"Mama," Ellie interrupted. "You know you can't blame my nightmares on the Fey.”

Her mother took a deep breath and clamped her lips closed. Ellie could all but see her carefully tucking her fears away and forcibly reasserting her normal, steady calm. "You should dress, Ellie. There's much to be done today. And wear something nice. We'll be meeting the queen's personal dressmaker this morning so you can be measured for your wedding gown, as well as half a dozen of the queen's street merchants who'll supply the rest of what you'll need, and then we have an appointment with the Archbishop himself to plan your wedding ceremony." Lauriana gave Ellie a brisk kiss, sniffed at Belliard, and walked back down the short hall to her own bedroom.

The Fey remained where he was, his cobalt eyes intent and searching. "Will you tell me what you dreamed to cause such fear? Perhaps there is something I can do to help.”

Considering the subject of her dream, she was even more loath to discuss it with him than with her mother. Telling Belliard about her nightmare could lead to unwelcome questions about Selianne. "I've had nightmares all my life, especially when I've had too much excitement in a day, as I have for the past few days. They mean nothing except that I don't get as much sleep as most Celierians." She forced herself to hold his gaze, but her smile refused to cooperate. It trembled traitorously until she gave up the attempt at false bravado and shrugged. "But thank you for your offer to help, Ser vel Jelani.”

After a silent, searching moment, Belliard bowed. "I am Bel to you, kem'falla," he reminded her in a gentle voice. "My soul and my steel are pledged to your protection.”

"Beylah vo is the Fey way of saying `thank you,' isn't it?"

"It is.”

She touched the back of his hand. "Then beylah vo, Bel. I appreciate your concern.”

His fingers covered the spot she'd touched, and he gave her an odd little half smile. "You do that with so little effort, I can scarce fathom it.”

"Do what?"

"Share the warmth of your soul." He tucked away his wonder, and his expression grew serious. "Not all magic is evil, kem’falla, despite what your mother believes. To the Fey, magic is a gift from the gods. Only the manner of its using can despoil it." His gaze shifted to a point past her head, and his eyes lightened once more. "Indeed, most magic is a thing of natural wonder and beauty.”

She turned to follow his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat.

"What is that?" On the nightstand beside her bed, perched on a tasseled velvet pillow, a bright, spiraling weave of multicolored magic danced within a small, perfect crystal globe.

"A Fey courtship gift," Bel said. "I had thought all poetry had been scorched from Rain's heart by the Wars and Sariel's death, but I see I was wrong.”

"What do you mean?”

"The gift is more than what it appears. As with all Fey courtship gifts, it is also a symbol. The deeper and more layered the meanings, the finer the gift. Rain has given you his magic, kem’falla, the essence of himself. An eternal fivefold weave of it, embraced forever in a fragile Celierian-made vessel. Strength wedded to vulnerability, magic to mortal craft, him to you. It sings so many different songs. It is a very fine gift, indeed." Bel turned his shining gaze upon Ellysetta. "And you, kem’falla, are the greatest gift of all. You breathe life back into the dying ember of our king's soul.”

His expression grew somber. "If your nightmares persist, you must promise to tell me or your shei'tan. Not all dreams are harmless.”

Ellie nodded. That was a truth she'd learned for herself long ago.

A few blocks from the warded and guarded Baristani home, a knock rapped on the front door of a small weaver's shop.

"A moment!" Maestra Tuelis Sebarre, recently ringed master weaver, pulled her hair into an untidy knot and clattered down the stairs from the private apartments above her shop. What in the Bright Lord's name was someone doing pounding on her door at a quarter before seven bells? It was not as if normal folk ever woke possessed with a sudden and driving need to purchase a length of fine cloth.

Maestra Sebarre unlatched but did not unchain her door and frowned irritably through the three-inch crack at the man standing on her stoop. Dazzling white teeth flashed in a dark, well-oiled beard threaded with gold rings. He was a fine-looking man, with lovely bright blue-green eyes, but Tuelis was no fool woman to judge a man by a pretty face. She looked at the cuffs of his blue sea-captain's coat. The weave was fine, smooth, tight, and unslubbed, the threads of obvious quality, and the jacket cuffs showed no signs of fraying about the edges. A merchantman, then, and successful enough to keep himself in good thread.

"What can I do for you, ser?”

"You are Maestra Sebarre, the weaver?”

"I am.”

"You have a daughter named Selianne?”

Wariness froze her. "Why do you ask?" Immediately on the heels of wariness came dread, clenching Tuelis's innards in an iron fist. "Has something happened to her?”

"What?" The captain evinced utter shock, then humble contrition. "Oh, no, dear lady. Forgive me for giving you a start. I simply meant to ascertain that I had the right Maestra Sebarre." The man executed a deep, courtly bow. "I am Captain Batay. I sail a merchantman out of Sorrelia. Forgive such an early intrusion, but my ship sails at noontide today. At dinner last evening, I heard tales that you could work magic with a loom. There are nobles in Sorrelia who'll pay a fine price for quality fabrics, and I still have enough room in my hold for a dozen bolts or so. I thought I'd seek you out and glance over your wares, Maestra." The handsome smile widened. "If you'd care to let me into your shop, that is." Tuelis didn't unchain the door. "Who was it sent you my way?”