“I know, Papa, but Marissya says I should practice whenever I get the opportunity.” She held her father’s hand in hers and focused on the reddened flesh, trying to block out the flood of thoughts and emotions that poured into her mind when she touched his skin.
Love. Worry. Instinctive fear, tinged with guilt. He still wasn’t comfortable with the shining brightness and palpable magic of the beautiful stranger sitting beside him.
Ellie forced back the stab of pain his fear caused and tried to focus her thoughts the way Marissya v’En Solande, the Fey’s most powerful healer, had shown her. Throughout the weeklong westward journey across Celieria, Marissya had spent several bells each day with Ellysetta, teaching her how to wield her own powerful healing magic.
Though Ellysetta still had much to learn, she now understood on a conscious level the basic patterns of the healing weaves she’d been unconsciously spinning all her life. Marissya assured her she’d soonbe able to summon and spin those weaves on demand, using only the amount of power needed to weave them, but restraint was something Ellie still had difficulty mastering. The powerful, hidden barriers that had kept her magic bottled up were gone now, and the weaves she’d once spun with such subtlety now surged forth at her call like a river gushing through a shattered dam.
Remembering Marissya’s admonitions, Ellysetta reached down into the well of energy at her center, carefully calling forth the glowing threads of power she would need. Red Fire to draw the heat from the wound. Green Earth to heal the damaged flesh. Lavender Spirit to steal away the pain. And something else Ellysetta had discovered while observing Marissya during their lessons. A special, golden something that Marissya called ashei’dalin’s love, the mysterious force that was unique to Fey women. It made all the threads of theshei’dalin’s weave shimmer with a warm, golden cast. No Fey warrior could spin his magic the same way.
“It springs from the compassion and empathy of a Fey woman’s heart,” Marissya had told her. “It isn’t a seventh branch of magic. We cannot separate it out and weave theshei’dalin’s love by itself. It’s just the natural way Fey women weave magic.”
“And do I weaveshei’dalin’s love the same way?”
At that, Marissya had laughed. “Feyreisa, you donothingthe same as other Fey.” Then, still smiling, she’d added, “I’m sure you must, Ellysetta, but when you weave, your magic is so bright, its power blinds me.”
Now, holding Papa’s hand in hers, she attempted to summon her magic and wield it with control and restraint, as Marissya had been trying to teach her.
She found the threads, wove them in a loose healing pattern, and with a gentle “push” of power, sent the weave into her father’s hand. The push slammed out of her with the force of a hammer strike, her weave flaring with blinding brightness.
The startled jerk of Papa’s body and sudden widening of his eyes made her grimace in dismay.
“Light save me,” she muttered under her breath. Then, in a louder voice, she said, “Are you all right, Papa?”
Sol blinked several times and took cautious inventory of himself. When he didn’t find any missing—or extra—appendages, he gave a smile. “Well-done, Ellie-girl. The finger’s good as new.” He held up his hand to show her.
Sure enough, the angry red burn on the tip of his finger was gone. But that wasn’t the problem. She watched her father run his newly healed hand through his hair. His hand stopped in midmotion.
“Oh,” he said. Sol Baristani was of the age when many mortal men began “thinning the forest,” as Papa put it. Or, rather, he had been. Keeping his gaze fixed on her face, he patted the newly thickened growth of hair crowning his scalp. “Well... er... that’s not so bad. Provided it’s not some frightful shade of green.” His brows drew together in mock concern, and he added in a hesitant, rather fearful tone, “Er... it’s not green, is it, Ellie?”
Ellie sighed. “No, Papa, it’s not green.”
With a twinkle in his eye, he pretended relief. “Well, then, there you go.” He laughed and grinned, and reached across to pat her hand. “You did good, Ellie-girl. You may have overdone the weave a little, but the finger’s healed. Besides, what man wouldn’t like a little more hair when his own starts to go missing, eh?” Thrusting his pipe stem back between his teeth, he lit a fresh match and held it to the bowl, puffing until the shreds of tobacco began to glow orange and puffs of fragrant smoke wreathed his newly regenerated headful of hair... and a face that had lost at least ten years of age in an instant.
She forced a smile. “Beylah vo, Papa.” Weaving youth on mortals wasn’t one of the things Marissya had taught her—but apparently the patterns were very similar to regular healing.
A happy shriek sounded at Ellysetta’s right. The Fey warrior Kiel vel Tomar, his long silvery-blond hair woven into a plait, ran past with Ellysetta’s nine-year-old sister Lorelle perched on his shoulders. Kieran vel Solande, Marissya’s son, followed a fewpaces behind. Lorelle’s twin, Lillis, sat on Kieran’s shoulders and kicked his chest with her heels as if he were one of the Elvishba’houdahorses pulling the wagons in their caravan. Her small fingers clutched tufts of his thick, wavy brown hair.
Lillis and Lorelle were clad in miniature versions of Marissya’s and Ellie’s brown traveling leathers, which they had insisted Kieran weave for them. Kieran and Kiel had done their best to keep the children’s minds off the grief of Mama’s death by making each day of the trip a new adventure. The twins had taken to the idea, enthusiastically using even the briefest stops as an excuse to explore—always under watchful Fey eyes, of course, but rarely in clean, tidy places. The keepsake boxes Papa had carved for them years ago were now overflowing with treasures from their journey: small rocks, wildflowers, snail shells, bird feathers, whatever caught their attention.
Kieran cast a grin Ellysetta’s way. His steps faltered as he caught sight of Sol Baristani; then his gaze shot to Ellysetta. She blushed furiously. Ashei’dalin’s ability to restore mortal youth was a secret the Fey had guarded for millennia, and she had just revealed it for anyone to see.
Fortunately, before he could say anything, Lillis tugged on Kieran’s hair and bounced on his shoulders. “Faster, Kieran!” she cried. “They’re beating us!”
With a final look and a shake of his head, Kieran turned away and raced down the grassy hill after Kiel and Lorelle.
Ellysetta watched them, and the tension that had been growing in her all week squeezed her chest tight. They were nearing the end of the journey. One more day, two at the most; then she would leave what remained of her beloved family to follow her new husband through the mysterious Faering Mists, perhaps never to return.
Sol patted her hand and nodded his chin in the direction of the twins. “It is good to hear them laughing again.”
“Yes,” she agreed. The twins hadn’t had much cause for laughter of late.
“They miss their mother,” Sol said. “They try to smile and laugh for my sake, but I hear them each night, crying into their pillows and pleading for her to come back.”
Just that quick, Ellie’s own sharp grief struck hard. Her face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears. “I miss her too, Papa.” Stern as Mama sometimes was, Ellie had never doubted her love—and never loved her back with any less than her whole heart.
“Oh, Ellie.” Sol slid an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her close. “My sweet Ellie-girl. We all miss her.”
She turned her face into his neck as she had so many times in the past and sobbed. And her father held her, as he always had, patting her back and rocking her as if she were still the small child who’d crawled on his lap for comfort after evil visions tormented her dreams.
