Stunned, Ellie touched the jewel-encrusted bodice and the billowing skirts. It was incredible. It was dazzling. It was . . . she frowned … an illusion? Though she could feel the cool, slippery satin beneath her fingers, the hard pebbles of each tiny jewel, even the crush of a corset pulling her waist in tight, something told her the dress wasn't real.

"It's beautiful," she told Belliard. "But it's not real, is it?”

His eyebrows actually inched higher. She had managed to surprise him. "No, it is made of Spirit, but you should not be able to detect the difference between my weave and a real gown.”

"Spirit?”

"The magic I used for the weave. It is a mystic, not an elemental, magic. It works on the mind, not the physical. My command of Spirit is exceptional." There was a stiff tone to his voice, something that sounded very much like bruised masculine pride.

"I'm sorry." She tried to make amends. "It's a wonderful job, really. All my senses are telling me it's real" Without thinking, she reached out to pat his hand, and the Fey's board-stiff back went even stiffer.

Behind Belliard, blond Kiel coughed loudly into his hand while the brothers Adrial and Rowan studiously inspected the ceiling. Brown-haired Kieran's tiny smile was now wide and gleaming with white teeth, and his blue eyes danced with open amusement.

The gorgeous gown winked out of existence.

"I do not command Earth," Belliard told her in stilted tones. One might have thought he was confessing to some terrible, humiliating affliction, like having the uncontrollable urge to dress in women's clothing and dance beneath the light of the Mother on All Spirits' Eve. "Kieran"—he gestured to the brown-haired Fey—"controls Earth admirably. A gown made of Earth is real. He can make for you what I cannot.”

Ellie could never bring herself to hurt this proud, solitary Fey's feelings by rejecting his offer and accepting that of another. She'd already unwittingly hurt him quite enough. She shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but no. I'm not Ashleanne the hearthminder, wearing her Fey gift-father's gown to the ball. I'm just plain Ellie Baristani, woodcarver’s daughter. I would feel silly and uncomfortable trying to be someone I'm not." She turned to climb the stairs.

"Ellysetta Baristani." Belliard's voice caused her to stop and turn back around. "Even should you clothe yourself in rags and dirt, you would bring honor to the Fey.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Those were quite possibly the nicest words anyone had ever said to her. "Thank you.”

He was so proud, so sad in his aloneness and the dark sorrow that drowned all light in his eyes. She had thought him frightening and incapable of gentle feelings, and he had just proved her utterly wrong. Sorry for her part in hurting him, wishing she could take the shadows from his eyes, she reached out to touch his face, her fingertips gentle against his cheek and jaw. "I pray the gods grant you the peace and happiness you deserve," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being. Her flesh tingled, and he flinched beneath her hand, his eyes widening.

To her amazement, Belliard vel Jelani dropped to one knee, bowed his head, and in a shaking voice declared, "Of my own free will, Ellysetta Baristani, I pledge my life and my soul to your protection. None shall harm you while in life or death I have power to prevent it." He drew one of the small, black- handled knives from the straps across his chest and slit his palm. Fisting his sliced hand, he held it over the blade and allowed six drops of blood to fall on the shining steel. "This I do swear with my own life's blood, in Fire and Air and Earth and Water, in Spirit and in Azrahn, the magic never to be called. I do ask that this pledge be witnessed.”

"Witnessed," Kieran agreed, his smile gone.

"Witnessed," the other three Fey echoed with like solemnity.

The blade in Belliard's hand flared bright for an instant. He rose to his feet and offered Ellie the knife, hilt first. "Your shei'tan will always be your first protector," he told her, "but know that I will always be your second. So I have sworn. So it is witnessed. Take this Fey'cha as proof of my oath and keep it with you always. If you ever have need of me, simply let a drop of your blood touch the blade. No matter where I am or what I am doing, I will know you need me, and I will come.”

She took the knife with hands that shook. "I don't pretend to know all your oath entails, but I know you have done me a great honor. I will strive to be worthy." She turned to hurry upstairs.

When she was gone, Belliard turned to his brother warriors. Tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors were shaking his body. He touched his cheek, still feeling the warmth, the very subtle yet incredibly strong power that had moved from her fingertips to him.

He had so much death on his soul that all but the strongest women among the Fey had avoided touching him centuries ago, unable to bear the pain of his sorrow, the ruthlessly self- enforced emotionlessness, and the dark burden of the lives he'd taken to protect the Fey. Even the shei'dalins only touched him when they needed to heal wounds he gained in battle. Yet this child, this incredible child whose soul called a tairen's, had reached out to touch him and sent a flood of healing warmth and love so strong that it burned straight through the block of black ice that encased what remained of his gentle Fey emotions.

He looked at Kieran, Kiel, Rowan, and Adrial. They could not feel what he felt, but they could hear his thoughts, and as Fey warriors they would understand. «My heart weeps again,- he told them, nodding when their faces mirrored his astonishment. «She is more powerful than any of us suspected.»