Skirts & Swords (Female-Led Epic Fantasy Box Set for Charity)

by L. P. Dover

  - Five Months Later -

  The Spring Court has flourished and a new life has begun for us all. After the bonding with Kalen we built our palace and have accepted many new fae into our Court. It’s been interesting to see how the bodily changes would occur when the various fae would join our court. The skin and temperature changes are what we expected, but something new has developed that I never thought possible. Kalen and I have the flower markings with the shimmery, golden glow, but when our fae swear fealty to our court they are given the same golden sheen to their skin. We didn’t know if it would pass to our fae, but miraculously it has. Our people are absolutely beautiful and breathtaking.

  Kalen’s wolves have joined us here and their pack has blossomed with life. Several new pups have been born and it’s been a joy to have them here running around. They have acclimated extremely well to the milder temperatures, and have made their home here amidst the palace walls. Aki has been a loyal protector and still guards me when I venture outside the palace grounds.

  I finally told Kalen about the adventures I went through to find him, and he was none too pleased to hear about them. The sprites I sent to the Summer Court have now joined me here in the Spring Court along with my other sprite friends. They tend to all of the Spring’s needs and I have never been more grateful.

  The flowers grow as far as the eyes can see, making the land shimmer in rainbows of color. I’ve never felt more at home than I do now amongst the flowers and nature. The leprechauns have joined our court as well and have brought a massive amount of knowledge along with them. They are old and wise and I know their experience and skills will help us grow and flourish.

  Bayleon and Bastian of the Tyvar have kept in touch and have sent me several gifts over the past few months which I have absolutely adored. Explaining to Kalen of my time in the Tyvar territory was not a pleasant experience, but I had to tell him the truth of what I did to get out of there. He wasn’t happy in the least, but he was thankful I made it out of there in one piece. I also informed him of Breena’s fate and that I left her there. He said he understood and that she deserved everything that came her way. I agree, but I think I would have rather killed her myself so I could see her suffer. I don’t know what it would have been like to stay trapped with the Tyvar but I sure am glad that I will never find out. Kalen only respects them now because they let me go.

  The one thing Kalen has had a severe problem with is my promise to the Redcaps. They have sworn fealty to the Spring Court and I refuse to go back on my promise to them. I will protect my fae to the best of my ability. Shamus, the clan leader of the Redcaps, has kept true to his word by sending a messenger to retrieve their supply of blood from me. Grishom is always the one to come, and I’ve grown very fond of him in the process. He says I remind him of the lass he fell in love with centuries ago, and he always makes me laugh every time he says it.

  Finn, of course, has stayed in the Summer Court and has now taken over Ashur’s place in training the warriors with my brother, Drake. I haven’t seen him since that last day in my room when I had awoken from my slumber. I was told just recently that he’s very happy and in love with a beautiful Summer fae woman. I wish him all the love and happiness in the world.

  My Guardian, Ashur, is happily bonded with Elissa and they live in a nice little house on the palace grounds. It works out great for them because Elissa is usually with me and so is Ashur because of his guardian duties. They are both happy and have just found out they will be expecting their first child in a few months.

  So far all is right in the Land of the Fae, or at least until the dark sorcerer strikes again. There are still many things we have yet to learn on how to destroy him. I just hope we figure something out soon before it’s too late.

  We’re lying in the tall grass surrounded by the colorful array of flowers. I’m propped up on my elbows while Kalen is beside me running his hands lovingly down my lightly swollen belly. He has no clue that I hold twins inside my womb. I’ve decided to keep it a secret, but it never stops him from asking.

  Kalen kisses my belly and looks at me pleadingly, “Why won’t you tell me, love? I want to know if we have a little Kalen in there or not.”

  I shake my head and laugh, “I’m not telling you. It’s a surprise.”

  He huffs playfully, and then continues to caress my belly in silence with a huge smile on his face. Actually, we do have a little Kalen in there, but we also have a little Meliantha as well. Elvena checked on me the other day and told me that my twins are a going to be a girl and a boy. I have been floating on a cloud of joy ever since. Elvena was also able to tell me what they would look like. I was shocked when she told me they would be born with amethyst-colored eyes, and that one will be red-headed like me while the other will be dark-headed like Kalen. I will no longer be the only fae with purple eyes, but able to share in this rarity with my children.

  A new magic is at work in the Land of the Fae, and I know it’ll be strong enough to get us through the dark times ahead.

  First and foremost, I would like to thank everyone that has supported me and my books. I couldn’t have made it without you, and my books wouldn’t be where they are today without your support. To my husband, I love you so much and without your help I wouldn’t be able to follow my dreams. To my children, I hope that one day you both will follow your dreams just like mommy. To my parents, your enthusiasm and pride for your daughter warms my heart and knowing I bring a smile to your face fills me with great joy. To my nieces, Victoria and Stephanee, thank you for listening to me ramble on and on about my books. I know it drove you crazy. To my lovely friends, I cherish you all and I wouldn’t have made it without your guidance. Twink, you are the best.

  L.P. Dover lives in the beautiful state of North Carolina with her husband and two wonderful daughters. She’s an avid reader that loves her collection of books. Writing has always been her passion and she’s delighted to share it with the world. L.P. Dover spent several years in college starting out with a major in Psychology and then switching to dental. She worked in the dental field for eight years and then decided to stay home with her two beautiful girls. She spent the beginning of her reading years indulging in suspense thrillers, but now she can't get away from the paranormal/fantasy books. Now that she has started on her passion and began writing, you will not see her go anywhere without a notebook, pen, and her secret energy builder…chocolate.

  You can find L.P. Dover at:

  Facebook/L.P. Dover

  Goodreads

  Book Two

  Mark of the Mage

  By R.K. Ryals

  The Scribes of Medeisia Book 1

  Mark of the Mage

  by R.K. Ryals

  Copyright © Regina K. Ryals, 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to a group of amazing people. To my sister, Sabrina Williams who patiently reads every new page as I write it. To Laura Wright Laroche who diligently produces the cover art for my books. To Melissa Wright for patiently putting up with incessant emails and long conversations about writing only the two of us could have. To Elise Marion, a beta reader/friend/traveling buddy who gives criticism when needed and is willing to beta read at the drop of a hat. To my amazing fans, and to the amazing Young Adult and Teen Readers group run by Derinda Love and Jodie O'Brien for the never ending support and friendship they give to every writer they know. And to the fb friends who shower me with encouragement and love. Amy McCool, Bree Foster-High, Shanna Roberson, Nanette Del Val Bradford, Katherine Pegg Eccleston, Cara Crabtree, and Carole Ronneberg, you have no idea what it means to me. And finally, I give a very, very special thank you to my editor on this project, Melissa M. Ringsted, for everything she has done to make this book
the best that it can be. And to Audrey Welch, best friend extraordinaire, who listened to me tell her a story about a scribe and then threatened to throttle me if I didn't write it. Her violence is extremely appreciated. This book is for you. And last, but never, least, I dedicate this book to my children who are forever begging me to tell them fairytales.

  Prologue

  Scratch, scratch, scratch . . .

  For a moment there was nothing except the sound of a quill pen running across rough parchment. A calloused, wrinkled hand gripped the edge of a crude, stone surface turned into a table. It was rudimentary at best, but it suited its purpose.

  The cavern was dark with the exception of a few lit candles sitting haphazardly around the cave, causing flickering shadows that looked like ghosts.

  Suddenly there was a loud crash, followed by a small shower of rocks and dust, but the scribe did not look up. He did not flinch. His hand kept moving, tirelessly, persistently. The dragons above him were fighting for dominance. The old dragon king had died. In his place, there were three strong enough to rule, but only one of the three would survive. It was the custom. It did not affect the scribe. He had only one objective; The Kiarian Freesonalay: The Book of Truth. He scribbled.

  In the year of the Dragon, a kingdom will be divided. Twins will be born to the sovereign. These male heirs will be greedy. They will seek power. They will war amongst themselves, and their kingdom will be split in two.

  For one son, the years will not be kind. His kingdom within the forests will suffer. Trade will be sparse. Crops will falter. There will be famine and civil war. A dictator will rise from his heirs, all semblance of a monarchy erased. There will be persecution. The old magick will be condemned. All learning will be outlawed. Those born with power will be murdered.

  For the other son, the years will be prosperous. His kingdom amidst the sea will bring him wealth and bring his people peace. Trade will flourish. The old magick will be esteemed.

  A desert will form between the two nations. The kingdoms will be divided by barren, harsh land. But it will not stop the big war from coming. It will not stop a dictator from attempting to usurp power.

  The Dragons will take to hiding in their mountains. The creatures of the forest will bide their time. For out of the ashes of devastation will arise a phoenix, an omen, a child born under the Harvest Moon. This child will be born of forbidden magick, born to bring two nations together.

  To the prosperous kingdom, there will be born a son to the ruler. His magick will be borne of steel, strong. His life will be cursed with hardships. His power will make others greedy, murderous. He will be plagued with death.

  The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .

  The cave shook. The pen could no longer be held steady. Bigger rocks fell from the cavern's ceiling. There was no more time. A new dragon ruler would be crowned. The mountains quivered. The fight was mighty. The cavern did not hold. The scribe was not afraid. He had always known this would be his fate. He was a scribe. He was a prophet. In the end, he would die with his book. And when the fateful boulder fell, he did not cry out. His lifeless hand fell limp, his lax fingers tickled by bound parchment. The book would not die. Books never die.

  The small cavern was no more. The scribe was dead. The only thing left among the stone was the book. The Kiarian Freesonalay: The Book of Truth.

  Part I

  The Mark

  Chapter 1

  The smell. Wet ink, old parchment, and leather.

  The smell consumed me, weaving its way through my nostrils and down to my eternally ink-stained fingertips. It was an old, comforting smell. The smell of new beginnings, of adventure, and of disappointment.

  “I'm sorry, Stone. The mistress has forbidden it.”

  Master Aedan avoided my gaze as he moved through the Archives, stacking scrolls that were already perfectly aligned. His long, grey beard skirted the floor as he paced to the shelves before running a wrinkled finger along the books within. His brown, heavy cloak hung around his bony wrist. He seemed older each time I saw him. I focused on the shelves.

  The shelves were nothing more than deep grooves built throughout a circular stone room, and they held centuries of records, stories, and legends. Ladders leaned sporadically against the ledges, and candles burned inside protective glass casings. Fire would not be risked within the Archives.

  “Did she give a reason why?”

  I was whispering, but speaking louder was out of the question. The space felt too sacred. I mumbled promises to Escreet, the Goddess of Scribes. They were promises to serve if only Aedan were wrong. Tears felt imminent. The mistress, my stepmother, was stealing my essence. The Archives, the histories housed within the cavern, were my life. I had been raised on the smell, on the rough feel of parchment, on the historic words scrawled within.

  Master Aedan's gaze finally met mine, his kind, bushy brows lowered over shadowed eyes.

  “Tis no place for a lady.”

  It was all he said. The words were not his.

  “I'm no lady,” I muttered.

  Ladies wore dresses that weren't covered in dust. Ladies didn't have stained, calloused hands with nails bitten to the quick. Ladies didn't write, ladies didn't study, and they certainly didn't think for themselves.

  Master Aedan sighed, his hands gripping a roll of parchment before moving toward me.

  “She has forbidden it, Stone,” he repeated, his gaze moving from the parchment to my hands. “But she never said parchment outside the Archives was off limits. Take this. She is a witch, my dear, there is no doubt, but what she does now protects you.”

  I looked at Aedan. Protects me? By closing me off from the Archives?

  “Go now, child. Go,” Aedan murmured as he shooed me from the room.

  I held the empty paper to my chest protectively, the scent tickling my nose as I ducked out into the manor's hall. A tear worked its way down my cheek, digging a channel through dust-covered flesh. The Archives rarely needed regular cleaning. No one, with the exception of the scribes, ever saw the interior.

  “She can't do this.”

  My words were confident, my demeanor wasn't. Even as the heavy, wooden door closed in my face, I knew I was wrong. She could do this, and she had.

  I turned on my heels, the back of my hand swiping my cheeks as I ran for the stairs at the end of the corridor. The hallway was a small one, the stone stairs jagged and uneven as they led up from the caverns beneath to the main manor above. Forticry.

  Forticry, Medeisian for strength, was aptly named. The manor was an intimidating, dull buttress that sat on the edge of Medeisia, a mountainous country covered mostly in forests. It was made entirely of stone. Although small, as far as manors go, it was an important gateway into our country and was situated against deep woodland and mountains.

  Beyond the forest's edge, a desert stretched; a barren wasteland between Medeisia and its twin country, Sadeemia. The manor was in a strategic location. The stone stronghold had a view of the forest and mountains in one direction, and the desert border in the other. Because of this, Forticry was the home of the Medeisian Ambassador, Garod Consta-Mayria, a man who played an important role in the politics between Medeisia and Sadeemia. He was also my father.

  The stairs were a blur beneath my feet. The tapestries lining the grey stone walls were a blended, bright mess as I ran through the main entry, a hall made up of one massive hearth and a line of family portraits. I didn't spare them a glance as I slipped the parchment Aedan had given me down into my dress. My gaze was on an arched entryway leading into a room covered in tapestries of flowers and greenery. There were two stuffed settees, the fabric made out of dark green velvet with gold tasseled pillows. Between them sat a large potted plant, a fern with wide, hanging leaves.

  Lying across one of the expensive divans, her dark curls spread across a pillow, her small, beaded slippers teasing the foliage at her feet, was my stepmother, Lady Taran.

  I stopped just inside the door, my eyes trailing Ta
ran's low cut, sapphire blue gown. The silk shone in the late afternoon light from a nearby arrow slit window, her tanned skin glistening where the too tight dress pushed up her bosom. One move, and she'd be half-naked.

  “Why?”

  The question was loud in the still room, my voice wavering as Taran removed the arm she had slung over her eyes. She was a beautiful woman, my stepmother, and she knew it.

  “The Archives is no place for a lady, Drastona.”

  Her voice was firm, stern. I took a hesitant step forward.

  “You never cared before.”

  Taran sighed as she pushed herself up, her green eyes darkening as her gaze found mine.

  “You were not sixteen before.”

  I placed my hands against the tapestry at my back, the stone wall behind it lending a comforting support.

  “I do not understand.”

  Taran laughed. “Of course you wouldn't, dear. Your father has never forced you to learn the etiquette required by most ladies. He has spoiled you. While you've been hiding amongst dusty shelves and flea bitten scribes, our world has changed.”

  “Changed,” I repeated.

  I was only mimicking her now. I knew the politics. I was an ambassador's daughter, and I was fond of the Archives. Medeisia's king, Raemon Berhest, had become a dictatorial recluse over the past five years. His laws were harsh, his edicts verging on murder. Even his inner circle wasn't immune to his iron hand. This included the ambassador and his family.