“And you’re a superstitious idiot, Barrial.”
“Peace, my lords,” the king interrupted as servants approached with a cart bearing a huge soup tureen. “Our first course is served. Let’s not spoil the meal with harsh words.”
Ellie shifted in her seat as the servant leaned over her left shoulder to fill her soup bowl with a clear brown broth swimming with thin slices of mushrooms and onions. “Thank you,” she murmured, earning a startled look from the servant, who then glanced at the king, flushed, and whispered back, “You are most welcome, my lady.”
Beside her, Rain allowed the servant to fill his soup bowl, then selected the gold-handled soup spoon from the far left of his selection of cutlery. Ellie picked up the same spoon from her own place setting but waited for the king to begin eating before she did.
“You employdahl’reisen, my lord?” Lady Thea asked Lord Barrial after everyone at their part of the table was served. She made a show of fluttering her long thick lashes, causing Ellie to blink in surprise. Weren’t noblewomen supposed to be adept at flirtation? Even Kelissande could teach Lady Thea a thing or two about subtlety. “With all that’s going on, do you think that’s wise?”
Lord Barrial frowned at his dinner mate. “Unlike some, I’m not convinceddahl’reisenare behind the murders in the north. As I said, they’ve served my family for generations, and there’s no record of their ever giving cause for concern. In fact, it used to be common for all border lords to employdahl’reisen. They’re much better than wizards when it comes to countering the magic of the Eld.”
“Useful or not, I think I’d be terrified to have so manydahl’reisenin such close proximity.” The lady gave a delicate shiver.
“Yes, well, that seems to be the common female sentiment. My daughter has never cared for them much, either.” There was a cool finality to his tone that discouraged Lady Thea from continuing her flirtations.
“Lord Barrial,” Rain said quietly in the ensuing, slightly awkward silence, “after dinner I would like to hear more about your visit with Gaelen vel Serranis.”
“It would be my pleasure, My Lord Feyreisen,” Lord Barrial replied with a nod.
“So, Lady Morvel”—Lady Thea cast a determined smile at Lord Morvel’s wife—“I understand you’re to be a grandmother again.”
“Ta. Our oldest daughter is expecting her fifth,” Lady Morvel answered, and a light exchange of pleasantries followed as they attended their meal.
Across the room, Kolis watched through Jiarine’s blue eyes as servants tended the royals, Fey, and Great Lords at the head table. He had tested the Fey numerous times tonight—sending Jiarine close to several of the warriors standing guard throughout the banquet hall—but despite the Tairen Soul’s apparent ability to sense the growing Mage presence in the north, neither he nor any of his Fey entourage seemed able to detect Kolis’s presence within hisumagi’sdelectable young body.
Now the wine was being served, and Annoura’s careful attention to the level of pinalle in the Feyreisa’s glass told him she’d taken Jiarine’s suggestion to heart. That would make things easier. The alcohol would lower Ellysetta Baristani’s defenses and leave her more susceptible to the influence of his pressure spell.
He reached Jiarine’s hand into the hidden pocket in her skirts, and closed her fingers around the small waxtalissecreted there. The pads of her fingers stroked the wax, warming it slightly and brushing across the single strand of hair curled tight around the tiny magical charm. He wove the Feraz activation spell into her mind, directing her to whisper it beneath her breath and keep her focus on Ellysetta Baristani.
Sian and Torel left the Carthage Road and followed Wilmus Able’s directions down a narrow wagon road and into a small clearing where they found Brind Paldwyn’s house just as Wilmus had described it. The house, a small but sturdy structure built of well-hewn logs and weathered shingles, sat in the middle of the clearing. Light shone golden from the windows and through thefaintest of cracks at the bottom of the carefully fitted door. Smoke curled up from the stone chimney, carrying the scent of roasted meat. Someone was home.
As the two warriors approached the house, an arrow whooshed past, nearly spearing Sian’s ear. The Fey dove and rolled for cover, shields springing into place around them.
“Peace, Goodman!” Torel called as Sian scanned the forest for their attacker. “Put your weapons down! We mean no harm!”
«There, Torel,»Sian sent.«In those trees to the left.»
Torel nodded as Sian shimmered and vanished. “We’re Fey warriors, notdahl’reisen. We’re looking for Brind Paldwyn. Wilmus from the Boar and Hound in Norban sent us.” He heard the twang of a bowstring and threw himself left just as another arrow sank quivering into the ground where he’d been. “Wilmus warned us you didn’t like strangers, Goodman, but he didn’t mention you were so fond of bloodshed. We only want to ask you a few questions.”
“What could the Fey possibly want with a woodcutter?” a disembodied voice called out from the shadows of the trees.
“We were looking for news of a redheaded journeyman smith who might have passed through Norban many years ago, possibly traveling with his young daughter. Wilmus thought he might have done work for your parents.”
Half a dozen arrows came spewing out in rapid succession. Torel grunted in pain as one made it through his shields and caught him in the leg. He heard sounds of a skirmish in the woods, filled with curses and struggling. Moments later, a thin man clad in homespun and leather stumbled out of the darkness. Sian walked behind him, holding the man’s bow and quiver and prodding him with the pointy end of a curvedmeicha.
Torel yanked the arrow out of his leg and threw it on the ground, spinning quick Earth over the wound to stop the bleeding. He stood up to greet the mortal, a man with an unremarkable face, a shock of brown hair, and eyes filled with an all-too-familiar sorrow.
“Brind Paldwyn? I am Torel vel Carlian. I take it you do indeed know something about a redheaded child in the forests north of Norban—say about twenty-four years ago?”
Ellysetta rubbed her aching temples. The headache from the other day was back, a slight but persistent pressure that grew stronger as the evening progressed. The footmen served course after course of rich food: shellfish on golden skewers, twelve fish, poultry, and meat dishes accompanied by a vast selection of grilled, sautéed, creamed, and casseroled vegetables, frozen sorbets to cleanse the palate between courses. Thankfully, Ellysetta worked her way through the staggering array of silverware without any noticeable gaffes.
Throughout the meal, her goblet of pinalle never seemed to fall below half full. The wine helped keep the headache at bay, and though she couldn’t tell how many glasses of the stuff she’d actually consumed, she had a good idea it was several more than she should have. When a servant offered her a cup of keflee, she accepted eagerly.
She poured in enough honeyed cream to chill it, then drank it down in several quick swallows, hoping to clear her head. Instead, the warm, sensuous blend of flavors—more potent than any she’d ever tasted—hit her system with the force of a blow. Heat rolled down her body in undulating waves. Rather than clearing her head, the keflee only clouded it all the more. Feeling boneless and dazed, she melted against the back of her chair.
Her eyelids drooped, and she regarded Rain through her lashes. He was, she thought hazily, the most beautiful man ever created, saved from prettiness by the strong masculine thrust of the bones beneath the luminous paleness of his unlined flesh. Saved also by the palpable aura of danger, power, and scarcely leashed wildness that surrounded him.
Inky black hair fell back from his smooth brow, spilling over broad, well-muscled shoulders in straight flows that seemed to merge with the coal-black shadows of his leathers. In the brightglow of Fire-lit chandeliers, his hair reflected a rich dark sheen, like the glimmer of nearly grainless ebonwood. She wanted to touch it, sink her hands into its silky softness. Her fingers flexed and tingled at the prospect.
