Page 69

He kissed her hand and murmured, “We can raise children, Issylte. And horses…” He raised her chin as his lips met hers.

“I have my shop… you can heal the villagers. We’ll be happy together , here in Avalon.

Do not leave me, Issylte. Stay here, where I can protect you.

And keep you safe .” He pulled her to his chest and kissed her softly, enveloping her with his strong arms. “Say yes. Stay here with me. Marry me , Issylte. I love you .”

Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to speak. “I love you too, Ronan.” Her eyes glistened, filled with sadness, as she met his gaze. “But I cannot marry you. I cannot stay here.”

She placed a trembling hand against his pounding chest. “Not only is it no longer safe for me in Avalon, with the threat of the dwarf Frocin… But I now have the chance to lead an army. And stop the evil queen .” Gaining momentum, Issylte’s words seemed to flow more freely.

“For years, Ronan, I was told to be patient . To wait and see what fate the Goddess had in store for me.” She searched his eyes and pleaded, “Don’t you see?

This is the fate which She has finally revealed ! ”

He lowered his gaze, shaking his head, refusing her words.

Issylte persisted. “I was the only priestess who recognized the Black Knight’s poison.

Because I had been trained in Ireland, home of the Morholt.

” She began pacing, animated, as if to convince him.

“ Tatie always said she believed the Goddess had brought me to her doorstep so that she could help me find a way to reclaim my throne.” She turned back to him, her face alight, her voice alive.

“Lancelot brought Tristan here, for me to heal him .” At the mention of the knight’s name, he snarled and shook his head.

But Issylte persisted. “I know you cannot lead my army, Ronan. I understand that you cannot leave Avalon.” She walked up to him and took his calloused hand in hers.

Her pleading eyes looked up to meet his gaze.

“ But I must .” Issylte kissed his gnarled warrior’s fist. “I must stop the wicked queen .”

Ronan stared out at la Fontaine de Jouvence , the source of the sacred water which bound him—and all Elves—to Avalon.

He couldn’t live with her in the human realm.

She was unwilling to stay here with him.

Compelled to challenge the queen, to save her kingdom, to restore peace.

How could he possibly keep her here? It would be like trying to stop the tide, to extinguish the stars, to stifle the wind.

“Tristan and Lancelot are members of a band of warriors,” she murmured.

“The Tribe of Dana—sworn to protect the sacred elements of the Goddess. To defend the entire Celtic realm.” She brushed aside a long lock of his blond hair.

“They will be my allies and lead my army. As I fight to reclaim the throne of Ireland. My father’s crown . ”

Her eyes were filled with pain, yet brimming with hope as she held his gaze and whispered, “I cannot stay here with you and decide my future as a woman , Ronan.” Issylte placed her flat palm over his galloping heart, her emerald eyes brimming with tears.

“I must follow my destiny. And decide as a queen .”

She took his hand and gently placed the beautiful emerald ring back in his palm. Closing his fingers around the precious gem, she murmured the words which pierced his Elven heart like a swift, sharp sword. “I cannot accept this, Ronan. I am so terribly sorry.”

She rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him softly and whispered, her voice choking, her lip quavering, “Please take good care of Noisette for me.” With a guttural sob, she quickly turned from him and dashed away, as if desperate to regain the shelter of her room.

Ronan bellowed in pain like a wounded beast. “Issylte! Issylte …”

****

In the dark, she threw herself on the bed, her breath heaving, the pain of loss smothering. Stifling. Suffocating. All night long, she wept for her beloved Elf. And the impossible future they could never share.

When morning dawned bright and clear, Issylte said goodbye to her patients, the priestesses, the villagers. Everyone was told that Lilée was sailing home to her native Anjou, a necessary lie which would thwart the dwarf and queen, in the event they did trace her to Avalon.

As she tearfully hugged Gwennol and the children in the Women’s Center, giving a special kiss to Mara and her newborn son, Issylte spotted Cléo and walked over to the priestess.

“We will all miss you, Lilée,” her dark-haired friend whispered as she kissed Issylte goodbye.

Issylte took Cléo’s hands, and said, her voice barely audible, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, “Please take good care of Ronan for me. He will be so alone…”

For a moment, she imagined riding swiftly to his cottage, throwing herself into his arms, making love before the fireplace.

She could feel herself welcoming him into her body, envision the blond children they would have—the beautiful Elven babies she’d dreamt about.

She could see Maeva, Marron, the sweet little foal Noisette.

He even named her after the forest in Ireland that I loved so much.

She pictured herself turning her back on Queen Morag, casting her horrid stepmother out of her life once and for all—becoming Ronan’s wife, staying here in Avalon. With him. Her beautiful blond stallion.

He had a prosperous blacksmith shop; she was a gifted healer. She could cure illness, treat countless patients. They could raise horses! Lots of beautiful horses…like Noisette, the gift that had melted her heart. She truly loved Ronan, and he was so strong. He could defend her against a dwarf!

And yet, her stepmother wanted her dead.

At any cost. The wicked queen now had a powerful wizard and a dwarf with dark magic as her allies.

A Viking army and drakkar warships. If they were to descend upon Avalon, then all the patients here who had so courageously recovered from the horrific Viking slave raids would fall victim to another unified assault of evil.

Issylte couldn’t subject the people she had come to love to that .

She had to leave. So that they would be safe.

And King Marke… Would you turn your back on him, too?

Do nothing to prevent his death, as you did nothing to prevent your father’s?

If Issylte did nothing to stop the queen, the slave raids would begin anew.

How many hundreds—perhaps even thousands—of victims will suffer and die if you turn your back and do nothing?

And her kingdom. The people of Ireland were drowning in taxes, starving—unable to feed their families because the crops were needed for the Viking amies and the dreaded slave expeditions.

Would you turn your back on the country you were born to lead?

If she took no action, she would be complicit in the death of King Marke, just as she was guilty of doing nothing to prevent the death of her own father.

If she stayed here with Ronan, basking in his love, forsaking everything else, thinking only of her own happiness—then her father, Gigi, Tatie , Bran and Dee—had all died in vain.

If she tolerated evil, accepted it, did nothing to prevent it when the opportunity was finally laid out right before her—she was culpable of the death and suffering of every victim of the wretched queen’s wrath.

You could never live with yourself, Issylte.

Do not be a coward, hiding in the darkness.

Find the courage to lead—to be the light.

Stop the evil queen, avenge the ones you love, and bring peace, prosperity, and tranquility to the Celtic realm.

Embrace your fate… and become the queen you were born to be.

Resolute, Issylte finished her farewells and rode with Viviane to the dock, where she joined Lancelot and Tristan, who were loading supplies onto the ship along with the crew.

The Lady of the Lake took her hands. “I will miss you dearly,” she whispered, kissing each cheek to bid her goodbye.

Viviane gently wiped the tears from Issylte’s face.

“My son and Sir Tristan will protect you. And lead your army. May the Goddess help you all in your noble quest.” The High Priestess pushed back a strand of blond hair from Issylte’s crumpled face.

“Remember…you may always return to Avalon, now that you have lived among us.” Viviane kissed her forehead and said, her voice hushed and hopeful, “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

Forcing a smile, Issylte nodded and turned to the crew members who helped her board the ship sailing for Bretagne .

Once everything was properly stored below deck, Tristan and Lancelot climbed aboard as the vessel unfurled its white sails into the brisk breeze.

Waving arms dotted the island shore as the ship left port under a brilliant summer sky and headed out to the open sea.

****

Ronan stood on the cliff near the sandy beach at the edge of the forest, watching the ship depart for Bretagne, carrying away the woman he loved with all his heart.

When at last it disappeared on the horizon, he returned home to his forge, driving his body to exhaustion with his heavy hammer and bellows over a furious flame.

Angry, empty, and broken, his Elven soul would never find solace from this suffocating grief.

He would love Issylte until the day he died.

****

The square sail of the cog ship billowed in the strong wind, propelling Issylte, Tristan, and Lancelot south to the craggy coast of Bretagne.

As they embarked on the journey to la Joyeuse Garde, Issylte watched the island of Avalon disappear into the mist, crying for the Elf she loved and another life she was forced to leave behind.

She wept for the future they would have had, the love they would have shared, the years they would have spent together, raising children and horses.

Her throat constricted. The physical pain of loss overwhelming, she retreated to her quarters below deck to grieve alone, unable to face anyone in her miserable state.

Yet, between bouts of retching and sobbing, seasick and heartsick—a glimmer of hope flickered in Issylte’s fragile heart.

In Bretagne, she would soon meet the Tribe of Dana. A band of warriors as fierce as the Elves of Avalon. Committed to helping her eradicate the evil of her wicked stepmother, the dark wizard, and the diabolical dwarves.

The long-awaited army she needed to challenge the Black Widow Queen.

With Tristan and Lancelot at her side. Two unparalleled knights. The finest in the entire Celtic realm. Warriors of the Tribe of Dana.

Together, they would prevent King Marke’s death.

Restore the knights’ good standing with their respective monarchs.

And finally, after six long years of waiting, the Emerald Princess could at last embrace her fate.

And become the Emerald Queen.

Thank you for reading The Wild Rose and the Sea Raven. Continue the enchanting journey with an excerpt from The Lady of the Mirrored Lake below.