Unfortunately, this did not get posted on schedule last week. Things have been a bit hectic recently, but seem to be calming down finally. I should be back to routine in the coming days or weeks.

I am continuing to post the first few chapters of The Aos Si’s Gift on Substack. If you’ve missed Chapter 1, feel free to drop in and check it out here. The link to Chapter 1, part 2, is at the end of that post. If you like this and are interested in reading the rest of The Aos Si’s Gift, then it is available through IngramSpark eCommerce as well as Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Erik’s mood had not improved by the time he arrived home. If the queen had summoned who Erik thought it was, then he was in for trouble ahead. The only woman he knew who had any meaningful connection to the university in Raine was Ileana Thallion. He had known her for nearly ten years before she’d left Tyrsiln six years ago, and they had been close during that time.

The sun was low on the horizon when Erik rode through the gate. The manor was ancient and reflected the fact that it had once been among the outlying farms until the city had grown up around it. The few windows facing the streets were narrow, barely more than arrow slits. The walls were stout and topped with what looked suspiciously like a parapet, and the gates, though standing open, were made of well-kept oak timbers reinforced with iron bands.

Erik dismounted in the courtyard. He sighed wearily when his horse bared his teeth at the approaching groom. “Go with him, Anfa,” he told the horse softly in Elvish.

Anfa looked at Erik questioningly, flicked his ears, and stomped one forehoof.

Erik sighed, roughed the big warhorse’s mane, and handed the reins off to the nervous groom. “Be careful with him,” he told the lad. “We’re both feeling a bit on edge right now. Wait until he calms down a bit to rub him down and unsaddle him, or he’s likely to bite you. He’ll calm down once he realizes we aren’t going anywhere.”

The groom nodded, looking uncertainly at the horse. “Yes, my lord,” he replied dubiously.

“Give him some water and feed, it’ll help,” Erik added.

“Yes, my lord,” the groom said, seeming surer of himself as he led the horse toward the stables.

Erik stalked toward the door. It opened before he reached it, and a tall, lean man in his late fifties stepped out. The man wore a silver-trimmed black tunic which was commonly worn by the serving men of the Vespin household, and his boots were polished enough for an inspection. His graying hair and beard were kept close-cropped and meticulously trimmed, and his blue eyes bore the squint and furrowed brow of men who spent much time reading in dimly lit places. He didn’t look like a serving man, though. His body was lean, his shoulders were broad, and he carried himself with the peculiar alertness of a trained warrior. He bowed elegantly as Erik neared. “Welcome back to Raine, my lord,” he greeted Erik.

“Thank you, Alwin,” Erik replied with a slight inclination of his head as he stepped into the entryway.

Alwin smiled. “It’s good to see you back in one piece,” the old man remarked gravely as he followed Erik back inside. “I just put warm water in the kettle and basin by the door.”

Erik nodded as he stepped over to a kettle and basin on a stand by the door. “How have things been here,” he asked Alwin while he began washing his hands and face.

“Some fears of the war in the passes caused an increase in the prices of wheat and certain other goods, my lord,” Alwin reported. “We anticipated it and overstocked before your departure. With news of your success, prices are beginning to return to normal. As per your request, we have enough on hand for the household to remain well-fed for six months, but most of the overstock remains.”

Erik nodded and dried his face. “How much do we need to make up our losses here,” he asked.

“None, my lord,” Alwin replied, “but I can sell the overstock. That should help to drive prices back down for everyone else, too.”

“How much do you think we could sell it for?”

“Fifty pfund, my lord.”

Erik grimaced and thought for a moment. “Give a tenth to the Hospital of Saint Margarite,” he told Alwin. “Sell the rest, and use it to pay off what I owe Gregor Autgar for his help. If there’s anything left, then use it to replenish the treasury in Drassen.”

Alwin bowed deeply. “As you command, my lord,” he said and motioned toward the short corridor opposite the entrance. “If you would come with me, my lord.”

Erik was surprised that Alwin left his report there and led the way across the foyer to the small, private garden around which the manor had originally been built. “A guest arrived while you were presenting yourself before her majesty, my lord,” Alwin said with a peculiar note of concern in his voice. “She’s waiting in your mother’s old garden.”

“What’s wrong, Alwin,” Erik asked the man directly.

“You’ll understand in a moment, my lord,” Alwin cautioned him and quietly opened the door.

Erik cast a glance at Alwin and stepped into the garden. The last pieces of the puzzle fell into place, confirming all of Erik’s suspicions as the old steward closed the door quietly, leaving him alone with the guest. He took a few steps into the garden and stopped.

A blonde, elven woman sat in a wicker chair with her back to Erik. She sat to the left of a small table, watching a bird perched on the oak tree which his mother had planted in the middle of the garden before he was born. His stomach lurched, and his throat caught. He stood watching her, and then took a few steps forward.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. From where he stood, Erik could see that she was breathing deeply, as if she was afraid to turn around. Finally, she smoothed her skirts and spoke without turning. “Hello, Erik,” she said quietly, a voice that was richer than Erik remembered.

Erik remained silent for a short moment as the affection he had once felt for the woman before him fought with the pain her departure nearly six years before had caused. “Ileana,” he replied numbly.

CONTINUE READING ON SUBSTACK…