Excitement bubbles in my stomach; today we are finally flying up to the Rainbow Isles. If I squint, I can just make out dark shapes behind the clouds.

We clamber onto Roth and the dragon's steady wing beats takes us higher and higher. It is some time later when we suddenly rise into a thick mist. Previously the concept of flying through a cloud seemed romantic, but in reality it is rather dreary being suspended in cold, damp, white nothingness.

I start to shiver and Zane tells me to hold on to him. He is toasty warm and it's rather like snuggling up to a leather-clad radiator.

Eventually the cloud thins, revealing the unbelievable sight of a huge rocky mass above us. Correcting his course, the dragon skirts around what looks like an inverted mountain, and continues climbing upwards.

We sail over the equivalent of an old fashioned seaport, but instead of boats there are hot air balloons. We land in the town square. Zane dismounts and I jump into his open arms. He places me gently on the ground, but I am reduced to clinging onto him until I regain my land legs.

I kiss Roth's nose. "Thank you, Roth. Is there anything we can get you?"

Zane laughs and responds, "He says that he would like a whole sheep."

My stomach lurches uncomfortably when he goes on to add, "He prefers them alive, but he may have to settle on a carcass."

The dragon huffs indignantly.

We wander over to a picturesque Tudor style black and white building with an inn sign where Zane secures us rooms. He escorts me to my room and we have to navigate a narrow stairway, where several steps complain under his weight.

At the top is a door leading into an attic room, which is to be my home for the next quarter moon, or eight days. It's built into the eaves and the sloping ceiling means that Zane can only stand in the centre.

He backs out, ducking to avoid the lintel. "I will leave you to get settled."

I cross the undulating wooden boards and open the low leaded window. Sitting on the floor I am able to pop my head out and take in the views. The place has an olde world charm and I could almost believe that we have been transported several hundred years into the past.

With my chin resting on my hands, I ponder on my origin. I've never felt different or out of place, apart from when I first moved to London, but then I'd just lost my parents. Since since coming here I feel like I'm slowly changing. Darish thinks I'm from this realm. If that is true, could my parents be out there somewhere? I dare not hope too much and try to quash the thoughts.

Leaving my thoughts at the window, I unpack and then go down to meet the others. I have to firmly hold onto the hand rail for the seriously uneven steps make me feel drunk.

Zane is already at the bar with a beverage in one hand and three women hanging on to his every word. He sends them off giggling when Darish turns up moments later and we go through to our table.

The food is hearty, but I don't have much of an appetite. Zane stabs the uneaten steak on my plate and transfers it to his. I massage my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache brewing and bid them goodnight.

.....

I awake with my heart racing and flashes of a feverish nightmare echoing in my mind. Glacier blue eyes. Cruel laughter. Pain. My hand stained with blood.

A dull ache gnaws at my abdomen and I curl up. Oh no! Not now of all times. It's supposed to be my first day helping out on the market stall.

It is some time later when the door creaks opens and Darish steps quietly into the room with a steaming cup of tea in one hand. He does a double take to see me already awake and up.

"Does something ail you?"

I blush, mortified to have this conversation. "Er, it is nothing to be concerned about, I just have my, er, female problems."

It looks like I'm not the only one embarrassed for Darish flushes too. "If you will allow me to ask you a personal question, what is the duration of your female cycle?"

OMG! Did he seriously just ask that? "Er, well most women's are monthly, only mine have never been that frequent. The doctors think it might be a result of post-traumatic stress."

"Worry not, just rest." He gives an uncertain smile before promptly escaping.

A short time later, the innkeeper's wife, a cheery woman, bustles into my room, chuckling to herself. "You would think that that elf has never been near a woman. Time of the moon is it, my dear?"

I nod. "I don't suppose there is some magic to make it go away?"

"I have brought you willow bark draft. Though the rest 'tis a burden all women must endure. Did your mother not teach you?"

My face fills with more than one kind of pain. "She passed before..."

The woman squashes me to her ample bosom. "My poor lamb. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"I don't suppose you have any chocolate?"

The woman's blank expression confirms that despite all the amazing magic in Elysium, they do not have chocolate. I feel rather chagrined. A lack of coffee and chocolate are very serious shortfalls in my book.

....

After a day of rest and being fussed over by the innkeeper's wife followed by a good night's sleep, I am feeling great and insist on helping out on the market stall.

At first Zane and I work together selling jewellery, while Darish deals with those customers wanting to purchase magical gems. Zane is a blast to work with and flirts outrageously with every female he meets.

I beam after making my sixth sale and Zane ruffles my hair.

"You are a natural, little one." He turns to Darish. "Do you two think that you can cover things between you? I want to visit to the harbour master. Roth and I can make some extra money by ferrying people between the islands. Their normal transport is so slow."

Darish shrugs. "Elissa spends more time actually serving customers, rather than passing the time of day with them."

Zane doesn't bother to respond, but almost as soon as he leaves, we get crazily busy. Darish drafts me in to be his assistant and hastily explains the storage unit used for the magical gems. These are graded depending on the strength of their magic, with primes being the strongest.

At last things start to calm down and we have our final customer; a man with salt and pepper hair and a bright orange shirt splattered with pale grey splashes.

"May I have a prime amber stone?"

I reach out to the storage unit, pull out a small box and hand it to the man. He opens the box and frowns before tipping a purple crystal into his hand.

I am mortified. For some inexplicable reason my fingers must have opened the completely wrong drawer. "I am so terribly sorry. I don't know what got into me."

The man closes his fingers around the crystal and a smile crosses his face. "Do not fret. I shall take the gem for it eases the ache in my wrist."

Not liking to stand by while someone is in discomfort, I offer to take look at it and conclude that it is probably a strain. "You really should rest it."

"Here, take a look at these." Darish places a number of open boxes on the table, all containing a prime amber.

While the customer is making his selection, Darish winds metal wire around the amethyst so that it can be worn on a leather thong.

Pocketing his purchase the customer pats my hand. "Thank you, my dear. If you get a chance, do come and visit my pottery studio."

I am so grateful that Darish didn't make a fuss just now and profusely apologise for my mistake.

Darish taps his chin and postulates, "Perhaps you instinctively knew what he needed. Amethysts have healing properties."

.....

After we close up the stall, I have several hours to kill until dinner so decide to take up the offer to visit the pottery studio. It is a pleasant walk and I stop on the way to look in several shops. At one point I thought I saw Darish, but must have been mistaken.

A bell jingles as I enter the shop. A short, middle-aged woman approaches, asking how she may help. After explaining the reason for my visit, the woman hugs me and kisses both of my cheeks.

"I have been on at him to see a healer. But will he? Oh no! Too busy, he says. Work himself to the bone for the Lammas festival he will and he is as grumpy as a bear awoken early from hibernation."

She ushers me past shelves laden with beautifully painted cups, plates, bowls, jugs and vases, into an adjacent room. The potter is hunched over a large oval dish, with a paintbrush in one hand.

I give him a look and gently scold, "I distinctly recall telling you to rest your wrist."

He waves the brush at me. "I cannot rest. My father and fore-fathers before him have made the ceremonial platters for the Lammas festival. Now the honour falls upon me. Anyhow, I have not felt this good in many moons."

In gratitude, he presents me with a delicate porcelain cup, decorated with a red dragon, its tail winding around the handle. It is adorable and I can't wait to show it to Roth.

They insist that I join them for tea. I find sitting with the pleasant older couple brings back bittersweet memories, for tea was a ritual my grandmother used to observe everyday. That is until the accident.

Unbidden, memories of my sixteenth birthday come back to haunt me. We had just had afternoon tea at the Savoy and were on our way home. It was all so sudden, the horrifying sound of screeching, the thud and the pressure of the seatbelt across my chest. The arc of crimson red smeared across the windscreen.

"Are you alright, my dear? You have gone awfully pale."

"Sorry, I was just remembering my late grandmother. She always insisted that tea be drunk from fine china cups like these and served with a treat from the cake stand."

The potter is intrigued by the concept of a cake stand and soon our conversation moves on to safer ground.

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