by C. L. Wilson
She watched him fasten the belt buckle and adjust the two curved mei’cha scimitars hanging in their sheaths at his hips. A curl of pleasure tightened low in her belly. There was something incredibly intimate about watching Rain dress and don his weapons. The sight roused fresh memories: watching Rain through a dreamy, sensual haze, the feel of his arms around her, the dizzying whirl of stars, a burning, endless emptiness. Other sensations followed the first: Rain’s bare skin beneath her hand; the rich scent of cinnabar oil, magic, and Rain washing over her; the slow, relentless burn of his body filling hers, completing her, immersing her in exquisite sensations like nothing she’d ever known before.
“Rain,” she said in a low, choked voice, “did you…did I…” Her face flamed. “Did you…mate with me last night?”
He went still. His head lifted, his gaze locking on hers. Then he took a step towards her and cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed slowly across her lips, outlining the shape of her mouth. “Aiyah, shei’tani, I did indeed.” Her womb clenched in melting response to the purring satisfaction in his voice and the light, stroking caress of his thumb. “And if I thanked the gods every chime for the next ten thousand years, it would not be enough to honor such a wondrous gift.” Then he frowned. “Though perhaps our mating was a greater gift to me than you, if you do not remember it.”
“I remember.” Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. Everything was coming back to her now. Especially that. “Vividly.” The sudden blaze in his eyes sent fresh waves of heat rolling up and down her body. She scooted back out of range of his enthralling hands.
“Our bodies joined in Spirit only, shei’tani. I did not break my oath to your father. And, believe me, keeping my honor intact has never been so difficult.”
Her brows drew together in consternation as she realized she couldn’t recall the end of last night’s dinner or how she’d gotten home. The memories were clear up to a point, then grew disturbingly hazy, as if parts of the night were wrapped in a fog. She remembered sweet blue wine that packed a surprising punch and being warm, so very, very warm. Oh, gods, what had she done? What sort of fool had she made of herself?
She swallowed. “How did I get home?”
His gaze fell away from hers. He stepped back to retrieve the two seyani longswords propped against the window and slid his arms into the harness straps. “I carried you.”
“Because I was ill?” Please let her dim memories be wrong.
“You were not ill.” He settled the two swords in place on his back and bent his head to focus with suspicious concentration on the task of buckling the straps.
“If I wasn’t ill, then why did you carry me?” she persisted. He was Fey, and though he could and would dance around truth and evade questions with far more skill than he was displaying now, the Fey did not lie. When pressed for an answer, he would give her the truth.
He sighed and met her gaze. “You had too much pinalle.”
“I was drunk.” Her stomach lurched at the thought. Now she felt ill. Oh, gods, what sort of fool had she made of herself before the nobles whose support Rain was so desperate to win?
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean? What did I do?”
“You’d had too much pinalle.”
“You already said that!”
He gave her a look that made her bite her lip and subside into unhappy silence. “You’d had too much pinalle,” he repeated in a deliberate tone, “and then you had a cup of keflee.” He stopped, a wry look entering his eyes. “Let me just suggest that you not combine the two in the future.”
Ellie covered her hot cheeks with her hands. “What did I do?” He didn’t answer immediately, and she could see him weighing what to tell her. “Just give me the truth, whatever it is. If you don’t, I’ll drive myself mad conjuring up all manner of awful possibilities.”
“The pinalle lowered your inhibitions,” he admitted, “and the keflee—were you aware that keflee can act as an aphrodisiac on some people?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You’re one of them, apparently, though in most the reaction is considerably less intense. Of course, it wasn’t until after the fact that your quintet revealed they knew about your…unusually strong…response to keflee. Not that it would have mattered. Who could have guessed you would weave Spirit that way?”
“What way?” she whispered. But she already knew.
“What were you thinking just before I carried you out?”
“Oh, gods.” She buried her face in her drawn-up knees and draped her arms over her head. Blood heating like fire. Desire heightening to unbearable need. A yearning so strong the ache became torment.
“The effects of the weave didn’t wear off until the small bells of the morning. Around three, to be exact. Seven bells of incredibly acute, inescapably relentless sexual desire, Ellysetta. That is what you wove. On everyone at the dinner last night.”
Her stomach took a sickening lurch. “I’m going to be sick.” Best just to die now and get it over with, because surely she would die of mortification the next time she had to face anyone else who’d been in the banquet hall the night before. She’d woven lust on the highest-ranking nobles in Celieria—worse, on the king and queen!
Rain muttered a soft curse and came to her side. His thumbs slid over her cheeks, caressing gently. Regret and shame whispered against her senses from the point where his skin touched hers. “Sieks’ta. I am tired and behaving badly. I should have found a way to give you the truth without causing you such distress. You are not to blame for last night’s weave. You did not understand what you were doing. Even I did not understand it at first.” He tilted her chin up and waited for her to meet his eyes. “One thing, however, is inescapably clear. There is great magic in you. Of that, there can be no doubt.”
She nodded miserably. She could no longer deny the truth. Somehow, by some wicked trick of the gods, Ellysetta Baristani possessed magic. And it seemed determined to get out.
“You must be trained. Great power such as yours can be dangerous in untutored hands.”
“All right,” she whispered. If training would keep her from doing something as mortifying as what she’d done last night, she would be a devoted student. “When we reach the Fading Lands, I’ll take whatever training you think I need. I’m sorry I made such a mess of things.”
He finished dressing and stood regarding her for a moment. “Hold out your hand, Ellysetta.” Hesitant, she did, and he placed a small velvet bag in her palm. “This is your courtship gift for today. Open it.”
She loosened the silk cords and tilted the bag. Three large, perfect pearls, one white, one pink, one deep blue-gray, rolled out into her palm.
“Beautiful, are they not?”
“Did you make them?”
“Nei. Except when magic is part of the symbol being offered, the Fey do not use magic to make their gifts.” His mouth curved. “It can be an inconvenient custom. I dragged an unsuspecting glassblower from his bed to make the globe for the small weave I gave you last week.” His small smile grew rueful. “And while your weave was still spinning last night, a cold swim in the ocean seemed a prudent idea.” He plucked the dark pearl from her hand. “Do you know how a pearl comes to be?”
“Oysters make them, from a bit of sand.”
“Aiyah. From a bit of sand.” He rolled the pearl between his fingers. “All pearls begin as something unpleasant that the oysters cannot expel from themselves, even though they may want to. So they embrace these things that will not leave them, shaping them and smoothing away the sharp edges, until over time, they make of these unwanted things great treasures.”
“What are you saying? That in time the heads of Celieria’s noble houses will be happy that I wove seven bells of lust on them? Or that, after a few centuries, it will turn out to be a good thing that I singlehandedly destroyed the Fey-Celierian alliance?”
Strengthening that alliance had been the real purpose behind last night’s dinner. For a thousand years, Celi
eria and the Fading Lands had been the staunchest of allies, but recently, anti-Fey sentiment had exploded throughout large portions of Celieria. Dahl’reisen—terrifing former Fey warriors who’d slipped down the Dark Path and been banished from the Fading Lands—had been accused of murdering Celierian villagers in the north. Many powerful Celierian nobles were promoting a new, more welcoming relationship with the Eld—the Fading Lands’ oldest and most bitter enemy—as a way to counteract centuries of Fey influence over Celieria.
Last night had been Rain’s chance to win the confidence and support of Celieria’s lords before they voted whether or not to reopen their borders to the Eld…and what had she done? She’d woven lust on them! They would never forgive such humiliation.
Ellie groaned in misery and spun away, covering her face with her hands.
“Las, shei’tani.” Rain closed a hand over her shoulder and pulled her gently back to him. “If this is the turn the gods decided our path should take, we will follow it together.”
“But, Rain—”
“Ssh.” He pressed a kiss to her lips to silence her objection, then smiled with tender reassurance. “Listen to me, Ellysetta. The purpose of the gods is not always obvious, but believe me when I say that even from the most unpleasant beginning can come a treasure beyond price.” He returned the pearl to her palm and closed her fingers over it. “I thought my heart would always belong to Sariel. My will was to live only until my duty to the Fey was done and I could join her in death. And then you entered my soul. I did not want the connection, I admit. But in these few short days, you have wrought unexpected changes upon me. You’ve brought back to me the laughter I lost a thousand years ago, you’ve made me remember what hope is.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “I would not change you, Ellysetta. To me, you are already a pearl beyond price.”
“But the alliance…I know how important it is, and since the day we met, I only keep making things worse.”
Rain sighed. “If the Fey-Celierian alliance does not survive last night’s excitement, then it was not long for this world in any event. Would I change that if I could? Of course. As you reminded me yesterday, the Fey need Celieria. For millennia, your country has guarded the gates to our lands. But the Fey need you, also. I need you…more than any alliance. All I ask is that you try to find a way to live in comfort with those gifts you are afraid to face. I do not know all there is to know about shei’tanitsa bonding, but I do know both parties must accept what lies within themselves before they can open their souls to the other, as they must to complete the bond.”
Ellie bit her lip and glanced down at the pearls in her hand. “I’ll try, Rain.”
“Beylah vo. I must return to the palace briefly, shei’tani, but I will return as quickly as I can so you do not have to face the tradesfolk alone.”
Ellysetta knew what he left unsaid. He needed to return to the palace to begin repairing the damage she’d wrought with her weave. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’m sure there are much more important matters requiring your attention this morning.”
“Are you certain?”
That he didn’t deny it proved she was right. He was worried about how the nobles would react to what she’d done to them. And she would not compound the trouble she’d already caused him by acting like some clinging ninnywit. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
“Beylah vo, shei’tani.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Do not punish yourself for what happened at the dinner last night. Your weave may have embarrassed some, but ultimately it was harmless. Your countrymen will realize this. Besides,” he added, “only those who wield magic themselves could know it was you who spun the weave.”
“Lucky me,” she said glumly.
He smiled and kissed her again, longer this time, his lips coaxing hers to open, his arms holding her until she melted against him. When passion warmed between them, he gave a regretful sigh and pulled back.
“I will return at midday to take you flying.” He slipped through the window and leapt into the sky. His body dissolved in a cloud of sparkling magic and mist, only to re-form as an enormous, sleek black tairen winging across the early morning sky.
When he was gone, she donned a blue muslin dress—one of her own gowns, not any of the fancy silk and taffeta confections Lady Marissya had ordered for her—and slipped quietly downstairs to start breakfast. She’d have to change before the tradesmasters arrived, but for another bell or two at least she could still be plain Ellie Baristani, woodcarver’s daughter.
Four tall, deadly-looking warriors stood in the corners of the small home’s main room. Their black leathers merged with the early morning shadows, and the faint glow of their luminescent skin gleamed off the myriad swords and daggers each of them wore strapped to his body. A fifth warrior crouched near the door to the kitchen, his back to her, his long black hair hanging free about his shoulders.
Ravel vel Arras, the leader of the secondary quintet who guarded her whenever Belliard vel Jelani and his men were otherwise occupied, turned to face her. A look Ellie could only describe as embarrassment flitted across his face before he marshaled his features into the typical mask of Fey stoniness.
Ravel gestured with a graceful sweep of his hand back towards the icebox in the kitchen. “The little cat is not happy with the stronger weaves we put around the house,” he murmured. “She’s been hiding beneath that small chest all night and refuses to come out. Kieran will not be pleased. He and Bel warned us to take care with our magic around her.”
Ellie smothered a smile. There was something very endearing about lethal warriors living in fear of ruffling a tiny kitten’s fur. “Let me take a look.” Ellie stepped into the kitchen and crouched down to look under the icebox. Beneath it, huddled against the back wall, was a tiny ball of white fur dominated by a pair of big, gleaming blue eyes. The kitten opened her mouth to hiss and display needle-sharp fangs.
“Poor little Love,” Ellie crooned. “I’ll bet last night was even more frightening for you than me.” As the Fey had discovered last week, Lillis and Lorelle’s kitten could sense magic woven nearby—and to say she hated it was an understatement.
“Come here, sweetling. Come here, kit, kit, kit.” Ellie reached under the icebox, hoping to scoop the little kitten out, but when her fingers were close enough to brush against soft white fur, Love gave a loud hiss and swatted out with razor-sharp claws. Ellie yelped and yanked back her bleeding hand.
Like a bolt of furry white lightning, Love shot out from under the icebox, raced across the main room, and leapt up the stairs towards the relative safety of Lillis and Lorelle’s bedroom.
Ravel stepped towards Ellysetta, green Earth and lavender Spirit already spinning out from his fingertips to stop the bleeding and steal away the sting of the deep furrows scored across the back of her hand. “Shall I summon Marissya to heal it?”
Ellie gave a small laugh of disbelief. “For a cat scratch? No, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Ravel frowned at her, black brows drawing close over remarkable violet eyes. “I will inform the Feyreisen,” he insisted. “He will make certain Marissya’s schedule permits her to attend you.”
Ellie caught herself before rolling her eyes. She’d been wounded under Ravel’s care, and both his masculine Fey instinct and his strong warrior’s code of honor compelled him to see her healed. He couldn’t do it himself. Though masters of extraordinary magic, Fey warriors could not heal wounds as their women could. They could only staunch the flow of blood and temporarily seal rent flesh.
“Thank you, Ser Ravel,” she said, “but please, make sure they know it’s only a scratch. Poor Love. I shouldn’t have reached for her, I suppose, but usually even when she’s frightened she lets us hold her.”
“Perhaps she has reason to be more frightened than usual,” a grim voice announced.
Ellysetta gave a start of surprise and turned to find her adoptive mother standing in the kitchen doorway. “Good morning, Mama. I didn’t hear you come down.”
Lauria
na Baristani was already fully dressed, her mink-brown hair tamed in a bun at the back of her neck, her body covered from ankle to neck in a practical burgundy dress. She raked Ellie from head to toe with a penetrating gaze, hazel eyes sharp and probing. “How are you feeling this morning, Ellysetta?”
Ellie’s heart sank. She knew that intense, scrutinizing look. Mama was looking for some remnant of last night’s terrible nightmare, some visible sign of the dread affliction that had no doubt prompted Ellysetta’s natural parents—whoever they were—to abandon her in the forests of Norban when she was but a babe.
An old, familiar tension coiled inside Ellie. “I’m fine, Mama.”
“Are you?” Her mother’s eyes had always seen too much, too clearly. It was one reason Ellie had grown up such a scrupulously obedient daughter. “Last night you were nowhere near fine. You haven’t had such a terrible…event…since Hartslea.”
Silence fell between them. They never mentioned Hartslea, the northern city where they’d lived years ago, the city they’d fled after Ellie’s childhood exorcism. Ellie had only been eight at the time, but she still remembered the smell of sago flowers and incense, the malevolent gleam of long needles in the flickering candlelight, the deep scarlet of the exorcists’ robes and the dark fervency in their eyes.
“I’m fine, Mama,” she insisted, shoving those old terrors to the back of her mind. She would not think of those awful days.
“Ellysetta…” Her mother reached out to take her arm, then stopped as Ellysetta drew back. A hurt look crossed Lauriana’s face but she suppressed it quickly. “I’m concerned, Ellysetta, and you know why. You also know I’d do anything in my power to help you.” Her voice softened. “I love you, kitling. I only want what’s best for you.”
Guilt stung Ellysetta. Her rigid shoulders slumped. “I know you do, Mama, and I love you too. But, please, don’t worry. If there’s any way to stop my nightmares, Rain has sworn he and the Fey will find it.”
