The Betrayal by Pati Nagle

shared this gift with any maidenof Jharan's court, that lady would have been in raptures.
    Eliani was not in raptures. She was frightened, Heléri had said. He wanted to fold her in his arms and kiss her fears away. He had felt so ever since the moment their thoughts had met.

 Nightsand 
    Shalár heard a commotion outside her audience chamber. Voices of her guards challenged someone who demanded admittance. Dareth went to the entrance and a moment later returned with a tall, hard-featured male in hunter's garb, travel-weary but sharp-eyed.
    “Irith!”
    By the look of him, he had come to her straight from his journey. Shalár was glad, for she was eager to know the state of things east of the mountains.
    “Welcome back, Watcher! What news of Fireshore?”
    “I have no news of Fireshore, Bright Lady. I have something better, but your guards would not let me bring them in.”
    “What have you brought? Kobalen?”
    “No, Bright Lady.” Irith's eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Ælven.”
    Shalár drew a swift breath, then strode at once to the chamber entrance. A glance through the archway showed her that Irith spoke true: A small group of ælven stood huddled together under the watchful gaze of five guards.
    “Bring them in.”
    Shalár nodded to the guards to let them pass, then returned to the chamber and mounted the step to herchair. Irith followed as his five hunters escorted the captives into the audience chamber.
    “Where did you take them? In Fireshore?”
    Irith shook his head. “We were on our way there and had just crossed the Ebons when we came upon these encamped near Hunter's Pass. Their horses took fright and bolted.”
    The ælven were somewhat battered by their journey but all in good health. Shalár could taste their khi in the air, so vital it was. Five were Greenglens and bore the gear of Southfæld Guards save for the weapons of which they had been relieved. A sixth wore simple riding leathers and had the wild hair and sun-gilt skin of a Steppegard.
    Irith brought forward their swords and bowed as he presented them to Shalár. The swords alone were of high value, for none among her people could make them. She had metal-smiths but no sword-smiths, and these blades were mountain-forged.
    She walked around the small cluster of ælven, observing them. “What have you learned from them?”
    “Very little, Bright Lady. They are reluctant to talk, but we found this on one of them.”
    He handed her a folded and sealed parchment. Shalár turned it over in her hands, keeping half an eye on the captives to see their reaction. They seemed dispirited but not alarmed. Either the missive was not precious or they were resigned to its loss.
    She tore open the seal and read a formal invitation from the governor of Southfæld to the governor of Fireshore to attend a meeting of the Ælven Council in Glenhallow. For a moment she was tempted to turn to her table and pen a response, sending back an acceptance under her signature as the true governor of Fireshore. She relished the thought briefly, thendismissed it. That would be a foolish waste of this interesting message.
    So Southfæld was summoning a Council? That had not occurred in several centuries so far as she knew. Interesting, and possibly troublesome. She must think on how to turn it to her advantage.
    Leaving the letter on the arm of her chair, she descended to inspect the captives. The Steppegard and four of the Greenglens were male. The one female was somewhat weather-worn but looked healthy. She might breed well.
    “Which of them bore the letter?”
    Irith indicated one of the Greenglen males. Shalár walked up to the ælven and took his chin in one hand. He pulled away, and the flash of defiance in his eyes moved her to punish him.
    She struck out with khi, and the Greenglen flinched, crying out in surprise and pain. Shalár let his response ripple through the khi of the others in the chamber, then put her hand to the Greenglen male's throat and