Warrior of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  Syrena waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t do it alone. None of it would have been possible without you and your sisters, or the other women who fight with us.”

  “I know, but it’s you who lead us.”

  “And I thank Uscias every day for his guidance.” A flash of red shot between her fingers and Syrena laughed, patting her sword. “And you, too, Nuie, I haven’t forgotten about you.” The red glow turned golden, indicating Nuie’s pleasure at her praise.

  “How is Uscias?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been busy seeing to Aurora’s training. It seems like forever since I last saw him, but I hope to spend a few days with him once the new recruits are settled.”

  “You should go now. We can—” Fallyn’s lips pursed in a grim line as she looked over Syrena’s shoulder.

  Syrena shifted in the saddle to see what had drawn her friend’s attention.

  “Nessa.” She acknowledged the older woman while tightening her hold on Nuie. Morgana’s handmaiden did little to disguise the fact that she disliked her. Not that it had ever been any different, but it seemed to Syrena that Nessa’s dislike of her had intensified of late. She thought her growing influence over the Fae most likely the cause.

  Nessa sneered then thrust a rolled parchment bearing King Rohan’s red seal toward Syrena. A flicker of unease stirred to life inside her. They had been skirting her uncle’s authority for some time now and it seemed he meant to take them to task over the matter.

  “Why didn’t Morgana open this?”

  “Because your uncle chose to send it to you, instead of to the rightful Queen.”

  Syrena ignored her comment and carefully unraveled the scroll. She scanned King Rohan’s missive. Looking up to meet Fallyn’s questioning gaze, she said, “We’ve been called before the Seelie court and this time my uncle will not tolerate our absence.” She turned her attention to Nessa. “You’d best tell my stepmother to make the necessary preparations. We depart within the hour.”

  “My Queen answers to no one. She will call her council together and decide how to respond after they have considered the matter.”

  Syrena leaned over Bowen’s flank. “You will tell my stepmother to prepare herself now. I will not risk my warriors in a battle with King Rohan, King Broderick, and King Gabriel simply because of some petty machinations on Morgana’s part.”

  “How dare you think to dictate—”

  “You go too far, Nessa. See to your mistress. We leave on the hour.”

  Fallyn shuddered after Nessa departed in a bluster of smoke and light. “That woman turns my blood cold.”

  Syrena absently stroked Nuie. “She does the same to me.”

  “You did well. I wouldn’t have guessed,” Fallyn reassured her. “So, you can’t put your uncle off any longer?”

  “No, to do so would be pure folly. We are a formidable opponent, but not if the three of them join forces against us as they appear ready to.”

  Fallyn looked past her to the line of oaks swaying in the gentle breeze. “Broderick will be there?”

  “Yes, I’m certain he will be. Is there anything you’d like me to say to him? I can deliver a missive if you’d rather.”

  Fallyn’s gaze met hers, and Syrena noted the sadness in her eyes. “No, I’ve been here close to a year and he hasn’t cared enough to inquire into my well-being.”

  “He’s a fool for letting you go without a fight. You’re an incredible woman, Fallyn, and if he’s too stupid to realize that, you’re well rid of him.”

  “Thank you, you’re a good friend.” She gave Syrena a hug. “Good luck.”

  “I think I’ll need more than luck unless you’d like to render my stepmother speechless for the duration of our visit.”

  “Morgana.” Syrena nudged her stepmother toward the massive gilded doors leading into the chambers where her uncle and the Seelie court awaited them. “Stop stalling. We’re already late and I doubt the grand entrance you hope to make will have the desired effect. And please, could you at least try to be civil to the servants.”

  Syrena smiled at the royal guardsmen, who bowed low as a measure of their respect.

  Morgana whirled to face her, her ice blue robes swirling about her ankles. “Why should I? Princess Syrena this, Princess Syrena that, all of them bowing and scraping in your presence as if I, the Queen, were nothing more then your minion.”

  Syrena suppressed a smile. “You’re exaggerating. They offered you the same courtesies they extended to me.”

  Morgana narrowed her gaze, then tossing her glossy black mane, barked a command for the guards to announce them.

  Syrena took a steadying breath and smoothed her hand over the creamy satin robes threaded with gold. Riana, Fallyn’s youngest sister, had outdone herself. By mutual agreement, the three women had taken over for Evangeline, and Syrena didn’t know how she would have managed without them. Determined to make sure Morgana would never learn just how limited Syrena’s magick truly was, they readily participated in the subterfuge. So much so, that her stepmother had begun to believe Syrena’s abilities were no less than anyone else’s.

  Not that Morgana could use her lack of magick against her—not any longer. As far as the rest of the Fae from the Enchanted realm were concerned, Syrena was their true Queen. She knew she had Uscias and Nuie to thank for their acceptance.

  Her dream of claiming a place in her people’s hearts had come to pass. But there was an emptiness inside her, a deep void she seemed unable to fill. She did her best to ignore the dull ache, putting it down to her inability to fulfill her father’s last wish—her quest, a quest that had been doomed from the very beginning. Lachlan, like his brother, wanted nothing to do with the Fae. She reasoned it was for the best. The last thing she wanted to do was hand over Nuie.

  “Syrena,” her stepmother hissed, her silver bracelets clinking as she motioned for her to enter. Syrena knew Morgana only wanted her to go first in case of an assassination attempt. She would be the first to fall, and her stepmother would be able to make her escape.

  Pausing beneath the intertwined branches of white ash trees, Syrena withdrew Nuie from the silken sheath strapped to her back. Her eyes adjusted to a hall awash in a crystal clear light. Sprites, with lanterns in hand, flitted from the branches that formed a high ceiling. Her uncle sat at the head of a marble table on an intricately carved throne of white ash.

  A hush fell over the room, the only sound the gentle burble of water spurting from the iridescent blue fountains that fed the waterways lining the outer edges of the chambers. Pink and purple flowers floated peacefully on the turquoise waters. But the men and women surrounding the marble table looked anything but peaceful. They looked furious—with her.

  Her uncle’s topaz eyes gleamed as brilliantly as the jewels on Nuie’s hilt. He rose from his throne, waving off the caustic muttering directed at Syrena. Two of the guards he motioned for hesitated before coming to her side, their expressions apprehensive.

  “It has been a long time, my dear, and as you have never before graced us with your presence, I will not take offense that you have broken an ordinance by carrying your weapon within our hallowed hall. Please, give your sword to my men.”

  “As if we would hand over our greatest treasure to you, Rohan.” Her stepmother’s voice was frosty enough to coat the branches in ice. Leaving Syrena to deal with their transgression, Morgana pushed past the guards to take her place at the far end of the table. The gilded legs of her chair scraped across the marble floor, punctuating the glacial silence.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle, but Morgana does have a point. I’m afraid I must refuse your request. But you have my word I will not use my sword.” With that said, she sheathed Nuie.

  Her uncle regarded her for a long moment. “You’ve changed, Syrena.” He bestowed a kiss on her cheek and waved off the Welsh King’s angry objection. While he led Syrena to a chair beside Morgana, he said, “Enough, Broderick, I trust my niece to keep her word. Besides, we have no time to waste.”


  Fallyn’s betrothed slouched in his chair and eyed Syrena with unmitigated rage. His black gaze glittered like polished agate.

  A deep rumble of laughter to Syrena’s left drew her attention. “Do you really think your evil looks will have any effect on the woman, Broderick? It is said she eats men such as us for breakfast.” The rakish smile King Gabriel of England’s Fae sent Syrena was lethal when combined with his beauty. He had the look of an angel, which considering how long he’d been king of England’s Fae, was not surprising.

  “Don’t waste your time trying to charm her, Gabriel. She’s not referred to as the Ice Queen for no reason.”

  From the corner of her eye, Syrena noted the angry flush staining Morgana’s cheeks. Certain her stepmother was about to explode, she quickly interceded, “As interesting as your observations may be, I thought it was a matter of grave importance for which we have been called before you.”

  “You’re right, Syrena, it is. We—”

  “Want our women back!” Broderick slammed his fist on the table and it rattled with the force of his rage. The servant who filled the heavy gold chalices with wine gave a startled yelp and jumped back, spilling the contents onto Broderick. His hair and black leather jerkin saturated with the thick, syrupy liquid, he shook his head in disgust. “This is what happens when men are forced into the roles of women. Now make our demands, Rohan.”

  No wonder Fallyn left him, Syrena thought.

  “I was about to, Broderick. Morgana, Syrena, the exodus of our women to the Enchanted Isles must cease. We—”

  “Cease . . . cease!” the raven-haired king bellowed. “No, they must be returned posthaste.” Broderick shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor.

  “Syrena, no,” her uncle ordered as she was about to withdraw Nuie. “Broderick, sit, I will make this one last allowance to your conduct on account of Fallyn, but it will be the last.”

  Slowly Syrena removed her hand from Nuie’s hilt and focused on her uncle. “The women come to us because they’ve been mistreated. I think I can speak for both Morgana and myself when I say we will not force them to return simply because you find yourself in need of servants.”

  The last thing Syrena wanted to do was turn the women away, but even she had to admit they grew overcrowded. And some of the women, if she was honest, quite a few, had left for no other reason than they felt unappreciated. While a part of her understood the sentiment, even sympathized, they couldn’t go to war on account of it.

  She raised her hand when once more Broderick shot to his feet. “To show our good intentions, from this day forward we will attempt to ascertain if a woman has just cause to seek sanctuary. If you would be patient, I am certain most of the women will return to their homes of their own free will.”

  Morgana grabbed her sleeve and hissed, “What are you doing?”

  Her stepmother had agreed to let Syrena do the talking while they were at court, but obviously she’d reached her limit. Syrena lowered her voice. “We cannot continue to go on as we are, Morgana. Our numbers are such that we can barely sustain those we have.”

  “Princess Syrena is right—over the last several weeks many of our women have returned. I say we wait. We cannot afford to allow this to come between us, not with the threat of war hanging over our heads,” Gabriel said reasonably.

  “Who threatens us?” Morgana demanded.

  “We have heard rumors that King Magnus and King Dmitri seek to join forces. Magnus because of his defeat at Syrena’s hands, and Dmitri on account of Broderick stealing his wife.”

  “Stole his wife?” Broderick snorted. “She was more slave than wife. He nearly killed her. You wouldn’t treat an ogre as badly as he treated Shayla.”

  Syrena glanced at the harsh lines of Broderick’s profile. For all that he had hurt her friend, Fallyn never forgot how her betrothed had gone to her sister’s rescue.

  “I believe those incidents are little more than an excuse to come after our Hallows, and if not our treasures, the wizards who created them. Uscias, Morfessa, Esras, and Murias are in danger as well.” Rohan’s gaze came to rest on Syrena. “The reputations of you and your women warriors precede you, my dear. We ask that if the time comes, you will join forces with us.”

  Her uncle’s request was testament to how far Syrena had risen in the Fae’s esteem. She smiled. “Of course.”

  Broderick’s fingers curled around the chalice in a white-knuckled grip, and he lifted his gaze to Syrena. “But only if Fallyn does not ride with you. I will not see her harmed.”

  “I’m pleased that you’re concerned for Fallyn’s welfare, King Broderick, but perhaps it would be best if you took the matter up with her. Although I doubt you will meet with much success. She’s one of my finest warriors if that helps alleviate some of your worry.”

  Her uncle silenced Broderick’s dark mutterings with a firm shake of his head. “Thank you, Syrena. Now with that settled, there is another matter of grave import we must deal with. Gabriel, perhaps it would be best for you to explain it.”

  The man’s easygoing, flirtatious manner changed instantly, his sublime features drawn into a cold, expressionless mask. “Over the last month, five of my men have disappeared in the Mortal realm. There are rumors circulating that black magick is involved. I’ve used every means at my disposal to recover them, but as yet have been unsuccessful.” He stared darkly into his chalice.

  Her uncle reached over and patted his arm. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, Gabriel.” He nodded to two of the royal guards and they quietly left the room. “As a precautionary measure, the portals to the Mortal realm will be closed until further notice.”

  “You may wish to give our people some notice, Rohan. Since our women are in short supply, my men have been taking their pleasure with the Mortals,” Broderick informed her uncle.

  Syrena pressed a hand to her stomach to settle the nauseating roil. Were she and Morgana responsible for other Mortal women being at the mercy of Fae men intent on assuaging their lust? Even if they had to use magick to do so, as her father had done to Aidan and Lachlan’s mother?

  “You know my feelings on that, Broderick. If I find any of the Fae have used magick to seduce the Mortals, they will suffer the consequences.”

  Her uncle was an honorable man, and he made Syrena proud to be his niece. She couldn’t help but wonder how two brothers could be so different. Her uncle would have made a wonderful father, and she thought it sad he never married.

  Broderick rolled his eyes. “As if they need magick to seduce the Mortals. The women cannot resist them.”

  Syrena gritted her teeth. She’d had ample opportunity to witness Mortal women throwing themselves at a man simply because he was beautiful. Aidan and Lachlan were perfect examples. Remembering her own response to Aidan, Syrena thought she should refrain from passing judgment.

  Her uncle withdrew his stern gaze from Broderick when the doors to the hall opened. He motioned for someone to enter. Morgana looked over her shoulder and released a horrified shriek. “What is she doing here? You harbor a viper in your midst, Rohan.” Her face mottled with rage, Morgana’s nails dug into Syrena’s arm. “Do something! She killed your father.”

  Her uncle, a hand to his brow, shook his head. “Evangeline did not kill my brother, Morgana. She is guilty of nothing. She looked after my niece’s welfare at my behest, that is all. I have asked her here to share her insights into the matter before us. We must ascertain what we are dealing with in the Mortal realm. We need to learn if someone has one of the Grimoires and attempts to release the dark lord using the spells contained within the book. Although we can account for three of them, two are missing.”

  Evangeline stood between Gabriel and Rohan. With her head bowed, her long, mahogany tresses shielded her expression from Syrena. She wouldn’t look in their direction, and a wave of grief welled within Syrena. She missed her friend. Seeing her now brought back the depths of despair she’d felt when Evangeline abandoned her.

&nb
sp; But Syrena understood how it felt to be the subject of the Fae’s derision, and wished she could comfort Evangeline as she had so often comforted her.

  “Then certainly Andora’s daughter would be the one to ask since her mother stole a Grimoire to release the dark lords against Tatianna!” Morgana snarled low in her throat. “You may be fool enough to trust her, Rohan, but I’m not and I demand she stand trial!”

  On the day her stepmother had first confronted Evangeline, Syrena had been helpless to do anything. She’d been overcome with grief, her mind in emotional turmoil. But she could do something now. Determined to protect her friend, she said, “Stop, Morgana. Evangeline did not kill my father. He named his murderer on the day he gave me the Sword of Nuada.”

  Evangeline lifted her violet-blue gaze to Syrena. Her stepmother and uncle stared at her, open-mouthed.

  Chapter 12

  The hand at the back of Aidan’s head shoved him beneath the blue-green water. Suffocated in its icy embrace, he twisted and turned in an attempt to break free. His lungs burned as though they were about to explode. He dug his fingers into the wood railing, and with a gurgled roar pushed off the side, sending the fool who attempted to drown him sprawling across the deck.

  Aidan leaned against the rail and gasped for air. His breathing eased, and he shook his head like an overgrown seal. Shoving his hair from his face, he glared at Gavin.

  “Bloody hell, have ye gone mad?” He lowered himself to the wooden planks. “Nay, doona answer, I already ken ye are.”

  “Ha, ha, our laird makes an attempt at humor, Donald. Mayhap we should have tried to drown him a ways back. To be sure, he’d have been easier to live with.” Gavin pushed to his feet, his boots sliding through the puddles of water on the deck, and he landed with a thud on his arse. He scowled at Aidan. “And just so ye ken, ye were the color of the greens Beth is always tryin’ to shove down our throats. I wasna about to have ye toss up yer accounts on board. Ye smell bad enough as ’tis.”