Book Six of the SoulShares, MANTLED IN MIST, will be hitting your Kindles and landing in your Christmas stockings the first week in December. But Peri and Fiachra are far from the end of the SoulShares’ story. In fact, I just started on Sunday on UNDERTOW, Book Seven. And I’d like you to meet Rhoann, who’s a very different sort of Fae from any we’ve yet encountered…
(And if you haven’t yet started on the SoulShares journey, I’m putting a link to Book One, HARD AS STONE, at the end of this excerpt. Go ahead, you have a few months to get caught up…)
August 16, 2013 (human reckoning)
Domhnacht Rúnda, The Realm
Rhoann corkscrewed lazily down into the shadowed depths of the gorge, his body parting the crystal water, his gleaming gray fur as slick as skin. He wouldn’t be able to stay down long, not in his seal body; salmon was better for exploring the deep places, or mer-form. He didn’t need to breathe when he wore those bodies; he was free to spend hours, days, tracing the caverns underlying his bottomless mountain-brackted refuge. But he wasn’t truly exploring; after all the long centuries, he knew every inch of Domhnacht Rúnda, the Secret Depths. He was simply reveling in his Element. And for the enjoyment of the caress of water, there was no sweeter form to wear than that of a selkie.
Rhoann froze. The water spoke his name. It had never done that before.
Perhaps if he dove deeper, it would stop. The light around him went from aquamarine to tourmaline to emerald; he skimmed near the face of a submerged cliff, honeycombed with tunnels.
The voice was female. Something like his mother’s. He thought. But it had been many years since he had heard Miren’s voice, except in dreams. And the water had never spoken with her voice. His mother had been a Water Fae, but not an elemental.
He dove deeper, into colder, darker water. But his lungs were starting to hurt. He drew in the magick of the water, and shifted; fur became scales, gills pierced the skin of his throat. Everything around him blurred, colors became bluer. The cooler water of a tunnel beckoned him, and his salmon form darted inside.
Rhoann Callte. Rhoann Lath-Ríoga. Tá thú toghairm.
The words caught him. Like a fisher’s hook sunk deep under his jaw, only without the pain Rhoann had always imagined the true fish of his mother’s stories would have felt. He thrashed, he fought; his rainbow scales clouded the water around him until the words pulled him free from his refuge and into the open water.
Thou art summoned.