Disclaimer: I do not own the Tairen Soul Series by Mrs. C.L. Wilson. However, I do own Angela.
Full disclosure: I could not access anywhere what Cyr actually looked like nor did I see his surname listed. If anyone could PM or review me I would really appreciate the exact description―just to see if I overlooked anything from the novels.
Many thanks for any reviews I receive. They are a true motivation. In response, I do plan on completing all my FanFiction stories :-). They will be posted as fast as I can create, edit and upload them. If you see any grammar/spelling/punctuation errors or Feyan language imperfections. Please let me know―and I will correct them, ASAP. Enjoy!
Ch. V: The Fading Lands
Angela felt someone gently shaking her awake. Her eyes blearily opened and she saw dirty blond hair lean toward her.
One hand reached and grabbed the lock pulling him closer.
Cyr grinned and kissed her hand gently, pleased. "Wake up, kem'shei'tani ajiana."
Angela's eyes slowly focused on him. She quickly released his hair, her face burning. Cyr hid his smile.
"I'll leave you to dress, shei'tani." Cyr stated, turning. "We will be at the Garreval in two bells."
Angela looked confused and then shrugged. She vaguely recalled the Garreval's significance but she was too groggy to remember everything fully. She slowly got out of bed so as not to trip.
She was more proud of herself that she did not need any help this time as she slipped into her saffron-and-crimson dress and was just finishing the belt when Marissya appeared. She looked at her beautiful music box and gathered it close to her. She glanced at the bed wondering how to make it up again and where to store her possession.
Marissya smiled at her. "I'm happy to see you stronger, ajiana." She tilted her head at Angela. Something's still off...
Angela fidgeted and she said quietly, "Is this where we cross the Faering Mists? Is there something safe I can put this in?" Using one hand she spread the coverlet over the borrowed bed.
"Aiyah ajiana." Marissya assured. "We can put it here." She opened the small trunk by her vanity. "It will be safe between my shawl." Angela approached. Her eyes widened seeing the beautiful silk shawl and she carefully handed Marissya music box. She felt uneasy touching pretty, expensive things. Almost like she was too unworthy to touch such beauty. Marissya methodically wrapped the music box. She also added some of Angela's borrowed dresses in there with an Air weave. She took Angela's hand and led her outside.
Angela blinked owlishly and shivered. Marissya looked at her worriedly. She had hoped since Angela was stronger she would not need her red cloak but the Tairen fire surged making Angela relax.
Instantly, her red cloak appeared around her shoulders by her shei'tan. Angela blushed and murmured her thanks. The Garreval looked ominous to her with the colliding fierce storms and soft clouds shaping the Faering Mists.
Only a scant mile separated the great two separate mountain ranges. The fierce Rhakis arrowed from the north, nearly colliding with the stately swells of the stately Silvermist range leading to the Garreval. The gateway to the Fading Lands.
It was Angela's turn to walk through the Faering Mists. She looked at the swirling Mists with a sense of finality settling on her shoulders. She had originally planned to making her way somehow on foot toward the Garreval. Thankfully, it turned out better for her. Although, the premise was the same.
She would have to walk through the Mists and hope to the gods that she would make it through safely. There is no guarantee she would not wind up lost for years and driven insane by the Mists. She wanted to deliver her father's secret...but afterward? There was no plan.
Now, she had a shei'tan. She rolled her eyes in aggravation. Squaring her thin shoulders she took a step forward after Cyr.
The Mists encircled her instantly. Her senses disoriented. She gritted her teeth.
«It's going to be OK, shei'tani.» Cyr's reassuring tenor voice echoed in her mind.
For once, she was glad of the company.
She felt judgment from the Mists. The weight settled onto her pores. Then pain ricocheted all around her body. Angela shrieked and fell to her knees.
Her pores began to bleed...but not blood...it was ash. She gagged and coughed up ash.
"Angela! Shei'tani!" Cyr turned to run back to her before being stopped by the Feyreisen himself.
"Nei! She must undergo the Mists alone, Fey!" Rain snapped, wrestling with Cyr.
«You don't understand!»Cyr snapped, his eyes sparking white. «I promised her she'd be safe! She―»
Angela's hand appeared from the Mists first encircling Cyr's ankle tightly. She coughed. She could not see anything except ash. She felt a strong hand pull her toward him and she began to cough ash from her lungs.
She rolled onto her side and coughed again. Cyr's eyes glowed white and he forced an Air weave into her lungs to pump the ash from her.
Angela felt Water weaves drench her, removing the ash. Fire weaves replenishing her warmth in conjunction with the surging Tairen fire in her wrist guards. She kept her eyes closed, taking deep gulps of air.
Cyr was shaken, alarmed at his shei'tani's appearence. Where there was skin she was covered in ash three inches thick. Her dress dull from her coughing and swiping the ash from herself. Cyr tore his pant leg into a strip to remove the soot from her eyes with Air weaves and gentle ministrations. She sighed in relief feeling the best she had in a long time. Her grey eyes opened and she smiled, her dimples making an appearance.
"A-Angela?" Cyr asked worriedly. His emotions haywire with fear, anxiety and self-loathing.
"I'm OK," Angela said, still smiling. "just like you said." She tried to rise, but Cyr did not allow her. He picked her up. His jaw set.
Marissya rushed over and checked Angela with her shei'dahlin's love. She gaped at Angela.
"She's...of nearly perfect health." Marissya said, awed. Angela beamed.
"So...does this mean I can go running?" Angela asked, tilting her head. Her eyes sparkling mischievously.
Bel knelt and frowned as he looked at the ash, testing it between his fingers. "It's sel'dor." He said matter-of-factly.
The Fey took a step back. Angela's face fell, saddened. Cyr glowered. She looked up at him.
"Cyr?" She whispered. He shook his head slightly at her. His ferocity and ire piqued. He walked away from everyone, carrying his shei'tani with him. He could feel Marissya, Dax, Bel and the Feyreisen and Feyreisa following him. The remaining Fey giving him a wide berth. His Rage barely tethered.
Angela pursed her lips tensely, looking around to assuage the tension. She shivered and moved closer to Cyr intuitively. She noticed and estimated around 200 Fey within the palace. Her eyes widened at the opulence and regality.
When she lived in Celieria City she had taken a tour and was put off with the pomp and circumstance of the Celierian palace.
Here it befit a noble race which lived many centuries. They took pride with their materials in their buildings. It was something Angela deeply respected.
«Take her to my quarters...there is a suite of rooms I've earmarked for you and Angela.» Marissya Spirited to Cyr, gauging his mood. «It's private; but I'll be close enough to check on her.»
Cyr paused in front of Lady Marissya's quarters in the Feyan palace. Angela gasped. The hallways caught the light and created a prism effect.
"I've never seen such craftsmanship like this before…" Angela muttered. She wanted to touch it but did not dare. She looked down. Why would she? She was just a lowly mortal.
Instantly, she felt white-hot anger. Startled, Angela turned toward Cyr. His amber eyes glowing. She gulped.
"May I check Angela, teska, Cyr?" Marissya asked carefully. She sensed Cyr's Rage when Angela did. Already, she could feel the shields in place along with male temperaments.
«Ajiana,» Marissya Spirited Angela. «You must soothe your shei'tan.»
Angela would have thrown Marissya a bewildered look but was frozen by Cyr's amber eyes. She took a shaky breath. She grimaced, paling.
"I―I need Lady Marissya to check my lungs," Angela stated softly. She pursed her lips. «What's wrong, Cyr?» Cyr had a tick in his jaw. His eyes settled from their glow and he opened the door with a puff of an Air weave. Cyr placed Angela in the comfy blue chair and stood behind it. His posture at soldier attention. Cyr's expression drifted into the expressionless mask of the Fey. Watching, waiting and prepared.
Marissya's hands shimmered with her shei'dahlin's love for a few minutes and Angela's coloring returned.
"No running, ajiana." Marissya said giving her a tight smile which Angela returned. "Angela and Cyr will remain here and can call me if there are any changes. But, I want Angela to rest until dinner." She glanced at Cyr, who gave a curt nod.
Slowly, Marissya left conversing softly with Ellysetta in tow and a silent Rain, Bel, and Dax.
Cyr immediately wove privacy and locks across the door and windows before turning to Angela.
He paused before kneeling in front of her. Cyr took her hands kissed them. His eyes glowing. She gasped. She could feel his emotions of anger, lust, confusion, and helplessness.
Angela gulped and held Cyr's hands in hers.
"Angela," Cyr said quietly. "What did you mean by that earlier? That you're unworthy of touching anything?"
Angela nearly jerked her hands from his. "I thought you couldn't read my mind!" Angela cried outraged.
His lips thinned. "I didn't have to." He said crisply. "Can you feel mine? And not guess the reasons behind the emotions? Or am I really such a terrible shei'tan?"
Angela's eyes widened. So that's what this is about.
"I can feel yours...sometimes." Angela admitted. "You're angry...but why? I'm always getting hurt. Actually, this is probably the least hurt I've been in a long time, come to think of it." Angela said her gaze slid from his as she thought aloud. "Why would you feel...helpless? I mean you're you." She said exasperated. As far as she was concerned the Fey were a godlike race. "I can understand being confused―I know I am." She said with a slight hysterical laugh.
She did not want to mention the lustful category. She blushed. Cyr's eyes narrowed at her for being untruthful; but chose not to address it. This time.
"I'm not angry, Angela." Cyr said calmly, his eyes beginning to glow. "I'm enraged that you were hurt on my watch." He glared at her to let him finish before she could protest. "As for being helpless it's because I could do absolutely nothing to get to you." He was about to attack his king for gods' sakes and get ousted for treason. "As for being confused―well everything's confusing now, isn't it?" He said testily.
Angela sighed. "There's nothing either of us could have done, Cyr," She tried to soothe him. In part because she had a headache forming...and she did care what he thought and felt. She frowned at that realization. Where was Cyr from this morning? Before, he was smiling and now he is angry.
Abruptly, Cyr rose, removing his hands. He rolled his shoulders back and glanced at his shei'tani with his long dirty blond hair over his shoulder.
His emotions were making him feel insecure when before he had been confident in his abilities. Angela frowned as she sensed it and stumbled toward him, clutching his hand.
Both gasped. Each feeling hunger, heat and need.
Angela's eyes were full of fear and she stared at him, frozen. Her focus zeroed in on him. Her breath stilled in her already depleted lungs. Her blood pounding in her ears.
Like a skittish doe. Cyr reminded himself. Shuddering, he rushed out the window.
«Stay here!» Cyr commanded, weaving 25-fold weaves to guard his shei'tani. He ran his fastest toward one of his favorite places. The waterfall would give him solitary confinement to provide relief for his wayward emotions to run their course.
Angela gasped, her hand over her heart. Her cheeks flushed. For once, she did not need her wrist guards keeping her warm.
She had never felt that before. Angela shuddered. She did not know if she wanted to feel that ever again.
Some things are better off not knowing. Angela frowned. Even as she thought it. Would she really believe it? After finally experiencing something she heard the other Norban villagers frequently discuss...and be uninvited to?
She had a few bells before dinner. Luckily, there was her small trunk from Marissya on the side table, including her music box.
Slowly, she unwrapped her music box and a satin emerald green dress. She traced the squiggles on the front and wound it up, listening and watching the Feyan couple dance to the beautiful unnamed melody. Her eyes softened. Cyr made this for me...and look what happens.
She glanced to her right. There was an en suite bathing room. After her day, she deserved a bath. Angela gave a soft snort at the luxury she did without for over a year. Carefully setting down her prized possession and rewinding it she undressed slowly. Angela turned the knobs and the room filled with heated fresh-scented water. She inhaled slowly, feeling the steam cleanse her lungs. Angela unpinned her russet curls and entered the four-foot deep bathing pool, staying close to the edge. She looked at the bottles. She made a face and smelled them. She could only guess which ones were the shampoo and conditioner but the soap was a soft lavender that soothed her.
"Oh, this is divine." She muttered, feeling alive and luxurious. Angela submerged beneath hot bathwater. Her head covered she stayed underwater for a moment.
Meanwhile, Cyr bolted toward a rushing waterfall. Its icy depths settled him the same moment his eyes opened. His mind returning to his shei'tani's instantly. His face flushed. At least he was alone. He had not had solitary moments to himself to really grapple with having the responsibility of a shei'tani. He thought it was impossible...until she appeared. Now, she keeps getting hurt and he feels ashamed of himself. His hopes were dashed because he felt he could not protect her.
Scowling at the sun between the falls he sighed, his tears mixing with the falls in frustration and shame. He gritted his teeth.
I'm supposed to be Fey warrior...I've gone through the 400-year Cha Baruk and I'm the Air master for the Feyreisa's secondary quintet...Yet, I can't keep my shei'tani from being hurt. And now?! How am I supposed to court her?! When I can't even figure out what to do or say to charm her?!
Angela straightened. Her expression troubled as she looked around her, confused. Her good mood evaporated. She felt like crying in disappointment and shame. Why? The feelings were too familiar to be ignored.
«Cyr?» She wondered. Her mind searching for her shei'tan's automatically even as her touch was light. But, because it was her touch he sensed it.
«Angela?» He asked quietly. He straightened out of the waterfall. Casually using an Air weave to dry off. He began to jog in her direction.
«What's going on?» Angela asked as she soaped her body. She pursed her lips. Sighing, she rubbed her arms to maintain warmth.
Angela sensed his reluctance and felt irate «Don't tell me 'It's nothing, Angela…' If you're going to address issues―then so will I!» She felt braver when he was not in front of her. She scowled.
Cyr reentered the suite of rooms, pausing. He listened to her splashing about. And closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. He dug into his pocket and took out his courtship gift for her, placing it next to her music box. He was pleased to see she opened it again.
«Then let us discuss them―after we've eaten.» Cyr answered mildly.
Angela gulped before she took a deep breath. «OK,» she thought. «Cyr is outside. We'll talk face-to-face and none of this mind sorcery.» Even as as she denounced it...speaking telepathically to Cyr felt right with Cyr alone.
Not wishing to examine those feelings deeper, Angela carefully stood from her cooling bath.
She looked around her and mentally swore.
She forgot her towel―and belatedly decided to change her mind on her dress―it was too fancy for her. She should wear the plain, navy dress instead.
Shivering, Angela slowly turned and nearly slipped giving a soft, startled cry.
"Shei'tani!" Cyr verbalized and called to her mind simultaneously.
Grimacing, «I―I'm OK...but I don't have my towel or the navy dress.» Cyr could practically feel her embarrassment wash over him.
Possessing great aplomb, the Fey warrior retrieved Angela's towel and hesitated on the navy dress in her borrowed trunk and the elegant, laid out emerald satin one.
He grabbed the navy dress and rushed forward. His eyes trained on the wet floor.
"Are you hurt?" Cyr demanded gruffly. He placed the dress over one shoulder and wrapped Angela's form in the towel using her shadow from the window.
"No…" Angela whispered, her teeth chattering.
Cyr lifted her around her waist. Her chest pressed into his and her cheeks aflame.
Cyr kept his face blanked―not wanting to embarrass her further.
Her arms reflexively clutched his shoulders and she continued to shiver violently. Cyr was afraid her teeth would chip.
Quickly, Cyr rubbed her body using the towel and carried her by the fireplace. He tended it with his Air weaves to keep it. Grabbing another towel, the man wrapped it around her head and used gentle Air weaves to dry her by the fire as the least invasive approach to their predicament.
Angela's blush spread down her neck at the unintentional intimacy. She called herself a myriad of swear words her Mama would have scrubbed her mouth with using lye soap, Lord Adelis rest her soul.
So much for a face-to-face...She mentally sighed.
Cyr removed Angela's hair towel―tossing it to the side―and place the navy dress over her head and guided her arms through the sleeves. Once the dress was on her body Angela allowed the towel to slip.
Cyr silently disposed of it and pulled her trunk toward her while checking her averted gaze. She was no longer shivering and he left her for the bathing en suite. He took the soiled towels and placed them over the tub.
Slowly, he cleaned the bathing room for later use.
A part of him was gleeful at her form―proportionate, supple and soft―a delight. He also felt guilty for feeling that way and shrugged.
He is a man―a shei'tan―attending to his mate.
Deciding it was time to see said shei'tani, he noticed she was fully dressed. Her trunk in order and no emerald dress in sight. She self-soothingly traced the music box's rose carvings.
He figured he would have to make her a new one. He had no doubt she would wear the roses away. Cyr did not mind in the slightest.
What he did mind was her steadfast avoidance and her obvious self-loathing.
Then again. Cyr mused. Celierians are very tight-laced. Fey were circumspect in many things―but physical contact between mates were not among them.
Angela sensed Cyr near her. She set down her music box after drawing strength from it.
Her fingers brushed something. Distracted, she picked it up. Her expression shifting from embarrased to joyful.
Her fingers traced the hair comb. It was a swirling peacock blue with soft opals decorating it in the shape of a pearlescent sea star.
Immediately, she giggled in delight and twirled her hair to the side to allow her curls to cascade over one shoulder. She smiled, showcasing the hair comb nestled on the opposite side.
Cyr relaxed. He noticed how her grey eyes danced and how...lovely and easy-to-please she really is. Her soul soft and sweet, shining like elegant pearls as opposed to bright and shining.
He could rest among those pearls. He could feel safe, too, in her grey depths. Breaking from that train of thought, he caught her eye in the vanity's mirror.
Angela blushed. Her dimples hiding from him before turning toward him. Some of her previous feelings returning.
She took step forward more decisively than she felt. Cyr waited patiently, eyes watching. He forced his posture to relax.
Angela sighed. "Alright, Cyr...what exactly are we? Why, what I just―I just don't know what I'm supposed to do or act or think or even say." Angela twirled her fingers through her hair agitatedly, catching his attention to the dark red curls. "How come―how come I can feel your emotions?" Frankly, it unnerved Angela. It made her feel like she was the crazy spinster the children called her.
Cyr could sense her frustration flicker with her hunger. That worried him. Although, he needed to clear up some things with her first. He needed to make certain he did not get caught up in the swirling frustration he previously stamped out of himself.
"You are my shei'tani." Cyr began calmly. "A shei'tani is the most blessed gift a Fey warrior can receive." He looked at her intently. "I told you what shei'tani translates to: beloved. Wife. Truemate."
Cyr's eyes glowed softly. "Perhaps...if I show you what I mean?" Angela stiffened. "Nei. I will use Spirit, Angela."
His eyes became a lavender tint and his hands raised as he surrounded them with soft, pulsating, powerful tendrils.
Cyr concentrated on the love he witnessed between his parents.
Cyriane and Jaythen v'En Lesk danced the Fey courtship dance, the Felah Baruk, matching Angela's music box melody in tandem.
Angela's eyes widened. She could feel their everlasting love, respect, and protection flowing from their forms. Cyr's father look strong and capable while Cyr's mother had a gentle protection...as if her acceptance was all the confidence her shei'tan needed.
Cyriane had soft honey blonde hair and light green eyes while Jaythen had Cyr's amber eyes and light chestnut hair. Cyr undoubtedly had his namesake's features and his father's traits such as the strength and eyes of his father.
Cyr allowed his Spirit weave to fade.
Angela blinked. It only answered part of their predicament.
Cyr steadied himself. "I want you to think, and act, and be you, Angela." Cyr said quietly. "I want you to talk like you."
Angela's eyes filled with tears. Her arms snaked around Cyr and she started to cry in earnest in his arms.
It was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
In Norban, she was considered too unattainable and unattractive. She loved her family. Her brother, Kyle, protected her to the point of driving all the menfolk away.
When everyone died―she was made to believe many, horrid things to survive. She also had to run and live by her wits. She is not the spirited, adventurous woman many were in other parts of Eloran. However, she would do what she must in order to not become a victim in Norban. She knew what happened to women unprotected.
She would rather die than become an Eldan whore or sold off.
That is precisely the secret she guarded in her heart of hearts.
She had prayed to the gods to have someone save her...perhaps she did receive her wish. Only now? She did not feel she needed someone.
Or do I? Angela thought sniffling. She was a wreck of her former self and could not understand why in the world this Fey warrior would choose her.
At first, Cyr was bewildered. His arms wrapped around his shei'tani's frail shoulders and he stood there. Not as a stoic Fey warrior. Her tears awoke the deeper, hidden gentle Fey heart to full compassion.
His long, straight hair tickled Angela's exposed neck and he listened to her thundering heart. He lightly stroked her back and murmured to her in Feyan. He knew without looking for it Angela's wrist guards were pulsating in tandem with her heartrate.
Eventually, Angela's sobs subsided.
She leaned back and wanted to say something―anything but her words failed her.
Cyr caressed her cheek and was amazed Angela leaned into his warmth. He wiped her tears away with his thumb and continued to speak to her. Angela closed her eyes and listened to his voice, breathing slowly.
Cyr softly kissed her forehead then her cheek, surprising her.
"Kem'shet'tani ajiana is beautiful, lovely and brave." Cyr offered. His amber eyes bright and earnest. Angela's grey eyes stared at him, a blush permeating her freckles. "Nothing will change that, Angela." He continued. "You're just healing. Give yourself a chance." He smiled at her, beguiling her. "You're too hard on yourself. Your body...was under a lot of strain."
Angela gulped. "H―how old are you?" She asked thickly. He seemed too mature for her all of a sudden.
He threw back his head and laughed. "Well, by Celierian standards I would be closer to 28-years-old. My actual age is five-and-a-half centuries."
"I―I need to sit down." Angela muttered. She admitted his Celierian age made her relax―until he mentioned being very old.
