“Did you know she was a girl, too?”
“Maybe.”
“Is she a Tornan, too?”
“Maybe.”
I laughed. “Well, at least I won’t be surprised this time.” And I wasn’t, not when she was joined by her sister Cara, named for Carlos, or her sister Reese, named for me at Dalph’s insistence, the name derived from my given name of Teresa. I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to agree to Rana, for Randalph, but he refused.
“We already have a child named for me.”
“Okay, but you’re going to be really sorry for this, I just have a feeling. Now, we’re not breaking the chain here, she’s a Tornan, just like all her sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Are we done yet?”
“Actually—” He bent over and kissed the top of my head. “Actually, yes. We’re done.”
“We can’t be! I don’t have a boy!”
“I told you, Tess, the stones said we needed more women from Beyond the Door. So we made our own.”
I didn’t say anything, but my expression must have worried him.
“Tess, you always said Dal was your son.”
“He’s my grown son. He’s been grown since he was ten! I miss my little boy!”
And I did, but as the girls grew and their individual personalities came out, I knew that I had as much on my hands as I could handle and was actually grateful that the stones had decreed I could stop at four. So was Dalph, as Reese almost did him in, and he swore that she caused more worry by herself than Dal, Madaleine, McKay, and Cara together had ever done.
“I told you not to name her after me!” I reminded him, but he just groaned.
Last night, during Dal’s eighteenth birthday celebration, I looked out from the head banquet table onto the hall, so full of life and laughter. Everyone’s here right now, which is something to cherish, as Brenden and Madison and Carlos are truly rolling stones, with Dal and Crayton and Cretor giving every indication that they are, too.
I looked out at all of them and thought of the Round Table, both Round Tables, in two different worlds. One did not fare very well in the end, and in my mind I saw again the words of Sir Bedivere, according to Tennyson saying good-bye to Arthur as the Lady of the Lake conveyed him to Avalon: “For now the whole Round Table is dissolved, which was an image of the mighty world, and I, the last, go forth companionless, among new men, strange faces, other minds.”
I know he would be comforted by the knowledge that in this world, the whole Round Table is restored, and is an image of the mighty world, from whence her Knights go forth in unity, to seek new men, strange faces, other minds.
But those are stories for another day.
About the Author
“A paralegal by day, she strives for justice. A weaver of words by night, she creates new worlds…” Yeah, that’s me. A fairy tale would start like that. In real life, I run up and down the halls of my law firm in a frantic attempt to meet deadlines. And at night, I field the family’s cries of desperation that they are hungry with my new battle cry. “There’s the kitchen! Help yourself!” I have a similar response for most every desperate call.
At last, in my late fifties, with children raised, I’ve given in to the call of the computer screen. To the Muse, as it were. Rather than fit writing into my evenings, I fit the rest of the evening into my writing. I hope y’all like the results. I’m Southern by the way, which fact is a major influence in Down Home, my next release coming in September. And I hope you’ll be back after Down Home for a few other surprises I have planned for the coming months, including another tale of the Truscan (K)nights! Y’all come back now, you hear?
Also Available at MuseItUp Publishing
Betrayal’s Price
A Fantasy Romance by Lisa Blackwood
For Ashayna Stonemantle, a second chance at life is not a reward. It's duty come back to haunt her.
Excerpt:
She prowled along the stream, scanning the ground for more clues. A few steps from where the phoenix tracks first emerged from the water, something glimmered in the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Ashayna edged closer until the mystery resolved itself into a bit of silver and a bright slash of indigo. Reaching down she plucked the silver chain from the mud.
An indigo feather the length of her hand dangled from a silver clasp. Frowning, she stroked a finger down its silken length. A surprisingly pleasant scent, reminiscent of heat, spice, and the crisp fresh air of a mountain plateau, tickled her senses.
And it wasn’t the only thing tickling her senses. An alarmingly familiar mix of heat and cold was stirring in her blood again, tightening its bands of control. Numbness spread across her palms. Her fingers tingled with a frosty ache. When she tried to drop the necklace, her hand wouldn't obey.
Even as she backed up the slope to solid ground, the hairs on the back of her neck stood. Desire so strong it robbed her of her breath rose. Power radiated out like tentacles. Not again, she moaned at the sudden rise of the sentience.
Like a hound on a scent, it flowed below her skin, alternately caressing, and then probing forcibly at her mental barriers. A second wave of energy crashed against her shields, buckling them. The sentience invaded her mind. Where fear and desire had been its favorite tool, it now flooded her with joy. Delight, elation…those feelings seemed too small, too insignificant to encompass what she felt beneath her skin, within her mind.
Her possession was now complete – every sense was alive with the feelings, even as she watched it from afar. Almost against her will, her hands looped the medallion around her neck.
Silvery flames burst to life along her arms to pool between her hands. It didn't hurt. Agony she could have dealt with, this…this new sense of rapture was so much worse.
A cloud appeared in the air, to hover an arm's length from her. Faint as smoke, it thickened, swirling and rolling like fog. Churning and spinning, colors danced until it had grown in size.
Vivid greens, muted grays, sun-bleached whites. They formed a stone courtyard adorned with fountains, statues and lush foliage. Then darker whorls of indigo mixed with lustrous browns, coalescing into the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
He was tall, bronze-skinned, bare-chested and wore some kind of bright, indigo-colored cloak. The cloud of magic spun itself larger, revealing more of the man. He had…wings. Oh, but he wasn’t a man at all, he was phoenix.
She glanced at the indigo feather hanging from the necklace, then lifted her gaze to what or rather who must be the source of the feather. While she’d spent a dumbfounded moment staring down at the feather in her hand, he’d turned, his back to her as he looked out over a stone-tiled courtyard. His fingers tapped against his thigh in clear agitation. From behind he looked less human.
A stiff breeze ruffled his crest feathers into disarray and plastered a long, fan-shaped tail against his calves. He whirled around, whipping his tail out of the way, and paced in her direction. She focused on his face. His strong brow, well-defined cheekbones, and firm jaw surpassed human beauty. Still, the intensity of his gaze would give a wise women pause. She wasn't sure if his frown was a normal fixture or just a reflection of some inner conflict.
Her gaze roamed his broad shoulders, down the naked expanse of his muscular chest to his waist where a paneled-leather kilt hung low on his hips. He truly was majestic, exuding a sense of raw masculinity in his every move. "Hmm, perhaps I'm not the wisest of women."
She sighed, mentally pushing aside the faint hint of longing. There would be no place for such feelings. It was war, and those who commanded armies had already decided their species would be adversaries. “Yes, he's attractive, but you must have other reasons for revealing him to me."
Magic swirled faster through her blood. "Guess that's a yes."
Wincing at the throb in her head, she concentrated on his image.
He paced in a semi-circle, his frown deepening as he searched his surroundings. When his gaze locked onto something in her dire
ction, tension rippled along her spine and lodged between her shoulder blades. Graceful, predatory he stalked toward her and swiped the air. Nothing happened. He continued to look perplexed, his feathered brows furrowing into a frown.
Sweat dampened her skin in a sudden cold flush, her breath grew shallow. Ashayna scooped a handful of debris and heaved it at him. It flew through the image and smacked into a tree trunk behind it. Was just a vision?
His expression turned thoughtful. Tilting his head to one side, he closed his eyes. His lips moved, shaping unknown words. Instantly, the sentience flared in response, sending a wave of its foreign wanting through her. She clamped her will down, determined she wouldn't be enslaved. A rush of power surged through her mind, expanding out, breaking past her control.
For one horrifying moment she felt her body gathering itself to move closer to the strange window...
Acknowledgements
Tanja Cilia, editor beyond compare and friend beyond price—thank you, my sister across the ocean! Greta Gunselman and Suzannah Safi—to new partnerships formed! Lea and Litsa—I give thanks every day that you formed MuseItUp and gave so many of us a home. And finally—thanks to all my Muse girls and guys. Strangers become family, all believing in each other.
Miami Days & Truscan (K)nights © 2012 by Gail Roughton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Cover Art © 2012 by Suzannah Safi
Edited by Tanja Cilia
Copyedited by Greta Gunselman
Layout and Book Production by Lea Schizas
eBook ISBN: 978-1-77127-027-4
First eBook Edition *April 2012
Production by MuseItUp Publishing
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