"So," she declared, meeting her Favorite's gaze in her mirror, "you've returned.”

"I know my presence displeased you, My Queen," Vale murmured, moving closer, "but I could not bear to stay away any longer. Forgive my impertinence. I brought you this small token of my devotion." He offered a bouquet of perfect creamy white roses tied with a bloodred ribbon. "Their loveliness pales beside your own.”

She waved an impatient hand, dismissing the hovering ladies and the flock of Dazzles. "Leave us." The attendants and courtiers curtseyed and bowed and backed out of the room to the adjoining parlor, leaving the queen and her Favorite alone, with the door open to observe propriety.

Annoura did not move from the vanity nor even turn to face him. Instead, she waited where she was, forcing him to approach her. It was a small Trump she often played, so why, when she played it with him, did she feel like the nervous ingénue to his cool majesty?

"Take them," he whispered, holding out the roses so that their heady scent wreathed around her. "Tell me you forgive me.”

His vivid blue-green eyes had always fascinated her. They had such mesmerizing depths. Feeling dazed and light-headed, Annoura reached for the flowers. She gave a hiss as a sharp thorn tore the soft skin of her finger.

"Curse my fool valet," Vale muttered. "He vowed he'd removed all the thorns." He knelt beside her, tossing the bouquet aside on the vanity and lifting her injured hand for his inspection. A pearl of blood welled up on her fingertip, scarlet against the pampered white perfection of her skin. "Forgive me, My Queen." He brought the wounded finger close to his lips, then lifted searing eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat again. Wordless, unprotesting, she let him carry her finger to his lips and shivered as his breath swirled over her skin. The warm, wet rasp of his tongue licked the tiny wound and curled around her fingertip in wicked seduction. She shuddered, eyes half closing as sensation clenched every muscle tight and heat pooled in her loins. A strange, dark lethargy consumed her, dimming her vision, leaving only heat and pleasure and darkness.

A voice, soft and compelling, whispered to her, "The Fey have betrayed you, Majesty. The Dark Lord is in their service. He is here in Celieria City at this very moment, and the Fey are hiding him from you and the king. You must order the Dark Lord bound in sel'dor chains and thrown in the darkest pit of Old Castle prison. Quickly! Before it is too late.”

Kolis watched the queen's lax, entranced expression crease in a frown as his words began to sink in. He could still scarcely believe the terrified thoughts he'd received from the Baristani woman's charm, but he didn't have time to investigate and couldn't take the chance she was wrong. Vel Serranis was too dangerous a Fey to leave guarding the High Mage's prize. He had to be removed from the equation.

The taste of Annoura's blood was fresh on Kolis's tongue, the first link forged between them ... not as binding as a Mage Mark, but a bond nonetheless. He leaned closer, pushing with a force he'd never dared use on her before. "This proves the Fey and dahl'reisen are in collusion. They have been all along. They will destroy all that you've worked so hard to build. Celieria needs the Eld, to help it stand firm against the Fey. Only the Eld can help you save your throne. The Fey must be defeated. The agreement must pass."

"The Council meeting has begun," Bel announced. "The weaves have gone up." He glanced around the palace suite and saw the tension in all the warriors visibly increase. The dangerous part of the day was about to start.

Ellysetta stood in the center of the room, garbed in a simple, unembellished blue linen gown with a modest neckline, her hair hanging to her waist in a cascade of bright, unrestrained curls. Gaelen knelt before her, fastening a pair of empty, steel-studded leather Fey'cha sheaths to her calves.

"I've tied an Earth weave to these sheaths and Bel's weapons belts," he was saying. "Your Fey'cha will re-form exactly thirty chimes after he surrenders his steel at the cathedral door. You can enter the cathedral unarmed-and answer truthfully that you haven't brought weapons into the cathedral, should the priests question you-but you'll get your Fey'cha back before you enter the Solarus. If anything happens during the Bright Bell, anything at all, just blood yourself with one of these blades. Bel and I will come running.”

The rules of the church-which required that brides on the day of their Blessing arrive modestly dressed and completely unadorned as a symbol of their willingness to throw off outward trappings of wealth and vanity-meant Ellysetta could not wear her sorreisu kiyr jewelry or her Fey'cha belts. But the Fey weren't about to let her enter the cathedral Solarus without some manner of protection.

"The sash is done," Kieran said. He handed Bel a stiffened blue waistband that matched Ellysetta's dress.

Bel fastened the band around Ellysetta's waist. "How does that feel?" he asked.

"Good," she answered. Her four sorreisu kiyr were sewn into the band. She could feel them pressing against her skin, humming with reassuring power.

"How do you feel?" Gaelen asked.

The sudden rush of tears that burned in Ellysetta's eyes caught her by surprise, and she barely managed to keep them in check. Directly on the heels of sorrow came a rush of anger. How did she feel? Both her mother and her betrothed had reviled her, and she'd learned her birth father was the most evil man on earth. How did he think she felt?

She suppressed the tears and gripped the anger, hardening it into determination.