Lord of the Fading Lands (The Tairen Soul Book 1)

Ellie woke to yet another pounding headache and the feel of something soft yet bristly brushing against her cheek. Her eyes opened, and she rose up on one elbow to find a vibrant blue feather on her pillow. It was easily as long as her forearm, with a tuft of navy down at its base and iridescent pink glimmers along its edges. The feather had come from a kolitou, a very rare species of bird that lived in the most inaccessible reaches of the Tivali Mountains bordering Elvia to the south. Hundreds of years ago, before craftsmen had perfected the delicate metal pen nib for writing instruments, the kolitou feather had been the quill of choice for kings due to its rare beauty and the danger involved in acquiring it.

Ellie had no idea why the feather was on her pillow, though she had a fairly good idea who had put it there. Climbing high enough to locate a kolitou aerie was risky for men, but it wouldn’t be difficult for a Tairen Soul.

There was an old Celierian proverb: Mind what you pray for, the gods may grant it. She had prayed for someone else, anyone else but Den. She’d been hoping for a nice, quiet manlike Papa. Instead, the gods had sent her the man who’d scorched the world.

The Feyreisen terrified her. He wore the promise of death like a cloak, and dread magic all but crackled around him. Yet even as her heart quailed, he drew her as no man ever had. Already, after only two brief meetings, he was like an addictive potion in her blood. She hungered for the sight of his face, the sound of his voice, the tingle in her skin when he was near. She didn’t believe it was mind control, as Selianne feared. After all, what could Ellysetta Baristani possibly have that the King of the Fey would want?

She wasn’t fool enough to think Rain Tairen Soul loved her just because he claimed she was his truemate. The man whose consuming, tragic love for the Lady Sariel was still celebrated throughout Celieria would not lightly cast aside the memories of his dead wife and set in her stead a young, unremarkable mortal stranger.

But Ellie also knew enough about the legends of the true- mate bond to know it only formed where deep, abiding love could blossom. The temptation of knowing a love so deep, so complete, so unconditional, was a powerful lure that appealed straight to her deepest, most secret desire. Plain, awkward, simple Ellie dreamed of love. Not the gentle, friendly love that could eventually grow between two people joined in an arranged marriage, but the boundless, passionate love that only happened in Feytales.

She brushed the pink-shimmered kolitou feather across her face, remembering the feel of Rain’s hands doing the same. Impulsively she kissed the feather, then tucked it with care into the top drawer of her dressing table and hurried to get dressed.

Outside, Fey minds murmured to one another in approval. It was a fine first gift, and the Feyreisa had accepted it. The courtship had begun.

At half past seven bells, as the Baristani family broke their fast in their tiny kitchen, a knock sounded at the front door. ‘I’ll get it,’ Sol said. He swiped at his lips with his napkin before tossing it on the table.

Curious as to who would call so early in the morning, Ellie followed him to the front door. She and her father both froze in surprise at the sight of a royal messenger standing on the doorstep, impeccably garbed in expensive gold-embroidered livery.

The man gave a brief bow ‘You are Sol Baristani, master woodcarver?’ he asked.

Her father swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘Yes.’

‘Father of Ellysetta Baristani?’ The messenger’s gaze flickered to Ellie before snapping back to her father’s face.

Papa’s gaze did the same. ‘Yes,’ he said, a little more slowly this time.

The messenger clicked his mirror-polished black heels and bowed again, a half bow rather than the previous quarter. ‘Then it is my honor, privilege, and duty, Master Baristani, to present you with this summons to the royal palace.’ He held out a rolled parchment tied with a blue satin ribbon and sealed with a large glob of gold wax bearing the crest of the royal family of Celieria. ‘You and your family are to make your appearance by ten bells today.”

Papa cracked the royal seal and unrolled the parchment. His eyes scanned the contents rapidly. ‘There is no reason noted for the summons.’ He looked up at the messenger. ‘Why is our presence requested?”

‘It is not my place to know, Master Baristani. I have been instructed to wait for you to prepare yourselves, and then to convey you to the palace. A coach has been provided.’ He waved at the covered coach waiting in the street. It was a massive vehicle, painted a rich Celierian blue buffed to a high gloss. A team of six matched grays stood patiently in their harnesses. The royal coat of arms was emblazoned in gold on the sides of the coach.

‘I see. Then shall I assume this request is more in the way of a royal command?’ The messenger bowed again.

‘Well’ Papa rubbed his chin the way he always did when gathering his thoughts. ‘Give us a bell or so to ready ourselves. You are welcome to wait in the house.”

The messenger eyed the Fey warriors standing like dark shadows behind Ellie’s father and declined. ‘Thank you, Master Baristani, but I shall await your convenience outside.”

Papa closed the door and turned to Ellie. ‘First the Fey, now a royal summons. I can’t help believing they are related, Ellie girl.”

She said nothing. What was there to say?

‘Lauriana! Come quickly, my dear.’ Sol strode into the kitchen in search of his wife. The sudden commotion of chairs scraping back from the table marked the moment when he announced the surprising news. Her parents and sisters rushed out of the kitchen.

‘Why are you just standing there, Ellie?’ Mama demanded, herding the twins up the stairs. ‘We’ve barely time enough to get decent, let alone fit for an audience with the king.”

‘I’ll be right up, Mama.’ Ellie waited until her family had hustled upstairs before she met Belliard’s impassive gaze. ‘This is the Feyreisen’s doing, isn’t it?’ she asked. His head inclined slightly. ‘Well, I wish he’d given us a little more notice. I have nothing suitable to wear for a visit to the royal palace.’ Was that almost a smile that twitched at the corner of the stone-faced Fey’s mouth?

‘The Fey can provide you a gown worthy of a queen.’ He gestured, and Ellie’s plain homespun dress became a dazzling court ball gown of shining ivory fabric, cascading with blond lace fine as a spider’s web, and sparkling with thousands of tiny jewels.

Stunned, Ellie touched the jewel-encrusted bodice and the billowing skirts. It was incredible. It was dazzling. It was . . . she frowned … an illusion? Though she could feel the cool, slippery satin beneath her fingers, the hard pebbles of each tiny jewel, even the crush of a corset pulling her waist in tight, something told her the dress wasn’t real.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she told Belliard. ‘But it’s not real, is it?”

His eyebrows actually inched higher. She had managed to surprise him. ‘No, it is made of Spirit, but you should not be able to detect the difference between my weave and a real gown.”

‘Spirit?”

‘The magic I used for the weave. It is a mystic, not an elemental, magic. It works on the mind, not the physical. My command of Spirit is exceptional.’ There was a stiff tone to his voice, something that sounded very much like bruised masculine pride.

‘I’m sorry.’ She tried to make amends. ‘It’s a wonderful job, really. All my senses are telling me it’s real’ Without thinking, she reached out to pat his hand, and the Fey’s board-stiff back went even stiffer.

Behind Belliard, blond Kiel coughed loudly into his hand while the brothers Adrial and Rowan studiously inspected the ceiling. Brown-haired Kieran’s tiny smile was now wide and gleaming with white teeth, and his blue eyes danced with open amusement.

The gorgeous gown winked out of existence.

‘I do not command Earth,’ Belliard told her in stilted tones. One might have thought he was confessing to some terrible, humiliating affliction, like having the uncontrollable urge to dress in women’s clothing and dance beneath the light of the Mother on All Spirits’ Eve. ‘Kieran’—he gestured to the brown-haired Fey—’controls Earth admirably. A gown made of Earth is real. He can make for you what I cannot.”

Ellie could never bring herself to hurt this proud, solitary Fey’s feelings by rejecting his offer and accepting that of another. She’d already unwittingly hurt him quite enough. She shook her head. ‘Thank you for the offer, but no. I’m not Ashleanne the hearthminder, wearing her Fey gift-father’s gown to the ball. I’m just plain Ellie Baristani, woodcarver’s daughter. I would feel silly and uncomfortable trying to be someone I’m not.’ She turned to climb the stairs.

‘Ellysetta Baristani.’ Belliard’s voice caused her to stop and turn back around. ‘Even should you clothe yourself in rags and dirt, you would bring honor to the Fey.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Those were quite possibly the nicest words anyone had ever said to her. ‘Thank you.”

He was so proud, so sad in his aloneness and the dark sorrow that drowned all light in his eyes. She had thought him frightening and incapable of gentle feelings, and he had just proved her utterly wrong. Sorry for her part in hurting him, wishing she could take the shadows from his eyes, she reached out to touch his face, her fingertips gentle against his cheek and jaw. ‘I pray the gods grant you the peace and happiness you deserve,’ she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being. Her flesh tingled, and he flinched beneath her hand, his eyes widening.

To her amazement, Belliard vel Jelani dropped to one knee, bowed his head, and in a shaking voice declared, ‘Of my own free will, Ellysetta Baristani, I pledge my life and my soul to your protection. None shall harm you while in life or death I have power to prevent it.’ He drew one of the small, black- handled knives from the straps across his chest and slit his palm. Fisting his sliced hand, he held it over the blade and allowed six drops of blood to fall on the shining steel. ‘This I do swear with my own life’s blood, in Fire and Air and Earth and Water, in Spirit and in Azrahn, the magic never to be called. I do ask that this pledge be witnessed.”

‘Witnessed,’ Kieran agreed, his smile gone.

‘Witnessed,’ the other three Fey echoed with like solemnity.

The blade in Belliard’s hand flared bright for an instant. He rose to his feet and offered Ellie the knife, hilt first. ‘Your shei’tan will always be your first protector,’ he told her, ‘but know that I will always be your second. So I have sworn. So it is witnessed. Take this Fey’cha as proof of my oath and keep it with you always. If you ever have need of me, simply let a drop of your blood touch the blade. No matter where I am or what I am doing, I will know you need me, and I will come.”

She took the knife with hands that shook. ‘I don’t pretend to know all your oath entails, but I know you have done me a great honor. I will strive to be worthy.’ She turned to hurry upstairs.

When she was gone, Belliard turned to his brother warriors. Tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors were shaking his body. He touched his cheek, still feeling the warmth, the very subtle yet incredibly strong power that had moved from her fingertips to him.

He had so much death on his soul that all but the strongest women among the Fey had avoided touching him centuries ago, unable to bear the pain of his sorrow, the ruthlessly self- enforced emotionlessness, and the dark burden of the lives he’d taken to protect the Fey. Even the shei’dalins only touched him when they needed to heal wounds he gained in battle. Yet this child, this incredible child whose soul called a tairen’s, had reached out to touch him and sent a flood of healing warmth and love so strong that it burned straight through the block of black ice that encased what remained of his gentle Fey emotions.

He looked at Kieran, Kiel, Rowan, and Adrial. They could not feel what he felt, but they could hear his thoughts, and as Fey warriors they would understand. «My heart weeps again,- he told them, nodding when their faces mirrored his astonishment. «She is more powerful than any of us suspected.»

Aloud he added, ‘She’s no Celierian. On this I would stake every blade I own.’

Queen Annoura strolled down the stone walkways that wound through the palace’s vast, manicured gardens. She’d woken early to greet the Tairen Soul and attend to the most pressing of her day’s correspondence while breaking her fast. Duty would call her to service again soon, but she refused to forgo the pleasure of her regular morning walk.

The members of her Queen’s Court followed a few paces behind, noble young Sers and Seras chosen as much for their beauty as for their family connections. Annoura was no insecure queen forced to fill her court with Drabs in order to look beautiful by comparison. She was herself a Brilliant, and she insisted on surrounding herself with nothing less than Dazzles to set off her own beauty to its best advantage.

Of course, she also had her inner circle of Favorites, the small knot of courtiers selected as her confidants for their wit, shrewdness, political connections, and loyalty. Chief among her current circle was the delicious, sultry-eyed Ser Vale, a breathtakingly handsome nobleman whose palpable aura of sensuality made Annoura envy ladies for whom infidelity was not an act of treason. He’d joined her court as a Dazzle late last fall, but his entertaining wit and keen intelligence had raised him swiftly to her inner circle.

He walked beside her now, elegant as always, his hair powdered the same pale blue as his form-fitting silk breeches and matching gold-and-silk-embroidered velvet doublet. He wore an alluring scent today, something deep and mysterious, teasing Annoura with hints of wicked, forbidden pleasure.

He was not at all impressed with the news of the Tairen Soul’s truemate. ‘A woodcarver’s daughter, My Queen? A commoner?”

‘The Fey do not share our appreciation for the purity of noble bloodlines, Ser Vale, you know that. The Tairen Soul claims she is his truemate, and he will not give her up.’ She kept her voice low, her words private between them. ‘The girl is betrothed to another and bound by a claiming mark, yet he insists we set aside her lawful marriage contract.”

‘It is an outrage against Celierian sovereignty. The king will, of course, refuse.’ There was earnest surety in his voice and in his thickly lashed blue-green eyes.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I doubt that he will.”

‘You cannot mean it!’ Vale stopped in his tracks, drawing the attention of the surrounding courtiers. ‘Surely His Majesty would not truly allow this … this Fey sorcerer to install a peasant—one of your own subjects, no less—as his queen? To raise up a common woodcarver’s daughter as the equal of you, Queen Annoura of Celieria, in whose veins flows the world’s most noble royal blood?”

‘You go too far, lordling,’ Annoura snapped. ‘It seems I erred in raising you from Dazzle to Favorite so quickly if you think she could ever be my equal.’ Her skirts snapped as she resumed her walk at a brisk pace.

‘My Queen!’ Vale hurried to catch up with her. ‘Your Majesty, forgive me.”

She glared at him. ‘He may call her his queen and seat her on the Tairen Throne, but there is much more to being my equal than the mere possession of a crown and a title.”

‘Of course, Your Majesty. I did not mean to suggest that I would ever believe otherwise. You are the Moon of Celieria, a Brilliant who outshines the Mother herself. And I hear this Celierian girl isn’t even a Gem. Little more than a Drab.”

Annoura arched a haughty brow. ‘Now you imply I am threatened by her looks?”

‘Never, My Queen. You know my devotion belongs to you alone.”

His hand brushed hers. An onlooker might believe it was an accidental touch, but Annoura knew otherwise. Her eyes narrowed.

‘I am pleased to hear that at least.’ She brought the hand he had touched to her waist, out of further reach. ‘I am not benevolent to Favorites who betray my trust in them, nor am I a queen who shares the devotions due her.”

‘Your Majesty, it is not I who would claim her to be your equal. I but think how others outside of Celieria might view these unprecedented events.”

Annoura kept her expression blank, but she was troubled by the suggestion that anyone might consider this upstart soon-to-be queen of the Fey equal in power and stature to Annoura of Celieria. She had spent the last two and a half decades building renown for the elegance of her court and the power of her husband’s kingdom. She would not lightly share or lessen her position in the world. Especially not for some Drab of a woodcarver’s daughter.’ The girl’s fate is out of my hands. The king will not deny Rain Tairen Soul his truemate.’ There was more. The girl’s betrothed had petitioned the King’s clerk for a special license to wed her immediately. The Feyreisen had been in a rage when he’d found out. He’d actually threatened war if Dorian did not revoke the license and dissolve the betrothal. The arrogance of Rain Tairen Soul’s demands still infuriated Annoura. Celieria was a sovereign nation, its laws inviolable. But Dorian—ever the coward when dealing with his magical kin—would not stand firm.

Another time, Annoura might have confessed some of the details to Vale, but he had irritated her with his insinuations, so she said merely, ‘The House of Torreval has long supported the traditions of both Celierians and Fey.’ She turned back to the palace. ‘I believe I have walked long enough this morning. I shall return to the palace.’ When he made to follow her, she stopped and leveled a hard, cold glance upon his handsome face. ‘Your attendance is not required today, Ser Vale.’ She lifted a hand and gestured to one of her newest young Dazzles, an exquisite blond lordling who’d been vying for her attention these last few months. ‘Ser Nilas. You may escort me back to the palace”

‘My Queen!’ The young Ser bowed so low, his golden forelock brushed the ground.

Vale bowed as well, but his eyes, vibrant and burning, held her gaze with a boldness that belied his calm acceptance of her dismissal.

At a quarter before ten bells, the Baristani family, clad in their best clothes, arrived at the royal palace. At least eighty Fey surrounded the carriage that conveyed them, with Ellie’s quintet running alongside the conveyance as it rolled through the palace gates and up to the wide steps of the palace’s grand entrance.

Though she had vowed never to do so, Ellie had once again donned her green dress and her mother’s bridal chemise, hoping that it would bring more luck this time than it had the last. Her mother had helped her put up her hair in a soft, flattering style of curls and intricate plaits, held down by a set of long-toothed ivory combs. She wore no jewelry. She had none. But Kieran of the Fey had presented her with a girdle of delicate gold links and a sheath for Belliard’s knife, decorated with six small, lovely jewels that shone red, blue, green, white, black, and lavender. The knife fit the sheath perfectly and now rested snugly on her right hip, pressed against the folds of her green gown. Belliard had said nothing when he saw it, but his eyes had flickered for a moment and she knew he was pleased.

An important-looking little man in elegant clothes met them at the top of the palace stairs. He greeted them with a gracious bow and introduced himself as the Right Honorable Ser Taneth Marcet, Undersecretary to the Minister of State. ‘If you and your family will follow mm, please, Master Baristani.”

He led them into the palace, down several marble-floored hallways, and into a luxurious antechamber. Ellie had never seen such wealth. Massive portraits of royal Celierian ancestors adorned the walls, their painted eyes looking down with imperious detachment. Gorgeous ivory brocade chairs overflowed with tasseled ice-blue and deep rose pillows. A rich, exquisitely carved sideboard of solid burlwood rested against one wall, its lustrous top covered with silver trays bearing all manner of fruits, comfits, tiny finger sandwiches, and delicate pastries. On a nearby cart rested a three-legged silver urn with eggshell-thin porcelain cups, tiny silver spoons, and a selection of sugars and creams elegantly presented around it.

After a brief investigation of the antechamber, the Fey settled themselves into the four corners of the room, and Belliard stood beside Ellie.

The Undersecretary gestured to the food and drink. ‘The refreshments are yours to enjoy,’ he told them, and he backed out of the room.

‘Ser! Wait! Can you please tell us—’ Sol’s voice died off as the doors closed.

Lillis and Lorelle made a beeline for the comfits and had —already jammed three or four of the delicate candies in their mouths before Lauriana noticed and rapped out a sharp order to desist.

‘But, Mama,’ Lorelle objected around the mass of sweets in her mouth, ‘the man said we could help ourselves.”

‘And have powdered sugar and chocolate stains all over you as a result? I think not. And don’t talk with your mouth full, Lorelle.”

The twins pouted, but as soon as their mother turned her attention back to Sol and Ellie, they each snatched another handful of comfits and hurried to plop themselves down on one of the large chairs facing away from their parents, where they proceeded to furtively nibble their purloined treats. Ellie shook her head and noticed that the Fey named Kieran was smiling again.

‘Well,’ said Lauriana. ‘It looks as though they intend to keep us in suspense. As it’s obvious we’re being treated as guests rather than prisoners, you would think someone would tell us what’s going on.”

‘I imagine we’ll know soon enough,’ Sol replied in a distracted voice. Ellie cast him a surprised glance, only to smile fondly as she recognized the cause of his distraction. His attention was riveted by the carving on the burlwood sideboard, and he crouched down beside the piece to inspect it.

‘Exquisite,’ he breathed, running a hand over the intricate designs that had obviously been worked by a master. ‘Laurie, my dearest, come look at this workmanship. I’ve never seen finer. I wonder who did this. One of the old masters, no doubt. Probably Centarro. It looks old enough, and the amount of detail—amazing!—is right for the period. Maybe Purcel … but no, he was never one to work with burl- wood …’ Completely absorbed, Sol pulled a small magnifying glass from his suit pocket and began looking for the tiny master’s seal that was sure to be hidden somewhere on the carving.

Ellie, having skipped breakfast in the morning’s rush, reached over him to help herself to a buttery fruit-and-mit-filled pastry, then moved to the cart to pour a cup of dark, steaming keflee into one of the delicate cups provided for that purpose. Holding the warm cup to her nose, she breathed deep of the spice-scented aroma and sighed happily. She poured a healthy dollop of honeyed cream into the bittersweet drink and took a sip, closing her eyes in bliss. Nothing should taste so lovely as this. Rich, creamy, sweet, spicy, with just enough bitterness to make it full-bodied. She rolled the flavors around on her tongue and nearly moaned in pleasure.

‘The gods’ blessings on whoever discovered keflee,’ she murmured, opening her eyes to find all the Fey watching her in fascination. Her chin came up in defiance of the blush warming her cheeks. ‘Well, surely some of the Fey must like it too?’ she challenged.

‘Aiyah.’ That came from the blond-haired warrior named Kiel. ‘Many do. But few who … enjoy it … so well.”

Before Ellie could respond, the doors at the far end of the room opened wide and the doorman announced in ringing tones, ‘Her Majesty, Queen Annoura of Celieria.”

Lauriana gasped and fell into a deep, awkward curtsey while beside her Sol bent nearly double in a bow. The twins froze in the process of stuffing the last of the comfits in their mouths, then, in a flash of petticoats and pantalets, they tumbled off the chair and hid behind it, only their quivering bows visible over the stuffed arms of the chair. Ellie looked at the cup of keflee in her one hand and the pastry in the other, and spent a frantic moment searching for a suitable place to set them. Belliard came to her rescue, taking the cup and pastry so she could sink into her own curtsey.

‘Please rise.’ If the queen found their blatant nervousness amusing, she didn’t let on. Her voice was pleasant and warmly modulated. ‘Master Baristani, a pleasure to meet you at last.”

As her father replied, Ellie rose to her feet, clasped her hands tightly together, and stared in wide-eyed fascination at the woman who was queen of all Celieria. She was a tiny woman, with delicate features and large blue eyes in a lovely heart-shaped face. Pale hair, so fine it looked like spun sugar, was piled high in an elaborate cascade of curls threaded liberally with ropes of pearls and gold. About her throat she wore a gold necklace dripping with sapphires and diamonds that must have cost the yearly wages of the entire West End. She was a walking testimony to the privilege of the upper class, and Ellie was suddenly very conscious of her own humble dress and even humbler beginnings.

‘And you must be Ellysetta.’ The queen was standing before her, smiling, her delicate, milky white hands outstretched. ‘My dear, I have heard quite a bit about you.”

Ellie stared at those perfect, satin-skinned hands and reluctantly placed her own much rougher ones in them. ‘Your Majesty,’ she blurted, hoping to draw attention away from her chapped skin and ragged fingernails, ‘I am honored to meet you. Though I am still not certain why we were summoned.”

The queen patted her hand. ‘Patience is a virtue, my dear. All will reveal itself in good time.’ She flashed a small, conspiratorial smile. ‘In truth, I’m not supposed to be here myself, but I simply couldn’t stand the curiosity any longer.”

‘Curiosity, ma’am?”

‘About you, dear. About you.’ The lovely blue eyes narrowed a bit. ‘I would have thought the Fey would have seen to your dress before bringing you to the palace. Well, pay no mind to the gossiping tongues.’ She walked around Ellie, inspecting her from all sides. ‘You are quite a bit younger than I would have imagined. And not much to look at, though you show definite promise. Skinny. And very, very tall. Dear me, a veritable giant. Please tell me you’ve stopped growing.”

Taken aback by the unexpected attack delivered in such sweet tones, Ellie stepped away from the queen. Had the woman brought her here merely to insult her looks? Surely a queen should be above such cruel entertainment. Ellie’s hands fell to her sides, and the right one brushed the hard metal sheath housing Belliard’s knife. Her fingers clasped around it with sudden need. The feel of the cool metal, the tiny pebbles of the six stones, the sturdy hilt of Bel’s Fey’cha dagger, made Ellie’s nervousness fade. She. Ellie Baristani, tall, skinny, not very attractive Ellie, was the woman Rain Tairen Soul had declared to be his shei’tani.

Her spine went stiff: She straightened to her full—and quite considerable—height. Her shoulders squared, her eyes flashed, and she lifted her chin, staring down her nose at the tiny queen. ‘Come to think of it, Your Majesty, I believe I must still be growing. Either that, or you are shrinking.”

‘Ellie!’ Lauriana and Sol gasped her name together.

Kieran burst out laughing, and Belliard—too-solemn Belliard—actually smiled.

Queen Annoura’s limpid blue eyes sharpened, and she eyed Ellie with new respect. ‘Very good, my dear,’ she purred. ‘I see you are not without claws of your own. You may just survive the coming days after all.”

Ellie smiled, showing her teeth. ‘You may count on it, Your Majesty.”

The queen inclined her head, and Ellie returned the gesture warily.

‘Enough of my little entertainment.’ Queen Annoura glanced at Belliard. ‘The Feyreisa and her parents will remain here until they are called. I will send someone for the children. I’m sure they would much rather play in the palace garden than stay cooped up in this room. I trust you have no objection, Madam Baristani? No? Good. Nurse will be eager to have such pretty little charges in her care, and I’ll be sure she knows not to feed them too many more comfits.”

In a swish of perfumed skirts, she was gone.

Ellie sank into the nearest chair, covering her face with shaking hands.

‘Ellysetta Baristani!’ Lauriana flew across the room to stand before her daughter, hands on hips, the light of maternal outrage in her eye. ‘What were you thinking, speaking like that to the queen? I never raised you to be so rag-mannered!”

‘I don’t know,’ Ellie groaned. ‘I don’t know what came over me”

‘The tairen, I think,’ Belliard replied, his cobalt eyes gleaming bright rather than dark. ‘I made a fool of myself. I spoke rudely to the queen.”

‘You spoke like the Feyreisa. You brought pride to this Fey.’ He glanced at his Fey brethren and cried, ‘Miora felah ti’Feyreisa! Joy to the Feyreisa!”

‘Miora felah ti’Feyreisa!’ the other four shouted back.

Then the very walls seemed to shake with an echoing roar as nearly two hundred Fey voices shouting in unison rose from all parts of the palace.

‘Good sweet Lord of Light!’ Lauriana exclaimed.

Ellie just stared at her quintet in dismay and prayed her queasy, lurching stomach would settle soon, before she humiliated herself beyond all hope of recovery.