Free The King's Leash (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 7) by Katherine Sparrow Page A

sticking out of it. And though it seems hyperbole, as I gazed at the sword the full moon broke through the clouds above and made it glow with a silver-white light.
    I dismounted and stepped forward and then froze as a shiver ran through me.
    I heard no sound and had no sense I could name that told me this, but I knew I wasn't alone.
    “Who goes?” I called out.
    My horse pawed the ground. Her nose flared.
    I touched a stone of onyx in my pocket. I had made a spell and put it in the stone. A protection made of strength and courage magic, but I sensed as I ran my fingers over the smooth surface that it had already come unraveled. I had no one to train me in magic, only my own wildfire desire to be a witch as my mother and grandmother before me.
    “I am a witch. I have spells,” I called out. “Come no further or fear my wrath.”
    “A witch?” A voice called back. “Interesting to hear, sister.”
    Arthur stepped out from between the trees.
    “You came here alone?” I asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Have you tried it yet?” I nodded my head toward the sword.
    “Not yet,” he said. “What do you think of it?”
    I turned and studied the stone and the sword. “Magical,” I said after studying the fiery bolts of magic that ran through it.
    “Good,” Arthur said. “I worried it might be merely a thing of strength.”
    “No, it's definitely magical.”
    Arthur stared at it as he bit his lower lip. “Shall we?”
    “You first?”
    “Ladies first, has our father taught you nothing?”
    “You mean the brave and bold first,” I answered and strode forward.
    He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched me.
    I moved across the glen full of thick mud that tugged at my boots. I came up to the stone, as tall as my thighs. I had to step up onto it to get leverage. As I touched the sword’s hilt, the orange magic within swirled up my arms. With it came a song, nearly inaudible with strange syllables and a haunting melody.
    I placed my other hand on the sword’s hilt and for a moment did not know whether I wanted the sword to come free or not. Then I felt Arthur’s gaze upon me and of course I wanted it. All us bastards were desperate to prove that we were special in any way. I pulled up on the sword and with one smooth motion it came out easily.
    The sword’s song grew as I looked at the gleaming metal. Though I did not understand the song’s words, I knew it meant that with this sword we could rule together. We could kill. Together we could —
    I thrust the sword back into the sword and jumped down from the sword. I swallowed a couple of times. “Easy,” I said. “Your turn.”
    Arthur approached more slowly. “You would be able to take it out,” he said. “Now I'll look the fool if I can't. Perhaps only a girl can do it. Perhaps it’s some kind of joke.” He came up to the stone and stood with a plaintive longing painted across his callow and acned face.
    “Steady on, brother,” I whispered, curious to see what would happen next.
    “You’ll tell no one, whatever happens.”
    “Of course.”
    He was tall enough that he didn’t need to step onto the stone. He grasped the sword and pulled on it. And, as all of history knows, he pulled the sword from the stone.
    Where I had felt horror holding the thing, he smiled and moved it in precise formations through the frigid air. “With this sword,” he whispered.
    I took a step back. “Just because you can pull it out, doesn't mean you have to,” I said. “Besides, perhaps any one can do it. Maybe that’s the joke of it. Put it back, Arthur. You have to put it back.”
    “For now.” He slid it slowly back into the stone. “But you have to promise me, Morgan. At the tourney, you won’t—”
    “Father wouldn't allow it,” I said. “A girl getting the prize? The next prize would be my head. Besides, there’s a bad feeling to the sword. Powerful, but at what cost? It wants blood. Whoever wields it—”
    “Will be a great warrior,” Arthur said, and I