Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Oberon was thoughtful for a few moments. Fosch let him be, knowing he’d have to convince him one way or the other. He’d give anything for a chance to save his younger brother, anything at all. Torture, a limb, servitude. He’d give his own life for any of his brothers, particularly Gerome, but his life was something he’d give to a number of people.
“The binding stones may or may not work.” Oberon finally cautioned.
Fosch let out a relieved sigh, though he was in no way in position of the stones yet. “It is the only choice I have at the moment. I welcome any suggestions.”
“I have none. My people suffer no mortal disease.” It was a condescending rebuke, one given without mockery or derision. Oberon studied Fosch’s face a moment, the strong set of his jaws, the clear, steady gaze, saw no uncertainty in his eyes, hadn’t expected any. “There will be a price, Yoncey Fosch, son of Dhiultadh Bran Fosch. Are you willing to pay?”
Though his stomach jumped in agitated anxiety, Fosch nodded once. It went against his better judgment, all he was, to bargain with a royal fee, with Queen Titania’s consort no less.
“Then, Dhiultadh Yoncey Fosch, we will meet again in the stone circle – when the sun touches the horizon with gold and red hues.” Both men glanced up at the sky, the sun already making a slow descent to the other side. Fosch calculated a few hours at best.
Without a word, both men turned in different directions. Now, Fosch had to go pour over his mother’s journals and find the right sigils and glyphs to use. Perhaps a few runes to ground the work. Even if he already had an idea of the ritual he was going to perform, the herbs he would need, the roots he would pick, he would go read his mother’s vast journals once more, make sure he wouldn’t be missing a step, or adding an unnecessary one.
By god, he vowed to himself, he would do this right, no matter what it cost him.
Chapter Two
The Ritual…
Three days after Fosch acquired the stones, he moved through the gates of his brother’s estate in Wyoming. It was located near the Yellowstone National Park, five hundred acres of prime land that bordered Idaho on the western side. Archer’s home, a sprawling two thousand and seven hundred square foot stone building was an l-shaped two-story mansion with eight spacious bedrooms luxuriously decorated. There was a pool house where the servants lived, a barn, a chicken coup, a stable with three thoroughbred stallions – one black, one white and one brown with the mane and tail the color of honey gold. The black one belonged to Archer, the other two to Arianna – Archer’s lover.
Fosch would have preferred to have come the previous night, but Gongo had reported that Arianna had been home, and so Fosch had to wait. He’d told himself if Arianna didn’t leave by the next night he’d perform the ritual in front of her, knowing she wouldn’t judge him, even if she oft guessed the lengths Fosch had taken to procure the stones. After all, she wasn’t a Dhiultadh, and so lacked the reservations they had against the Seelie and Unseelie courts. She was, in fact, friendly, if not friends, with the Sidhe land inhabitants. But Arianna had left early this morning, and Gongo hadn’t seen her come back.
What was important now was that the house was empty; the servants were back in the pool-house with Laura, the in-house assistant, asleep in her bed on the first floor.
The moment Gongo had given the all clear Fosch had left the clan’s compound, a fifty thousand acre of prime real estate just outside Bristol, Rhode Island; a ten-minute travel hopping through dimensions. He had spent the past three days in his private study, accepting only his house assistant’s presence – when, and only when, he brought Fosch’s meals and no one else. He’d gone over the ritual over and over, searched for possible different variations, made notes.
Now here he was. It was very late but he had purposefully delayed his arrival, intending to keep this mission as secretive as possible. Gongo had gone to the pool house, made sure everyone was deep asleep, had been given orders to put anyone else into a deep slumber and keep watch.
Fosch prowled into the estate like a pro thief, moving from shadow to shadow, through the unlocked front door, up the round staircase to the second floor. The lamps were still on in his brother’s room, but Gongo had never missed a trick, and Fosch slowly opened the heavy door.
The room was masculine, done in dark browns and pale yellows, the furniture heavy and thick antiques made from dark wood and sharp edges, gleaming with wood polish. The massive fireplace was unlit, clean save for a few logs strategically placed so it would be ready for use.