Free Forging the Runes by Josepha Sherman Page A

bloodstains. "Fortunately, I won't have to do any more work on the thing until nightfall."
    "And when it's done, we really will be able to—to talk from afar?"
    "Yes."
    "And distance won't weaken the contact?"
    "Not as long as you continue to love me. And I, you."
    That earned him a wary glance. "I assure you, I don't fall so easily out of love."
    "Of course not. Nor shall I." Ardagh paused, considering. Ae yi, as well now as later. "There's something more I must tell you. King Aedh knows who and what I am. Don't look at me like that! I could hardly deny the truth, not after Aedh witnessed my battle with Gervinus."
    "But he's never said—"
    "No. The king has kept my secret."
    Sorcha's smile was quick and wryly understanding. "Wise of him. He doesn't want to cause a riot—or to have everyone thinking him mad."
    "Exactly. But I doubt he'd be surprised to learn that you, too, know about me."
    "He would be spectacularly unobservant if he hadn't figured it out by now!"
    "Ae, true. At any rate, I think the king would greatly appreciate your passing news along to him."
    She took a deep breath. " 'Messenger' isn't as romantic a role as 'ambassador,' but yes, of course I'll do it. Though any personal messages from you I intend to keep that way!"
    He grinned. "I would certainly hope so!"
    But Sorcha paused, frowning slightly as she studied him. "There's one thing you must, you really must, let me do before you leave. No, no, let me correct that: before another day passes."
    "What?"
    "Do you love me? Do you trust me?"
    "Yes! Sorcha, what—"
    "Then," she said firmly, "you are going to finally let me trim that wild mane of yours! And no," she added, "I have not accepted that you're leaving. No, I never will. But—cursed if I'm going to let you go off to a foreign land, let alone wander around Fremainn any longer, looking like a shaggy barbarian!"

    Alone in his guest house that night, Ardagh sat studying the amulet, running a hand absently through his hair. Sorcha had been almost as elegant at her self-imposed barbering task as a Sidhe; though she'd left his hair fashionably long, he no longer felt like a wild pony with a burr-snagging, jagged mane.
    Should have had it trimmed long ago. But the thought of trusting my throat anywhere near humans bearing iron . . . Ardagh shuddered.
    He was wasting time. This wouldn't be a fraction as difficult as opening a Doorway, nor would there be the slightest likelihood of failure. Clenching the amulet in his fist, the prince shut his eyes. He drew his breath in sharply, visualizing the spell he was about to use. Yes . . . it shouldn't need more than his own will, and not too much of his strength.
    Opening his eyes, Ardagh began his chant, seeing the amulet and only the amulet, shutting out all the rest of the world and quietly convincing the clay that it was no longer it alone, it was part of him, of her, of them, chanting . . .
    . . . and chanting . . .
    . . . and . . .
    He came sharply awake, staring into blackness. What—Yes . . . he had finished the spell . . . ae yes, and it had worked. The amulet, split as neatly in half as though he'd cut it with an axe, was definitely charged with Power. Ardagh wrapped each half separately in a precious square of spidersilk cut (not without a pang) from his one and only Sidhe tunic, then paused to yawn and rub a hand over his tired eyes. Not surprising that he'd fallen asleep for a moment; he'd used a fair amount of magical energy. More than should have been necessary.
    Every time I think I've adjusted to this cursed Realm. . .
    The spell had also taken far longer than it should. The hour was now somewhere in the deepest part of the night, judging by the feel of it. Ah well, at least the work was done and he could hie himself to bed and a much more comfortable sleep than—
    The sound of a hesitant knock on the door brought Ardagh starkly alert. Who would possibly be calling at this hour?
    Cadwal. The feel of his aura was