Beneath a Stone Sky: The Third Book of Binding (The Books of Binding 3) Read online

  BENEATH

  A STONE SKY

  The Third Book of Binding

  A. E. Lowan

  Phoenix Quill Books

  PITTSBURG, MISSOURI

  Copyright © 2021 by Phoenix Quill Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Phoenix Quill Books

  24108 Deer Trl

  Pittsburg, MO 65724

  Visit the author's website: www.aelowan.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2021 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

  www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  Beneath a Stone Sky: The Third Book of Binding / A. E. Lowan —1st e-book ed.

  ASIN: B09F3VXZ7F

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  OTHER BOOKS BY A. E. LOWAN

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  CHAPTER NINETY

  CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

  CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

  CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

  CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

  EPILOGUES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A SNEAK PEEK AT ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE

  OTHER BOOKS BY A. E. LOWAN

  The Books of Binding:

  Faerie Rising

  Ties of Blood and Bone

  DEDICATION

  For three amazing teachers:

  Shirley Schaaf, Dr. Christine Harker, and Judith Towse Roberts.

  Thank you for everything we became.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Here at the end of our third trip to Seahaven we are more grateful than ever for the support of our readers and colleagues. You all make taking this journey a joy. A. E. Lowan would like to extend special thanks to:

  Deranged Doctor Design, for another amazing cover. You all are the best!

  (www.derangeddoctordesign.com)

  The community at Mythic Scribes, for your unwavering support and belief in this series.

  (www.mythicscribes.com)

  Bradley Gunson, for your discerning eye and infinite patience. We don’t deserve you, but we’re giddy that you keep taking this trip with us anyway.

  Our growing army of beta readers: Duane, George, Jeremy, Karen, Keri, Lacey, Marissa, Nils, Peggy, and Tim. Thank you all for your critical insights. You push us to be better.

  Josh, for letting us borrow your name and always threatening us with a good time.

  George and Sam, for your technical expertise and willingness to go the extra mile.

  Aidan, for reminding us that we should be writing, even when it means we have less time to hang out.

  A NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION

  The Books of Binding contain some words for which the pronunciations are not immediately obvious. Here is a guide to pronouncing those names and terms that appear in this book which might prove tricky.

  NAMES

  Agmundr: OG-mun-dur

  Alerich: AL-uh-rick

  Anluan: AN-lawn

  Arariel/Asariel: uh-RAR-ee-el / uh-SAR-ee-el

  Ásta: AH-sta

  Casimir: KAZ-uh-meer

  Ceallach: KAL-ukh

  Cian: KEE-in

  Dagda: DAW-daw

  Drános: DRAN-ose

  Elspeth: EL-speth

  Etienne: EH-tee-in

  Gaubert: gow-BEAR

  Midir: mid-HEER

  Mulcahy: mul-KAY-hee

  Niamh: NEEV

  Ráthulfr: WRATH-ul-fur

  Senán: SHAN-awn

  Sigmundr: SIG-mun-der

  Sindri: SIN-dree

  Vivaine: vih-VAIN

  Vragí: VROG-ee

  TERMS

  Geas: GESH

  Seelie: SEE-lee

  Sidhe: SHE

  Unseelie: UN-see-lee

  CHAPTER ONE

  “And I say I don’t trust him. He’s Unseelie.” Etienne Knight brought his new car, roomy enough for three infant seats, to a stop in the circular driveway in front of Mulcahy House and cut the engine. He didn’t get to drive it too often because Cian, the sidhe prince closest to him, could not abide being surrounded by the steel chassis, but his current companion could.

  The half-fae wizard, Winter Mulcahy, gave him a sidelong wry look, the low mid-January sun setting off the iridescence in her lovely snow-white hair, all twisted up off her long neck in a loose bun. “And I don’t care. King Ceallach has been quite hospitable, and his wife is in dire need of my help.” She rattled the rack of tiny, empty potion bottles on her lap for emphasis. It could hold thirty, enough for a little more than a moon’s worth of treatments for the queen’s madness. “Not to mention, he came to our aid in battle. He’s a friend. If you want to stop coming with me every month, that’s fine. I don’t understand, but I’ll honor your choice. I’ll ask Brian to escort me, instead.”

  Etienne frowned. Brian was a young Hero and might be perfectly capable of escorting Winter through the dangerous realms of Faerie, but Etienne looked forward to spending these times alone with her. “I never said that. Just that I don’t trust Ceallach.”

  Winter opened her car door, balancing the rack of potion bottles on her skinny knees, and the January wind invaded the warm cabin. “Well, at least you were polite to him this time. I appreciate that.” She looked away in the direction of the rose trellises for a moment, and then looked back. “I don’t like keeping secrets from him.”

  Etienne palmed his keys. “What, about his son, What’s-His-Name? Eye-something?” Ironic, that. Winter had kept secrets from her own apprentice for years.

  “Aodhán, and yes. Ceallach needs to know his son is alive, but…” She trailed off, indecision clear on her face.

  Etienne shrugged. “It’s none of our business. This Aodhán wants to keep his secret. It’s his business when he wants to reveal himself, if at all.” Unseelie business. Just the sort he did not want Winter involved in. “We don’t even know why. Could be bad.” Was probably bad, knowing the Unseelie courts.


  Winter sighed. “I know. I just hate to see Ceallach and his poor queen hurting.”

  Etienne moved his keys to his other hand and gave her thin shoulder a squeeze, compassion in his eyes. “The boy will come around eventually. Surely he has his reasons.”

  She nodded. “I hope so.” And she swung her feet out of the car.

  Etienne got out and moved to the other side where Winter was struggling with the awkward rack. She had exchanged it for one full of potions at Ceallach’s twisting Brittle Keep. “Here, let me.” His voice came out gruff, gruffer than he really intended, but he took the rack with careful hands and stepped back for Winter to let herself out of the car.

  She rewarded him with one of her bright smiles, and his heart sped up. “Thank you, Etienne.” She hitched her big purple bag up on one shoulder and gave him a light, lingering kiss on the cheek before moving past him to the sand-strewn stone path leading to the ornately carved front door.

  Etienne’s cool cheek burned from the heat of her kiss, and he followed in silence.

  Winter pushed open the door, smiled at Etienne over her shoulder, and then stepped into chaos.

  Mulcahy House was filled with raucous laughter from dozens of throats and words that Etienne had not heard in several mortal lifetimes.

  Dwarven.

  “You need a towel!” A naked, dripping dwarf, stocky and powerfully built, was making his way down the left staircase, Cian, the other sidhe lord who lived with Winter, chasing after him with baby Noel secure in one arm and a thick dark-blue bath sheet in the other hand. He met Etienne’s gaze and returned Etienne’s confusion with both panic and exasperation.

  Etienne watched the dwarf wander by and down the hall, towel now in hand. “What’s going on?” he asked Cian.

  Cian shrugged. “They showed up a few hours ago. Most of them are in the kitchen.”

  “Who the hell let them in?” It could only have been one of five people, and he and Winter hadn’t been home. Etienne didn’t think he’d have let them in, either way.

  Cian’s chin lifted and he met Etienne’s gaze, eyes green as all the colors of spring. “I did.”

  Etienne opened his mouth, bit the words back, and then started again. “What the fuck for?”

  That little lift took on a definite air of defiance, Cian’s red-gold hair shifting against his shoulders. “I couldn’t just leave them standing in the cold.”

  Etienne snorted. “Of course you could.” He pushed the front door closed with his foot. “See? Easy.”

  Winter gave him a light smack on the shoulder. “Stop that. Guests are always welcome here.” The sound of something fragile breaking reached their ears, and she sighed. “How many dwarves, again?”

  Cian shifted Noel to a different position, now looking a little sheepish. “Couple dozen, maybe?” He patted the infant’s backside. “And it’s time for a fresh diaper. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Etienne muttered under his breath as he put the bottle rack on the floor by the door. It was very Winter to let in all and sundry. He’d have to address the dwarf issue himself. He asked the House to take care of the rack of tiny empty bottles and set off down the hall, curious and angry about the invasion in turns. He’d thought he’d left this crap behind him years ago.

  Winter followed close behind him.

  “You head upstairs with Cian. I can handle this.”

  Winter shook her head, those dainty, stubborn lines pulling at the corners of her mouth. “My house, too, Etienne. I—” Her attention was taken by two dwarven women arm wrestling in full armor at the mahogany dining room table. She frowned. “That will scratch.”

  Etienne paused in the doorway. “You two, knock that off.”

  The women laughed but stopped their game.

  Winter raised a pale brow. “That wasn’t Faerie Gaelic.”

  “No, it was Dwarven.”

  She said, voice soft with compassion, “I remember you once said that you spent some time with the dwarves. How long was it?”

  Etienne was quiet for a moment, missing his named weapon, the six-shooter Agmundr, destroyed by a great sidhe prince in October. It had been dwarven made and had kept him relatively safe for years. “Too long.” Or maybe not long enough. It depended on the memory.

  They burst into the kitchen through a wall of sound. The deaf English wizard, Fitz Martin, sat at the table surrounded by dwarves, weaving in place as he went drink for drink with a pretty, redheaded dwarven maid in exquisitely crafted green and gold armor, her hair sheared helmet-short and curling about her ears. The rest were feasting on what looked like every leftover in the house and taking bets on the drinking contest, mostly against Fitz. Over in the corner, the other English wizards Alerich Ashimar and Thomas Griffin were speaking in serious tones to a dwarf of above average height with his wide back to Etienne.

  Alerich’s acerbic twin, Elspeth, was nowhere in sight. Not exactly a big loss.

  One of the drunker dwarves noticed Winter and made to pinch her narrow backside. Etienne grabbed his wrist, twisting it, and had to remind himself not to break it as the ulna and radius shifted beneath his fingers, heavy dwarven bones or not. Instead, he bellowed over the cacophony, “What the sweet fuck is going on here?”

  The dwarf with Alerich turned, and Etienne felt his heart stutter. Ráthulfr, son of Ragnarr, prince of dwarves, and master smith. The one who had forged Agmundr.

  Etienne’s former master.

  Ráthulfr’s expression was grave, and he pointed to an empty chair nearby with his massive, forge-scarred hand. “Sit down, boy. We need to talk.”

  Etienne swallowed, and he crossed the suddenly silent kitchen as if in a dream. What was the dwarven prince doing here, in his kitchen? His hand found the empty chair, and his knees slowly buckled into it. “Why are you here?”

  Ráthulfr’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled the left side of Etienne’s flannel overshirt open. “Where is my gun, boy? And why aren’t you wearing the rig?”

  The pretty dwarven maid in green spoke softly in Dwarven, translating Ráthulfr’s thickly accented English for the others, her heavy drinking not seeming to slow her mind one bit.

  Merde. Unlike other sidhe, he was fully capable of lying but not to this man.

  “The hell is this?” Ráthulfr let out a snort.

  Etienne let Ráthulfr touch the new custom rig that curled over both of Etienne’s shoulders and across his back, the black, utilitarian thing a far cry from the elaborately decorated rig he had once worn. “They were both destroyed by the great Prince Midir four months ago. He tried to kill me but destroyed Agmundr and its rig instead.”

  “And your scars?”

  Etienne turned to look at Cian as he entered the kitchen from the back steps, baby Noel now secure in his chest carrier. “Midir cut me nearly in half. I was saved by a healer of tremendous ability, and my spell scars were erased in the process.”

  Ráthulfr followed his gaze to Cian, nodded once, and then took both of Etienne’s hands and turned them palms up, exposing rough new callouses and pink blisters. Etienne had spent the past several weeks working to rebuild the hard callouses he had earned with his sword and his forge. “So were your callouses. Those’ll be hard working back up to what they were before.” He chuckled softly, suddenly amused. “I remember the last time your hands were this soft, Queen’s Son.”

  Etienne’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull away. “I no longer claim that name.”

  Ráthulfr nodded with understanding. Etienne had told him about his mother on more than one occasion. “That’s too bad. I need you to.”

  Etienne frowned with confusion. “Why? You know what they did to me.” He noticed that Alerich looked concerned. What had they been speaking of?

  The dwarven prince evicted one of his knights from the chair closest to Etienne and sat down. “King Sigmundr, my brother, and his son, Sindri, have gone missing. They were due back with their expedition weeks ago, but there has been little sign of them—except where they crossed through the combined realm of King Anluan and Queen Niamh, your royal mother.” He leaned forward a bit. “We must speak of her.”

  Etienne sat back, the potential implications beginning to sink in. Merde. Merde, merde, merde.

  “What were they searching for?” Winter asked, laying a hand on the back of Etienne’s chair. Giving him a chance to think.

  By all that was sacred, he loved that woman.

  Ráthulfr gave her an appraising look. “An object of great value that was stolen from us eons ago. We have long suspected a great sidhe king was the thief, however one does not lay accusations at such feet without absolute proof. But then solid rumor came to us of his death and the location of his body, so my brother became determined to be the king to reclaim our treasure.”