Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  Rainer raised a dark brow, towering over her as most of the Fae did. “That’s not how it looked to me or to anyone else. As we speak, the head of the royal guard is reporting the incident to your father. It’s about time, if you ask me, wasting our energy on this pathetic excuse for a steed. He’s better off dead.”

  Overcome by a frantic pounding in her chest, she struggled to project a confident demeanor. Tears and begging would make no difference to Rainer. If anything, they would increase the pleasure he took in tormenting her. The stable hands looked for an excuse to put Bowen down. They were intolerant of any disability, any imperfection. Power was the only thing they understood.

  She swallowed her fear and snatched her crown from his finger. She shoved it on her head and pushed a hank of golden hair from her eyes. “You forget yourself, Rainer. Bowen is mine. He’s under my protection. No one touches him.”

  With an insolent look, he tracked his gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Your protection,” he scoffed. “I guess he’s as good as dead, then.”

  Syrena tried to push past him, but he wouldn’t budge. She took a step to the left and he did the same. She moved to the right and he followed suit, laughing at her futile attempt to outmaneuver him. Bowen nudged him out of the way and Rainer turned on her steed. “You’ll pay for that,” he snarled at Bowen, balling his big hand into a fist. Her only thought to protect her steed, Syrena lunged and knocked him off balance before he could hit Bowen.

  His angular face contorted in rage, and he drew back to strike her. With no time to get out of his way, she squeezed her eyes closed and steeled herself to receive the blow. He wasn’t as big as her father. It wouldn’t be as painful, she reassured herself. There was a gush of air, a strangled squeal, and then a splash.

  Cracking an eye open, she noted Rainer, sitting in a cement trough, spurting water from his mouth.

  “You’re lucky it is only your pride that has been wounded, Rainer. The penalty for striking royalty is death,” Uscias informed him equitably, then turned to Syrena, his blue eyes intent beneath thick silver brows. “Although, your highness, the decision ultimately rests with you.”

  “No . . . no, your punishment was more than adequate, Uscias, thank you.”

  The wizard waved his gnarled fingers, and Rainer stood pale and dripping before them. “Take Princess Syrena’s steed to the stables. And remember, if anything should happen to Bowen, your fate rests in her highness’s hands.”

  As Uscias led her away, she took one last worried look over her shoulder. He patted her arm. “I will keep an eye on him, but right now our presence has been requested by the king.”

  Her jaw dropped and she clutched his arm. “Mine? You’re certain, Uscias? He wants me?”

  “Yes, my dear, that is what I was told.”

  She blinked back tears. “Oh, I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. They will have to address my concerns now, don’t you think?” Too excited to wait for his response, she went on, “You may not be aware, Uscias, but our laws are unfairly slanted to the benefit of men. And truly, our approach to the other realms is severely outdated. Diplomacy, Uscias, diplomacy is the an—”

  “Princess,” he interrupted gently. “I’m afraid you misunderstood me. I am not at all certain your father has chosen you as his successor. The presence of all candidates was requested.”

  A heated flush prickled beneath her skin. How could she have thought anything had changed? Her father would never name her as his successor and she might as well accept it now. Years spent memorizing the dusty tomes, documenting her arguments against antiquated laws, were all for naught.

  “I’m sorry, Uscias, you must think me a fool to believe my father would see past . . .” The tears that welled in her eyes threatened to overflow, and she couldn’t go on.

  “No, my dear, you are far from foolish. It is the ones that do not see you for who you truly are who deserve to be called such. Now, I’m afraid we must go.”

  As Uscias and Syrena entered the palace, an ear-piercing scream shattered the quiet hum of activity. Queen Morgana, her stepmother, stumbled from the throne room.

  “The king, King Arwan has faded!” she cried while Nessa, her handmaiden, reached out to steady her.

  Servants stopped what they were doing, frozen in their disbelief. Syrena’s heart skittered in her chest and her legs went weak. No, not her father, there must be some mistake. He wouldn’t fade. He loved his kingdom. He loved the Isles. He loved her. But no, even in a state of shock, she knew the last was not true. He didn’t love her. He never had.

  Lord Bana and Lord Erwn came out of the grand hall, shouldering their way through the gathering crowd, their perfect faces lined with confusion. They joined Syrena and Uscias. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “The king, Morgana says he’s faded.” Uscias informed them before he strode purposefully toward the throne room. His sapphire robes billowing behind him.

  “Your highness,” Evangeline’s melodious voice came from beside her, and she wrapped a supportive arm around Syrena’s shoulders. “You should sit.”

  “No, I can’t,” she said, watching as Lord Bana, Lord Erwn, then Morgana and Nessa followed after Uscias. “I really must . . . I have to understand. I have to know . . . Why, Evangeline, why would he fade?”

  “I don’t know, my lady, perhaps Uscias will be able to explain it.” Holding her close, her friend guided her to the throne room.

  Uscias, no bigger than Syrena, was dwarfed by the two lords and Morgana as they pummeled him with their frantic questions. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot think with all the shouting. Give me a moment.”

  Syrena, coming to stand beside him, followed his gaze to King Arwan’s golden throne. A pile of ashes on the red satin cushion was all that remained of her father. The sight triggered a memory of the day her mother faded. Memories she’d buried clawed their way to the surface. An image of her running into the room to give her mother a carefully chosen bouquet of pink and white flowers, only to have her father rip them from her hands and crush them beneath his boot. He’d forced Syrena to her knees in front of the throne, making certain she knew she was to blame for her mother’s decision. All that remained of the beautiful, loving Helyna was a tidy pile of ashes on a red satin pillow.

  She bowed her head and focused on the gold veins that ran through the white marble floor, shutting away the painful memories.

  “Morgana, where is the Sword of Nuada?” Uscias asked.

  Her stepmother’s mouth formed a pinched line. “I don’t know.”

  “The parchment for succession that I delivered the other day, do you at least know where that is?”

  Morgana shared a surreptitious look with Nessa, who stood at the back of the room with Evangeline, and Bana and Erwn’s servants.

  “There, beside his throne,” she said as she pointed to it.

  Uscias jerked his chin at the liveried guard standing at attention behind the throne. The man retrieved the rolled scroll and delivered it into the wizard’s hand. Uscias unrolled it with care. Syrena looked at the bottom of the parchment where her father’s name was signed with a flourish. On the line that named his successor there was one letter—the letter L.

  The wizard passed a twisted finger over the letter and it disappeared. Syrena blinked. Uscias, looking at her from the corner of his eye, raised a bushy brow. He was right. It could have been either Erwn or Bana.

  “Who is it? Who did he name?” Morgana asked, although there was something in her stance, in her tone, that said to Syrena her stepmother already knew the answer. Had her father confided in his wife? Given their strained relations, Syrena doubted he would. Morgana had as much chance of holding the throne as she did.

  “No one,” the wizard said blandly. “And since he did not have the opportunity to name his successor, or hand over the Sword of Nuada, the four of you will have to compete for the honor. In the Books of Fae, the parameters of the test are clearly set out for circumstanc
es such as these.”

  Having all but memorized the five ancient tomes, Syrena knew exactly what the test entailed and her heart sank. The first segment, knowledge of the laws, she knew she could easily win. The test of courage and strength, she didn’t even try to fool herself that she had a chance at. And the third, a test of the competitor’s magickal abilities, would have been laughable if not for the danger it posed to her.

  The Fae were tested three times, once at the age of four, again at the age of twelve, and on their twenty-first birthday, the last and most difficult of the tests. The highest level to be awarded was a five. Syrena had yet to see anyone other than a wizard achieve the designation. Her own level was a dismal two, and that accomplished only with the help of her mother and then Evangeline.

  Her mother had died a month after Syrena passed the second test. And she didn’t know what she would have done if three years ago her handmaiden hadn’t arrived in the Enchanted Isles, a week before Syrena’s twenty-first birthday. To this day, how Evangeline had come to be in the Isles remained a mystery. Noting her handmaiden’s distress whenever Syrena questioned her as to who she was and where she’d come from, she had learned to temper her natural curiosity. She hadn’t wanted to hurt or alienate the only friend she’d ever known.

  While Uscias lay out the parameters of the test to the other three, Syrena hazarded a glance at Evangeline. Don’t worry, her handmaiden’s confident violet gaze seemed to say.

  Uscias, his attention focused on Syrena, announced, “The test is set for one week from today.”

  A snidely confident smile on his aristocratic face, Lord Erwn said, “Perhaps it would be best for the princess and Queen to concede at this point.”

  Morgana’s emerald eyes flashed, and her scarlet painted lips twisted. “How dare you, Erwn! This test is a travesty and well you know it. As Arwan’s Queen, I should retain my crown and lead the kingdom.”

  “I don’t see your name on the succession document, Morgana, nor do I see the Sword of Nuada in your hand. If anyone has a right to the throne, it would be Princess Syrena.” Bana’s condescending bark of laughter grated on Syrena’s nerves, and she longed to put him in his place, but if she tried, he’d only laugh at her as he did now.

  He was as arrogant as his brother, but he frightened her more than Lord Erwn. Both men had vied for her hand in marriage. As brutally dismissive of women as King Arwan, she’d been thankful that, seeking a more powerful match, her father had denied both their suits.

  Erwn had never hidden the fact that he still wanted her, even though they were second cousins, but, unlike his brother, he’d never tried to force himself upon her. If not for Evangeline’s timely intervention two weeks past, she wouldn’t have escaped Bana’s unwanted attention.

  Suppressing a shudder of unease at the memory, she met her stepmother’s sharp-eyed gaze. Within that moment of silent exchange, Syrena knew Morgana realized neither of them stood a chance. She felt a pang of sympathy for her stepmother. The title of Queen meant more to her than it did to Syrena. The only consolation, Morgana would no longer have to suffer her father’s brutality. She’d been the one to take the brunt of his anger, but it hadn’t stopped her from protecting Syrena from his wrath. She’d intervened on her stepdaughter’s behalf on more than one occasion, and for that Syrena would always be grateful.

  Uscias raised his hand. “Enough. As Wizard of the Enchanted Isles, my decision stands.”

  Morgana, obviously unwilling to concede, tossed her long ebony tresses in a supremely confident manner. “For the interim, Uscias, I believe I should retain my role as sovereign. We cannot afford King Rohan to sense any weakness on our part. He has too much power as it is. Given the opportunity, I have no doubt he’d seize the Isles.”

  Syrena wasn’t certain having King Rohan take over the Isles would be such a terrible fate. Unlike her father, her uncle was a fair and considerate leader. He’d always been kind to her, and she thought he would protect her from Bana and Erwn, but perhaps he had changed. She hadn’t seen him in a very long time, not since the day her mother had faded. Syrena had remembered thinking he grieved more for Helyna than her father did. But the brothers had fought, and that was the last she’d seen of her uncle.

  “That will be unnecessary, Morgana,” Uscias said. “King Rohan has no desire to take over the Isles. His only concern will be that a strong leader is in place. Until such time, I will see to the needs of the kingdom. As to the four of you, I suggest you take the opportunity to prepare yourselves for the contest.”

  While the others took their leave, Syrena stayed back to ask Uscias, “Do you think my uncle knows?” Since word traveled quickly in the Fae realm, Syrena didn’t wish her uncle to receive word of his brother’s death from a servant.

  “No, I—” Uscias came to an abrupt halt. His gaze drifted and his lips moved as though he was talking to himself, then he nodded. “Princess, do not worry about King Rohan, I’m on my way to the Seelie court now. I know how difficult this has been for you, my dear. Why don’t you go down to your sanctuary in the woods?”

  Since Uscias’s stone cottage was not far from Syrena’s secret hideaway, it was understandable he would know where it was, but nonetheless disconcerting.

  She nodded.

  “You will see, princess, things have a way of turning out for the best.”

  Uscias was a wizard, but Syrena didn’t think he had the gift of second sight. If he did, he’d know, at least where she was concerned, that things would not turn out well. In fact, they were bound to get worse.

  “Are you certain you do not wish me to remain with you, your highness?” Evangeline asked once she had transported Syrena from the palace to her refuge in the woods.

  It was no different than anytime before, but today Syrena’s inability to transport herself from place to place with the same ease as the other Fae left her feeling more inept than usual. “No, I will be fine,” she assured her handmaiden.

  Once Evangeline had departed, Syrena sat upon the sunwarmed moss at the base of the old oak and let the beauty and familiarity of her secret place soothe her. It was here she came to escape ridicule, to hide her sorrow, and dream of the day the Fae would hold her in high regard. It didn’t look like that would happen anytime soon.

  Trying to alleviate her fears of what would transpire in a week’s time, she inhaled the sweet fragrance of bell flowers and gazed out over the azure waters lapping gently along the rocky shore. She allowed the rhythmic ebb and flow to lull her turbulent emotions, hoping in the quiet of her mind to discover an answer to her problems.

  A dark shadow loomed over her, blocking the warmth of the sun, causing her to shiver.

  “Hiding, you’re always hiding.”

  She blinked, then blinked again.

  It couldn’t be.

  She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. The vision didn’t disappear. King Arwan shimmered before her in a golden light so bright it hurt her eyes.

  “Father . . . but how? They . . . they said you faded.”

  “Faded,” he bellowed, his voice a blast of hot air that shook the leaves from the trees. “And you believed them, you foolish chit? Only the weak fade. I was murdered.”

  Syrena came unsteadily to her feet. “Murdered, but how? Who would do such a thing?” Using the oak for support, she tried to control the trembling that began at the top of her head and moved to the tips her toes, but it did no good.

  “Juice from the Rowan tree.” He spat out the words as if they were the poison he’d swallowed. “The angels forbid me from telling you who did the deed, but my death will be avenged, of that I am assured.”

  Syrena didn’t know what shocked her more. The fact her father appeared to be in the company of angels, or that he had been murdered. Her fierce and powerful father brought down by the juice of a berry.

  She swallowed before she made her heartfelt offer. “I will avenge you, Father.”

  He gave a contemptuous snort. “You . . . avenge me?”

>   Her cheeks heated. “If not me, then whom?”

  His gaze softened, a faraway look in his eyes. “My son.”

  “But . . . but you have no son,” Syrena protested quietly, afraid to draw his wrath.

  “Ah, but I do. The angels have shown him to me.” His handsome face crumpled. “If only I had known whilst I lived, but no, even that they took from me, hiding his essence so I would not learn of his existence.”

  Never before had Syrena seen her father grieve, but it was obvious he did so now—for his son. Her chest ached. How could a child he’d never known hold a place of honor in his heart? What was wrong with her that she could not?

  “Hold out your hands,” he demanded.

  Startled, Syrena looked up at him. She rubbed her damp palms against her pale pink robes then complied with his wishes. She commanded her hands to remain steady, but they trembled nonetheless.

  Her father shook his head and cursed. “I cannot think why they chose you for this task,” his tone scathing as his gaze raked her from head to toe. “Hardly bigger than a sprite, and afraid of your own shadow.” It wasn’t true. Only her father frightened her, her father and the Fae men, but she had good reason to be afraid.

  “Fools, that’s what they are.” He stumbled as though pushed.

  Syrena gritted her teeth to keep her chin from quivering and blinked away the moisture that gathered in her eyes. If the angels had chosen her for the task, he had no right to deny her.

  King Arwan lifted the Sword of Nuada. She gasped as sunlight glinted off the precious stones embedded in the hilt, sending out a rainbow of light.

  He placed the golden sword in her hands and she staggered under its weight. It took every ounce of her strength to hold it steady. A warm glow seeped through her hands and up her arms. It was as though the sword was alive, imbuing her with its magick. For the first time in Syrena’s life she felt powerful, fearless.

  She stood tall and lifted her gaze to her father. “What is it you would have me do?” she asked with a confidence she didn’t know she possessed, at least in her father’s presence. King Arwan appeared as surprised as she was. Syrena knew then that she would never give up the golden sword.