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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca

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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.
He narrowed his eyes on her before he spoke. “You will seek out your brother and bring him back to the Enchanted Isles, where he will take his rightful place as king.”
She stiffened. “But I hold the sword. You gave it to me. I’m as much your heir as he is,” she protested.
“A woman cannot lead, especially one as weak as you. My choice is made. You will find your brother and relinquish the sword.”
No, not the sword
, she wanted to cry out, but instead asked, “How? I don’t know who or where he is?”
Her father’s massive warrior’s body shimmered then faded. Particles of gold dust danced in the sunlight. The deep rumble of his voice echoed through the trees. “His name is Lachlan MacLeod. He lives in the Mortal realm on the Isle of Lewis. Find him, Syrena, and bring him home.”
The unfairness of his edict was painful and she vowed to prove to her father that she, too, was worthy of his love. To find Lachlan, a brother who would assuage the loneliness she’d endured since the loss of her mother. They were family. They would love and protect each other. A sense of purpose surged through her at the thought, and she raised the sword high above her head. This was her destiny.
She would not falter.
She would not fail.
She would retrieve her brother, and
together
they would rule the Isles.
Chapter 2
No one could deny her the right to rule now, Syrena thought, shifting the weight of the golden blade as she strode along the well-worn path through the forest. There would be no humiliating tests, no aspersions cast against her strength or her abilities. She would be Queen of the Isles.
A niggling of guilt slipped inside the bubble of her happiness that her life-long dream had come about as a result of her father’s death. She still had a hard time believing he had been murdered. Not that someone had wanted him dead—her father was a brutal dictator—but that they’d succeeded. She had come up with a long list of suspects, but her duty was to find Lachlan MacLeod, the brother she never knew existed. And until her quest was complete, the mystery of her father’s murder must wait to be solved.
She shuddered at the thought her journey would take her to the Mortal realm. But no matter how difficult, she would find a way to complete the task her father had set out before her. Her father and the angels, she reminded herself, still uncertain why the heavenly beings had chosen to get involved.
Standing at the base of the mountain, she looked up at the palace gleaming in the late afternoon sun, a shimmer of white light nestled among the highest peaks. Her gaze tracked the long, winding steps carved into granite. A steep and treacherous path to her home—one the Fae men used often to keep their powerful physiques battle-ready.
Anxious to test her newfound strength, she began the trek up the mountain. Stunned by the strength in her limbs and her stamina, Syrena couldn’t help but wonder if her magick had improved as well. Deciding to find out, she widened her stance and prepared to transport herself. She closed her eyes and pictured her chambers as Evangeline had instructed a hundred times before, murmuring the appropriate words.
Crash. Crack. Thud.
“Ouch.” She rubbed her bottom, and with a defeated sigh crawled from beneath the overgrown prickly bush just below the castle walls. It seemed not even the Sword of Nuada’s powerful magick had the force to overcome her disability.
Wide-eyed, two of the royal guardsmen watched as she pulled a branch from her hair and straightened her crown. “Princess, is something amiss?” the younger of the two asked.
“No, of course not, just checking our defenses,” she informed them airily.
The older guardsman, one well acquainted with Syrena, was about to laugh until he spied the Sword of Nuada. “Your highness.” He bowed low, his tone respectful, and the younger man followed suit. “Allow us to escort you, my lady.”
“No, thank you, I do not wish to take you from your duties.” She smiled, her disappointment over her failed magick subsiding somewhat at their show of respect.
As she crossed the courtyard on her way to the palace, she heard Rainer’s voice raised in anger. “If I see you in my stables again, I’ll send you to the Fae of the Far North, where they eat children such as you for breakfast. Now, get out of my sight!”
A small child in a mud brown robe was shoved through the door. The little girl tripped and fell to her knees before Syrena could reach her. Tear-filled blue eyes peered through a cloud of blond curls.
She recognized the angelic face immediately. As the Fae did not conceive easily, the Isles were not overrun with children, so it was not a difficult task. And Syrena made it a point to know them all. “Aurora, are you hurt?”
A tear slid down the little girl’s cheek and the anger simmering inside Syrena erupted. “Rainer, come here!”
The door to the stable crashed open and he slammed out. “What do you—” Catching sight of her sword, he came to an abrupt halt. Color leeched from his long, angular face. “Your . . . your highness,” he stuttered, bowing low.
Aurora scooted behind Syrena, and she reached down to give the silky head a reassuring pat. “If you ever touch a child in that manner again, I will see you charged.”
His jaw dropped. “She’s a servant’s whelp. I can’t be charged with anything.”
He was right, but it was a law she meant to change.
“She’s a child, Rainer, an innocent child who deserves to be treated with kindness, who deserves to be protected.” Syrena was disgusted by his behavior, but not entirely surprised. Fae men treated both women and children abominably, her father was a perfect example. She often wondered if the men of the Enchanted Isles simply followed King Arwan’s lead, or if their cruelty was an inherent flaw in their makeup. “Children are a gift to be cherished.” And she was determined to protect each and every one of them, noble and lowborn alike.
Rainer kept a watchful eye on her blade. The sword shimmered with the fiery glow of the setting sun. Gritting his teeth, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Satisfied with his apology for now, Syrena waved him off. “That will be all. Come, Aurora, let us check on Bowen,” she said, slanting a pointed look at Rainer before he fled to his companions, who had been watching the entire exchange. He wouldn’t dare harm Bowen now, not with her elevated status.
As she took Aurora’s small hand in hers, she caught a glimpse of Rainer. “Oh,” she gasped. The stable hand now sported a long white tail. She glanced at the little girl, her baby finger crooked in the air. “Did you do that?”
Aurora grinned and nodded.
Syrena sighed. Even at the tender age of four, the child—a servant’s child at that—surpassed Syrena’s level of magick. “Perhaps you should undo the spell, little one. I think he’s learned his lesson.” He
was
a horse’s ass, but since she had taken him to task in front of his friends, it might not be wise to embarrass him further.
Confused by his companions’ burst of laughter, Rainer glanced behind him, but Aurora had already reversed the spell.
Once Syrena had assured herself Bowen had been well groomed and fed, she insisted the little girl leave the stable with her.
It was obvious the child had no fear, but Syrena could not rid herself of her own concern.
“Aurora, I need you to promise me you won’t come to the stables by yourself.”
The little girl’s bottom lip quivered. “But I have no one to bring me. Mama is always busy at the palace, and . . . and my grandmama faded.”
She crouched beside Aurora. “I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother. Who looks after you now?”
Aurora shrugged.
Syrena schooled her features to hide her pity. All children deserved the same love and protection she’d received from Helyna. “Why don’t we find your mother and see if we can work something out?”
Several years ago, two of the servants’ children had stepped into the path of Arwan’s lethal blade and died on the training field. From that point on, Syrena had been consumed with the desire to make certain it never happened again. But when she approached her father with her suggestions, he had simply laughed at her and held her up to the council for ridicule. A council made up of noblemen who had fathered most of the children she was trying to protect.
When a few months later a child went missing, Syrena, despite her father’s promise of punishment if she disobeyed him, spent her days caring for the children. Her father had found out and beaten her, keeping her under guard until he was certain of her submission. But now, thanks to her sword, she could make the changes she wished to.
As Syrena came to her feet, she caught Aurora eyeing the golden blade with interest and smiled. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
The little girl tentatively touched the jeweled hilt. “What’s his name?”
“Ah, the Sword of Nuada.”
Aurora giggled. “You can’t call him that.”
“No?”
Aurora adamantly shook her head, flaxen curls bouncing. “No, he needs a real name.”
Syrena tapped a finger to her lips, pretending to mull over the child’s suggestion. “Hmm, I’m having a hard time coming up with one. Why don’t you give it a try?”
Aurora nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. “Nuie. He wants you to call him Nuie.”
“He does, does he?” Syrena chuckled. “All right, Nuie it is.”
As they approached the doors to the palace, Morgana burst through them. Her stepmother’s eyes widened. “So it’s true.” She jerked her shocked gaze to Syrena’s. “Come, we have much to discuss. We’ll go to my anteroom.”
“Morgana, I need to speak with Aurora’s mother first and—”
“Who is Aurora?” Noting the child’s presence, she waved her bejeweled fingers. “Nessa will see to her.”
Nessa was the last person Syrena would have see to a child’s care. The woman had been her mother’s handmaiden. Her devotion to Helyna had been undeniable, but she’d never hidden her dislike of Syrena, a dislike that had intensified upon her mother’s death.
“I’d rather do it myself. I will meet you—” Before she could finish, her stepmother had grabbed hold of Aurora and dragged her across the marble floor.
The servants hurrying about their duties came to an abrupt halt. They gaped at Syrena then bowed low. She imagined they were more than just shocked she held the sword, they were afraid. Afraid she would not be up to the task. She didn’t blame them.
Now that she was within the palace walls, the enormity of what she faced weighed heavily upon her. She reminded herself of all the good she could do, and thanks to the Sword of Nuada, she was no longer the fearful weakling they thought her to be.
Two of the servants pushed Anna, Aurora’s mother, toward Morgana, who in turn shoved Aurora at the woman. Syrena rushed forward. “Really, Morgana. I’m sorry,” she apologized to Anna.
“What . . . what has she done?” Anna asked, her delicate features strained.
“Nothing, she’s done nothing wrong. I’m concerned for her welfare is all. I understand your mother has faded and you have no one to look after her while you’re at the palace.”
“I’m sorry, your highness, I have been unable to make arrangements as yet.”
“I’d like you to take leave of your duties for one month. If in that time you are unsuccessful in finding a solution, come to me and together we will work something out.”
“I appreciate your concern, my lady, but if I did as you ask I—”
“Anna, I will take care of it.” The lowborn were branded at birth, their powers muted. They were contracted to a life of servitude. Failure to fulfill their contract resulted in death.
Syrena crouched beside the little girl. “There now, Aurora, you and your mother can spend some time together.”
The child placed her hands on either side of Syrena’s face and looked deep into her eyes. Aurora’s blue eyes swirled with a multitude of vibrant colors. Mesmerized, Syrena could not draw her gaze away. The little girl leaned into her. A lyrical voice—not the child’s—whispered, “Darkness awaits you in a realm not of your own. Carry the light with you or all will be doomed.”
Taken aback by the foreboding message, Syrena took a moment before she registered Anna’s panicked cry, “No, Aurora, stop!”
Anna jerked her daughter away from Syrena. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, your highness.”
“No, it’s . . . it’s all right.” Shaken from the experience, Syrena came slowly to her feet. Aurora smiled up at her as though nothing was amiss. Her eyes had returned to their normal color.
Before she could question Anna, Morgana tugged impatiently at her arm. “Syrena, we cannot afford to waste any more time. Come!”
She released an exasperated sigh. “All right, I’m coming. Anna—” She turned from her stepmother to speak to the servant, but the woman and her child were nowhere in sight. Syrena would deal first with Morgana then go in search of Anna. She needed to know if it was the first time Aurora had exhibited such behavior. Considering her mother’s reaction, she thought not.
“I understand you have questions, Morgana, but—” Syrena began when her stepmother closed the door to her anteroom behind them.
Morgana cut her off, “We have to come to some form of agreement before Erwn and Bana learn you have the sword.” She gestured to a purple velvet settee decorated with jeweltoned pillows. The room was as vibrantly alive with color as her stepmother.
“What kind of agreement?” Syrena frowned, sinking into the sumptuous cushions.
Fixing her with a hard, uncompromising look, Morgana said, “Do you really think you can rule on your own?”
A part of her wanted to protest her stepmother’s audacity to ask such a question, but how could she when she wondered the same thing?
“Syrena, please, your intelligence will only take you so far. And the sword, while I’m certain it will add much to your standing with the Fae, it’s not enough. I propose we rule the Isles together.”
She raised her hand before Syrena could refute her statement about the sword. It did much more than simply add to her standing. “Before you refuse, I think you should consider what would happen if the Fae were to learn how limited your magick truly is.”
She nearly dropped the cup Morgana handed her. Syrena’s fingers trembled and tea sloshed over the rim. She gripped the fragile porcelain with both hands in an attempt to hide her panic. Her stepmother didn’t know the truth. She couldn’t. “Why do you say that?”

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