«Perhaps I should veil myself. The last thing I want to do is cause more trouble between Celieria and the Fey.» Ellysetta had refused to don the traditional scarlet veil that shei'dalins wore outside the Fading Lands. After a lifetime of having her true nature repressed by a powerful glamour, she was through hiding who and what she was.

Rain's glittering lavender eyes fixed on the averted faces of the courtiers whose thoughts had disturbed her. «You should do no such thing. Certainly not just to put these foul-minded rultsharts at ease.»

If the ugliness of the Celierians' thoughts weren't so unpleasant, she would have laughed. Back in Orest, he'd practically begged her to veil herself whenever Lord Teleos's men gazed upon her with Light-drunk devotion. But now that she faced unkindness rather than dazzled adoration, tairen possessiveness had darkened to something much more dangerous.

«They wound your heart.» The telltale growl was back in his Spirit voice. If he were still in tairen form, he would be spouting flame. «It is unacceptable.»

«You cannot punish them for thoughts, Rain. Nor stop them from thinking what they like.» She knew it was foolish to give these strangers—arrogant courtiers, no less—the power to hurt her. There would always be those among them eager to find fault with her. And perhaps if she'd lived a life filled with self-confidence, she would not care what they thought. «They are afraid. Magic can be too easily misused.»

That was the crux of the matter. These nobles' suspicions struck her most vulnerable spot, and she could not so easily dismiss them. All her life, people had eyed her askance, waiting for the Shadow inside her to spring free. Now these mortal nobles reviled her because they suspected her Light hid a darker Shadow.

And no matter how badly she wanted to deny it, she feared they were right.

Some part of her self-doubt must have shown on her face or touched his senses, because Rain's voice snapped in her mind like a whip. «You are bright and shining. The darkness you sense is the Eld, not you. You must never think otherwise.»

His arm snapped up, and he wordlessly offered her his wrist. He fixed an unflinching gaze on King Dorian X, who stood at the top of the palace steps, Great Lords and councilmen by his side. Together, she and Rain mounted the steps, and as they drew closer to the king, a new concern set her senses tingling.

The king did not look well. She remembered him as a pleasant man with warm eyes and a friendly smile, but the last months had aged him. His skin was pale beneath its Celierian summer bronzing, silver liberally threaded the hair at his temples, and circles dark as bruises lay beneath his eyes. Deep lines were etched from the corners of his nose to his mouth.

More disturbing than his wan appearance, however, was the gray shadow that lay over him, dimming his Light. Her first thought was that the Mages had done something to him, perhaps even Marked him. Little could usher in the destruction of Celieria more surely than if the king became a puppet of the Mages.

«Shei’tani?» Rain nudged her with a gentle swell of Air. They had reached the top of the stairs and were now standing before the king. All eyes were on them, and she was staring at the king like a ninnywit.

«Sieks'ta.» She bent quickly to match Rain's half bow in a ruler's courteous acknowledgment of another's sovereignty. When she straightened again, the shadow over Dorian had disappeared. He still looked tired and worn, but otherwise perfectly normal—and even when she dared to open her empathic senses and probe him gently, she discovered nothing more than weariness and deep concern over the troubles facing his country.

"Greetings, Dorian, King of Celieria," Rain said when they straightened. "With joy, my queen and I return to the city she called home for many years. We thank you for greeting us so warmly despite our unannounced visit."

"My Lord Feyreisen, you need no announcement." With grave sincerity, Dorian returned the half bow. "The king of the Fey and his queen will always be welcome as long as a descendant of King Dorian I and Marikah vol Serranis Torreval sits on Celieria's throne." Though he did not take his gaze from Rain's face, Dorian raised his voice enough so that all the courtiers gathered on the palace steps could hear him clearly, and Ellysetta saw several of them stiffen at the reminder of their king's own Fey blood.

Rain stepped forward and lowered his voice. "We bring important news. Is there a place we can speak in private?"

Without hesitation, Dorian said, "Of course. Please follow me."

"Your Majesty." A spare, thin-lipped man in fussy silks and satins stepped forward, disapproval stamped on his features.

Dorian shot the man a single, cold look, silencing whatever objection he'd been about to make and freezing him in his tracks. When the man bowed and retreated, the king turned back to Rain and Ellysetta and swept an arm towards the palace doors. "Please, My Lord Feyreisen, My Lady Feyreisa, after you." Irritation vibrated in every word, and Dorian's normally warm eyes glittered like stones.

Ellysetta's heart thumped. The shadow shrouding Celieria's king might have been a trick of light, but the undercurrents of hostile emotion emanating from the courtiers weren't imaginary. Neither was it merely an increase in her perceptive ability that allowed her to sense them so strongly.

Something—-or someone—had been fomenting anti-Fey sentiment since last she and Rain had been here.

And Dorian was aware of it.

The tang of magic filled the wide, gilded hallways of Celieria's royal palace as Ellysetta's lu'tan fanned out to search for potential threats to their queen and take up protective stations. As they followed Dorian to his private offices. Rain stayed close to her side, his fingers never far from his Fey'cha.