With no thought in his mind but to stop the queen from going wherever Lady Montevero was leading her, Gaspare snatched up a plate of food and a goblet of red wine and hurried across the palace lawn.

He was out of breath, and half the wine in the goblet had left a trail in the grass behind him, but he managed to get ahead of the women and step into their path. "Your Majesty! I spotted you across the garden. Your Majesty, I heard about your distress, and I know you have not eaten this morning. I took the liberty of bringing you a small plate. I thought you might prefer to eat a little something in private, away from the court."

"Very thoughtful, Master Fellows," Jiarine said, "but as a matter of fact—"

"Please, Your Majesty," Gaspare said quickly. “To put my worries to rest, won't you have a little something?" He stepped towards them, and with a sigh of farewell to his impeccable reputation as the man who never put a foot wrong, Gaspare Fellows, the Queen's Master of Graces, tripped on his own feet. The plate of food and red wine went flying.

Directly into Her Majesty.

"You idiot!" Jiarine shrieked. "You fool! Look what you've done!"

"Oh, Your Majesty!" Gaspare all but fell over himself a second time to apologize. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry! So very, very sorry!" He whipped out a spotless handkerchief to wipe up the mess.

"Master Fellows!" the queen exclaimed. "Enough! That's enough! You're only making it worse!" She batted his hands away.

"Your Majesty—" he began again.

"Not another word, Master Fellows. Not one. I am returning to the palace. Jiarine, you will attend me." Still veiled, but smeared from bodice to hem with red wine and food stains, the queen gathered her royal dignity, lifted her soiled skirts, and marched stiffly back to the palace. With a final hostile look at Master Fellows, Jiarine hurried after her.

Gaspare trailed behind them, trying his best to look inconsolably embarrassed and apologetic. Not that it was difficult. He'd just shattered his reputation and pride for love of queen and country. But the moment Her Majesty and Lady Montevero entered the palace, Gaspare went directly to the first Fey warrior he could find and warned him, "Whatever you do, please make sure someone watches the queen at all times."

Elvia ~ Elfwood

Ellysetta stifled a groan and rubbed her backside, spinning a light healing weave as she hobbled over to the campfire. After they'd crossed the Elva River this morning, Elves had been waiting with ba'houda horses to speed the rest of their journey to Navahele. As smooth as the ba'houdas' gait had been, Ellysetta wasn't used to riding—let alone riding for bells at a stretch—and she'd developed aches in spots she didn't even know she had.

Rain watched her with a mix of concern and amusement. "If it hurts that badly, you should spin healing on yourself," he suggested. He and her quintet—except for Bel, who'd claimed first watch—were ringed around the fire, preparing for sleep. "Or let me spin a Spirit weave to take away the pain." Though every warrior with the appropriate talents learned emergency battlefield healing weaves—basic patterns used to stanch mortal wounds and keep injured warriors alive long enough to get to a shei’dalin—few had ever mastered more than that.

"I'm too tired to weave, and you should still be conserving your strength."

"I can spin a healing weave on you, Ellysetta Erimea," Fanor offered, but before he could get the words out, her pain vanished in a tingling glow of powerful lavender magic.

"Rain," she chided.

His arms tightened around her. "I am not so weak that I cannot spin a simple weave," he said. «Nor so far gone I would let an Elf provide a shei'tan’s service to my mate.»

She rolled her eyes at his territorialism. To Fanor, she said, "You keep calling me Ellysetta Erimea. What does it mean?”

"Erimea is the Elvish name for the star Celierians call Selena."

Her brows drew together in faint alarm. "Selena?” Selena was a seasonal star that appeared low on the horizon just before the first day of Seledos, the winter month dedicated to the God of Darkness, and shone in the sky throughout that ill-favored month when the golden bells of daylight were the shortest of the year. "Why would you call me that?”

"It is what we Elves have always named you. Why does this alarm you?"

"Because Selena is the winter star Celierians call 'Shadows Light,' and they don't mean it kindly. Children born when Selena shines in the sky are considered touched by Shadow. They say those born beneath Selena when the moons are new will be haunted by Darkness all of their lives." Dear gods ... was it possible she had been born on such a night? Was that why the Elves had named her after such an ill-favored star?

Fanor muttered something in Elvish. She didn't understand the words, but the tone sounded uncomplimentary. "If Celierians believe that, they are fools. Erimea is the brightest light in the winter sky. We Elves call her Hope's Light, the star that shines brightest when the world is at its darkest."

Ellysetta glanced uncertainly at Rain.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. «Las, shei'tani. Nei siad. Don't be afraid. Much as I dislike the Elves, when it comes to matters of omens and stars, I'll take their word over mortal superstition any day.»

When she continued to frown, Rain said, "Enough talking. Time to sleep."

Fanor took the hint. He bowed and rejoined his men on the other side of camp. Rain patted the space beside him. He'd shed the hard plates of his golden war steel and chain mail and lay in the scarlet padded-silk tunic he wore underneath.