Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

War of the Seasons, Book Four: The Heart
War of the Seasons, Book Four: The Heart
War of the Seasons, Book Four: The Heart
Ebook382 pages4 hours

War of the Seasons, Book Four: The Heart

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

The elf queen motioned from the two Seasons back to the elf by her side. “This is Ealis. She will accompany the Spring Prince on his journey and assist him as needed.”

“What?” Morrigann’s jaw dropped, and he tore his gaze from Ealis back to the Summer Queen. “What journey?”

His mother silenced him with a look. “A half-blood has a been found.”

Turning back to the mage, the Spring Prince found her meeting his gaze steadily, almost with a note of challenge. Her silver eyes, while maintaining the typical elvish aloofness Morrigann had come to expect over the years, narrowed as she glared, actually glared at him.

“Mother, I must object. I am the Lord of the Spring! Bringer of life. If I cannot recover a simple half-blood on my own—”

“This is no simple half-blood.”

* * * * *

This fourth book in the War of the Seasons series includes a never-before-published novella as well as ten short stories written by Spendlove and other authors, including: Bryan Young, Maggie Allen, Cleolinda Jones, Albin Johnson, and Aaron Allston. Each story is beautifully illustrated by artists Betsy Waddell, Stephanie Smith, and Dawn Murphy.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 27, 2015
ISBN9781311512642
War of the Seasons, Book Four: The Heart
Author

Janine Spendlove

Janine K. Spendlove is a KC-130 pilot in the United States Marine Corps. In the Science Fiction and Fantasy World she is primarily known for her best-selling trilogy, War of the Seasons. She has several short stories published in various speculative fiction anthologies, to include Time Traveled Tales, Athena's Daughters, and War Stories. Janine is also a member of Women in Aerospace (WIA), BroadUniverse, and is a co-founder of GeekGirlsRun, a community for geek girls (and guys) who just want to run, share, have fun, and encourage each other. A graduate of Brigham Young University, Janine loves pugs, enjoys knitting, making costumes, playing Beatles tunes on her guitar, and spending time with her family. She resides with her husband and daughter in Eastern North Carolina. She is currently at work on her next novel. Find out more at JanineSpendlove.com.

Read more from Janine Spendlove

Related to War of the Seasons, Book Four

Related ebooks

Fantasy For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for War of the Seasons, Book Four

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    War of the Seasons, Book Four - Janine Spendlove

    Janine K. Spendlove

    War of the Seasons, Book 4: The Heart

    Copyright © 2015, Janine K. Spendlove

    A Kiss to Build a Dream On © 2015 Janine K. Spendlove

    Girl © 2011, Janine K. Spendlove

    Mother © 2014, Albin Johnson

    Elements © 2014, Janine K. Spendlove

    White Flag © 2012, Janine K. Spendlove

    More Than This © 2014, Cleolinda Jones

    Why © 2014, Maggie Allen

    The World Spins Madly On © 2013, Janine K. Spendlove

    Fire and Rain © 2013 Janine K. Spendlove

    Dust in the Wind © 2015 Bryan Young

    Sunshine Girl © 2015 Aaron Allston and Janine K. Spendlove

    All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

    Publisher’s Note:

    This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

    First Printing, April 2015

    Edited and designed by Kelli Neier

    Digital cover art by Kelli Neier

    Illustrations by Dawn Murphy, Stephanie Smith, and Betsy Waddell

    Silence in the Library, LLC

    Salt Lake City, UT, United States of America

    www.silenceinthelibrarypublishing.com

    For Aaron

    Contents

    Introduction by Michael A. Stackpole

    A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Dawn Murphy

    Takes place approximately 1500 years before War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human

    Girl by Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Betsy Waddell

    Takes place approximately 18 years before War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human

    Mother by Albin Johnson

    Illustration by Dawn Murphy

    Takes place approximately 5 years before War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human

    Elements by Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Dawn Murphy

    Takes place both during the events of War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human, and several hundred years prior

    White Flag by Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Betsy Waddell

    Takes place both during the events of War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human, and several decades prior

    More Than This by Cleolinda Jones

    Illustration by Dawn Murphy

    Takes place during the events of War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human

    Why by Maggie Allen

    Illustration by Stephanie Smith

    Takes place both during the events of War of the Seasons, Book 2: The Half-blood and several decades prior

    The World Spins Madly On by Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Betsy Waddell

    Takes place during the events of War of the Seasons, Book 2: The Half-blood

    Fire and Rain by Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Betsy Waddell

    Takes place during the events of both War of the Seasons, Book 1: The Human & War of the Seasons, Book 2: The Half-blood

    Dust in the Wind by Bryan Young

    Illustration by Dawn Murphy

    Takes place during the events of War of the Seasons, Book 3: The Hunter

    Sunshine Girl by Aaron Allston and Janine K. Spendlove

    Illustration by Dawn Murphy

    Takes place several decades after War of the Seasons, Book 3: The Hunter

    Kickstarter Backers

    About Silence in the Library

    Introduction

    Creating a world is an act of incredible bravery. It’s an intimate act in which the author reveals many secrets. Each element in the world is reflective of what they find intriguing, or what they wish the real world would be like, or what they fear it is or is becoming. They show us what they think makes sense, show us how they see the world and people interacting within it. They tell us their own history and expose how they think—often without understanding that they’re doing this very thing.

    One of the reasons I love reading fiction—especially SF and Fantasy—is because I get the chance to discover new worlds. I’ve created a number of them, and have played in worlds created by other authors. Finding a new world and slipping into it is, in many ways, the ultimate spectator sport. The venue may be a tiny world, or a vast epic world, with depths hinted at which I can only explore in my imagination.

    In her War of the Seasons trilogy, Janine K. Spendlove has created a wonderful and wondrous world. She introduces us to the world through the tried and true technique of having a visitor from our world translate over to her fantasy world. It’s a technique I love, and she handles it beautifully and even mythically. After Story passes through darkness, she comes into a colorful world that blossoms before her.

    Here is the place where world creation demands true courage. By sharing her world with us, she opens it to readers. Readers come to stories trying to discover how the world works. What makes sense to Janine might not make sense to readers. They’ll hitch and wince as the world develops along lines where, in their heads, they’re thinking that just doesn’t make sense. Some will simply stop reading. A tiny splinter of readership will blog and post reviews about why the world doesn’t work.

    But the vast majority get swept up into the story and the glory of exploring this new world. This is more than an act of tourism, because we get emotionally engaged with the characters and the world. We anticipate, and take joy in our guesses being correct. When we’re not right, we look for the nuances and facts that we get to build into a greater understanding. Through this we get a good look at how the author sees not only this created world, but the real world—thus the experience of reading fiction helps us understand every day life.

    For those readers, Janine has provided a handful of her own stories to fill in details and revisit bits of her novels. I always enjoy it when an author returns home and gets to spend time with favorite characters in favored places. It has all the joy of a long-delayed reunion and the pleasure of seeing old friends. In many ways, for the author, it’s an indulgence; but one that readers are more than willing to tolerate. These tales are a perfect compliment to the novels.

    In this anthology, however, Janine provides us more. She has committed the ultimate act of bravery. She’s invited other authors into her world. When you invite authors into your world, you’re introducing serpents into your garden.

    Readers seek to understand the world.

    Writers seek ways to break it.

    I know, that sounds harsh. It’s not something most do intentionally, but it’s something we all do. By looking at a world, writers of any level constantly ask What if? or Wouldn’t it be cool? We find the things that excite us and, like the big, unruly puppies that we are, enthusiastically start playing. We don’t mean any harm by it, but, you know, a butterfly’s wings flap once in a writer’s imagination and all of a sudden a tornado is cutting a jagged swath through a world.

    Many years ago Fred Saberhagen invited me to write a story for An Armory of Swords. This anthology was set, obviously enough, in his Swords universe. At a convention, Fred handed me books and a bible with details about the swords and how they worked. He suggested I should pick a sword and write a story, which was what everyone else was doing.

    I sat down, read through the material—I’d already read a number of the novels—and the next day over coffee told him about the story I wanted to write. Which involved using two of the swords. Though, by the end, a third sword would come into play. I wasn’t trying to ruin his world, but it just seemed that those swords and their powers played so well together . . . 

    Serpents in the garden.

    Janine has invited some of the most talented and brightest serpents to write in her world, and they deliver. It’s incredibly thrilling to read the stories they’ve created. It’s the ultimate homage to and praise of a world that so many authors can generate great stories within it. It’s also a great testament to the world that stories can predate or follow the events of the novels around which it was created. It speaks to the world’s depths and strength, and promises more stories—even if they’re only the ones that we, as readers, imagine privately.

    It is also an especially great joy to read the tale which Janine has written with Aaron Allston. Aaron was a long-time friend and collaborator of mine, and through him I met Janine for the first time. Janine even attended classes that Aaron and I taught on writing at DragonCon. In 2014, she joined the staff of that same seminar track. Aaron was a mentor to her and the other authors in the book, as well as friend, and I have no doubt he’d be overwhelmingly pleased with Sunshine Girl.

    As you read through the stories by Janine, Albin Johnson, Cleolinda Jones, Maggie Allen, Bryan Young and Aaron Allston, I know you’ll get drawn immediately and deeply into them. Let yourself go. Enjoy. And then, when you’re done, before you start rereading, let yourself smile and acknowledge the bravery it took to put this collection together.

    And be thankful Janine K. Spendlove was willing to share her world with us.

    Michael A. Stackpole

    Scottsdale, AZ

    March 11, 2015

    A Kiss to Build a Dream On

    a novella

    Janine K. Spendlove

    Chapter One

    First Meetings

    "N ot again." Morrigann crouched over the dead dryad and let out a quiet sigh. Without looking away from the purple and green striped female lying prone in the autumn leaves, the Spring Prince held out his hand. Light, airy fingers brushed his gold-dusted palm as Kellian deposited an acorn there. Not just any acorn. Her acorn.

    Every. Single. Time. Standing back up, he crushed the acorn in his grasp. Why must she always do this?

    Perhaps the Autumn Princess thought you had grown overly fond of the dryad, master? Kellian began rolling the body to the water’s edge.

    "Of course I was fond of her. He scrubbed his fingers through his gold-blond hair, sending up a scattering of magic. She was brimming with life, and so very willing to share it with me. Sitting down on a moss-covered log, he pressed his violet eyes closed. Now what am I supposed to do? I have to accompany Mother for her meeting with the elves, and they always have so much iron around."

    An orange leaf drifted down onto his bare shoulder, and he flicked it off, anger and irritation wafting off of him in barely visible golden waves of power; his strength was diminished this time of the year.

    Master, that is unkind. The dryad is dead.

    "I know! Morrigann snapped. The death of any living being saddens me, but there are greater things at stake here than the life of one water nymph. Surging back to his feet, Morrigann paced in front of the log. It must be something truly dire for Mother to call me out this near to autumn. The sidhe paused and scrubbed a hand over his face. My sister has done this on purpose. She knows how weak I am, and that I need every bit of life essence that . . . er . . . "

    Alli, master. Kellian pushed the dryad’s lifeless body into the lagoon with an audible plop, where it slowly dissolved into sea foam.

    Right, Alli . . . She was always so very generous. And exuberant. And delightful. And beautiful.

    Perhaps that is why your sister killed her. Kellian walked back toward him, dusting off her hands, dark as the night sky.

    "If Autumn thinks for a moment that this will cause me to come to her, she truly is mad."

    Would you like for me to find someone else, master?

    You’ll have to. I don’t have time to seduce another dryad; my mother will be arriving shortly.

    Any preferences? The elemental was already breaking down into nothing more than a whisper of the wind.

    They just need to be alive. Making sure to stay safely away from the water’s edge, the sidhe moved up the coast to the place he was to meet the Summer Queen. And no elves. Mother wouldn’t like that.

    My dear boy, stop fidgeting. The Summer Queen’s cultured, refined voice sounded from beside him.

    I’m not fidgeting, Mother. Morrigann brushed down his short, leafy green kilt, anxious to finish this visit so they could leave and he could go back to his home. He could already feel the elves’ iron draining him, and that was despite the dwarf Kellian had somehow gotten her hands on. The hairy, brown creature had been more than happy to let the Spring Prince draw off a bit of its life essence and was now slumbering peacefully back at the cómhla that led to the elf queen’s isle. Morrigann had set his pixies to stay on watch and ensure no one bothered the dwarf. Or tried to eat it, as mountain trolls were wont to do.

    Rhiannonn grasped her son’s arm, her sepia skin contrasting with his fairer, gold-dusted complexion. Though she nearly burned him with her heat, he immediately felt better.

    Queen Eámia will be here shortly, and we will depart as soon as possible. The living wreath of summer flowers that crowned her head had wilted a touch, and despite the strength of her power, Rhiannonn could feel the iron surrounding them in Eámia’s garden draining her. Even so, the lush, verdant garden was still the most accommodating place in the elves’ capitol city of Ailes.

    Domed by a glass enclosure, it was perpetually warm and summery inside the garden, whether by magic or nature or, more likely, some mixture of the two. It provided some life for both sidhe to draw on. Still . . . the Spring Prince was paling as the minutes wore on. They would not be able to linger for long. Had she not thought this of dire importance—

    My dear friend! Queen Eámia, clad in a sleeveless, white, knee-length shift dress, with no ornamentation other than her apron of office, skipped across the paving stones to Rhiannonn’s side and pulled her into a tight hug. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting—I had to make one last-moment change. Releasing the Summer Queen, Eámia let out a decidedly un-queenly giggle when she realized they were stuck. The young queen reached out with one ebony hand to disentangle Rhiannonn’s ragged copper locks from her own elvish silver circlet of office, and then buried the offending object back into her dark mass of tightly curled hair.

    ‘Tis of no consequence, my friend. The sidhe gave the elf a brilliant smile, and her flame-filled eyes crinkled up at the corners with genuine affection toward Eámia. Though a scant five hundred years of age, the young elf queen was exuberant and had always welcomed the Summer Queen and her friendship, like her mothers before her. Though we had best get to the point as my son cannot take much more of this proximity to iron so close to autumn.

    Oh, yes. Pursing her full lips, Eámia looked behind her and motioned another elf forward.

    Curious, Morrigann craned his neck around his mother and watched as a tall, thin, dark-haired elf emerged from the trees and joined her queen. The pinwheel ailach around the new elf’s right eye signified she was a member of the dreamwalker clan, though her attire conflicted with the Spring Prince’s knowledge of that clan.

    Instead of being clad in floor-length, flowing, heavily embroidered silk robes, she wore a brown hip-length, long-sleeved robe, belted with a green sash. Her woolen trousers blended with knee-high, leather wrap boots. The elf’s hair was not short in the typical hunter fashion, though also not ornately twisted with multiple baubles and ribbons as many dreamwalkers wore. Instead, it was coiled and pinned around her head in multiple heavy braids. Her only concession to ornamentation was a carved jade flower pinned near her left ear. She carried a fur-trimmed, forest-green cloak in one hand and a quiver full of arrows in the other. If he did not know better, Morrigann would have thought her a hunter—but ailachs did not lie. This elf was a mage.

    Raising her bare arm, Queen Eámia motioned from the two Seasons back to the elf by her side. This is Ealis. She will accompany the Spring Prince on his journey and assist him as needed.

    What? Morrigann’s jaw dropped, and he tore his gaze from Ealis back to the Summer Queen. What journey?

    Rhiannonn silenced him with a simple look. A half-blood has been found.

    Ah, so there it was. Dire, indeed.

    Turning back to the mage, the Spring Prince found her meeting his gaze steadily, almost with a note of challenge. Her silver eyes, while maintaining the typical elvish aloofness Morrigann had come to expect over the years, narrowed as she glared, actually glared, at him.

    He cocked an eyebrow at her temerity and decided to push his luck. Mother, I must object. I am the Lord of the Spring! Bringer of life. If I cannot recover a simple half-blood on my own—

    "This is no simple half-blood. The Summer Queen’s voice broached no argument. You are also weakening with each passing day, and we cannot delay until you are strong again. Rhiannonn’s clipped words sliced through him with precision. You know I cannot trust your sister with this, and as I cannot go myself, it must be you. The Summer Queen quirked her wide mouth into a half-smile, her features softening as she looked at her son with genuine fondness and affection. Besides, it seems Ealis was the dreamwalker who found the half-blood, so she is insisting on accompanying you."

    You mean she refuses to reveal who the half-blood is. Morrigann inwardly seethed. This is outrageous! How dare this elfling refuse

    "Not everyone blindly trusts you, my lord. The dreamwalker’s voice was lilting in its cadence, almost girlish sounding, though it was belied by its crisp authority. Now, if you are ready?"

    Without waiting for him to respond, she turned on her heel and walked away.

    Chapter Two

    Partners

    Morrigann leapt from the small boat before it even grounded on the western shore of the channel. He deftly avoided the gently lapping water and made his way up the slow rise of the hill, only stopping once he was well clear of the salty liquid. Leaning against the sturdy oak tree behind him, he interlaced his fingers behind his head as he studied the elf below him.

    A hint of a scowl touched her round face as she hopped out of the little wooden boat and tugged it halfway onto the pebbly shore. Reaching back into the vessel, she pulled out her hunting kit and a bulging bedroll, which clearly carried other things, and swung it all onto her back.

    The mage glanced up at him then, and Morrigann smiled. He was posed against the tree in such a manner as to show off his form in the best way possible. Though he did not need or want the elf’s assistance in his quest, she wasn’t bad to look at, and if he could just get her to smile, perhaps she would turn out to be good company after all. And truth be told, he was feeling rather drained again.

    But instead of smiling at the sight of the Spring Prince on display before her, the elf’s scowl only deepened.

    Let us go, my lord. Brushing past him without a second glance, the dreamwalker left a thoroughly confused sidhe to, once again, follow after her.

    The mage maintained a blistering pace, heading due west toward the Forge Mountains and, tauntingly, in the same general direction as Morrigann’s home: a home he desperately wished he could be hibernating in at this very moment, instead of struggling to keep up with a quiet, sullen, and extremely rude elfling.

    After several hours of trudging through the autumn-chilled forest along some trail that clearly only the dreamwalker could see, Morrigann plopped down onto a log. Angling his face upward, he soaked up the meager sunlight that filtered through the already changing leaves above.

    The elf took a few more steps before whirling around. What are you doing? My lord, we must keep moving.

    I’m tired. Closing his eyes, Morrigann leaned back and felt the thrum of the life essence of the tree against his back. But it would do him no good. Oak trees were Autumn’s domain, not his. I need a moment to rest. But if you’re so anxious to be on your way . . .  Morrigann held out one shimmering golden hand and gave her one of his more demure, yet still provocative, smiles. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with charm right off. That took all the fun out of the conquest.  . . . If you would give me your hand for just a moment—

    The faerie’s eyes flew open as the elf snorted, actually snorted, and crossed her arms before turning her back to him.

    Suit yourself. Morrigann lowered his hand, resting it on his bare knee. Staring at his hand and then back at the elf, he couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow. What was going on? That had never not worked before. Was his power so weak that he couldn’t compel a simple maid to take his hand? All life was naturally drawn to him. He didn’t even have to try, normally.

    A daisy sprouted near his foot, slowly uncurling its leaves. It angled its petals toward the sun. Morrigann watched as it flourished and strengthened, growing in loveliness with each passing moment. He gave it a sad smile before getting slowly to his feet and walking over to the elf. The Spring Prince didn’t bother looking back. He knew the flower had wilted and died as soon as he stepped away.

    It’s so nice when you can be around someone and not have to talk. Morrigann broke the hours-long silence fully expecting the mage to ignore him once again. But he couldn’t help it. He was bored without even Kellian or his pixies around for company. Yes, he loved these woods as much as the next faerie, but the trees had never spoken with him. No, that honor fell to both Autumn and the elves.

    He wondered if the elves knew how fortunate they were. Immortal, magical beings, like the Sidhe, and yet, mortal; they could be killed, and more importantly, they had souls and could traverse the great expanse to rejoin the Creator and all other mortals that had gone before.

    The fey were not so fortunate.

    We will make camp here. The mage interrupted Morrigann’s maudlin thoughts. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes widened briefly, and Morrigann thought he saw a flicker of yellow in them. Surely she wasn’t concerned for him . . . 

    Yes. Morrigann looked around in the last light of the setting sun. Tall trees surrounded a small clearing, though still large enough that they would both be able to stretch out comfortably on either side of a fire, with absolutely no hint of impropriety. He frowned. This place is as good as any. Walking to the center of the clearing, Morrigann swept away the leaves there and crouched down to replace some stones around what had clearly been a fire pit for previous travelers.

    Sitting back on his haunches, he looked up at the elf as she arranged tinder in the center of the pit. Where are we going, dreamwalker?

    To where the half-blood is, my lord. Not looking up from her tinder, the mage touched it lightly with one finger and closed her eyes in concentration.

    I know that. I meant—

    A spark shot from the mage’s fingertip, and she blew lightly onto the tinder encouraging the flame. I know what you meant.

    The Spring Prince rolled his eyes. It seemed she wanted to play games. How childish. Well, then?

    Finally looking up and meeting his gaze fully, the dreamwalker raised one thin, dark eyebrow over a half-moon shaped eye. Well, what?

    Are you going to tell me or not?

    Or not.

    What? Why? Morrigann bit out, disgusted with himself for losing his calm. She was an aggravating creature, that was for certain.

    "You wish to know. The elf finally lowered her eyes and shrugged as she added small sticks to the fire, slowly building it up. And I do not wish to tell you."

    Morrigann forced himself to take three slow, calming breaths before responding. She was trying to get a rise out of him—not the good sort—and he would not give her the satisfaction. You won’t even give me an idea of how long we will be traveling?

    I must be back before the Winter Solstice. It was fully dark now, and the flames reflected orange off the elf’s neutral silver eyes. Only the slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes let him know that she was no longer teasing and was, once again, wary of him.

    Seeing as that’s just over three months away, that’s not very helpful. The Spring Prince kept his expression carefully bland, given that his previous attempts at charming the dreamwalker had not worked in his favor.

    But instead of answering, the elf, seemingly satisfied with the fire’s size, simply stood up, and strung her bow.

    Now it was Morrigann’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Was she planning on shooting him? She had to know how pointless that would be. Unless she happened to have an iron-tipped arrow with her. He glanced quickly at her quiver, but she was not reaching for it. Nor was she answering him. Though, he supposed, he had not really asked a question—merely complained at her lack of information.

    He blew out an annoyed breath. Will you at least tell me about the half-blood? What are they? Gnome and dryad? Elf and centaur? What?

    The mage barely spared him a glance as she continued to ignore him, and Morrigann felt a swell of irritation surge through him. He’d been nothing but polite to her and she was treating him as if he had crawled from the pits of Aisdeann itself!

    Shooting to his feet, and reaching her side in two steps, he could tell he’d startled her with his swiftness. She’d underestimated him. She thought because he was currently weakened that he was also powerless.

    Grabbing her biceps, he turned her to face him. What is your problem with me? Their faces were inches apart, and he saw, mirrored in her silver gaze, how wild and fierce he appeared.

    She jerked from his grasp before he could let her go.

    Dreamwalker, I’m sor—

    I will not be another one of your conquests. Her eyes blazed a momentary swirl of red and yellow.

    Morrigann’s apology died on his lips as he felt a swell of indignation rise. How dare—

    I am going hunting.

    Before the sidhe could form a proper response, she had melted into the shadows of the night.

    Ealis returned as silently as she’d departed, this time guided by the haunting, melancholy melody of a violin. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. Not that she needed to be guided back. If anything, that infernal faerie should know better than to make such a racket when there could be any manner of unsavory creatures out there.

    Though nearly impossible to destroy, not even the Sidhe were safe from everything. And as much as she’d like to see the world rid of this faerie in particular, he served a purpose, as they all did.

    As she stepped through the trees into the clearing, the faerie did not even bother looking at her as he continued to play his golden violin, though the tune turned decidedly more chipper upon her arrival.

    A low-flying pixie drifted too close to Ealis, and she swatted at it before sitting down opposite the Spring Prince.

    Tsking at her, the sidhe cut his eyes in her direction. "There’s no call for that. Pixies are naturally curious

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1