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Ronan brought her gently into his arms, and she buried her face into his chest, breathing in his distinctly male scent, comforted by his strong embrace.

He seemed to understand without words, and simply held her, until she whispered, “I miss my father, my nurse Gigi, and my horse Luna.” He stroked her hair gently, encouraging her to continue.

She raised her gaze to his dark green eyes, feeling her tear-streaked face crumple with pain.

“I miss Tatie, and Bran, and Dee. If it weren’t for me, they would all still be alive. ”

Issylte buried her face in the broad Elven chest once again. “It is my fault they are dead, Ronan. If I had not gone to Tatie’s cottage, none of them would have been killed. It is all my fault.”

He held her in his strong arms, rocking her gently, allowing her grief to spill. When her shudders finally subsided, he lifted her chin and said firmly, “Issylte, it is not your fault they were killed. It is Queen Morag’s fault, and hers alone.”

Issylte tried to reject his words, drowning in guilt. Ronan gently but firmly pulled her chin so that she would face him. “Issylte, look at me. Look at me .”

She met his steady gaze with imploring eyes. Ronan’s deep voice was filled with conviction. “You, my princess, are the victim , not the guilty. Do not hold yourself responsible for the evil of another.”

Taking her face between both of his hands, he planted a luscious kiss upon her quivering lips.

Issylte’s knees gave way as she leaned into his embrace.

Ronan wrapped both arms around her, cradling her against his chest. He kissed her more deeply and passionately, parting her lips with his own, teasing her with a gentle probe of his tongue.

His hands roamed down her back, to her hips, pulling her tightly against him, the hardness of his body creating deep within her a hollow ache that yearned to be filled.

“I will keep you safe, Issylte. I will protect you. Always.” At these words, he crushed her into his arms, kissing her lips, face, and hair—washing away the sorrow and guilt.

Ronan then pulled away, as if striving to regain his composure.

Once again, Issylte was disappointed that he had stopped, for she wanted more of him .

He touched her face gently, smiling to see her grief assuaged.

Adjusting his clothing, Ronan shook his head— like a horse , Issylte thought.

Then, with a look of regret, he said gently, “Come, we must head back now.”

Issylte followed him reluctantly to the horses. He helped her onto Maeva’s back, climbed into the saddle atop Noz, and led the way back through the thick, verdant forest.

Arriving at Le Centre , they dismounted to say goodbye.

Ronan hovered near her, seeming to struggle for the right words.

He finally managed, “I will be leaving tomorrow, to sail to Armorique. On the mainland of Bretagne , in northwestern France. I’ll sell the weapons and armor that I have been forging in my shop.

” Seeing the disappointment on her face, he added reluctantly, “I’ll be gone for eight weeks, possibly ten.

” Issylte’s heart sank. He would be gone for two or three months!

Ronan lifted her chin to lock her eyes with his own, which were filled with light and hope. “When I return…the apple trees will be full of autumn fruit.” Placing a soft kiss of promise on her lips, he whispered, “The horses love apples…”

Swallowing her disappointment, Issylte smiled into his deep green eyes. “Hurry back to me, Ronan. I will miss you every day that you are away.” To which he replied, drawing her into his arms and kissing her deeply, “I will, my princess. I will.”

As the weeks passed, Issylte tried to keep busy, missing Ronan desperately.

Focusing on her lessons, she learned to steep sweet woodruff in wine to cleanse toxins from the body.

She made poultices from comfrey to knit broken bones and heal wounds.

She discovered even more of the healing properties of sacred trees, such as beech, willow, hawthorn, and elder.

She explored the beloved forest, learning where to find the plants and herbs she needed to prepare remedies, tinctures, and salves in the workshop of Le Centre.

Immersing herself in the love of the forest, just as she had done in Ireland with her beloved Tatie, Issylte found that nature soothed her suffering.

The verdant magic of the forest flourished in her virid soul.

She accompanied the priestesses to the villages, treating sick children with ear drops she created from the bark of elder trees; she soothed skin disorders with ointments made from beech bark; she eased aching muscles and joints with salves made from the sacred willow.

The priestesses taught Issylte which waters were used to enhance fertility, which streams were best for purification of wounds, and which springs, such as l a Fontaine de Jouvence, could prolong life.

Cléo taught Issylte to channel the energy of sacred stones, such as amber, to alleviate pain; black coral, to promote male fertility, and ocean jasper, to calm and soothe nerves.

Viviane taught her spells of enchantment to imbue gemstones with protective energy.

Issylte learned to create crystal grids, to harness the power of the earth and dispel disease.

She crafted talismans to bestow the blessings of the Goddess into sacred crystals to protect from harm.

And discovered the power of her own sacred stone—the emerald—to heal a broken heart.

As Issylte learned to channel the healing properties of the sacred element of stone, one of the most amazing crystals she discovered was a tree-shaped agate called merlinite , named after the famed wizard himself.

With this sacred gem, Issylte perfected her magic, learning to absorb the healing essence of minerals, accessing the otherworldly knowledge of the master enchanter, and channeling the divine power of the Goddess through sacred stones.

Summer faded into autumn, and Ronan had not yet returned. Issylte spent many afternoons in the library, studying spells and incantations, learning the properties of minerals, crystals, and gemstones, practicing and refining her skills. She quickly surpassed her fellow acolytes.

And finally, as Maiwenn had suggested so long ago in the enchanted Hazelwood Forest, Issylte mastered the three sacred elements of the Goddess, attaining the highest ranking among priestesses of Avalon. Guérisseuse— Sacred Healer. Tatie would be so proud.

Viviane was most impressed with her progress as well. Today, as they walked together near the lake, the High Priestess said, “You have become a gifted healer, Lilée. A guérisseuese. A most prestigious distinction.”

Issylte gazed at the white lily flowers which had inspired her name. “Thank you, Lady Viviane. I am very grateful for the knowledge I have acquired here in Avalon.”

They strolled along the water’s edge, the hint of autumn in the crisp, cool air.

“Maiwenn told me that you were a forest fairy. Wielding its verdant, healing magic. Indeed, you’ve demonstrated your extraordinary skill with the many herbal remedies you’ve prepared here at Le Centre .

The patients you’ve cured in the village.

” Issylte’s pulse quickened. Where was Viviane leading with this?

“You’ve mastered the curative properties of our healing waters and sacred gemstones.

You have earned the prestigious title of guérisseuse .

A truly exceptional honor.” Viviane rewarded Issylte with a proud smile, continuing to walk along the water’s edge.

“Your Tatie ,” she said affectionately, “mentioned that you once experienced a sighting in the waters of Lough Gill.” Viviane stopped to lock eyes with her.

“Perhaps you could tell me more about that encounter.”

Issylte shuddered at the memory. The leeches covering her father’s body, the wicked queen at his bedside. The frightening man with the yellow eyes of a snake. Watching her. A ripple of dread slithered down her spine.

“Yes, I had a vision. I saw my father King Donnchadh—bedridden, covered with leeches, with my stepmother beside the bed. There was also a man in black at her side. Muttering a sort of incantation.” She rubbed her arm as if to wash away his memory.

Her hands trembled. “He was horrible. With yellow eyes like a snake. During the vision, he stared at me from the bed—as if he knew that I was watching.”

The Lady of the Lake cast her gaze upon the expanse of blue before them, her expression reflective and contemplative.

“Some are gifted with the sight —the ability to see beyond the realm of ordinary vision.” She took Issylte’s hands in her own. “You have been blessed by the Goddess with this divine talent, and I would like to help you further develop your skill. Your magic. The essence of water.”

They stopped before the waves which lapped upon the shore. “Your first vision was at Lough Gill. A lake. Perhaps le Lac de Diane might offer you another sighting.”

Viviane indicated a smooth area of white sand just up ahead of them. “Kneel here, and gaze into the lake. Clear your mind, concentrate. Let the magic in your veins flow into the sacred essence of water. Become one with the Goddess.”

The sand was warm beneath her knees, the sun gentle upon her back, the breeze wafting the fragrance of the lilies.

Issylte shut off the awareness of her surroundings, focusing on the depths before her.

The waves lulled her, rocked her, flowed into her.

She floated in the dark blue pool, the cool kiss of water caressing her skin, entering her pores, filling her soul.

Leaving her physical body behind, Issylte cast her spirit into the profound blue depths of the lake.