Moonlight (9 page)

Xander smiled at Aowyn.

The soldier bucked his head. “What’s your name?”

Aowyn drank from her cup.

Xander shook his head. “She cannot speak.”

“Cannot speak? Did we cut out your tongue in one of our glorious pillages?” The soldier leaned toward Xander. “Please tell me we didn’t cut out her tongue.” He sat up straight again. “I’m sorry if we cut out your tongue.”

Xander held up his hand. “We’ve had no glorious pillages, and no one cut out her tongue.”

A breath of relief escaped the soldier. “She’s too pretty to cut a tongue from.”

Aowyn’s nose wrinkled as she stuck out her tongue dubiously.

Xander smiled.

More soldiers joined them, and all begged for attention from their visitor. At one point Xander jokingly warned that they should be careful or the girl might literally beat them off with a stick, and quite capably. He showed them the red mark on his arm and brushed back his hair to reveal a smart bruise forming on his forehead. They agreed that such a spirited girl had been worth searching for.

Aowyn could see their spirits lifting in her presence. Yet deep down she couldn’t help feel nagging resentment. These were the enemy. She had no reason to trust them. They had been trying to take her father’s kingdom away. The Summer Isle had not seen war for generations, save for civil bouts between Underlords. All Aowyn knew of war existed in history books and her own imagination: heroic men who gave their lives for king and country, not this ragtag bunch of blaggards. They were good men, even if they were led by a murderer.

Aowyn knew she couldn’t think of Xander like that, though. She could see now that he had acted out of necessity. These men had so little. Xander had not seen Aowyn’s brother and shot him on sight— he had seen prey and acted accordingly. How unfortunate that the two, swan and brother, intertwined. Her heart still ached for her lost brothers, and for that she could not let go of the fact that Xander had indeed been cause of their demise. She knew if she wanted to avoid having it happen again, she would have to help them find food. That meant more than just pointing them in the right direction. It meant dealing with Ciatlllait.

***

Ciatlllait prostrated herself before the Fomóraiġ and Sluagh shadows on the wall. Her fingers moved like spiders on the floor, hovering over the stone and dancing on fingertips. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her mouth opened. “A child.”

She inhaled deeply and let out a hiss. “Give me a child.”

The shadows gathered around a figure, pushing it forward. Ciatlllait raised her arms over her head then threw them behind her. Her chest heaved. Her body swayed.

Sylas Mortas looked on from behind her. His teeth bore a pleasurable grin. “I will give you a child. One such the world has never seen. How terrible the creature!”

Ciatlllait licked her lips. “Give me its name.”

“Donestre.”

“He shall have the heart of a lion.”

Sylas slipped his yellow nails through Ciatlllait’s hair and pulled her head back. He brought his mouth to her ear. “Magic comes with a price, my love.”

Ciatlllait writhed to the beat of the drums only she could hear.

The form in the Fomóraiġ and Sluagh shadows took shape. It grew as tall as a man with a shaggy, square head. A lion’s roar filled the room. The form slashed through the demons, slicing off shadow heads, gobbling up shadow bodies, and weeping all the while.

“He shall be our prince,” Sylas whispered.

Ciatlllait began to moan and thrust her hips

The Donestre form charged toward her. A shadow streaked between the wall and Ciatlllait until it overcame her. Ciatlllait moved beneath it as it slowly shrank away toward her belly.

Sylas slithered over her and bit into her neck. “Loathe the spirit, consume the flesh.”

***

Aowyn stood in horror before Ciatlllait in the throne room. Ciatlllait held Aodhagáin’s withering hand on their thrones. The fire king’s mouth hung slightly ajar. Little life filled his once-golden eyes. Two streaks of white zipped through his beard like crests of foam on a sea of orange. His red hair had dulled tawny, tempered with white streaks. That’s not what had Aowyn so upset. Ciatlllait sat beside Aodhagáin smugly with the beginnings of a quickened belly.

“I am with child,” Ciatlllait announced. “I bear your king a new prince.”

Aowyn bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
No!

There could be no way it could be Aodhagáin’s, Aowyn convinced herself. Save for a spell that preyed upon a man’s basest instinct. Aowyn would not put it past Ciatlllait to do such a thing, but how could the gods allow it?

Ciatlllait rose slowly for all of the servants to see her transformed figure. “It was such a tragedy when the princes mysteriously went missing. A travesty when we searched for them and they could not be found. So we must take great joy in welcoming our new prince. What we have lost we can regain.”

The servants clapped politely.

Aowyn wanted to vomit. She bit her fist and dashed from the room.

How could she not have noticed such a thing? Had she been avoiding Ciatlllait so completely that a widening belly could be kept secret? Aowyn marched through the woods beyond An Cuan Áille toward Xander’s camp. Ciatlllait could not be allowed to bring forth the child. Sylas had said he would return Aowyn’s brothers to their former state. Crown Prince Choróin would claim the throne upon his father’s passing, as was his birthright. Aowyn only needed to keep her mouth shut for another eight-hundred moons, and this would all be over.

When Aowyn broke from the trees onto the field of Xander’s camp, she stopped to survey the men working and practicing battle skills and tactics. As she watched them, a small seed grew in her mind. Here endured an army. Aowyn and Xander’s men both needed Ciatlllait eliminated. Aowyn wondered how difficult it would be to persuade Xander’s men to aid her for their mutual benefit.

Aowyn observed Xander exercising swordplay with another soldier and making suggestions for improvement. He stayed firm with the man but encouraging. The training welcomed another soldier, and Xander instructed them both on handling more than one opponent at a time. Always be aware of your enemy. Eliminate the enemy closest to you first, or use them as a shield, and allow the other person to do the dirty work for you.

The ground was muddy. Aowyn strode toward the men. She fixed her sights on Xander. The first soldier slipped in the mud. Xander whacked the flat side of a rebated sword across the man’s back to let him know that he was done. The other soldier advanced, and Xander disarmed him, then used both swords to mock-eliminate him. He offered his hand down to the fallen soldier to help him up and sent both men away. Aowyn picked up a waster sword one of the soldiers had left behind and took up a fighting stance. Xander’s back faced her. Aowyn turned the sword, ready to strike. Several men gathered round and began catcalling, letting their commander know he had company. Xander turned and jumped as he faced the pointy end of the weapon. He placed one hand on top of the steel and the other below it, sandwiching the blade, and lowered it. When he let go, Aowyn returned to her former position and struck Xander in the chest with the flat side of the blade. She bucked her head and swayed to show him she wanted to train.

The group surrounding them thickened. Men teased Xander. They started taking bets on who would win. Xander shook his head, and drew his sword. He brushed his blade against Aowyn’s lightly. Aowyn tapped her blade against his. Xander’s men “oohed” impishly and whistled. Xander began to circle Aowyn. She watched him, poised and ready. Xander swung his blade, and Aowyn met it midair. The steel clanged. Aowyn rounded and got Xander across his back with the flat of her sword. Xander stumbled forward. Some of his men cheered and laughed. Xander steadied himself and swung again. Steel sang against steel. Aowyn sidestepped and blocked another blow. She swung quickly, but Xander deflected the attack. Aowyn remembered the times her brothers had allowed her to fight with them. She racked her brain in search of their tricks. Xander tensed as their swordplay continued. Aowyn breathed and relaxed. She had been taught that tension slows the body. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed. Aowyn moved quickly, felling two blows against Xander. He lost his balance, and Aowyn landed her foot in his thigh. Xander rolled into the mud and gave her a roguish grin. He reached out to her.

“Help me up.”

Aowyn squinted at him distrustfully.

Xander rolled his hand. “Come on. I can’t get up.”

Aowyn hesitantly offered her hand.

Xander pulled her down beside him then began to rise.

Aowyn gaped at the sun as cold dampness soaked into her bones. She rolled over to her knees and started to stand when Xander whacked her across her bottom with his sword. The men laughed.

Aowyn’s cheeks brightened. She glared at Xander. He offered her another jaunty grin. Aowyn lunged at him and swept his ankle. Xander fell forward and spit out a clump of mud. Aowyn drew her sword on him. Xander turned onto his back and held up his hands defensively. “I yield.”

Aowyn slowly lowered her sword.

Xander grabbed the flat sides of the blade and yanked, pulling Aowyn down on top of him.

The soldiers gibed and teasingly requested that the two continue their dance in private. They began to dissipate, arguing over who owed what bet to who.

Aowyn blushed furiously. She sat up and glared at a nearly-unrecognizable Xander.

Xander pried Aowyn’s sword from her and attempted to catch her hand.

Aowyn pushed away from him and wiped the mud from her palms.

Xander found his feet. He breathed quickly, excited by their bout. He stepped toward her. “Tell me your name.”

Aowyn glared at him, but deep inside she felt invigorated and secretly a little giddy. She shook her head.

Xander exhaled forcefully. “What shall I call you then?”

Aowyn placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side.

The corner of Xander’s mouth turned upward. “Peerless Paramour.”

Aowyn rolled her eyes and walked away from him. Xander followed.

“My heart’s gleam,” Xander suggested.

Aowyn ignored him. Why did he behave this way? They hardly knew each other. She stifled a smirk.

“Queen of my dreams,” Xander declared.

Aowyn paused and turned to him. Xander’s eyes widened as Aowyn strode forward. She sidled up to him and ran a finger along his jaw. Xander’s knees quaked. Aowyn knocked him over like a feather.

Xander’s hands went to his heart as if to protect it. He sighed as Aowyn walked away. “Shield maiden.”

RIGHTING WRONGS

The Summer Isle began to warm again. New life emerged. Aowyn spent her days either at An Cuan Áille with her gaze fixed on the sky, awaiting her brothers’ return, or at Xander’s camp. The soldiers respected Aowyn, and she liked them. They had made it known to Xander that Aowyn was a girl worth fighting for, and their love and loyalty grew for her with each new training fight she won against their commander. For some reason, Aowyn remained the only one Xander behaved weak against. He had no trouble besting his peers, but Aowyn got him almost every time. She was no great warrior, or shield maiden as Xander had called her, but she had tussled with her big brothers enough to hold her ground. She wondered if Xander yielded to her so often in an attempt to swoon her. She did not know whether to feel flattered or offended that he would not seriously test her.

Aowyn finally got Xander to really take her on one day. She hit him hard with rough blows and showed him she could fight as fiercely as any of his men. She was improving. But as the battle wore on, something deeper in her awakened. Feelings she had not prepared to deal with that day. They flowed through her arms and though she struck true, her proximity to Xander increased until they fought with the ricasso of their blades. Aowyn breathed hard as they paused. This had become more than just a swordfight. She dropped her blade and walked away.

Xander was dumbfounded. He sheathed his sword and marched after her.

Aowyn sat on the shore of An Cuan Áille hugging her knees to her chest and leaning her cheek upon them. She had not felt this way before. Her stomach knotted but not from the dread she often felt toward Ciatlllait. Her heartbeat felt more like uncomfortable flutters than the aching she knew for her father and brothers. She assayed this new emotion. The sun’s warmth hugged her. Aowyn scanned the sky when she heard a sudden
Honk!
She leapt to her feet and shielded her eyes against the sun.

A black speck grew larger as it barrel rolled and dove for An Cuan Áille, gliding across the still waters. Aowyn lit up with a grin. Two white swans and another black one splashed into the pond from the sky. Their wings beat on the water like the sound of applause.

Home!
Lorgaire honked.

Safe and sound,
Rógaire gurgled.

Caoin Croí swam toward Aowyn.
Sister!