Beneath a Stone Sky: The Third Book of Binding (The Books of Binding 3)
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
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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.”