Qilynn Starpath was one of the many great-great-granddaughters of Titania, Summer Queen of the Feywild. And the only one to have not inherited the gift of sorcery. To her knowledge, Great-Great-GrandMama never knew about her. Her grandfather, Qinlamin, was not fully fey, his blood was only part-fey. Oh, he was a sorcerer of some repute, but he lacked sufficient fey blood in his veins to be regarded an Eladrin. The Seelie Summer Court considered him a “mortal” elf, hardly Eladrin at all. Mother, ever wary of Great-Great-GrandMama, never mentioned Qilynn to the Queen, so she grew up in relative obscurity.

Life was uneventful, even boring, until the fateful day she laid eyes on Samiris of the Unseelie Court. She did not recognize the angelic being of enigmatic beauty that she watched dance from across the ballroom. Qilynn could not keep her eyes from the tall, dark fey woman. Samiris was everything she felt she was not. Lithe and graceful, with sorcery enough for two; she had dark hair, eyes, and skin not seen in the Summer Court.

Smitten, Qilynn approached the object of her very sudden desire. Conjuring a shimmering rose, she asked Samiris for the next dance. The woman turned on her. Her visage darkened and morphed into a hideous monster. The next thing Qilynn remembered, she floated in salty water somewhere, not the Feywild.

When Qilynn came to herself, her hair and skin were shades of pale blue—signs of her growing misery. After her rescue from the sea, her heart broken, she kept to herself, paying little heed to her cabin mates. When a storm tossed the ship like deadwood on the ocean, her anger at the situation broke through her melancholy. As she sprang into action, her hair and skin morphed to a golden color reminiscent of summer wheat fields.

By the time the ship limped into the nearest port, Qilynn had become contemplative. Her hair turning from golden to bronze to flaming red as her emotions calmed, and she pondered her new situation. Somehow, Samiris had teleported her from the Feywild to wherever this was. And during a fête of Great-Great-GrandMama’s even. She wondered if anyone missed her.

As soon as the captain and crew moored the crippled ship to the dock, her familiar, a fey imp named Pistachio Dimpleshadow, popped into existence as a raven.

“Caw! Caw!” admonished ‘Stachio, Qilynn’s pet name for the imp. :Where have you been?: he asked telepathically.

“The Between, I think,” replied Qilynn, twisting her signet ring around her finger. “Then I found myself floating until these fine folk fished me from the sea. I guess my dance request insulted her.”

:I should say!: ‘Stachio thought back, settling onto her shoulder. She would have to get a leather pad sewn into the cloth so his claws wouldn’t tear into her skin through the light robes.

Qilynn followed her cabin mates down the gangplank to the dock. It felt good to have a stable surface under her feet once more, though disconcerting at first. Her priority was a visit to a tailor to replace her gown, now crusted with dried sea water. She needed something serviceable and appropriate to her new surroundings. Her court gown, ruined though it was, stood out among the peasants of this island. She hated drawing unnecessary attention to herself.

Not knowing what else to do, she followed her companions into the town of Southport.

Next: Qilynn’s First Procession