Chapter Five
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 man like 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 truemate 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.”