Free Moonlight by Ann Hunter Page A

the spirit, consume the flesh.”
    ***
    Aowyn stood in horror before Ciatlllait in the throne room. Ciatlllait held Aodhagáin’s withering hand on their thrones. The fire king’s mouth hung slightly ajar. Little life filled his once-golden eyes. Two streaks of white zipped through his beard like crests of foam on a sea of orange. His red hair had dulled tawny, tempered with white streaks. That’s not what had Aowyn so upset. Ciatlllait sat beside Aodhagáin smugly with the beginnings of a quickened belly.
    “I am with child,” Ciatlllait announced. “I bear your king a new prince.”
    Aowyn bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. No!
    There could be no way it could be Aodhagáin’s, Aowyn convinced herself. Save for a spell that preyed upon a man’s basest instinct. Aowyn would not put it past Ciatlllait to do such a thing, but how could the gods allow it?
    Ciatlllait rose slowly for all of the servants to see her transformed figure. “It was such a tragedy when the princes mysteriously went missing. A travesty when we searched for them and they could not be found. So we must take great joy in welcoming our new prince. What we have lost we can regain.”
    The servants clapped politely.
    Aowyn wanted to vomit. She bit her fist and dashed from the room.
     
    How could she not have noticed such a thing? Had she been avoiding Ciatlllait so completely that a widening belly could be kept secret? Aowyn marched through the woods beyond An Cuan Áille toward Xander’s camp. Ciatlllait could not be allowed to bring forth the child. Sylas had said he would return Aowyn’s brothers to their former state. Crown Prince Choróin would claim the throne upon his father’s passing, as was his birthright. Aowyn only needed to keep her mouth shut for another eight-hundred moons, and this would all be over.
    When Aowyn broke from the trees onto the field of Xander’s camp, she stopped to survey the men working and practicing battle skills and tactics. As she watched them, a small seed grew in her mind. Here endured an army. Aowyn and Xander’s men both needed Ciatlllait eliminated. Aowyn wondered how difficult it would be to persuade Xander’s men to aid her for their mutual benefit.
    Aowyn observed Xander exercising swordplay with another soldier and making suggestions for improvement. He stayed firm with the man but encouraging. The training welcomed another soldier, and Xander instructed them both on handling more than one opponent at a time. Always be aware of your enemy. Eliminate the enemy closest to you first, or use them as a shield, and allow the other person to do the dirty work for you.
    The ground was muddy. Aowyn strode toward the men. She fixed her sights on Xander. The first soldier slipped in the mud. Xander whacked the flat side of a rebated sword across the man’s back to let him know that he was done. The other soldier advanced, and Xander disarmed him, then used both swords to mock-eliminate him. He offered his hand down to the fallen soldier to help him up and sent both men away. Aowyn picked up a waster sword one of the soldiers had left behind and took up a fighting stance. Xander’s back faced her. Aowyn turned the sword, ready to strike. Several men gathered round and began catcalling, letting their commander know he had company. Xander turned and jumped as he faced the pointy end of the weapon. He placed one hand on top of the steel and the other below it, sandwiching the blade, and lowered it. When he let go, Aowyn returned to her former position and struck Xander in the chest with the flat side of the blade. She bucked her head and swayed to show him she wanted to train.
    The group surrounding them thickened. Men teased Xander. They started taking bets on who would win. Xander shook his head, and drew his sword. He brushed his blade against Aowyn’s lightly. Aowyn tapped her blade against his. Xander’s men “oohed” impishly and whistled. Xander began to circle Aowyn. She watched him, poised and