Free Claire Delacroix by The Moonstone

younger even than Viviane. Her partner, Derek, was a spare and soft-spoken man who gave a great impression of strength, his silvered temples and the glint of humor in his blue eyes hinting at a considerable wisdom.
    These two were proof again to Viviane that she had taken up residence among the fey. When Derek declined Paula’s margueritas - insisting that he was “driving” though he did no more than toy with the sails - Viviane wondered what manner of concoction this might be.
    Although Monty accepted his with enthusiasm.
    Viviane sipped cautiously, her first taste so tart that it puckered her lips. She wondered fleetingly what magic the brew would wreak, but found the second sip was markedly better. And truly, what could befall her? Naught but good fortune, Viviane was certain.
    She was uncommonly lucky, after all.
    Instead of cheering her, the thought reminded Viviane of her mother. In fact, the hue of this marguerita echoed that of a peridot her mother had worn. The gem had been locked in a ring her mother had once been granted as payment, Viviane recalled, its depths as mysteriously cloudy as Paula’s potion.
    The memory was saddening. Viviane remembered having to sell the treasure, the recollection more vivid than she would have preferred. She took a deep gulp of her drink.
    The ring had been her last token of her mother and not one readily released. But now it was gone, handily sold, the coin spent in turn, the ring lost to Viviane forever across a chasm that could be transversed only by a select few.
    Viviane felt suddenly flat. She slipped away from the chatter of her companions and leaned against the rail, letting the wind tousle her hair as she watched the verdant green of the islands slip past.
    It had been two years since her mother fell ill and died, two years that Viviane had never grown accustomed to solitude. In Avalon, it seemed, she missed her mother even more than she had in Cantlecroft. What would her mother have made of immortality? What if she had survived just those two years and accompanied Viviane here?
    But if she had been alive, than Viviane would not have been at the archbishop’s court. Viviane frowned. What if she had used the power of her pendant sooner? Could she have saved her mother, then?
    She drank again and her mood sank yet lower.
    Perhaps such doleful memory was the price of the beverage.
    Indeed, Viviane realized that she had never been quite so alone on mortal soil as she was here in Avalon. Here, she was the different one, the sole mortal.
    And here she was compelled to be uncharacteristically silent. All those words she had bitten back in the last three weeks rose in her throat, as though they would choke her. Viviane took another swallow of Paula’s potion, hoping it would ease some of her anguish.
    Viviane knew that she could never risk confiding the truth of her arrival in another here. She could not guess what they would make of someone who had not been chosen and guided to the hidden isle as was the traditional way.
    Would she be expelled from Avalon, if she was thought to have no right here? Viviane shuddered despite the sunlight, just the memory of those cold dungeons enough for her.
    Yet despite the threat full honesty posed, the prospect of infinite silence was not appealing.
    Not in the least.
    Would Viviane always be alone? She could not help but conclude that she would never be enough like these rightful occupants of Avalon that she could become great friends with any of them. She still missed chunks of any given conversation, although she had studied and tried to blend in.
    These Avalonites simply thought differently than she. It was a mark of the fact that they were chosen to be here, she was sure of it.
    What good was Avalon if she were doomed to solitude for all her days?
    What if she also was immortal, simply by stepping on these enchanted shores? Viviane gulped at her drink.
    What if she spent all of eternity in virtual isolation here, selling Barb’s books