by C. L. Wilson
“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 me, 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 burlwood…” 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-nut-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 he
r 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.
CHAPTER SIX
Fortunately, Ellie’s stomach settled and she regained at least the outward appearance of composure by the time another liveried servant came to fetch them. Circled by the Fey, she followed her parents out of the antechamber and down a series of halls until they came to a set of massive, opulent doors manned by two bewigged footmen and a third pinch-nosed man. Four royal guards flanked the doors, spears in hand, swords shining at their hips. They eyed the bristling display of Fey weapons suspiciously, but made no attempt to disarm the warriors.
The massive doors swung inward, and the pinch-nosed man called out in a carrying voice: “Master and Madam Sol Baristani. Mistress Ellysetta Baristani.”
Before them, the Celierian throne room loomed large. A wide blue carpet stretched for a very long way down the center of the room, leading to two enormous thrones that ruled over the vaulted space from a raised dais. Hundreds of people stood in crowded masses on either side of the carpet, and balconies up above held another hundred. At least two dozen royal guardsmen stood at attention along the walls of the room.
The Baristanis and their Fey escort walked down the long and daunting aisle. The king and queen were seated on their respective thrones, flanked on the king’s right by Dax v’En Solande and his red-shrouded truemate Marissya, the shei’dalin. Two rows of benches, presently empty, sat before the dais. Another small platform surrounded by a semicircular wooden railing stood off to the right between the thrones and the benches, angled so the occupants of the thrones, the benches, and the room at large would be able to see whoever stood behind that railing.
Ellie’s mouth went dry and her stomach took another unpleasant lurch as sudden realization struck. This was the annual gathering of the Celierian Supreme Court of Justice, pres
ided over by the king and queen, who served as judge and jurors, and facilitated by Marissya v’En Solande, whose touch could force the truth from even the most hardened criminal. This was the court that rendered final judgment on disputed or undecided cases from all over Celieria. The verdicts of this court were final and irreversible.
And Ellie had just mouthed off to the queen.
Oh, gods. If there’s any mercy in you, don’t let the queen hold a grudge!
A man in calf-length blue robes met them at the end of the carpet and gestured for them to take seats in the second row of benches to the right. After making their bows and curtseys, Ellie and her parents sat, but the Fey went to stand at the far edge of the benches.
The pinch-nosed man’s voice boomed out again: “Master and Madam Gothar Brodson. Goodman Den Brodson.” Ellie felt her heart sink into her stomach. Sure enough, there they were. Den was once again stuffed into his too-tight suit, pomaded and curled, and wearing his smug klat’s smile, as if he knew something no one else did.
The Steward of the Court, wearing blue robes with gold stripes on the lower half of the sleeves, walked to the king and handed him a parchment. King Dorian scanned the parchment, then handed it back and nodded. The steward turned to the benches. “Goodman Brodson,” he said, “yesterday you petitioned the court to validate the betrothal contract between yourself and Mistress Ellysetta Baristani. You were granted the validation and have petitioned the courts for a special license to wed her immediately. Is this correct?”
Den stood, his chest swelling, his strong chin jutting forward. “It is, ser.”
“You have a contract signed by the girl’s father?”
