up like all of the other ones, is it? Because you know..." as he lowered his head, his hand slipping over toward Meylor's, "I'm getting a little tired of one of us storming out of a room leaving the other with hurt feelings. And you know who I'm talking about," as he looked down at his lap and sighed.

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"You also know I want the best for our daughter. I'd sooner walk through the gates of hell naked than hurt her," as he glanced over. "Or you. So what are you proposing? You weren't really asking for my hand. Were you..."

“And you haven’t tried coming around to make sure she was actually fine or not. You were the one that even went so far as to suggest that I tell her that you were dead.” She snapped, then instantly regretted it. She didn’t want to fight; she wanted…damn…what did she want? As if unsure of how to apologize, Meylor slipped her hand into Jack’s and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Me? Propose? I may be willing to kick your arse or anyone else’s but there are just some things I’m still old fashioned on. I…Honestly? I wish things were the way they were, but I, you…I’m still scared.”

"I explained all that to her," Jack growled back, then suddenly regretted his actions. Squeezing Meylor's hand softly he leaned his head back against the wall and laughed. "You? Afraid? You're not afraid of anything..." and then it hit him.

"Oh...you mean," and he silently closed his mouth. He sat there for a moment, thinking of all the great times they’d had together, and some of the bad times, but soon his thoughts fell on Laurel. The last time he saw her was back at his brother’s place, where they talked for hours. Then they vanished together, leaving no note. His smile grew as he remembered the time he spent with her. But just as quickly as those thoughts came, they were replaced by other, far darker thoughts and reasons. One stood out amongst them all.

The reason they were not together.

"Meylor? Have you ever noticed I've hardly aged in all the years I've known you? I think this damn thing is cursed..." as he held up his right hand. "And for the first time in my life I want to know if it really is magical. I know it was magic that forged it, magic made it apart of me, but what other secrets does it truly hold."

Dropping it to the floor, Jack rested his head on Meylor's and laughed. "Gods, I can't believe I'm asking this, but do you know of any good wizards that can help us?"

“Hmm?” She’d nearly forgotten how comforting it was to sit like this and just talk, not fighting and she could almost trick herself into thinking they weren’t talking about what they were talking about. “No. I just know that I try to avoid you so it doesn’t hurt so damn much,” she admitted. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment and she sighed. Sometimes she actually did forget his hatred for anything magical, which made her wonder why in the Sildanai’s name he even cared for her.

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Suddenly a laugh escaped her and she rolled her eyes up at him. “A wizard? Jack, we’re sitting in the bathing room of a palace that is full of D’Riels, do you know how ridiculous you’re sounding? But to answer your question, no, I don’t know any good wizards, and I don’t know if they could help.”

Laughing, Jack glanced over and shook his head. "You're no damn help," he said, teasing her as he reached up to brush her hair behind her ear. "You know, its good to hear you laugh. Last time I heard you doing that was during the games, before all hell broke loose."

Taking a deep sigh surprised that they both made it out alive, he held his right hand up and made a fist. "There has to be someone that can help us. If not a wizard...then who? I know you have...connections. Think harder, for Laurel's sake, and your peace of mind. You said so yourself, she needs us," as he flexed his hand and saw Meylor's reflection in its palm.

"And I need you," he whispered as he lowered his head, letting his hand fall to the floor.

Meylor raised her head and shook it, “I don’t know, so much has happened to so many I don’t know who to ask.” The D’Riels had been so close to death, her own distant relatives had gone through so much. She raked a hand through her hair in frustration, sending the auburn waves tumbling around her shoulders as she searched her mind. An inkling surfaced in her thoughts.

Stormy grey eyes looked up at Jack, “I…might…know of someone, but finding him is going to be difficult since I don’t know how,” pushing into a crouched position she studied his face. He hadn’t aged in quite some time, and she hadn’t seen him in centuries. A few more grey hairs, a few wrinkles from laughing or the sun, but time seemed to have slowed for the man that held her heart. “I’m going to go find Ro, as much as I hate to bother him, he might be the only one that knows where we can find Chezlar.”

Her hand slipped to his steel one and she laced her fingers with his. She had never been afraid of it, and she wasn’t going to start now, not with the possibility that it was what could bring them together. There was a fear though, that she was chasing a rabbit in the form of false hope. Meylor kissed the palm of Jack’s hand. “I’ll be back, I’m going to go find Ro.” Without waiting for a response, she rose to her feet and walked away.

***

The obsidian glass of the outer walls was cool against Ro’s arm as he leaned on it, seemingly relaxed as he watched his children play in the garden. Truth be told, he was a roiling pit of emotion on the inside, unanswered questions eating at his mind and driving him half mad with anticipation.

3

He kept telling himself, it was stupid to dwell. Ghet would either come to him, or she wouldn’t, the decision was solely in the redhead’s hands, and all he could do was wait. At this point, any distraction was a good one, and he was pondering nabbing Fadil for a round in the training grounds.

Meylor generally wasn’t one to be nervous about anything, and certainly not when it pertained to those that she called friend, and in her experience those that she had a habit of hitting often fell in that category. Her nervousness was brought on by the fact she didn’t like asking for help from someone that had seen more downs than ups lately.

The palms of slender hands bounced on her thighs as she neared the gardens and the half-elf’s familiar form came into view. She hoped that Ro would forgive her for the intrusion. “Fa’ilte Trouble,” flashing a grin, she stopped beside Ro, and watched his children play.

Emerald gems slid sideways and the S’Hean couldn’t help the grin that curved his mouth. “Dagar Mischief,” he chuckled, “Jack finally drive you outside?” Pushing away from the wall he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Ro thought of Meylor as he did all of the Silverleaf extended clan, like family. “How’s the hand? Yours I mean, not Jack’s wonder mitt.”

Her grin broadened, “You could say that, though this time I decided not to try to shoot him.” Chuckling she returned the kiss on the cheek then flexed her hand. “Good as new, almost, but you made me forget which hand is dominant. I’ll play nice though and not hit you, Uncle Porkchop. Wonder mitt.” The Rromani chuckled and shook her head, “That’s a new one; generally it’s referred to as a glorified gauntlet.”

Shaking her head, Meylor’s attention was drawn back to the children. Because of her own fears, Laurel had grown up without her father and never had any siblings of her own to play with. It weighed heavy on her heart that her own decisions had caused a great deal of pain for Jack, for their daughter, and for herself. “Ro, I need your help.”

“My help?” Ro asked curiously, “it isn’t for a wedding is it? I’ve been pawning those off on Valin lately,” he teased, “but seriously, anything I can do, you know I’ll gladly help.” He winced as one of the twins squealed, taken down by B’Roden in a full on run. “And you aren’t going to hit me? I’m not sure whether to be grateful or offended, I was starting to think it was your way of saying ‘I love you’.”

“What is it with males and thinking I’m going around asking about marriage today? First Jack, and now you?” The outrage in her voice was too dramatic to be anything other than faked as she balled up her left fist, made sure her middle knuckle was out, and slammed it into his arm…right where she knew it would hit nerves to make it go numb. “You’re right, it is how I say I love you…and see? I can hit just as well with the left as I could with the right.”

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Laughing Meylor watched the children then turned towards Ro. “You know what happened, why Jack and I went our separate ways, at least I think you do. I know he thinks my fears of him dieing are unfounded, especially now since he doesn’t look that different. But I can’t help but be afraid. I can handle him dieing any way but by old age, and he wants to know what his hand is. Oh hell.” More frustrated with herself than anything, she raked a hand through her hair. “Grams and Relainia have spoken a few times about a Chezlar Khor. Rel once said he’s almost impossible to find, and Grams mentioned that you might know where he is.”

Ro mock scowled at Mey and rubbed his arm as if terribly wounded, which covered up the actual look of displeasure when Chezlar’s name was mentioned. It wasn’t that he was angry with the Changeling; he had only been doing what was necessary for Ghetsuhm’s mental health. It was just… a sore spot at the moment.

“Chezlar Khor,” he murmured, “aye, he’s probably lurking in the shadows watching us right now. He tends to stalk my family, but he only reveals himself these days when it suits him. The fellow has withdrawn from the mortal realms since he lost his wife… you know, you and he could probably relate quite well. His wife was a mortal, and died of old age, and there wasn’t a damn thing Chez could do to stop it.”

There was a significant pause and Ro met Meylor’s grey gaze for a moment, “I’m not helping, am I? Let me say this though, if Jack can survive a game of Broche’Bel with Fadil and I, nothing else in this universe is likely to kill him anytime soon. I’ll send word for Chezlar, but I can’t guarantee he will come, or when. It could be tomorrow, yesterday, a week from now… whatever suits his schedule.”

“Nothing other than me, and I’ve been tempted to sometimes,” the joking tone was more diminished than usual from the thought that the Changeling might not come at all, something that had already crossed her mind more than once. “Well…if he doesn’t come, then it was never meant to be. Its as simple as that.” Mey smiled wanly, “I refuse to stand by and watch him die, and I won’t make Laurel do it either.”

***

Rain danced across obsidian glass windows with a crystalline melody that filled the council chamber, filling the silence between Cousins as Y’Roden stood with his back to B’Rodyn, staring out over the Gardens, arms crossed over his broad chest and the nerve in his jaw jumping slightly. It had been a week since his conversation with Meylor and as of yet, no Chezlar, but that wasn't the reason for his current state of agitation.

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“Ignoring me isn’t going to make it go away,” B’Rodyn’s voice joined the symphony of rain and rolling thunder. “You’ve felt it as much as I have… my role in this is finished Y’Roden, its time to take your rightful place.”

The half-elf’s fingers tightened on his own biceps and Ro turned his head slightly to the side, just until he could see the other elf in his peripheral. “I can’t, and the Lords wouldn’t have it anyway. I’m a half-breed, do you really think they will accept me as their King when you are right here, a full blooded D’Riel, able to rule? I’m also lacking one more thing that a S’Hean King must have, I have no Queen.”

Turning round he set his palms on the council table and leaned heavily across it, “I have no right to the throne, not now. You’ve returned from the dead, you have a Queen, and an heir on the way. What sense would there be in changing what was obviously meant to be?”

“You are surprising thick lately, you know that right?” B’Rodyn said calmly, leaning across the table to meet his cousin’s gaze head on. “What the Lords think, feel or want has no bearing on what she wants,” his tone had turned forceful, driven, and lightning illuminated his face as he went on, “S’Hea wants you, Y’Roden, not me. My connection to her isn’t what it used to be. There is truth to the old adage, ‘You can never go back’. Once she linked with you, the land’s tone changed, it no longer harmonizes with my soul. You have to do this Ro, not for me, not for yourself, but for S’Hea. The Web is no longer mine, I do not fit its nexus as I once did, I don’t want to be where I don’t fit Y’Roden.”

Ro’s mouth formed a grim line and he straightened, his hand gripping the back of the nearest chair hard enough that the wood cracked. There was so much still on his mind… Ghetsuhm, somewhere beyond his grasp, An’Thaya and Vanyalin, still ill despite the healing of the land and travelling to parts unknown. His children and their well being after having their world so deeply shaken… he wasn’t ready to have the weight of a Kingdom settled on his shoulders again. Not now… maybe not ever.

What he wanted and needed, however, was hardly ever what he got.

“Fine,” the word was forced, the tone tight with tension, “I’ll do what you want of me.” B’Rodyn was right, Ro had known it for quite some time now, the land was healed, but she was not in harmony. She wanted him back, Queen or no Queen, and he couldn’t say no to S’Hea herself. She had laid claim to him long ago, and once claimed, no one could win free of her embrace, and who would want to? “Fine,” the word held less intensity this time. “But what of you and Gwen?”

B’Rodyn pushed his long chestnut hair back from his face and shrugged, a smile lighting his face, “I have plans, though I’ll always be around, you know that. There is a niche for us; we need only to fill it. The sooner the better, as soon as

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you are ready we will perform the ritual, the Web and the Crown will be passed back to you and all will be right again.”

“Right? I’m not sure anything is ever going to be ‘right’ again,” Y’Roden said with a rueful laugh, “but as long as S’Hea is satisfied, who am I to argue.” He let the sound of thunder fill the space between them again for several long moments, then stepped back from the table, “I’ll let you know, I need a little more time… there are things I need to sort out in my head before I can focus on running a Kingdom.”

B’Rodyn’s response was a slow nod of the head, emerald eyes watching Y’Roden with an unreadable expression as the larger elf opened the door to the gardens and stepped out into the downpour. There had been several valid points on both sides of the argument, and B’Ro couldn’t help but wonder where his Cousin’s path was leading… time would reveal all he supposed, he’d just have to be patient.

***

Entering Alcarinque felt strange. Ghet would forever be grateful to Chez for the refuge he'd given her, a place to hide from pain and responsibility that was more than she could take. She'd never really been completely free of it, though, and as she stepped out of the portal, the full weight dropped back onto her shoulders. She'd never been good at hiding her emotions, and even had he not been wired into her soul, the pain and guilt would have been plain for her husband to see.

Still, to see him, to speak, it was so hard. She couldn't pretend things were in any way normal. She reached up a hand to stroke his cheek; tender, desperate. Blue eyes filled with tears. "Oh my love. I..." She looked down, choking back a laugh. "We need to talk."

Galain simply stood where he was, silently watching his wife. He'd been seated in one of the large, arched windows in their apartments, simply gazing outside, but not quite seeing the small amount of activity taking place down below in the stately rose gardens that fronted the courtyard and palace. The gardeners were out today, keeping order amongst the many hedges.

The past two weeks had been a new sort of hell for the Elen, quite apart from what he'd experienced before his wife's healing.

"Yes, we do," he finally said, reaching out to gently cup Ghetsuhm's chin and tilt her face upward. He regarded her tear-filled eyes, lost in their unique denim depths for several moments. It had been a frightful time within his soul these past two weeks and what he saw in his wife's eyes and felt in her soul caused a shaky, feverish sensation of anxiety to seize his body and pause his heart for several beats.

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But gods she looked so good, tears and all. A smile curved his lips and he kissed her.

"First though... I've missed you," he said. "Come and sit?" He indicated the window seat, more than ample enough to seat two. He caught at her hand and squeezed it, relieved when he felt his heart begin beating again.

Ghet nodded, not quite trusting her voice, and went where he led her. She wanted to curl against his chest, under his arm, seeking comfort, but it wouldn't be fair. Keeping hold of his hand, she settled turned towards him, so they could see each other's faces. "Okay. There are some things I need to tell you. I... I've never lied to you, and I've been kind of proud of that, that you always knew how I felt. I never lied to you about Ro. You knew I still loved him and you never once made me feel bad about that. Except... now I feel like I have lied to you, because I've kept things from you."

She sighed, and rubbed a hand over her eyes. This was just the first step along a terrible path. "Galain... when I brought Ro back... I was mad. The illness and the stress had snapped me, and I wouldn't have done what I did otherwise. But I still did it. I took Rhagi away because I didn't intend to come back. Galain, love, I offered to marry him. I'm sorry."

Damn it, there went his heartbeat again. The Elen's smile wavered and his expression took on an uncertainty. No... He’d never actively begrudged Ghetsuhm her love for Y'Roden. He'd had his own confusions about love for too long to focus on jealousy or anger when it came to what his wife felt for others. He'd always felt an immense security in her love, knowing they'd chosen each other on purpose, and had overcome an enormous amount of adversity to achieve what they had now.

"But you were mad at the time. There's nothing to apologize for. You were sick and when you're sick and out of your mind you do things. I mean... that though would have to be the most absolutely insane thing possible," he said, speaking slowly, trying to inject a tone of humour into his words. The look in his eyes didn't match though. The tears in his wife's eyes told him she wasn't finished. Surely this was the only thing she'd kept from him though, and it wasn't pleasant... but it was survivable.

Galain squeezed Ghetsuhm's hand gently.

"What else?" he found himself speaking again, his mouth operating independently of the rest of himself.

Ghet winced. For some reason, all the calm and reasonable just made it worse. She shook her head slowly, not sure what she was denying. "I would have gone through with it. I would always have hated the way it was done, but I wouldn't

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have backed away. Neither of us remembered what happened, by the time he came out, I was unconscious... he didn't know I'd made the offer until that day I saw him in S'Hea, after I healed. We're still trying to piece together exactly what happened. Once he realised... Galain, it's what he wants. Me, to himself. To know how close it had been, well, it was all a bit overwhelming." Next step. "I very nearly slept with him. I would have, if it hadn't been for... well. I would have. And if the circumstances arose again, the result would be the same." Her voice cracked. "How could I do that to you? How could I live married to you and know I was going to cheat on you?"

He broke the hand he was squeezing.

He didn't mean to, but it happened and he could only stare down and then away, pulling himself away from her and backing up against the stone behind him.

"How could you..." he repeated, almost mindlessly. "How could you live married to me and know this?"

It sounded like he was merely repeating her, but the inflection cast upon the words as he spoke indicated he was doing more than that. He gave his wife a puzzled look.

"You said I was everything to you," he finally said. "Why cheat?" He was trying to focus on the fact that she'd not cheated, but in her heart she had... and she would. She's said this.

Why cheat now? The words were silent.

Ghet winced, her breath hissing through her teeth. She jerked her hand away, jarring it, but the physical pain was almost welcome. It distracted her from the pain in her heart. "Why cheat?" she said bitterly, harshness entering her voice, "Why have I always cheated? Because that's who I am. Because the pull is too strong. Dammit, I don't want to hurt you! I don't want to hurt either of you, but I wasn't left that choice. I wanted it to be enough, I wanted to stay with you forever and be your strong, dependable, decent wife. But that isn't who I am! I have to deal, somehow, with the fact that you both love me, and I love both of you, and I fit with both of you, and I have to break one of you in half."

She cradled her broken hand in her whole one, remotely wondering why the tears just wouldn't fall. "It's not supposed to be like this. There's supposed to be one path for everyone that's right, one person that makes them complete. If you listen to your heart, you're supposed to know what to do. And all I learned was that my heart will always be divided against itself. I will never be whole, and I will never be free of pain. I'll never be content. I'll love the both of you until I die. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can will, that will change that.

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"The last time it came to this, I thought I had no decision to make, because I was bonded to you. I told Ro over and over again, I had no choice. I left him, I walked away from him after he saved my life, and I went to you. I can't do that to him again." Now that it came down to it, she was beginning to wonder if he might seriously hurt her. Well. She couldn't say she didn't deserve it. She might well have chosen death over this responsibility. "I'm so goddamn sorry, Galain. This is the worst thing I've ever done in my life. I'm leaving you."

Those last three words hit Galain like a slap to the face and he sat there, his face draining of colour. Disbelief, incomprehension, then disbelief again dashed through his mind. Beneath it all a gleeful little demon danced and capered, shrieking, "You couldn't make a choice! She did! You couldn't make a choice! But she did!"

Something dark and supposedly long dead suddenly ate the gleeful creature and the glazed look that had entered Galain's eyes disappeared as he sat forward and then inched toward Ghetsuhm.

"This means you've lost your mind again?" he asked, mindlessly reaching for her broken hand. He wanted to heal what he'd broken. "I mean... gods... you know..." He stared away into the chamber they were in and tilted his head, his mind tripping backward to the day they had married each other. "So was what we said to each other at Ringë just what you felt at the time?" He suddenly pinned her with his eyes and dropped into her soul.

Ghet took a deep breath, knowing he would understand her hesitation, knowing he was no calmer than she was. When she began her voice was a little shaky, but as she spoke it gathered strength and certainty. "When you first told me you loved me, I don't think I really believed you. It just didn't seem possible. I'd looked up to you for so long... When I tried to leave you, I really didn't think you'd care that much, past not getting something you wanted. I didn't know, that it was too late to go back, that even if I walked away, some essential part of me would stay with you. So many things I did, the way I did them, because I didn't believe myself worthy of you. I could not make myself believe that, able to choose freely, you would choose me."

Though her eyes shone, her gaze was firm, and through it showed something new, the treasure ground out of her pain. "I was wrong, and I wronged you to think that way. I am worth you; I am worthy to stand at your side. I belong beside you. You are the only one who has been able to love me for who I am, who hasn't tried to protect me unduly, who hasn't been afraid for me to be strong, to be myself. I spent so long being what men wanted me to be, being some part of myself with one, another part with another... with you, I can be absolutely, entirely me. I belong to you, am bound to you, more completely than ever before, and yet I am free.

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"Galain... you make me so happy. You've taught me so much, made me so much stronger. I'm finished with doubt, with worrying about what others might think. Do you know how circumspect we have been, how "considerate"? I love you. I thought I knew what that meant, but what I share with you, is so far beyond anything I've known before... I love you, and I will never apologise for that. It's a miracle that I have you. You are everything, everything that I could ever dream of wanting." She smiled, so hard her jaw ached fighting back the tears. "It just keeps getting better."

"All a lie?" Galain asked, yanking himself away from her mind suddenly, harshness entering his voice before he suddenly stood and paced away. "Of course it was. I mean... you kept going back to him after all. You had to save his life. He's your friend after all and you loved him and..." He shut up and then sat down beside her again.

"After everything we've been through? Tell me you're just playing a weird joke, okay? He's been fine without you. He married Silverthorn for pity's sake. They were perfect for each other. You and I... we've been perfect for each other. We've just had a rough patch is all and things are going to get better and if we just sleep on this we'll wake up and laugh."

His heart was now beating violently and the Elen tried to stop and breathe. He felt himself slipping.

Ghet shrugged, helplessly. There was nothing else she could do. In what he said, she heard the echo of her own words to Y'Roden, her anger at how contradictory it all seemed, her doubt. "Whatever anyone says, is what they think is true at the time. That doesn't mean it will be true forever. Everything I said was true. Most of it still is. Galain, I held you, I comforted you, for months after An'Thaya left you. You loved her. That didn't make your love for me untrue. When I married you, it was in full knowledge that it might not last forever, that it might end in a horrible, painful train-wreck, and I was prepared to risk that, for love. You were already married to someone else, for pity's sake.

"We have been happy. We've been very happy. The vicious irony is that everything was just starting to go right for us. But yes. We have been going through a rough patch, we both know it. I can't go on, shutting myself away from my husband, pretending I don't feel what I do, terrified to let you see to the core of me, because it will hurt you. And you can't wake up tomorrow and go on as if I hadn't told you these things. You couldn't let me go to S'Hea, as I have to, and not think I was making love to him. Galain, it won't work. I just... I know that if I stay with you, I'll only hurt you more."

Her shrug was perhaps more devastating than her words and Galain simply stared at her now and then bowed his head. He silently reached for her hand and let his consciousness settle into the makeup of the soft flesh he held as he wove and knit the broken cells and bones back together. When he was finished he very

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carefully placed her hand into her lap and withdrew from her before looking back up into his wife's eyes.

"I can't keep you here," he said. "I've never tried to keep you where you didn't want to be, nor have I tried to stop you from going or doing what you need to do.

"I had thought... I misunderstood... I thought we had forever you know. That'll teach me to think. I misunderstood." He tried to smile, but the haggard look of grief twisted the expression into a grimace he quickly wiped away. He heard wisdom in her words, the recognition of who she was and what she needed in her life, but it was shattering him inside. He regarded her for several long moments. He supposed she had done enough shattering within her own self of late, but it wouldn't be he who would put her back together again. She'd chosen someone else.

"So... I guess... I guess that's it. You're right -- this time I wouldn't let you return to S'Hea. I couldn't. And you have to go, as you say. So that leaves us --" he broke off suddenly and shut his eyes, feeling his soul plummeting downward at breakneck speed.

Ghet leaned in and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, her soul full of grief. "Oh, love, you weren't wrong. I never saw this coming. A year ago... well. You know all this. I forgot myself enough to trust in forever. I'll never do that again. Never." She laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you so much. It hurts me, to think about being without you, you've been a part of me for so long." Finally, the tears started to fall, now that she'd lost the insulation of the pain and frustration. "I love you, and I'll never forgive myself for this. Look after our baby for me, okay? Once things have settled down, we can talk about when I'm going to see her. I'll say goodbye, though." In truth, for herself, she'd have taken Aarien with her despite all the confusion in her life, but she knew, she couldn't do that to Galain. Their daughter was so full of life she burned with it, perhaps enough for two.

Galain knew he was nodding his head, but his consciousness was swimming desperately in a maelstrom of confusing emotions. She would never trust in forever again, and neither would he. That was the only certain thing he could sort out from all this. No more forever. She'd been the only one he'd really wanted it with anyway and without her by his side? Forever could go to hell.

That tipped him dangerously toward anger and vague images of the violent break-up he'd endured before tugged at his mind and Galain yanked his thoughts away from that direction. Not here, not now, he told himself silently. Perhaps he was growing up after all, or perhaps not.

"I love you, Ghet. My gods I love you," he said fervently. "You know you have whatever you want or need from me. Okay?" He paused and nearly choked on a hard intake of breath. "Go see Aarien. She has a lot of things she's been saving

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for you." His voice cracked on the last three words and he could no longer trust himself to speak aloud. Instead he wrapped his own arms around Ghetsuhm and buried his face into that wondrous hair of hers, and then abruptly he broke away.

Ghet clung to Galain, her mind full of fleeting fragments of memory from their time together, the simple incredulity that she would never hold him again, never know the glory of being so much a part of him. And yet... they'd changed each other over the time they'd been together, and those changes would endure.

She took a deep, shaky breath. Clean break. She'd demanded it of Y’Roden; she'd give no less to Galain. "Thank you, love. I can't... I can't tell you how much it means. Whatever I can do to make it easier, you only have to ask. I'll see Aarien; I'll get my things. Before that... I'm sorry, I know it's a lot all at once. But we have to break the bond. I don't know how to do it, but I talked to Venus, and she says she can take care of it. It'll just be like... sliding apart." She rubbed her hands over her tear-streaked face. "I don't like the idea, but the alternative is worse."

Oddly, Galain's thoughts took a wry turn. He'd have to get his heart checked at the rate it was failing so frequently of late. And then he shook himself mentally and understood why he was feeling as he was. Of course the alternative was worse. She was leaving him, going willingly to a man he disliked so intensely it hurt to his core. And if he was still bonded to her he'd still feel everything she felt -- for Y'Roden, and not for himself. Because hells... this choice she'd made meant that really... really she didn't want him anymore. She would fly to Y'Roden with all that she was and he couldn't bear that.

And she'd already talked to her goddess.

Galain's face crumpled and he buried his face with his hands.

'Kay, was about all he could manage and it was silent. Just like sliding apart? Could it be so damn simple? How? After so long? It was unbelievable. All of this was simply unbelievable.

Ghet looked down, eyes on her hands, unable to bear the pain she was inflicting on top of her own. The call she sent out was tired, plaintive, her misery strong enough to swamp the power of Venus's blessing.

The goddess's power, when she came, was subdued, too. Love had many aspects and she was capable of wearing them all. Venus had been the one to put them together; it was only appropriate that she separate them. It was she who had said those words at their wedding. Love, however, cannot be promised; it comes of its own accord and may leave just as unstoppably. The future cannot be seen clearly. So I will not ask you to make promises to each other, vows that might, through no fault, prove impossible to keep.

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Barely a presence, she placed her hands on their bowed, grieving heads, and spoke a word that had no sound, just a shaping of power. Behind her closed eyes, Ghet saw, or thought she saw, a glowing orange ball, a great sun, slowly become two, one golden and too beautiful to look upon, the other fierce and red, already flickering and mutable.

It hurt, not physically, but the loss was palpable. So alone... Ghet recognised the feeling from when Ro had taken the fragment of his soul from her. Like losing a part of herself, a sense, feeling sealed off in a tiny box. For the first time in nearly six hundred years, her soul was hers alone. She cried out in grief, tears running freely over her face.

Reflexively Galain pulled Ghetsuhm to himself, and when he tried to say something all he could was cry out with her. It shouldn't have been so simply done, so painlessly effected, and yet here they were now, two separate beings again, closed off from each other in every way possible. It had been even longer for Galain since he'd been so completely alone and he felt like he'd been struck deaf, dumb and blind all at once. And there'd been no last chance to feel the heated pulsing of the golden roses over their chests. It was all cold now. So cold and so... despair and grief and disbelief settled like a pall over his soul and all he could do was cry with the woman who had been his wife, lover and friend for so long.

***

Ghet was numb. She'd taken so much pain that her ability to feel had shut down in self-defence. She'd gone from Galain straight to the nursery and endured her daughter's uncomprehending anger without the slightest flicker of emotion. She'd finally given up trying to get it through to Aarien that she wasn't coming back. Heading up to the rooms that were now Galain's, Ghet had ruthlessly erased every trace of her presence.

After that, heading to Riker's and having Marius yell at her had no chance of making an impact. If she'd had to talk to Foxx, she might have lost it, but as long as people were yelling at her, she stayed dead inside.

Oddly, it was the next step that scared her. In a way, it would be easier if he'd changed his mind, if he sent her away. Then she could just... go. Go and not be.

She stopped at her cottage, to find out where he was, and to catch her breath. Except staying away from him was just too painful, so painful she could nearly feel it. So she headed for Nenlante, oddly reassured that he'd gone back there. He'd had choices of his own to make, and it was better if they were made without her round. Well, except that even with that, she mattered. She'd ended up mattering a good deal more than she'd ever wanted to. Still, she was a political realist. She knew what had to be done, and in a way it was easier to deal with than the emotions involved.

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If she'd been capable of feeling, walking into Windemiire would have been difficult. There was an icy false calm around her that was impenetrable, at least for now. There was barely a twitch in her face when she found herself, yet again, with Ja'Kel. "I've come to see Y'Roden. I think he's expecting me." She'd made no attempt to communicate with him, yet she was quietly sure he'd have known as soon as she crossed back through the Wards. "It's alright, I can wait."

The Hyrem Sirke gave Ghetsuhm a ready smile; he had always liked the redhead, based on what little he had seen of her. There was something about her that struck a chord with him; she was warm and brimming with emotion, a living flame of life. Something had been a little off lately though, and even Ja’Kel had taken notice.

“He’s just in the garden,” he answered, inclining his head towards a set of open doors, his expression turning to the wry side as he observed the pounding rain. “Waiting might be wise…” his sentence was cut off by the appearance of Y’Roden down the pathway.

He had paused just inside an archway, eyes focused on Ghet, hardly aware of the Ranger beside her. Dread was holding him back, fear of what she might say… of what he might do…

“I’ll… just give the two of you… I… you know where to find me,” the Ranger stumbled over the words before backing up a step and hurriedly ducking around a corner.

Ghet moved forward, a flicker of expression on her face that on another day would have been a laugh and a wry comment. Y'Roden was soaked. Whatever was between them was so strong and obvious poor Ja'Kel couldn't burn out of there fast enough.

She could see it in Ro's face now, that his heart had been no calmer than hers while she'd been away, that he didn't know which way she was going to jump even now, and how could he? That, like her, he was afraid to hope. Yet she couldn't speak, she couldn't find any words to tell him what she'd done.

She moved closer to him, her eyes fixed on his face, trying to find a way to bridge the awkward gap her grief put between them. Stopping just shy of him, she dropped her eyes, and her hands lifted to undo the top button on her shirt, baring her left breast. Not just naked but bare, stark without the mark it had borne for so long. When she spoke her voice was rough and barely audible over the rain. "It's done. Over."

Rain soaked fingertips touched on Ghet’s smooth skin, brushing over the place where Galain’s mark had appeared so suddenly, in Ro’s mind, and broken his

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heart in two. A lifetime ago… How he had despised that mark… and now, just as suddenly, it was gone.

His vibrant eyes lifted to her face, the grief in the depths of his Lisse’s eyes tugging and tearing at him. It had cost her so much to stand here right now, to speak those three little words that meant… everything.

All the fear and doubt fell away in the rain, washing away across the stone pathway. A heavy arm hooked Ghet’s waist and his left hand sank into her hair. Tugging her hard up to his chest the half-elf let go of a shuddering breath, nearly crushing her as he buried his face into the scent of ginseng, a choked sound escaping that was a mix of relief, love and shared pain. He couldn’t seem to find his voice, or the words to express what he was feeling. Overwhelmed, that may have touched on it… what is there to say when everything a man has ever wanted is suddenly right there for the taking?

“Yona elleska dai,” it was just a whisper in a thunderstorm, just the beginning of so much he wanted to say.

Y'Roden's touch shattered Ghet's calm. She sobbed against his chest, aware of the irony that he should be the only one who could comfort her. She couldn't give in to it yet, though. There was still too much to do. "I love you, too. I..." She took a deep, shaking breath and stepped back so she could see his face, still touching him. "There's nothing between us now. I'll be your wife, and all that entails. If you still want me. You took it back, didn't you, the throne. I didn't think B'Rodyn would give you any choice. And nor would She."

Ro’s thumb stroked away a stray tear on Ghet’s cheek and he smiled wryly, though there was a quiet amazement in the depths of his eyes. “Aye, I did, it seems there is no escaping Fate’s will for me… for us.” He shook his head slightly, wet droplets scattering from his fringe of hair, “You think, after all this time, after all we’ve been through, that I wouldn’t want you? I think we have proved quite nicely that there is nothing in this universe that would make me stop wanting you.” His shoulders relaxed slightly and he smiled, the reality of what she had said sinking in, “Or S’Hea for that matter, I want you both, and… gods Ghet, you as my Queen?” His dimples made a brief appearance, “you’ll see… you’ll understand how much more this can be soon enough.”

A short, half nervous laugh escaped him, his fingers touching her face, then tangling in her hair, “and now… I have no idea what to say or where to go from here. I can’t just take up the reins of S’Hea and put… this on the back burner, and I can’t leave Nenlante yet either. I just… I want you to myself, alone, for as long as we can manage before I take back the throne.”

Ghet shook her head and gave a wry smile. "I'm not taking anything for granted any more. Not anything, and especially not you." She leaned back against him, more comfortable, but as lost as he was. She'd thought this was the last thing

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she had to do, but it was also the first. "And... I know. There's so much... I don't even know if I can let you..." She laughed, unsteadily. "Of all the things that could be causing us problems? I never thought sex was going to be one of them."

A chuckle rumbled through Ro’s chest and he dropped his head, tilting Ghet’s chin up with one weapon roughened finger. “One step at a time,” he murmured, kissing her lightly, “we’ve both been battered up over the past year in so many ways, we both need to heal, and we can do that together. We’ll just… take things as they come, so to speak.” A glimmer of his usual, roughish self flickered through verdant eyes, “First step, getting you out of the rain, I’m not sure months of illness, stasis and a romp in the rain mix well.”

Before she could protest, the hulking half-elf had swept the diminutive redhead up and cradled her against his chest. “You can beat on me later for toting you around, and I may even try not to enjoy it.”

Ghet laughed quietly. His happiness was lifting the weight in her chest. "I didn't come here for you to not enjoy things. That's not the point at all." She laid her head against his chest and sagged. Whatever happened now, she didn't have to carry it all alone. "I am tired. Gods, Ro, I'm so tired. Think we could save taking over the world until tomorrow?"

As they entered the open doorway and stepped into Windemiire, Ro paused and smiled, gently kissing Ghet’s forehead. “You just sleep Ghettie, and leave everything else to me. You’re safe, you’re where you belong, and there is nothing more for you to worry about.”

Fate was never boring, he found, and this time it had surprised him with something amazing, something he had never expected to have. A future with Ghet, just the two of them, the Kingdom he loved as much as the woman, and somewhere down the twisted path of destiny… peace of mind.

***

The journey that brought the small group to the Telmae had led through a gate on the continent of Solere-Feyte and into the biting cold of the polar region. Even with a fur cloak pulled about her small frame, Tay still felt chilled to the bone as they had wound their way up the steep slope of a mountain to the city of the Ice Elves, a race that the Western Continent had barely been aware of. They, like the Arthaem, were a pretty legend, and now they had sprung to life like a Fairy Tale leaping from the confines of a book.

They were wondrously beautiful, pale, silvery skinned beings with darker leopard spots that wandered from their temples, down graceful necks and disappeared beneath thick clothing that protected them from the cold. Manes of silver hair spilled over fur cloaks and fell to slight waists, but the strangest feature of all,

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were the softly feathered wings that most held around their bodies as added warmth.

They were silent, never a word spoken, and soft lavender eyes gazed out curiously from beneath silvery lashes as the group filed into a central meeting place.

The Telmae that came forth to greet them was a female, her silvered cheeks tinged slightly pink in the cold, her movements throwing a thousand reflections on the icy buildings around the circular open space. She approached B’Roce and Khai’Laya, obviously familiar with the pair, though her eyes kept shifting to their companions.

“King B’Roce of the Danna-Riel,” her voice was small, birdlike, as if it didn’t quite belong to her, “welcome to the home of the Telmae. What is it that brings you within our walls during this time of recovery?”

“Lady Nowun,” B’Roce bowed his head respectfully, then straightened, “we have come to seek your help in finding the Arthaem. There are those among our companions who must speak with them, it is a matter of life or death M’Lady, or we would not disturb you.”

The slight woman held is gaze for a moment, then took a closer look at the others. “And who have you brought to us, Danna-Riel King?” Her gaze fell on An’Thaya, then Vanyalin, finally coming to rest on Shyma’rr, the dawning of understanding glimmering in her eyes.

“May I present the Emperor of the Diirlathe, Callan Blackthorn, and his Empress An’Thaya Blackthorn. Captain Elandriil Datari of the Silver Guard, Princess Vanyalin Alcarin of S’Hea, and Shyma’rr Hellsbane of,” he couldn’t help a grin, “an interesting mixed heritage.”

"I am sister to the Emperor," The black-crimson haired, lithe female interjected smoothly, "we share the same Sire, though not the same mother." Shy inclined her head slightly as Callan bowed slightly and touched his forehead, then chest in the formal greeting of the noble Houses of Diirlathe.

Molten silver eyes wandered around their surroundings and Elandriil slipped one arm around Vanyalin. They'd gone through so much, though she'd certainly endured much more anguish than he had. To imagine part of her was fading, a vital part that might mean she'd be taken from him again by illness, had left Landrii feeling... constricted.

"We seek an answer, M’Lady," Callan spoke as he straightened, "to what has become a riddle. A riddle to which my sister has always been a part of."

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Emotions battered off Nowun’s fragile shields, and though she could not tell whom they belonged to, the truth of what was being said was confirmed. There was an overall feeling of stress, worry, fear and seeking.

“Very well,” she said softly, “we will lead you to the place where answers might be found. The time for travel comes one week hence, if you wish to tarry with us during that time, I would be more than happy to take you through the gate. Travel to Arthaem Nosmoc is something that must be embarked upon with great care. The Isle is in constant motion and a small mistake can cost one’s life.”

“We would,” An’Thaya answered, a feeling of impatience falling over her at the thought of waiting so long to finally find the answers. She was a creature of patience, however, and understood the importance of timing. A look over her shoulder found Vanyalin’s tired eyes looking her way, though the young woman was leaning heavily on Elandriil.

“Just a little longer,” she assured her daughter, “and everything will be alright.”

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Chapter 11

Over two thousand years giving orders and taking orders had passed, in that time she had purposely dwindled those she trusted to not even a handful and whittled them away until acquaintance was an overstatement used while being sarcastic or for flattery. Flattery wasn’t one of her strong suits and those acquaintances were kept at a safe distance in which the likelihood of a death or disappearance could be brushed away without a thought and were spoken of in a ‘by the way’ tone that suggested that she didn’t really give a rats ass about who lived, died, or screwed their guts out. All that really mattered to her was that she had a roof over her head, a full belly, and a reason to get up in the morning that didn’t consist of any of the usual gossip or intrigues, such as they were, that were shot through the rumour mill at high speed.

That reason was the sound of sand crunching under heavy boots, the searing heat or the freezing cold while flying in formation or locking weapons in training. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was hers and it was the way she wanted it. Old wounds had been buried, for the most part, or set aside while thinking forward to the next second or not thinking at all while living on the pure instinct that came with repetition.

And then Tyloril had to show up.

Patience was a tool that had been forged by time and circumstance, so a few days, weeks, months waiting to speak with the Ashka Vor’ill didn’t bother her. The sheer stupidity that she believed could possibly rival that of the Moron Twins in suggesting that the Houses turn Renegade was what finally made up her mind that the time she had to talk to him was growing short. Tyloril Ashka was bound to piss off the wrong House and no one would bother to look into the ‘accident’. Another name to be spoken with ‘oh, by the way’ or ‘did you hear?’.

Ivette sauntered down the hall as if it was her Citadel and her presence was normal despite the fact the exact opposite could be said. The thud of combat boots on stone floors was muffled only by her size in comparison to the size of the corridor. Very little of her dress had changed for this trip; her clothing was the usual scale of faux leather pants and tight black tank top that was covered by her favourite black and red leather jacket that indicated she was on ‘official’ business and not a pleasure visit. Nothing had changed…all the way down to the small hand crossbow.

The Lieutenant paused outside of elegantly carved doors and tilted her head to the side, shoulder length waves falling to the side as her lips quirked. This was going to be fun; it had been some time since she’d gotten to ‘drop in’. The sole of her boot slammed into the door, sending it crashing open to slam against the wall. Golden eyes glittered with suppressed amusement then flattened, resembling the metal coins that passed from hand to hand. “I’m sorry, am I disrupting something important?”

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"That would depend on what you call important," Tyloril Ashka pushed himself up on his elbows and a sinuous black tail unlooped around a smaller female's waist as she began to sidle to his side, "No no," His fingers tangled in her hair and began hauling her back, "I didn't say you could move. This won't take long," Glittering black eyes raked over Ivette's body, "Unless of course, you care to join us?" A low hiss came from a second female as her dark head rose from beneath the sheets.

"No?" A dark brow rose as Tyloril laughed softly, "Pour a drink, then Ivette... you're welcome to stay and watch. I promise to try to listen if you care to talk, but I can't make any promises," his tail wound slowly into the first female's thick hair then jerked her head back as she tried to peer over her shoulder at the newcomer, "Ignore her. I wasn't finished."

Shrugging, she walked over to what looked like a vanity and stared in the mirror for a moment watching the threesome in the silver plated glass. She picked up a glass bottle, read the label and tossed it to the floor. The container shattered, sending iridescent shards skittering across the floor. “No. I don’t,” turning slightly she eyed the trio on the bed with disdain and dismissed them, “play well with others.” Another bottle was tossed over shoulder; “I don’t like sharing, especially since your playmates are a couple of pu’tahs.” She clicked her tongue and tossed another bottle before becoming bored with it and simply swiped her arm across the top, sending its contents spilling on the floor with the other broken glass and spilled liquids.

Turning, Ivette slid up onto the dresser top, “You never know what you might catch.” Crossing one leg over the other, she leaned forward, slender fingers curled over the edge. “I know it won’t take long,” she tilted her head and looked down to the only objects that she hadn’t tossed on the floor and poured herself a drink from a bottle that had already been used. “Good little actresses though,” she rolled the tumbler between her palms, “but they’re faking.”

Sniffing her drink she raised it to her lips and took a sip. It wasn’t bad, didn’t taste unusual, but then she doubted he’d keep anything drugged. Someone with as large of an ego as he had probably didn’t stoop so low, at least not in his own chambers. However she still preferred not to drink anything unless she knew where it came from or knew if anything else had been added to it. Some Humans loved adding hemlock to their wine for that extra edge, she knew some of the aristocrats had picked up the habit. It was better to be safe than sorry she decided, and poured the untouched contents onto the floor, the liquid discolouring the rug that it seeped into.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? Oh right, I talk and you listen…right…and if you don’t listen well enough well,” the smile she offered was far from humorous, it was often one of the few seen when Nargus had been alive and played in his little garden. A twisted smile that enjoyed listening to the screams, even if they had been some of her fellow Guard members “then your toys will just have to go." Her lips twisted again, 'go' had so many connotations after all.

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Tyloril's expression was flat, no emotion betrayed his bored look as he sighed, "Now that you've sampled my liquor and found some to your...distaste... and insulted my mates, and made a poor attempt at insulting me, why the skag are you here, Ivette? I suggest you DO start talking before I make certain the Emperor's Guard loses one more."

“Insulting you? Oh please. Considering your ego, why would I even bother?” Ivette shrugged, “I’m shaking in my jacket, Tyloril. No really I’m shaking with suppressed laughter, your ego is talking again.” The obvious doubt she had in his words of making sure she disappeared was evident in the sarcastic tone that turned business like, her features hardening, “I come asking for some information.”

Tyloril let out a soft, tolerant sigh and his mouth had a tightly patient set to it. Overall he looked as if he were dealing with someone else's whiney, demanding child and simply couldn't slap respect into her... at least not until the parents left the room.

"That's better." He shoved himself to his feet and slid his legs off the bed, much to the disappointment of the two lithe females beneath the silken sheets, "I'd much rather exchange information than insults, Ivette. What, exactly, did you want to know? I'm sure I can enlighten you," His eyes wandered down every curve, followed every line of her form, until they found her eyes again and finally he stood and stretched lazily, revealing a body as muscled and scarred as any Black who had spent his life a warrior, "on many, many things."

"You want information? Fine." A hateful grin pulled at the corners of this mouth as he turned and faced her, revealing his entire body with no small amount of arrogance, "then we talk. But you'll have to join me in my private baths." He waved a hand in a commanding gesture at the females, both of which let out low snarls as they were ordered to remain where they were, "Alone."

“Save it, I don’t mix business with pleasure,” golden eyes trailed over Tyloril’s scarred body a look of half consideration and half indifference crossing her features, “much,” she concluded, slipping from her perch. Amusement twisted her lips as golden eyes swept over the two females and dismissed them. “Nice pets. Lead the way, I prefer to conduct business with only those concerned, alone suits me fine.”

***

Those that lived and worked around the palace were starting to get use to the three wolf cubs that tumbled and romped through the gardens. One of the cubs stopped, a pale grey with a tan mask, and sniffed the air then trotted over to one of the many roses and stuck his nose into it, eyes the colour of new ivy closed as he breathed in the scent. A blur of silver streaked down the path, bowling into his brother with a forced that sent the pups rolling away in a tangle of legs and tails.

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A growl rumbled in the grey’s throat, hinting at what would eventually be a threatening sound. The silver growled back and promptly yipped as its sibling snarled and sank its teeth into the silver’s ear.

The silver cub’s muzzle opened, but instead of a wolfish yelp what came out would have turned more than a few heads. “Cade! Letgo! Desh’mieve!”

A third wolf cub joined the first two, his black fur seeming to absorb the light. Kegan eyed his younger brothers then nipped Cade and Kaiden both, temporarily separating the two.

“Kegan,” the name was a slightly growled warning as a large black cat entered the area, a form that was rarely seen but the reason why was soon discovered as a deep grey panther cub with the black spots of youth camouflage careened pass, tripped over his own large paws and tumbled forward, knocking the feet out from under Kegan and into the other brothers.

“Mieve!” The word was more howling trill than spoken.

Shadow rolled forest green eyes as she silently padded over and helped disentangle the pile of cubs. Raising her head, Daerkal hanging by the scruff of his neck, she swatted at the pups playfully with a large paw. “Cade,” her lips moved around her youngest son, “let go,” with a muttered oath, she sat Daerkal down between her front paws, “of your brother’s ear and go play, all of you…Not you Dae.” Her paw moved to stand on the smaller panther’s tail as the triplets scampered off, “Not until you’re better on your feet.”

“Desssh’mieeevve.”

“No.” Nuzzling the cub, she pushed him towards a sunny spot and laid on her side, green eyes drifting shut as her tail flipped in the sunlight. One eye cracked open, a feline smile tugged at her lips as she watched her youngest stalk her tail then drifted closed again.

Amilyn stood by the edge of the gardens, raking her fingers through her shorn red curls. It had seemed slightly easier to think about approaching Shadow when she was in her rooms, but that was before she realized that would involve approaching a large panther, surrounded by her frolicking cubs. Nerves were definitely getting in her way now. But she had to do what she had to do. And so she stepped forward.

Daerkal looked up, from pouncing his mother’s tail and blinked dual hued green eyes at the new comer. She didn’t look like Ane, and she was generally the only one he was use to. Shaking his head, he dropped the tail and skittered around to the other side of his Desh’mieve, a natural instinct for safety as his mother’s whiskers twitched from the change in pressure in the air.

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Shadow’s tail flicked one last time before she opened her eyes to gaze bluntly at the little Amazon. “Amilyn,” she said in greeting, reluctant to shift into her natural form but did so anyway. Few were comfortable around shape shifters and the last of her cat like senses told her that nerves were getting the best of her Ad’Vere’s daughter.

The Taurësúlë stretched her legs out in front of her and offered a welcoming smile, nodding. “I don’t bite, I may rip things to shreds, but don’t bite…generally.”

"With what I'm liable to say, you may end up doing both..." Amilyn smiled and looked away a moment, gently stroking the leaves of the nearest plant as she sought her words.

"This might sound rather crazy, but I've been having dreams about Melaina. Conlan and Glory have had them too." She looked at Shadow, and took a deep breath. "In them, Mel's telling me to find you. I think she's telling me she needs to come back." There, she'd spit it out. She didn't really understand everything, especially not why Mel had sent her to Shadow, but she had a feeling it would all become clear.

Dark eyes studied the redhead, “So she’s wanting my family to tempt the Fates and bring her back?” Copper fingers scratched Daerkal’s head, his purring growing louder with every caress. “Why don’t you go play with your brothers? And watch your feet.” Kissing the elfling turned cub she shooed him off, watching him run towards the triad of romping brothers.

Shadow smiled at Amilyn and patted the ground beside her in invitation. “She’s being rather demanding isn’t she? I don’t know much about the resurrection ceremony, that would be my brother, but what I do know, is it would be difficult.”

Amilyn sat beside Shadow, her head tilted as she rested her arms on her knees. "I don't think she would ask if she didn't have some really good reasons for coming back. I don't understand everything she's saying, but she keeps repeating something about needing to right her wrongs..." The redhead pushed her curls back. "Conlan is trying to ignore her, I think he's afraid he's losing his sanity. I, on the other hand, know that I don't have enough left to lose for any kind of fear."

“Melaina Alcarin has made many mistakes in her life, but she needs to learn that there are some things you cannot go back and right, just like there are some people you cannot bring back from the Veil once it has been crossed. It is a tedious thing, reweaving the threads of a tapestry and making sure that it is the same as it was. What she is asking us to do is restore her thread on the loom at the risk of our lives. Some are meant to be left dead, Amilyn no matter how much they want to come back. For some, once the Fates have cut the thread, there is no coming back. I love Mel, despite our differences, but I would not leave my children orphans for her.” Her voice remained serene, she wanted to make sure

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that the redhead knew precisely what the risks were and that the sister she loved might not be the sister that returned. “But I’ll ask Devin and find out what he thinks.”

A chuckle escaped her, “Conlan is far more practical than what many realize.”

Amilyn smiled. "That is all that I can ask of you. If I did not believe there was a reason, that she was needed, I wouldn't ask." She went quiet for a moment as she thought on the sister she had lost. "Conlan is often more than people realize. He always says it's the benefit of being so quiet."

The Taurësúlë’s lips twitched, “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch,” that was something that she had always been told as a child, but then, she had been watched as well…generally when she grew quiet.

Shadow grew quiet and watched her sons, a thoughtful expression on her face before her eyes drifted closed and she opened the wards to reach for her little brother. The silence grew in the small clearing of the rose garden, disturbed only by the sounds of nature. She didn’t know how long it was before forest green eyes opened again but the suns had shifted in the sky, the sunny patch she had chosen to lay in had shrunk, leaving her legs cast in shadows.

“He says it is a possibility,” she said at last, “and he can’t guarantee that it will work, but outside the four of us, and you, we’ll need three others to ground and something of Mel’s to help her focus. A Whispin month. And here is my suggestion, meditate until you can only focus on one thing and clear your mind of the rest. I’m guessing Conlan will want to be a part of this, and where Conlan goes, so does Kaylee, which leaves the last and it will have to be male.”

"I have all of her daggers, and her jewellery..." Ami grew quiet for a moment, thinking of who could be the fourth. "I think Glory will do it. He and Mel were always so close." She smiled at Shadow, and stood. "I'm going to go ask him. I can't thank you enough, Shadow, for even making the attempt."

The copper skinned elf smiled, “No worries, she’d probably come haunt me next.”

***

As Tyloril vanished into the next room and slid languidly into the enormous pool that was typical of a 'bath' for those of the Kin, he gave Ivette a noncommittal grin, "Oh, my dear, I can assure you, I had no intention of mixing my pleasure with your business. Crude, bitchy females aren't to my taste and I prefer a tasting tongue to a sharp one." His head rolled back and his shoulders shifted, as if he were shrugging off a great deal of stress, then he sighed before letting his eyes close. His posture was a subtle insult, body language that suggested he wasn't threatened by her in the least.

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"So, what shall we talk about? I could ask you what information you want, play the game, or I could cut to the point and be rid of you sooner. So which approach do you prefer? You are, after all, my guest, uninvited or not."

“The quicker I’m out of here the better in my opinion, so let’s cut to the chase,” Ivette took the insult in stride and easily tossed it aside. She’d stopped caring what those like Tyloril thought of her, and it was doubtful that she even cared in the first place. There were some that Duron Razvancha kept an eye on, when he was around, which meant his children knew to watch them as well, but to not care about the opinions of those that were viewed as ‘lesser’ than they. A House’s position didn’t mean anything when it came to treachery, deceit and backstabbing.

“I have three questions that after some thought I decided to ask before your mouth shouted the wrong words at the right time.” The Lieutenant sank into a chair, slouched and stretched her legs out before her, the ankles crossed, “How did you escape, who was your contact, and where do I find them?”

"Always so blunt, Ivette. That's what I abhor about you. You know the story," Tyloril shifted casually in the shallow water, but despite his nonchalant appearance, was watching her intently.

"I escaped. It’s not that hard, after all. Most of the Silvers on Xudah IX don't give a flying skag about politics on Aerdon anymore. Its just a matter of knowing how to get out, and when to go, and how much loot you can take with you and not get caught. But why would you care?" One eyebrow arched in question, then a sickly, Ooohhhh look crossed his face, "Ahhh, of course, still holding a candle for your brothers? I can tell you; the old man died his first year there. I never decided if it was intentional or not, getting locked out that night. It gets cold enough there, the skin... sort of... curls up and flakes off the body after a few hours."

Flat golden eyes watched the older Black, the only betrayal of her feelings at her father’s death was a clamping of her jaw, and even then it was slight enough it could almost be passed off as trying to clamp down on a yawn out of politeness. She would mourn later; alone; she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

For several minutes she remained quiet and unmoving as if she’d suddenly turned to stone. She regarded him like he was under glass and was nothing more than a specimen meant to be studied and not treated like a living, breathing…thing. He was lying, he knew it, and so did she.

“Bullshit.”

"You think?" A look of amusement came across his face, "But it doesn't matter, now does it Ivey? Even IF any of your Blood were still alive on that ball of dirt,

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what hope in Rhul could you have of paying anyone enough to get them off there? Their freedom would have to be bought and your House, m'dear, is worthless. Why not ask your blessed Emperor to pay their way out? Their bones would make a nice reliquary. You could join Altorian in hero-worshipping absent family members."

Despite herself, a low growl emitted from her throat, not from his attitude, but over the nickname, as she leaned forward. “The how and the way aren’t any of your concern, Ty, just answer the damn questions. And speaking of Altorian,” she fell back into the chair again with casual elegance, a slender blade of scale slipped from beneath the thin skin of her wrist and she calmly began cleaning her nails, “I’d hate for him to accidentally find out that you had any dealings in the tragic loss of your own Blood.”

Tyloril's blasé' attitude covered a hard moment of 'how much does she really know' that ran through his mind at a rapid pace. His words were casual, lazy, "I can only assume you didn't know Dravis very well, or Fyre. Losing them was far from a tragedy, and I can promise you, their blood never touched my hands. I thought we all agreed? Gideon Crylos and Sorshia were the assassins. Are you questioning the judgment of your Vesahd in convicting her of instigating Kanley? I'd choose my answer carefully, Ivette."

Ty's fingers drew lazy circles across the surface of the steaming water as he drew in a deep breath, "As for Altorian, I thought I made it clear? Deep down, I don't give a flying skag about him... but I dare YOU to try to tell him that. Go ahead..." His fingers stopped their tracing and flicked at her dismissively, "Try to shatter the anvil of 'hero' with a glass hammer. You'll only get cut, I assure you."

“I didn’t have to know either of them to know what they were, nor did I have to know them to know the fact that some personality traits are too ingrained into Bloodlines to not be passed down from sire to son.” She looked up, the barely veiled insult hanging in the air. “And in contradictory to your statement, blood doesn’t have to touch ones hands for one to be a considered a murderer or a Kin slayer. The one that controls the rope on a guillotine never gets blood on their hands after all.”

The dagger slipped away, only for one to come out of the other wrist. She started cleaning her other nails. “I’m not questioning Yarwin’s judgment, I’m simply saying that there is more to all of this than meets the eye. Coming from a shattered House leaves one with a different image than what the intact Houses can see.” She eyed the glistening droplets on her boots disdainfully.

A deep-throated chuckle escaped her, the kind reserved for amusing questions from children. “You may not care about him, but you’re not fool enough to let him go. You need Al. You have an ally in your brother, a brother that has respect from those that you may want to woo to your cause in some far distant future. I may be a cold hearted bitch, I may be distant, he might be one of them that

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thinks I need a good lay to get the ram rod out of my ass, but he knows enough about me to know that I would never tell him something without a good reason.”

Tyloril's calm expression turned suddenly cold and vicious, "Then go, eh'rahma, go tell my little brother everything you think you know. Test that blood mark on your shoulder," he tilted his head up in a sharp jerk, "I promise you, the bond of blood you share will not bring light to his eyes. He's blind, Ivette, and its that blindness I count on." His next words were spat out as his eyes sparked with phosphorescent Rage, "Now get out of my House before the Emperor loses one more Guard."

“Tsk tsk, Ty, didn’t your father ever teach you about idle threats?” her near musical laughter held pure, dark amusement as the blade slipped away and she pushed to her feet, “you just keep telling yourself that, Vor’ill Ashka, and you may start believing it. Your little brother has changed he’s not the Fool you remember…and you?”

Ivey paused beside the pool and smiled like a predator who had her prey cornered, “Vershandae Tyloril, you’re looking rather shabby in your tarnished armour standing on your cracked pedestal.” Laughing, the Black sauntered passed, “V’ran ala’mehr,” the words drifted back as she left the room.

***

The soft scratch of quill on parchment was the only sound in the room until the squeak of a hinge interrupted B’Rodyn’s thoughts. The S’Hean looked up from the document he was scrawling out, a long strand of chestnut hair falling into his face as he eyed the couple in the doorway. There was a moment’s pause before a genuine, soft smile lit his features, emerald eyes settling on Ghetsuhm before flickering to his cousin.

“I don’t suppose,” he said slowly, “that you’ve come to tell me you're ready to take all this off my hands,” he gestured idly at the stacks of parchment.

Y’Roden’s low, gravelly laughter filled the room and he shook his head, the dark fringe between his eyes swaying with the movement. “No, I’m afraid not, not yet at least.” His fingers tightened slightly on Ghet’s waist and he looked from B’Rodyn to his… fiancée… now there was a word he was going to let roll around in his head for a bit.

“We’ve just… come to tell you our plans for the next little bit, if you’ll be patient enough to wait us out.”

Ghet blushed, tucked under Y'Roden's arm, her bearing almost timid now. She was probably imagining the 'I told you so' on B'Rodyn's face, but he did seem a whole lot less surprised than she had been. She might be ready for Ro now, but

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his family, their friends... no. She wasn't strong enough to deal with approval yet, let alone anything else. Her voice was quiet and rueful. "My fault, kind of. I'm not ready for all this yet. I know it has to be done, I do know this is where we belong, both of us, but it's too soon." She shot a glance at her lover, happy but hesitant. "We need time to find our feet."

“Perfectly understandable,” B’Rodyn answered, not moving from his chair. There was a quiet quality about the S’Hean King, as if he was afraid that any sudden move would make the redhead bolt. “Take a couple of months to yourselves, everything will be right here waiting. Gwen and I have held down the fort, so to speak, so far, a little longer won’t be any trouble at all.” He seemed about to say something more, then apparently thought better of it.

“D’Anke,” Y’Roden’s tone was relieved, as if he had been uncertain of what B’Rodyn’s answer would be. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Rhagi for us?” He paused, aware that Silverthorn had been around and about of late. “Keep him close.” The half-elf was completely drawing a blank on whether to trust his ex-wife or not. With Arianne it was difficult to tell which side of the coin would fall facing up, so he instinctively swayed to the side of caution.

Ghet met B'Rodyn's eyes then and gave him an ironic smile, the conversation so close to the one she'd had with the S'Hean king while Ro had been dead. Her mind instinctively shied away from the subject, her children. She felt horribly guilty about leaving Rhagi again, but then, she felt guilty about everything. "He's very confused. But right now, we're only confusing him more." She bit her lip. Ro's tacit admission that they didn't know what Thorn would do made her wonder if she really knew what Galain might do, if Aarien was really safe. Her eyes went to her hand, apparently flawless. No sign of so much pain.

She leaned heavily on Y'Roden, defeated again by the weight she was carrying, and yet... this making plans thing was helping. They were going to get there. "When we get back, I'd like to talk to Gwen." A little mischievous smile lit her face briefly. "Before you go wherever you're going."

“I’ll keep watch over him as if he were my own,” the S’Hean promised, “he’ll be fine, Rhagi strikes me as a bright boy, and when all is said and done, he is getting what every child hopes for.” He smiled at the mention of his wife, “I’m sure Gwen would be delighted, and more than willing to pass along the little gems of wisdom that keep her going in the face of being the Vonna of the Nexus.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, reflected in the warmth of his eyes.

Y’Roden shifted slightly, accommodating Ghet as she leaned against him, “Thank you… again,” he chuckled, then paused, “Just where are you going?” Despite his hurry to get the heck out of Nenlante for a bit, curiosity held him for a moment.

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“Solere-Feyte,” B’Rodyn provided in a matter of fact tone, “Now that the way is no longer shut, we’ll need Ambassadors in Danna-Riel. Who better to fit that position than Gwen and myself? Now, off with the two of you, I have a stack of paperwork here and its probably going to take me the two months or so you are gone to finish it.”

Oddly, a rather peaceful smile lit Ghet's face. Another step, a sense of rightness, that things were falling into their proper places. It was like a vast playing board, and while she'd been sure of where Ro's piece should be, she hadn't been able to see what that meant for B'Rodyn and Gwen. It was a weight off her mind, and she turned her face up to Ro's, knowing he'd feel the same. One tiny piece of guilt they didn't have to carry. Now, knowing where they were going to end up, they could start over. Slowly but surely, her assurance was growing. "We'll get out of your way then. We have to work each other out again, and I'm dead sure no-one else wants to be around for that."

Y’Roden grinned at his cousin, the expression still on his face when he dragged his gaze to Ghet. “I’m sure people pay for that sort of trauma,” he deadpanned, “so I suppose we should go do it in private, no good giving away entertainment that exciting for free.” There was an amused snort from B’Rodyn, then the soft scratching of the quill again, which Ro took as being summarily dismissed.

A portal later, and the couple were gone from Nenlante.

***

The Isle of Arthaem Nosmoc was vast, a free-floating landmass that drifted on the Eastern Ocean. The interior was protected by a range of mountains the encircled it entirely, hemming in wide grasslands and a huge glittering lake. Herd beasts roamed wild, grazing in ever-wary packs, eyes to the sky for what they often could not see coming.

The Arthaem. An ancient draconic race of vast intelligence and future sight. They chose a secluded life, keeping away from other sentient life and the visions that often came unbidden. The females were crimson, every scale a glimmering ruby jewel that refracted light and rendered them invisible to the naked eye, when they chose. The males were crystal, the veins beneath their scales quite visible, right down the heavy pounding of the blood, and they too could disappear in a heartbeat.

The moment An’Thaya saw them; she knew she had known at least one Arthaem for thousands of years. Soul… the companion of the God Jaran, Keeper of Secrets, and God of Light. The Amazon couldn’t help a quiet smile of understanding as she stood on a windswept ledge, watching the circling behemoths above. The great Crystal dragon had always called her Little Sister, and now she understood why. In some convoluted way, they were kin to one another.

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“To think,” she murmured to Callan, “all this time I thought Agaru was a mutation of the Alcarin gene, a twisted accident of fate. Now its quite apparent, she was nothing of the sort… she… me?” The train of thought stumbled and fell over itself as a monumental realization was made.

There was no Agaru; it had been her all along. They were truly one and the same, and the redhead suddenly laughed, blushing uncharacteristically as a small hand covered her mouth.

She had cheated on Galain long before the night of the Mid Summer Ball… the truth of it was, part of her had loved Callan at first sight, and had given in to him shortly afterwards. “My Gods,” she said quietly, shaking her head in disbelief, “it’s… I’m not sure I can process all this.”

Callan grunted and rose from a crouching kneel, topaz eyes drifting to An'Thaya, "But that just makes Agaru the final thing in your life that no longer belongs to Galain Alcarin... and never did." An odd, half-grin came to his mouth, one that was almost boyish, almost guilty, but not quite, "The question now is, did we really not know? Or did we choose to be blind to have just a little bit of time together, without having to admit we wanted more?"

His expression shifted slightly, became more mischievous, "Of course, this," One hand gestured to the scene before them, "Explains a lot about your temperament. I knew you had to have more dragon in you that first night than just me."

A not-so-discrete clearing of someone's throat came from behind Callan and An’Thaya; "Spare us the details, please," Elandriil fought a grin as looked from Callan's back to the tiny redhead beside him. Gentle fingers pushed back bouncing, fiery curls, and his Silver eyes met Vanyalin's wide Emerald greens.

"Well, you were right about one thing, no Alcarin hatchling in wee Vanya. But see? I told you you weren't a genetic misfire, just a genetic rarity."

“I’m fairly positive it’s physically impossible to fit more dragon in me than that,” An’Thaya shot back with a playful grin. “But you’re right, and I can be very, very good at lying to myself. It just all falls down like a house of cards eventually.” She turned to look at him, “but I’m glad it did.”

“You’ll only encourage them,” Vanya said to Landrii with a soft laugh, “if they know they are mentally scarring you, they put in twice the effort.” She rose up on tiptoe to kiss him. “A genetic rarity… I like the sound of that. Every girl likes to be special.” Her smile was luminous as she gazed up at him for a moment, then turned her head to look out across the valley.

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“Looks like a welcoming party coming our way,” she said, pointing a flight of six dragons, three crimson; three crystal, that were winging towards them.

"That's exactly how it was meant," Elandriil started to lean in and kiss her when Vanya turned her head, which landed a kiss on her jaw, rather than her mouth.

Callan's topaz eyes shifted from his wife to the flight coming their way, then heard an unfamiliar sound behind him. A muffled, desperately concealed sob. Slowly, his head turned to see Shyam’rr hugging herself, standing next to B'Roce and Nowun, with tears tracking slowly down her face.

"Its not like I remember it at all..." Her voice was soft, choked, "Its... so much more beautiful. I'm... home."

Her older brother quietly cleared his throat and blinked back a burning sensation in his own eyes. She'd been a toy, brought home as a child by Nargus. He'd been given his own half-sister to rape, maim, kill, at his leisure, and after he'd scared her witless, after he'd enRaged her enough to lash out, and only after she'd pulled her disappearing act two or three times, only then had the young Vesahd seen potential in her as more than amusement.

She'd become a tool, loyal only to him, and years and years later, the two had forged a close relationship, dependant on each other for survival in the cut-throat Keep, and it was one no one but An'Thaya had known about... until she'd agreed to reveal herself and journey here with them.

"Shy?"

"Oh... just... shut up. Shut up Rax." The tall female cleared her throat but continued clutching her own arms, as if somehow that was all that holding her together, "and quit looking at me like I've got two heads." Black eyes snapped to B'Roce, "I was born here."

The King of the Danna-Riel simply smiled at Shy, the look on his face full of quiet respect. The Arthaem were looked upon like Gods in his society. They had given his species the gift of resistance, the Gene that held the Nuru-Kh’ai at bay. When it came down to it, every D’Riel owed their life to the great Seers of Arthaem, and it wasn’t something B’Roce ever let himself forget.

By the time he looked round again, the six were alighting on the massive ledge.

One of the Crimson’s landed a little ahead of the others, her wedge shaped head canting as a whirling jewel like eye gazed down at the group with mild curiosity.

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“Welcome to Arthaem Nosmoc,” her voice was heard by all, a resonating tone in all of their minds. “Long have we awaited your coming… and your returning,” she added, her gaze sliding to Shy. “Welcome home, one who is not seen, child of one who saw her own fate, and dared to love you enough to give you life… despite what it would cost her.”

The female looked to An’Thaya next, her head moving in close as she sniffed at the Amazon. “Light’s Hope, descendant of Oracle, child of one who gave all for love, a pattern that has gone unbroken down her line… or so it would seem. You have come seeking answers, and they may be more simple than you realize.”

The redhead’s expression flickered from quiet wonder, to questioning. “Simple?” she asked, “Nothing in my life has been simple thus far, I hardly expect the Question of Agaru to be any different.”

“Perhaps,” the Crimson said with a tinge of amusement, “The answers would come faster, if you stopped referring to yourself in the third person. The longer you keep that part of yourself at arms length, the further you will drift apart and shatter. The illness was but a catalyst to what you would not admit, and could not understand. Your plight is not physical, An’Thaya Blackthorn, it is a question of the Soul.”

***

Being out of Windemiire was a huge relief for Ghet. It resonated of the people who’d lived there and the raft of unpleasant experiences she’d had there. So many arguments… Silver Dragon Ridge, by contrast, was one moment of raw terror, and a raft of healing. It was here they’d rebuilt their friendship, discovered the chains of passion that still bound them. It was right to be back here. And there was only one way to discover if the fire was stronger than the darkness, and that was to try.

She smiled nervously at Ro. Sometimes the weight of expectation just got in the way. "Okay, so... what. I'll go lie on that couch ‘til I stick to it, and we can pick up where we left off? Want me to run you a bath?"

A soft laugh rumbled through Y’Roden’s chest and he reached out to catch a stray red curl, brushing it away from denim blue eyes with a gentle touch. He felt such a melange of emotion, it just couldn’t seem to be expressed. Relief… regret, blissful calm, unbearable agony… and most of all, the deepest, purest love imaginable. There was no question, for him, that this was right, that this was where they belonged. Sacrifices had been made, but he had been willing to make them, and would again for her.

“A bath would be nice, but, I’d rather not take it alone this time.” A hint of amusement shone through the weight of emotion in emerald gems and his

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fingers crawled across her hip, sliding round to the small of Ghet’s back and drawing her close. Lowering his head he buried his face into her hair and slowly inhaled, his embrace nearly crushing for a moment. “I still… wonder if this is real… if somehow I am still in the casket…. Just dreaming.”

Ghet laughed softly and moved closer to him, still not quite able to accept that he could touch her, and it was okay. What she'd given up had been agonisingly real; the reward still felt... odd. Yes, dreamlike. She'd hallucinated a lot while she'd been ill.

She laid her head against his chest, kissed him, and breathed deeply. "Well, now I'm trying to think of something I could do that you'd never dream of me doing, to prove that you're awake. But I know how inventive and, to be frank, sick, you are, so I'd be hard pressed." She shrugged. "And if it isn't real? You may as well enjoy it anyway. I could make you take your bath alone. After all, just because I'm marrying you doesn't mean I'm going to stop tormenting you."

“You’ve already done something I never dreamed you would,” he said in a low tone, “so I guess it must be real.” Lifting his head, Ro cupped her face and caught her gaze, “I should hope you won’t stop, it is, after all, what works best for us… Lisse Nwalme,” the words were said half teasingly, half in wonder, and ended with a kiss.

He’d been doing that a lot… every chance he got. It was a precious thing to be able to pull her close, to kiss her and not wonder who was watching, who might catch them, or whom they might be betraying. Guilt free Ghet… he’d wanted her for so long that he really couldn’t remember what it was like not to love her. Even through his twenty odd year marriage, it had been there, lingering beneath the surface like a tormenting ghost. Some might have called it obsession, others probably thought it had been all about the chase, about the not having, but none of them knew Ro, and what was in the depths of his soul. The truth was, he had loved her first, and everything else had somehow paled in comparison.

“Table, couch, floor or bath,” he asked in a ragged baritone, eyes closed and he pulled his mouth away from hers by the space of a breath, “Lady’s choice.”

Ghet blushed, unable to look away from his face, caught in his gaze. There was still... not regret, not at all, but sadness, when she thought of her ex-husband, of what she'd sacrificed to be here. She'd taken long enough that she knew the decision was the right one. No, not one she'd ever thought she'd make, either, but here she was. They were both damaged, but they would heal each other. It started here.

She responded to his kiss easily, gently at first, then less so. Her blood flamed under his touch, it always had. "You know how terrible I am with decisions," she said, her voice just a little lower than normal. Her hand ran down his side, over his waist, down along the hard muscles of his thigh. "Floor has the advantage of

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being right here. And we can't fall off it. Then bath after. No option is entirely... off the table, so to speak."

“I thought you liked falling off things,” Ro observed a little distractedly, the path of her fingers setting his nerve endings ablaze, “oh wait… that’s me.” Tugging at the laces of his shirt he let it fall open, the shrugged it off massive shoulders and let it drop to the floor. “Or was that falling onto things…” His fingers caught at Ghet’s shirt, tugging it free of her trousers and sliding up beneath the material, tracing the curve of her ribs.

He laughed a little nervously and grinned suddenly, “I love you… I can’t seem to quit saying it… I love you.” His kiss was a little more demanding this time and a low, resonating growl seemed to rise with his fingertips. Gathering the fabric of her blouse he pulled it upwards, then seemed to say the hell with it and simply tugged. She could kill him later for clothing abuse.

They lost more shirts that way, and Ghet wasn't complaining. "Falling. Falling is..." her breath caught as his fingers slid across her bare skin, trailing heat. "...a thing.” She grinned warmly, shrugging out of the remnants of her shirt. "Oh, I know. You shouldn't stop." His uncertainty charmed her, brushing residual fear aside. Deft fingers slid lower, unfastening his trousers and she dropped smoothly to her knees, smiled up at him, and lowered her head to kiss the mark on his stomach. Her mark. "I love you, too." Her head dipped ever so slightly lower, her tongue brushing over the livid scar on his abdomen. "All of you."

Verdant eyes glassed over with desire and Ro tangled his fingers into Ghet’s hair. What he loved most about her, was that she had seen the worst of him, and loved him despite of it… or perhaps, because of it. With Ghet he could be himself, no illusions, no lies, no cloak of light to hide the darkness within. The reverse was true as well, and a collage of memories set blood raging through his veins, heating his flesh and bringing him to near painful arousal.

The look he gave her was helpless surrender that was slowly eroded by the flames of something more. He wanted to feel her mouth on his skin, her flesh pressed against his… and hear her beautiful screams… “You are amazing… you do know that right?” he managed to get out, “and so gods damn beautiful…”

Ghet closed her eyes, long lashes brushing against his skin, feeling the rush of blood beneath her lips. Her breath was warm and teasing on his abdomen. For now, she was in no hurry, but it wouldn't take much. She slid her hands up the backs of his thighs and looked up at him, unusually serious. "You make me beautiful. You give me beauty with your eyes and your hands and your words." She kissed him again, her tongue slipping painfully low. "The least I can do is give you something back."

She grinned suddenly, quirking an eyebrow up. "Get down here, then."

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Soft, rather dark laughter was all Ro managed for a moment, then he stepped back and kicked off his boots. His usual tight black leather trousers joined the clothing trail and he dropped to his knees, “don’t have to tell me twice,” he rumbled, slipping an arm around Ghet’s slight waist and bringing the heat of her skin up against his own. “Actually… usually, you don’t have to tell me once… but you know that.” He shut himself up with her mouth and hooked the fingers of his free hand behind one of Ghet’s knees, drawing her leg up along his thigh as he levered her up, then fell with her to the floor.

His hand slid up the back of her thigh, then up over the curve of her hip and the flat of her abdomen, teasingly slow, his grip increasingly hard until he cupped one breast, his thumb running across one firmly erect nipple.

Ghet's low chuckle became a growl as he shifted her easily, light in his strength. Her back kissed against the floor, then away again almost immediately, arching into his touch. Her mouth sought his, kissing him with a growing urgency, stifling a moan that shook her chest beneath his hands.

She lowered her mouth to his shoulder, licking, nipping, before sinking her teeth in hard. Moving under the weight of his body, she toed off her own boots, rolling a little away from him, laid out beside him in utter surrender. When she spoke, the rolled word was almost a purr. "Rodi." It was there, just a breath away, the utter glory of giving in completely. And yet... there was pleasure, too, in holding it off.

A flash of lust brightened Ro’s eyes for a moment, the mix of pain and promised pleasure searing through the core of his soul. His breathing erratic, the half-elf unfastened Ghet’s trousers and hooked his fingers into the waistband, drawing them down over her hips. He kissed her navel and rubbed his cheek across the flat of her abdomen in a catlike fashion, closing his eyes and pausing for just a moment. Even in his aroused haze his lashes wet slightly…. A flash of memory flickered through his mind… how beautiful she had been carrying his child. A fleeting regret that she hadn’t been his at the time was pushed aside, and he bit gently at Ghet’s hipbone as his hands worked his lover’s trousers the rest of the way down.

Rough palms slid over the soft skin of her calves and thighs, remembering every inch of her… though he had never truly forgotten. He wanted desperately to be inside her, and just as badly, wanted to draw the moment out. This was what mattered, what they would both remember, a reunification as sweet as their parting had been bitter. “Ghettie,” it was nothing more than a gravely whisper of baritone, but the name carried the whole of his heart and soul.

Ghet's breath hissed through her teeth when he bit her, a small gesture that carried a weight of memory and desire. It would fade in time, she supposed, but for now, every move carried echoes of the past.

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She pressed her body against his, every inch of skin that touched humming. She touched him everywhere; eyes wide open, drinking down the sight and the feel of him, things that were the same, things that had changed. She could never get enough of him. He was hers, her miracle.

She rolled onto his chest, her hair falling around both their faces as she caught his eye and held it; honest, heated, naked. Then she lowered her head and kissed him, deeply. Her nails raked slowly down his chest, across his stomach, along the line of his hip, round the top of his thigh, and then her hand curled firmly around him, demanding. "I love you."

Past, present and future surrounded Ro in a curtain of ginseng and he breathed in slowly, ragged as her nails dug into his skin. His body shook and arched into her touch, surrendering, drinking her in. There was a feral beauty about her at this moment that held him caught even more firmly than the grip of her hand.

“Gods,” he breathed, digging his fingers into her hair, “I love you too, Ghettie. More than life.” Not a necessary sentence… he had proved it more than once, but Ro was done with holding back. For the first time he was willing and able to give someone everything. All of his heart, all of his soul, and the rest of his life.

Cupping the back of Ghet’s head he slid an arm around her waist and rolled, tucking her beneath his heavy frame, his lips rough on hers, parting them even as his hand slid down to part her thighs, his hips shifting between them. A low groan rumbled against Ghet’s mouth as her silken skin brushed against the outside of Ro’s thighs. He pressed himself against her, teasing, but not entering her, not yet.

Ghet whimpered, her body shaking under his touch. She felt like she was falling apart, the physical and emotional intensity more than she could take. She closed her eyes, drowning in the heat of his body pressed against hers. He overwhelmed her, and if she thought about it too much, scared her. She felt so small and helpless against him, and not just physically. Ro was intense, everything about him. Sometimes she felt she might submerge beneath the force of him, and never make it back.

The tension flowed out of her body as she gave into it, her hips lifting towards his, her thighs stroking against his. The shaking ceased as she stopped fighting her body's intense need, lust flowing out and bathing them both. Eyes opened, indigo with passion, fire building in her as she simply knew; she could match him.

Ghet made the decision consciously, in control for a rare moment. She locked her thighs around his, lifted her hips off the floor, and viciously impaled herself on him.

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A gasping, choked moan lost itself against Ghet’s mouth as Ro slid deep within her, his weight pinning the redhead’s hips and holding her still for several precious moments as he simply let himself feel her scalding heat and the familiar pressure of her around him. The half-elf pressed his forehead against hers, drew in a slow, shaky breath and his gaze found Ghet’s, watching the change of expression on her features as he slowly pulled back and thrust forward, each movement smoother, harder than the one before.

A massive hand slid to Ghet’s waist, fingers playing across her ribs and applying pressure, gripping her hard as he carved a path deeper into her body.

Ghet gave up trying to stifle the cries and let them come. There was no line between pleasure and pain for her, there never had been. No-one had ever understood that as thoroughly, as intuitively, as Ro. He played her body with absolute mastery, a complete certainty in every move, and she loved it.

Ghet moved to meet his thrusts, as much as she could with his weight on her, a willing victim. And when his hand pressed against her ribs, she cried out, high-pitched, ragged, desperate, her mind torn away with lust.

Ro’s mind was lost in a haze, Ghet’s screams and movements beneath him bringing a wild, yet dream like sensation that felt… right. She matched him like no one else ever had, there was a mutual give and take, an instinctual understanding that no words could express… and none were needed. In contrast to his near brutal lovemaking, tendrils of emerald gently caressed the wounded crimson soul of his lover, of the woman that would soon be his wife… but made no attempt to connect.

Ghet’s breath came ragged and hard, and she bit at his shoulder, too far gone for any restraint, unaware if she broke the skin or not. Her whole body was caught up in what he did to her, every sensation melding together into a rampant, insanely lust-filled whole. She wrenched his head down, bit his ear, got halfway through a roughly muttered plea for more, and then her head snapped back, whacking into the floor as her body arched hard into his hand, screams changing tenor into absolute ecstasy.

The S’Hean reared up, his free hand bracing on the floor as he rose above Ghet, changing the angle of their connection and driving deeper. The tight rising heat of pending release drove him to a more feverish pace, his head tossing back, the chestnut fringe of his hair vibrating between crimson shot emerald eyes. A guttural groan of anticipation ripped through him, the force of his thrusts brutal as pressure built at the base of his spine, Ghet’s name a ragged gasp as he held out just a little longer, revelling in the torturous pleasure of teetering on the edge of the demands his body was aching to answer.

All the strength went out of Ghet's legs, and she stopped fighting him. It was all she could do to keep holding on to him, hands sliding over sweat-slick skin until

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she gripped his hips, fingers digging deep into the muscles that drove him into her.

She shoved hard against him and screamed, wave after wave of absolute pleasure ripping through her body every time he thrust until her voice was ragged and nearly weeping. Too far gone to have kept her feelings to herself even if she'd wanted to, lust flooded off her; heady with the desperate all-consuming pleasure he gave her.

The wave of emotion rolled over Ro like a physical touch on his skin, searing along his nerves and ripping away his control. His body jerked hard, the self contained presence he had held up for nearly forty years shattering and he gave in with a deep, unrestrained cry as he came to a shuddering, explosive release.

Ghet's cries died to a whimper, her head spinning as she tried to catch her breath and pull her senses back together. When her body stopped shaking and she could get some control back over her nerves, she realised that what she was, was happy. Incredibly happy. Tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, she nuzzled against Ro's neck, loving the languid weight of his body on hers. Her throat hurt. Hells, large portions of her hurt, but in a good way.

She took a deep breath, as best she could with him on top of her, and sighed contentedly. "Yeah," she said idly. "Sometimes you just know when a decision is right." She lifted her head tiredly and kissed his forehead. She had won. Together, they had beaten her very real demons.

Ro caught the back of her head in his palm before it hit the floor and brushed his lips against her forehead, the tip of his nose trailing along Ghet’s hairline to her temple. The expression in the Elf’s eyes as he drew his head back was a warm, somewhat intense combination of joy and love. “I can’t ever replace what you have given up for me,” his low, rich baritone was heavy with emotion, “but Gods… Ghettie, I’m going to spend every moment of the rest of our lives trying to keep that expression on your face.”

Fingertips caressed the outline of her face and trailed over Ghet’s mouth, “I’ve loved you from the moment I first set eyes on you. I couldn’t ask for more than you standing willingly by my side.” A smile revealed the dimple in Ro’s cheek, “You are the centre of everything for me.” There was a short pause, “I should move before I permanently crush you into the floor.”

Ghet kissed the fingers that brushed her lips and smiled, rocking her hips gently. "I could have sworn, that was you at the centre of me."

More serious, she played her fingers across his fringe. "It's not your job to replace anything. I'm not going to hold you responsible for my decisions. Okay, I'm not going to be fine straight away, but... I will be. Right here. Not always

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standing, but very, very willing. I chose. I don't want you to feel guilty about it. It's bad enough that I do." And yet, once her mind was made up, her will was engaged, Ghet was implacable. There was no going back, and while she was sorry for the pain she had caused, that wasn't the same as regret.

She stretched underneath him and gasped as her spine popped. "Okay, yeah, I'll let you get off. Never let it be said I stopped you getting off." She grinned again, stupidly, warm and happy. "You'll still get to see that expression a lot, I think."

A warm laugh shook Ro’s chest, amusement lighting the depths of his eyes as he kissed her, then rolled carefully to the side, drawing Ghet with him until she was sprawled across his chest. Rumbling in contentment he clutched her to him for a long moment, breathing her in and letting his body settle. It was going to take a while for him to get use to the fact that Ghet was his, that his reality was suddenly… perfect.

In the meantime, he was going to linger in every breath until it sank deep into his skin, and his soul, and became real. He’d never take her for granted, there had been way too much time wasted for him to ever let a second go by without some sense of immense gratitude to whatever forces had made this happen… and Ghet herself. She had always been a self-assured, strong woman, one that he had held a complex web of respect, desire, love and lust for. Ghet was uncompromising and fair, open minded and wickedly evil at times…. There was no better match for Y’Roden, and he knew it.

***

Callan hadn't said another word to Shyam’rr. No one liked to be watched in their moment of weakness, and her brother understood that all too well. Instead, he'd turned at the sound of wings on the wind and had watched as the Crimson and Crystal 'kin' landed. His eyes had narrowed as he listened and had gone back to Shy, then to Tay, then to the one who spoke, "We were just talking about that, not admitting things to ourselves, but if its a question of the Soul," A dark dread was creeping into his thoughts as he spoke, "Then have we tainted An'Thaya and Vanyalin? Is it me, is it Landrii, that's killing them?"

Behind them, Shy gave a strange little sniffle, again a sound never heard before, and scrubbed the tears from one eye with her fingers before smiling back at the Elven King. The sniffle had been almost a laugh, the answer was so simple, yet Rax had to go and make it difficult, had to try to blame himself. But then, that was just the way he was, always carrying around guilt he didn't need. It was all she could do to not slap him on the back of the head, and repeat words used long ago, when they'd first met... when he'd stopped scaring her, and she'd stopped running.

No, stupid...

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Instead, she simply coughed and walked slowly to the far edge of the cliff and peered down at the land that had been her childhood home. This time, she'd let him figure it out on his own.

For the first time, the female Crimson looked directly at the Black Emperor and her eye twitched slightly, as if she was restraining laughter somehow. “No, Callan Blackthorn, you are not killing your mate. Nor is Elandriil Datari killing his. It is self inflicted, a forced separation of woman and dragon that is unnatural. They have simply to give in, to admit who and what they are, to honour their heritage and those they have chosen as mates by becoming… more.”

“It can’t be that easy,” An’Thaya’s tone was rife with disbelief, “just a change of perspective, and everything is right again?”

“Is that not the truth of all things?” the question was asked so quickly it was as if she had known Thaya’s response before the Amazon had. “Every truth and faith leads back to perspective, the way you see things is who you are, and what you are.”

B’Roce looked to his daughter, then Nowun for a moment, then left the two and went to join Shy at the edge; it seemed rude to listen in on the conversation at hand. So he looked down into the valley and wished to the Gods that he had been born with a set of wings. He inched back from the edge just a hair and grinned at himself.

"Afraid of heights?" Shy asked quietly in her thickly accented, rich voice, "or afraid of falling? They're two very different fears, after all." A slightly amused smile mirrored B'Roce's own grin and cut through the wildly swinging emotions the half-Black wasn't used to feeling, let alone having to control, "You know, I didn't realize quite how much I missed it, until I saw it." The conversation took another sharp turn as she looked over her shoulder. The wind off the cliff blew a strand of deep crimson hair across her face, and her gaze settled on Khai’Laya.

"I'm a Watcher, and I've watched her. She's a child of Flame and Chaos, isn't she? Granted, not one of the Black Kin, but still..."

“It’s the falling that bothers me,” B’Roce chuckled, “or more to the point, the abrupt stop at the bottom.” Following Shy’s gaze he smiled and nodded, something rueful playing about the expression. “Aye, she is. Her mother was a Fire Elemental… and not really the type to hang around and play Ammah Dearest. I’ve raised her the best I can, but it would be easier, I guess, if she didn’t live in a place where fire is hated so much.”

He shrugged and turned back to the valley, “She has accidentally set fire to… well, quite a few things over time, and a person. It isn’t so bad when it’s the

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Nuru’kh-ai she sets aflame, but she makes our people nervous. Its not so much the fire itself, but her inability to control it.”

An enigmatic smile played around Shyam’rr’s mouth. She wasn't used to talking in a social capacity to people, and wasn't normally an outgoing sort, which worked well considering her role in life as the Emperor's Right Hand, yet she found it easy to talk to this elven male. More than likely it was the 'tourist' mentality kicking in, after this trip was over, she'd never see him again, and that thought made things easier.

"Fire is sacred in the Diirlathe," Shy's head turned back and her dark eyes met B'Roce's, "Araxmarr... Callan... is marked by Fire, she has left her kiss on his skin, and our Sire's kind, the Black Kin, were forged of Flame and Chaos as well. Your Khai is feared here, but she would be... respected... in the 'Lathe."

Then she was gripped by what could only be described as complete, temporary insanity.

"Perhaps one day, you should bring her. There may be those of the older Kin that could teach her to control her ability."

Behind them, Elandriil gave a short laugh, as if it all had become suddenly clear, "I think, what she's trying to say is," he grinned down at Vanyalin, "You need to quit thinking about it so much, and just spread your wings and fly."

“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” the redhead laughed, "But I think you’re right." The heavy feeling that had been plaguing her had lightened, leaving her feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks.

B’Roce looked up at the sound of Vanyalin’s laughter, his jewel like eyes sparkling as the mood around them changed. Time spent in the valley and self-evaluation would set both redheads back on the path to acceptance and healing, that much was clear. And Shy had suddenly given him hope for yet another redhead…

Blond hair shimmered in the sunlight as the Danna-Riel looked over at his daughter. “I just may do that,” he murmured, “I would like to see this Diirlathe of yours, I think,” emerald eyes shifted back to meet black and he grinned, “after all, a King should always be willing to expand his horizons.”

***

Rapidly, Silver Dragon Ridge became home for Ghet and Y’Roden. Private, it was their haven, full of their feelings and crammed with all the words they’d never said, finally spoken. Pain and forgiveness and love, the wounds cleaned out and

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the healing begun. Finally exhausted, emotionally and physically, Ghet had fallen asleep, and Ro had slipped away. When she woke, he had a surprise for her, the air fairly humming with his suppressed excitement.

A glimmering emerald portal spun open in front of them, a vine-draped archway inviting them to step through on the other side. Softly glowing globes bobbled in the air, lighting a pathway strewn ankle deep with pale white flower petals that spilled out onto verdant green sands. A pristine white path of them led down to a canopied shelter where they formed a makeshift blanket. Someone had obviously been busy setting up wine, brandy and food among floating orbs of light.

Ro nodded towards a scattering of the S’Hean lamps laid out in two parallel lines in the water, and at the end… was a softly glowing pool of green deep beneath the surface. "Feeling adventurous?"

Ghet was utterly hopeless in the face of romanticism. Most of her defences were solidly based in cynicism. This sort of thing, and knowing it was meant and heartfelt and genuine and not just an attempt to get into her non-existent trousers, left her lost for a response, vulnerable. Her gaze trailed out into the water, lingering. "Adventurous? Always." She laid her hand in his, slowly, full of complete trust and wonder.

Giving Ghet’s hand a squeeze he stepped with her onto the pathway, leading her down across the sands beneath the looming presence of one of Whispin’s moons. It seemed to dominate the sky in its breakneck race across the horizon, glittering off the illuminated water. Its reflection there was huge, and they found themselves in the midst of it as they waded out into the water.

“Ready?” he asked, giving her a lopsided smile, his features expressing a melange of emotions, the most prevalent, and most unusual for Y’Roden, a prevailing sense of nervous… something. He inclined his head towards the softly glimmering spot in the lake, then dove in ahead of her, swimming strong beneath the surface.

Ghet walked beside him unhesitating until they reached the water, feeling the softness of the petals on her feet, the slight yielding of the sand under that. She never wore shoes on S'Hea anyway; it was unbearable, like only touching a lover's skin through their clothes.

Ro's mood guided her own, solemn and still, but open, intensely aware of the world around her. The touch of water on her legs sent a shiver through her. She wasn't scared or apprehensive, just... what? Aware of power, weight, significance to their actions. She let him go, and while she watched him dive away from her, she knotted her hair at the nape of her neck so it wouldn't swirl in her face. Then she swam after him, towards the light.

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The S’Hean King surfaced dead centre of the glimmering spotlight of water, the dancing arc of Aethyr across his skin revealing the truth of what it was. The reason the D’Riel retreat had been built here, one of the rare, natural places where Whispin’s soul spilled through full force into S’Hea. The light glanced off the gems set into his shoulder as he turned, reaching out for Ghet as she swam to him, the touch sending a shock of power through them both.

Drawing his lover close to his chest, he gazed down into denim blues for a breath before leaning into kiss her, their bodies slowly sinking into the Aethyr charged water, spinning slowly as it crawled across their skin and through their souls. It tugged Ghet’s hair loose, deep red strands billowing upwards like flames on the water as they drifted ever down amongst a cascade of bubbles.

Ro drew his head back as his feet touched the bottom, the shift of soft sand beneath his toes disturbing another rush of bubbles. One seemed slower than the rest, and it came to a sedate, rotating halt just to the side. Inside, was a small object that caught and reflected the light.

“I’m not very good at this,” he admitted with an upward tug of his mouth, “but I’m firmly of the belief that marriage is completely about love, not politics… so I want to do this right. Engagement rings are not part of S’Hean tradition, but they are human, and I want us to be true to both of our heritages. The official ceremony will bind us with the traditional armbands… but this, this is us…”

He smiled then, still a little nervous and unsure of himself, “Ghetsuhm Riker… will you marry me, not the King, not because S’Hea needs a Queen, but marry the half-elf that has loved you to the point of insanity since the moment he lay eyes on you.”

Brain kicked in just in time to stop Ghet instinctively gasping when Ro touched her. It was like holding a live current, and while she'd felt it many times before, it always struck her like this. Awe. She would become so deeply intertwined with the spirit of this land, until it WAS her, and she was it.

She let it roll right through her, through her body and her still-damaged soul. It was a rush of pure energy, but it didn't affect her half as strongly as his words. Down here, there was no escape. Every time she'd been in a situation like this, old instincts tore at her, telling her to run, that the force of this much emotion wasn't safe, that it would damage her independence. It was the briefest impulse, quickly dashed.

She did love him, and if it were possible, she'd have loved him even more now when he stood in a well of S'Hea's power and spoke of the importance of her own heritage, acknowledged her past and her bloodlines and traditions. They were simple words, but the burden they lifted from her was huge, and one she'd not really been conscious of.

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Her mind swirled around her like her hair, so much to take in all at once. She honestly hadn't thought about whether she'd wanted to marry him, because she'd known she had to, and odd as it seemed, she was a pragmatist at heart. If she didn't have to think about what she wanted, she didn't have to think about the pain, either. Two marriages down the drain, how could she possibly want to do this again?

Aware that she'd been quiet for far too long at a time like this, she looked up at him, into his eyes, and her face lit with joy. Thinking was vastly over-rated. She slipped one arm around his waist, her other hand reaching out, taking the ring. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you. My Rodi, private face and damaged soul, your laughter and screams, doubts, fears, everything. The man who would do a thing like this, because no-one has ever matched me the way you do. You know what you get in return. A not very queenly woman who runs a brothel and goes like an express train and... laughs and cries and breaks and just can't take it sometimes.” She put the ring on her own finger, her will twinned with his. “I love you, Y'Roden. And I want to be your wife.”

Y’Roden’s eyes slid shut, his body relaxing with an exhaled breath and he held Ghet close, the tension brought on by nerves slowly draining away. He pulled his head back and looked down at her, his left hand brushing wild tendrils of hair back away from her face.

The depths of emerald jewels were alight with fierce joy. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that nervous in my life,” his tone was laughing, self-effacing. “You’re perfect… perfect for me. I love your wild independence, every mood, every scream, every tear… all of it. You are my equal in so many ways… I love you Ghetsuhm.”

Moving through the cloud of his lover’s hair, Ro kissed her, drawing her body against his. Electricity flared with each contact of skin, green arcs of energy that hummed and tingled. Rough hands urged her thighs up around his hips, a combination of heavy emotion and Aethyr enhanced desire bringing him to hard arousal again. A tender, sweet moment evolving naturally into passion, driven with all the intensity that was Ro’s inherent nature. Fingertips slid up the length of Ghet’s spine, coming to rest at the base of her neck as the kiss deepened and they breathed as one.

Ghet laughed from sheer joy, seeing and feeling his relief. He seemed to actually have seriously believed she might say no. She was incredulous, and a little dizzy: emotion, oxygen deprivation, Aethyr-high, who knew.

She gave herself up to her lover's hands, letting his strength and the water take all her weight. She touched his chest, hesitant and awe-struck as green sparked wherever their skins touched, her nerves singing with it, his hands weaving it across her thighs, inside her body... she sighed and let go, no longer holding herself separate from him, or from the power and soul of S'Hea. It wasn't just his

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any more; it was hers as well, and no less hers for not being her birthright. She understood so much, and it was beyond words.

She kissed him, sliding her arms around his neck to help him hold her, dancing sparks of Aethyr across the sensitive nerves in his spine, her legs wrapping round him and drawing him deep inside her. Perfect.

When Ghet let go, Ro experienced a moment of exhilaration that was startling in its depth. There was a sudden spark of connection that he had never felt before, with anyone. To share something as private and intimate as a S’Hean’s connection with the land was a profoundly inexplicable sensation. By repeatedly falling in love outside his own race the half-elf had been cut off from what most S’Heans took for granted. The intensely deep connection that two souls could find when they Grounded together and gave themselves over to S’Hea herself.

Ghet’s action so many years ago had bound her to Ro and changed so many things about her… It had opened the pathway to this, and somewhere deep in his soul, Y’Roden had always known what was possible. Love had to find its own way, and over thirty years ago he had been convinced that it gone as far as the Fates were going to allow. Now… he felt as if he had been given a gift, something so precious and rare that few were ever fortunate enough to find.

Letting instinct guide him, Ro tightened his grip on Ghet’s body, moving her slowly in the water, languid in the embrace of the planet’s soul… feeling everything in a strange, magnified sense. Aethyr filled his blood, seared through his soul and shone from the depths of his eyes. He could see it reflected in Ghet’s as well, feel it pulse through her body, an electric shock at their point of contact that was a sweet combination of pain and pleasure.

The last few years, Ghet had had enough information to put two and two together, and a steadfast refusal to do so. She'd made love to Ro in S'Hea when he'd been connected and she had not. She'd made love to Galain in S'Hea when she'd been connected, and he hadn't. This... something somewhere deep inside her had known this was possible; she simply hadn't wanted to see it. There was no reason to look away now, even if that had been possible.

She dropped her head onto his shoulder, kissing his neck, lost and utterly relaxed into the slow dance of their bodies, in the heart of the land they both loved, that loved them. She was more than herself, yet she felt no fear, just an awe-inspiring sense of connection. She could feel the flow of power, through each of them, through the connection of their bodies, and she suddenly totally intuited that eternity symbol, together and out and back again, the flow completely uninterrupted and slowly building with the tension in her body; in their body, all the same, shared, rising together. Then there was just a moment of fear as she began to suspect what might happen when so much power found its release. She trembled in his arms, on the brink of withdrawing, and then surrendered. She could make it, she could.

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Ro let go. Not physically, but of his soul, letting the emerald galaxy spin out, releasing pent up power in an explosion that swept through them both, forcing an aching, shuddering release of the body as for a moment, his soul eclipsed Ghet’s, holding the bright fire of her spirit within the storm. The water seemed to boil, coming to agitated life against their skin, trying to force them upwards. Instinctively he pushed up from the sands and they drifted with it, entangled, still caught in the heated wave even as they surfaced, drawing oxygen into burning lungs. The end of a ragged cry dragged from Ro, his hips jerking against hers, face buried in soaked red locks.

Green lightning leached off of them, dancing across the rippling water in the reflection of the moon. Dazed, Ro simply clutched Ghet to himself, grappling internally for stability, yet not wanting the sensation that still mercilessly gripped his body to end. This was what they were meant to be, he embraced it, and at the same time, he was petrified. One strand of his soul was still connected to hers, and it was all he could safely maintain. With a monumental effort he pulled his soul back, terrified of overwhelming her, unsure of the domino effect his wounded spirit might have caused. He had seen the result of his sister’s loss of control, and while he would have taken the risk to share such a precious connection with the woman he loved… it was too soon, and far too dangerous.

A low, growling sound rumbled through the half-elf’s chest and he nuzzled Ghet’s jaw line, kissing her soft skin, moving to her lips and laughing softly when a spark danced between their mouths.

Physical instinct made Ghet draw breath as they broke the surface of the water. She was simply too scared to think about what was happening to them. The physical sensation was overwhelming enough, and beyond it, there was so much more. Her body went rigid in his arms, then slowly relaxed, limp and trembling.

Her soul... flared under the touch of his, a bright firestorm that rose to the challenge of the vast emerald galaxy that threatened to swamp it... and then faltered. She wasn't strong enough, not yet. Even so, as he retreated, she yearned after him, almost willing to risk annihilation to hold onto him.

She wasn't strong enough, but she would be, given time. She needed that strength for herself right now. She reined in her wilful soul, confining it, parting from his with a last tinge of promise.

She touched his face, the shape of his smile, the lines by his eyes. She was overwhelmed, tears mixing with the water on her cheeks. "My gods. Oh my gods. I never... never. We have to do that again. But not right now, because I'll die."

A deep, shuddering breath steadied Ro somewhat, a low, choked sob of a laugh the only response he could give for a moment. Leaning into Ghet’s touch, the half-elf closed his eyes and smiled, “We will… most definitely we will… Gods. That was… I have no words for what that was.”

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His soul still vibrated with the warmth of her silent promise, an aching throb in the depths humming with the loss of what it had so briefly embraced. Time… they both needed time, and the wait would be a sweet torment, as so much often was with them.

***

Shadow stood on the cliff, her arms wrapped around her waist, the wind billowing up from below whipping her ebony and silver locks around her, tangling the loose curls. A strand rose and blew across her face then away as if unseen fingers brushed it aside.

Forest green eyes stared off towards the horizon, watching scarlet bleed into the darkening sky to mingle with lavender and a blue so rich that it took her breath away. The dieing light bled through the white shirt she wore, leaving the shadowed silhouette of the feminine form beneath.

The Taurësúlë never grew tired of watching the sunset and each new world she visited was different. Every time she watched the sun sink below the horizon to brush rich colours across the sky she found herself loving it even more. Each evening when the sun touched the earth was her favourite only to be brushed away by the ending of the next.

Blue was her favourite of the three hues, had always been her favourite and in her opinion her damnation as well. She’d always been one to fall for a pair of blue eyes after all and her recent predicament didn’t help any. She could make as many excuses as she wanted, come up with uncountless reasons, but in the end she would only be fooling herself when the truth was, a pair of blue black sapphire eyes was what made her return to the Keep even more than her daughter did. Robin didn't need her as much as she once did. The elfling was more at home among the Kin than she was her own kind.

Her thoughts turned away. It was best not to travel that path, not then and the setting sun easily distracted her from her thoughts, as did the sheer drop that was at her feet. Booted feet stepped closer to the edge of the tallest part of Blackthorn Keep as she could get until the ledge caught on the heel of her boot.

It was an old game, the standing on the edge of the high places she loved so much, it didn’t matter where that ledge was, she could be standing precariously on the edge of an abyss that was sucking the world into non-existence and she would enjoy every minute of it. She loved the Mother Forest, she loved the lush greenery of Gala Nodel and S’Hea, but sometimes it suffocated her, like being encased in stone where the oxygen had been sucked away so that not even the tiniest flicker of a candle flame could survive.

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Copper skin glowed with the last light of the sun as ebony eyelashes lowered, a look of pure peacefulness stole over her features and a smile lifted the corners of black cherry lips as the wind picked up.

"Zha'tahl... the winds of a storm," Dorian's voice carried from behind Shadow, "It comes from the Mother Sands," The Black Lieutenant stepped closer and inhaled deeply, "the ghost of a sandstorm." His fingers closed around her upper arms as he stood behind her and let her ebony hair float against his bare chest.

"It's here... but not in its full glory." His voice was quiet as he asked a thoughtful question, "Tell me, Shadow. Are you happy here? Or do you come here because you can't bear Arlsyn, because you run from your own destiny?"

Unknowingly, she leaned back against him, the peaceful expression twisted into a frown of thoughtfulness. Was she still running? Was she happy? “I don’t know,” dark eyes drifted open to watch the horizon, “I feel…adrift, like a ship on storm tossed seas and restless like an animal caged and pacing the length of its cell.” Her head tilted slightly as if considering her answer, “Something is going to happen, I can see it in glimpses and flashes and sometimes its overlays the present like ghosts that haven’t come yet. I can feel it…” The Taurësúlë trailed off, slightly worried that she might sound like she had completely lost it, and partly because she was avoiding his other question.

“Who doesn’t run from their own destiny? And how many of us actually know that what we see is actually our destiny? Or if it’s just something that is there until the right path is set in front of us?” Shadow closed her eyes for the briefest of minutes, trying to recapture the peace that came with the fading light, but it was slipping away from her, “I enjoy my time here. I come here not because I can’t bear Arlsyn, I can’t bear looking into the eyes of those that I let down.”

Shadow turned around, dark eyes flashing in anger, not at the question, but at the pain that came in failure, the shame that came from not being able to do enough, “I failed in doing one of the things that is the most important thing that any leader can do. Protect their people. An Enrai’er is only good for as long as they can prove themselves worthy of their position. I FAILED. You ask me if I’m running from my destiny? No, I’m walking away before I destroy a Nation.”

Dorian had let out a quiet, relaxed sigh when Shadow had leaned against him. Moments like these, where there was peace such as this between them were few and far between. Shadow was as much Flame and Chaos as the Black Kin were, and moments of anger and sharp words were not unusual. Despite this, Dorian nodded his head slightly and folded his arms around her, knowing full well she might pull away from him any moment.

Then that moment came.

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"And a Black Emperor is only worthy of the throne as long as he's able to prove he's physically fit," Dorian's black-sapphire eyes met hers unflinchingly, "yet Araxmarr lead us through a war completely blind. You only fail your people by giving up, Shadow, by giving in to fear and self-doubt. That which you see on the Horizon may be a warning to you, and you are fortunate. Most of us have no premonition of doom, we stumble blindly into it then fumble in the darkness, seeking a way out."

The newly made Vor'ill paused, then drew in a deep breath, "And I didn't mean happy in a sense of location. I meant you and I."

One moment the anger was there, the next it was gone, swept away like ashes and was replaced with something that bordered on confusion then slipped away. Was she happy? With everything life had thrown at her, she wasn’t sure what happiness was anymore. Forest greens gazed into his eyes, he needed the truth, and the truth was; she wasn’t sure she knew.

A slender copper hand caressed his cheek, “You deserve the truth, and the truth is I don’t know, Radyth. But what I do know? I come here and without even realizing it, I’m in your room,” Shadow took a deep breath, as if doing so would give her the courage to explain. Putting emotions into words wasn’t her strong point unless it was anger, and even then she was more at ease with actions. Self-doubt, he’d pointed out her largest flaw and didn’t even know it. “When I’m not here, you aren’t far from my thoughts in one form or another.

“Dorian, happiness is something I placed on a shelf and left to be covered in dust when I was no more than a child, along with what innocence that hadn’t been stolen. Sometimes I don’t think I would know what happiness was if it stared me right in the face. But I do know, right now, I’m where I want to be.”

"Then maybe, someday, if not me, then someone will find your happiness, brush it off, and tell you what it is." The Black nodded slowly as her fingers touched his cheek, "Until then..." Dorian kissed her on the corner of the mouth, a teasing kiss that nipped at her lower lip before he pulled back, "and right now, why don't we both find my room and later we can wonder how we got there, hai?"

The corner of her lips curled up in a softer version of her usual grin, “Aye, but let's leave any bottles out of arms reach this time, I’d rather be pinned for reasons other than hitting you with one.” Instinctively, she laced her fingers with his, and slid his arm around her waist. “Until then and right now,” she leaned into him again.

"Yes," Dorian's voice carried on the breeze as they made their way off the ledge and back inside, "and right now, let's hope Mearta hasn't come back from wherever he's been with your sister..." The Black paused and lifted their intertwined fingers and bit at them lightly, "Otherwise, I may have to send him on to his Maker, which ever insane god that might be, sooner than he expects."

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Chapter 12

A whirlwind of sparkling essence blew through an open window in Windemiire, blowing across the floor and scattering a sheaf of parchment before coming to a slowly spinning halt. In the space of a heartbeat, it coalesced into the hulking form of Chezlar Khor, liquid gold eyes partially hidden behind stray locks of ebony hair and wings slightly outspread as he tilted his head to look at the couple occupying the room.

“Meylor, Jack Steelhand,” he said in a manner that somehow implied he knew them, “Y’Roden said you wanted to see me.” His mouth quirked slightly in a smile and a large hand pushed his dark hair back out of his face. “You have a question or two, so we might as well get straight to the point.”

Jack had seen many things in his lifetime, some he could explain, others he could not. But watching the winged stranger entering the room and forming before his very eyes caused the palm of his steel hand to itch like crazy. Stepping up, his eyes narrowed, the short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"You want questions do you?" Jack asked as he stood in front of Meylor, using his body to shield her. "Let's start off with the easy ones first, shall we?" With his left hand by his side, his right-gloved hand flexing in and out his first thought was, Damn he's big! Regaining his composure, he swallowed slowly.

"First off, who in the hell are you, and how do you know our names? Further more how did you...do...what you just did?" Glancing over his shoulder, while trying to keep one eye on the man, he repeated, "How did he do that? Do you know him..."

“Jack, its okay, he’s an acquaintance of Ro’s, the one I told you might be able to help,” Meylor smiled at Jack and stepped from behind him, it was kind of sweet how he wanted to protect her. The problem was, he took it over board sometimes, “I believe this is Chezlar Khor,” grey eyes moved from Jack to the Changeling, “and if Relainia told me correctly, you only answer questions that you feel you can.”

The Prince of Inligh bowed slightly, a mysterious smile curving his mouth, “I am Chezlar,” he confirmed, “and Relainia spoke truly. I do not lie, but admittedly… my answers are not always clear. It is simply the way of things.” Straightening he regarded the couple in a way that said he already knew what would be asked, but being a creature of formality, was waiting on their words.

Jack's left arm slowly circled around Meylor's waist, pulling her closer as he looked into her eyes. Relieved to see them normal, and not steely grey he turned to face Chezlar.

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"So you're a friend of Ro, and you're here to help us, but your answers may not be clear enough for us to understand?" Chuckling softly, he pulled Meylor closer and smiled. "I guess I can live with that. I'm sure we have more questions than you're able to answer, so lets get started.” Placing three of his gloved fingers into his mouth he pulled his steel hand free and spat the old worn glove back into his hand. Tucking the glove under his belt, he held his hand out, palm down, fingers spread wide. The mirror like surface was smooth, almost glass like, yet it flexed as if it was made of liquid silver.

"Don't worry," Jack chuckled as he winked at Meylor, "it doesn't bite. She does though," and he ran his fingers up the side of her ribs in a teasing fashion.

"So...What can you tell us about my right hand?"

“The original was lost in a war,” the Changeling strange tri-toned voice filled the room in an almost distracted fashion, whirling pools of gold unfocused as he seemed to look straight through Jack Steelhand. “Fields of blood and death’s door… The one you bear now was a gift… Wizard Forged, though its true nature has eluded you for decades now. Your own fears blind you Jack Cole Steelhand, and only when you can see with truth seeking eyes, will you truly understand the blessing you have been given. Mortality is your decision Jack… when, where, how… grasp the reins before it is too late, or your blessings will pass you by.”

Meylor rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to shove her elbow into Jack’s side. She hadn’t bitten anyone, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about ripping a few people apart sometimes. An auburn eyebrow arched as the Messenger summed up the story of Jack’s hand her attitude changing when he mentioned mortality. Her back stiffened at the word, questions running through her mind.

Jack felt Meylor stiffen, but he remained unshaken to the fact, instead he simply nodded. "Well you're right for the most part, I did lose it in battle, and an old wizard gave me back its use with magic, which I might add I didn't ask for, but the last parts...the whole mortality, blessing thing. That went way over my head," as he glanced over at Meylor. "I wish the answers weren't so damn cryptic."

Scratching his chin, Jack stood there for a moment in thought. There were so many questions he wanted answered. But most of them seemed unimportant now. There was only one question that Jack wanted answered, and he wasn't afraid to ask it. He no longer cared why he was given the steel hand. He only knew he wanted to be by Meylor's side until the day he took his last breath.

To him that would be his blessing.

"Let's end this chase shall we? Meylor here is afraid she's going to watch me grow old before her very eyes and it’s tearing us apart. I keep telling her she's not going to get rid of me that easy," and he laughed. "So too set her, and my mind,

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at ease, just tell me how and when I'm going to die. That way there'll be no surprises and we can get on with our lives. You can do that, right?"

Glancing over to see if her eyes were changing, he asked, "He's capable of doing that, right? Those are the real answers were seeking, when and how I'll die? Right love..."

The expression on Chezlar’s features was amused, there was no question, “I am not a fortune teller, Jack Steelhand, I am a servant of the Fates. If I told you when or how, I could change the fabric of destiny. Perhaps… the question you should be asking yourself is not how, or when, but if. You have time for love, both of you do, and that is all you need to know. That is all anyone ever needs to know.” The Changeling winked at the human and smiled at Meylor before simply falling away in a shower of essence.

It seemed question period was over.

Jack stood there blinking as Chezlar left in the same fashion he’d come. Kicking himself for not get the answers he was looking for, he took a deep sigh and reached for the worn glove by his side.

"Well I guess that's about as good an answer as we'll ever get from him, or anyone else. The answer is not when but if, and that's fine with me. Now what say you love? Where do we go from here?"

Donning his glove he leaned in and kissed Meylor on the lips. "What say we find our daughter and tell her the news? Be it bad or good she has the right to know, don't you think?"

Not when, but if.

Those words tumbled through her mind in a constant loop, first in surprise, then in awe, and finally she savoured them like a fine wine. Auburn lashes drifted down, hiding the emotions in her eyes, a tear trailed down her cheek as a weight that had been holding her down for years lifted. Then she couldn’t breathe, which she promptly hit Jack for as laughter bubbled out of her. She could live with if. If was something she lived with and that their daughter lived with.

“I agree, though I think it’ll be good news.” Storm grey eyes danced with laughter, “As to where we should go?” Mey slipped her arms around Jack and looked up at him, “I think we should go home. I love you Jack Steelhand, and I’ve missed saying it.”

***

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He'd been in the middle of a long; much needed training session with his Guard when it happened. In fact, he and Daemon had been sparring, a spectacle that had drawn the attention of nearly everyone in the Pit and above it and bets were flying, started more than likely by Trevis Shakka. Sweat had soaked his black t-shirt down his chest and spine, his and Daemon's blood was splattered on his faded and tattered, but favourite, jeans, and his lower lip was split and swollen from a cheap, but perfectly understandable head butt.

As the first of the contractions started and An'Thaya's soul reached for his, Callan had been mid-leap backwards to save his abdomen from being split from side to side. As his feet hit the sand, he stumbled, almost landed on his ass, caught his balance and topaz eyes went wide as the Emperor shouted, "BABY!?"

Steel clanged against steel as Daemon's blades crashed into the ranger-sword and dagger Rax was fighting with and moss green eyes blinked, "Baby? I know neither of us have ever been picky about this, but I never wanted to skag you..."

"What?" Callan looked confused for a moment as he dragged his awareness to the locked blades, then kicked Daemon in knee with bone-crunching force, "NO! BABY! I mean, Babies! Tay! Twins!"

"GODS DAMMIT!" Daemon staggered and choked in pain, "Sonnofabitch!? Did you have to? GODS DAMN THAT hurt!"

"Callan." Old Atas pushed through the tight ring of now guffawing observers, "Why don't you stop blathering and GO for gods' sakes?"

"Go?" His Emperorship blinked, then the shock began to wear off. Callan glanced at Daemon and grinned broadly as his long-time friend, "Uhm. Sorry about that... well, okay, I'm not sorry, skag you. Now get a healer."

The blades were tossed to the sand and Callan turned and tore off through the crowd of Black and Silver Guards as Daemon gasped out a stream of curses in Black and Drow.

As Callan made his way through the Keep, servants were forced to dive to the sides of the wide corridors or at the least get shoved out of the way, at the worst? They were run over and left on the floor with a shouted, hasty apology. China dishes and metal trays crashed, linens exploded into the air, and behind him was a trail of destruction and reeling people, most of which were cursing their Emperor as badly as Daemonorel surely still was.

An’Thaya was waiting between two, large, flung open doors that led into their chambers, watching her husband’s progress up the hall with undisguised amusement. “You see,” she said to her abdomen, “Daddy has to make a big production of everything. He can’t do anything quietly, ever. You’ll learn to get

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use to it though, or maybe out ‘noisy’ him, you just never know.” She winced and leaned heavily against one of the doors, “the both of you have certainly inherited his impatience.”

In all honesty, the Amazon was just glad to be back ‘home’. The Keep had quickly become that for her during the first years with Callan, something that had surprised and pleased her. It was a fresh start, a new life, and she had loved every bloody, arguing, loving, laughing moment of it. Sure, she harped about the cold during the winter and Callan’s astoundingly thick head, but in the end, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

Except maybe the pool, at the moment, things were fast approaching ‘point of no return.'

Speaking of the point of no return, Callan skidded past Tay, came to a slipping, sliding stop as his boots lost traction on the polished floors, then his fingers caught the door frame as if it was needed to hold him up.

"Tay!?" A wild glance was cast around the corridor, "What...whatareyoudoing? Y...your water is about to break... the pool is in there, not out here. WALTER!" Callan bellowed down the hall, "WALTER! GET SOME SILVERS! I WANT HEALERS WAITING!" Then he stopped, peered down at An'Thaya, and drew in a deep breath, "How are you feeling?"

“Like I’m about to give birth,” An’Thaya said dryly, “how am I suppose to be feeling?” She grinned at him then and rolled her back on the door so she was facing towards the chambers. “It’s not like I could start without out you, now is it?” A hand waved dismissively down the hall, “I don’t want healers,” she muttered, “intrusive, pokey types. Just… help me to the stairs will you?”

Down the corridor, Walter's voice echoed back to the Emperor and his Empress, "Very good, M’Lady..."

"What? NO! She's... WALTER! Don't listen to her! She's out of her head! Get HEALERS... Just... Keep them down the Hall," Callan was yelling and pushing his hand in the air like he was waving them all off and telling them to keep their distance.

A faint, "Of course, sir," echoed back....

"Okay... deep breaths," it was unclear who he was talking to now, but that wasn't unusual.

"And I never mind when you start without me... its been a few months since you have, but... oh. You mean the twins. I should listen closer, shouldn't I?" Without

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pause, he rambled right into his next string of words, "Okay, help you to the stairs... let's go... wait. Stairs? Where are you having these kids?"

“The stairs in the pool idiot,” Tay snickered, “and who is out of their head? I’m not the one yelling like a lunatic.” Tired of waiting for help, she started across their bedroom towards the bathing chamber. The Amazon muttered something under her breath about males and sudden loss of IQ in any situation involving sex or a baby, paused to lean against the archway, the continued towards the steps, carefully balancing with one hand on the ledge as she made her way down. “Coming? Or do I have to do this all by myself?”

"Out of MY head?" Callan's long legs carried him to Tay's side in a few steps, "You said stairs. Stairs are when you have five or more steps. Steps are what the pool has, not stairs. I thought you were going to do that walking thing women do when they're in labour but try the stairs in the Keep instead."

Yes, he was babbling. It was keeping him calm.

"Alrighty. Here we are." One of Callan's strong arms went around her waist as he marched right into the water without bothering to pull off his boots, jeans or shirt. Life with Tay had proven there was sense in trying to have clothes off BEFORE getting in water. They just seemed to fall off or be ripped off in their own time anyway and he'd quit counting how many pairs of war-boots he'd ruined in the hot mineral laden water.

His mood suddenly sobered from gibbering, about-to-be-father to serious and concerned husband.

"How are you feeling?" The question sounded simple, but was full of secondary questions. Cal's birth had nearly killed Tay, and it had taken not only all of Callan's healing abilities to save her, but the power of Aerdon's Gaia as well, Sha'tris. Beneath the excitement and rambling, a real, deep concern was trying to turn itself into fear.

The Empress turned her face up to Callan as she settled into the water, fingers curling around the edge of a step as she smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine Ol’Shann, honestly, I’ve borne twins before and I feel perfectly normal, trust me. No tangled wings or upside down babies here.” She suddenly reached out and grabbed his leg, gritting her teeth through another contraction, “Just… really impatient kiddies.”

Letting out a breath of air the Amazon leaned her forehead against his leg, then pulled away and leaned back onto the steps. “I hope you’re ready,” she gritted out, “because they are.”

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"Do I have a choice?" Callan almost laughed and the sound came out as a slight snort, "You know, I almost wished you just laid eggs. I don't know how Elves and Humans take this live-birth thing over and over again. It’s nerve-wracking and damned dangerous. Sitting around, watching a bunch of eggs just sit there is much easier." A single dimple pulled in his cheek as he slowly peeled her fingers off his thigh and settled onto the step just below her, putting himself at eye-level with her. Callused hands that had ended more lives than they'd healed caressed her, one going to the small of her back to massage muscles tense from the strain of carrying twins and hurting from the onset of labour. The other hand curved around the smooth arc of her belly, then gently slid lower, touching her lovingly and in his own way, coaxing his apparently impatient children to join them out here, in a world filled with sound and light, colour and joy.

***

Loud laughter echoed through the corridors of the barracks shared by the Black and Silver Guard of the Black throne. Night had fallen, and two of the three shifts of the day were over. It was past midnight, and time for entertainment, dinner and relaxing for two-thirds of the Guard.

The laughter came mostly from the mess hall, while other sounds came from private quarters, the sounds of someone with their lover, or at the very least one of the hangers-on that looked on the Guard as prime material for a night of pleasure. For the most part, the Guard, especially the Black Kin, were more than willing to please. In the mess hall, various Captains, Lieutenants and common soldiers were either eating or throwing dice, or drinking.

Or, in Daemonorel's case, he was throwing dice whilst eating and drinking. Recent events had pushed the Black First Captain into an unstable state of existence, one that while understood, was explosive even by Black nature. Most here wondered how long it would be before someone in the room said the wrong thing, and triggered the violence that lurked just beneath the laughter and joking of the younger Ashev brother.

But then, most here wondered how long it would before anyone pushed anyone else's buttons, and a fight broke out. In fact, some had a running bet going on THAT. Gambling was as much in their nature as eating, drinking or hunting, as was anything that came with some sort of a thrill, no matter how fleeting. They were adrenaline junkies, every Black in the room, and a great deal of the Silvers were rapidly becoming addicted to a life where Rage was expected and even encouraged.

The sounds in the mess hall slowly began to cease though, and the silence began at the entrance of the dining area, and seemed to ripple back like a wave. Daemonorel had just poured a shot of off-world liquor and thrown the dice against the wall when the silence reached him. Moss green eyes followed a slow turning of heads to the doorway before he knocked back the drink, perhaps it

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was whiskey, perhaps rum, but whatever it was, it was far from ordinary, but then, he wanted to get drunk in a far from ordinary way.

"I'll be damned." was all he managed when he realised just who it was that was causing the sudden pause in activity.

A raven brow rose above jade eyes as Silverthorn surveyed the room for an instant, before walking inside as if completely oblivious to the eyes that tracked her every move. Not that she gave a damn what they thought. Behind her the low hum of conversation started up again, bets starting to change hands with surprising swiftness.

"Looking for something, elf?" a Black asked, the expression in his eyes blatant as they ran over the woman, lingering for a moment at her cleavage. Not that she was fool enough to think that that look meant anything other than 'lunch'.

"A bottle of whiskey, and an absence of you, perhaps?" came the cool reply, a feral smile curling her lips.

Well on his way to being royally drunk, Daemonorel poured another shot and held the glass aloft in a mock, silent salute to Silverthorn, then lowered it.

"Whiskey you can get anywhere, and anywhere else you'd be well away from him. Short and easy answers don't work here, 'Thorn." the drink was tossed to the back of his throat, "She's looking for something, boys. She doesn't know what." Moss green eyes settled on Silverthorn's but unlike most here, they went no further.

"Get her a full bottle, we've got plenty."

A full bottle of Master Stophecles best whiskey was set on the bar by the Black behind it, but no glass was offered. In fact, there were no glasses TO offer. Everyone here drank from the bottle, and the idea was, at least then there was only so much broken glass to clean up the next day if there were no serving glasses.

Slim fingers curled about the neck of the bottle, "but with such... convivial company, why would I go anywhere else?" she replied. Her tone was cool and faintly acidic, the expression in her eyes challenging. The Guard did not scare her, they never had. Of course, right now not much did. To be afraid you had to have some fear about your own mortality. Thorn had not feared death for millennia, had expected to die on somebody's blade long before this, and now... now she didn't care enough to be afraid.

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A wolfish grin crossed Daemonorel's face before he shrugged his shoulders and fell casually onto one of the many benches that filled the room on either side of each trestle table.

"I've heard us called many things, but never pleasant company, I'll say that for you, Is'iis, you're a walking suicide." The last was mumbled around yet another drink. Yes, he had a shot glass, but then, he'd brought his own drink and the glass for it. As for what he'd called her, Is'iis was a word in the Black tongue that referred to the legendary Isis of Terra, a woman unafraid to face death, and walk into the underworld for whom the second moon was named for. It also referred to a female of the Black kin, left behind by her bond-mate to deal with the Madness.

"Care to wager AND drink, or are you just here to... hang out?"

"And what would I wager on? The fact that before the night is out you'll see if you can persuade someone to help you commit the suicide you claim I'm looking for?" The elf raised the bottle to her lips, feeling the whiskey burn her throat as she swallowed.

Silverthorn studied him coolly. "Or maybe you already found it. A living death. Of course, you're not really living, are you? Just existing. It's nice and safe there in your little prison cell, isn't it?"

Daemon's shadowed eyes sparked phosphorescent as Silverthorn's words penetrated the thin veil of alcohol that had already started fogging his thoughts, numbing the pain, and the shot glass was slammed down on the table with a loud cracking sound as the First Captain half stood and leaned across the table, both hands flat on the table-top.

"I thought we'd discussed this already," Daemonorel's words were a near hiss, and the crowd of betting Blacks had started moving out of the blast zone, leaving Daemonorel and Silverthorn alone with their tempers, the shivering candles on the table, and their drinks. "So what? So. Gods. Damned what. If I like where I am?" His fingers, cracked and torn from spending more time in the Pit than even his body could take, curled around the neck of the bottle. He'd spent every waking moment either training with the Guard or alone. He'd put his body through more physical trials in such a short time than it had been designed by Flame and Chaos to endure and for what?

As long as there was pain, as long as there was a blade in his hand or something to burn, he was numb to the pain in his soul and the gnawing loneliness he'd found in the Gardens; for a little while, he could forget.

It was times like now, when he should be in his quarters, falling asleep, that he dreaded. In the silence of the night, his mind would drift and eventually, dreams would come; yet few were pleasant. Nightmares plagued his sleep and regrets

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whispered taunts at him. Yet, it didn't seem to matter how far he pushed himself, he couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd slept an entire night without waking up soaked in sweat from a dream he couldn't remember but left him gasping for air.

His head tilted slowly to the side, and he sank back on the bench. Softly glowing eyes flicked a fraction from her face and stared that the hearth on the wall just behind her, then went back to her face, "So," a sardonic grin slowly replaced the hatred on his face, "What's it like outside the cage? If it’s so grand, tell me about it."

"Discussed?" Silverthorn considered their earlier altercation in the Pit. "I'm not sure I would have used the word 'discussed' myself, but hey..." She shrugged, a mocking smile curving her lips.

"Is this curiosity I see? My my..." Perhaps she was a walking suicide after all, she mused idly, because there was something about the Black that grated on her nerves. She couldn't quite seem to stop herself from poking at what was obviously an open wound.

"What's it like out here in the good, clean air of freedom?" The raven-haired elf laughed shortly, "different. Not cosy and safe, that's for sure. On the other hand, at least I'm taking responsibility for my own actions. Nor am I allowing the past to dictate my present or my future."

"Curiosity? No. No, I'd call it careful control over my mood so you don't find yourself dead on the floor." Daemonorel growled out in a low mutter and began pouring a second shot of drink, "I'm trying to be polite. I understand it works well for other races, so I thought I'd give it a try for novelty's sake." The drink hovered in the air, held aloft by his fingers, the glass touching his lip as he eyed her, "You don't let the past dictate the present, or the future? What a joke." he gave a short snort of a laugh around the amber liquid in the shot glass, tossed the drink back, seemed to savour the taste on his tongue and let his eyes close, then swallowed.

"If that is so, then tell me," Moss green eyes slowly rolled open and a malicious, half-grin pulled up one side of his mouth, "Next time you go to Nenlante to visit alllll those kids of yours, are you going to just smile and wave at the new Queen, sit down and eat with Y'Roden, wish them all well? I don't think you will." The sandy-haired Captain leaned forward, "I don't think you can. It’s why people like you and I don't make good diplomats, kings or queens. We hurt because of the past, and we lash out in the present and future, because of it."

Daemonorel's eyes met hers and held their gaze, "And to try to tell yourself you won't let it affect you is to lie your way right back into the prison."

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"Perhaps I ought to try it just to see if I could get them to freak out completely?" the elf mused, a faintly vicious smile curving her lips. She suspected the S'Heans would be more than a little suspicious if she suddenly started playing nice, but the idea of seeing if she could unnerve them by smiling sweetly had distinct potential.

Then she gave a short laugh, "but you're right. I'd never manage it. Playing nice never really was my style."

Jade eyes met moss green. "On the other hand, even though the past makes us who we are, it doesn't have to rule our future. Not completely. If it does, not only are we being too stupid to learn from our mistakes, but it means people like Nargus win. I'm sure he'd be ecstatic to discover his victims were still letting him rule their lives even now."

Daemonorel let out a non-committal grunt, a sound that could mean anything really, and poured another drink. "I'm sure he is." the words were mumbled around the glass before the drink was downed. He was forced to admit, Silverthorn Badb Catha was one of the more... interesting... elves he'd met in his life. She was unpredictable, and unpredictable people were far from boring. She was, however, doing a fine job of keeping him off balance mentally and emotionally, while the liquor was starting to work the same trick on his equilibrium.

"So. If you're soooo... wise... Dr. Thorny," Daemonorel's dark grin slid carefully back in place, "What do you suggest I do? Get out and see the world?" He poured another drink, "get a couple or three hookers in my room? Dom and Rax think I should go level a city on some world no one here has ever heard of, you know, the whole, he needs to get laid and hunt thing? I'm sick of people trying to tell me how to... cope. I'm sick of being told, time will make it go away. It didn't, did it? It just looped on itself, and let me go through it. All. Over again." Amusement was turning to Rage, a slow burn in his blood that he relied on now to replace the empty parts of his soul, only Rage left him complete anymore, coupled with pain.

"What? Do you suggest?" Daemonorel held up his cracked and torn hands in a helpless gesture at odds with the venom in his voice, "Because I'm all out of ideas."

The 'Dr Thorny' crack made jade eyes narrow dangerously. "Well, firstly you could try getting your head out of your ass," she bit out. The bottle she held in her hand hit the bar counter with a distinct 'clink'. "Perhaps Rax and Dom are right. Perhaps you do need to go out and get laid, destroy a few cities, wreak a little carnage. Perhaps that will make it go away... for a time."

She stalked forward, bracing her hands on the scarred tabletop as she met his eyes, "but time doesn't make it go away, Daemonorel. It isn't some magic

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panacea. Time doesn't cure anything. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't know how goddamned annoying it is to be told 'well, it's been x number of years so isn't it about time you were coping with it'? The ONLY person who can do anything to help you is YOU. Because you're the only person who can come to terms with it. And no, it won't stop hurting, you won't ever forget, and there will always be a scar. Maybe you'd end up with something other than just that for your sole reason for living though. But then you don't want that do you? Living. I'm not sure you even know how to do that even if you wanted to. You're so damned afraid of living you died centuries back. You, Daemonorel Ashev, are a coward."

The crowd seemed to go quiet for several seconds when Daemonorel lurched to his feet and glared at Silverthorn. Behind him, the bench he'd been seated on toppled over with a crash that seemed overloud in the sudden silence of the room. Normally, the Black Guard would be galvanized, if someone marched in and began a verbal or physical assault on one of their own, but this time?

This time, Arianne Badb Catha was right. She'd only said what everyone else had been thinking and she wasn't speaking out of ignorance.

"I HAVE tried. I DID live with the scar for nearly two thousand years." He hissed out through clenched jaws, "So maybe I am dead. Maybe I LIKE it here. But maybe I DON'T and haven't got a single GODS DAMNED CLUE how to be anything but NUMB. Maybe? Just maybe you're right." His foot kicked back and sent the bench skidding across the floor with a squawking scrape of heavy ironwood on stone, "AND WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT!?" The onlookers gradually averted their eyes and slowly went back to whatever gaming, eating or drinking they'd been doing, but in quieter tones.

Glowing moss green eyes shifted to the defiant Arianne, "And why the hell do you care, Is'iis?"

Jade eyes ran over him from head to toe and back again, the expression scathing. "Do you know what, I really don't know," she replied, not backing down as he suddenly loomed up in front of her. "You want to find out what death is like before you even enter the shadows, go right ahead. Screw yourself. Just don't try to kid yourself that you're fooling anyone. You're not."

"I KNOW what death is like. I KNOW what its like to enter the shadows, and you want to know what?" Daemonorel leaned close enough to whisper, "I LIKED it there. I wanted to stay." His head tilted to the side as his nose almost touched her hair, "You call me a coward? Fine. But do you have any idea, how hard it is?" The Black's voice dropped to a low growl, "To stand this close to paradise, and have duty, honour, and loyalty," His fingers curved around her biceps but didn't touch her. Still, he could feel the heat of her body, and she his, so close were his hands, "force you to step away and be denied it?"

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He drew in a deep breath, "You can feel it, part your lips and taste it, the scent fills your senses, begs you to take that last step? And. You. Can. Not." Daemonorel exhaled slowly, his breath warm on her ear, "You're right. I want that." The sandy-haired Captain swallowed, "But I'm afraid to reach out and just take it. I'm afraid to go forward, and there's nothing for me behind."

Suddenly there seemed to be no air in her lungs. She could feel the heat of him he was so close, and a short, slightly desperate, inhalation brought no air, but merely the scent of him. Torn between conflicting instincts, she froze. "Yes," she whispered, "yes, I know. I know what it is like to walk through the shadows and know yourself to be at home. I know what it is like to want something so much it is all you can think about, and in the night it haunts your dreams. You can be so close you might almost be able to reach out and touch it... and yet you don't. Because of fear."

Her head turned slightly, her raven hair brushing against his cheek with the movement, "I do know what it is like to be afraid, Daemonorel. There are very few people who aren't afraid of something, and any man that tells you so is probably a liar. Everyone has their demons to fight, some more than others. But we can't turn back time. We can't un-make the past or ourselves. We can only go forwards. I call you a coward, not because you're afraid, but because you won't face your fears and try to fight them."

Daemonorel's eyes drifted half shut as the strands of Silverthorn's hair brushed his face, and he turned his head slightly, just enough to draw in a deep breath of her scent as the raven locks swung past his nose.

"I have fought my fears, Silverthorn, and I'm tired of the fight." His hands dropped to his side and Daemonorel's warm tenor held an undertone of weariness, like some tugging current deep in rough waters that threatened to drag one under. The Captain's murky green eyes closed as his head rolled back and he seemed to look to the ceiling as if the answers to all his problems were written there, and he swallowed, before letting out a deep breath. His gaze slowly returned to Silverthorn, "And I am faithless. I no longer trust the Fates, I no longer have faith in the Gods that wrought my kind."

And there it was. The real problem, not the symptom the fear was, but the true issue. Daemonorel was faithless. He trusted himself and his daily routine, and in such a compartmentalized life, he had control. And to keep control, he could not, would not, allow room for anything... or anyone... else.

The raven-haired elf sighed, shaking her head. "In that I cannot help you, for there isn't much I believe in myself. I have no real faith in Gods or the Fates, because every time they show up they just seem to screw up my life even more than it already is. If it isn't Nuuruhuine, it's Aedammair, and I swear one day I'm going to see if it's possible to kill a God simply because they keep pissing me off. Sometimes I think that even they don't really have all the answers." A hint of a

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smile tugged at the corners of her lips, "they just don't want to admit it. Omniscience is such a useful PR tool after all."

She reached out with one hand, taking one of his in hers and turning it palm up to show the scars and calluses of a hundred battles. "You can't keep doing this to yourself though, not and live. You're right, it's none of my business what you choose to do with your life, but if you keep pushing yourself and pushing yourself someday soon you are going to be dead. And for what? If it's just a training accident because you push yourself too far or you're just too tired to react properly then it just seems so goddamned pointless. And yeah, I know. People die pointlessly every day. That doesn't mean I have to like it, or that I wouldn't prefer to think that when it's my time to die there's actually a reason or that it serves some sort of purpose. It probably won't, but..." She shrugged slightly.

Daemonorel's first instinct was to jerk his hand free of Silverthorn's fingers, to snap out a retort that it was indeed none of her business how he spent his time. Instead, his fingers simply twitched a time or two in her grip, as if he were supremely uncomfortable with this entire situation, but hell bent to prove he wasn't affected by her touch, or afraid of letting her see the results of his time spent trying to forget so very much. A faint glimmer of a smile tugged at the Captain's mouth at the mention of Gods and Goddesses, "Ah, but you do have faith. You have faith they'll botch your life. I don't even have that anymore." The fledgling smile began to fade as quickly as it began, "I think they have their favourites, and the rest of us can simply fight and die, be forsaken... and forgotten."

He seemed to study the map of scars on Silverthorn's palm before his eyes cut sideways. In a room full of drinking and gambling Blacks and Silvers, they were all but forgotten aside from the occasional look from a Right Wing-Guard or senior Captain, and those curious looks came not from the younger members of the Guard, but from the elders. Madness was a natural reaction to a lost bond-mate, but also natural was the healing or eventual suicide. Living the moment twice, and dealing with the grief as long as the younger son of Ashev had was historical tragedy. The Badb Catha woman had just touched on something that had been becoming a growing concern not only for the Guard, but their Emperor. Daemonorel was pushing his body, mind and soul too far, too often, without giving himself time to heal, he was on a self-destruct path that could one day not only cause his death, but possibly that of those under his command. All it would take was one accident, one mistake, caused by exhaustion and a lack of clear thought, and dozens could die... at the very least.

A ragged spasm of indrawn breath reminded Daemon he'd somehow forgotten the simple natural instinct to breathe and once again, he fought the urge to pull his hand back, "So tell me, Is'iis," his eyes shifted slowly from her palm and strong, callused fingers to Arianne's eyes, "when two people face paradise, but are both uncertain, how do they take the next step?"

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Her gaze locked with his and, just for a moment, the elf forgot how to breathe. How the hell had they ended up like this? She had only been looking for an escape, for a place where, if only for a short time, nobody expected her to pretend or to even be on her best behaviour. A place where she could just be herself, without fear of upsetting or causing harm to come to the few remaining people she actually gave a damn about. This... whatever this was... had not been what she was expecting at all. Somehow Daemonorel Ashev saw through all the walls to the real her without even seeming to try, and that should have scared the hell out of her. The feeling of recognition, felt for the first time that day in the Pit, grew stronger. Somehow she knew him, and he her, in a way she couldn't quite explain.

Just two of a kind?

Maybe, but why then did she find herself struggling to catch her breath? Involuntarily her fingers tightened slightly, her nails digging into his palm as the rational part of her mind demanded to know what the hell she was thinking. How stupid could she get? She'd already fouled up each and every relationship she'd been in. Even her husband, the man who had claimed he would love her forever, had had enough of her in the end. Eternity was obviously not all it was cracked up to be these days.

Being attracted to a Black dragon as mentally screwed up as she was was dumb. To do something about it would be even dumber still.

Right?

Deliberately she forced her hand to loosen, her fingertips sliding over his skin as they started to pull back. "Perhaps it just takes both of them taking one small step forward," she said softly, "together."

For the first time since taking his hand in hers, Daemonorel's fingers curled around hers and halted their retreat. The motion seemed to come without warning, without thought or hesitancy and it surprised even him, though no expression on his face said otherwise. "But what if neither of them knows how to trust, and one of them lacks even a shred of faith? What then do they do?" The depths of the Captain's eyes seemed to ripple with dark intensity, like a dark light trying to pierce the murky depths of muddy green waters and his weight shifted slightly and the small distance between them shrank to little more than a mere fraction. He could smell the changes in her, the chemistry of her body shifting as the same emotions began to writhe deep within him. He could feel the heat rising to her face and hear the increase in her heart rate, and sense the same erratic breathing he too seemed to be experiencing, but didn't want to admit to.

Just how insane had he become? He had to ask himself as he fought the urge to lift her hand and slowly, very deliberately bite into the fleshy edge of her palm. He knew the circumstances of why she was no longer the wife of Y'Roden D’Riel;

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the rumour mill of the Keep was ever alive, ever seeking new grist. She'd had her soul ripped from his, torn away, and he'd died, only to be resurrected and find a new wife, and to most in the Keep, Y'Roden's actions had been tantamount to sacrilege. Daemonorel couldn't say he felt sorry for her, what she'd experienced was what his kind lived with on a day-to-day basis, but he understood.

She'd suffered grief, betrayal, shattered trust and a complete upheaval in her life. Promises had been broken, but then, why would they have ever been given in the first place? Life was no promise; tomorrow was no promise, why would anyone ever tell another 'forever'? He finally drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, he was tired of being numb, tired of being alone, tired of simply being alone, and while he didn't quite know what was possessing him, he wanted at least for one moment, to feel something again.

"How..." he cleared his throat slightly, "How do they take that small step, together, if neither of them can admit they want to find out what lies beyond the veil?"

Jade eyes had darkened, cat slit pupils dilating as Silverthorn felt her pulse start to beat wildly in her throat. It was hard to breathe, let alone think. "Perhaps," she said softly, her voice husky, "all it takes is a little bit of acceptance that life is rarely what you expect it to be. It isn't possible to predict, and there's always something around the corner that can send the world spinning off course again. All anyone can do is live in the here and now."

Giving in to the impulse that she had been fighting ever since his hands had closed about her arms, the raven-haired elf leaned closer. Her lips brushed across his as she murmured, "and of course, it also depends on how much you want something."

A sudden wild urge to bolt coursed through Daemonorel and the last of his need for control over the moment was burning off at a dangerously fast rate, and it scared the absolute hell out of him, but indeed, it all depended on how much you wanted something and right now? He wanted a good stretch of solid wall to shove her back against and not gently. A low, rumbling growl began deep in his chest as her mouth brushed against his, his grip around her fingers tightened roughly and the Black jerked her against him then curved her palm against his ribs. His hand covered hers completely, then slid it lower and under the soft black t-shirt he was wearing. His own fingers guided hers across the many scars that covered his and he felt something he'd not felt in centuries, and what he'd felt during his short and ill-fated association with A'Runa Charon had only been a cheap imitation.

What he felt went beyond simple, animal lust, beyond simple desire or passion of the moment fuelled by liquor. What he felt was what he'd thought had forsaken him. Fire, a slow burning Flame, intensely concentrated began to seep in his veins, a back draft waiting for the next breath of oxygen to give it life.

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"Then what if I told you just how very badly I want... this. You... Faith or no faith?" The words were a low spoken sound, half-Speech, half-mumble as he swallowed and kept his mouth just out of reach of hers. With the hesitancy of any wild, distrusting animal, he gingerly nuzzled at her neck just below her ear, then grazed his teeth across the throbbing pulse at her throat before sliding his nose up her jaw, "What if I told you just how very badly I want you to want the same?"

"And you think I don't? Gods, Daemon..."

She inhaled sharply as his teeth grazed across her skin; dark lashes half-closing as her head tilted, exposing her throat. The palm of her hand moved over his skin, curving around to the indentation at the base of his spine. He felt so very good beneath her fingertips, so very warm. The raven-haired elf's fingers flexed slightly, nails grazing over his spine. At the back of her mind was the awareness that they were far from alone, but if she had known his thoughts about the lack of available walls she would probably have shared the sense of frustration. The elven woman felt as if she was slowly going up in flames, and he was questioning whether or not she even wanted him?

"I'm not looking for promises or guarantees. I don't expect anything. But I do want you... Hell, right now it seems like the only thing I do know."

"I don't think 'want' is so much the question anymore," Daemonorel's eyes flickered a brighter shade of green at her words and his own words had a note of rueful laughter in them, "But regret and expectation are. And when you start making promises, Silverthorn, that's when you find yourself begging to be stripped of everything you care about, and as you said, you don't beg. Ever." An involuntary shudder rippled through him as her fingers explored the scars on his flesh. Her hands were that of a warrior, strong, scarred and callused; yet all the needs and wants of a woman were in her touch, and the curious melange that made her 'Silverthorn' was intoxicating. She was elven, that could not be denied, but within her surged a soul of Flame, Rage, Ruin and Chaos. She was deadly, beautiful, and irresistible to his kind, and now, him.

Daemon's own battle-rough hands curved around her waist, slid between her sleeveless leather vest and trousers and curved around the line of her waist. Unable to resist the need to taste her again, the First Captain uttered a low growling groan of frustration mixed with roiling lust then sought her mouth with his own. The scraping of his teeth across her throat simply hadn't been enough, and in some odd way, it had been too much, the final breaking of his will to turn away and say no.

As the taste of her filled his senses, his body began working on instinct and somehow, he felt the back of her thighs bump the edge of the table and through his alcohol and lust hazed thoughts, he heard the bottles rattle then topple over to spill whiskey and the off-world rum he was so fond of. Then, from somewhere in the crowd of Guard behind him, there was a low wolf whistle which came

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simultaneously with one of the elder Captain's open Speech, "Oh for Gods' sakes, get a damned room Daemon. No one here cares if we see you get laid, but I suspect your companion does."

Another choked growl rolled out of Daemonorel, he was almost to the stopping and going to his room simply wasn't going to happen stage, when some manner of common sense came over him.

"Is'iis," His whisper in her ear was ragged and his fingers seemed to working of their own accord to tug at the laces of her trousers, "I'd take you to the floor right now, right here," his hips ground against her, "but I also have a perfectly good floor in my quarters, and fine stretch of wall."

Jade eyes glazed over, a choked moan spilling from parted lips, and for a moment it seemed the elven woman hadn't even heard him. Desire fogged thoughts and willpower was slowly drowning under physical sensation.

Then his words registered.

An involuntary sound of protest growled in her throat even as she made a last grab for whatever brain cells she still possessed. "Room. Now," she gasped, "preferably before I stop caring about whether we're in public or not." Her hands ran up beneath his t-shirt, nails digging into the muscles of his back as her body arched into his.

Little was mentioned by anyone in the Mess Hall when Daemonorel Ashev and his unlikely companion left by way of a rare portal opened in typical Black fashion. The wormhole's opening in to the First Captain's quarters was something of a game of the legendary Russian Roulette... portals to and from anywhere other than the largest areas of the stone Keep were avoided as one mishap could close the portal and leave the person travelling it entombed in solid stone, an instant fossil and it was postulated death in this manner was excruciatingly painful, but also over in less than a second.

The portal zipped shut behind the pair with a slight sucking of fresh air being funnelled from the Captain's quarters and on it was the scent of rain. The doors to his sunledge had been left flung wide open, and through them, a late spring storm could be seen to the west. The towering anvil shaped thunderheads would flare from time to time with white, blue and coral light and the low rumble of thunder shook through the mess hall before the portal closed. There was a brief moment of silence as nearly every head in the mess hall turned to glance at the now vacant table and the dripping liquor, then came the sounds of people either paying up or calling in many of the bets made not an hour ago when Silverthorn had first walked into the room and from the groans of frustration, the odds had been stacked against what had just surely happened.

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As for the elder Captain, the Black's salt and pepper head never turned, he simply lifted a half-empty, green glass bottle of stout in a slight toast to the missing... couple and gave a soft snort of laughter around the bottle as he drained it, and made his way back to the bar for yet one more before calling it a night.

***

As the portal closed behind Daemonorel and Silverthorn, the Black uttered a low growling groan that resonated against the raven-haired woman's mouth before he tore free of their kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. Phosphorescent green eyes rolled open partially as he struggled to catch his breath and settled on the line of laces down the front of her vest and a slim black blade whispered from the heel of his palm and began to cut the leather one cord at a time as the fingers of the same hand curved along her body. His touch paused as his fingers settled on her breast and his thumb teased at the hard knot through the supple garment before moving on. As his fingers neared her waist, the last of the lacings split, leaving her vest partially open and the skin of her abdomen exposed to touch and sight then the blade of altered scale vanished back under his skin with a ripple of flesh and onyx black. His hands closed around her waist, then slipped beneath the shirt and slowly slid up her body with an exploring touch. She had almost as many scars as he did, albeit most had healed far better than his, and a sudden rough shove of his hands, accompanied by yet another rumbling sound, perhaps a growl, perhaps the thunder, had the leather pushed back to reveal her bare torso and the various straps and sheaths that held the concealed tools of her trade.

He paused, as if taking this facet of her in, then his fingers curled around the main strap before he pushed her against the nearest stone wall with a heated snarl. His booted foot slipped between hers and nudged her ankles apart as he pressed one knee between her thighs and brought it higher to press against the apex of flesh there. The assorted daggers and blades had done nothing but drive the fire in him higher and his palms moved up her ribs, over her breasts and came to rest flat against the wall on either side of her head as his flickering gaze met hers, and between them, there lay a silent demand to touch and be touched by someone who understood the hunger that lurked in their souls beneath the pain and darkness.

Breathing ragged, Silverthorn paused, trapped in his gaze, as her own hunger lay all too exposed in her own. A low sound caught in her throat, a shudder running down her spine as her hips lifted, pressing against his knee as if attempting to assuage the aching demands of her body.

Her heart pounding, she reached out. Callused fingers sliding beneath the soft material of his black t-shirt, pushing the garment upwards in an impatient gesture as she ran the palms of her hands over his ribs. Fingertips traced scars and explored muscle, learning the texture of his body with a need to touch... to feel... to know...

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Darkened jade eyes lifted to his again as her fingertips teased his nipples, nails scraping over his flesh just hard enough to sting as they moved down, over his abdomen to the waistband of his trousers. Her chest heaving as she struggled for breath, her pulse racing, her gaze met his, wanting to see his reaction in his eyes.

Shadows alternated with phosphorescence in Daemonorel's eyes at the feel of her touch as her fingers toyed with the twin copper disks on his chest, and her nails, raking down his skin caused the muscles of abdomen to spasm involuntarily. He had to struggle to not break her heated stare and let his eyes roll back as the sensations of her teasing seeped through him. One hand left the wall beside her head and covered hers once more and guided her fingertips to the buttons on his jeans then lower before he gave her open vest the final harsh tug that left it on the floor at her heels. A slow, shaking intake of breath accompanied the lowering of his eyes as he gave in to the urge to simply look at her, standing before him almost bare from the waist up. Gods. She was so warm, so very much alive; he couldn't resist pushing his hips forward in a blind attempt to feel the pressure of her touch against him.

A choked sound came from his lips as he brought his knee up and gyrated in an echo to the lifting of her hips, and he felt his other fingers finally leave the warm stone wall behind her and trace the lines of the straps that held the assorted daggers, "Tell me about these?" His voice was husky as he managed to speak and his eyes again lifted to meet hers, "Do you think you'll need them soon?"

"Well, I suppose that depends," the raven-haired elf replied in a throaty voice, "are you planning to do anything that might require me to stab you?" A hint of wicked amusement crept for an instant into the jade eyes that were dark with blatant hunger before the pressure of his knee brought a choked off moan to her lips, fire burning through her veins. She could feel his heated gaze like a weight upon her skin as it ran over her body, shivers of sensation rippling over nerve-endings.

Slim fingers eased the buttons free, gliding inside his jeans to caress him. Desire was like a drug, crashing through restraints and leaving only blind instinct. Every touch, every look only made the need stronger. Curling her fingers around him, her body arched into his with impatient hunger.

"I might." He hissed out as he thrust into her palm, "I suppose that all depends," his fingers slid from the straps to the back of her skull before twisting masses of silken black hair in his grip, "on what you think warrants stabbing me." A sharp tug on the laces of her trousers had the leather loosened and he pushed them down low on her hips before sliding his other hand within to stroke the folds of slick flesh there.

"Sometimes..." The word was a low, dangerous whisper, "I bite." his teeth closed around the heavily throbbing vein at her throat and squeezed just enough to

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cause the beginnings of low, writhing pain before his mouth moved lower and his next words were warm breath on one taut nipple, "Sometimes, a little blood gets drawn, or bruises get left behind." His fingers probed deeper, then teased the tender node of flesh between her thighs, "but a little bloodshed for pleasure is nothing to someone like you, is it Is'iis?" His tongue lathed the nipple he'd been so near, then began the suction, light at first, then heavier as her body responded.

A soft sound spilled from her lips, raven hair spilling over her shoulders as her head rolled back into his hand, her body arching as sensation washed through her. Heat pooled low in her abdomen, drawing hotter as his tongue teased the taut nipple. "As long as you realise I bite back," she gasped, writhing slightly against the hand that probed her body. Her fingers tightened reflexively about him, the movement unconsciously pressing her nails lightly against his flesh.

"Good." The word was partially growled, partially gasped as her fingers tightened involuntarily around him, "I expect you to." A sudden bright jag of lightning striking the plateau at the foot of the Keep illuminated Daemon's quarters with blinding blue-white light and the answering thunder rattled the open doors to the sunledge and rolled through the cavern that was his home. The pair would never make it to the large bed strewn with linen sheets and a quilt to ward off the late spring chill. Instead, Daemonorel's patience and desire to tease Silverthorn gave way to blind lust and need and the sandy-haired Captain hauled her roughly to the floor.

The impatient and near-violent removal of her boots and trousers was followed by his own t-shirt, boots and jeans being peeled off and cast aside, and before the next jolt of lightning stuck, he was on his knees, straddling one lean muscled thigh. Strong fingers closed around Thorn's wrists and pulled her hands to his scarred abdomen and forced her nails to dig into his flesh, then rake lower.

His skin felt hot beneath her fingers, her nails digging in to leave bloody crescents in his flesh before raking downwards. Her breath came in short gasps as she tore a hand free, burying her fingers in his hair as she dragged his head down. Their lips met in a hard kiss. "Of course, if you don't take me now, I may stab you out of sheer frustration." Her words were a husky growl against his throat as her lips trailed downwards. One knee lifted, pressing against his hips as she grazed her teeth over the pulse at the base of his throat.

A rumbling snarl rolled up from deep within Daemonorel's chest, and the temptation was there for him to simply draw the nearest dagger on her and invite her to do just what she was threatening and the sudden flare of glowing light behind the depths of his murky green eyes revealed just exactly what he was thinking. As the sound slowly died in his throat, his mouth and hers met and his weight shifted. Daemon managed to drag in one last harsh breath before lowering the angle of his hips and driving deeply into her without warning or further thought. His world suddenly shrank even further, and he was beyond conscious thought or action as the slick heat of her surrounded him.

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His hard invasion stopped only once he could push no further within her and he was forced to stop as the pressure deep within his own body threatened to uncoil. Silverthorn was like no other creature he'd ever lain with, and centuries had passed since he'd felt this sort of a pure Black lust for another, and every action and reaction the elven assassin had given had only fuelled the fire. Finally, after what seemed like an agonising matter of time, which in truth was only the span of two, perhaps three heartbeats, no more, he made a wild grab for some semblance of self-control, then began to move. There were no gentle motions, no tender words or touches, only instinctive, blind thrusts that came with the lowering of his head to her shoulder and his fingers pulling her tight against him. A low groan that ended in the moaned word 'please' came from him as her mouth drew near his throat, he wanted the mix of agony and ecstasy, the feel of her teeth breaking his skin, it was as natural to him as breathing, the desire to be clawed and bitten, and he'd gone so long without having that need satisfied.

Nails dug into his back, a low sound of desire warming his skin as her lips parted. Each hard thrust of his body sent sensation rolling through her, her hips rising to meet his in urgent demand as the tension coiled tighter. There was no thought, nothing beyond the instinctive physical need that drove her.

His groaned words sent a shudder running down her spine, her teeth grazing his throat. She could feel his pulse beating furiously just beneath the surface, the heat of the blood pulsing through his veins, and in the darker parts of her soul the craving to feel the taste of him on her tongue added its own sweet song to the temptations of the moment. With a hoarse exclamation, the raven-haired woman bit down.

A rippling shudder coursed through Daemon as his body reacted almost violently to the sensation of teeth piercing skin and choked groan caught in his throat. Blood, hot and near-black seeped from the wound and the Black Captain fought the sudden sharp pulse in his body, the demand for immediate release that was still gnawing at him. In response to the melange of pleasure and pain, black wings burst from his back and stretched high before their tips slammed down with a scrape of sharp claws on the rough granite floor. Black scale rippled down his spine and arrowed down from his navel and across his thighs and hips as he fought a losing battle for control over his actions.

As Silverthorn's hips bucked against him, his fingers closed around the back of her skull, holding her against his throat as sooty black scales feathered across the backs of his hands and he angled his head back and to the side to offer her not only the vein she'd found, but his entire throat and a great deal of his shoulder and chest.

Iron-rich blood burned as it ran over her lips, but the pain was lost beneath the white-hot tide of blind lust crashing through her. As the usually suppressed thirst for blood slipped its leash, her teeth tore almost savagely into Daemon's flesh. The nails of one hand drew bloody crescents in one muscular shoulder, as her other smoothed up the onyx scales of his spine before burying fingers deep in his

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sandy hair. They tightened to an almost painful degree, as if unwilling to let him move away even for a moment.

A low, oddly guttural cry caught in her throat. Tanned thighs pressed tightly against his scaled hips, the sensation sending shudders rippling down her spine, her body tensing as the tight coil of pleasure became almost pain as it built within her.

An explosive crack of pure white light slammed into the mountains nearby as the approaching storm brought the drops of heavy rain to the Keep, and in the echoing boom of thunder, Daemonorel's eyes rolled partially open to reveal fully phosphorescent irises as he felt his skin being torn and the blood flow. The low sound that never quite made it to Thorn's lips triggered the final breaking of his will over the increasing pressure building deep within him. As her thighs tightened against him, he jerked her free of his throat with a rough tug to her hair and then covered her mouth with his own.

The intense pleasurable sensations suddenly contracted to a single pinpoint at the union of their bodies and as the pressure built, without thought, his mouth tore free of hers and his teeth closed around the pulsing vein in her neck. Vice-like, he clamped down on the throbbing pulse, hard enough to slow the blood-flow, but not break the skin. The cut to her blood-supply would only intensify ten-fold the intensity of her release, which he could sense gathering deep within her body.

With a suddenness that left her gasping, the tight coil of need within her shattered. His name was a choked scream upon her lips as her body convulsed, ecstasy crashing through her like a tidal wave. Her nails scored his skin and grazed onyx-scaled flesh, her fingers clutching at him mindlessly as the world spun about her, the crack of lightning and rumble of thunder merging with the husky cries of release.

Daemonorel's jaws instinctively clamped tighter as her body suddenly spasmed and he tasted the coppery blood of an elf on his tongue. As her body shuddered and pulsed around him and a fresh wash of hot dampness surrounded his body, his own release slammed into him with one final violent thrust into Silverthorn's flesh. A long, ragged moan resonated against her bleeding throat as his jaws finally loosened and he gasped for breath as his hips continued to jerk convulsively with each sharp, almost painful throb of his own flesh buried in hers. If he cried her name or simply thought it, he wouldn't ever know for certain, but Arianne's name was there, in his mind as their bodies shared the ecstasy of mutual release.

Several long seconds ticked by before the spasms finally began to slow and fade, and his mouth sought hers in a kiss that mingled the taste of his own blood, heavy and iron-laden, with hers, coppery and tasting slightly of Drow and dark

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things. It carried with it a faintly bitter, saccharine taste, one he was very familiar with.

Saag’nii

His eyes slowly flickered open, many things he'd heard about this woman, this elf, were starting to prove true, and he was completely intrigued. The Vampyric races weren't shunned by the Black Kin, in fact, they were considered something of kindred spirits, if a bit wasteful in their eating habits.

And the general consensus was, once a predator, always a predator.

He drew his head back slightly and skimmed a look across her face before one hand lifted and his fingers gently pushed back a wayward lock of sweaty raven-black hair, "So its true then?" A faint smile tugged at one side of his mouth, "We aren't so very different after all."

Instinctively she had tensed as his gaze swept over her features, a hint of defiance creeping into her expression. The elven woman had spent centuries attempting to suppress what she was, only for it to escape in the worst possible way in the worst possible moments. It had taken a lot of pain and anguish to win the hard-earned self-acceptance, and now... Now after everything that had happened there was a temptation to just say defiantly, 'this is who I am. This is me. I don't care whether you like it or not. Deal with it.'

It was the smile that made her pause, biting off the sarcasm that threatened to spill from her lips. It was an expression she didn't think she had ever seen on the face of the Black before. "No, I guess we're not all that different," she said quietly, raven lashes lowering to partially shield her jade gaze as her head tilted into the unexpected gentleness of his touch. A hint of a wry smile curved her lips, "I did warn you that I liked to bite, remember."

"And I did tell you I expect it of you, didn't I?" His fingers trailed a line down her jaw and fanned out there as his thumb stroked her lips and the smile started to spread, despite his best efforts to keep it at bay.

***

Fechine sat on the edge of the bed, his emerald eyes fixed on the object he held in his hands. A chain so dark it seemed almost pure black until the light drew green hues from the metal trailed over his fingers, the black pendant in the stylized form of a raven swinging slowly backwards and forwards like a pendulum. The movement was almost hypnotic, and the chestnut-haired youth certainly seemed entranced, so lost in his thoughts that he was oblivious to anything else.

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There had been a lot of time for thinking recently, he had found. Here at the Crystal Keep there was little need to do anything else other than study and think, and in an oddly dutiful fashion that was exactly what Fechine had been doing. The previously out-going boy did not balk or protest; instead he just did as he was told quietly and with an air of self-containment that only disappeared around Meghan. Shutting her out had hurt her before. He would not make the same mistake again.

"I'm baacckk," Meghan's soft but cheerful voice carried through the luminous halls and into the room as the odd, translucent crystals she'd come to accept as 'doors' slid open diagonally in two separate halves.

"Annnnd, I think I have enough for both of us this time... maybe." Meghan's eyes were lowered, concentrating on the immense pile of food on the tray. Bread, Whispin 'cheese', fruit, and other items were stacked in a seeming random pattern that to casual glance seemed haphazardly piled together, but in truth had been arranged for maximum stability.

"And look!" Her concentration never waned, but behind her, two tall crystal mugs hovered, full of Mai’Tus juice.

"I think I finally have the hang of it..."

Her eyes lifted and fell on Fechine, and the mugs swooped dangerously toward the polished floor, then stopped only inches from a certain demise but dangled uncertainly as though they hadn't made up their minds just yet as to whether they wanted to crash or float.

"Orrr, if you don't feel like eating, I can come back later."

Emerald eyes had snapped upwards at the sound of the familiar voice, a smile hovering uncertainly about Fechine's lips. "Since when do I not feel like eating?" he asked the blonde elf-maid. "If I ever said I wasn't hungry, you'd probably ask me if I were ill."

The chestnut-haired youth reached around his friend, rescuing the two mugs before they could decide to complete their journey towards the floor. "You're improving," he continued. "Remember when you tried the first time? You ended up having to find out where Arminiea keeps the mop." The first hint of genuine humour crept into his voice. "I'd never really thought of a goddess needing to own cleaning implements before."

Meg's laughter had a relieved sound buried deep in the musical tones as she looked up and realized Fechine was a dinner-plate's distance from her, and her cheeks suddenly felt more than a little warm.

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"Yes, well," the elf-maid's head ducked as she slipped around him, "Perhaps we should invite Thermax, the goddess that showed up at Mira's wedding, to come here, aye?" Meghan carefully set the over-laden platter on the table then settled into a chair before grinning up a Fechine, "Its not the moving things that's so hard anyway, its the moving them like I want them to that's the problem." Nimble, delicate fingers plucked a fat purplish grape from the stack of food. The entire pile threatened to collapse and her brows furrowed. The teetering mess seemed to shudder, then simply stayed put.

"See! I knew that would have a practical use," Meg finally shifted her concentration back to Fechine and her voice took on a more serious note, "So, I wasn't... interrupting any deep thoughts?" The question was Meghan's way of asking her friend what he'd been thinking about, how he was feeling, if the cloud on his soul was lifting. So many concerns and questions went into that one query, yet if he chose to answer vaguely, Meg would understand and push the topic no further.

"Deep?" A short laugh escaped him. "Deep, no. Persistent, definitely." He gave his friend an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Meggie. I know I've been a wet blanket lately. I don't mean to be. I try not to be. It's just sometimes the memories seem to sneak up on me no matter how much I try to keep them at bay."

Emerald eyes grew distant as he spoke, yet for once he did not stop talking, instead the words began to spill out of him as if a dam had been breached deep inside. "It was so very dark there, you know. A land of perpetual night. I think that's one thing that's stayed with me the longest, the almost claustrophobic feeling of the darkness pressing in on top of me, and it was cold... so cold. At one point I started to wonder if I would ever feel warm again. I just... I just wanted to come home."

His voice broke and the chestnut-haired youth looked down at his hands, clenching them tightly together in his lap. The chain of the pendant bit deep into his fingers as he did so, but he seemed oblivious to that small pain. "I hate her so much. She would laugh and smile, and for a moment the room would seem the brighter for it, but there was always this bitter taint. Yet in a twisted way I was almost glad that she was there, because if she was with me then she wasn't with Rhagi or Caolan or the Blackthorn twins and that seemed worse somehow. It was bad enough what she was doing to me, but the idea of her going anywhere near them. They were only five or six, for Arminiea's sake! What sort of monster would take them away from their homes at that age at all, let alone..." He shuddered.

Meghan had been in mid-chew with a mouthful of sweetbread when Fechine had continued on and the motion of her jaws stopped entirely and her eyes went wide for a moment, then dropped to the table. Fechine was so very dear to her, in so many ways that she couldn't express, yet to continue simply... looking... as the words spilled out, seemed wrong somehow. Finally she managed to swallow the

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bread half-chewed and coughed slightly as it hung in her throat before going down.

Without a word, the elf-maid eased to her feet, as if any sudden moves might make him stop talking, and closed the distance between them to stand beside him, then gently put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him to her.

"Fechine..." his name was a choked sound, and in response to his emotional turmoil, hot tears began trickling down her face.

He pressed his face against the elf-maid's shoulder, his own tears streaming unheeded down his cheeks. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm so sorry. I couldn't talk about. It made it seem too real. I could see her and hear her and..." Wrapping his arms about Meghan's waist, he held her as if she was the only thing anchoring him to this reality, the only thing holding his nightmares at bay. "She made herself look like you, you see. She made herself look like you."

"Like... me?" The last word came out in a choking, coughing sound of astonishment and profound sorrow. As she felt the front of her shift grow damp from Fechine's tears, her chest began to spasm with her own sobs. "Ohhh, Fechine... I'm so sorry. I didn't..." more sobs broke her words up, "know. Ohhh, and I just had to make things worse for you right after you came back, didn't I?"

"No. No, you didn't." He looked up, emerald eyes horror-stricken as he reached up to cradle her jaw in the palm of his hand. "You didn't make it worse, Meggie. I swear. I know I was weird at times, I couldn't seem to help it, but none of it was your fault. You couldn't have known. I didn't want anyone to know. The whole thing just made my skin crawl. You're my best friend, and then she was using that, twisting it into something... warped."

Fechine's fingers brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her indigo eyes. "In a strange way you know me better than anyone else. You're my friend, my closest friend, and..." His words fractured, but he plunged on, determined to make her understand. "I need you, Meggie. I trust you more than anyone. I'm doing my best to get past this, to make things right, but I don't think I can do it on my own. Not entirely. Will you help me? Please?"

Meghan's blonde head nodded slightly once, then twice, then she sniffled loudly. "You never had to ask. Of course I will." Her head nodded again, this time with more energy, "This is just too big to carry alone, it's going to take both of us." Her forehead lowered to the top of Fechine's dark head and her fingers tightened into his shirt and at the back of his neck.

"Look at it this way..." Meghan choked out, "She used me to try to hurt you... its only right you have me here to help get you free from her."

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***

“Eggs,” An’Thaya resisted the urge to smack Callan upside the head, and he was likely saved by yet another contraction that wracked the small woman’s body. “Eggs are… impersonal,” she growled, “there is nothing that compares to…” she paused to clench her jaw, then breathe, “feeling life grow inside of you. I’ll take live birth to popping out a half formed baby in a box any day… thank you.”

She relaxed slightly as Callan’s fingers worked the tense muscles of her lower back and she reached over to touch his hair, the best she could from her reclined position. “Admit it, you love it too. There is something about bringing a living, breathing little person into the world that nothing else can match.”

She let her head fall back and fell silent for a moment, breathing through several close and hard spasms. “But then… I’m just glad to be doing this at all…” They had come so close to losing everything… but here they were. On the brink of being parents yet again, and she couldn’t help the slightly hysterical grinning laugh that proceeded a sudden jolt upright. “Mind you… I don’t see why the process has to be so Gods damn painful…”

"There's nothing wrong with eggs," A mock-indignant tone filled Callan's voice, "I don't care what S'Hean's think. I mean, I was hatched from an egg and look at me, and eggs are fun. They have personality; they move around too, they just don't threaten to split their mother open like some weird alien in the birthing process. I swear, I don't know how Human children are born without a sexual complex." Okay, maybe he was making all that up, except the part about him being hatched from an egg, but anything that might distract Tay or make her laugh was just fine. As the contraction faded, his fingers cupped her chin and he leaned in to press his forehead to hers.

"It doesn't matter how they get here, they're still a miracle... and you're right, I love being able to be here, with you, with them, at this moment."

Tay’s laughter was breathless and she closed her eyes, breathing in the reassuring scent of him, the feel of him near. She never wanted to be without him, without that scent or the solid presence Callan exuded whenever he walked in a room. There was so much joy here… they were connected in ways so deep both were still discovering the intricacies of it. And Tay… she was no longer woman and dragon, but both, merged into one, a complete being that loved with all she had to give.

A gasp betrayed the beginning of hard labour and Tay turned her head, brushing her mouth against Callan’s cheek. “It’s time,” she whispered, quietly grateful that this time, it seemed, she was going to be fairly lucid for the entire event.

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"Okaaay." The word was quietly spoken, and Callan realized for the third time in his life just how helpless a father was during the birthing process. At least with a hatching both parents could help things along if one got stuck or couldn't break free. But this? This left him feeling stripped of all power.

"Do I need to tell you to push, breath, scream, or any of that goofy lamas stuff Terran yuppies do? I personally think they do that just to distract the dad, but hey. If it helps, I can try it."

As he spoke, the waters of the bathing pool seemed to glimmer with gold. Like fish, shards of light slipped through the waters, Sha'tris would not be left out of the birth of these children. They were S’Hean as well as Kin, and needed the presence of the Gaia there to have grounding to the land, and in the absence of the emerald Aethyr, golden Sha'tris would work just fine.

“Knowing humans,” Tay laughed through the pain, “Its to keep the father from passing out cold. Just shut up and catch, big guy.” Closing her eyes the Amazon let herself sink into the presence of Sha’Tris, a presence she welcomed almost as much as the Aethyr of her own world.

She may have dug her nails into Callan as their second son made his way into the world, but Tay was too busy preparing for their daughter’s entrance to really be paying much attention.

"Catch? Easy for you to say!" Callan's big hands caught hold of the slippery, wriggling baby boy and lifted his head above water, then began the process of clearing his mouth for that first breath. As his daughter entered the world, a second set of hands caught her. Golden digits made of smooth water lifted her from the warm waters and caressed her forehead.

"An'Thaya... You're looking much better than the last time I helped the two of you with this process. You're children are strong, as are you. I am glad." Sha'tris settled on the opposite side of An'Thaya on the steps and offered the Amazon her daughter, "and Callan looks much less likely to pass out this time. Congratulations."

“Well you know,” An’Thaya said a little breathlessly to the Gaia, “practice makes perfect, and thank you.” She settled her daughter in the crook of her arm and smiled helplessly, “Dagar Tay’La,” she murmured before looking up at her husband the newborn Th’Rax. They had made it… all of them, and she couldn’t have asked for more.

***

Thunder from a close crack of lightning shook the ledge and rumbled across the sheer mountain face the ledges of the Black Guard were situated on. The

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sporadic flashes of light illuminated the deep gorge that ran along the base of the mountain and wound its way along the edge of the plateau. The glittering thread of silver far below the carpet of evergreens and scrub brush that clung to the rocks was but one of the larger rivers that flowed from beneath the Keep and was fed by snow-melt.

This time of year, the river was little more than a series of raging rapids and foaming water, and was also something of an attraction to younger Blacks and even some Silvers who had claimed the Keep as 'home'. It was wide enough and deep enough for the thrill seekers to 'ride' the rapids... in whatever form they were brave enough to attempt it.

"Its a hell of a view at sunset," Daemon's speech filtered to Thorn as his eyes slid across her wet body before he walked to the very edge of the ledge and peered down, all the while fighting the urge to shiver from the cold rain. Blacks didn't deal well with being chilled, and it didn't take much for them to get cold being the desert lovers they were.

"The sky looks like fire-corals as the sun sinks past the mountains, and if you look hard enough, you can catch a glimpse of the Sand Sea beyond here."

"It's a hell of a view whenever," Silverthorn murmured, looking out across the landscape. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back to feel the cool rain on her face. Water trickled over her tanned skin, dampening her raven hair and washing the blood away from the wound at her throat.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the night sky and her eyes snapped open. The primitive splendour of the storm-lit sky appealed to something deep inside of her, something that made her heartbeat faster and adrenaline race through her veins. Exhilaration shone in her jade gaze as she stood there on the very edge of the ledge, stretching out her arms as if embracing the night, and wondering what it would be like just to let herself fall, to feel the air rushing over her.

Despite the cold, Daemonorel felt his body react almost painfully to the sight of Silverthorn, standing there, illuminated from time to time by silver light. In the after-image, Daemon's thermal sight saw her outlined in warm blues, pale yellow and hot white as his senses combined to rake across her body. She was a predator, violence and malice contained beneath a skin of cool precision and calm, but a black flame, coming to life almost as he watched. The Arianne he'd known was a Queen, once assassin, a hunter forced by her love for Y'Roden to try to become a politician, not the killer she was born to be.

And to watch the change in her was stirring a change in him. Life was returning to his veins.

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His head tilted to the side as his body turned and one, then two silent steps had him standing behind her, his nose almost against her dripping locks of raven-black. The heat of her skin could be felt between them, and his flesh barely grazed against hers as his lifted his head from her hair and peered over her shoulder, "I thought we were through with standing on the edge, merely wondering how it feels?"

He'd known the look on her face, and knew that while both of them had their own means of flight, the thrill of just... falling... was hard to resist.

And despite having wings, the fear of falling was a very real one, for many reasons, not just physical.

"I know how it feels," she said softly, "we both do. That moment before you shift, before your wings catch, when the air's rushing past you and there's just that brief moment when you could just. Let. Go."

Her arms dropped down by her side, the elf leaning back against him. "Can anyone who has lived their life on the edge ever walk away from it? Completely and utterly, I mean? Because all the time there is that fear of falling and yet, at the same time, that fear is part of the reason for the adrenaline that races through your veins... and there is a something about that that makes you feel alive."

In her eyes as her head turned to glance over her shoulder at him was the exhilaration of the storm that still sang through her veins. "What fun would the hunt be without the challenge of not walking away from it? To stalk the weak is one thing, and fear has a lot to be said for it, but the real entertainment is in breaking the strong."

After a long silence where a brief flicker of memory raced though his mind, breaking the strong, he felt a malicious grin pull at one corner of his mouth as he angled his head slightly and let the opposite side of his mouth brush against hers. He'd been the strong, and in the end, hadn't been broken. He'd spent the rest of his life doling out something of universal paybacks, and had loved every moment of it.

"I can't deny that," His hands slid to her waist, "But even more exciting, is the fear of the strong, as they're broken. Though, to lead them to the point they're being broken willingly, and begging for more? That is perfection in the hunt."

The wind eddied around them in a low whispering howl, bringing with it a sudden shift in the sheets of rain and tugged at Silverthorn and Daemon's wet hair, "And no. The hunger of the hunt never leaves you, not once you've truly felt it, and fed it. It merely lurks beneath the surface, constantly gnawing, constantly making demands on your mind," His palms slid down her abdomen and the sculpted

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junction of hip bone and pelvis and his fingers slowly spread to fan out along her inner thigh. The backs of his thumbs rubbed against the outer edge of her flesh and heat, the kind that was given him as a gift from his goddess, the heat of Flames, seeped into his touch.

"And flesh."

Silverthorn's breath caught, a softly betraying hitch as warmth seeped into her rain-chilled flesh. "Yes." The word was little more than a breath of sound murmured against his mouth as her lips brushed against his, the cool rain that ran down his face overlying the taste that was uniquely Daemonorel.

An elegant hand, the fingertips callused from millennia of combat, slid down his hip, curving around his thigh. "The hunger gets into your blood, until it is in every beat of your heart, until it's part of who you are... and to deny it is to deny part of yourself." She flexed her fingers, letting her nails graze his skin, tracing the muscles that lay beneath.

"We are too much alike, you and I," Daemon muttered against her mouth before he nipped at her lower lip, then brought his warm hands back up her body. Every curve, every scar, every subtle texture of skin was studied, traced beneath his fingers as he made his way back up her form.

"Both of us waking from being dead for too long, both of us predators, loving the feel of prey beneath our hands, both of us hungry, and neither of us willing to seek that which we need to feel whole again." His mouth wandered lower, and settled over the clean wound at her neck, and his tongue ran over the torn and bruised flesh before he sucked gently at her throat in a place yet undamaged.

"I know you, and I know the hunger," His eyes lifted to her profile, and his fingers went to her jaw to turn her head, "And I don't know why I'm just now realising it, but I've missed it. I've missed you." He swallowed, completely unsure why he had said that. How could he miss her, when he'd only been near her a handful of times? Tonight was only one of two times he could ever remember being alone with her. The Pit had been the other.

Raven lashes drifted partially shut, veiling jade pools. Beneath his hands her body arched slightly, stretching in a manner that was almost feline, a low sound catching in her throat as he sucked at it. At his words, her lashes flickered, lifting. In the depths of her eyes was surprise, perhaps not so much at his words, but at the fact that he had been that painfully honest. He had shut himself off so thoroughly, locking the prison door behind him and damn near throwing away the key. To hear him admit that he missed anything outside those walls was almost shocking. Perhaps not so shocking as his final admission, however, and yet...

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"It takes one to know one, remember? You said it yourself that day in the Pit." Turning slightly, her hand reached up to cradle his jaw as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his. "I know you as well as you do me, and I don't know why I hadn't realised it before then, but it's still the truth."

"Maybe both of us were blind, thinking we were in the place we should have been?" His feet shifted on the soaked stone of the ledge and his rain-slick chest pressed against her back. A soft, nearly inaudible sound welled up within him at the sensation of warm skin, dripping wet, against him. "Too proud to admit where we were was wrong, and fighting too hard to remain where we both felt safe?" His mouth moved from hers as he nuzzled past her dripping hair to her ear and there his nose explored the outer arc and intricate design of her pointed elf-ear.

Within him, emotions were swinging wildly from something close to fear to relief with every word he spoke. He'd had a year, almost, between his first encounter with her in the Pit until tonight, and while he'd been aware of what she'd said then was truth, he'd simply not wanted to contemplate it. Anger had been the easiest way to deal with the truth.

Why then tonight? Why was he willing to admit now that he'd willingly denied what he was? Somehow, he didn't think he'd be able to blame to alcohol intake from earlier, especially since the cold rain had done a fine job sobering him completely.

"Sometimes pride is all you have left," she replied quietly, her eyes closing as her head tilted slightly. A soft sound escaped her as he nuzzled at her ear, a slight shiver running down her spine at the feel of his warm breath on the sensitive skin. "And if it is all you have left it's damned hard to give up, if it's the only armour you still have, the only thing stopping everyone else from seeing how you really feel, but that doesn't mean it can't also be nothing more than cold comfort."

The raven-haired elf sighed, a quiet breath of sound all but lost amidst the crash of nature's fury. "I may lie to others on a regular basis, but I try not to lie to myself. Perhaps I was though, or perhaps I simply didn't want to admit the truth because that would have meant facing other unpleasant truths as well. In the end though, it isn't possible to run forever, and you sure as hell can't run from yourself. I can't pretend to be someone or something that I'm not, and as painful as the process of admitting that was, it's nowhere near as painful as trying to be someone else... and failing. It's odd though that, despite everything, just making that admission is... liberating. To actually just turn around and say 'this is me, this is who I am' and stop trying to be anything else."

"Why do we do that? Try to change, try to be something other than we truly are, for the sake of polite company?" Daemon muttered as his nose slid down her ear, and his eyes watched the outline of her profile, "I know that feeling, trying to be something else, for someone else, and I know the look on her face when my true nature surfaced, when the pleasure of watching the weak die beneath the

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Flame and Chaos of a battle long past reminded me of what I really am." His cracked and bloody fingers closed around Silverthorn's upper arm as he slowly turned her to face him, "I remember the shock on her face, the disgust in her eyes, and even then, she thought I was a pet, to be petted and calmed. And I remember the cold hate I felt for her then, and for myself."

Moss green eyes flickered both with true phosphorescence of emotion as well as reflected light from the brilliant shards of lightning and seemed to focus on her mouth before drifting to her eyes. Rough fingers curved along Arianne's jaw and slipped down her neck before sliding under the masses of soaked, raven hair to tighten at the nape of her neck while he traced the lines of scars and sculpted muscles down her arm, then ribs and abdomen with the fingers of his other hand.

"And what sort of love is it, that we have for another, that we think we have to change, to be something other than what we are, even though the other never asks it of us?"

"Not one that can survive."

Raven lashes lowered, partially veiling her gaze, a shiver rippling across her skin as callused fingertips traced the evidence of a life in which only death, violence, pain and loss had remained true constants. Within the darkness there had been moments of light, of love, of happiness, but within a life that had already spanned more than three and a half millennia these seemed so fleeting as to be mere dreams.

"Sometimes there is no one to blame, people grow and change, time and circumstances see to that. They don't always grow in the same direction. Instead they find themselves trying to become something they're not because they feel they have no other choice." Her voice was husky, her lashes lifting slowly. "But there is. There has to be. If someone doesn't love you for who you really are, how can it be love? And there is nothing more soul-destroying than to try fit someone else's preconceived notions of what is appropriate."

The last was almost a low growl, sharply bitten off. Jade eyes flashed with remembered anger. "I will NOT do that again. Ever. And anyone who doesn't like it can just get screwed.”

A twisted, almost wicked grin curved up one corner of Daemon's mouth and a short, soft snort of warm breath blew against her skin. The Captain's quiet laugh was lost in the rolling boom of thunder and the sheets of rain that drove against the stones and splattered over their skin and at their feet.

"And which is it you will not do again, Is'iis? Fall in love, or mould yourself to someone else’s expectations?" His fingers lifted to her shoulder and the tip of his index finger brushed the still-open bite wound there, then the angry red halo

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around it that would be a purple and deep crimson bruise by daylight. His grip released her almost suddenly and he took a step back, angled his head up, and let the cold rain wash over his face and the bloody marks that were now clean, then raked his fingers through his own dripping blond hair.

"I don't know about you," Black wings sliced through the skin on his back as he turned and started back inside his quarters. The leathery appendages stretched over his head and stretched wide before spreading out like a makeshift umbrella. His words and steps paused as he twisted his head slowly and deliberately to let his neck and back pop, then gave her a dark, lopsided grin from over his shoulder, "but I'm tired of being cold."

"Oh, I don't know. It can be kind of refreshing." The elf looked up at the stormy sky, enjoying the crisp, clean feel of the cool rain upon her skin. After the near constant heat and humidity of Whispin it felt like a breath of fresh air to a woman born and raised in more temperate climes.

She raised her hands to her head as she neared the doors to his chamber, tanned fingers twisting the dark, wet mass of her hair between her hands. Water dripped onto the granite floor. The bite mark on her shoulder ached with the movement; somehow, she suspected it would hurt a damn sight more come morning. Oddly, she couldn't seem to bring herself to mind. Red marks from Daemonorel's talons scratched across her torso, bruises from his hard grasp marked her flesh, and yet the sting only served to remind her that she was alive. Eventually the shadows would come, Nuuruhuine always came to claim her own in the end, and she could hardly deny that she was one of the Phantom Queen's chosen anymore, for all that the Goddess often aggravated the hell out of her.

A whisper of memory, almost forgotten, tugged at her mind. I am there at the beginning and at the end. As I guide my children into the world at their birth, so I guide them out of it upon their death... and that death will be one of my choosing. The smile that curled her lips was without humour and distinctly cold. Somehow she doubted any death of the Battle Goddess' choosing would be one of serene tranquillity.

"I was referring to not moulding myself to the expectations of others," Silverthorn said coolly, walking further into the room, "but as to falling in love... I'm not sure that any of us choose to do that. I've seen too many instances where people would have chosen quite the opposite to believe the head always rules the heart."

"And Iiii wasn't referring to the weather," A warm, large towel was launched at the elven assassin and landed across her shoulder and part of her head as Daemonorel scrubbed at his hair and worked to get dry.

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"Flames erupt where they will," He nodded as he spoke the words of Brighid herself, "And they live where they will, and go where they will, and if you're lucky, someday, they find you."

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Chapter 13

Dante' had been human only a matter of years, yet he was learning quickly. Rich brown eyes scanned the little cabin where he and Belle had spent time together before the sickness had came, and it was here they'd come close becoming lovers in flesh, not just at heart. Yet something had changed in that moment, when they'd agreed to wait, and he didn't know what. The feeling had only increased to a near awkward feeling around her, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if he was keeping someone against their will. It wasn't just the sickness... and he'd known it the day the land and Belle had been healed. He'd been profoundly grateful she'd recovered; yet now that time had passed, it was time to breach the silence that lingered between them, that hung heavily between each word when they talked.

"Belle?" His voice was soft as he started up the steps to the porch, "Are you here?"

There was nothing but silence for a few moments, then the sound of movement within the cabin and the door swung open. The tiny redhead paused, leaning partially on the frame as she looked up into Dante’s gold-flecked brown eyes. “Dante,” the elf smiled and stepped back, “come in, I was getting something to drink… would you like some Mai’Tus juice?”

The inside of the cabin was cool, shaded from the heat of the Whispin suns. It was a comfortable… comforting place, with much of Belle about it.

"You know? I think I would." Despite his misgivings, Dante' felt a smile come to his face as he stepped inside and peered around, "This is a new one, isn't it?" Dante' nodded toward a green, leafy plant in a clay container. A long stem held pale pink, bell shaped flowers similar to Foxgloves at the top.

"I don't remember it... but... I don't think I was really looking at your flowers the last time I was here." The Human cleared his throat and felt his ears grow unusually warm as he looked at Belle, "Mai’Tus... yes, thank you."

“Mmmhmm,” Belle answered as she filled two glasses and brought them over to a table in the centre of the room, “It is.” She was blushing, the memory not lost on her either, but mostly it was hidden behind her hair as the slight woman slid into a chair. “Have a seat. I’m … uhm… I’m sorry I sort of… skipped out on you. You’ve been so kind to me and I just…” She sighed and took a slow sip from her glass. “Have you ever been torn between two things you really want?” Her gaze fell, apparently greatly interested in her fingers that were twisting restlessly together in her lap.

You've been so kind to me, the words seemed to echo in his mind; they weren't the words of a lover, or even, in some way, those of a close friend. Dante' forced

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a smile to his mouth as he settled in the chair without realizing it and took a drink of the juice, while studying the tabletop. Had he ever been torn between two things he really wanted?

"Belle..." her name came out in a slightly helpless tone, "I... no. At least, not like I think you mean, but I suppose in a way, yes. Flying or walking." He swallowed and cleared his throat, "The choice was mine to make, and at the time, I was lead to believe to choose one was to forsake the other entirely." He stared at his fingers on the table without really seeing them, then looked up, focussing on her face. A lopsided, weak smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he forced the words out that left him numb, "It's Argent, isn't it?"

A hot tear splashed onto Belle’s fingers and her head suddenly felt as if it were made of lead. She couldn’t seem to lift it to look him in the eye. “Dante,” her voice was tremulous, heartbroken, “you don’t understand… I love you, I do, so much, but…” she forced her head up to look at him, full of pain, full of regret. “I loved him first, and I guess I never stopped… I don’t want to make a choice, I don’t want to let either of you go… but that isn’t fair to either of you.”

Dante's head rolled back and the former war-eagle stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were burning, and he knew why, but refused to let the tears flow.

"No, I do understand, Belle." His throat moved as he swallowed hard, "I had to choose between flying as an eagle, or walking as a Man." Rich brown eyes met hers as he returned his gaze to her tear streaked face, "and that's what you have to do. Choose between flying and walking... and... If Argent is the one that gives you wings, then he is where you should place your heart."

Somehow, the gentle words made it worse, and Belle nearly fell to pieces right there. He was right though, and she knew it, somewhere… deep down. Hanging on to Dante would just hurt him in the long run. The kindest thing she could do was let the ex-war eagle go. The redhead let out a sputtering, broken hearted laugh, “This was simpler when you were a bird.” Covering her face with both hands Belle shook her head, “I know I have to let you go… but it hurts.”

Drawing in a ragged breath the elf dropped her hands into her lap and looked at him across the table. Pushing up to bare feet she slipped across to him and kissed Dante one last time, “You were my first friend, and I wish we could hang on to that… its just difficult finding the pathway back to friendship from love… isn’t it? And I don’t want to hurt you… and I am… and I…” The words trailed off, lost somewhere in the pain, leaving her staring helplessly at the floor. “I seem to be wanting you to say it’s alright, but its not.”

Dante' cleared his throat, carefully pushed back in his chair and rose to his feet. "And I seem to be wanting to touch you, and tell you it will be alright, but I can't." His own voice was cracked, tight, and he was forced to clear his throat again to

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even go on, "As for the going back to friends? I... I don't honestly know. This is my first time. I guess we'll just have to see, yes?"

Belle managed a shaky smile and nodded, “I hope we can be,” she said softly, “I’ve always loved your company Dante… I can’t really imagine my life without you. But, if that is the conclusion you eventually come too… I’ll understand.” She brushed away a tear and looked him in the eye as steady as she could manage. “I’m going to miss you like no tomorrow though.”

A short, humourless laugh came from Dante', "I don't know what conclusion I'll come to, but I'll promise you, I'm not in a hurry to make a rash one. I think... I think some time on my own is something I need anyway." He gave her an odd, almost shy grin, "You're a beautiful woman, Belle, Argent is a very lucky man." A quick kiss to the top of her head followed along with an awkward, half hug, and then he was gone. The door shut quietly behind him as the Human left her to find her own wings.

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The scent of passion hung thick in the air, accompanied by the metallic tang of blood and the salty odour of warm skin. A low sound, too soft to be a growl, but not quite a purr, rolled in her throat. Slightly hazily, Silverthorn stretched with a languid, feline grace, her hands slowly sliding down the torn skin of the sandy-haired man’s back. Her mind was pleasantly foggy, the elf’s senses absorbed with the warmth of the Black’s skin beneath her fingers, the smell of him, the feel of him against her, aftershocks slowly starting to fade.

Seconds turned into minutes as Daemonorel lay there, not wanting to move and withdraw from her body, but not wanting to allow his full weight to remain on her. Finally he settled on the next best thing, and shifted his weight to the side, which left one heavy thigh between hers and his arm around her waist. Lazy twitches of his black tail faded as the appendage slowly slipped away from her and faded beneath his skin, leaving behind his wings and the black scale down his spine as the sole reminders he wasn't Human.

Her low, content sound was echoed by one from Daemon, a heavy sigh that spoke of being sated... for the moment... and an odd sense of long denied comfort found in being with someone so like himself, who seemed to understand more than most exactly who he was and why.

Callused fingers found their way to her hair and pushed back sweaty locks from her jaw and cheek as he nuzzled her exposed, curved ear, exploring it from the lobe to its point before soft laughter welled up in him. His words that came with the laughter were tinged with tightly guarded pleasure that she was here, with him, for whatever reason she'd chosen this path.

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"I'm guessing this isn't the way you intended to spend your evening, is it?"

A soft murmur of pleasure escaped Silverthorn's lips as he nuzzled at her ear before they curled into a wry smile. "I can safely say that it was not on my agenda," the raven-haired elf replied dryly. Her hand smoothed slowly up and down the arm that rested heavily about her waist, savouring the warmth of his body against hers. "Not that I had an agenda as such."

Her lashes slowly lifted, her head turning towards him. She couldn't remember if she had ever heard him laugh before, not properly. She couldn't have said why the sound of it pleased her, but it did in an odd way she couldn't quite define. "I'm guessing the same could be said about you though." The lazy smile became faintly mischievous as she shifted, leaning in to brush her lips against his, "not that I'm objecting to the change of plan. Are you?"

"Well, now that you mention it, yeah." Daemon's mouth met hers for a moment in a nipping, almost playful kiss, "Yeah, I think I have complaints." A slow, wicked grin curved up his mouth, "You messed up a perfectly good bottle... of liquor. Because of you, I had to stand out in a raging thunderstorm..." He paused, seemed to think a moment, then gave a shrug, "And I can't think of anything else, not right now. But I'm sure in time I'll find more things to complain about." Daemonorel's rough fingers cupped her jaw and his thumb rubbed her chin and along her lower lip while eyes that were still flickering from within with an occasional glow of phosphorescence studied her face outlined by the radiating thermal pattern that was uniquely hers and illuminated from time to time by flashes of lightning.

"Okay, so I really don't have any complaints. Questions, yes, complaints no."

“And what sort of questions would those be?” Silverthorn asked in a soft voice. “If you want to ask them you should make the most of the fact that I’m a captive audience.” The quick, teasing grin characteristic of her family flashed across her face, “for now anyway.” His fingers felt warm against her jaw and her own slid slowly along his arm, covering his hand with her own. Lips parting, the tip of her tongue delicately tasted the thumb that rubbed across her lower lip.

Contentment created an odd sensation of warmth that suffused the elf. It was a feeling she was wary of examining too closely. The words she had spoken earlier in the Mess Hall came back to her, and the truth of them struck her anew. The twists and turns of her life had been impossible to predict, even now she had no real idea of the road that lay ahead of her, perhaps that should be particularly now. So many changes in such a short space of time had left the raven-haired woman with little faith in anything or anyone. Any sense of stability had been brutally crushed and those she had trusted most had left her with only the tattered remnants of their promises in the wake of their betrayal. To look ahead, to plan for tomorrow, to see the future… all were beyond a woman whose ability to hope and dream had been so badly savaged. For her there was only the

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present, the here and now. It created a defiant recklessness of spirit, for when there was nothing left to lose no risk was too dangerous, even when the price of failure was your life.

Daemonorel seemed to grow serious, then shrugged, "Why are you here?" Moss green eyes focussed on her jade, "I don't mean HERE, in the Keep, or even in the Barracks. I know why you're at the Keep; I know why you find your way to the Barracks. What I mean, is why are you here?"

Almost Daemon didn't want to hear the answer. Almost.

He knew the answer, and he didn't like to think about it. At his shoulder, an old ache burned and began to flare up, becoming almost unbearable and deep in his soul, he knew why she was here.

The idea of 'kindred spirits' only began to explain it, and Daemon didn't think he really wanted to have what he was suspecting confirmed.

A raven brow quirked, "because it seemed a good idea at the time?" she suggested dryly. Silverthorn's eyes met his, watching him as if she could see all the thoughts and emotions swirling about behind his moss green gaze. Her own expression had grown serious and oddly intent. "What do you want me to say, Daemon? I am here because I want to be, because I want you, although if you need me to say that then you haven't been paying attention for the last hour or so. So what is it precisely that you want from me?"

The Tauremornan elf sighed slightly, her dark hair spilling over the sheets as her head rolled to one side, away from the seriousness of the Black's gaze. "Do you know how few people have ever been able to read me properly? Most people are fooled by the mask every time, and even those who are not cannot see beyond it. I've even been described as a black hole by people with empathic abilities. Yet you see through me every. Single. Damn. Time." She shrugged a little uncomfortably; shifting as if she would slide out from beneath him, yet the weight of his body held her in place. "Do I like that fact? No, not always. No more than you liked the fact that I could see through you I imagine."

Her jade eyes swung back. "I am here because I want to be, because it just feels... right. Sometimes it feels as if we've known each other for far longer and far better than we actually do, however stupid that might sound. You're one of the few people I've met who doesn't actually seem to expect me to be anything other than me, and it is nice, just for once, not to have to pretend to be something I'm not. Does than answer your question?"

A hint of challenge crept into her gaze, "I could always ask you the same thing, and yes I know this is your room. I didn't mean that. I meant..." She paused, "you

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could have walked away very easily so many times back there in the Mess Hall. Why didn't you?"

A strange, soft laugh came from Daemonorel, a sound very few had heard in the totality of his lifetime, "A lot of things seem like a good idea at the time. Remind me to tell you the story about Tijuana, Mexico someday." The smile that came with the laugh flickered and died with the laughter to be replaced with a different expression as somehow Silverthorn almost slid out of bed, despite his weight.

Scarred fingers twined into her hair and Daemon's weight rocked to the side while one arm went firmly around her waist to pull her almost on top of him as he rolled to his back.

"It's not that I didn't know, Arianne. I did... do... know why you're here. But. For some reason, I had to hear you say it, and I can't explain why."

At this point, he almost didn't go on, something in him was feeling very silly right now, and for a moment he wondered if he could have sounded any more foolish.

"That's not true. I can explain why, I just... Right has only happened to me once in my life, and now I'm not sure it was right, because that moment, and this moment don't feel the same at all." An odd smile returned as his fingers pushed her hair back from her face, "You are the first person I've even seen through the mask this clearly, this intensely, and what I see is the most arousing, defiant creature I've ever met, and it scares the nine-hells out of me because with you, things feel right. That's why I asked, because I wanted to know if it went both ways. Now I'm really scared."

"You're not the only one," Silverthorn confessed quietly. A lopsided smile tugged at her lips, "perhaps there are different 'rights'. The you then isn't the same as the you now, no more than I am who I was so many years ago. People change." A callused fingertip traced the line of his cheek, an odd expression in the depths of her jade gaze as she looked down at Daemon, silent for a long moment. "I didn't expect this. I'm not sure I could even say that I wanted it, if I'm being brutally honest. My track record with relationships, any sort of relationships, is lousy. Really lousy. So if anyone has suggested to me a few days ago that I would be here now, I would probably have laughed in their face."

A dream from months back tugged at her memory and, somewhat to her dismay, a hint of colour crept into her cheeks. Okay, so maybe she would have laughed whilst swearing at herself inwardly, she admitted silently. "I'm here because it felt right, but even so... I said I had no expectations and I meant it. I don't know where this is going. Hells, at the moment I don't even seem to know where I'm going from one day to the next." The raven-haired woman gave a short laugh. "I can manage 'present' really well, it's 'future' I have a problem with."

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"Knowing where you're going is highly overrated, if you asked me." The same odd smile returned and quirked the corner of his mouth for a fleeting moment, then was gone, "But I know what you mean. I can't say I wanted this..." Daemonorel paused as he noticed the slight rise in heat to her face, in the dark a blush could go unnoticed, but not the change of heat, not the layer of colours that underscored and outlined all living creatures in the night.

"So, as long as we're being brutally honest, I did want this. I've wanted it for a long time, and I've woken in the dark of night almost ashamed that the woman I dreamt of was you, that the feel of nails tearing my back and hair brushing across my chest was you. And what bothered me the most was why I think it was you, and why it's you now."

"And why is it me now?"

The question fell from her lips before she had even thought it through, the tone slightly breathless as his words conjured up an image she recognised only too well. She knew how it felt to wake in the night with the sensation that someone was lying there beside her, to hear their voice, to be able to smell them, taste them... and then to question her own sanity when she realised it was only a dream. To deny it for a hundred and one perfectly good reasons, and yet to find herself craving one person's touch despite it all. Until in the end she found herself here, unable to deny it any longer, no matter where it led.

"Why is it you now?" Daemon's fingers stroked down Silverthorn's back, exploring every scar there, then lingered, teasingly at the very base of her spine.

"The better question is, why was it you THEN? When I think about the answer, I get more than a little nervous. I prefer to think of life as a series of occurrences and responses, decisions made, not manipulated by the Gods or the Fates, but when I think of why you, then or now, I have to question my beliefs and my faith and I have to ask, why didn't I see through the mask sooner? Why didn't you?"

And before she could say, 'But you didn't answer my question,' or something of the like, he answered her.

"Why you? Because now, for some reason, it's right. What worries me is, this all seems fall a little too neatly into place, despite the agony we both had to get here."

Silverthorn had always had a suspicious nature and at his words her jade eyes narrowed. "As we can count the number of occasions we've actually been in the same place as each long enough to talk on the fingers of one hand, which then are we talking about exactly?" Her tone was cool and slightly clipped. Despite the warmth of the fingers that lingered so teasingly in the curve of her back, the raven-haired elf tensed. Warning sirens were going off in her head, and she was

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a hairs-breadth away from bolting off the bed in search of the nearest dagger. She was all too familiar with the sensation of being manipulated by various deities, and it was a feeling that she hated. What alarmed her most though was the way Daemon seemed to be suggesting they might have been manipulated. Unpleasant thoughts reared their ugly head and she began to pull away.

The mood that had filled the space between them in the Pit seemed to seep into the room and Daemonorel released her. It was a wariness that came when two predators met in the forest, the tension clear in both their faces and body language.

"Which then? The first then, the second then, the third, and every then afterwards when I'd wake up and realise I'd just dreamed of bedding another man's mate, one that I'd never been alone with in my entire life, one that I'd been in the same room with enough times to count on my fingers, as you say."

As she slipped from him, Daemonorel shoved himself up on the bed and flung his feet over the edge to the cool stone floor. Something about the granite beneath his feet reminded him he was awake, that this wasn't a dream like so many before. Without thinking, he rolled his shoulder, the one with the deep ache, in a vain effort to relieve the pain, "The first time though...it was the first time she marked me. The first time she called me the Chooser of Battles. That was the first 'then'. The first time I felt myself buried in you, and wanted to feel it again and again." His words seemed laced with acid, "Ny-emarr's mark lies between my flesh and bone," his fingers scratched through his hair, now dry from the rain soaking earlier, "and I'll be damned if I accept it."

"Elg'caress!"

The word spilled from her lips with vicious fury. Kneeling amidst the tumbled sheets, her raven-dark hair spilling over her bare shoulders, Silverthorn's hand clenched into a tight fist. Her jade eyes seemed to glow with the force of the anger that flooded her veins. "Eld'chalok dosib elg'caress!"

A sudden burst of movement saw her feet hitting the floor in a single, lithe movement. Without thinking about it she scooped up one of the daggers that lay on the floor, her fingers tightening about the hilt until it seemed to imprint itself on her skin. Jade eyes fixed on the figure of the dragon and a burst of harsh laughter spilled from her lips as she stalked forward. "She doesn't give a damn whether you accept it by choice, or whether she forces it on you."

"Oh, she's forced it on me, alright," Daemonorel's words were hissed out, "and I've lived with the agony of not accepting it long enough to know she's not gentle about what she expects me to do with my life. It feels like a hot coal is shoved on top of my shoulder blade and the only time I feel the pain subside is when I'm with you, and that's just scraping the surface of what I deal with on a daily basis."

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The First Captain swallowed and let his eyes drift to the dagger in her hand, "I know what she wants of me now. I know how she expects to get it. The Chooser of Battles, consort to her Velkh'airee, her chosen male, her chosen female." Daemon's eyes slowly narrowed as they slid back to Silverthorn, and despite his anger, despite the feeling that once again, a god and the Fates were weaving his life without his input, felt himself grow painfully erect. There was something savage and beautiful about Arianne, something full of Flame and Chaos, and something he couldn't define.

"Her Velkh'airee..." Then his skin crawled as sudden cold realisation dawned on like the sun trying creep over the mountains in a blizzard.

"That's what you are. Isn't it?" Daemon's words thickened with the accent of the Black Kin of the Diirlathe as white wrath began to seep into his veins, "You're her Velkh'airee..."

"I am my own." The words were bitten out, eyes blazing with sudden fury. "I have always been my own and I'll be damned before I give that bitch anything more of my life, but if you mean does Nuuruhuine believe me to hers... Oh yes. I am the Battle Raven, First amongst the Choosers of the Slain." She laughed again, "Ironic, isn't it? That her High Priestess should hate her quite as much as I do."

Her legs brushed against his as she stalked forward, close enough to see that the heat in his eyes wasn't entirely from rage, and she felt her body clench tight with need. Even with the anger and frustrated resentment burning through her veins, even knowing that they were being manipulated, she still wanted him; desire joining the already heady cocktail of emotions that surged through her. She felt her heart beat faster, and in that moment she had never looked more untamed.

Jade eyes gleamed with a feral light as the tip of her dagger pricked the skin of his shoulder. The scent of blood added a metallic tang to the charged atmosphere as a crimson drop welled up beneath the blade. "Why you?" she demanded, her words almost a snarl, "I know why she keeps interfering with me, what she hopes to gain from me, but why you? Why you and no-one else?"

The sting of her dagger cutting into his skin only added to the rapidly pooling pressure that was gathering low in his body, and her appearance, wild and wary, dangerously dark and unpredictable was a near lethal mix to the Black. Rather than touch her though, Daemon leaned back, palms on the bed to support his weight, a motion that shifted his flesh and caused the dagger point to cut deeper, then slip back from the bleeding wound.

"You ask a lot of questions." His eyes seemed to be illuminated pools of deep green water swirling with shadows and murky places, "House Ashev has always held Ny-emarr above all others, she is our patron goddess, it is by her hand we live or die. By turning House Asmoor to Ashev, she has been restored in our

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pantheon. Why me and no other? Why not? But I'll tell you this much, had I known by taking our mother's name, it would make me a target for her, I would have let House Asmoor AND Ashev die."

"And been what? Nameless?" The dark-haired assassin made a derisive sound. "Like hell you would. I've been around both Blacks and Silvers long enough to know just how important their House is to them. You truly expect me to believe you'd walk away from that?"

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger. The Battle Goddess was his patron deity? Inwardly Silverthorn cursed virulently. "One day I'm going to kill her. I don't know if it's possible, but I swear I'm going to try. I'm so damned sick of this!" With a furious gesture she threw the dagger, the blade skimming past Daemonorel's ear before burying itself into the mattress.

A strange, half-grin tilted up Daemon's mouth with Silverthorn's question, as if he'd been caught telling a lie to himself, "There's a lot of things I wouldn't be able to walk away from now, and now the question is, do I even try?" His heated gaze slowly slid from the apex of her thighs to meet her jade gaze, "Because, no matter what decision I make now, it’s going to be because she manipulated my life."

His eyes slid to a pair of short swords hanging in their scabbards from a simple rack nearby, "Those are hers, by the way, given to me by her hand before the last Tourney." Moss green eyes slowly shifted back to Silverthorn as a bolt of lightning from the almost-spent storm slammed into the mountain overhead and illuminated the room with flickering silver light, "MAYBE I should have walked away from those, maybe by accepting the gift of faith from her, I accepted her interference in my life. Maybe."

It was then, his eyes narrowed again and he sat up once more, "But why you? I think that's a fair enough question. Why are you considered her Velkh'airee?"

Jade eyes glared at him as if daring him to touch her as his moss-green gaze slid up her body. "Why? Why not? That was your reply, wasn't it?"

A hand clenched into a fist for a second, and then relaxed again. "I am a Badb Catha, a Battle Raven. My family has been associated with her since the time of Maeve, back in the Forest War. It is said that it was the Phantom Queen who first gifted my ancestor with the ability to change form. Whether that is true or not I am not sure, but it is certainly true that she had a hand, at least in part, in the dark magic that lives in the souls of many of the women of my line." Her words were clipped, the explanation obviously reluctant.

"The oldest male is Master of the Sluagh, the Wild Hunt, Lord of That Which Lies Between. As for the females, it is normal for at least one to belong to her Ravens,

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the Choosers of the Slain... and that female is always First amongst them. The High Priestess if you like. In that the roles of both myself and my brother were destined from birth." Simmering anger was visible in her movements as she crouched, picking up a different dagger this time. She spun it in her fingers for a moment before continuing.

"I was seven years old when I was given this, the age I was when she used it to slit my wrists and let my blood run down onto the stones of her altar. You may have been given the chance to choose whether or not to accept, to choose whether to walk away. I had none."

Daemon's eyes watched the near-hypnotic twirl of the blade in fingers long accustomed to handling it as he seemed to digest her explanation, "That would explain why the first time I met your brother, we tried to kill each other." Silence ticked by for a few seconds, then, "You think... I've had a choice? My blood has soaked the soil of more worlds than you can imagine, for over eight thousand years, all in the name of War."

Daemon's fingers curled around the wrist of the hand that didn't hold the dagger, deliberately leaving her open to cutting him if she chose. Carefully, he pulled her closer and studied the flesh there and the faint whiteness that to the trained eye indicated old scars, "These aren't just from a clean, sharp blade, are they?"

His voice was low, almost thoughtful, "I know those scars. Know them well."

Silverthorn froze, her breath catching in her throat as the question blind-sided her. Old fear rose up, thick enough to choke and acidic enough to burn. Deliberately she forced it down. He was dead, dammit. It didn't matter anymore, but no logic could alter the ice that ran down her spine. "No," she grated, "they're not from a blade." The edge of her knife pressed sharply against Daemon's throat, "let go of my wrist. Now."

Daemonorel's shrug moved his body just the hair amount it would take for the razor edge of the dagger to draw a fine bead of blood at his throat. The pain reminded him of salt on sweet fruit, the perfect counterpoint to the flavour of the moment, "The funny thing about getting scars like that," his fingers slowly uncurled until only his index finger and thumb held her wrist lightly, "is at some point, it doesn't hurt anymore."

Daemon's eyes seemed to lose focus and look through Silverthorn and into the past, "After a while, you don't feel the metal carving your skin back, but you know it still is. You don't want to look, and you don't. But you know the flesh is bare meat, and if you hung like I did, you can feel the blood run down your arms, trickle in this... slow," Moss green eyes narrowed with a twitching movement, "winding path down your ribs, hips and thighs until it drips to the ground. It draws flies and turns sticky. I think the worst part is the itching as the skin tries to heal itself and keeps getting torn back when the whip strikes and your body jerks."

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The last of his hold was released and his head tilted ever so slightly and the nerve under one eye twitched once, then twice, then seemed to stop with a slow, deliberate exhalation of breath, "Nargus never understood once the threshold is crossed, the pain stops, the leverage is gone. Now that I look back on it, I'm glad he never figured it out." Finally, he focussed on her again, "Only because of that, he never really broke me."

"No, the worst part is the loss of control, the knowledge that someone else can do whatever they want to you and that there is nothing you can do to stop them." The words were little more than a whisper of sound, distant, the elven woman's eyes shadowed by the memories that whirled through her mind. "You can feel the chains cutting into your flesh, the iron burning until the air stinks of cooked meat, and even when you can't feel it anymore that smell lingers. It clings, following you around even when they take you out of the cell, a reminder. Yet in an odd way it isn't even a bad reminder, because no matter how bad being confined like that is, the consequences of being removed from it are always far worse."

A shudder rippled down her spine. "I guess I should be grateful for the drugs or the madness, because at least they mean that I don't remember all of it, and that I do is almost like it was happening to someone else." Another flicker of memory darkened her gaze, "most of it anyway." Some of it was still all too real.

The edge of the blade lowered slightly, her grip on the hilt relaxing, although the weapon did not quite move away from his skin. Her free hand cradled his jaw in her fingers, her thumb running over his cheek in an absent gesture as she looked into his eyes. For a long moment, Silverthorn was silent, her eyes searching his as if she could see all the secrets of his soul revealed there. Within her the fury had ebbed, becoming the dull, simmering anger that had inhabited the darker recesses of her psyche for the better part of her life. It was always there, a constant background noise. It had fuelled her through the hardest times, even when perhaps she should have given up, keeping her going out of sheer stubborn bloody-mindedness.

"I don't like being manipulated," she said quietly, "I never have done, perhaps for the same reason that I don't take orders well. My life is my own, and any decisions about it are mine to make. No-one else's. Trying to take control of my life away from me is a sure-fire way to piss me off. Yet at the same time..." There was an odd intensity about her, the emotions that had surged so wildly until control now, but leashed, not extinguished. "The reasons I gave for why I was here are still true. They haven't changed. So I guess the question is do we walk away regardless of that? Or do we not?"

"Don't be fooled. After a while, your mind blocks most of what happens, drugs or not, and the madness is inevitable. Its usually welcome by then." Daemon shrugged, "It just took its sweet time finding me the last time."

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A strange smile curved his mouth, then faded, "And the problem we now have is," fingers closed around her wrist again, and he carefully tilted her wrist to bite at the skin with its pale scars, then breathed the next words against her flesh, "no matter which decision we make, we are making it because of that manipulation. Ny-emarr is not the sort of goddess to give consolation prizes; if she wants us together, it’s not to make up for our past." Moss green eyes travelled slowly up her body, and peered intently into her eyes.

"We are too much alike for this to be an accident of Fate, and I've never been one to walk away from anything Ny-emarr put before me."

A shiver rippled down Silverthorn's spine, the feel of his teeth upon her wrist and his warm breath against her skin drawing a primitive response she couldn't hide. "I have done," the raven-haired elf whispered huskily, "or I have tried, yet I always seem to find myself back at the same place regardless so am I running from her or running from myself?" Jade eyes had darkened as they met moss green, deep pools filled with a lifetime of experiences that would have sent others screaming into insanity millennia ago. Even she had looked into that void, yet in the end she was still here, still standing. "I'm not running anymore. I don't like her, I sure as hell don't trust her, but I can't run from me."

One knee settled either side of his hips as her weight shifted, the elf sliding onto the bed. "I don't know where this is going or what the future holds in store. All I can do is deal with the here and now and however much I might resent Nuuruhuine's interference in my life, I can't deny that I chose to be here. She may well have influenced that decision, but I still wanted this... wanted you, and if I'm honest I still do. I could go round and round in circles worrying about why that was, but in the end does it really matter? It won't change anything."

Just a hint of mischief showed in the smile that played around the corners of her mouth as her head bent, her lips brushing against his. "Besides," she whispered, "elves are naturally curious. If I walked away, I suspect I would regret not finding out what would have happened if I hadn't." A trace of wicked laughter tinged her words, "or I might regret not finding out if I could wear you out."

***

Tall pillars of stone rose towards the vaulted ceilings like silent sentinels from an era long passed. The carvings were elegant and carved long before the dwarves that called the underground city home, and arched up into the darkness of the massive cavern of the Great Hall then burst into a spider web of glowing silver veins. The Krystallis was a city that had been abandoned to the darkness of time and those that had discovered it.

For generations, the royal family of Sha’Dar came here, to think, to be in seclusion or to spar. A hidden sanctuary that the Silverleafs and the Nev’vlars before them used, few outside of the bloodlines had been brought to this place,

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Melaina had been one of them so it seemed only fitting that it would be here that the half elf would be brought back to life.

Devin looked up at the ceiling then at his siblings, more importantly, the two elder Silverleafs. “And it’s a place of power, like the temple on Whispin?”

“Aye,” Gent replied, as he moved off to help upright the ancient looking table that had been in the Hall for as long as he could remember.

Kalei paused to gaze around the chambers, even to someone so tall she suddenly felt dwarfed. Tucking a blonde lock behind her ear, she joined her King in laying out the pristine white linen and various bottles that would be needed for healing if something should go wrong. Her heart was fluttering with excitement at what she was about to witness and wanted to be as prepared as possible for the woman that would be resurrected.

Conlan stepped into the caverns, one arm around Kaylee and an ear out for his younger sister. His mood was sombre, some doubts at what Amilyn had started flitting through his mind. But he knew that Shadow would not have agreed to it, none of the Silverleafs would have, had there not been a good chance of success.

Amilyn stepped in behind her brother and sister-in-law. She wore a simple white shift, her feet bare as she entered. She'd taken Shadow's advice and spent most of her time recently meditating.

Glory had made a stop in Alcarinque before arriving in the Krystallis. He had thought to perhaps encourage his father to go in his place and to aid in the resurrection of Melaina, but when a very sober Adarin informed the young elf of what had occurred most recently in his father's life, Glory had found that he could only stand before the door leading to Galain's apartments, his hand hovering in the air, as if to knock, before he'd sadly turned away and requested that the King please tell Galain of where Glory had gone and why. He knew his father's ways and how he thought and knew better than to intrude, even for the wondrous news he had to impart.

So now he stood in the Great Hall, feeling incredibly small and insignificant in this ancient place. He'd entered just behind Amilyn and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting silently for direction.

Taimië wasn’t far behind Glory and she squeezed his arm and flashed him a grin. “Want to help me with these? She’s going to need some light to focus on and it might help you out to have something to focus on to clear your mind.” The Fire Mage offered her former lover two of the small braziers and the herbs that would go in them. “It’s your sister that is suppose to look like death warmed over, not you, Glorious.” She said with a wink.

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Glory ducked his head and felt his cheeks redden. Taimië's gentle teasing did the trick though and he gave her a grateful nod.

"Mind clearing would be helpful," he said with a rueful smile, taking the brazier offered him. A clear mind and busy hands would go far in helping him focus -- and it would be a boon to aiding in Melaina's return to the living.

Kaylee looked up at her husband then kissed his cheek, “It will be okay, they may be risking much, but they know what they are doing.” Chocolate coloured eyes gazed lovingly up at Conlan, “I should help the Healer set up before we start.”

“Amilyn, do you have Mel’s things?” Shadow stood on the large dais that they would be standing around, kicking off what little debris was on the slab of stone. Forest green eyes drifting up to watch her baby brother as the half-Shroudling stepped out the distance that the others would need to stand to both serve as anchors for Melaina and to keep them safe.

Amilyn smiled and reached into the small satchel she carried. From it, she withdrew a pair of daggers, one given to Mel by An'Thaya years earlier, and another a long ago gift from another she held dear. Also there was her half of the necklace she shared with Shadow and the silver bracelet she'd gotten on a voyage with Glory and Y'Roden. She also laid Mel's journal on the stack before she looked up to Shadow. "I tried to choose only those things that were important to her. I also brought this, for when she is back." The Amazon reached back into the pack, pulling out a tunic that Shadow would likely recognize. She'd found it on Mel's bed at the cottage, and knew it had to be well loved to be there.

Shadow nodded, and took her adopted son’s tunic. “She’ll need something to put on, if I remember correctly, she’ll be very cold.” Stepping off of the dais, she tossed the tunic over her arm and took the journal and one of the daggers. “The journal won’t be needed, though she may want it. Kalei.”

The Shroudling Healer looked up and took the items that were held out to her. “It might be dangerous to put the daggers in the circle, Dev? What say you?” the Taurësúlë looked over at her baby brother as he marked the last spot.

“Weapons? It depends on their significance really, and how strong the forces may be.”

“Last time we were dealing with the Demoness,” Taim injected placing the last of the braziers, “we had to block her in, and this time may not be the same.”

“Just the same, we should not risk it,” Gent looked back towards Devin, “Well Dev, you’re the Amias Fvayer, it’s your call.”

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Devin turned thoughtful eyes to Amilyn, looking down at the Amazon as he stopped beside her, “How important are they to her?”

Amilyn looked up at Devin. "She never went anywhere without them. The one was given to her by Ammah. The other was also a gift, though she never told me who gave it to her. The only other thing I could find of any importance was this." Reaching back into the satchel, she pulled out a wooden kitten, carved by hand to an almost lifelike realism.

Blue eyes glanced down at the wooden sculpture, “then the daggers will go in, I wouldn’t chance it with the kitten, the metal would survive, I’m not sure it would.” Taking the daggers, necklace and bracelet Devin smiled, “Shall we get started? The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be.” The half-elf stepped away and turned to the stone slab, arranging the items, as they would appear if worn.

Taimië grinned at Glory, “It’s time, I think you’re suppose to stand here,” she indicated the mark that would line him up between she and Argent as she lit the first of the braziers.

***

“Melaina.” The voice floated around the blonde, the colours fairly pulsing with the sound. “Is this truly what you want?” One moment she was alone and the next a feminine form was walking towards her, her booted feet not touching what passed as the ground in the in-between of the Veils. Silver hair danced around her slender form of its own accord. The Asha was dressed in death much as she had been in life, the black velvet vest coat with its open sleeves and leather trousers only accenting the unusual hue of her hair.

“You’ve been through a great deal, and have earned the peace that comes from the cutting of mortal bindings.”

The blonde looked up at the familiar face of Shadow's mother. "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't have asked Amilyn to approach Shadow if I wasn't. I can find no peace while my family aches so. I have unfinished business, and I must resolve that." She smiled sadly and glanced down through the veils to where so many of those she loved were gathering. She'd looked in on the ones who weren't there and her heart broke for them as well. She needed to be there for them, as she hadn't always been before.

“Families ache all the time. Your father has been in pain before, why is this time so different?” Air looked down through the shimmering lights below their feet, her hand waving away the mists that drifted between the worlds, “Pain,” a copper hand indicated the Elen Prince, “and pleasure” the image changed to reveal a brief glimpse of Ghetsuhm and Y’Roden, “are two halves of the same whole that

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allows them to grow. Without pain there can be no pleasure and the same can be said in the opposite.

“Ah,” a knowing smile quirked the female’s lips. “Unfinished business. I would suggest that you let Balan have some time to himself, the ghosts of his past have turned to demons that only he can fight.” The Taurësúlë grew silent for a moment and simply watched as she had for hundreds of years.

"Because it's not only my father, nor Balan who need me now. Amilyn needs me. Cassey and Carrick, they need me." The blonde turned away from what she could see of her former lover through the veils to look to the other woman. "I can find no peace knowing that I left things as I did. So I choose to go back, right the wrongs I can and perhaps when I cross the veil the next time, I'll find the peace you say I've earned." She hadn't made her decisions lightly, and for once, she'd thought things through.

“Cassey and Carrick have Kaylee and Conlan, Amilyn has her Amazon sisters and her other siblings.” Air’s voice remained soothingly calm, the spirit that she was known for having been placed aside to focus on Melaina Alcarin. “Do you go back for them, because they need you, or do you go back because you need them? You had no choice in the timing or way of your death; sometimes even the Weavers of the Loom cannot control the Tanaii-Ka when another has tangled the strings.”

The Asha shook her head, “Some wrongs are not meant to be righted, child, I’ve longed to right the wrongs that I did to your father, but they were meant to be.” A melancholy smile danced across her lips then disappeared as forest green eyes sparkled, “What have you learned from your time here Melaina? What do you want to remember when you return? These are the things you must focus on while they prepare the way, not all of them can be remembered.”

Melaina smiled. "I've learned to think, to really see the consequences of my actions. And I've learned that sometimes, the past will be waiting here when it is time." There were other lessons, locked deep within her spirit that she wasn't ready to tell anyone else. She treasured them too deeply.

Air laughed, dark eyes sparkling impishly, “Keep your treasures hidden, they will be what you will remember the most.” It seemed that she had been spending too much time with the Lady of Mysteries.

“Now for the reason I am here, I’m to be your guide. My children will call, your brothers and sisters will be the grounding and your possession will be your focus, but I’m to help you to find the way.”

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“Are you ready?” The same words were asked by two separate people in two different locations but tied together by one common goal, to guide Melaina back to life.

Devin stood to his full height and looked around at the others. Kaylee took her place between Conlan and Glory on the space that had been marked for her as the fire mage lit the last of the braziers then took up her spot between her brothers.

Amilyn nodded and took her place across from Kaylee as she watched everything going on round her. There was an unspoken prayer to the Weeper on her tongue, that things would go the way they were meant to. And perhaps another that she had made the right choice in doing as her sister had asked.

Glory was quite focused now, his thoughts totally upon the impending return of his sister. He smiled faintly at Taimië, and winked at Amilyn before he turned his head to regard Conlan and Kaylee. It was a diverse, but loving group that was here and the importance of what they were about to do suddenly settled heavily upon him. He wore an unusually sober expression as he awaited the next step.

Blue eyes scanned those present as silence drifted through the room, broken only by the crack of the braziers. They weren’t there to help the four Silverleafs but to help the others. This wasn’t the first time that they opened the gates to the Veil, and Devin doubted it would be the last.

Timing was important but it wasn’t at the top of the list when it came to opening the Veil, it was balance. Balance in all things so that the room was in harmony. For every male there had to be a female, for every dark there had to be a light. The siblings closed their eyes in an eerie unison that spoke of just how in tune they were to each other. With an unseen cue, Argent took a deep breath then opened his mouth. The note was deep, low and pure, creating the base for the first note that would unite them before each followed their own path, the sacred words to open the veil hidden in sound.

That single note thrummed, echoing in her soul, wrapping itself around Shadow and drawing her mind’s eye towards the curtain that separated the two worlds. Her voice joined her twin’s, the high, crystal soprano offset Argent’s, making the space between them waver, like a mirage.

Devin took a slow deep breath, listening carefully to the minor notes that his older sibling’s sang. It would be easier this time than the last though it was only the second time he had ever used his gift. His warm tenor reached out to bridge the gap in octaves. Three halves of a whole that was complete as Taim’s rich alto filled the air and linked the siblings together, completing the bridge that was needed to open the Veil to allow Melaina to come home.

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As soon as the voice’s harmonized they shattered like shooting stars following paths that only they were meant to find then slipped together once again, and between them the air shimmered like gossamer curtains blowing in a breeze that was steadily growing stronger with each new verse.

Air felt the tug that all spirits felt when the Veil’s were opened, but the song called for only one and only one could answer. The Asha turned towards the half-elf. “You won’t be able to remember it all,” it was a parting grain of knowledge that, while having no first hand knowledge, she had guided enough to learn the truth of it. “Now you have to focus, and I won’t say that its not going to be painful, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

Melaina felt the call deep in her soul. Air's words brought a sardonic smile to her face. "Pain's become a familiar friend." There were other words she wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to find them before the call pulled her forward.

The parted veils felt like clouds, as she seemed to fall through them. Memories danced through her mind, a jumble of truth and imagination. As she came closer to her return, the pain increased until she finally felt like screaming. At that point, she opened her eyes and looked at the cavern above her. She heard Amilyn's gasp, could almost feel the slight grin on Conlan's face, but moving was not an option.

It didn't take long before injuries started to appear, and then heal. Each came in the order they'd occurred, some that she'd never admitted to. With each, she almost felt the blow that had caused them, causing her to writhe as bones broke and then reset. She didn't know how long she lay bleeding and then healing, but she could guess based on the number of injuries. She was sure there would be quite a pool of blood beneath her before she was done. It was one thing she could thank Mystical for, her quick healing physically.

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up to meet Shadow's gaze, and then around to see the others who were there. She thought about speaking, but her throat was raw and her mouth still tender from reliving her wounds.

The last note faded away into the darkness of the cavern and silence slipped over those gathered like winter’s chill seeped into ones skin until cold had passed and settled into a numbness that refused to go away. It was the silence of the grave that was only occasionally interrupted by the soft splat of blood drops on blood-covered stone.

Forest green eyes opened, the peace Shadow had felt as the song ended disappeared as her eyes hardened and darkened, looking little more like two cold chunks of obsidian as they caught and held Melaina’s grey. “The next time you want to screw around with one of my children’s lives and then go and get yourself killed, find someone else to bring you back then stay clear of me. Because I’ll make damn sure it will be your last.”

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***

Ghet had returned from Silver Dragon Ridge a lot stronger than when she'd left, mentally and physically. Spiritually was still to come. Black moods still took her sometimes, soul-deep grief for her daughter and her ex-husband. It was the price she had to pay, and she accepted it, a natural consequence of what she had done, just as much as the joy that lit her the rest of the time.

The rumour mill would be churning full speed, though. They'd been gone a long time, though precious few knew where Y'Roden had been or that she was with him. It was odd to realise how little other people knew. No news would have come from Alcarinque, and Rhagi wasn't the type to talk. It would have been nice to insist that it was no-one else's business, but Ghet had been through this before, and she knew it would make no difference. People would make it their business, and judge as naturally as breathing.

Her driving motivation was to make the whole thing easier for Y'Roden. Dumb, maybe, he was a big boy and he could take care of himself, but natural. That was why, the morning after their return, she'd set out to find Shadow. She was nervous as hell. She had no idea how the conversation was going to go; she just knew she had to have it. She knocked quietly at Shadow's door and waited, not wanting to begin by intruding.

Mornings were a problem…mornings were always a problem when you were up before the sun on a planet that had a completely different timing. When you had children that insisted on being up before the sun didn’t help much…at least Dae was use to it. Leaning over she picked up a wooden sword and sighed when she found a dagger that looked like it had been purposely hidden. Tossing the wooden sword on the bed she leaned down to retrieve the blade when she heard a knock and raised up, blowing dual coloured locks out of her face she gabbed the weapon and wandered towards the door and tugged it open.

Shadow blinked at the redhead, dagger still in hand, as emotions raced across her face, “Ghetsuhm,” her voice was a mixture of surprise and hesitation then her cheeks darkened suddenly and she tossed the blade on a table beside the door, “uhm, Kegan and Kaiden…Its Dorian’s fault.” That, to her, was a perfect explanation.

Ghet blinked, and then laughed, startled but also kind of relieved. "Well, that's... I mean, I know..." She shrugged. "Rhagi." It seemed to be enough. It hurt too, though, a reminder that she'd given up the last child she could ever safely have.

She'd opened up a lot with Y'Roden, and she was finding it very difficult to close up again. Her anxiousness was clear in her face and she knew it. "I have something to tell you. I don't want you to hear it from someone else, but... man. I dunno how you're going to take it."

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“I don’t like it when you say that,” whether it was the ‘heard it from someone else’ or the ‘how you’re going to take it’ was a toss up. “And I find I generally need something to drink at hand to keep the peace when I hear those words, we’ll leave the dagger where it is and hope any others are out of arms reach.”

Moving out of the doorway, she motioned for Ghet to come in and headed for the various bottles on another table, “And those tidings are generally best delivered without hidden ears. Whiskey? Choose your words carefully, Ghetsuhm, the jury is still out on whether I can handle too much stress without having a heart attack.”

Ghet shrugged, and sat down. "Whiskey's fine. I've already paid for what I've done, Shadow. There's not a lot else can touch me. Everyone will know very soon, anyway." She pressed her lips together, then sighed. "I don't know how else to say it. I've been away a lot. I've been in stasis, I've been with Chez, and... Oh hells. I divorced Galain. Y'Roden and I are getting married. Soon."

Shadow spun around so fast that the whiskey in the glass that she had poured for the other woman sloshed over her hand. “You what?” Her voice didn’t change in pitch, there wasn’t any outrage which could have left one to wondering if it was more dangerous for her voice to remain so calm than if she had exploded…and generally it did, but this time it was pure shock that registered on her face.

“You divorced Galain?” She seemed to have gotten caught on that more than she did on marriage comment. Taking the glass in the other hand, she cursed and shook the whiskey off then offered it to her guest.

Ghet took the glass from Shadow absently, nodding her thanks. Marshalling her thoughts to speak, she had to stop and fight back tears. She scrubbed her face roughly with the back of her hand and drank. "Oh, I know. I know. After all that, I just up and left him, so what was it all for? I still love him, Shadow, as much as I ever have. I broke his heart, I broke him, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done. The time I nearly died giving birth to a child forced on me when my ex-lover's demon raped me? Doddle. I left my daughter too, my little girl..." She leaned her head back and shut her eyes, pain naked on her face. "I'm sorry, it's not something I'm really up to talking about yet. You yell, I'll just sit here for a bit."

“Oh Ghet…” the elven woman crouched in front of her one time friend and scrubbed at her face as if wondering what she was suppose to do. It was rather difficult going from friend to wanting to rip someone apart, to quiet acceptance to this. “I’m not going to yell, I’m not even going to throw things, I’m just… I’m just shocked as all hell…” Shadow rested her elbows on her knees and remembered the mess that had been Y’Roden D’Riel so long ago when Ghetsuhm had let him go. “And at the same time I’m not,” she chuckled wryly.

Ghet laughed, high-pitched and hysterical, and let her tears go. She'd talked all this through with Ro, she'd cried with him, but this was different. "Oh hey, me too.

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I never, ever expected this. I thought... I'd never have this again. It's too much to take in." She sucked in a deep breath and tried to get herself back under control. "Thank you. I know Ro means a lot to you, and I really didn't know how this was going to go."

The corner of her lips curled up, “Aye, he means a great deal to me, and his happiness is far more important to me than most realize, and you are what makes him happy. You and Desh’ketai belong together, you always have. So don’t take it in, just open up and let it take you in.”

A thought suddenly struck her and Shadow began to laugh, lost her balance and landed on her rear, which only made her laugh harder. “Damn it Ghetsuhm, do you always have to become my step-mother?”

Ghet laughed, leaned forward to grab Shadow, and spilt whiskey on her instead. Putting it safely in her stomach where it couldn't come to any more harm, she slid down onto the floor next to her stepdaughter. "Oh hell yeah. Course I do. So do me and Rodi a favour and don't go adopting any more fathers, okay? Even I'm going to get tired eventually." There was a power of relief in her hysterical laughter, the dawning realisation that just maybe, things weren't going to be so bad this time around.

“No, no more fathers for me, and if I ever find mine, yooooou stay away from him, cause I might just kill him.” Snickering like she was half soused she tried to wipe the whiskey off and gave up when she realized that it had already soaked into her clothing. “Who would have thought that this Human redhead that I met, and could have easily been her grandmother’s age, if not more, would end up being my step-mother … Ghet my friend, I think the gene pool for the family tree is starting to shrink, we’ll have to find another planet to add to it…But just don’t go being my aunt and my mother, okay? I have a hard enough time with Callan being my uncle and brother-in-law.”

The Taurësúlë grew quiet and smiled, “I’ve missed calling you friend, and I’m glad that you’re finally back together.”

***

"You know, for someone who's supposedly in command of this ant-heap, you can be a real pain in the ass to track down some days," a throaty female voice observed. Dark brown eyes surveyed the Emperor of the Diirlathe for a moment, and then a hint of a smile tugged at one corner of Erinya's mouth as the Black Captain moved closer with her usual lithe grace. The tautness about those eyes, and the other signs of someone hanging by a rapidly fraying thread of self-control, that had characterized her features had disappeared and the ebony-haired woman looked more relaxed than she had done for months.

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"Nice to see you too, Erinya." Callan looked up from a massive book, which was spread, open on a long wooden table. Various pieces of paper and parchment were strewn about, and behind him was a seemingly endless cavern of weapons and armour. "You know, Vingar does a damn good job on the inventory audits." Callan's fingers scrubbed at his eyes for a moment before closing the book, "I don't think there's an arrow or cross-bow bolt unaccounted for... I just wish he had better handwriting. Drow is easier to look at for long periods of time, I promise you."

Topaz eyes took a better look at Erinya, and smiled, "You're looking good. I was starting to worry about you." Of course, his words were a bit ironic given that he still looked like yestu. The sickness in Tay had taken its toll on the Emperor, and it told in loss of mass and dark circles under his eyes. Cook was doing her level best to pack weight back on him and daily training with his Guard was bringing back stamina and muscle tone, but it would be months before he was back to his usual self.

"You actually worry about lil' ol' me?" the ebony-haired woman drawled, deliberately letting her accent grow thicker. "I'm touched. Really." She perched herself on the edge of the table, flicking idly through the paperwork with one hand. "Flame and Chaos, it is bad isn't it? If you hadn't told me it was handwriting, I'd think some bug had up and died on the page." She cast her companion a sidelong glance. "You're right though, I do feel better." It was amazing what a difference having Areq back made. Intellectually she had always understood how someone whose mate had died felt, the Madness that drove them, but there was a difference between watching it in others and experiencing it yourself. The brief taste provided by her Randii's extended stay in Whispin had been an eye-opening experience.

"You, however, have looked better. No matter. I come bearing gifts, which may or may not cheer you up."

"That's what I love about you, Erinya. No idle flattery. I do look like death warmed over, don't I? Of course, it has nothing to do with the twins being up at all hours of the night. Its too much to ask that they'd both wake up and sleep at the same time... or that Cal sleep through it all." The Emperor eyed his long-time friend, then gave her a brilliant smile.

"Gifts? Awww, you shouldn't have! What is it? Another disembodied head in a basket? A nice leg to gnaw on later?"

"That's what you get for deciding to reproduce," the Black female replied with a distinct lack of sympathy, "and no, not a leg, although I'm sure if you ask Cook nicely she'd oblige. She seems determined to shove as much food down your neck as possible at the moment."

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She tossed a leather-wrapped object in his direction, which landed on the table in front of him with a faint rattle. A corner of the wrapping flopped open with the action to reveal a long DragonSteele chain and a hint of ivory. A pendant, carved from a bone of one of the Silver Kin, the design that of the rampant dragon wreathed in thorns, hung suspended from the chain. Here and there, both on the metal and the leather, were dark stains that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

"Let's call it returning something to its rightful owner. Just don't ask me where I got it from. I've never lied to you before, I'd hate to have to learn how to now at this late stage."

Callan's expression suddenly darkened and the fingers of one hand scratched almost idly at his forehead.

"Oh, I could find out where you got it from," Callan nodded slightly, "If I really wanted to." There was a moment of silence as he contemplated the Illinsaad in her hand, "that is if I ever wanted to wear one of these things around my neck again." Callan's index finger hooked the chain and the amulet swung free of Erinya's grip, then dangled, back and forth, like the pendulum on a clock. His eyes never left the carved ivory, the bone of an unknown Silver.

"I'm assuming this is the one Gideon had?" The question was asked quietly and it was difficult to tell if he were talking to Erinya or himself.

"I'd hate to think there were so many of these things unaccounted for that you actually have to ask that question," the ebony-haired female replied, "but yes, that was Gideon's. He... misplaced it, shall we say."

Erin's words were cool and collected, but her dark eyes were intent as they watched her old friend. She knew he was not deceived for a moment by her statement, but they also both knew that there was no point asking questions that would put loyalties to the test. Not when both already knew the answers to them. So long as the questions remained unasked though, Erin was not forced to choose between her loyalty to her Emperor and her responsibility towards the Right Hand of the House of Dhaunae. It was a loyalty and responsibility that she hoped never had to clash.

"There's not that many out there... unaccounted for..." Callan slowly nodded and finally his eyes met Erinya's, "As far as I know." His last words weren't altogether reassuring, and he knew it, but the truth was, no one really knew just how many of these things had been made over the thousands of years House Blackthorn had been in power, and as with all treasure, in time, more than a few had gone missing from the Imperial House.

"So... he misplaced it, huh?" Callan gave a soft grunt and dropped the amulet into his other hand, "In that case, I think its safe to say his head and his body

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have had a parting of ways. I also think its safe to say this one had better not ever find its way around anyone's neck again, wouldn't you agree?"

The question was completely rhetorical; the amulet would be wrapped in velvet, sealed in an adamantine lined chest and locked away, never to be lost or worn again. It would be logged down in a small, leather bound book kept by Callan himself, and hopefully, never again would Nargus find a way into this world.

"Thank you, Erinya..." Callan cleared his throat, "...for a lot of things." Then before he felt the need to explain exactly what things, he waved a hand over the book, "Now, you can either keep standing there and try to help me decipher Vingar's inventory, or use the opportunity to run while you still have the chance." The slightly evil grin at the corners of his mouth made it clear... keep standing around and get put to work, or make a run for it and enjoy the rest of the day.

The ebony-haired woman laughed and hopped down from her perch on the edge of the table. "You don't catch me that easily," she said with a grin, "Vingar's illegible scrawl is all yours. I've got glass merchants to talk to and a bondmate to pick on." Not that Areq had done anything wrong, it was merely that everyone needed a hobby and winding him up continued to be hers. The Black winked at Callan impudently and left the cavern, leaving the Emperor to his inventory.

***

It was a quiet amongst the trees as the raven-haired elf walked slowly towards the pool, a quiet that Silverthorn could not help but appreciate. She had spent almost all her time in recent months in the nursery with her children, but her appearance in the palace always seemed to come as a surprise to some. There were gossips amongst the S'Heans as they were amongst all races and there were always those who had time to whisper behind their hand to a friend, their eyes tracking the woman who for a time had held the position of their Queen, but did so no longer. Quite deliberately she would tune them out, shielding her thoughts behind a near-impenetrable mask, but it was still a relief not to have to run that particular gauntlet to find the woman she needed to talk to.

She paused for a moment beneath a tree, jade eyes dropping to a small wooden box she held in her hands. A puzzle box by its design, there were no obvious indicators of its contents, but the Tauremornan could have enumerated every last one. Every item of jewellery given to her during her marriage, most by Y'Roden, a few by others. Brooches, armbands, necklaces... A pendant from Drake Silverwing that showed her parents in the depths of the milky stone. Jades and emeralds. Ravens, dragons and other designs... And two rings, bands of gold set with fragments of the D'Riel Emerald itself.

In a way she found hard to define precisely, it felt as if this was the last piece of the past and that by letting go of it she would finally be free. Free for what she

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could not precisely say, but these were the final chains that bound her to a place she did not belong.

It was time for them to be severed.

"Arianne Badb Catha." Gwen's musical voice carried through the forest as the Elven woman rose from where she'd been on her knees, planting a sapling at the base of a hulled-out, rotten tree.

A look of compassion, not pity was on Gwen's face, but beneath this expression was evidence she'd been crying, and perhaps had only stopped upon hearing the other woman's approach.

"So you find me here, where my life truly began, and another has ended." A slightly watery smile came to Gwen's face, "I am honoured to see you again, I only wish Mother was alive to meet you as well." Her hand, with its dirty fingers, gestured to the dead tree, "She lived for many thousands of years... and was a comforting friend when I had no one else to go to. I miss her, but the sickness did not take all of her from us." Her fingers ruffled the very tips of the top branches of the sapling, "Her child lives on, and will have memories of her own." Gwen's composure threatened to crumble, and she cleared her throat and looked away for a moment, then found a warm, welcoming smile, "This cannot be easy for you to come back, Arianne." Obviously this wasn't a mere social visit, Gwen scarcely knew Silverthorn, despite having great respect for her, despite being thankful she had been Queen during a time of war, "How can I help you?"

"I won't be coming back, not after this," Silverthorn replied quietly. "I don't belong here. I never really did. Perhaps it's time to find somewhere where I do." Her jade eyes rested on the sapling that the S'Hean had just planted, remembering standing before the mound that contained the bones of her own family, before they lifted to meet Gwen's. "Before I leave though I wished to ask a favour of you."

The raven-haired woman held out the box that she held in her hands. "I never really was one for material possessions. I've spent too long living on those things that I could carry I guess. Anything that I want to take with me I've removed from my room. What's left you or anyone else is welcome to do with as they like. Throw it out; find it a new home... whatever seems easiest. There were a few things though..."

She glanced down at the box and then gave Gwen a wry smile. "I don't want to keep these, but at the same time it seems wrong to throw them out. Not just because of their monetary value, but because of the thoughts that were behind their being gifted to me at the time, even if those memories now make wearing them feel awkward. I would like my children to have them I think. The twins could divide the jewellery up between them, and there's the odd item that Fechine and B'Roden might like too. I'm not sure that now is the time to give them them

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though. The children themselves are too young, and memories are perhaps a little too fresh and raw anyway. Would you keep them for me?"

Gwen drew in a slow, thoughtful breath as the box was extended to her. Within, her heart went out to this woman. Silverthorn seemed such a strong, independent woman, and perhaps therein lay the reason she'd never felt like she belonged. To be Queen of S'Hea, one had to let the I diminish, and let the 'Land' guide her. Arianne seemed very much a woman of her own, preferring to stand against the storm rather than join the wind and be one with it. But then, the Land had its way of taking what it needed, when it needed.

And there was no doubt in Gwen's mind; Silverthorn had been needed, even if just for a short time.

One delicate but very dirty hand gently covered one of Arianne's and spring green eyes looked into jade, "Oh, but you did belong here. Even if you didn't feel like it, I can't imagine there could have been a better woman to stand in my place. You were chosen by Fate, and by this land on which we stand, to guide this world through a terrible time. I could not have done better, and I am grateful you were here."

The box was slid from Silverthorn's fingers and Gwen's fingertips brushed across the surface, "You're right, these shouldn't be simply thrown away," Her eyes lifted from the box, "the contents aren't just metal and gems, but memories." The S'Hean woman nodded and lowered her head a moment as if studying the box itself. When she raised it, the watery smile was back, "I do hope in time, Arianne, the awkwardness fades and the bad memories grow dull. If and when that happens, I think you'll be able to see more clearly just how vital you are, and how necessary to Whispin you were, and will undoubtedly be again someday. No one outside S'Hea or the D'Riel family is brought to the Web without purpose, and somehow, I think you'll find you'll still be tied to us for a reason, though right now, neither of us know why."

"Perhaps," the Tauremornan said noncommittally. "I suspect though that my purpose here has been served. I hope so anyway as about the only thing strong enough to bring me back would be a threat to the children, and that is something I would never wish on them. They've been through enough already." Her gaze slid away from Gwen's and she shrugged a little awkwardly, not entirely comfortable with the compassion she saw in the other woman's eyes.

"Take care of them for me," and it was no longer entirely clear whether she was referring to the contents of the box or her children. "I hope that I will be able to give those things to them myself, but about the one thing that I can predict with some certainty in my incredibly unpredictable life is that it’s likely to be messy. It may be that for whatever reason I won't be able to. I'd like to know that someone will."

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Jade eyes returned to spring green. "I would ask one more thing though, that this is kept between us two. Tell B'Rodyn if you feel you must, but no-one else. Please. The last thing I want is to create any more disturbances. I don't want lies, just a little discretion."

"For the woman who stood in my place and brought our land through a time of war? Of course..." Gwen didn't seem to hesitate at all, but that was Gwen, always making decisions with her heart, "though, telling B'Rodyn isn't much of an option. He is my bond-mate... often what I know, he knows, if not specifically, then emotionally. But tell me, what more can I do for you?"

A half-smile touched Silverthorn's lips, "I ask for nothing else. Just that. I suspect that anything else I'm going to have to sort out for myself. It's the only way that my life will ever by truly mine."

The raven-haired woman had always been a difficult person to read, the mask that she wore against the outside world solidly in place, yet for a moment in her green eyes there was a glimmer of something that might have been gratitude and relief, as if one small burden had been lifted. Yet it was also tinged with surprise. Nearly all the S'Heans she had run into since her divorce had treated her awkwardly, as if they were no longer quite sure what to make of her. Perhaps it was because they had had no experience of dealing with ex-queens, or perhaps it was because they were trying to juggle how they behaved towards her with the way they behaved towards her ex-husband. Some she was almost certain would be delighted to see her go. There had always been a vocal minority, virulent in their dislike. It was a shock to run into someone who actually seemed to genuinely want to help, who evinced none of the discomfort almost everyone else had displayed, and for that person to be a member of the D'Riel clan too...

"Thank you, Gwen," she said simply.

***

"M'lord? It is the agreed time." Walter's voice carried through the empty throne room and bounced off polished granite and marble. Alone, Callan sat on the Imperial throne, dressed as though he were about to walk into battle. In his fingers was the hilt of the Claymore and its point rested lightly on the stones between Callan's booted feet. A brilliant patch of pale yellow, cheerful sunlight illuminated a long rectangle that stretched from a tall, wide window and draped across Callan's knees and arms. Slowly, his head lifted, and on his brow sat the original crown of his station, a single band of adamantine set with onyx stones... a crown of Silver and Black.

At first glance, one could almost wonder if Callan's thoughtfulness was a glimmer of hope for Sorshia Crylos. Perhaps the old Araxmarr was gone and pleasure in killing had faded? It was a thought that would have quickly fled, once a slightly longer look into his face was had.

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Wrath burned low and smouldering in his eyes and topaz irises glittered a soft phosphorescence. Rage was burning deep within the Emperor, and severing the head from the serpent would be an excellent way to expend some of that Rage.

"When Tay gets here, I'll go. I want everyone out there very aware that this Keep is held not only by me, but by the Empress."

Perhaps today was execution day for the last known survivor of House Crylos, but it was also a day to make a strong statement about exactly what happened to those who crossed Araxmarr. House Blackthorn might not be relegated to 'pure' blood any longer, but its strength was never to be questioned. Today, Araxmarr would make an example of House Crylos.

The sound of boot heels clicking on stone followed up Callan’s last words, and the Empress herself came through the doorway. One would never have known she had given birth a month before. Her body had done its usual, snapping back to its lithe, flat-stomached form in no time at all.

Tay’s form of dress was severe, tight, low cut leather trousers in black moulded to her form down to high hunting boots and her usual cut off shirt shielded golden skin from a breastplate that now displayed the blackthorn crest. Arm guards enclosed her wrists, hiding blades of their own that she could activate with a movement of the tendons.

Armed to the teeth, it was a guessing game as to how many daggers were hidden on the Amazon’s person in addition to the ones worn openly at her hips and the hilts peeking out from her boots. On close inspection, the ‘hair pin’ that held unruly flaming locks back from her face and securely under the Blackthorn crown was a forked blade as well.

Gone was the soft expectant mother, replaced by the fierce warrior she had been most of her life. Today was not about life and love, it was about treason and death, and she fully supported her husband’s show of strength.

“Then by all means,” she came to a stop next to Walter and smirked at Araxmarr, “Let’s go.”

"Hai. Let's end this." Callan rose to his feet and nodded at his wife and uncle. The Claymore whorled in the air and spun neatly over his shoulder to drop into the scabbard that hung down his back. Together, he and the Empress would enter the arena, and a harsh statement would be made.

Cross Araxmarr, and your life was forfeit.

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If Humans loved a good hanging, it could be said the Black Kin loved a public execution/example making in the Pit. The entire arena was possibly even more crowded than during a Tourney, and almost every Black and Silver House had representatives in attendance. The visiting 'honour' box was filled with the Council of the Silver Nation, and the prime seats were reserved for various diplomats, ambassadors and other Silver dignitaries and the Emperor's box was flanked by Black and Silver Imperial Guards, Vor'ills and Vor'chei. In the seat usually occupied by An'Thaya, the Vesai, Mira Badb Catha sat with her husband to the right. To her Left, the Vesahd, Yarwin Blackthorn was seated with Rachel next to him.

The entire crowd, while not having the same energy as a Tourney gathering, was still loud, yet a sudden, expectant hush fell over the masses of people when a glimpse of Callan Blackthorn, striding onto the sands with his diminutive, yet no less respected, wife keeping pace with him.

Shortly afterward, from beneath the Emperor's box, a set of double doors opened with a loud, echoing boom, and a slender figure was hauled out by two massive males, Altorian Ashka and Kalleth Dosek. She was bound at the wrists and ankles by adamantine chains, and while it was clear she'd not been pampered during her confinement, she still held her head up with arrogance and defiance. Her eyes scanned the hoards of people, Black, Silver, Human, Elven, and unerringly settled on one face. The venom in her expression as she looked dead on into Tyloril Ashka's face was obvious. There he sat, a smirking smile on his face, watching, as she took her last breaths. Why hadn't she turned on him, implicated him in the interrogation process?

Because her hatred for the Emperor and his precious Guard was so deep, so ingrained, that she would gladly die knowing one other lived that hated them just as much, one other who might, just might eventually take the throne out of Araxmarr's hands.

"Sorshia Crylos." Callan nodded to Altorian and Kalleth and the pair stepped back several steps. Altorian's amber eyes, however, had been tracking Soshia's line of sight. The looks had not been missed....

As the two guards stepped away, the silence in Sha'tris grew even deeper as everyone strained to hear what was being said.

"I won't extend your life another minute by repeating why we're here." His words were filled with dark wrath, and as her eyes met his, the dark haired female spit in the Emperor's face. Her expression spoke of how weak she thought the Emperor had grown both physically and mentally.

Thick, rough fingertips shot out, far quicker than Sorshia expected, and closed around her bruised and dirty jaw. A vicious, dark smile peeled back Callan's lips

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and slowly, he began to squeeze. A low mutter washed through the stands and the bulk of the crowd leaned forward in their seats while others actually stood.

"In another time, Sorshia Crylos," Involuntary tears began to fill her eyes as the crushing pressure began to tighten. Self-preservation began to override pride and she tried to jerk her head back and to the side to be free of the pain, "I would have kept you on the threshold of life and death for weeks without letting you cross over. I'm not like my sire, you should know that. I know the line where agony stops and the body feels nothing," He leaned close as the bones of her jaw began to slowly crack, only to be healed and crack again, "And I know exactly how to draw it out for a very, very long time."

A final squeeze left her jaw completely crushed and as she let out a choked scream of pain, he stepped back and drew the Claymore.

"But that was in another time. I won't waste my energy on you today, but I promise you this. I know you weren't alone, and I know who helped you, I know who you helped. Their lives won't last much longer than yours."

The Empress hadn’t moved, though her eyes had gone as hard as the emeralds they resembled so closely. A twisted smile curved her mouth as she met Sorshia’s gaze, then looked past her as a small group of Blacks were brought into the pit under guard. Among them, were Sorshia’s bondmate and several key people from her citadel.

They were brought to a halt several yards away and without a second look at the female about to meet her maker, An’Thaya moved forwards, meeting Riegh and a tall, rough looking male as they stepped away from the group. He was Sorshia’s lover and bondmate, and the Amazon had no clue what his name might be.

“Kneel to your Emperor,” the redhead said sharply, standing sideways to look at his profile. She hardly looked surprised when the Black remained upright, in fact, it was pretty apparent that she had been expecting it. Her boot heel drove into the back of his knee, forcing him down, “I said kneel.”

Lithe, deceptively delicate looking fingers dug into short-cropped hair and yanked his head back. For all her diminutive size, An’Thaya was compact, densely muscled for survival on a high gravity planet, her strength was often underestimated, and from his grunt of surprise, Sorshia’s mate had made a common misjudgement. He had little time to contemplate it though, barely a moment to register the glint before his eyes as the blade of one of the redhead’s wickedly sharp daggers.

Steel cut through flesh, hitting the bone as it was neatly slid from one ear to the other, pulling free with little resistance and spraying an arc of dark, near black

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blood across the sand and the front of the Empress herself. Letting him fall, she tossed the bloodied blade onto his back and looked to Callan, maintaining silence as the next ‘victim’ was brought forward.

Auden steepled his fingers, blue lavender eyes watching the execution unfold. House Keiji refrained from interfering in politics, having grown tired of the details, but still maintained a position of honour in the Silver Nation and when something so monumental as the drama that ended lives of both Black and Silver alike was happening, he would not keep his back turned. Beside him his son sat, the younger Silver’s face a cool mask.

Close by were the heads of other Silver Houses. Zephram Kanone and his eldest son, Maren, watched the spectacle impassively. For them this was an opportunity to see Justice be satisfied. The Black who had laid waste to House Camos had been slain, but only once those who had instigated the slaughter were dead would this be truly over.

Flat golden eyes watched the proceedings from the platforms that ringed the Pit. This day was too long in the coming but it was understandable as to why it was put off. Ivette scanned the crowd for one face that she knew would be there, and in the end it was the traitorous female that pointed out what she was looking for like a blood hound pointing at its target. She hadn’t said a word to Altorian; it was still an ace up her sleeve. She had gone there with assumptions, and walked away with proven truths. And she hoped that one day Tyloril would be where Sorshia was now.

Standing with other members of the Black Guard, Gabriel Silinrul watched coldly. He knew only too well that up in the stands his sire and hatchmate were doing the same. Sorshia Crylos and her mate would stand before the Gods this day, but only once House Crylos had been bathed in flame would House Silinrul renounce their claim of vengeance. No-one murdered members of their House in their own citadel and got away with it. No-one.

Sorshia's knees finally began to cave as she felt half her soul torn away, ripped free without warning. Finally she broke and allowed an emotion other than hate leak through, and a choked howl of misery and sorrow bellowed from the Black female. Words tried to come out, but with a broken jaw and without her tongue, without the complete soul-bond she'd enjoyed for so long with her mate, the words were strangled gibberish.

Finally, the Emperor had broken far more than Sorshia's bones. The defiance was gone from her eyes, the colour drained from her skin, and as her mate's body bled out on the sands, the sharp claws of Madness were already tearing at her. In seconds the chemical high that bonded Kin lived with had been severed in Sorshia Crylos and the withdrawal was immediate.

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"Kill the rest of them." Callan's voice was cold, emotionless... and terrifying as his eyes slid from the collapsing Sorshia, to his Empress, "But save this one for later. She's mine."

Callan's dark head lifted as he turned a slow circle and his gaze now swept across the packed stands, "SORSHIA CRYLOS WILL LIVE..." He paused to let the furor die down before going on, "UNTIL I SAY OTHERWISE! She will live whether she likes it or not, with the same Madness she's inflicted on others!"

As the crowd exploded in a total uproar, Altorian's eyes slid from his brother, who he'd been watching almost the entire to time, to Sorshia, then back again. Tyloril was the only one not reacting with anger, with shouts for vengeance and in support of Araxmarr's decision to draw out Sorshia's misery.

Instead... he was laughing.

***

Ghet was lazing in the main room of their private chambers, not long up from Zenith. There was so much to be organized in so short a time that just taking a moment to relax was bliss. Still, she was hardly surprised when there was a knock at the door. Every time they shut it, it seemed like there was a constant procession of people going in and out. “Come.” The first time she’d said it, she’d felt really self-conscious. Simple usage was fixing that.

Fadil walked in and saw her, stretched across a chaise like a contented cat, smug and secure in her territory. Bile rose with the anger he’d been repressing, badly, since he’d heard the news. His back stiffened, and he had to unclench his jaw to speak. “I was looking for Y’Roden.”

Ghet sat up, smiling slowly. She didn’t like Fadil, she was horribly uncomfortable around him, and she defended herself in the only way she really knew how, by deliberately annoying the hell out of him. “He’s just in the bath. He’ll be out in a minute when he’s dressed. We were bathing together, but then… well. Nobody gets clean.”

It was too much. He lunged forward before he could stop himself, and was gratified when he saw her flinch. “Why can’t you leave him alone? What would it take? What is it you want, the power? Or would money do? Tell me what it takes to get you off him, and I’ll do it. He’s a good man and he doesn’t deserve to be led around by you until you get bored again and skrun off with someone else.”

Anger brought out the worst in Ghet and she knew it, but she couldn’t hold it back. What he said cut too close to the bone. “What the hell business is it of yours? Y’Roden loves me. He’s a big boy; Fadil, a very big boy and he can take care of himself. You don’t even know me, why the hell do you hate me so much?”

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Fadil shook his head. He was keeping back the memories that weren’t his, what he knew of her that he had no right or desire to. “Oh, I know you, though you don’t remember me. The first time I knew you existed was when you drove Y’Roden into Tenobrous, though I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know who you were when we used your hair to bring him back to himself. I thought it was Summerlin’s. The first time I saw you, you were a filthy, raving thing he’d just half-killed himself to save. I watched him risk his life and his sanity to bring you back to yourself and what did you do? You left him. What have you ever done but hurt him? You took his blood, his son, you drove a wedge through his marriage when he tried to get away from you and now look. Suddenly you’ll be queen and your son will be Heir. How long were you planning to let Ro live after that?”

Ghet got to her feet, small before the massive S’Hean captain but livid with anger that flowed around her. “It is nothing to do with you! Ro chose me, and S’Hea chose me, and if you don’t fucking like it, well you’ll just have to skrunning well lump it, won’t you?”

The half-elf was only half dressed when he entered the room, his hair still wet and shoulders gleaming, trousers obviously hurriedly tugged on. His features were hard with anger, irises shot dangerously crimson as he bore down on Fadil, his palm driving into his friend’s chest and forcing him to back up a step. He was controlling himself the best he could, which showed in the jump of a nerve in his jaw, and the fact that the Ra’Vidden wasn’t flat on his back.

Ro seemed at a loss for words for several heartbeats, the wet fringe of hair between his eyes shaking hard. “I’m going to try and pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” he grated out, “because if you know so damn much, Fadil, you also know how Gods damn much I love Ghet. If you care anything about my happiness at all you will look past the half-truths you think you know and start looking at things from a new perspective. If you can’t do that, damn well tell me now old friend, you are the Captain of my Guard, and if I can’t trust you to protect my wife and Queen with your life…”

Ghet slipped back quietly, behind Y'Roden. She wasn't afraid, she simply wanted to be out of the way. It might be over her, but this just wasn't her fight, and nothing she could do would help.

Fadil stumbled, then drew himself up, facing the rage he knew he deserved. When he spoke, the anger was still in his voice, but as tightly controlled as the grief and fear that under-wrote it. "I've always done my duty to your house," he said quietly, "and I always will. If that means laying my life down for her, then I'll do it. I would never let my feelings get in the way of that. But you can't ask me to like her. I do know you love her, that's what worries me. I think... it's part of my duty to keep you safe, and if I didn't point out danger when I saw it, in whatever form, I'd be failing in that duty. And you know I won't be the only one not happy with your choice of queen."

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Ro laughed, a harsh sound through the tension, “Fadil, I was in more danger every time I got into bed with Silverthorn than I will ever be with Ghetsuhm. I highly doubt she’ll ever have an urge to slit my throat whilst I’m sleeping. And if it’s my heart you’re worried about, I’m a big boy, I’ve had it broken before. This is my choice, and I’m not asking you to fall desperately at her feet in devotion. I’m asking you to just respect that this is the decision I’ve made, that she is my friend, my lover, my wife, and my Queen, and she deserves the same respect and loyalty that you afforded Arianne. I know you have your opinions, and I could stand here all day and list all the reasons why you are wrong, but that wouldn’t get us anywhere.”

He shrugged, a roll of heavy shoulders, “As for anyone else that isn’t happy with my ‘choice of Queen’, they have no right to dictate who I love, or who I spend my life with, and I’d be more than happy to ‘discuss’ the matter with them.”

Fadil was silent for a long moment, and then he nodded. Y'Roden was right, they could argue round in circles all afternoon and it wouldn't solve anything. He wasn't going to change his mind, but he would learn to keep his mouth shut. "Alright. What I can give, you have." He half-turned to face Ghetsuhm. "My apologies, my lady. I had no right to speak to you as I did."

Ghet tilted her head and looked at him. There was a suspicion of tears about her eyes from Y'Roden's words. She couldn't bring herself to be nice to Fadil, but she could see he was making an effort for Ro's sake, and she could do no less. She couldn't make herself speak, but she nodded, and the aura of anger around her diminished considerably.

Fadil drew a deep breath, and then a strange expression crossed his face and he let out a short, rough laugh. "I can't remember why I came. May I go?"

Ro visibly relaxed, the tension going out of his shoulders and his eyes returning to their usual vibrant green. “Aye,” he nodded, then paused, “D’Anke, Fadil.” The half-elf fully understood how much that had cost his friend, and it tore at him to have the woman he loved and someone who had stood by him as long as he could remember at odds. There was just a small glimmer of hope in the back of his mind that things would eventually work themselves out.

Ghet watched Fadil leave, then slipped under Y'Roden's arm, her face troubled. "It's all true, you know, in a way. What he said. What if he's right?" She'd known it was going to happen, but it still bugged the hell out of her, that she should cause problems for him like this.

Leaning over, Ro kissed the top of Ghet’s head and breathed in the scent of ginseng. “Do you really think I care what anyone else thinks?” he asked, “I’ll deal with the punches as they come, I’m not really overly worried about it. Besides, if they don’t see how perfectly you fit as S’Hea’s Queen they all need their heads checked.”

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Turning her to face him he slid a finger beneath the redhead’s chin and tilted her head up, “as for the rest, we made no promises, remember? All that matters is that we are both where we want to be right now.” A spark of amusement lit his eyes, “and if you really wanted the ‘power’, Adarin would be a far easier target than I.”

Ghet laughed, appalled, and slapped Ro smartly on the chest. "You're just evil, you know that? Of course you do. Adarin is not... right for me. Every hunter has its favourite prey." She lowered her head and kissed him where she'd hit him. She might not have made any promises, but in spite of herself, she had a love she'd rather die than lose. "I like mine with a little more... fight to them."

Emerald eyes danced with mischief and more as warm laughter rumbled through Ro’s chest. “Then you’ve definitely come to the right place,” he growled, lifting Ghet’s knee to the outside of his thigh as he tilted her backwards, “we do fighting well here.” There was a distinct tearing of fabric and a crash as the drink cart was knocked on its side and the couple hit the floor.

The half-elf trailed the tip of his nose down Ghet’s jaw line, then pulled his head up and brushed his mouth over hers. “Yona elleska Dai,” he said in a low, rumbling tone, “and I wouldn’t advise anyone to get in my way.”

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Epilogue

"So where exactly is it that we're going?" Alcyone enquired with just a hint of curiosity in her tone. Dark silver scales gleamed in the sunlight as the dragon let herself soar upwards on the thermals rising from the land below before twisting a serpentine neck around to study her Black companion from out of the same startling pale blue eyes that characterized her seemingly half-elven form too. "You were being terribly secretive earlier."

"Me? Terribly secretive? Fine one to talk, you are," Atas chuckled as his wide wings caught an updraft and spiralled ever higher. It was nice, being able to fly today, and having a companion that wasn't in a v formation behind him... someone he didn't have to bark orders to for fear of getting them all killed or injured.

It's not far now, listen... On the wind, a faint tinkling sound could be heard under the rush of the air and the beating of wings. As their flight carried them over a high peak, his head swivelled down on its sinuous neck, "There...

Far below, in a green valley nestled between the mountains, a clean river wound its way to lower land. On the side of the mountain, a wide shelf of stone and earth supported a structure tucked against the mountain itself. In the sun, glints of metal and crystal reflected dancing glitters of light.

“Kye'ail Sadad... It means Laughter on the Wind. This, Alcyone, is my home when I'm not in the barracks. The music is my hoard.”

Atas' massive form curved on the wind, then began a slow spiral down, "Be careful with the backstroke, or the laughter will turn to noise.” Amusement tinged his words as he dropped from the sky. Apparently he spoke from experience.

"I'm secretive? I am not," the female retorted in a tone of mildly amused reproach, "what have I ever done that was secretive?"

She tucked in her wings neatly, following her Sire down towards the rocky shelf. Silvery scales slid like dark mercury over her form as she shifted, draconic hide becoming porcelain skin clad in a plain blue shirt and trousers. A breathy sound of awed delight escaped her. "This is... beautiful," she breathed.

"Yes, you. Terribly secretive." Atas' gravelly baritone filled the air as his form became human. "How many people have you told that you're not full Silver?" A witty, amused glint came to his eye as he looked at his daughter, then nodded.

"And thank you." He drew in a deep breath and looked at what she was seeing. On the mountainside, terraces climbed several meters up, flowers, herbs, a riot

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of various ornamental grasses and other decorative plants grew with artful abandon. On the 'ground' level, similar plantings framed a long framework of Ironwood. Its charcoal wood and silvery grains supported shallow arches, all designed to reflect Terran's Asian architecture. The frame seemed like a long, skeletal tunnel of repeating pillars and arches, all connected together with horizontal railings and beams at the top of each supporting pillar... but the arches and the plants were not the centrepiece of this entrance into Atas' home.

The centrepiece where the dozens of delicate wind chimes, all hanging from the wooden beams by silver, ornamental hooks.

Laughter on the Wind.

"This is where I come when I need to hear her laughter, when I need to hear the sounds of my sons' voices," As a counterpoint to the crystalline sounds produced by the crystal and metal chimes, a deeper, more masculine sound joined the music of the wind. Here and there, much longer, rounder sets of chimes rang in bell-like tones and blended with the lighter, musical sounds.

"I'm just grateful I can hear my daughter's voice when I'm in the Keep... I've not needed to come here as much since you joined the Guard." Atas cleared his throat and walked forward, under the arches, "though... since they're gone now... I suppose this place has become even more hallowed ground for me."

Atas' shoulders dropped slightly, and it seemed in that one admission, that she was truly gone, that his sons had died as well, that thousands of years had just passed from his life, leaving him tired, aged, and almost alone.

Slowly, as if uncertain about how it would be received, Alcyone moved forward, her hand touching his shoulder. "Anaril would have liked this place," she said softly. "She loved everything that was green and growing. In fact, she'd have been unable to resist adding to your garden. You would have found her smeared with dirt in a corner somewhere, determined to encourage a seedling to grow. Sometimes it seemed as if she managed it on sheer willpower alone. She hated to see any of her plants die."

In her ice blue eyes was the same quiet grief that inhabited his grey, but she managed a half-smile. "She loved music too. It was Anaril that taught me to play the flute." A hint of laughter escaped her, "Tryst and Val always preferred louder instruments, although I was never entirely sure whether that was a true preference or simply a way of driving everyone else in the House insane."

The blonde squeezed Atas' shoulder gently and then stepped away, unable to resist reaching out to brush an elegant fingertip over the nearest wind chime. Silvery notes rippled up into the air. There was a strange feeling of déjà vu about this place. It could so easily be somewhere she had created for herself. Her own

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small hoard of wind chimes hung close to the doors of her quarters in the barracks so that they would play as the breeze came in over the sunledge. She had always imagined that her love of such things had come from her mother. It was strange to realise that maybe that wasn't the case at all, that maybe she had inherited more than just a bloodline from the Black that had sired her.

"Leshere dae," Alcyone said softly, "for bringing me, for showing me this." Her eyes met his, "there seems to be a lot I should be thanking you for, and I hadn't even really realised it until recently."

"Not really," Atas shook his head slowly and drew in a heavy breath, "Your mother did all the hard work, I only watched and did what I could to raise your sister. Raising one spit-fire was hard enough, I can only imagine how difficult it was raising three."

A gravelly, baritone laugh came from Atas as he started walking through the arch again, toward a set of large, red double doors. A motion from his hand suggested Alcyone follow him, "You have little to thank me for, Alcyone. I'm the one that has much to thank you for."

"And why is that?" his daughter asked as she followed him through the doors, ice blue eyes surveying the area curiously. "I don't feel as if I have done anything at all." The pale gaze shifted back to the Black that was her sire. "You on the other hand... I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must have been for you and Anaril. The secret both of you carried was hardly a small one, yet you both kept it, and that is something I suspect I and all of my hatchmates have reason to thank you for. None of us would be here now if you hadn't."

Alcyone paused, thinking, "I wish I had had the chance to meet Tia."

As the wide doors swung open on their well-greased hinges, Atas looked over his shoulder at Alcyone, "Not so difficult as you might think." Brilliant scattered sunlight and shattered patterns of shadow stretched across a well-worn granite floor as the doors slowly stopped and Atas motioned for his daughter to enter.

"Difficult?" Atas almost looked surprised, "Not when you consider it meant the lives of your brothers, your life... even Tia's life." A faint, rueful smile that didn't quite make it to his mouth caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "But that was the price we were willing pay. It gave me more joy than anyone knew, just to know my children were healthy, happy, and living lives they might not have had otherwise... and Tia..." Atas motioned with a hand at a far wall, and a still figure that seemed to be standing there, concealed by the shadows.

"You would have liked her..." A short bark of husky laughter came from Atas, "or killed her." He nodded and gave Alcyone a knowing look from under an arched

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brow, then returned his gaze to the figure, "You two are more alike than you'll even know."

On a stretch of smooth granite, Atas had the impossible, something that should not have existed, yet did. It could best be described as a family portrait, and it was here that Atas could at last be alone with his two sons, his two daughters, and even Evelia, Alcyone's mother. On that wall were life-sized portraits of all of them, and by way of explanation when he saw the look of surprise and questions in Alcyone's eyes, all Atas could tell her was, "It was... painted by a friend, I suppose you can call him. He's... quite talented, but most people have no idea. Except for Tia, he painted them all simply by my descriptions. I think he did fairly well."

Delicate fingertips hovered over the image of the sister she had never gotten to meet, tears welling up in her pale eyes. "It's wonderful," Alcyone whispered. Blinking back the moisture, she glanced over at Atas, "then someone else knows?"

"Hai." Atas cleared his throat and scrubbed at his face before he answered her with what seemed a bit of reluctance, "Actually, there are at least two who know, the artist... and he didn't ask questions and he won't talk about what he's done here. The other person? Araxmarr. He has known for... ohh...." The old Black shrugged, "I couldn't tell you how long. But with him, I always knew this..." His hand waved toward the painted images, "little secret... was safe."

The blonde fell silent for a moment. "You asked me earlier who I had told that I was not full Silver. The answer is simple. No-one." She looked at her companion, hoping that he would understand. "I haven't been able to. It's not that I'm ashamed of being half-Black. I'm not ashamed that you're my Sire, quite the contrary. I just... needed time to let things sink in. To talk about us means talking about them."

"I know that." Atas spoke quietly, "You don't have to tell me, I can feel it, just like a change in the air before it rains."

Alcyone's icy blue gaze swung back to the portraits depicted so clearly upon the wall. "That is something I still find difficult. I'll have days when I'm fine, when everything seems to be all right and I'll think I'm getting over it. Not forgetting them, just... moving on. Then something will happen, something incredibly small and stupid even, and it all comes rushing back. As fresh and as painful as when the Vesahd first told me the news. It still hurts and talking, particularly having to explain things first, just makes it hurt more."

For a moment, Atas was silent, his gaze was on the images, his profile turned to his living daughter, then he drew in a deep breath and cleared his throat, "Now you know why only two people know. Now you know why neither your mother or I spoke of what happened between us, even after Araxmarr took the throne."

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A somewhat uncertain, wobbly smile threatened to come to Atas' mouth, "Explaining things is something I never liked to do. To do that, you have to relive the moments that hurt as well as the moments of joy." The Captain cleared his throat one more time, and gingerly put one arm awkwardly around Alcyone's shoulder and squeezed her as close as he dared, "Maybe... maybe in time we'll both be able to get by without those moments of hysterical tears... and maybe then we can tell each other stories so they won't be forgotten."

"Maybe," she agreed softly, letting her head come to rest on her father's shoulder as they stood there looking at the images of those they had loved so dearly, but who had gone before them into the Flame and Storm. "I think I would like that." Her gaze lifted slightly and she smiled slightly. "Ill'harn."

***

The day had a blessing of a cool breeze that playing among the trees, whispering a cooling breath against the heat of Whispin’s suns. Today was a special day. Not only had healing come to S’Hea, its effects still seen everywhere one looked, but a change was on the wind. One King would step down, and another would re-ascend. Add to that, a ceremony of Megifte and the coronation of a new Queen, Nenlante itself fairly hummed with energy, and the land seemed vibrant with life and anticipation.

Within the Sacred Circle, people had already gathered, most honouring the S’Hean tradition of going without clothing. Y’Roden was slightly nervous, but at the same time, he had been waiting for this moment for centuries, and the fact that it was finally here? It was a cross between disbelief and a burning feeling of excitement that left him breathless.

Much to B’Rodyn’s amusement of course, and he couldn’t have been more pleased then to preside over the joining of his Cousin and the woman he had so obviously loved for so long. Not to mention, his other duties of the day. This was a new beginning for Y’Roden and Ghet, but it was also a fresh start for B’Rodyn and Gwen. A new life, a new adventure…

The crowd gathered included friends and family, Blackthorns, D’Riels, Silverleafs and so on, and all that was missing at the moment, was the Bride. There were a few in the crowd that likely suspected she had bolted for the hills, but it hadn’t even crossed Y’Roden’s mind.

The bride had spent the last couple of hours in a small clearing not too far away, lying on the ground and talking to her goddess. The odd flutter of nerves had dispersed in the face of Venus's unique bluntness and ability to annoy Ghet and make her laugh all at once.

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Venus walked with Ghet to the edge of the circle, then kissed her and let her go, whispering, "Remember, third time's a charm." The goddess dodged neatly out of the way of Ghet's fist and took up a position in the circle directly opposite Callan. She had a very thorough stare.

Taking a deep breath and lifting her head, Ghet walked into the circle, her eyes on Y'Roden, her bearing full of confidence and certainty. She wore only the ring he'd given her, and the Talisman under her skin. After her time in the forest, her hair was dishevelled and there were smudges of dirt and sweat on her skin. She knew exactly how she looked, and as she joined her lover in front of B'Rodyn, her grin was enormous.

There was a stifled snicker from An’Thaya when she took note of just where Venus was staring, but she managed to have it under control by the time her cousin started speaking. Y’Roden, however, seemed totally oblivious, his grin matching Ghet’s as he reached out to take one of her hands.

"Within the sacred circle we have come together in celebration of the joining of Y’Roden and Ghetsuhm. Megifte; the joining of two souls, the merging of two lives. Love is precious and rare, and it binds us together in an eternal dance, which is a reflection of the dual suns that forever chase one another through the sky, and the moons that eternally dance upon our horizon. Inseparable, a bright light that shines in the darkness. The law of life is love unto all beings. Without it, life is nothing; death has no redemption for love transcends life, creation and the universe. If we learn no more in this life, let it be this."

"Megifte is a bond to be entered into only after careful reflection. As with any aspect of life’s journey, it has its cycles, its trials and its triumphs. With full understanding of this, Y’Roden and Ghetsuhm have come here on this day to be joined as one."

"A woman is not property to be bought and sold, given and taken; I ask simply if she comes of her own will. Ghetsuhm, is it true that you come of your own free will and accord?"

Ghet lifted an eyebrow; an ironic comment that suggested B'Rodyn knew as well as anyone how likely it was you could make Ghet do something against her will. There was laughter in her voice when she spoke. "I do."

Behind them, Rhagi watched his parents in amazement. It had all been far too much to take in. After a long year where they'd disappeared, reappeared, sickened, died, and gone crazy, it seemed incredible that they could be here, both together and not going anywhere. He was still in shock, frankly. Waiting for normal service to be resumed. It had yet to sink it, what the implications of this marriage were for him.

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He'd also had trouble really believing his parents were together. One foot through the wrong door at just the wrong moment had fixed that.

Shadow stood just behind Rhagi and gently ruffled his hair, smiling at her little brother as she did so. She had no idea what he was feeling and she wasn’t about to ask, some feelings needed to be treasured whether they were of shock or happiness. The Taurësúlë looked from him to her father and friend, another smile tugging at her lips. After all Y’Roden and Ghetsuhm had gone through, they were where they belonged, their Tanaii finally joining to complete their Tanaii-Ka.

B’Rodyn’s eyes sparked with undisguised amusement, and it was a moment before he remembered where he was in the process. Which was highly amusing in itself, since it was such a simple line. "Please join hands with your intended, and let your words come from the heart on this, the day of your joining."

Y’Roden turned completely to face Ghet and took both of her hands in his, his mouth curving up on one side in a dimpled smile and the look he gave her said ‘you first.’

Ghet’s lips twisted in an expression that promised retribution to come. She hadn’t prepared, of course: the problem this time was that they’d said everything. Everything he needed to know, he already did. And it was always there, her fear of hurting him: no promises.

“Rodi.” One word and her thick lashes were already heavy with tears. “There is nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know. I gave you my heart with my body centuries ago, and despite everything we’ve put each other through, I have never regretted it for a second. I would go through Hell for you. We know because I’ve done it. We fit each other in a way most people couldn’t even fathom, let alone replicate, and no matter what happened, we both knew there was someone, somewhere, one person who understood.

“Over the years, I’ve given you everything I could, but there was one thing you never had, one thing I could never give you, no matter that I loved you so much it made my soul bleed and burn. This is what I give you now. My faith. My promise that my heart will be yours alone, that yours will be the only hand to grace my flesh, the only kiss to fire my blood. My pain and my pleasure I lay before you, to do with as you will.” Her grip on his hands was sure, and the look in her eyes was clear and true. “I am yours, and proud to be so.”

He hadn’t prepared either, they were spur of the moment creatures after all, and he was completely silent for a moment, utterly speechless as Ghetsuhm’s words sank into his soul. His eyes wavered, caught in hers as Ro drew a slow, steadying breath and just let the words come.

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“Ghettie,” he even managed it without a crack in his baritone, “We’ve said so much the past few months, and over the years. You are where I have always found understanding without judgement, honestly no matter the consequences, and love that has surmounted so many obstacles it can’t be anything other than the real thing. I have lived, breathed and died for you, and never regretted a moment.”

“I’ve been yours since the first moment you looked into my eyes, and now I give you everything. Heart, mind, body and soul, pleasure and pain, light and dark, yours, and yours alone.” His face lit with a smile, “You are my Lisse Nwalme, and in this land of eternal summer, you are the joy of every one of my mornings.”

“Above you thrum the stars,” B’Rodyn’s voice filled the silence as Y’Roden’s trailed off, “Below you hum the stones, as time passes, remember... Like a stone should your love be firm, like a star should your love be constant. Let the powers of the mind and of the intellect guide you in your joining, let the strength of your wills bind you together, let the power of love and desire make you happy, and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Be close, but not too close. Possess one another, yet be understanding. Have patience with one another, for storms will come, but they will pass quickly. Be free in giving affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the Goddess is with you always."

“Y’Roden, I have not the right to bind you to Ghetsuhm, only you have this right. If it be your wish, say so at this time and place your band in her hand.”

The half-elf produced the silvery S’Hean cuff from a pocket portal and set it into Ghet’s small palm. It was set with an emerald to reflect his soul, and a flame red ruby to reflect Ghetsuhm’s, the two ends separate… for the moment. “It is my wish,” he said without hesitation, “without a doubt, to be bound to Ghetsuhm.”

"Ghetsuhm, I have not the right to bind you to Y’Roden, only you have this right. If it be your wish, say so at this time and place your band in his hand."

A single tear had spilled over to roll slowly down Ghet's cheek, and she let it, unashamed. Effortlessly, she produced her armband, a perfect match for the one she already held but for the size. "It is my wish," she said gently, her expression soft as she laid the band in Y'Roden's hand. Simple words, full of truth.

"Ghetsuhm, I accept your band, and the binding of you to me, and I wish the same. I could do nothing else, and would have no other. I willingly bind myself to thee."

Taking Ghet’s smaller cuff, Y’Roden stepped forward and slid it onto her right bicep, the two ends quickening beneath his touch to form the S’Hean eternity

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symbol, the gems glittering in the centres of the loops. His callused fingers brushed her skin as he recited the rest of the vows.

“I, Y’Roden D’Riel, in the name of the spirit of the Gods that reside within us all, by the Aethyr that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take you, Ghetsuhm Riker, to my hand, my heart and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire you and be desired by you, to possess you and be possessed by you without shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for you. I promise to love you wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people and your ways as I respect myself.”

In every ceremony came this point where the actions and words of one party echoed the other. Previously, she'd always found it kind of awkward and uncomfortable. One thing she'd learned a lot about lately though was balance. A lot of the last year had been about shifts in the balance; order and chaos, life and death, one love and another. There was a profound feeling in her heart and beneath her feet of balance being restored, as she slid the larger cuff onto Y'Roden's arm, sealed the ends, spoke the words over it.

And when she completed the vows, they were so true for the two of them; they sounded straight from her heart, not learned or repeated. "I, Ghetsuhm Riker, in the name of the spirit of the Gods that reside within us all, by the Aethyr that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take you, Y'Roden D'Riel, to my hand, my heart and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire you and be desired by you, to possess you and be possessed by you without shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for you. I promise to love you wholly and completely without restraint," she had to master a smirk at that point, she was both totally without restraint and the complete opposite with him, "in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again." In that moment, she believed it utterly, and she could only hope that next time round, it didn't take so long.

"I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people and your ways as I respect myself.” Her fingers had lingered on the muscles of his arm, and now she drew them slowly away, trailing heat behind them.

It was hypnotic, and Ro was caught up so deeply in Ghet, B’Rodyn had to literally bump his arm with the Chalice. Turning his head, Y’Roden met his cousin’s gaze a little dazedly before realizing he should be taking the goblet of Mai’Tus wine.

“May you drink your fill from the cup of love,” the King intoned, his lip twitching with a suppressed grin as the cup passed from his hands into Y’Roden’s.

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The half-elf lowered it slightly, then tilted it for Ghet to drink from. His eyes were lit with the flame of memory, it wasn’t the first time he had served her, nor would it be the last.

Ghet blushed, a dusky rose stain flooding her cheeks. The Mai'Tus... she reminded herself that no-one else had any idea what it meant to them, but the way he was looking at her really wasn't helping. There was a lot more they had to get through yet.

She covered his hands with hers and drank, eyes on his the whole while, then she offered the cup back in return, her grin impossible to repress.

It was a little awkward to grin and drink at the same time, but Ro managed, never breaking eye contact until the cup was taken, and B’Rodyn placed the seed of life, a Mai’Tus seed, into his palm, then covered it with Ghet’s. A small garland of ivy and orchids was wound lightly around their wrists and the King held his hand just above theirs. A soft glow lit up his palm, extending to the garland that shimmered softly, then seemed to seep into their skin until it was gone.

"By the power vested in me by the Gods and the Kingdom of S'Hea, I now pronounce you Ronnan and Vonna. May your love so endure that its flame remains a guiding light unto you."

“Finally,” Ro rumbled teasingly, “the good part.” His heavy hand slid around Ghet’s waist and pulled her forwards as he lowered his head, his free hand digging into his hair as their mouths met.

A disbelieving snort was cut off by the descent of her Ronnan's mouth. Ghet steadied herself with an arm around his neck and let him take her weight as she returned his kiss, with interest. It was a kiss that held everything they'd just said and felt, and it was going to take a while.

Anaya was simply leaning against her husband in the circle and smiling as she watched her Addah-in-law and Ghet. The redhead had a special place in the blonde's heart, and a mutual understanding that needed no words, not after... Celtic eyes were misty as the pair kissed, and she sighed contentedly. Maybe now, life would be a little more settled.

As for the Emperor, he'd known immediately who had been studying him like tonight's steak dinner, and when the ceremony was over, cleared his throat and suppressed a grin, "She's not exactly catching me at my best, is she?" The past months had taken their toll on everyone and even the fit and muscular Emperor had lost enormous amounts of weight, which had left his cheek bones, ribs and hip bones as well as other various body parts poking out a bit further than before. His eyes shifted from Venus to the top of his petite wife's head "We can always

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renew our vows though, get married all over again S'Hean style, and invite her back for the ceremony."

As a low chuckle began to spread through the crowd, Callan slid his arm around Tay's shoulders and looked up at the still kissing married couple, who seemed in danger of forgetting just where they were, then rolled his eyes, “Congratulations... but... you either need to find a room, or you're going to start a new tradition, and frankly, I'm all about new traditions.”

***

The crowd had moved out near the lake after the Megifte celebration, more than a little excitement in the air as the S’Hean people as a whole prepared for what was coming. It effected each and every one of them, the transference of Kings, it would touch on every single soul, jarring and reconnecting from old King to… not quite so new.

Ro had donned a pair of soft white trousers and had cast a look at Ghet that had the slightest edge of nervous to it. He was, once again, shouldering a massive burden, no matter how much he loved the land and the people.

B’Rodyn looked peaceful, his dark chestnut locks ruffling across his shoulders as a breeze blew in from the lake. There was a quiet acceptance about him, in knowing that the position was rightfully Ro’s. He stood with his back to the water, dressed identically to his cousin and the familial resemblance became all the more clear as the half-elf joined him on the emerald sands.

“On this day,” B’Rodyn’s voice carried well over the grassy meadow, “I renounce my claim to the S’Hean Throne, and pass it on to its rightful heir, Y’Roden D’Riel.” His gem like gaze met its mirror and the elf held out his hand, palm up, to his cousin. “Do you accept this honour? Will you accept the burden of the Web, of the Land, and the people?”

“I do,” Y’Roden’s baritone was rich and there was no hesitation in his tone. His massive hand closed around B’Rodyn’s wrist, and the jolt caused the King’s fingers to reflexively close about Ro’s. There was a slow, soft glow between their wrists, then a sudden explosion of Aethyr lightning that hovered between them for a moment, then enveloped both males in a crackling maelstrom.

The air lit up with writhing tendrils of green energy that snapped away from B’Rodyn’s soul, broken filaments on the air that bucked and swayed, then unfailingly, slammed into Y’Roden as hundreds of souls sought out the Nexus.

The half-elf let out a wild yell, his head snapping back as B’Rodyn’s bowed forward. The only thing keeping either of them on their feet was the other, and

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they swayed dangerously as the Web reasserted itself, claiming Y’Roden as its patriarch once more.

When it was done, Ro stumbled back and drew in a deep gasp of air, his skin still crackling with the living Gaia of Whispin. B’Rodyn followed, Y’Roden turning to fall in beside of them as the pair made their way out onto the grass. The new King held out his hand, beckoning Ghetsuhm to himself as Gwen came to stand beside B’Ro, and around all of them, a ring of Rangers took up position. Beyond them, the S’Hean people formed great rings of their own, all gathered for the reinstating of their King, and to welcome a new Queen.

Ghet was still laughing as she walked out to join her Ronnan, not humour, but a mix of sheer joy and a deep pride in Y'Roden. Her soul rang from the shift in the nexus, sparking with energy, which showed in her eyes as she practically danced across the grass to Ro. She took his hand and kissed him lightly, delighting in the force that cracked between them. "It suits you," she said impishly. She had no doubt at all that this was where her Rodi belonged.

Y’Roden’s deep laughter matched hers and he took a moment to kiss her properly, not bothered at all by the fact that the entire S’Hean nation and then some were watching. Drawing back, he took both of Ghet’s hands in his; standing so he was facing her directly. This was their moment now, “It suits you too,” he told her, because it did.

B’Rodyn stepped forward, his hand in Gwen’s, “Life and Magic are the Land, the King is the life, the King is the Magic; the land's name is Y’Roden D’Riel… so say I.”

Despite his reservations, in this Fadil had no conflicts. Y'Roden was his oldest friend, and the Hojet Foryen firmly believed he was the only king for S'Hea. “Life and Magic are the Land, the King is the life, the King is the Magic; the land's name is Y’Roden D’Riel… so say I.”

“I am life, I am magic, I am the land, so say I,” Y’Roden recited, his eyes still sparkling as they held Ghet’s gaze.

From the circles surrounding them came the resounding chorus, “So Say I.”

Gwen's smiling eyes shifted from Y'Roden, whom she'd been watching with a certain amount of love, sympathy, and pride. Her spring green eyes now fell on the woman who was about to become Queen of S'Hea, the woman who would now fill the role left vacant by Silverthorn... a role of healing, in a time when the Land needed just that. It was time not for a warrior Queen, but for a healer Queen.

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“Love and wisdom," Gwen's rich voice carried easily as she spoke, "she is the soul of the King. The Queen is love, the Queen is Wisdom; the Soul’s name is Ghetsuhm D’Riel… so say I.”

Fadil's face was cold, but then he barely ever showed emotion anyway. She was queen, by virtue of her marriage, she made Y'Roden happy for now, and when it came right down to it, there was nothing Fadil could do anyway. To object would be to damage Ro, and fail in his duty. The pause before he spoke wasn't long enough for comment, and while there was no joy in his voice, there was nothing that could cause comment either. “Love and wisdom, she is the soul of the King. The Queen is love, the Queen is Wisdom; the Soul’s name is Ghetsuhm D’Riel… so say I.”

Ghet's smile had not faltered. She was too full of joy to be plagued by insecurities. She could feel the touch of S'Hea on her, a certainty she could always fall back on. "I am love, I am wisdom, I am the Soul." Her eyes on Y'Roden's, she was so full of happiness it bubbled around her, scarcely contained. "So say I."

Again, the gathered host raised their voices, “So Say I.”

To each side of the royal couple appeared a young Elven maid, each bearing a small obsidian bowl filled with clear water.

Y’Roden kept his eyes on Ghet as he reached to the side, dipping his fingers into the bowl, then gently running his thumb over her mouth, a soft brush of skin over her lower lip that left it damp and glimmering in the dual sunlight.

Ghet closed her eyes briefly, soaking up the sensuality of the gesture before she replicated it, her breath catching in her chest as the water beaded on his mouth. Her hand shook as she drew it away.

With their hands joined once gain, Aethyr fire leapt up between them, green and full of S’Hean life. It was a testament to the purity of the union, that Ghet was truly connected to S’Hea, that her flame matched his own. The words were recited as one.

“I stand upon the land, I breathe the air, I taste the sweet water, I burn with the fire, I live through the Aethyr. By all these things and more, I pledge myself to S’Hea, to its people and to you. So say I.”

“Long life to the King!” B’Rodyn’s voice carried over the crowd.

“SO SAY I!” The response was a roar of voices, and with it, the D’Riel Web became visible, every ethereal strand glowing with soft emerald light, leading

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back to Y’Roden at the nexus. A vast, glimmering spider web of power and connection on two distinct levels; the brighter more intense one linking the D’Riel Clan and all those who were bonded to them by blood, the second, a more subtle filament of webbing that linked the S’Hean people as a whole.

Gwen's voice once again spoke over the crowd, “Long life to the Queen!”

“SO SAY I!”

A pulse flowed out across the vast network, the final seal upon the pact between royal couple, the S’Hean people, and S’Hea itself. Tendrils of Aethyr rose up from Her, playing about the ankles of the King and Queen, an answering celebration that welcomed Ro back to the throne, and Ghet… home.

***

Y’Roden had never really been very good with Goodbyes, though for all intensive pretences, this wasn’t truly a farewell. It was a… see you again soon. Only, B’Rodyn and Gwen were leaving the land of their birth. True, the same force that nourished S’Hea existed and flourished in Danna-Riel, but it was strange just the same.

The S’Hean King was quiet as he watched the couple near the well with B’Roce, and his fingers squeezed reflexively on Ghetsuhm’s waist. On the other side of the redhead, An’Thaya was standing silently with Callan, chewing on her bottom lip as she watched her cousins prepare to depart.

Thaya had always been very close to B’Ro, they had spent a great deal of time together over the years and he had been sorely missed since his death. She gave the chestnut haired elf a wistful smile as he turned around, then glowered slightly as he laughed.

“Knock that off,” she threatened, “or I’ll put you back in the casket you came out of, ass.”

“You and whose army?” came the teasing reply, as he stepped around Gwen and their newborn son, “come here and say goodbye to your baby cousin before we have to go.”

"Her and the Fearsome Redhead Army, of course," Ghet said, her voice a little huskier than normal. She'd never had a huge amount of contact with B'Rodyn and Gwen, but it had always been at times of stress, something that deepened a relationship in short order. "We can kick your arse in all kinds of interesting ways between us, and make you like it."

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"Oh gods," Callan grumbled and rolled his eyes, "don't rile the Redhead Army, whatever you do, I promise, it won't be pretty. Of course, you could always send them my way...." One of the first true grins Callan had worn in weeks came to his mouth, and it was wickedly dark, one that would likely get him in a lot of trouble later. And he was going to love it.

As for the one-time S'Hean Queen, Gwen gave An'Thaya, Y'Roden and Ghetsuhm a wide smile, then shifted her gaze to Callan. That one was going to be trouble for An'Thaya, and finally, Gwen thought, trouble of the best sort. Which was something her husband's cousin needed.

"You'll have to bring the twins and Cal'Lanth to see us, Thaya." Gwen's voice was tinged with mirth as she hefted her son up in her arms a bit better, "I'd like them to see each other as much as they can."

An’Thaya laughed and gently smacked her husband; she was saving the hard smecking for later, then moved forward towards Gwen. “I’d love to,” she said with a smile, leaning in to kiss De’Lan’s soft, downy head. “He’s beautiful,” the Amazon murmured, then impulsively hugged Gwen, “I will, and I’m dying to see what Danna-Riel is like as well.”

B’Rodyn’s eyes met Ghet’s, sparkling with amusement as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, “It’s the ass kicking I’d get from Ro afterwards I’m worried about,” he teased, “no matter what he says I’m fairly sure he thinks he owes me a stabbing.” He looked from Ghet to Ro and back again, “take care of him, will you? Watch that terrible propensity of his to fall on sharp objects? I think we are both fairly tired of dragging his arse back from the afterlife.”

Ro snorted, “there is only one sort of impaling I’m interested in these days, and it has nothing to do with sharp objects.”

Ghet hugged B'Rodyn back, hard, then drew back and smoothly elbowed her husband in the stomach. "That's okay, he owes me a stabbing too. I lost track of where we're up to with saving each other's lives. Though you know, taking a beating from Y'Roden... wait, that's inappropriate. See, I'm learning." She bit her lip and forced back the nervous babbling. "Thank you, B'Rodyn. For trusting me. I'll keep him safe, as much as he can be kept out of trouble. I'd only have to go get him again, and I do so hate repeating myself."

Gentle fingers brushed An'Thaya on the arm as Gwen smiled and then rolled her eyes at Y'Roden, "Awful. Simply awful... and that's why we love you, Ro." Green eyes shifted to Ghet, "You'll have your work cut out for you, I'm sure." The one-time Queen laughed softly and from within the blanket, her son's arm flailed, then his fingers tangled in her chestnut curls. Soft, content sounds came from the infant elf, and Gwen leaned against her own husband, "What will be interesting is seeing if you two," She nodded to the red-heads, "can keep THOSE two out of

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more trouble than necessary." She looked pointedly at Y'Roden, then Callan, "I sympathize with you, I do."

Gwen's smile became a satisfied expression as her eyes settled once more on the massive Emperor. To have come back to find An'Thaya's life threatened just when it seemed she'd finally found a husband who would not... could not... ever betray her, one who had willingly dove into a crumbling conduit and came out with a very changed soul, had seemed a horrible trick of fate. Now, Gwen knew they would be fine. There would be times they might want to kill each other, but in the end, they were one. They had something sacred, something all D'Riels desired but could not attain on their own - an infinitely united soul, one tied so tightly to their lover that to lose one, was to lose the other.

"You're going to be fine, An'Thaya. Just fine."

The Amazon looked over her shoulder at Callan, then turned back to Gwen with a self-satisfied smile, “Yes,” she said with absolute certainty, “I am.”

B’Rodyn’s answer to Ghet was a mischievous smile, and a few silent words. “I knew from the moment you touched the D’Riel Emerald that your fate was here, with Ro, I just never imagined the path it would take. You are what S’Hea needs now, you both are.”

Turning to Ro, B’Ro clasped his wrist, then laughed and pulled him into a half hug. “Behave yourself, and don’t torture W’Cren too badly, his heart is in the right place most of the time.” Releasing his cousin, the S’Hean paused to look at Callan, a sudden grin crossing his face, “I’d say take care of my cousin, but you seem to have that well in hand. Good fortune, to you, Callan Blackthorn.”

He looked down at Gwen and their child, eyes filled with a love that spanned time, death, and rebirth. Slipping an arm around her waist, he walked with her into the Aethyr Well, stepped in, and disappeared.

B’Roce watched them go, then turned and partially bowed to those left in the cavern, “say goodbye to your sister for me, Callan Blackthorn,” he said, “we will see you all again soon, I should think.” Taking his daughter’s hand, the King of the Danna-Riel disappeared into the Well as well, leaving An’Thaya laughing as she turned to look at Callan.

“Sooner than you would expect, I should think. Or perhaps sooner than Shy would.” Slipping her small hand into Callan’s she stood up on tiptoe and kissed him, “come along, we’d best get back to the keep before Cal’Lanth drives Walter out of his mind.”

Y’Roden stood silent for a moment before he looked from the well to his wife as they stood alone in the Chamber. “You know,” he said quietly, “this is the furthest

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thing I could have imagined my reality being a year ago.” His eyes lit up as he turned and bent his head to kiss Ghet in the shifting emerald light of the cavern, “I’ve never put my faith much in impossible dreams, but I guess now I’m going to have to readjust my thinking.”

Ghet drew her eyes away from the Well and looked up into her husband's face with the same serene certainty she'd seen on Gwen's and An'Thaya's faces. B'Rodyn was right, and she felt it with every step she took on S'Hean soil. This was her place, a sense of belonging she'd never had before. She kissed him deeply, smiling. "Nothing is impossible. Nothing. We've got this time of peace, however long it lasts, and I don't know about you, but I intend to make the most of every damn second."

“Well then,” the half-elf said with a warm chuckle and an evil glint to his eye, “best start right away then.”

New beginnings; for Whispin’s people and the land itself, from shore to shore in the world of eternal summer... Fate had woven its loom, and it wasn’t quite finished yet…

But that is another story.

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Language Glossary

Aarataurean

Amme – MotherAtar - FatherCáno – CommanderOlore - Well Met, HelloOnóóne - SisterRelosecoor - Cowardly Dogs! (An insult)

Al'imeara

Caerae - FatherCaermae – Grandfather

Amazonian

Ad’Vere – Honorary Sister

Black Speech Bas'tord - Bastard. This isn't so much an Aerdon word, but the way the word in Common sounds when pronounced by the Centaurs. It has become an accepted 'word' however, not just a different sound due to dialect.Breih – BitchBuraia - an Aerdonian bird similar in appearance and size to a Terran Mourning Dove. They are dusty, speckled grey in colour with peach tinted feathers along their breast and under their wings. They are commonly found in the northern, wooded regions of the Diirlathe, and have a soothing, soft cry, typically heard in the early morning and late evening hours.Hai – YesDoste' Iman – I love youEld-torick - The Black word for a con artistEh'rahma - OrphanIll'harn – FatherIll’har - MotherIllinsaad - The Illinsaad Renor Sar'da, or Amulets of Black Death, are rare in the extreme and were possessed ONLY by the Emperor of the Black Throne, Nargus IV, his Randii (mate), Ina'htas, the heir apparent, Araxmarr Zavern Sar'da and only a handful of their best assassins. The dark magics used to create them were granted to only one Black Dragon, Ina'htas, the mother of Calla Blackthorn and Randii of Nargus IV.Irdan Elan - Bluntly put, in Aerdonian Dragons, a cycle akin to heat in ordinary animals. Females generally go through this cycle every 10-12 years, give or take a few years depending on the individual and the availability of desirable males. Females in or near this cycle may be moody, suffer hot flashes, chills, irritation or even giddiness, not to mention raging desire. Their personal scent changes with the altering of hormones and body chemistry to something most if not all male dragons find intoxicating and highly attractive.

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Kanley – A ‘war’ between two parties carried out through subtle attacks, ranging from pranks to assassinations.Kej wodi - A restorative drink made of various native juices, which is high in carbohydrates, electrolytes and caffeine. It has a similar effect of drinking orange juice after donating blood and is used primarily by the Humans and to some extent, the Silvers. The Black Kin have only recently adopted using this drink and keep it handy during training exercises. This drink is pale milky, green in colour and has a salty/sour citrus flavour.Kerad Undal – Midwinter CelebrationKud – Stupid AssKye'ail Sadad – laughter on the windM'Aeosh – My SoulM'Tashnae – My TreasureNaddah - UncleOrsha Une - A name which translates literally to 'blood sisters' are a fanatically loyal group of women warriors who's life's duty is to protect the female heir to the Black Throne, and if there is one, the Empress. They are an elite group of females whose origins span back to the reign of the First Empress of the Black Throne.Pax rata athan - A concept of balance or a full cycle the Black Kin believe in. It is similar to Terra's common: "What goes around, comes around".Pu'tah - An obscenity used in reference to a submissive person, male or female. It suggests physical and spiritual weakness and that one is easily conquered, therefore lacking respect.Randii – MateRhul – HellSaag’nii - VampireSchatch - An antiquated expletive in the Black Tongue, meaning something close to filthy bastardization of nature. There is no easy translation of the word and it is rarely used by most recent generations of Blacks.Sha'tris Thy'sn - The Final Challenge.Sha'tris - Not to be confused with the ancestral training arena of the Blackthorn Keep, Sha'tris is the Gaia of Aerdon, the actual 'soul' of the planet. The actual arena in the Keep IS, however, home to a vast nexus of ley-lines, concentrated Gaia, which all interconnect in the 'pit'. Visualize a golden spider's web that wraps around the entire planet, with its centre in the arena at the Keep. This life force was ignored and unrecognized for what it is from the Age of the Sundering, and became a myth. For countless millennia, Sha'tris quietly waited for a Mage of the First and Sixth elements (Earth and Gaia) of Aerdon to call the Keep home, and this person, by a strange weavings of Fate was Araxmarr Zavern Sar'da. He and Sha'tris share a unique relationship unrivalled by any who have ever set foot in the Pit.Slag - The 'garbage' left over after ore has been smelted down, the impurities left behind once the pure metal has been removed. The Black Kin also use it in reference to any race other than Kin, suggesting any Human, Elven, Dwarven race, etc. are impurities, trash.Skag - fuckSlyan na'dah – Little Star

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Uskkden Sar'da - The ritual killing of a Black suffering the Grieving Madness.Vershan - means beloved but is reserved for those such as lovers, husbands and wives, etc.Vershandae – Beloved. A common term of endearment and one used very casually.Vor'cheVelkh'airee - Chooser of the Dead, a word that sounds close to word in Common for the Terran Norse legend, Valkyrie. The Velkh'airee is almost legendary on Aerdon among the Kin. The Chooser of the Dead is always female, has always been a Black, and her relationship to the Chooser of Battles must be in place for her to come to the fullness of her power, and the reverse is true.Vesahd - When capitalized, this title refers to the male Heir Designate of the Black Dragon Throne. When used with a lower case v, it refers to any male of the royal line, adopted children included.Vesai - When capitalized, this title refers to the female Heir Designate of the Black Dragon Throne. When used with a lower case v, it refers to any female of the royal line, adopted children included.Vor'ill - The Head of any Black House, be they male or female.Vor'che - Heir Apparent of any Black House, be they male or female.Vran Alimehre - good bye, good evening...etcV'ran Duan - A phrase generally meaning hello, good day, etc.Yestu - Slang for excrement.Zha'tahl – the winds of a stormZ'htal Imhat undem mos'ad Is'iis... - The storm that cleanses, the bringer of Is'iisZ'htal Imhat - a hurricane of sand carried by winds, a sandstorm that would peel the flesh from bonesZt’Mournirac – Wyrm Finder

Brendari

Melori – BelovedJesu – Brendari Expletive

Felinumeara

Aer’Tamdo – Best Friend. This bond is for those Felinumeara who are blood related, mainly siblings or cousins. It is done between those blood relatives that are closer than just their status as brother, sister, or cousin.Amlaw – HelloAstra’Ka - Ceremony of Re-Birth. When a Felinumeara is killed in battle or some accident the body is taken to The Great Weaver's Hall and placed upon the altar. The Del'Shia stands before the altar and speaks the ceremonial words asking The Great Weaver to grant the fallen their next life. If Astra’Ka is granted then the individual will rise with no loss of memory or bonds made before the death occurred. However, if Astra'Ka is denied a pure blue flame will encase the body and then it will go pure go white. The body of the fallen will seem to have vanished with the disappearance of the flame.Baydo – Fool

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Caahswhet - Crap, damn, negative explicativeDel'Felina – Term used for their Goddess, the Great Weaver, roughly means Great Mother.Du'feno – adopted sonFei - ChildFela – MotherFeno - SonJabdaha – Demon DogsJato Suz - Thank YouKe'mo - My dear (male)Ke'Usto – my loveLei’akoh – Female Heat Neuth'Aer - Bite of Love or Deep FriendshipPhewts’ba - Explicative can be either negative or positive.Ustarro - HusbandUsto – Lover (male)

Obsidian Nomad

Shakava: LeaderTvai - HelloManahara - BeautifulAudyo Vahnai – Trial by FireKarkolva - a cactus-like plant that grows to about a foot in height and has long, sharp spines with barbed points. It reproduces by having the spines caught on passing animals, pulled off, and dropped later on.Krillante - One of the oddest of the non-S'Hean creatures of Whispin, the Krillante is a scorpion-like creature, with a hard black carapace covering most of its body and a long tail with a poisonous sting. The whole creature is about eight inches in length. It possesses the same ability the Obsidian Nomads have to disassociate the atoms of their body, in order to pass through "solid" objects. The Krillante uses this, in combination with its ability to detect moisture, to reach underground sources of water. The practical upshot for desert travelers is, you don't even have to leave your boots out for one to get in...Lalohita berry – A sweet blackberry that grows only in the Obsidian OasisAsheru pas-ha badh - eats the Krillante, which means it is immune to its poison however, it is extremely venomous, and deadly to anyone that hasn’t been stung by the Krillante. It lives beneath the sands, a fleshy tuberous creature that waits for a disturbance in the sand and strikes, sucking its prey into its maw and digesting it whole. It also has a deadly defence, small darts filled with a lethal poison that strike any attacker trying to drag it above ground and cut its root.

S’Hean

Addah – FatherAmmah – MotherAse’hel - assholeAye – YesBedreAddah – GrandfatherBedreAmmah - Grandmother

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Broche'Bel - Dragon Flame - a game that is a distant relative of Terran Soccer... sort of. Players on the ground are male, shirtless, with their hands tied behind their backs. The object is a ball of Aethyr flame, something similar to handfire. Obviously, hands cannot be used, the game is played in a fair sized clearing and the objective is to score by bouncing the 'ball' off the opposing teams rune markers. The players in the tree canopy are female. Hands are only used for hanging onto the branches, any other part of the body is fair game to get the ball back into play, should it fly up into the trees. The game is rough, full body contact, and S'Heans have been badly injured in the past.Caren – daughterCeren - SonDagar – HelloD’Anke – Thank youDera – AuntDitla - ForeverDoro - UncleElleska – LoveGamel – LordHojet Foryen – High CaptainIm'holoz - Squirrel like rodentKaima-Lokte - Translates as Sleeping Blossom. The pollen of this purple flower has powerful effects when inhaled, putting a body to sleep within seconds. The flower is rare, but dangerous in that it blossoms explosively, sending the sleep inducing pollen spraying through the air onto any unsuspecting victims in the vicinity. The S'Heans can also coax it to blossom with their natural foliage growth encouraging abilities. The effects are also slightly hallucinogenic; any dreams had whilst under its influence are of the pleasant, feel good type. The sleeper, upon waking, will retain a refreshed; feel good emotion for several hours afterwards.Lante-Makeb - simply put, water wrestling. Nothing like trying to hold onto a nekkid, wet opponent in hip deep water.Lisse Nwalme – Sweet TormentMaldakin Turenian – Canopy SkimmingN'Elleskan'de – BelovedNyfader – BastardNye - NoOl’Shann – Dark Celestial Being (Angel)Ort – Crap or ShitPylorid - An aquatic, ocean going creature resembling a dragon without wings, or legs. Their appendages are flippers; necks are very long, as are the tails. The average adult is fifty feet in length. They are Omnivores, feeding on both fish and vegetation and are able to dive to impossible depths in remote waters.Ravyel - DemonSilmenya Falmarin – Silver NymphSkrun – Fuck or ScrewSkrun Dai – Fuck youSkrunde – Fucked or Screwed

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Talle Konte - translates as Laughing Blossom. This particular flower is a 'recreational' drug the S'Heans are rather fond of. The petals are sweet, smooth like chocolate. They are held beneath the tongue and slowly melted, releasing chemicals that cause euphoria, release endorphins and trigger hormones. A strong dose can also bring on hallucinations. The leaves are bitter, but have a stronger effect, so they are usually dried, heated with handfire, and inhaled through a pipe made of obsidian glass. The leaves also relieve physical pain and stress.Vaegh Makeb - Balanced Combat. Equipped with wooden poles, two opponents face off on a narrow beam set above a pool. Obviously the victor is the one that stays dry... the longest.Vaegh-Riel – Balanced Soul. The Festival of Balanced Soul. A celebration lasting several days when S'Heans celebrate their connection to the land and the blessings of the Aethyr.Val’Ammah – Adopted MotherVede – HellsVonna – WifeY’Caren – My Daughter

S’Hean Phrases

Aire Rilme – Gods Almighty!Calima Almare – Bright BlessingsDagar beken. Nydel ere in nye? In ere Felinimura – Hello Friend. Beautiful is she not? She is Felinimura.Dai ahnae nydel - you sing beautifullyElkin de dai? – who are you?Endel-Vede - Die in hell (or go to hell)Freme ye! Freme ye! An tus – Help me! Help me! He lives!Halle dynai neske – Black hearted manLil’sig – Little OneNodvig Vede – Bloody HellSkrun dai – Fuck youVALLAH KAI OLNE SIG – Kill the dark ones.Y’dynai sahnae, ditla – my heart’s song, foreverYon elleska dai – I love you

S’Hean Ranger Song

Grun medom kai ayen faldet – Deep within the twilight woodKomn endel mod dat ette – Came death to its defenderKai grae ere ronne - The grass is greenDar skyen nen - Where shadows fallOte nodvig ensle’de kai heord – And blood painted the land

Silver Tongue

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Anaril - MotherAth'ar - Silver term for the Head of the House, the equivalent of the Black Vor'ill.Ath'ere - Silver term for the Heir Apparent, the equivalent of the Black Vor'cheDeshendae – summoning word to open a portalElindea – SisterGelehor - HellIldrynor Kefonn – Chosen of Justice and VengeanceKedom iechi eldkust - BastardLeshere dae – Thank youMerde – ExpletiveNahmen - LoveSay'ek Aydn – an uninhabitable continent on AerdonUoma - Mate, the equivalent of the Black RandiiVon'dhal – Beautiful

Silver Phrases

I'ca. Evora. Llyad – Holy Justice and StormDahmenae dost, rilyis addona vaden armah – words of comfort (no translation)Mi'doka lyeen eleau Ai'iisa - Roughly translated, "Its good to be home"Nahtahri Dahnna - Bringer of Justice in the Silver Tongue and a title given to the best assassin in the employ of the Silver Counsel or of any Major Silver House.Ny'sendi Oraex dominae - Roughly translated, 'lost to Oraex' the Stormbringer

Tauremornan

Chev – belovedDalharuk – sonDalharil – daughterEld'chalok dosib elg'caress – Poisoness BitchElg'caress! – Bitch!Fa'la zatoast - bastardUoi'notan - HellsUsstan ssinssrigg dos – I love youVendui - hello

Taurësúlë

Aeshka – sleepAenadai – beautifulAidan - little flame, a term of endearment between family relations, typically from an older member to a younger member.Amias Fvayer - Soul Singers are a rare and elite group of Shroudling Healers. If the ability is found in a half – Shroudling, it is unheard of for the gift to be passed on further. These Healers are able to “call” a soul back to its body by song. To

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some races it is known as spell song, but the procedure is far more complex as the song is not only vocalized but is generally attached to the soul as well. Training is diligent exhausting and takes thousands of years to fully master. Soul Singers MUST be masters in music, magic and healing in all forms as well as knowing the workings of death.Desh’iel - DaughterDesh’karo – UncleDesh’ketai - FatherDesh’mieve – MotherEbshe novash – What’s WrongElle Lote – Little FlowerEshai'du – Dumb assEshai’kiyana – Dumb shitFáilte - A phrase generally meaning hello, greetings…etcFelya Nurta – River CavesJaph – Screw or FuckJaphin – FuckingKiyana - ShitKyela - LoveMara – AuntRadyth - a term of endearment that is difficult to translate; it is rarely used as it is an older word that has existed as long as the Taurësúlë. It is a word that is best described in emotions than in actual descriptions. The feelings that come with the word are somewhere between fondness and love, deeper than the first but not quite the other, it is used for those that you have a deep respect for and would give your life for or you would place your life into their hands without a second thought.Tanaii - The path that one's soul chooses or someone chooses for themselves.Tanaii-Ka - The path that is laid out and unchangeable.Thes’mirn - Thes’mirn is a heavy metal much like the Terran Tungsten. It is a tough white metal with a high melting temperature. As to date only the Shroudlings are able to work the metal do to their inability to die, leaving them with the ability to withstand the massive heat.T’Oppa – GrandfatherVakren - bastard

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Character Glossary

Aarien Alcarin: Daughter of Galain and Ghetsuhm Alcarin.Acacia Wilde: Acacia is a member of a race rare even in the Tauremorna of Elemmiire. These fragile-seeming beings are the stuff of myth and legend, subservient to the Phantom Queen, Nuuruhuine, and acting as her spies and messengers.Adarin Alcarin: The King of Alcarinque, Adarin is an ancient elf whose age even he cannot recall. His wife died ages ago, leaving him heirless. His nephew Galain was chosen as his heir sometime later. The relationship between Adarin and An’Thaya happened quite by accident, and is perhaps the result of her heartbreak when Galain took a second wife. An’Thaya broke their bond when she left both her male bondmates for Callan.Adaron Silverleaf: Heir to the Shroudling throne, son of Argent Silverleaf.Aedammair: Elemmiire’s Goddess of Light.Aeryn Gaff: Shai’ay Seeress, mother of Yarwin Blackthorn. Alatriel Modar: Daughter of Tallin and Mystical Modar, twin to Tiwele.Alcyone Camos: A Captain of the Silver Guard at the Diirlathe.Alena Dhaeraow: A Captain of the Silver Guard at the Diirlathe.Alessen Datari: Daughter of Keser Datari, trained assassin.Alick Ma'Kell: Guardian of Helena Corinth, lover of Makilnar Alcarin. Almeta: Tobin Black’s WardAlistryna: Servant in Arketh CastleAm'Elle W'Cren: wife of Lord W’Cren, Head S’Hean Healer.Amilyn Bellator D'Riel: Daughter of An’Thaya and Mystical, Amazon in trainingAnaya D'Riel: Queen of Corin, wife to Valin D’Riel, sister to Rachel Blackthorn, Aunt to Queen Helena Corinth. Andrev: Servant in Arketh CastleAnelain Greyford: S’Hean Princess, Ranger, wife of Kalab Greyford, daughter of Galain Alcarin and An’Thaya Blackthorn.Angaste Relonor: Eheiling Nahrn Portal MasterAn'Lin D'Riel: Daughter of Anaya and Valin D’Riel, twin of Va’Lan, sister of Ce’Leste.An'Thaya D'Riel Blackthorn: A D’Riel by birth, raised as an Amazon when her family disappeared into the dark dimension of Tenobrous. Aided by Galain Alcarin she brought them back to Corin when she was eight hundred years old. Her relationship with Galain was on again off again for nearly three thousand years including a marriage that lasted over five hundred. She was also bonded to Mystical Bellator, Jaiden Alasse, and Galain’s Uncle Adarin Alcarin, King of the Elen. All of that came to an end when she fell for Callan Blackthorn, Emperor of the Diirlathe. For him, she broke all ties but her marriage to Jaiden Alasse, becoming his wife and Empress, as well as mother to his child, Cal’Lanth.Areq Datari: Disowned nephew of Keser Datari, younger brother to Elandriil Datari and lover of Erinya Dhaunae. Argent Silverleaf: Brother of Shadow Silverleaf and Szar of Sha’Dar on Arlsyn. He has forged a deep friendship with B’Elya D’Riel, and has been a long time friend of the D’Riel family. At present, he is recently widowed.Argon: a talking white tiger who travels with Kara Little

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Arianne Silverthorn D’Riel: Wife of Y’Roden, and mother to four of his children, she is an ex assassin, a Tauremornan who was once first among the Priestesses of the Battle Goddess. She is the woman Y’Roden finally broke off his relationship with Ghetsuhm for, and he is very much in love with her. The pair make a dangerous team, she is as cold and ruthless as he is, but it is perhaps the unstable fire of their love that holds the true lethal quality. She is also marked by Elemmiire’s Goddess of light, much to her displeasure.Arminiea Morelen: Whispin’s Goddess of LightAr'Tek: S'Hean House GuardA’Tas Saad'ra: Second Captain of the Imperial Black Guard of the Diirlathe.Auden Keiji: Ath’ar of House KeijiBalan Raven: Brother of Kaylee (Raven) Alcarin, ex-lover of Melaina AlcarinBarak Silinrul: Vor’ill of House SilinrulB'Elya D'Riel: younger sister to Y’Roden and An’Thaya, presently involved with Dante ab Rhiannon, though she still loves Argent Silverleaf as well.Braden Gaff - Shai'ay, Aeryn's BrotherBrandubh Badb Catha: A Tauremornan by birth, older brother of Silverthorn, husband to Mira with whom he has five children. He is quiet and of a more jovial nature than his sister. There is a darker side to the fair elf however; he is Lord of That Which Lies Between and Master of the Sluagh.Brenn Wyvern: Tobin’s Page, son of Grendorin WyvernBria Corinth: Mother of Helena, Wife to Jason.Brighid: Aerdon’s Goddess of Flame.B’Roce D’Riel: King of the Danna-RielB'Roden D'Riel: Son of Silverthorn and Y’Roden D’Riel.B'Rodyn D'Riel: Ex-King of S’Hea, husband of Gwen D’Riel, both died in Shattered Web.Brynn: Female Merkin, sister to Glyndwr.Br'Ytha D'Riel: Spirit of Melaina Alcarin’s dead child.Cavan: Aarataurean ElfCadan Alasse D’Riel: One of the Quadruplet’s, son to An’Thaya Alcarin and Jaiden Alasse.Cade Silverleaf: Son of Shadow Silverleaf, triplet to Kaiden and Kegan.Callan Blackthorn: Emperor of the Diirlathe on Aerdon, Callan is truly a Black Dragon by nature. He is a long time friend of Y’Roden D’Riel, and father to Mira and Yarwin. He is now the husband and Soulmate of An’Thaya D’Riel, the reason she cut all bonds to Galain and Adarin, and father to her youngest son, Cal’Lanth. The pair share a soul so interconnected that if one should die, so to will the other.Callie Rain: Wife of G’Den RainCalystal Syar: Randii of the minor House SyarCaolan Badb Catha: Son of Bran and Mira Badb Catha he is a bookish child. Twin to Muirne. Carrick Alcarin: Son of Conlan and Kaylee Alcarin.Cassey Alcarin: Daughter of Conlan and Kaylee Alcarin.Catelyn Alcarin: Daughter of Culaelin and Wil AlcarinCatherine Alcarin: Wife of Glory AlcarinCe'Leste D'Riel: Daughter of Anaya and Valin D’RielCeria Scott: Ceria is one of the Corporation's breeding "experiments". The

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product of Jenni Kaye Mars' DNA combined with an unknown Ingraleis Ranger cadet who was based on Haven.Ceres: Aerdonian Goddess of JusticeChandra Morningstar: An Elven Bard from Elemmiire, she is the lover of Makilnar Alcarin. Chezlar Khor: Messenger of the Fates, he is an elusive creature who fulfils destiny set out by the Fate’s loom by moving the ‘Pawns’ where they need to go.Conlan Alcarin: Son of Galain Alcarin and Mystical Bellator, twin to Melaina Alcarin, husband of Kaylee Alcarin and father to their three children.Cor'Nar: S'Hean RangerCulaelin Alcarin: Son of Galain and An’Thaya Alcarin, twin brother of Gloraelin. He is married to Wilwarin Urdrul Alcarin and they share two children, Catelyn and Willem. The couple live in a cabin within the Kingdom of S’Hea.Cullen Havenlock: The Captain of Corin’s Guard, Cullen is half-Elven and was born in the dark dimension of Tenobrous. He lost his wife, Lisbeth, and a daughter, Hettie, during the wars of Shattered Web.Daerkal Silverleaf: youngest son of Shadow Silverleaf.Danielle Fae: A fairy who is the guest of King Jared WindsingerDante ab Rhiannon: ex-war-eagle in Callan’s service, last of the line. Love interest of B’Elya D’Riel.Darttur Inarban: A Second Captain of the Silver Guard at the Diirlathe.Daschae: Father to Mystical Modar Delen Datari: Son of Keser Datari, heir apparent to House Datari and head AssassinDelphina: Keser's Randii (mate)Devin Silverleaf: Twin to Taimië, brother of Shadow and Argent, Devin is a Soul Singer.Dhanna: Aerdon’s Goddess of OrderDolan: Fisherman on Black EstateDomation Stratha: Member of Callan’s Black Guard.Drake Silverwing: Knight of the Crystal Rose, husband to Willow Silverwing, brother to Jack Steelhand, long time friend of Y’Roden and Silverthorn D’Riel.Dravis Ashka: Vor’ill of House AshkaDrysi D'Riel: Daughter of Silverthorn and Y’Roden D’Riel, twin to YseultEclavdra Silinrul: Hatchmate to the current Vor’illEdana Aicasse: Aarataurean High Elf, a member of the high-ranking Windsinger family, Edana married Tressach Aicasse, one of the senior Generals in the Royal Army, as part of a political alliance between their families.Eden Silinrul: Heir apparent to House Silinrul, Assassin.Elandriil Datari: Silver Captain in the Diirlathe’s Guard, stripped of rank and house by Keser Datari for allying with Callan Blackthorn. Lover of Vanyalin Alcarin.Elerina Alcarin: Daughter of Adarin Alcarin and An’Thaya Blackthorn, twin to Melian.Elizabeth (Beth) Winter: Nursery Maid in Windemiire.Elthahir Badb Catha: Daughter of Bran and Mira Badb Catha, triplet to Elythar and Seren.Elythar Badb Catha: Daughter of Bran and Mira Badb Catha, triplet to Elthahir and Seren.Ennis: Castellan of Castle Black

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Eluned Te’al: Shroudling HealerEos Alasse D'Riel: Daughter of Jaiden Alasse and An’Thaya Blackthorn, Amazon in training.Erinya Dhaunae: Vor’ill of House Dhaunae, member of Callan’s Black Guard, lover to Areq Datari.Evelia Camos: Randii of House CamosEwan Andrade: Guardian of Foxxfire Evenstar.Fadil Elgerig: Captain of the S’Hean Rangers, best friend to Y’Roden D’Riel, husband of Ild’ashiFechine D'Riel: Son of Silverthorn and Y’Roden, heir apparent to the S’Hean throne. Fechine has become quiet and withdrawn since his torture at the hands of Samara Mirage in Shattered Web. His best friend is Meghan Ilessandra.Fionna Aedui: Daughter of Silverthorn, the product of a fling, she was raised by her father. Quiet and even-tempered, she lost her first love, and miscarried a child. Love interest of Lord Tobin Black.Foxxfire Evenstar: A vivacious half-elf, best friend to Ghetsuhm Riker, lover to Marius Agrippa, ‘adopted’ granddaughter to Galain Alcarin.Fyre Ashka: Daughter of Dravis AshkaGabriel Silinrul: Member of Callan’s Black guard and part of a House Major.Galain Alcarin: Husband of Ghetsuhm Riker and Crown Prince of Alcarinque, Galain has always run from his responsibilities to his people, though that is starting to change. His heart has finally settled on one woman. Galain Alcarin Jr.: Eldest son of Galain Alcarin and An’Thaya Blackthorn, they have no knowledge of his existence. He was taken from An’Thaya by Tallin Modar after she nearly died giving birth to Tysane, the first-born daughter who died.Galen Alcarin: Son of Gloraelin Alcarin and Ibex Hyena, he has been raised exclusively by his father.G'Den Rain: Leader of the Planet GardenGe'Wain Bel'Myn – S’Hean Lord Ghauld : Aerdonian God of DestructionGhetsuhm Riker: Wife of Galain Alcarin, ex-lover of Y’Roden D’Riel, mother to Marius Agrippa, Rhagi D’Riel and Aarien Alcarin. Ghet is a diplomat, an empath, and owns a bar/brother called Rikers located on a stable asteroid. Rhagi was conceived during Y’Roden’s marriage to Silverthorn. To make a long story short, the Demon Elf raped Ghetsuhm and before Ro could regain control of himself, he had sired a child on her.Gideon Crylos: Brother of Sorshia, Assassin of the Renegade House Crylos who is becoming possessed by the Illinsaad he bears... that of Nargus Blackthorn.Gloraelin Alcarin: Son of Galain Alcarin and An’Thaya Blackthorn, twin of Culaelin, husband of Catherine, father to Galen and Rilya.Glyndwr: Male Merkin, brother to Brynn.Grendorin Wyvern: High Lord of CorinGre'Yor Ma'Ius: S’Hean Ranger.Gwen D'Riel: ex-queen of S’Hea, wife of B’Rodyn D’Riel, both died during Shattered Web. Haldanuru Morelen: Whispin’s God of Darkness and Death, he wants nothing more than the utter destruction of the Gods of Light.

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Helen Mars: A Human Psi, mother of Rachel Blackthorn, Anaya D’Riel and Jason Corinth.Helena Corinth: Queen of Ingraelis, lover of Imoreki D’RielIld'ashi Roth'eld: S’Hean elf, born in the dark dimension of Tenobrous. Now holds a position as a S’Hean Ranger, wife of Fadil Elgerig.Imadi M'Sea: Medical Doctor employed at Rikers.Imoreki D'Riel: Son of Y’Roden D’Riel, the history of his birth is a complicated one. He was sired on Rhiannon K’Tral, but his genetics were changed when he was placed in the womb of Saliyah Mornay. After her death, he was placed in a stasis chamber, from which he was ‘born’. Lover of Helena Corinth.Ina'htas Blackthorn: The Randii of the former Emperor, Callan’s Sire, Nargus Blackthorn.Iscera Veriil – Randii of Loros Il'diaIvette Razvancha: Vor’ill of House RazvanchaJack Steelhand: Brother of Drake Silverwing, Meylor I Blackheart’s ex-lover.Jaiden Alasse D’Riel: Wife of An’Thaya Blackthorn, mother to Eos and the Quads.Ja'Kel: S'Hean House GuardJaran Morelen: Whispin’s God of Light.Jaraxle: The Right Hand of House Dhaunae.Jared Windsinger: King of the Aarataure in Elemmiire.Jason Corinth: Father of HelenaKaiden Silverleaf: Son of Shadow Silverleaf, triplet of Cade and Kegan.Kalab Greyford: Adopted son of Shadow Silverleaf, Taurësúlë elf, now one of the S’Hean Rangers and married to Anelain Greyford.Kalei: Shroudling HealerKalleth Dosek: Sargtlin in the Black GuardKara Little: An orphan from the Rosataure Jungle, she was brought up by Argon. A long time friend of Y’Roden D’Riel, she is a healer and a warrior.Kaylee Alcarin: Adopted daughter of Shadow Silverleaf, Wife to Conlan AlcarinKegan Silverleaf: Son of Shadow Silverleaf, triplet to Kaiden and Cade.Kerensa Alasse D’Riel: One of the Quadruplet’s, daughter to An’Thaya Alcarin and Jaiden AlasseKerrigan Rain: Pixie from Garden.Keser Datari: Head of House Datari, Randii of Delphina, father to Delen, Sehaine and Alessen. Khai’Laya D’Riel: Daughter of B’Roce D’Riel, Danna-Riel RangerKrell Morelen: Whispin’s God of TwilightLanval Camos: Vor’ill of House CamosLianna Blackthorn: Daughter of Rachel and Yarwin Blackthorn, a young Seeress.Linnis D’Trel: The Forgotten daughter of Silverthorn. She was the product of rape when Silverthorn was institutionalized for insanity. The rape and birth were completely blocked from Silverthorn’s mind, and the relationship between the two women is strained at best.Lonan Windsinger: Heir to the Aarataurean throneLoros Il'dia – Vor’ill of House Il’Dia, one of the Elder HousesLuada Kanone: Randii of House KanoneLy'Anna El'Haie: S’Hean Healer

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Maggie Sloan: First mate of the Black Shoal and sister to Captain Morgan Sloan.Makilnar Alcarin: son of Galain Alcarin and An’Thaya Blackthorn, lover of Chandra Morningstar and Alick Ma'Kell.Malcome Zath: Dravis Ashka's AdvisorMalik Faris: The Shakava of the Obsidian Nomads, Malik is a SandShadow, able to transmute matter and walk through walls. Love interest of Si’Lyen D’Riel.Maren Kanone: Ath'ere of house KanoneMarius Agrippa: son of Galain Alcarin and Ghetsuhm Riker, lover of Foxxfire EvenstarMeghan Ilessandra: An orphaned Starlight child, she was born of a lost race of Elves. Adopted by Bran and Mira, she leads a safe, happy life and is best friends with Fechine D’Riel. Meg also bears the Rohoc in an amulet around her neck; it is a malevolent being that feeds on hate and dark emotion.Melaina Alcarin: Daughter of Galain Alcarin and Mystical Modar. Melaina is close to the D’Riel family, and was raised in An’Thaya’s jungle home. Melian Alcarin: Son of Adarin and An’Thaya Alcarin, twin to Elerina.Mel'Issa: S'Hean Lady in WaitingMenelanna Alcarin: Daughter of Galain and An’Thaya Alcarin, Mena takes after her father and is a vivacious, lively young woman. Lover to Altorian Ashka.Meylor i Blackheart: Half Roma Half Taurësúlë, Rebel, Thief, and Breaklaw. Meylor is from another reality and is related to the Silverleaf clan. Ex-lover of Jack Steelhand.Mi'Leah Ma'Ius: S’Hean, sister to Gre’Yor. Mira Badb Catha: Daughter of Callan Blackthorn, and wife to Brandubh Badb Catha. Half Dragon, half elf, she is a warrior, a trained assassin, and a Soul Healer. It was she that rebuilt An’Thaya’s soul when it fell apart after breaking her bonds.Morgan Sloan: Captain of the Black Shoal, a Pirate on the Great Western Sea.Muirne Badb Catha: Daughter of Bran and Mira Badb Catha, twin to Caolan, sister to Myghin: Servant in Arketh CastleMyn'Ette Lis'Suna: S’Hean HealerMystical Bellator Modar: An Ali-maera, Mystical is a being of great power. Ex-bondmate to An’Thaya Blackthorn, Mystical has fallen into darkness through her marriage to Tallin Modar. She is the mother of Tiwele, Amilyn, Conlan and Melaina.Nargus Blackthorn: Sire of Callan Blackthorn, Emperor of the Diirlathe before him who was killed by Callan’s first wife, Task Diamondwood. He was later resurrected in Laer Drae Sar’Da, only to die a second time at the hands of Callan himself. N’Atayo D’Riel: Danna-Riel/ Felinumeara Elf.Nildanya Rhiadas: Head of House Rhiadas since the assassination of her Randii, Danya is a healer.Nowun: Female Telmae Elf.Nuuruhuine: (Ny-emarr) Tauremorna’s Battle Goddess, she seeks control of Silverthorn D’Riel who was once first amongst her Ravens.Nyn: Aerdonian Goddess of VengeanceOreax: Aerdon’s God of Storm and LightningOrfeo Kanone: Younger son of Zephram Kanone

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Orla Kanone: Daughter of Zephram Kanone Padrig: Servant in Arketh CastlePeras Ainaeo: Silver High PriestessPe'Ris W'Cren: S’Hean LordPhaedra Kanone: Daughter of Zephram KanoneRachel Blackthorn: Twin to Anaya D’Riel, and wife of Yarwin Blackthorn, the heir to the Black Throne of the Diirlathe. She is mother to Morgan, Taylon and Lianna.Rani Al'Trekis: Captain of S’Hea’s home guard and a distant cousin to the D’Riels, Rani now lives at Castle Arketh with her lover, Rhodry Arketh.Reece Nightfall: A Whispin native, Reece resides on Berelath with his wife Summerlin. In his youth, he was a companion to An’Thaya and loved her deeply, though he never touched her. He was murdered by Tallin Modar, but given a second chance at life centuries later by Arminiea Morelen.Riegh Ghanan: Member of the Black GuardRem’Sero Al’Teron: S’Hean LordRhagi Riker D'Riel: Son of Y’Roden D’Riel and Ghetsuhm Riker, a quiet, reflective child.Rhiannon K’Tral: Rhiannon is a Felinumeara from the planet CathEska who was banished by her Goddess. She is also the mother of Imoreki, one of Y’Roden D’Riels sons, and she is currently living in the City of Corin.Rhoanan Asmoor: Vor’ill of house AsmoorRhodry Arketh: Rhodry is the Lord of an estate on Lake Arketh in the Kingdom of Corin, having only recently accepted his birth right after the wars in Shattered Web. He has fallen for Rani Al’Trekis, and the two have become lovers.Robin Silverleaf: Daughter of Shadow Silverleaf, Goddaughter of An’Thaya and Callan Blackthorn.Rois: Aarataurean ElfRuan Alasse D'Riel: One of the Quadruplet’s, son to An’Thaya Alcarin and Jaiden Alasse.Samara Mirage: The Demoness of Tenobrous. She took Y’Roden from his family when he was twenty years old and raped him physically and mentally. Through torture and pain she eventually moulded him into ‘The Demon Elf’ and for nearly eight hundred years he terrorized and murdered his own people. He was brought out of Tenobrous by An’Thaya D’Riel (Alcarin) and B’Rodyn D’Riel. During Shattered Web, Samara was trapped within an amulet that Y’Roden now wears around his neck, from there; she has no escape, and no power.Scolai: Master Mage of OstohelyanweSehaine Datari: Daughter of Keser and Delphina Datari, sister to Delen and Alessen. Sera: Elen MidwifeSeren Badb Catha: Daughter of Bran and Mira Badb Catha, triplet of Elthahir and Elythar.Shadow Silverleaf: Adopted daughter of Y’Roden D’Riel, and the Enrai'er (leader) of the Taurësúlë nation. She is also an adopted sister to An’Thaya, and a long time friend of the D’Riel family. Shadow was widowed a year before the current timeline, and since then has taken a lover in Dorian Ashev.Shyam'rr Hellsbane: Half Aerdon Black, half Crimson, Shy is the half sister of Callan Blackthorn. Only Callan and An’Thaya are aware of her existence however, as she is Callan’s secret weapon, a spy and assassin.

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Si'Lyen D'Riel: Daughter of Y’Roden D’Riel and Summerlin Alcarin, Sil is a bubbly, vivacious young woman and the light of her father’s eyes. She was raised by Y’Roden in Corin. However, she has been a little more withdrawn since her ordeal with Tallin Modar in Shattered Web.Sorshia Crylos: Vor’ill of the renegade House Crylos.Steren Alasse D'Riel: One of the Quadruplet’s, daughter to An’Thaya Alcarin and Jaiden AlasseSummerlin Nightfall: Born Summerlin Alcarin, Princess of Alcarinque, she is now the High Elder. Wife of Reece Nightfall, and mother to four of Y’Roden D’Riel’s children, Summerlin is a Mage, and a skilled healer.Taimië Silverleaf: One of the Silverleaf siblings, Taim is a temperamental fire mage who has a knack for setting breeches on fire. She is the ex-lover of Glory Alcarin, and at this point as recently killed her Demon lover, having caught him trying to kill one of their two daughters. She has caught the attention of Tarshille Mearta, a Silver in Callan’s Guard.Tallin Modar: Born Prince Grendorin Modar, he went mad with jealously when his older brother Derwin married an Elf and was awarded an extended life. He murdered their younger brother and gave up his soul to the god of death, Haldanuru. Seeking power, he has tried to get his hands on An’Thaya all of her life for the Conduit of magic in the centre of her soul. Tallin wants nothing more than ultimate ruler ship of Corin, and all of Whispin as well. After a failed attempt to take over Corin in Shattered Web, Tallin retreated to Rakka Keep in northern Ciwnac with his bride, Mystical Modar. Father of Tiwele and Alatriel.Tarshille Mearta: A young Silver in Callan’s Guard at the Diirlathe, his love interest is Taimië Silverleaf.Tiwele Modar: Son of Tallin and Mystical Modar twin to Alatriel.Tobin Black: A Lord of Corin, Tobin owns a sizeable Oceanside estate in Southern Corin. Love interest is Fionna Aedui. Tressach Aicasse: Commander of the Aarataurean Forces, husband of Edana Trey'Gan Al'Teron: S’Hean Ranger, nephew of Lord Al’Teron.Trevis Shakka: Member of the Black Guard.Trystan Camos: Son of House CamosTullia Windsinger: Twin to Edana, niece of King JaredTyloril Ashka: Eldest son of Dravis Ashka, brother of Altorian and Fyre, thought dead for the past three thousand years.Vadim VesranVa'Lan D'Riel: Son of Anaya and Valin D’Riel.Valerian Camos: Son of House CamosValin D'Riel: King of Corin. Eldest son of Y’Roden D’Riel, and son of Summerlin Alcarin. The product of a five hundred year fling between the Prince of Corin and the Princess of Alcarinque, he was not Y’Roden’s legal heir. During Shattered Web, Y’Roden legally adopted him and made him legal heir to Corin’s Throne. Valin and his wife Anaya were remarried in a formal ceremony, and now are parents to Ce’Leste, Va’Lan and An’Lin D’Riel.Vanyalin Alcarin: Daughter of Galain Alcarin and An’Thaya Blackthorn. Usually quiet and Bookish, Van has learned the art of the sword and self-assurance since Shattered Web. However, the split between her parents has left her unsure of love, despite having taken Elandriil Datari as her first and only lover.Vilyahir (Sky) Celeblasse: Shadow Silverleaf’s Uncle, he is holding her place as Leader of their people until she returns.

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Walanthalas (Walter) Emberlight: Uncle to Callan Blackthorn.Willem Alcarin: Son of Culaelin and Wilwarin AlcarinWillow Silverwing: Wife of Drake Silverwing, Willow appears human, but she is a mysterious creature made of magic itself. She is a long time friend of Y’Roden and Silverthorn.Wilwarin Alcarin: Wife of Culaelin Alcarin, mother of Catelyn and Willem Alcarin.Xattah – Sorshia Crylos’ Randii (mate).Xraden: Aerdon’s God of ChaosYarwin Blackthorn: The only son of Callan Blackthorn, though an estranged one and Aeryn Gaff. He is husband to Rachel Blackthorn and father to Morgan, Taylon and Lianna. Yarwin is part Shai'ay, or Changeling. Y'leri – Servant at Mira and Bran’s Chateau Y'Roce D'Riel: Son of Y’Roden D’Riel by a woman he barely new, Greka Sven. He appeared in Y’Roden’s life several years before Shattered Web and the pair are just getting to know one another.Y'Roden D'Riel: King of S’Hea, husband of Silverthorn, father of many children. Ro has always been known as a risqué, drunken rogue, though his marriage has softened that a great deal. His history includes eight hundred years as the Demon Elf, a torrid fling with Summerlin Alcarin, an affair with a very married Ghetsuhm Riker, and many sordid adventures in between. His life has settled into the routine of ruling a Kingdom, though the Demon DNA tainting his system from Shattered Web still gives him a lot of trouble.Yseult D'Riel: Daughter of Y’Roden and Silverthorn D’Riel, twin of Drysi.Zephram Kanone – Vor’ill of House Kanone

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