Neve hugged Myles, and Vera began barking orders into her phone.
The pink haze of sunrise suffused the sky over the spires and blocky stones of the wounded city. A cheer rose from Edinburgh. The wind carried it across the hills.
“Heir! Seer! Scotland forever!”
Every muscle in Aini’s body ached. A shiver buzzed through her when she thought about what they might find inside Edinburgh’s walls. Her father Lewis might be dead. Thane’s mother Senga too. Viola. Hawes. There were so many.
Bathilda materialized above Aini. She smiled, then faded, too quickly for Aini to say a word. The spirit had accomplished her goal then. Now she was gone, moved on.
“Godspeed, Bathilda. We are in your debt.”
Neve, Vera, and Myles gathered around Aini and Thane, who stood guard over Bran’s sleeping form. All their faces wore smiles that outshone the blood and dirt marring their cheeks and chins. There was still work to do and grief to fight through, but Aini would take the happiness here in front of her for now and hold it against her soul to steel herself for the future.
Chapter 22
Fire
Aini handed a twist of dark, rose-colored taffy to Thane. The fire in the townhouse’s hearth painted his hair gold. The light played on his cheekbones and strong jaw. Busy with setting up Parliament, seeing to the city’s wounded, and arranging the coming coronation, they hadn’t been alone since before the battle. Aini felt it was high time for an evening alone, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask her father, Neve, and Myles to give them a moment. It was still such a joy to have them here, well and happy.
“Haven’t seen this shade.” Thane examined the candy, its reflection showing in his glasses. “What’s it do?” After unwrapping it, he popped the sugary treat between his lips, then licked a finger.
Myles whistled. “You trust her an awful lot. You don’t even know what that batch is going to do to you.” His music tripped out of his room and down the hall. Banjos and drums vied for attention and it was amazing neither Thane nor Father had demanded he shut it off.
“I trust her with all my heart.” Thane dropped a kiss on Aini’s nose. His breath smelled like sugar and mint and she wanted very much to kiss that neck of his.
“Of course you do.” Neve pulled her legs under her skirt and shifted so she was practically sitting on Myles’s lap.
Aini ate a piece of taffy. “It’s simply taffy. No chemicals. No hormones. No special effects.”
“Boring.” Myles stuck out his bottom lip.
Father cleared his throat. His gaze caught on the patched spot in the wall beside his office door, evidence of the vicious fighting that had taken place right on their street. “I think I’m ready for some boring, thank you very much.” He held up his well-worn book of Robert Burns. “Should I go on with the poetry?”
“At least finish the one you started,” Aini said.
“All right, squirrel. I will do that.
‘Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’life shall run.”
Myles and Neve were doing some sort of interpretive dance to the poem that was equal parts horribly ridiculous and terribly funny. With a hideous grimace, Myles stood over the couch pillows—Aini assumed those were the poem’s rocks—and wiggled his fingers like they were the sun’s rays melting away the stones. He put a hand over his heart and knelt at Neve’s feet. She spun and sighed so loudly Aini missed the start of the next stanza.
“…fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a-while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.”
Myles ran in place, wiping his head of imagined sweat. “Ten thousand is a lot of miles,” he whispered.
Neve laughed and shoved him into the chair beside Father.
The phone on the side table rang and Father picked it up. “Ah, Senga. Thane is right here.” He nodded as if she could see him. “Fine. I’ll show him when it comes through.”
Senga had been injured during the battle with King John. A ceiling had crashed onto her and a few others, but thankfully, all they’d suffered were concussions and minor cuts and bruises. As soon as Thane had been declared King of Scotland with Aini as his Chief Advisor, peace had returned in Edinburgh under Owen’s direction, and the new English ruler had signed the treaty, Senga had returned to Inveraray to recover properly. Aini suspected Senga wasn’t resting nearly enough though, seeing as there were repairs to be done all around the estate.
“Good bye.” Father clicked the phone off, then turned it and showed the screen to Thane. “This is a sketch she’s done of the new wing.”
The drawing showed detailed alcoves and five new rooms for visiting dignitaries, one of which Vera had claimed since her appointment to the Parliament. “Senga is definitely not resting.”
Thane smiled and handed the phone back. “I’m glad she is having a good time up there. Are you going up for the wedding?” Bran and Viola were set to wed at Christmas, but that wasn’t the real reason Father wanted to head back to Inveraray.
Aini fought a grin as Father’s ears reddened.
“Yes. Of course. For the wedding. We all are and you know it.” He set the book down and stood. “Now, it’s time I’m off to bed. Myles, Neve, could you please tidy up the lab? And please turn off that music. Thank you.”
Thane chuckled. He approved of the budding friendship between their parents.
Father wished everyone good night and disappeared down the corridor.
Myles held out a hand to Aini. “I want a piece of that boring taffy. I think it does do something fantastic and you’re just lying.” He took a piece and chewed it noisily.
Aini raised an eyebrow. “I only lie for good reasons.”
“Maybe it’ll make you hate banjos as much as I do,” Thane said, “and the townhouse will finally be at peace.”
Neve steered Myles down the hallway toward the sound of his speakers.
“Never!” Myles punched the air.
And finally Aini had Thane to herself.
The fire snapped and he put a new log on. Woodsmoke scented the room. Here was the next ruler of this country, tending the fire for her. Bizarre.
“I suppose I’ll have to kneel to you when you’re king,” she said wryly, teasing him as she finished her drink and set the glass on the table.
Thane, on his knees, faced her, looking up. The fire silhouetted his powerful frame and mixed with the blue and gold of his aura. It was lovely. “You’ll never kneel to anyone unless you wish it, hen.”
He wrapped a hand around her calf. His thumb drew circles and threw chills across her skin. He pressed a kiss into her thigh, then broke away slowly, very slowly, his breath dancing over the inside of her leg. She tangled her fingers in his hair as his hands slid over her knees. When he tilted his chin up to look at her, his black lashes framed his stormy eyes and his lips parted. His tongue moved like he was about to say something, but before he could utter a word, heat rushed over Aini’s body and she went to her knees to meet him. Her stomach brushed his as his fingers found the waistband of her skirt and tugged her closer. She leaned into him. His muscles tensed. His lips lighted on her chin and he whispered into her neck.
“Aini. My Aini.”
She ran her hands over his shoulders and along the lines of his upper back as he traced her collarbone with a gentle finger. Her body melted into his, and he pulled her on top of him, the fire crackling beside them. Sitting up, she took a moment to appreciate the view. The heart inside this strong body of his was the finest. Brave. True. A survivor. With his hair and glasses askew, one hand on her waist and the other hovering above her leg, he grinned. His dimples showed in his cheeks. Her own body responded rather strongly to those dimples, heart pounding in approval.
“Enjoying yourself, hen?”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Aye,” she
said before proceeding to kiss the new king into oblivion.
For a complementary prequel to The Edinburgh Seer, visit
http://www.alishaklapheke.com/free-prequel-1
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Scots Slang Dictionary
(Thane approved)
aye—yes
baltic—cold
bampot—a fool who is sometimes amusing
bairn—baby
beamer—red face from embarrassment usually
ben—mountain
bide—wait, live, stay (depends on context)
blether—(sometimes spelled blather) talking on and on, chatting
boak—(sometimes spelled boke) vomit
boggin’—dirty, no good, smelly
bonnie—beautiful
bowfin—dirty, smelly
braw—beautiful or brilliant
canny—clever, shrewd
clipe/clype—(varied spellings and usages) a tattletale, a rat, to tell on someone
close—a covered alley
coo—cow, usually a Highland cow (they are adorable so google that)
crabbit—grouchy, mean tempered
daft—stupid but usually harmless
dinnae teach yer Granny tae suck eggs—Don’t try to teach someone something they most likely already know
doister—big storm, rain big time
dreich—wet and cold weather
feartie—coward
geggie—mouth
glaikit—dumb, foolish
Glasgow kiss—headbutt
gob—mouth
hackit—ugly
haud yer wheesht—hold your wheesht (varied spellings) Be quiet
keek—a quick look at something
ken—know
kip—nap
manky—smelly
mawkit—dirty
muckle—a good amount
numpty—stupid person
pure—very, exceptionally
skelp—slap
skinny malinky longlegs—skinny person
sleekit—clever, sly (negative connotation)
stramash—a scuffle, a chaotic tangle of a bother
tattie—potato
tidy—lovely, good, beautiful
wean—child
Keep turning pages to read a sample of Waters of Salt and Sin, the first book in Alisha’s epic fantasy series!
WATERS OF SALT AND SIN (a sample)
A BREATH BEFORE SUNRISE, THE sea was a half-lidded eye, pale blue and white beyond the town walls and lemon orchards. The sea and me, the only two awake this early.
Or so it seemed when I climbed to the roof of the tavern. The streets were only dark mud and shuttered windows. I should’ve been out scouring too, looking for a fallen dumpling or a bit of orange-spiced chicken. But I couldn’t help myself. The glimmering saltwater winked at me and I gave it a lazy smile.
“Soon,” I whispered before heading back down.
I had to finish the rope I’d labored on all night, because though magic was good for a lot of things, unfortunately, twisting coconut fibers wasn’t one of them.
My hands used to bleed when I did this kind of work. Not now. Now my palms were like moving stones, pressing, rolling over the two sections and twining them around one another until they were long enough to tie off a sail.
My younger sister Avi snored lightly on our straw mat in the port tavern’s undercroft. I opened her hand. Someday—if I managed to keep her alive until someday—those angry blisters would disappear and she’d have rocks for hands too. I touched the area around the worst of them gently. Though she was fourteen, I rubbed her arm like Mother used to do when we were little. Soon enough, she’d be beside me on the sea, rushing to finish our day’s work before night fell and the salt wraiths came. But she didn’t love the risk, the delicious challenge, or the waters like I did.
“Kinneret?” Avi’s eyes opened, red and bleary.
“No. I’m Amir Mamluk,” I joked, pretending to be the steel- eyed woman who held the town in her ruthless grip, only a few steps below the kyros in power. “I am in disguise as your sister so I can enjoy the pleasures of low-caste life. What’s first? Prying barnacles off the hull or watching my hard-earned silver disappear into rich men’s pockets?” I clapped my hands like an idiot as Avi bent over laughing.
“You’re a madwoman, Sister.” She looked past me to the light. “You should’ve shaken me awake sooner. Did you get your sailing papers stamped?”
I waved her off. “I will. Tomorrow.”
“All right.” A black spot marred the edge of her grin. She’d lost a tooth last week. The empty place looked wrong next to the pretty yellow-brown hair she’d inherited from Father.
Avi leaned over to touch the shells she hid under her side of the mat. She didn’t know I knew about them, so I stood and turned away, giving her a moment. It was her own ritual and whatever gave her peace was fine with me.
Gathering the fibers I hadn’t used last night and the new rope, I forced a worthless tear back inside my eye and tried not to hear her little whispers.
“Mother. Father. The kitten. The cat. My broken bird.”
She’d found a shell for each of the ones she’d lost. A curving one with ridges, as dark brown as our mother’s skin had been. A spotted one for Father. He would’ve liked that. He’d loved the unusual.
As I tied on my sash, the tiny bells jingling, she drank from the bucket and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Eat that bread there.” I jerked my chin at the stool that served as our table.
“What about you?”
“I ate with Oron late last night,” I lied. I was a great liar, but I didn’t rejoice in it. Lying was the skill of the desperate, something I intended to stop being as soon as possible.
“He actually ate?” Avi said around the nub of bread. “I thought he was on an all stolen wine diet.”
“He wishes. Said so right before he went down to the boat.” This time of year, depending on the crowd at the dock, my first mate sometimes slept onboard to protect our only real possession. Harvest brought a lot of strangers who wouldn’t worry about consequences.
Smiling, Avi shook her head and handed me the bag of salt I kept tied to my sash. I shook it, felt its soft bottom. There was enough for some Salt Magic if we ended up needing it today.
“What shipments do we have?” Avi asked. “None. We’re scouting new port locations again.”
“Hope it goes better than last time. Is Calev going to predict our weather for the trip?” Avi grinned.
As a member of the native community of Old Farm—and the chairman’s son to boot—Calev was born high-caste, raised to oversee his people’s lemon orchards and barley fields, and basically treated like a kyros around town. The brat, I thought, a grin tugging at me.
But despite his powerful family and his position, he had the hardest time predicting weather, a child’s first lesson on a farm or at sea. He just couldn’t seem to gather the clues hidden in the thrush’s song, the clouds’ sudden curl, or the moisture in a breeze. Seriously, he was rubbish at it. His eyebrow twitched when it frustrated him and it was—
“You’re the prettiest when you smile like that, Kin.”
I shoved her gently. “Shut up, you. Come on. We need to go.” My relationship with Calev was complicated. And dangerous now that we neared the age of adulthood. Avi really did need to shut up about it. At least until I found some way to snake my way into a higher caste.
I unlocked the door and held it open for her, pretending there wasn’t a pile of both human and animal waste we had to step over. Soon, the middle-caste merchants would open their booths in these dirty streets to trade goods and gossip under the white- hot sun.
Ugh. There was the sailmaker’s son.
He was still burned over the deal his father gave me when Calev came along to buy our new sail.
“Kinneret Raza the Magnificent, friend
to high-castes.” He pretended to whisper, but his words were plenty loud. “But only if you have eyes and a backside like that Old Farm boy Calev. For him, she pretends that bag of salt at her sash is for seasoning food. It’s a miracle he doesn’t see you for what you are. Witch.”
A ringing filled my ears. If the wrong people heard him, we’d wish our only problem was finding something to eat today. “The real miracle is that pest birds haven’t nested in your continuously open mouth, between your rotting teeth.”
His gaze lashed out at Avi. “Soon I won’t be the only one with an Outcast’s mouth, witches.”
I raged toward him and he lifted his leg to kick me off, but Avi jumped in the way. The tip of his sandal struck her leg, and she winced.
“You better stop it,” Avi shouted. “Or you’ll be sorry.” He laughed and went on as I bent to check Avi’s leg. “It’s a scratch,” she said. “It’s nothing.”
“That horse’s back end is going to be nothing if he ever touches you again. You should keep quiet when he is around.”
“Oh, like you do, Sister?” She raised both eyebrows.
I snorted. “Well, I’m Kinneret the Magnificent, remember?” The ridiculousness of the title burned like a brand.
Avi put a hand on my arm and pulled me to standing. “You are magnificent to me.”
I hugged her and felt her shoulder bones like driftwood under my arms. My temples throbbed. She was little more than a skeleton. A chill slithered down my back. How long could we live like this?
The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy Page 62