Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (33 page)

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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca

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“Please, Syrena, a level two.” She arched a perfect brow. “As Queen, you will be required to use your magick—often.”
If her stepmother thought being a level two made her unfit to rule, what would she think if she knew Syrena had only achieved the score with help? A lot of help. And now, even though she carried the Sword of Nuada, her magick had not improved. Morgana was right. She would endanger both the Fae and herself. “What do you have in mind?”
With a triumphant smile, Morgana sat beside her. “I have become accustomed to wearing the mantle of Queen, Syrena, and do not wish to give up the crown. But all decisions will be made by the two of us. Besides, I know the title is of little interest to you. Your concerns lie in the changes you can make, do they not?”
She nodded. “Yes, I wish to make a difference in the lives of the women and children of the realm, Morgana.” She held her stepmother’s emerald gaze. “And if you are not in agreement with that, then I’m afraid, no matter the level of my magickal abilities, I will assume the crown.”
Morgana patted her hand. “We desire the same thing, my dear. Tonight, at the tribute to your father, we will make the announcement.”
Although painful to admit, Syrena had no choice but to agree to the compact with Morgana. She would not put the Fae at risk, and her search for her brother would take her from the Enchanted realm. At the thought of Lachlan, the dull ache in the back of her skull eased. Soon her brother would be with her. No longer would she battle the petty machinations of the court alone. Coming to her feet, she said, “I will see you, then.”
“Syrena,” her stepmother called out as she reached the door. “It will be better, you know, now that he’s gone.”
She nodded, but didn’t turn around. It would be, but what kind of daughter did that make her to admit as much?
“And, my dear, don’t think to cross me. I will let no one stand between me and the throne, not even you.”
Startled by her stepmother’s virulent tone, she glanced over her shoulder. Morgana, the rim of the porcelain teacup at her lips, smiled sweetly. Syrena might have thought she imagined the threat in her stepmother’s words if she didn’t know her so well. She suppressed a shiver of unease. She’d have to be careful to keep her quest from Morgana.
A servant met her outside the Queen’s chambers. “Your highness, Uscias awaits you in the crystal room.”
“Thank you,” Syrena said with a weary sigh.
She closed the door to the crystal room behind her. Uscias, hands clasped behind his back, turned from where he’d been looking out the floor-to-ceiling window. “I see you’ve been given the sword, princess. I thought as much.” He gestured to the white velvet divan covered in overstuffed pillows. “Sit with me for a moment. We have much to discuss.”
The ache in Syrena’s head returned, but she stifled a groan and took her place beside him. Stroking his silver beard, he focused his attention on the sword she laid across her lap.
She bowed her head. “You don’t think I deserve to carry the sword, do you?”
He placed his gnarled fingers beneath her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Of course I do. But the Sword of Nuada is a powerful weapon, we—”
Her shoulders sagged. “I was right. You don’t think I’m worthy. You want me to give him up, don’t you?”
He clicked his tongue. “You are worthy, my dear, just not ready. I only wish to keep the sword until you have spent time with me in training.”
“But my father, the angels, they gave me the weapon to aid in my quest. I am to bring my brother home.”
“I know, and you shall, but for that you do not need the sword.”
“But I do. You don’t understand, Uscias. He makes me strong, powerful. Without him, I don’t think I’m up to the task.” Her cheeks heated at the admission.
“Nonsense.” He placed her hand over her heart and tapped it. “It comes from here and here, your head and your heart. It’s always been there. Look for it.” He tapped her head. “You already have everything you require inside you. It simply awaits your discovery.”
“But my brother, how will I find him without my sword?”
“Your father told you where he is. You will find him and he will know you when you do.”
“How? We’ve never met. I didn’t know he existed until today.”
“Think, Syrena. Do you not remember the child who talked to you in your mind all those years ago?”
Her gaze flew to his, shocked by his revelation. How did Uscias know? She’d only ever told Evangeline about the little boy.
He’s a wizard, Syrena
, she chided herself.
The memory of the child’s voice echoed in her mind. She’d spent many a sleepless night worrying about him when he’d stopped communicating with her. Even after all these years, she’d been unable to forget him. Now that she knew the little boy she’d come to love was her brother, she’d let nothing stop her from finding him.
“You have a long, difficult road to travel before your quest is complete.”
“It would not be as difficult if I had my sword,” she said, unable to keep the querulous tone from her voice.
“Yes, it would, in more ways than you know. The responsibility of wielding a weapon of destruction is not to be taken lightly.” Uscias waved off her protest. “Please, your highness, it is for the best. Trust me.” He held out his hand for the sword.
She trusted him, but she didn’t want to give up the sword or the power it imbued her with. “Wait. What shall I tell Morgana? She will be furious with me for giving him up.”
He gave her a long, considering look. “I see. Morgana has convinced you that you should rule together, has she?”
“Yes. Do you think I should have refused?”
“Not necessarily. Time will tell. You haven’t told her of your quest, have you?”
“No.”
“I suggest you don’t. I will be at the tribute for your father this evening, sanctifying the arrangement you and Morgana have come to. At that time I will inform the Queen and the Fae that the sword is in need of repair. It is all they need to know. As the sword was my gift to the Fae, to the heir to the throne, no one will dispute my claim. When you have returned from the Mortal realm, we will begin your training.” Uscias gestured for the blade.
When Syrena handed over the sword, she felt empty inside, as though a part of her was missing, a strong powerful piece that hadn’t existed until today. “Good-bye, Nuie,” she murmured.
“Soon,” a voice whispered near her ear. She blinked and her gaze shot to Uscias, but he was busy wrapping her sword in a thick black cloth. She pressed her fingers to her temples. It must be the ache in her head causing her to hear things.
Uscias looked at her over his shoulder. “Did you call the sword Nuie?”
She flushed. “Yes, Aurora named him for me.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Uscias, she gave me a warning earlier. I can’t explain how, but it was given in the voice of an older woman, and her eyes swirled with different colors. I think it had to do with my quest to the Mortal realm. She said something about darkness and light.”
“The child is special, princess. Heed her warning. I will see you at the tribute.” With a wave of his hand, he disappeared into a brilliant shower of colorful light.
“Princess, wake up.”
Evangeline’s insistent tone drew her from her sleep. Syrena lifted heavy lids to glance out the window. The rising sun painted the sky a delicate pink with thin ribbons of mauve, and she shuddered. Whatever had possessed Evangeline to awaken her at such an hour?
Pulling the blankets over her head, she groused, “Why must I leave so early?”
Evangeline tugged the covers down and rolled her eyes. “Because, my lady, like you, most of the Fae hate to rise before midday. If you leave now, no one will know you travel to the Mortal realm. Did you not wish to keep your quest a secret?”
“Yes . . . yes,” Syrena grumbled, throwing off the blankets. The book of the Mortal realm she had studied before she went to sleep fell to the floor with a heavy thud. She leaned over and picked it up, flipping to the page she wanted to show Evangeline. She pointed to an illustration. “As I must blend in with the Mortals, I suppose I will need a gown such as this.”
Her handmaiden grimaced.
“I know, everything about them is strange. The more I read, the more determined I am to retrieve my brother from that horrible place. Speaking of Lachlan, I meant to ask you last night if you had ever heard mention of his mother?” The servants were privy to the kingdoms goings-on, more so than the nobility, and Evangeline had been a font of information through the years.
Two bright pink spots appeared on her handmaiden’s cheeks.
“Tell me.”
“I cannot be certain it is your brother’s mother they spoke of, but they say there was once a Mortal woman who entranced your father to the point of distraction. I think she captured the Fae’s imagination because at first she refused him, not something that happened to King Arwan. She was said to be very beautiful and your father, unwilling to be denied what he wanted, took her. He didn’t care that she was married or Mortal.” Anger reverberated in Evangeline’s voice.
Syrena swallowed. “Against her will?”
“He enchanted her. His magick was stronger than her will.” Her lips thinned, her low opinion of King Arwan’s behavior obvious.
“But that’s against Fae law.”
“He was the king, princess. Who would punish him?” Evangeline said it as though she wished she could have.
“Maybe someone found a way,” Syrena murmured, thinking of the ashes on the pillow.
Evangeline’s gaze jerked to hers. “What do you mean?”
Syrena waved off her question. “Nothing.” She’d told no one her father had been murdered, and she didn’t plan to, not even Evangeline. If the murderer knew their treachery had been discovered, neither Syrena nor her handmaiden would be safe. “And you’ve heard no mention of my brother?”
“No, not ever, and your secret is safe with me. You know that, don’t you?”
She smiled. “I do. Now we have no time to waste.” Her brother needed her.
Evangeline joined her by the foot of the bed and murmured the incantation.
The tightly fitted emerald silk gown her handmaiden clothed her in caused Syrena to stumble and suck in a pained breath.
“I can’t breathe, Evangeline, loosen the ties,” she pleaded, tugging frantically at the bodice that plumped her breasts. Why couldn’t the women of the Mortal realm wear the loose robes the Fae favored?
“Princess, if I do that, the gown will not fit as it is meant to.”
With an exasperated sigh, Syrena yanked one last time on the gown and said, “Fine, I’m ready.” Not really, but maybe if she pretended she was, she would be.
Evangeline transported her to a clearing not far from Syrena’s hideaway. Standing within a cluster of stones, her handmaiden said, “Now remember, princess, you must use the standing stones to transport you between worlds. And be careful, the Mortals must never know you are Fae or they will try and steal your magick.”
Syrena arched a brow. “Then I will not be in much danger.”
The standing stones spat Syrena into the Mortal realm with such force, she landed with a hard thunk on her bottom. Sitting within the circle of granite monoliths, she swiped her hair from her eyes and glared at the gray rock towering over her. She came to her feet and rubbed her behind while she took in the barren land that seemed to go on forever. A black, angry sea crashed below the hill on which she stood, a stark contrast to the placid, azure pools of the Enchanted Isles.
Syrena wrinkled her nose. The Mortal realm was ugly and unwelcoming. And cold, she thought, when a brisk wind whipped her gown about her ankles. She lifted the hem of her skirts and wiggled her shoeless feet. Muttering beneath her breath, she searched through the long, razor-sharp blades of grass for her slippers.
Her toe connected with a rock, sending a jolt of pain up her foot.
Grumbling, she retrieved one shoe from the base of the standing stone, and slipped it over her throbbing toe. Among a clump of yellow flowers, she caught a glint of gold and gingerly tugged her other slipper free.
“Ouch!”
She sucked a pinprick of blood from her finger and glared at the thorny bush. She was tempted to return home until she thought of her brother alone in this Fae-forsaken place.
Hands on her hips, Syrena surveyed the dreary landscape. Then with a determined stride, she set off in the direction she’d mapped out earlier. Maps were not her forte so she could only hope she hadn’t turned herself around.
Several hours later, she’d tromped through so many clumps of purple she grew tired of the color. She examined her mud-soaked slippers, wishing Bowen could’ve come with her. The bitter winds cut through her silk gown, and her feet ached. Beyond weary, but determined to find Lachlan as quickly as possible, she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm and continued on.
When she came to a stand of trees, she took comfort in the somewhat familiar landscape. Birds, smaller and less colorful than the ones from the Enchanted Isles, flitted through the branches overhead. Their sweet song was music to her ears, and for the first time that day, she smiled. Perhaps all would be well.

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