Taya finds in her lover an unmatched passion for love and life, a passion which becomes the source of fear and despair for her with the birth of their son, Sselan, her gift from the sea.
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Excerpts:

Sidhe and the Dragon: Lost Jewel

    "They're here!" a tiny boy shouted. Bundled in a heavy jacket and boots, he leaped out of the branches of the leafless Oulan tree into a cart piled high with golden hay. Plopping to the ground, he jumped one by one up the back steps of the inn to the kitchen door. "Prince Mahshon and the others are here!" His shrill voice cut through the air as he pulled open the heavy oaken door and then stepped onto the tattered rag rug just inside. "Mother! The Elves!" He looked up at the care worn face of the petite cook cutting vegetables at the large old butcher block in the center of the room. "I saw the standard! It's the Prince," he said. His eyes shone brightly with the chill of the evening and excitement of the occasion. "May I watch?"

    The young mother's heart skipped a beat and a smile shimmered across her features. "Yes, Jay. As long as you stay within the courtyard, you may watch the Sidhe," Cassandra said, pronouncing it shee, knowing he would continue to call them elves, as was the way with many of the folk of her home town, "but do not get underfoot."

    Putting down the knife, she brushed her hands on her apron and moved away from the block. "Listen to me, Jay." She knelt at his level and removed a few straws of hay from his hair as she straightened his jacket and retied the tiny loose sash. His bright eyes flashed as they met hers. "As soon as the Prince enters the Inn, you must be here to help me with the bread and cheese and the fruit trays." Her soft lips curled into another smile; her words were lost on the boy. He shrugged away from her attentions and popped out the door in an instant.

     She would have called him back, but knew any further instructions would be lost—he was caught up in the moment. Carefully arranging the folds of her skirt, she pushed a heavy lock of chestnut hair from her eyes with the back of her hand and looked around the room at the baked pies and tarts, at the piles of desserts and delicacies that she had been laboriously preparing since before dawn. Not bad for a morning's work, she thought, but still plenty to do before the festivities begin.

    Here, in the small town beside the high mountain pass, winter was reluctant to release her hold to summer, even on the days before high summer feast. And here, far away from the bustle of the large kingdom towns, opportunities to see the Prince were few. She took a shawl from a peg beside the door, pulled it close around her and moved outside. Her warm brown eyes filled with a special light as she searched the street for a glimpse of Mahshon.

    With a sigh, she remembered a midwinter's feast a few years before when she had given herself to the sapphire eyed charmer. Her thoughts turned back to that time and she relived the scene.       Back to Sidhe: Lost Jewel

 

Sidhe and the Dragon: The Seeking

    In my mind's eye, I wandered the streams of air currents which enfolded the mountains and valleys between our encampment and the lands claimed by the Sidhe. Flowing farther, carried swiftly by the winds, I sought my enemy. The one for whom I searched was not there, but in the human minds, I could glean some unusual events. The mind of Anna, the human dracomancer, had seen a trio of dragons take flight from the cliff above the pass. As she slept, I watched her thoughts play back for me. The colors rang through her memory, as if the colors had sounds to them. A female of dainty proportions for her race, brilliant in the sun with cobalt blue scales tipped in a myriad of colors, embodied a high lilting melody. On each side, was a young, vibrant male, providing baritone and bass harmony. The common color, a dramatic cobalt of their scales danced with sunlit shades of iridescence. In one male, the one on her left, it was offset with cerise on the gigantic wedges that marched a still life ringing his neck; the male on her right, gold. Beautiful beasts—but I wasn't Seeking beauty. I was looking for one particular nemesis of mine, namely Mahshon, the favorite son of the Sidhe people, the one humans called the prince of the elves.

    The dragons were always interesting to observe and actually quite a good source of death and destruction, the food of my kind. I glided forth from the human's thoughts, continued my search. Yet, as the darkness slipped away, I ceased my roaming and went back to my body lying there in the grove.      Back to Sidhe: Seeking

Sselan: A Gift from the Sea

    He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

    His thick shaggy hair was dark brown, filled with the mottle-patterned shadows of sea-thrown flotsam and jetsam on the dark wet sand, of surf-beaten brown rocks covered with barking seals. Just now, those same rocks patiently withstood the brutal waves driven ashore by ice-filled winter winds. The storm far out at sea sent all forms of life in search of protection. By sunset, the unpredictable weather would certainly deteriorate.

    The morning sun warmed the tiles of the sun room on the south side of her cottage and there she found him. Naked, lying in the sunshine, curled on his side with his head on a corner of the thick down-filled quilt she kept on the rocker.

    The harshest part of the winter days and nights were upon them and she was glad he was here with her. He had come to shore and into her life when the sailors arrived in the fall, although he was not a sailor. She, a bard, sang in the inn and it was there they met. When he entered the old pub, he walked into a wild rhythm of crashing waves and drumming surf; the lady singing and drumming, the sailors using table, wooden fife or tin whistle and voice to fill the room with sound. He threaded his way to her seat and then sat beside her on the floor and listened. As she played her drum, her ancient lute, a gift of her grandsire, perched beside her, leaned against the wall.

    Her dark-brown curly hair, gathered back from her face with a pair of wooden clasps, cascaded down her back in loose ringlets. Twinkling with the glee of performing, her pale gray eyes looked no darker than the smoke that hung in the air above the old bar. She had caught a glimpse of the two of them as he came to the small raised area close by the subdued fire. They were of a height, which made him a small man, but his build was sleek and powerful; hers, wiry and tough.

    Their eyes met and his darker ones begged to be allowed to hold the lute and play it. She nodded in assent and the music had poured from within his soul through the cherished instrument and into the songs they played. Late into the night―until the innkeeper brought them a last glass to toast the end of the performance, their melodies and counter-melodies blended. After the last song, he lifted her pack to his shoulder and stepped lightly to her side. In the dark of the moon, starlight and memory their only guide, he padded along beside her to her home. Since that very first meeting, he appeared every evening to accompany her with lute and song, and then to follow her as closely as a shadow to her bed.           Back to Sselan

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