Valley of Silence (Circle Trilogy 3)

“I would rather you bless my people, and keep them safe.”

“That is for you. The sword is out of its scabbard. Even when it was forged, it was known that one day it would sing in battle. That, too, is for you.”

“She’s already spilled Geallian blood.”

Morrigan’s eyes were as deep and calm as a lake. “My child, the blood Lilith has spilled would make an ocean.”

“And my parents are only drops in that sea?”

“Every drop is precious, and every drop serves a purpose. Do you lift the sword only for your own blood?”

“No.” Shifting, Moira gestured. “There’s another stone here, standing for a friend. I lift the sword for him and his world, and for all the worlds. We’re all a part of each other.”

“Knowing this is important. Knowledge is a great gift, and the thirst to seek it even greater. Use what you know, and she will never defeat you. Head and heart, Moira. You are not made to give greater weight to one than the other. Your sword will flame, I promise you, and your crown will shine. But what you hold inside your head and your heart is the true power.”

“It seems they’re full of fear.”

“There’s no courage without fear. Trust and know. And keep your sword at your side. It’s your death she wants most.”

“Mine? Why?”

“She doesn’t know. Knowledge is your power.”

“My lady,” Moira began, but the god was gone.

The feast required yet another gown and another hour of being fussed over. With so much on her hands, she’d left the matter of wardrobe to her aunt, and was pleased to find the gown beautiful and the

watery blue color flattering. She enjoyed pretty gowns and taking a bit of time to look her best.

But it seemed she was being laced into a new one every time she turned around, and subjected to the chirping and buzzing of her women half the day.

She could admit she missed the freedom of the jeans and roomy shirts she’d worn in Ireland. Beginning the next day, however it shocked the women, she would dress as best suited a warrior preparing for battle.

But for tonight, she’d wear the velvets and silks and jewels.

“Ceara, how are your children?”

“Well, my lady, and thank you.” Standing behind Moira, Ceara continued to work Moira’s thick hair into silky braids.

“Your duties and your training keep you from them more than I would wish.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. Moira knew Ceara to be a sensible woman, the most centered, in her opinion, of the three that waited on her.

“My mother tends them, and is happy to do so. The time I take now is well spent. I’d rather lose these hours with them than see them harmed.”

“Glenna tells me you’re very fierce in hand-to-hand.”

“I am.” Ceara’s face tightened with a grim smile. “I’m not skilled with a sword, but there’s time yet. Glenna’s a good teacher.”

“Strict,” Dervil piped in. “Not as strict as the lady Blair, but demanding all the same. We run, every day, and fight and tumble and carve stakes. And end each day with weary legs, bruises and splinters.”

“Better to be weary and bruised than dead.”

At Moira’s flat comment, Dervil flushed. “I meant no disrespect, Majesty. I’ve learned a great deal.”

“And are, I’m told, becoming a demon with a sword. I’m proud. And you, Isleen, are said to have a good hand with a bow.”

“I do.” Isleen, the youngest of the three flushed with the compliment. “I like it better than the fighting with fists and feet. Ceara always knocks me down.”