"Because I was ill?" Please let her dim memories be wrong.

"You were not ill." He settled the two swords in place on his back and bent his head to focus with suspicious concentration on the task of buckling the straps.

"If I wasn't ill, then why did you carry me?" she persisted. He was Fey, and though he could and would dance around truth and evade questions with far more skill than he was displaying now, the Fey did not lie. When pressed for an answer, he would give her the truth.

He sighed and met her gaze. "You had too much pinalle.”

"I was drunk." Her stomach lurched at the thought. Now she felt ill. Oh, gods, what sort of fool had she made of herself before the nobles whose support Rain was so desperate to win?

"Not exactly”

"What does that mean? What did I do?”

"You'd had too much pinalle.”

"You already said that!”

He gave her a look that made her bite her lip and subside into unhappy silence. "You'd had too much pinalle," he repeated in a deliberate tone, "and then you had a cup of keflee.”

He stopped, a wry look entering his eyes. "Let me just suggest that you not combine the two in the future.”

Ellie covered her hot cheeks with her hands. "What did I do?" He didn't answer immediately, and she could see him weighing what to tell her. "Just give me the truth, whatever it is. If you don't, I'll drive myself mad conjuring up all manner of awful possibilities.”

"The pinalle lowered your inhibitions," he admitted, "and the keflee-were you aware that keflee can act as an aphrodisiac on some people?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "You're one of them, apparently, though in most the reaction is considerably less intense. Of course, it wasn't until after the fact that your quintet revealed they knew about your ... unusually strong ... response to keflee. Not that it would have mattered. Who could have guessed you would weave Spirit that way?”

"What way?" she whispered. But she already knew.

"What were you thinking just before I carried you out?”

"Oh, gods." She buried her face in her drawn-up knees and draped her arms over her head. Blood heating like fire. Desire heightening to unbearable need. A yearning so strong the ache became torment.

"The effects of the weave didn't wear off until the small bells of the morning. Around three, to be exact. Seven bells of incredibly acute, inescapably relentless sexual desire, Ellysetta. That is what you wove. On everyone at the dinner last night.”

Her stomach took a sickening lurch. "I'm going to be sick." Best just to die now and get it over with, because surely she would die of mortification the next time she had to face anyone else who'd been in the banquet hall the night before. She'd woven lust on the highest-ranking nobles in Celieria-worse, on the king and queen!

Rain muttered a soft curse and came to her side. His thumbs slid over her cheeks, caressing gently. Regret and shame whispered against her senses from the point where his skin touched hers. "Sieks'ta. I am tired and behaving badly. I should have found a way to give you the truth without causing you such distress. You are not to blame for last night's weave. You did not understand what you were doing. Even I did not understand it at first." He tilted her chin up and waited for her to meet his eyes. "One thing, however, is inescapably clear. There is great magic in you. Of that, there can be no doubt.”

She nodded miserably. She could no longer deny the truth. Somehow, by some wicked trick of the gods, Ellysetta Baristani possessed magic. And it seemed determined to get out.

"You must be trained. Great power such as yours can he dangerous in untutored hands.”

"All right," she whispered. If training would keep her from doing something as mortifying as what she'd done last night, she would be a devoted student. "When we reach the Fading Lands, I'll take whatever training you think I need. I'm sorry I made such a mess of things.”

He finished dressing and stood regarding her for a moment. "Hold out your hand, Ellysetta." Hesitant, she did, and he placed a small velvet bag in her palm. "This is your courtship gift for today. Open it”

She loosened the silk cords and tilted the bag. Three large, perfect pearls, one white, one pink, one deep blue-gray, rolled out into her palm.

"Beautiful, are they not?”

"Did you make them?”

"Nei. Except when magic is part of the symbol being offered, the Fey do not use magic to make their gifts." His mouth curved. "It can be an inconvenient custom. I dragged an unsuspecting glassblower from his bed to make the globe for the small weave I gave you last week." His small smile grew rueful. "And while your weave was still spinning last night, a cold swim in the ocean seemed a prudent idea." He plucked the dark pearl from her hand. "Do you know how a pearl comes to be?”

"Oysters make them, from a bit of sand.”

"Aiyah. From a bit of sand." He rolled the pearl between his fingers. "All pearls begin as something unpleasant that the oysters cannot expel from themselves, even though they may want to. So they embrace these things that will not leave them, shaping them and smoothing away the sharp edges, until over time, they make of these unwanted things great treasures.”

"What are you saying? That in time the heads of Celieria's noble houses will be happy that I wove seven bells of lust on them? Or that, after a few centuries, it will turn out to be a good thing that I singlehandedly destroyed the Fey-Celierian alliance?”