Lore:
A Shimmer Trilogy Short
by Kimberly Spencer
Copyright © 2011 Kimberly Spencer
Smashwords Edition
http://ibreathefiction.blogspot.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author.
I finally have her back, Dermott thought as he stared at his little girl in amazement. She sat on the edge of the sofa-bed. Bright red welts circled her wrists and her once tan skin had paled so drastically, he could now count the tiny blue veins beneath it. Still, she was just as beautiful as her mother, Lore. How was that even possible? he wondered.
She raised her hand to stifle a yawn and Dermott decided that was his cue to leave her to get some rest. “You know, you’re welcome to take the bedroom,” he offered. Even though he’d placed his strongest wards on the small apartment, he still didn’t like the idea of Jensen sleeping near the front door.
“I’m fine right here,” she said, applying feather light touches to the blisters on her wrists. The light-nymph, Nimue, and the rest of the Sidhe Guard had bound her in iron, hoping the pain would force her to reveal her mother’s whereabouts.
Dermott’s hands fisted at the memory of Jensen standing within the confines of the faerie circle, her sleep-shirt filthy and her wide eyes brimming with terror.
“Are you sure?” he asked, doing his damndest to keep the rage filling him from leaking into his voice.
She nodded, not once looking up. She was terrified, Dermott realized, instantly regretting having told her she was the new Lady of the Lake. “Would you like for me to stay in …”
Her large emerald eyes shot up to his face and she shook her head, causing black and violet hair to tumble over her shoulder. “Seriously Dermott, I’m fine. You can go.”
“Got it,” he said, backing down the hallway. “Well, just holler if you need anything.” He wouldn’t sleep tonight, he decided. Hell, he’d forego eating and relieving himself if that’s what it took to keep his daughter safe from the Light and Dark Courts. And from herself.
He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the edge of his bed. He could still remember the moment he realized she and Lore weren’t coming back. It had taken two long weeks and at least a dozen spells for him to finally learn that no amount of magick would mend his broken home or his shattered heart.
And yet he still loved her mother—loved her so fiercely that his chest ached each time he thought of her. He swung his legs onto the bed and laid back, recalling the first time he had seen her.
She was a vision of utter perfection as she stepped from the sea and made her way up the beach. Soft pale strands of silver-blonde hair curled around her beautiful face—a face hidden behind one of the shoddiest attempts at faerie glamour he had ever seen.
He knew he should have turned her away. After all, she was the daughter of Morgen Le Fae, the woman who had led to the destruction of Camelot.
Instead, he had fallen madly in love with her, long before the fear had begun to fade from her sky blue eyes. And long before her petal soft lips had ever pressed into his.
Then finally, on the hottest day of one of the coldest winters Florida had ever seen, she flicked the long length of her pale hair from her face and finally spoke of her life back in Faery.
And now he would have to figure out a way to tell that same story to Jensen. And somehow, he’d have to do that without scaring her more than he already had.
Deciding he was fine with the Cowardly Lion role in this instance, he grabbed a pen and his tablet from the briefcase he’d used when he taught at Lakeside High. And then, hoping he’d be able to do her story some justice, Dermott began to recount Lore’s tale.
***
The screams were deafening after King Auberon handed down his verdict. Some of the fae in the rapt crowd implored him to show leniency, while most demanded swift justice, hoping to send a clear message to anyone else who dared to go against the desires of the Seelie Court.
Tens of thousands of the Isle’s most prominent denizens, all clad in stately cloths of only the purest white, had gathered along the golden shore outside the Great Halls of Veracity to await the final verdict. And now that they had it, death was what they craved, the blood lust having fallen upon them, blinding their ravenous eyes to the fact that Lorelei stood between them. Stood with them.
She had forgotten how to breathe in light of the day’s turn of events. Her mother had just been found guilty of treason, a crime punishable by death. Now both of their lives were in the King’s hands. And those large, powerful hands had never once been described as merciful.
Lore felt the exact moment when Lady Vivien’s eyes fell upon her, though her own gaze did not shift in her aunt’s direction. Vivien had always been kind to her. But all Lore could think about was the mother she had not seen in many moons. A mother who had somehow betrayed everything they had ever believed in.
The mortal king, Arthur of the House of Pendragon, had fallen. And even though Lady Vivien had worked to strengthen his kingdom in the Isle of Man—a kingdom destined to be the greatest of all—Lore’s mother, a mistress of the lake, had been instrumental in bringing about its downfall. Or so everyone said.
Realizing that this might be her last opportunity to see or touch her mother, Lore lifted the layers of white silk from her ankles and rushed through the restless crowd, ignoring the golden sand kicked up with each foot fall, the gasps of shock assaulting her ears, and the scornful stares all around her.
They were the chosen beloved—the fae, yet they behaved so distastefully, always seeking someone to blame for their failures as if they were mere mortals.
To most of the Light Court, Lore was just as guilty as the Betrayer. But they were wrong about her. And because of that, she could not stop herself from believing they were wrong about her mother as well.
Fintan, a light-elf and the King’s most trusted guard, stepped in Lore’s path, moving to accost her. She could tell it was a half-hearted attempt because his glistening wings never picked up elven speed. And unlike the other fae in the crowd, he had never blamed her for the mortal king’s ruin, had always treated her with kindness. It was obvious he pitied her.