Free Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy by Ethan Risso

Helygen.”
    “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Bronwen.” Rhodri bowed. “Might I introduce my wife?”
    Bronwen felt as though a knife wrenched in her chest as she saw Rhodri’s wife step forward. She was a Meïnir.
    “Ah, Lady Siana, my halls are once again brightened by your luminous presence.” Alric clasped her hand in his own.
    “I am pleased to see you as well, my Lord. I am in your presence far too infrequently.”
    “And this is the woman I am to wed, the Lady Bronwen of Annwyd.”
    Siana bowed her head slightly. “It is my honor, Lady.”
    Bronwen felt herself shrink back. She took notice of her movement and made sure to bow her head. “And you.”

Connor heard the sound of Ceridwen’s voice, far off in the distance, but he saw no sign of her. He could not see anything around him, it was cold and dark. He stretched out his arm, but felt nothing. It was then that he realized that, though he was standing, he could not feel the ground beneath his feet. He floated in darkness. And then there, far ahead of him, a dim light grew in its intensity as he moved toward it.
    Suddenly, he felt soft blades of cool grass beneath his bare feet. He smelled the thick scent of damp trees around him as his eyes adjusted to the light. Willow trees lined the pathway, their long branches swaying in the gentle breeze. A lone lantern that hung from the bough of a tree was the only light around. As he inspected the lantern, he realized its light came from neither candle nor oil, but a single firefly. It flickered and fluttered about within a glass prison that had no air holes. Connor felt an immense sadness wash over him as he watched the firefly. It would die so that he might see. It pained him to think how the miniscule being must suffer.
    A gnarled tree branch leaned against the base of the tree from which the lantern hung. Connor wrapped his fingers around the wood, carefully avoiding the thorns. Once accustomed to the weight of the branch, he hoisted it up to the lantern and tried desperately to unhook it from the tree. Success! He slid the tip of the branch under the handle of the lantern and proceeded to lower it to the ground. He gasped in horror when the lantern slipped from the branch and plummeted to the ground.
    The glass shattered, and shards flew in all directions. But the shards were no longer glass, they were fireflies unto themselves. Thousands flew into the air, lighting the entire area with their glow.
    “Connor?” He did not recognize the woman’s voice, but he walked toward it.
    Fireflies clung to ever leaf and limb and bathed the pathway in brilliant, golden light. The trees at the end of the path parted. A large mound came into view, towering above the trees. Atop the mound, a large oak tree stretched its branches outward and into the sky, swallowing the light of the moon and stars. It was only then that he noticed a figure kneeling before the tree. It was a woman, dressed in the robes of a priestess. It was Rhiannon.
    “My Lady?”
    She turned to him, but she did not look the same as the other Meïnir. She shared the features of both the Meïnir as well as the Féinmhuinín. Yet, she looked like neither race. She was visibly older than the others were as well. While Cairbre was easily several hundred years old, Rhiannon appeared even older. He could not give name to the difference he saw when he looked upon Lady Rhiannon. Ceridwen taught Connor about her race when he was younger, so he knew the Meïnir aged at almost a quarter the rate of Humes, but something was still particularly different about Rhiannon. He did not dare ask.
    The early years of the Meïnir were quite similar to that of Humes, with one important exception: they matured far faster mentally. Because of this attribute, young Meïnir were often mistaken to be older than they were, despite their young, physical appearance. They aged at a fairly rapid pace for many winters, nearly forty. Once they reached such an age, however, their aging