Shimmer

by Sharon Ashwood

  Ronan didn’t reply in words. He kissed her, softly at first and then with growing urgency. She’d missed the warmth of his breath against her cheek, the slide of his tongue against hers. His touch was like coming home. As if he’d read her mind, he pulled her yet closer, and the hard, hot press of his lips crumbled the last of her doubts. She was Alana, who had faced death and brought down their enemies.

  Ronan had the power to remind her of who she truly was. They knew each other in all the ways that mattered. They knew their hearts.

  “I love you,” she finally said as she came up for air.

  The beacon wasn’t the only flame going. Alana’s entire body suddenly burned with wanting him.

  “I love you, too, my warrior.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Be my mate. I want you by my side. I want to be your partner in every way.”

  Happiness burst inside her, making her soul sing. “Yes. Always.”

  “Respect the dragon,” he said softly, “but respect his mate more, for she was strong enough to break his chains.”

  THE END

  Continue the adventure with Shatter, the second book of the Crown of Fae series.

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  Afterword

  Thank you so much for reading Shimmer. It was so much fun to write, and I hope that enjoyment made it onto the page!

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  If you’d like to get a peek at the next adventure in the Crown of Fae series, turn the page and meet the valiant—if slightly doomed—sea captain, Maxwell Stokes. He goes toe-to-toe with Tessa Harrison, a thoroughly modern woman hiding from a murderer, who also happens to be the fae king of the deep ocean…

  Shatter

  Crown of Fae Book Two

  by Sharon Ashwood

  Copyright © 2019

  Excerpt

  Dawn splintered the night as Captain Maxwell Stokes recalled exactly how bad a hangover could be.

  He sat on the deck of the Solitude, his feet propped on a crate. He wasn’t sure where the chair he’d collapsed in had come from, but it didn’t belong on the ship. He ached as if he’d been in an epic battle, although he couldn’t recall any such thing. Worse, his mouth tasted as if he’d eaten a filthy blanket—perhaps one the ship’s cat slept on right along with the rats that were her meals.

  On the positive side, he’d had a glorious time at his sister Lisette’s wedding—or what he could remember of it. The scatter of bottles, discarded pipes, and the sleeping crew who stretched across the deck would have to be cleared away first thing, but that would involve noise and bustle. For just a handful of seconds, he craved peace.

  The Solitude was at anchor in Margit Bay, the tiny western city-state of Pomandine stretched along the shore. The ancient buildings crowded around the harbor, with the grander houses rising along the steep mountainside behind it. High up was the castle, the white stone made rosy by the first streaks of sunlight. That was where Stokes had been born and where—someday, eventually—he’d return to claim his birthright.

  In the meantime, Lisette and her new husband would govern in his stead. It was a love match, with good sense and compatible minds to support it. The groom was from a wealthy merchant family, ideally suited to help Lisette govern taxes and trade.

  The shining happiness on his sister’s face made him long for a family of his own—but his desires didn’t matter. He commanded Pomandine’s small war fleet, and they had joined the high king’s navy in defense of the realm. Love would have to come for Stokes later—much later.

  Last night’s revelry was all the rest and recreation he would get.

  Stokes rose, stretching his limbs to warm them against the dawn’s chill. He moved across the deck, stepping carefully to avoid his sleeping men. The night sky was fading to a study in silver and pink, the scent of mountain pines on the breeze. The first of the fishing fleet was leaving the harbor, black silhouettes against the shining mirror of the sea. It was a scene that had played out every morning for a thousand years. The fleet bobbed like children’s toys beside his three-decker warship, and his chest tightened with the need to protect them.

  Lisette had accused Stokes of loving adventure more than his duty to his people, but she was wrong. He fought so Pomandine and its fishers and silk merchants, its fine ladies and picturesque streets, remained untouched. Like a madman, he’d pushed his crew to reach home in time for the celebration, but he could not linger. The enemy—the creatures they called Shades—pushed farther west with every battle.

  Stokes had no sooner finished the thought than a movement in the water caught his eye. Between two fishing vessels, a scrap of darkness rode the waves. He squinted, wishing the dawn was brighter. Cormac Manannan, the Sea King of Faery, ruled his kingdom beneath the western waters, and the dark shape might be one of his subjects catching his morning meal. While a sighting was rare, it was nothing of concern. The ocean fae were allied with the high king’s forces. And yet…

  Stokes leaned against the ship’s side, wishing he knew where his spyglass had got to. He strained for a better look, concern clearing his brain of the last fumes of wine. Something was not right.

  That was no mermaid sporting in the waves. It was a small, lean craft cutting through the water at a magically fueled speed. It headed toward the outermost edge of the scattered fishing boats. Stokes tensed, studying the scene. There was another such boat, a bit farther south. And a third. They were circling the fishermen, deadly as any sharks.

  His sour stomach, still full from the wedding banquet, nearly rebelled. He’d seen these crafts before. Shades. Somehow, they’d slipped through the cordon of warships and sailed here, to his home.

  Stokes nudged the closest sailor with his booted foot. “Wake up!”

  The man groaned, flopping to his back and shielding his eyes from the blazing sunrise.

  “Find Reynolds,” Stokes ordered. “Get him on his feet.”

  Reynolds was the first mate, well-versed in managing half-drunk sailors.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” the man moaned.

  “There are Shades in the bay,” Stokes said.

  His words were like ice water. Instantly, the man clambered to his feet and gave an awkward salute. “Sir!”

  Stokes reached for his sword, then remembered he’d taken it off for the dancing. His mind raced, calculating their chances. He had one ship, but where there was one Shade vessel, there were always dozens more. “Sound the summoning horns. We need the sea king’s aid.”

  The sailor’s eyes went wide as he took off at a run. Stokes followed, shouting orders as he went to arm himself for war. He’d barely reached his cabin when the great curving war horns sounded from high up the main mast. The growl of the huge instruments reflected from the mountainsides, echoing across the water. The waves seemed to shudder with the booming grumble, sending flocks of gulls wheeling in the air. Wisely, many of the fishing vessels turned, fleeing to the safe embrace of the harbor.

  Those farther out were in trouble. As soon as he returned to the deck, Stokes saw the enemy crafts had multiplied, closing around the fishing fleet. The enemy was too close to friendly vessels to use the ship’s cannons, so Stokes ordered archers to employ their longbows from the round platforms positioned high up the masts. A poisoned arrow to the throat could kill a Shade when little else worked.

  The archers were halfway to their positions when the first vessel went down. The Marli Jane was a modest size, but her white-and-green paint gleamed in the new sunlight. She was tacking hard to escape the Shade’s path, white sails bellied out with the morning wind. She was fast, but not
as nimble as the enemy. A ball of darkness flew through the air to land on her deck, trailing wisps of something—smoke, mist, or pure pestilence—in its wake.

  A shout of horror rose from the crew of the Solitude. They knew what the dark ball meant. Stokes had found his spyglass, and he now trained it on the Marli Jane. A stain spread from where the scrap of blackness had landed, crawling outward like a creeping mold. The deck crumbled where it touched, leaving nothing but rot and powder. The crew shrank away as the planks collapsed, and the proud sails blackened to tatters. A few jumped overboard, trusting their luck to the sea. The others clung to the vanishing boat, which eventually collapsed inward as if crushed by an invisible fist.

  Stokes lowered the spyglass. He’d seen the Shades’ magic at work before, and it had left entire coastlines bare of life. Farther inland, they’d scoured the dragons’ lands, and the farms and villages near the desert. They seemed to kill for no reason beyond the wild joy of destruction. How could he stop them here and now, on his doorstep?

  The ship’s archers fired, catching one of the dark-clad Shades through the shoulder. It was a good shot, especially since they were hard to see, hooded and hiding where the light was dim. The figure grabbed for the arrow, a gloved hand groping for the wound, but it collapsed to nothing, as if its cloak had been filled with air.

  The Solitude’s crew cheered, but the victory was small. By the time they had killed a single enemy, a dozen ships had sunk. Stokes swore a vicious oath, wishing for a human enemy he could fight hand to hand—wishing for a magic spell of his own.

  His curse was answered. Light bloomed from beneath the sea, spreading pools of violet, aquamarine, and sapphire through the water. The illumination came in wavering circles of brilliance, as if the ocean itself was waking.

  Giant crystals broke the waves, rising on spears of gleaming gold. Then the King of the Sea himself followed, riding in a sea-green chariot. Seahorses crested the storm-tossed waves. His attendants were the merrows and merfolk, the sirens and selkies. Water streamed from them in glittering sheets, pooling in a white froth that chased the fleeing boats to the shore.

  The Solitude’s sailors whistled and cheered. Some of the sea folk were beautiful, others wildly grotesque. Either way, Stokes had never seen such a welcome sight as Cormac Manannan rising in his chariot. The sea king was tall and heavily muscled, draped in sea-green robes. One hand held a jeweled trident, the symbol of his rule.

  Stokes’s heart leaped with newfound courage.

  “Your Majesty,” Stokes cried, waving from the deck. “We crave your aid to throw off these invaders.”

  “You summon me, human, according to the ancient treaties between the high king and my people?” The sea king’s voice roared with the crash of waves and the cry of gulls.

  “By the fae and by the dragon, I summon you,” Stokes replied, using the formal language of the old oaths. “By human’s sword and goblin’s hammer, I conjure you to defend the surface world. Faery is in danger, and the old alliances must rise. Help me save my people in Pomandine.”

  Silence fell over the merfolk. Then, a loud keening rose from the sea king’s attendants, as if they mourned a death. Stokes covered his ears to block the high-pitched noise. The creatures lifted bare arms to the skies, wailing until the king silenced them with a wave of one hand.

  The sound cut off abruptly. Relieved, Stokes took his hands from his ears. A bosun swore loudly, the words resonating over the water.

  “Human,” Cormac said, his voice grave. “The old oaths served an old world. One before this enemy plague.”

  Stokes gripped his brass spyglass, hands suddenly numb with dread. “What do you mean, Sea King?”

  “If I give the Shades the land, they will leave the deep waters alone.”

  Understanding slammed into Stokes. The sea king had struck a bargain with the Shades to save his own people. The Solitude was doomed. So was every fishing boat on the water—along with the men, women, and children who depended on their catch.

  Volcanic fury flared in Stokes’s veins. “You traitor.”

  Cormac Manannan ignored him, instead pointing his trident to the north. The waves lashed higher in that direction, responding to his command.

  “What’s he doing?” the bosun cried.

  Stokes wished he knew. The Shades had turned their boats in the same direction, abandoning the wreckage of the fishing fleet. “Fire on the bastards,” he ordered.

  The crew hastened to obey. Soon, the brass cannons boomed and belched, picking off the enemy’s vessels as if this were merely target practice. The Shades barely seemed interested in evasive maneuvers. The crew’s cheers started out hearty, only to fade as realization set in.

  The Shades were waiting as the sea king’s wall of water grew higher. When it towered like a great porthole above the ocean and far, far taller than the Solitude’s highest mast, Manannan lowered his trident. The sun was fully up now, and the shining, churning disk of water glistened in the sun like a silver platter. Like a mirror.

  Stokes almost fell to his knees in horror. He knew little of Shade magic, but he knew of the spell called the Shimmer. It worked on the principle that two reflective surfaces could form a doorway between locations or even worlds. The sea king had just made the biggest mirror ever, and Stokes would wager his best sword one of those Shade crafts held a sorcerer.

  He was correct. The giant disk of water turned ink black, and a flotilla of Shade warships sailed through the Shimmer. These weren’t the small, sleek runabouts that had attacked the fishermen, but massive ships with two and three decks, bristling with cannon.

  “Fire on them,” Stokes cried, wasting no time rallying his crew.

  Even as he gave the order, his thoughts spun. With the sea king’s help, the Shades had found a shortcut to the west of Faery. The innocent lives that had been safe yesterday were all but lost. Stokes gulped for breath, suddenly finding it hard to get air. Had he somehow invited this disaster by leaving his post for the wedding? Had he failed in his duty? The idea was emotionally true, but logically ridiculous. He hadn’t caused this, but the fact he’d taken a moment for pleasure savaged him with razor claws.

  There was no more time for guilt. The Solitude’s guns fired, punching holes high in the deck of the nearest Shade vessel. It was all but futile—the odds were wildly against them—but defiance was all they had left.

  Until they lost even more. The King of the Sea struck the waves with his trident, and the earth began to shake. Stokes spun to face the shore—to face Pomandine, where his sister and her new husband slept in their castle bedroom high on the mountainside. The city was his childhood, his anchor, his once and future home.

  The three Shade warships had fanned out, training their cannons on the city. For a panicked moment, Stokes wondered if the Solitude was in the line of fire, but then realized they would miss the ship on either side. Then, as the three ships fired their cannons, Stokes wished he’d already been blown to smithereens.

  There were no lead balls, no volleys of shot, but the guns fired something he couldn’t see. It hit with a clap that sent the crew staggering as the ship pitched in response. Then, with an indescribable thunder of falling stone, the whole of the mountainside that held Stokes’s world slid into the sea, taking the piers and harbor with it. Boats crumpled beneath the avalanche. Pillars of dust rose to the clouds. Even through the crash of destruction, Stokes could hear his people screaming.

  Within seconds, there was nothing but bare mountainside and rubble. It looked as if a god had wiped the rock face clean. The crew of the Solitude fell deathly silent. Even the sea king and his people remained still as statues—at least for the moment it took to understand what had happened.

  Then the wave came. A city had fallen into the ocean. All the displaced water had to go somewhere. The sea king plunged beneath the waves, fleeing to safety with his people. The Shade ships vanished into a tower of water, but the Solitude seemed to catch the crest, rising higher and higher as the ship was
hurtled back toward the Shimmer.

  Perhaps it was the sea king’s magic that kept them from capsizing. Stokes didn’t know, but he would seize this chance to retaliate. He grabbed the tiller, steering straight into the portal the Shades had used.

  “Captain.” The helmsman clutched his arm. “What are you thinking?”

  The man had no right to question his superior, but Stokes answered anyway. “Tell the gunners to fire every barrel of powder in the hold once we hit the Shimmer. Sacrifice is the only duty we have left.”

  It was a fancy way of saying they were about to die.

  Click to keep reading Shatter.

  Also by Sharon Ashwood

  Crown of Fae Series

  Flicker

  Shimmer

  Shatter

  Smolder

  Quake

  Dark Forgotten Series

  Ravenous

  Scorched

  Unchained

  Frostbound

  Gifted

  Fragile Magic (short story)

  Camelot Reborn series

  Enchanted Warrior

  Enchanted Guardian

  Royal Enchantment

  Enchanter Redeemed

  Horsemen series

  Possessed by a Warrior

  Possessed by an Immortal

  Possessed by a Wolf

  Possessed by the Fallen

  Dragon Lords novellas

  Lord Dragon’s Conquest

  Valkyrie’s Conquest

  Audiobook

  Enchanted Warrior

  Corsair’s Cove miniseries

  Kiss in the Dark