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Reading sample

Contents

Author’s Note

1 Sam, 16:7

Part I: BLADE OF WOE

BLADE OF WOE

Part II: THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS MONSTERS

THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MONSTERS

I: MORNING GLORY

II: LUCULLIA'S WEDDING

III: THE MIDNIGHT RUN OF PRINCESS GLORY

Part III: THE MAN AND THE MONSTER

IV: BEAUTY IS A BEAST

V: TOO LATE FOR CURSES

VI: THE CURSED PRINCE

VII: THE MAN AND THE MONSTER

Part IV  THE SUBTLE BEAUTY

VIII: THE WISDOM AND THE GLORY

IX: THE GREAT STAG HUNT

X: RISE OF THE PHOENIX

IN THE END

Fan Ann

MOONLIGHT EXCERPT

About The Author

Pronunciation Guide

Translation

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2014 Ann Hunter

Editor: A.J. Sterkel

Graphic Designer: Andrew A. Gerschler

Published in 2014 by Afterglow Productions/P. Gerschler. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher.

The Subtle Beauty / By Ann Hunter

ISBN-10: 0989203425

ISBN-13: 978-0-9892034-2-5

Author’s Note

Thank you for purchasing The Subtle Beauty!

Within these pages are creatures inspired by Celtic mythology, along with a dash of Celtic language.

For your convenience and reading enjoyment, I have included a pronunciation and translation guide at the back of the book.

Enjoy the story, and remember….

There’s no such thing as monsters.

Be sure to stay tuned after the conclusion of The Subtle Beauty for an exciting preview of Moonlight!

“….for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”

-- 1 Sam, 16:7

Part I
BLADE OF WOE

This is the story of a man and a monster, but really it is the tale of a blade…

In a black castle on the cliff tops by the sea, near the high moors of Sigil’s Gate, the Celtic Princess, Aowyn, snuggled close to her dark-haired husband. He slung his arm over her wide belly. She smiled as he bowed his head and buried his face in her copper hair, breathing deeply. The child in her womb squirmed. Aowyn grasped her husband’s hand and placed it over the baby’s kicking.

“Do you feel that?”

“Mmm.” He freckled her neck with kisses.

Aowyn giggled as the baby became more active. “He likes you.”

“How do you know it is a he?”

Aowyn chewed her lower lip. She didn’t know. What if she let her royal family across the sea down by failing to produce a male? Worse, what if she let her husband down? “The baby is so strong, like you, Xander. I always assumed it was a boy.”

“Let us hope.”

Aowyn stared into the darkness for a long time. Tables and chairs were rough shadows, save for where moonlight bounced off the edges. The peace in the room lulled her. Her vision blurred in a sleepy half-consciousness, until a voice, none which she had heard before, took her attention.

“Aowyn, daughter of Aodhagáin, hear me.”

Aowyn’s eyes widened, and she propped herself up on one elbow. “Did you hear that, Xander? Someone is in the room...” she looked over her shoulder, but Xander was frozen in time. Aowyn began to tremble. “Who’s there?”

“Be not afraid, young one, for we bear glad tidings.”

Aowyn slowly pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Who are you?”

“Step into the light and know us better.”

Aowyn was filled with doubt. Slowly she moved to the stretch of moonlight that reached through the room.

“Aowyn…” as her name was spoken, the pale light became blinding. She had never seen such glory, for it was brighter than the noon-day sun. Gradually her vision returned, and the warmth of spring grass, dotted with little yellow flowers, tickled her senses. The light remained around her, as pure as an artist’s canvas, save for this little haven of green and yellow.

The voice became many now, in a rush of hushed murmurs, like the caress of a soft breeze. “The child you bear will one day be great. See him now.”

The canvas of light swirled in to many colors, taking on depth and definition. Aowyn’s heart swelled as a broad-shouldered man, clad in royal purple, descended a gilded staircase toward her. His amber eyes were startling and held a knowing twinkle. His hair was like the setting autumn sun.

“Behold Eoghan, prince of the future Crown Realm.”

Aowyn reached out to the image, wanting so desperately to touch this young man with Xander’s stature and her nature. He smiled at her boyishly, then vanished.

The light faded. Aowyn’s heart raced, her breathing increased. “Wait.”

The grass and the flowers shriveled into empty space. She shook her head. “No. Wait. I want to see him again. Gods, why taunt me so?”

But the voices were gone, and Aowyn was in her bed.

Xander’s hand rested over her belly. The baby squirmed.

“Do you feel that?” she asked.

“Mmm.” He freckled her nape with kisses. The baby became more active. Aowyn giggled. “He likes you.”

“He.” Xander breathed in his wife’s lovely scent. “How do you know?”

Aowyn was startled when the words flowed from her without her consent. “The gods have made it known to me.” She chewed her lower lip. Was it true?

Xander propped himself up on an elbow. “The gods.” He sounded incredulous.

Aowyn’s shoulders rose to her ears. It was a wild statement, to be sure. Her voice was timid. “I have seen him.” She rolled on to her back, glowing with excitement. “Oh, Xander, he is beautiful!”

Xander flopped over and rubbed his face. Aowyn slipped her arm over his brawny chest. “He has your brow and shoulders. He was so big and strong. You will be proud, my love.” She snuggled into his shoulder with a dreamy sigh.

Xander stared at the ceiling. A son. He wanted nothing more. But his wife was a princess, bearing a prince. A prince needed provinces to govern and kingdoms to rule. All Xander had was Blackthorn Keep. He clenched his jaw. One decrepit fortress was not enough. He had fought all of his life to retain his birthright over what very little land his family had left, but he would have to fight harder with a son on the way.

Xander’s breath came in a shudder. He glanced down at Aowyn, who had nodded off. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

Xander stood before the window the following morning, gazing at Aowyn in the black rose garden below. A blue butterfly landed on her hand, and a smile lit her face. Xander sighed, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips as he leaned against the windowsill. The sunshine warmed his bare chest and shoulders.

A son.

His forefathers would have given their kingdoms for sons. Perhaps that is how Blackthorn’s hold had dwindled. Such a small land for a great prince to enter. It simply would not do. Yet Xander saw no peaceable way to expand. Was there no one with whom he could form an alliance? He had fought for so long to retain what little he had, yet now he would willingly swear fealty to anyone for more.

Could he perhaps arrange a marriage? High King Balthazaar at Winterholme, far away to the northwest, had recently announced the birth of a daughter, Alexa. Xander had a feeling such a proposal would be frowned upon. Aowyn’s people were newcomers to the land. Winterholme’s hold was full of ancient, royal blood. Balthazaar would likely see the proposal as a taint upon his lines. Xander, alone, did not feel that way, though his bloodline ran through the land just as deeply. He had been fighting in Aowyn’s country under his father’s command when he, serendipitously, met and fell in love with the princess. Her father saw an opportunity to forge his own way on to a new continent and offered Aowyn to Xander as a truce between the kingdoms. Now here she was, bearing a son, and Xander had no provinces to deign to him, save for the tiny hold of Blackthorn. No doubt, once word reached Aowyn’s homeland of the coming prince, great expectations would arise.

Xander shifted his weight. Perhaps Aodhagáin would send assistance. Then he remembered that his father’s battle had drained the coffers of both kingdoms, and what little Aodhagáin had remaining was given with Aowyn as a meager dowry.

Xander thumped his forehead against the windowpane, closed his eyes, and clenched his jaw. He did not hear the bedroom door open or register that he was no longer alone until a startled voice chimed in the background.

He looked over his shoulder. “It is alright, Maeb, you can come in.”

Maeb shielded her eyes so blue that they were nearly gray. “Ní hea1,” she shook her head, then continued in Xander’s tongue, slowly and broken, “you are only half-dressed.”

Xander chuckled. “Maeb, how many children have you nursed? I do not have much you have not seen.”

“It is not proper.”

Xander rolled his brown eyes and crossed to his wardrobe. He pulled on a loose tunic and offered Maeb a rueful smile. “Better?”

Maeb looked away and fanned herself with her hand. Xander’s own mother would not have been half as sweet as Aowyn’s old nursemaid. Xander took a seat at a small table that overlooked the garden. Maeb set about changing bed linens and arranging fresh garments in Aowyn’s wardrobe.

Xander slid down in the chair and folded his hands over his stomach, lost in his thoughts. It was not until Maeb raised her voice to him that he realized how much time had passed.

“I ask you three times now what you want for first meal.”

Xander raised his hand carelessly to wave her off.

Maeb crossed to him and picked at a few black curls, as if fawning over her own son. “What troubles you?”

Xander leaned forward and hung his head, slowly rubbing his hands together. Should he tell her? What help could a nursemaid be? He exhaled a long breath. “Wyn says the gods have revealed that she carries a son.”

Maeb let out a noise not unlike a chicken who has laid an egg. “Wonderful!” She tussled his hair. “Why worry? This cause for great joy.”

When she calmed down, Xander explained. “It would be, save he is a prince by birthright, and I am just a man. I have nothing to offer him.” He looked up at Maeb, forlorn. “A prince needs kingdoms; I only have this crumbling heap of a fortress. It is unfit for a prince. Do you understand, Maeb?” He rose slowly, his gazed fixed on Aowyn outside. “My father was not exactly keen to make allies. I have no one to turn to for assistance.” He looked at the round, elf-like woman. “Unless you know of someone?”

Maeb’s expression was blank, and she stepped back slowly.

“Maeb?”

Maeb wiped her hands on her apron and hurriedly turned away.

Xander knocked over his chair in his haste to catch her. “Maeb, do you know of someone?”

Maeb was trotting toward the door. Xander caught her wrist and spun her round. “Maeb, you must tell me.”

Maeb shook her head.

Xander grasped her shoulders. “If you know who can help, for the love of all your gods in the firmament, tell me!”

Maeb trembled in his hands. She would not meet his gaze. She swallowed hard. Her words trickled barely above a whisper. “There is rumor… but we do not speak his name.”

Xander’s grip softened, and he held Maeb’s face, pressing his lips to her graying temple. “Please, sweet mother, tell me.”

Maeb bit her lip. “Sylas Mortas.”

Xander turned her gaze to meet his. “Please tell me where I can find this man.”

Maeb clutched his wrists and pulled them away from her. “He is no man. He is only evil. Please do not seek him out.”

“Maeb,” Xander implored.

Maeb’s eyes turned icy. “In the swamps of Morgorth, not far from head of River Trefnwy.” She stole away from him and reached for the door, pausing. “But you not hear it from me.”

Xander spurred his horse onward. Rhun was a hulking black steed who practically had to rear up to get his front under him in order to launch forward with every stride. His mane, dark as midnight, whipped by Xander’s face. Xander crouched low over Rhun’s withers, driving his hands against the horse’s sweaty neck. They splashed into the River Trefnwy, water exploding into the air with each hoof beat and turned westward, putting the pink blush of dawn behind them. A line of alder trees loomed in the distance, still cloaked in twilight.

They cantered into the woods and wove through the trees, hopping over logs, and prancing through streams. The further in they rode, the darker it got. The forest floor turned soft and loamy. Rhun kicked up bits of silt, and a damp smell rose from below. The ground broke in to muddy patches. The dense woods around them turned mossy and abruptly sparse with narrow spruces. Rhun slowed, no longer sure of his footing. Xander dismounted and tossed the reins over Rhun’s head. Bullfrogs croaked nearby. Xander swatted a mosquito nuzzling the vein in his neck. Rhun nickered warily. Xander patted his shoulder to reassure him. Black peat squelched beneath them, belching up the rank odor of standing water. Xander could barely see in front of him. Thank the heavens for the native moonflies that glowed and dimmed like stars on the horizon. Rhun threw his head, pulling on the reins and balking. Xander exhaled between his teeth. “Easy, lad.”

Rhun’s nostrils flared and contracted, his eyes wide.

Xander chirped to him, hoping to offer some encouragement.

After a moment, Rhun finally took a step forward. Xander rubbed the horse’s forelock and forged ahead, squinting. Pockets of brackish open water gurgled and foamed. Bubbles ballooned so large that a young child could have fit inside. They burst with a splat, reeking with acidity. Xander wrinkled his nose and swallowed against the sick knot in his throat. Vines twisted at his boots as if trying to pull him into the bog and snuff out his life force. Rhun halted again and stamped his hoof. Xander thought he caught a glimpse of firelight through the trees ahead. He rubbed Rhun’s nose. “It’s not much further.”

Rhun shook his mane. Xander tugged on the reins. Something long and thin snaked through the water. Rhun skittered his haunches round, knocking into Xander and smashing his foot. Xander bit his lip hard, wanting to punch Rhun in the neck. Idiot beast! He limped a few steps, trying not to yell out and startle Rhun further. Rhun followed behind placidly as though nothing had happened. The mud sucked Xander’s boots deep into the earth. Great veils of lichen swung from the trees like specters. Xander pushed a curtain of them aside and glimpsed a campfire-lit clearing.

A pot bubbled over embers. Barrels leaned against an old, creaky shack. Across the way, a table stood beneath a steaming, burbling alchemy station. Xander tied Rhun’s reins to a branch, and the stallion dropped his nose to graze. Xander reached for the dagger at his side, wishing he had brought something larger. However, he had learned as a lad that a man who cannot defend himself at short range could not really defend himself at all. His hand tightened around the hilt. He planted his feet firmly on guard, pointing the blade in the direction of a snap from the woods. His breath raced as a tall form appeared between the trees. A figure, cloaked in royal blue with stitchings of runes, seemed to float toward him carrying a pile of logs. It dumped them beside the fire and stood before him. “It took you long enough to find me, Barwn Blackthorn.”

Xander’s breath seized in his lungs. “You know my name.” It was a startled statement, not a question.

“Of course I know who you are. I know who everyone is.”

“Are you Sylas Mortas?”

“The one and same.”

“If you know who I am,” Xander began to circle cautiously closer, “do you know why I have come?”

Sylas Mortas watched him patiently from beneath his cloak. “You seek power, young Xander. Power you cannot obtain alone.”

“Do you know why I seek this power?”

Sylas held up his hands. “I do not concern myself with the whys of men, only the what and how. You seek power; I seek to help you.”

Xander paused. “Why would you want to help me? What is in it for you?”

Sylas chuckled. “Do not worry your lordly laddie head over that.”

Xander lunged at him, jabbing with his dagger.

A massive blue light launched him through the air and landed him hard on his rear. His dagger went flying in the opposite direction. Rhun danced, startled, in the background. Sylas crouched by the fire and poked at the coals. “When you are ready to behave, I will be ready to talk business.”

Xander wiped mud from his arms and neck. What did Sylas do to him? “What is your price, Mortas?” he asked with disgust.

Sylas rose and dusted off his hands. “Allow me to help you, Xander, with payment due only with fulfillment of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” Xander got to his feet and searched for his dagger. He kept an eye on Sylas. “People say you are wicked and not to be trusted. Why should I trust you without knowing the cost first? How do I know you will not demand my firstborn?” He spotted the hilt sticking out of the ground and bent to retrieve it. He cursed as he burned his hand on a hunk of molten metal.

Sylas moved to an anvil near his shack and picked up a falchion blade. He held it with reverence. “Xander, Xander, Xander.… Have I not made it clear that I care not for the lives of men? I only seek to make a means to an end. I am sure we can come to some agreeable terms.” He turned the hilt to Xander in offering. “I believe you stand in need of a new blade. This is Idegwaed. Try her out, won’t you?”

Xander eyed the cloaked figure. After a long while he grasped the falchion. Idegwaed’s balance was unlike any he had ever experienced. Her guard was styled to resemble a screaming mouth. The flawless obsidian blade glinting in the firelight extended like a tongue. The grip was black pearl, bound in silver wire. The pommel bore a single ruby as counterweight. Xander swung the falchion with such ease. Never had his movement been so fluid and effortless. He felt as though Idegwaed had been forged exclusively for him. She sang as she sliced the air. Xander’s arm grew stronger, a river of power flowing through him, as though he could never be conquered so long as he kept swinging. Sylas’s dark laugh cut the moment, a cold piercing sound. He clapped slowly. “Beautiful, is she not?”

Xander was breathless. Idegwaed was beyond compare. She was a sword men would kill for. He swallowed. Such a prize did not come free.

Sylas’s voice was thick. “Do we have a deal?”

Xander stared into the surrounding darkness. Oh, gods, did he want this sword! Blackthorn would never be threatened again with the likes of this blade, this extension of himself, at his command. “Name your price.”

“Oh, really, my dear Barwn. It’s nothing you need to worry yourself over. Merely a trifle compared to what you’ll gain from Idegwaed. I can assure you that I deal quite fairly. You get what you want. I get what I want. Everyone is happy.”

He looked at Sylas. “If I am to make a deal, then I wish to look the man in the eye of whom I’m making the deal with.”

Sylas nodded and slipped back his hood. Sallow, spotted, green skin framed a gaunt face adorned by long, pointed ears. A blaze of flaming, orange-red hair stretched down the middle of his scalp from widow’s peak to nape. He gazed at Xander with almond-shaped, glossy black, pupil-less eyes.

Xander had never seen such a being. He quaked inside.

“With that blade,” Sylas pressed his webbed fingers together, forming a point with his thumbs and index, “I can guarantee all the power you seek. Nations will fall to your feet. However, I cannot guarantee the consequences.”

Xander swallowed. “How do you mean?”

Sylas began to pace. "The weapons I forge have their own personalities. Much like people, relationships with such things have lasting effects. I will guarantee your victory, nay, I foresee it, Barwn Blackthorn, though I cannot say at what cost. Now, do we have a deal?"

Xander caressed the ruby on the pommel as though awakening a lover. Idegwaed seemed to hum his name pleasurably. Xander felt braver and stronger the longer he clutched her. She assured him that the consequences would pale in comparison to the things she would do for him. Sylas foresaw his success. It was a sure thing. How could the Barwn of Blackthorn resist? "You say you foresee my victory..."

Sylas nodded. "You need only tap Idegwaed’s power."

Xander ran his hand against the cool flat of the blade. Idegwaed warmed to his very touch. "Tell me how."

Sylas stepped beside him with a twisted smile, full of piranha-esque teeth, and placed a clammy hand on Xander’s shoulder. "Simple. Kill."

Rhun cruised into the sunlight with Xander astride. Idegwaed, nestled in a red stag hide scabbard, swung gently at their sides. Rhun snorted and dropped his head as they crossed the River Trefnwy. Xander loosened the reins and let his feet hang free of the stirrups. The midday sun felt wondrous after so many dark hours in that dreary, cold swamp.

Xander felt that all would be right in the world now. Archduges, Iarlls, and Tywysogion would swear fealty to him in exchange for his protection. They would gift castles and fiefdoms to his son. Life would be perfect for the first time in Xander’s family.

They rode all day until Rhun stopped at the edge of midnight and gazed at Blackthorn. He whickered softly and pawed the earth. Xander shifted in his saddle. “What is it, lad?”

Then he saw it, or rather didn’t. The kettledrums normally lit at night by the gate had been quelled. Blackthorn was suspiciously quiet, until Xander heard a scream.

Aowyn!

Xander dug his heels into Rhun’s side and rocketed toward the gates. Rhun couldn’t move fast enough. Xander drove hard against the stallion’s neck, booting him over and over. Rhun’s breaths came frantically. The tall grasses brushed by in a blur of moonlit gold.

Once in the bailey, Xander swung from Rhun’s back before the stallion had come to a halt. Before he could draw Idegwaed from her scabbard, two men clad in chainmail and boiled leather barreled into him. Xander’s hands were bound behind his back as a fist slammed into his jaw. He arched his back to try and kick out, but failed. With a grunt, he hammered his heel into his captor’s foot then pummeled his elbow into the man’s ribs, breaking free. He raced to Rhun’s side and drew Idegwaed. In one fell swoop, he spun and hacked into one of the men’s pauldrons. The man staggered backward, gripping his shoulder. The other raced toward Xander, swinging a claymore. Xander grit his teeth and pitched a blow into the on comer’s side. A voice from the curtain wall above cackled with glee. “Keep him busy, boys!”

Xander rolled away from the blow of a mace and saw a hulking man clutching Aowyn. Aowyn struggled against him, her voice muffled by the man’s hand over her mouth.

“Wyn!” Xander yelled.

Aowyn tried to cry out as the large man laughed again. “I have a date with a princess.”

Xander bellowed and affronted the one with the claymore. Steel screeched against obsidian. Xander rammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, then pivoted and slashed into the place between the other’s neck and shoulder. A spray of blood spattered against Xander’s chest. He raised Idegwaed and swung again. She chewed through chain and bit deep into flesh. The man dropped to his knees, his open-mouthed face blankly turning skyward. Xander roared again and spiraled toward the one with the claymore, shoving Idegwaed into his belly. Xander’s heart pounded as the man looked at him with the same wide-eyed expression as his comrade had. Xander grabbed the man’s head and pulled him close, pushing Idegwaed deeper through the man’s gut with a primal yell. As the man choked, the sneer on Xander’s face turned to a dark smile.

He pulled Idegwaed out and watched with an unnatural pleasure as the man fell to the ground. Xander placed the toe of his boot against the man’s face, and turned it away from him. The rapid breath in his lungs burned. The blood on Idegwaed rained like tears down her guard as Xander ran toward the nearest door.

The door had been battered open and hung in broken pieces. Xander leapt over the rubble, squinting in the darkness. Bodies lay on the floor. He stooped by one and recognized his captain of the guard. A glance over his shoulder revealed three of his other best men. Xander swore under his breath and stole up the staircase. He found Maeb gagged, bound, and unconscious in a darkened corner. He checked her pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. Alive. He whispered an apology and left her as he found her. He didn’t want her causing a commotion and running off to find Aowyn only to get herself in to more danger.

He tightened his grip around Idegwaed and crouched, prowling down the hall. He heard Aowyn’s scream. He was getting close. The sound of pottery smashing and bodies clunking against furniture was just around the bend. When he reached the door, he kicked it open.

“Unhand my wife.”

The burly man captured Aowyn by the wrist and pulled her close to him. He chuckled. “My men and I were beginning to wonder if you were coming back.” He regarded Aowyn momentarily and laughed again. “Who do I kid? A pretty girl like this. Of course you would come back.” His lips curled as he pressed his nose to Aowyn’s jawbone, breathing deeply.

Aowyn stared at Xander in terror, uttering his name. The man covered her mouth and pressed a dagger to her throat.

Xander growled. He tightened his hold on Idegwaed and took a step in their direction. “Let her go.”

The man looked at him from the corners of his eyes with a baleful grin. “Uh, uh, uh, Barwn Blackthorn. Play nice now.”

Xander began to circle them. Who was this man? Why had he come? By the looks of his furs, his cape, and the rings on his beefy knuckles, he was a man of importance. Xander continued to pace around them, frustrated that Aowyn was being kept between them like a shield.

“Tell me where you are from,” Xander snarled, “so that I may send your head there when I cut it off.”

The man sniggered. “Such a shame they want her dead. She’s so very beautiful.”

Xander’s anger raged as the man pressed his tongue against Aowyn’s cheek and slowly slithered it up to her temple. Aowyn’s breath coursed and her eyes flashed. She bit hard into the man’s finger until a line of blood trickled to the floor. The man sounded like thunder, “You venomous she-devil!”

He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, bolting for the door. Xander had not been mindful and left it unguarded. He charged after them. The man was lumbering down the hall. Xander could hear Maeb clucking beneath her gag, then squawking and making a ruckus as the man drew near. With a bellow and a mighty heave, Xander hurled Idegwaed after him. The falchion sang through the air and buried herself deep between the man’s shoulder blades. The man sucked in a sudden breath and paused mid-stride. He staggered toward Xander, his eyes open capaciously. Xander bolted to grab Aowyn and push the man forward. With a deafening thud, the man fell. Xander held Aowyn close. She trembled in his arms. Xander took her face with both hands and looked her in the eyes. He didn’t need to speak the words he was thinking, wondering if she was alright. She simply nodded and hugged him hard. He scooped her up, cradling her, and leaned his forehead against hers. He walked down the hall slowly, never wanting to take his eyes from Aowyn again. The world seemed to disappear. He made way to their bedroom and gently laid his wife on the bed, pressing his mouth to hers softly. He made her comfortable and dropped to one knee, weaving his fingers with hers. “Tell me what happened.”

Aowyn winced. “It happened so fast. One moment we were enjoying dinner, the next the castle went dark. Our men started fighting. Maeb and I tried to escape, and then that man…” she shuddered, then cried, “Oh, Xander, where were you?”

Xander kissed Aowyn’s knuckles. This was his fault. If he had been here to protect his keep, this might not have happened. “This will never happen again. I swear it.”

“How can you promise that with assurance?”

Xander looked at her earnestly. “Everything will be different from now on.” He leaned over the bed, placing a hand on his wife’s belly. He kissed the widest part of it and spoke quietly. “You will never have to fight for our land so long as I live.”

His fingers tightened around Aowyn’s nightgown as the baby kicked beneath his hand. He kissed Aowyn long and deeply, then rose.

Aowyn stirred uncomfortably. “That sword you had… I’ve never seen it before. Where did you get it?”

Xander tensed and said nothing.

Aowyn tried to turn his head to look at her. “I have only seen one other like it, forged by a creature from our lands. Tell me where you got that sword.”

Xander clenched his fists.

Aowyn choked. “Sylas Mortas. You’ve been to him, haven’t you?”

Xander turned his back.

“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, Xan. I know him. He will only make things worse for us. Even the

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