Free A Glimmering Girl by L. K. Rigel Page A

freshwater stream and loaded with trout.
    Nine hazel trees grew in a crescent on the northern shore, and he and his father had cut wands from the trees for their lines.
    “These trees were planted in the time of legend, by the Dryades, nymphs of trees and forests. The trout eat the hazelnuts that fall into the water,” his father had told him. “A fish of the sacred lake which has eaten seven hazelnuts gains all the wisdom in the world. If you eat that fish, that wisdom will pass to you.”
    “If the fish has eaten six nuts, will I be somewhat wise, Father?”
    “No more than you are now,” the baron had said.
    “If eight nuts, will I be wiser?”
    “A man can’t have more than all the wisdom in the world, my son, so I think not.”
    Then Ross had stumbled over his line and fallen on his own knife. Stupid, stupid, he’d thought, even as he swooned with the pain that seared his cheek.
    Without hesitation, the baron had scooped him up off the ground. “Never fear, my son. All will be well.”
    Ross had believed it. Safe in his father’s arms, nothing bad could possibly happen. The baron had carried him to the hunter’s cottage on the west side of the lake, laid him on a bed by a window, and had rummaged through a cabinet as if he knew exactly where everything was.
    Lord Tintagos had brought out a fat, rolled beeswax candle and tinderbox. He’d lit the candle and taken hold of Ross’s hand. Then they… waited.
    Soon, without knocking, an old woman opened the cottage door. “I came as soon as I saw the flame.”
    “Thank sun and moon, Kaelyn. It’s my son!”
    She was the only wyrding woman Ross had ever met, before or since. When she got closer, he saw she was younger than he’d first thought—perhaps his father’s age. She was neither pretty nor ugly, but her blue-gray eyes were full of fun.
    She had cleaned the wound and applied a soothing salve. “You’ll have a dashing scar, young Ross,” she’d said cheerfully. “It will drive the girls mad.”
    At the time, he didn’t care much for girls or driving them mad, but he smiled now at the memory. Kaelyn had been right. Women—including Rozenwyn—had found his scar attractive. He looked at the man in the mirror. Would she still?
    Ach , no use entertaining such vanity. He turned to thank the tailors for the clothes, but they had gone.
    Ross searched the room for quill and parchment. The gift of clothes fit for court was no trifle. Sarumen wasn’t ready to grant him leave to go home. He wrote to his father.
My lord, I am home. At all events, in Sarumos… 
    No. Ross tore off the line he’d started and threw it into the fire. It would not do if the letter fell into the wrong hands. He started again.
My lord, I am home. At all events, in London, at Windsor with Lord Sarumen. The earl has brought news to King Henry that William Aethelos, the king’s son and heir, has been drowned at sea. I’ve assured the bearer of this message he’d be well paid and given a meal upon its safe delivery.
I hope to be home soon and to find you well. I send you my love and my highest regards.
Your son, Ross.
    If Braedon were there, Ross could have sent him home with the letter, but it shouldn’t be difficult to find a courier at Windsor Castle.
    On the third day, Ross received a note from Sarumen, summoning him to court. Wear your sword, the note said.
    Ross went to the great hall on the alert for trouble and saw the earl there, relaxed and dressed resplendently. His striking beauty drew admiration from all quarters, male and female. Ross discerned no threat in the attentions.
    “Come with me, Sir Ross,” Sarumen said. “You’re to be presented. Henry’s grateful you tried to save his son.”
    “I appreciate the proper clothes, my lord,” Ross said. “Thank you.”
    “Not at all.” Sarumen winced. “Perhaps you’ll do me another favor one day.”
    “Another favor, my lord?”
    “Well, you did save my life.”
    The look of disdain that passed over