"Why don't they just…" She wiggled her fingers. "You know."

Rain laughed. "Certainly, there is some of that," he told her, "but a fine meal is like a song, art that is meant to be consumed by the senses. Besides, what pleasure is there to life if you never create anything with your own hands?"

Ellie raised a skeptical brow. She'd spent one too many hours laboring at the monotony of cooking, cleaning, and housework to consider it a pleasure.

"Perhaps you will change your mind after you've lived your first hundred years," Rain suggested. "Magic is just a tool, not a replacement for the experiences and accomplishments of life. Forget that, and the pursuit of magical perfection will become all that matters, and the Fey will follow the same dark path as the Eld."

After leaving the kitchens, they continued on past banquet halls, conservatories, rooms of state, the palace library, and the king's private courtyard and offices. Room after beautiful room, each a treasure in its own right.

From his well-appointed offices, Rain led her down a small corridor to the king's personal armory. There, displayed on three tall stands in a sconce-lit alcove, was the war armor of the Fey king.

Made entirely of gleaming golden-hued steel, the armor consisted of a woven chain mail, a complete set of Fey blades whose hilts were embossed with the purple tairen rampant, seal of the Fey king, and protective plate mail made of golden steel and layers of hardened and embossed black leather.

"The king's armor was made in the Time Before Memory," Rain told her. "Passed down from Feyreisen to Feyreisen since Tevan Fire Eyes, the first Tairen Soul of the Fading Lands."

"I'm surprised it has never been damaged or lost," Ellysetta said. "Fey kings have certainly fought in many terrible wars over the centuries."

"There is a repair spell forged into the steel, and a return weave that brings the king's armor back to this room if the Tairen Soul wearing it dies."

He approached the center stand, where the shining black and gold of the king's armor gleamed like shadows and sunlight. Across the black leather, tooled in gold and silver, were symbols surrounded by a varying number of circles. His fingers brushed over them without touching. "These are the name symbols of every Defender of the Fey who ever donned this armor and led the Fey into battle. The rings indicate how long each reigned. One silver ring for every hundred years, one gold ring for every millennium."

She stepped closer, peering at the symbols. No name had more than one gold ring, and very few had both gold and silver. "Where is your name?"

"It is not there." At her surprised look, he explained, "Only those who have worn the armor have their name set upon it. I never have. Johr Feyreisen died at the Garreval, only a few days before I scorched the world. The armor returned to Dharsa, and I couldn't leave the battle to retrieve it."

"You've never even tried it on since then? Just to see how it fits?"

In a voice both soft and grave, he said, "This is the war armor of the Fey king, Ellysetta. The moment a Feyreisen puts it on his body, he commits the Fading Lands to war, and he commits himself to one of only two fates: victory or death. Only then can the armor be returned to this room, and only then can the Fey cease fighting." Her horror must have shown in her eyes, because he gave her a bleak smile. "War is no game to the Fey, shei'tani, and surrender is no option."

Barely conscious of doing so, she gripped his arm and pulled him away from the gleaming gold-and-black armor, tugging him towards the armory door. "Then I pray your name will never be inscribed there." But they both knew it soon would be.

From the armory, Rain led Ellysetta back to the wide gallery that opened into the tairen courtyard where her palace tour had begun. Bel, Gaelen, Tajik, Gil, and Rijonn were waiting in the courtyard. They had changed from warriors' leathers to rich robes for the evening's celebrations, and were all grinning proudly and discussing the highlights of the Feyreisa's procession and her overwhelming welcome by the Fey.

Before Rain and Ellysetta could join them, Marissya and Dax entered the far end of the gallery, followed by the five Lords of the Massan and their truemates.

Rain quickly stifled his brief, instinctive surge of aggression and greeted the Massan. "Meivelei, Fey." Putting a hand in the small of Ellysetta's back, he ushered her forward. "With pride this Fey presents to you his shei'tani, Ellysetta of Celieria. Ellysetta, these are the honored Fey lords of the Massan, the council that governs the Fading Lands."

Rain clasped the forearm of the first Massan, a silvery blond Water master with eyes the same deep blue-violet as the waters off the black cliffs of the Bay of Flames. "This fine Fey is Loris v'En Mahr—Water master of the Massan—and his shei'tani, Nalia."

Rain smiled when genuine welcome filled Loris's eyes, then laughed when golden-haired Nalia took Ellysetta's hand and dragged her into a warm embrace as if they were sisters, long separated. Nalia had that sort of way about her. Loris might be the Water, full of secret depths and unseen currents, but Nalia was both the wind that drove him and the rock that stood firm against even his most furious waves. What Nalia wanted, Nalia got. Thank the gods what she wanted was usually best for all.

"Meivelei, little sister," Nalia greeted. "Welcome. Long have we truemates of the Massan prayed the gods would bring our king peace. And now you have come." Nalia pulled back to give Ellysetta a searching look. "Word of your miraculous weaves reached us days ago, as did rumors of your brightness, and I can see now none of it was exaggeration." A dazzling smile beamed across Nalia's face, and she clasped Ellysetta tight again.