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

proceeded to sing the prayer to him.
…shower down upon him
The rich blessings of your abundance;
Lady of all, I beseech you,
Be always within these halls.
Preserve him in your mantle;
Shield him securely from wickedness,
From unclean spirits and from unfriendly stars.
Grant to him, Mother of all…
    As she proclaimed the prayer, he listened to her words, and he felt protected in the cocoon of her song, just as he did those many years ago. Unable to hold his eyes open, he started to fall asleep.
    Alric burst into the room. “He has woken? Ceridwen, tell me!”
    A jolt shot through Connor’s body from the volume of his uncle’s booming voice. Content with going to sleep, he kept his eyes closed, but could not help listen.
    “He was conscious for a time, yes,” Ceridwen answered.
    “Does he know of his condition?”
    “Yes, your highness, I thought it only fair to inform him. I also sought to spare you the pain of informing him.” Ceridwen looked back to Connor and brushed the sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead.
    “How does he fare?”
    “The wound appears less inflamed, and he no longer bleeds. Though, I suspect it shall weep for some time as his body attempts to push the poison from him.”
    A voice Connor did not recognize spoke. “Is there nothing more we can do?”
    He opened his eyes a slit, careful not to draw attention to his woken state. Bronwen stood close by Alric’s side. Conner could sense the girl’s trepidation as she spoke. Through the doorway beyond, King Braith Denorheim lurked just outside the room in the hall.
    Alric looked to Ceridwen.
    “If there is a cure, my Lady, I know not. All I can now do is attempt to keep him as comfortable as possible and pray he lives.”
    Bronwen looked down at Connor and stepped back. “Perhaps it is unwise to be so close to him.”
    “You cannot contract the curse from him.” Connor recognized the tone of condescension in Ceridwen’s voice. She often spoke as such when questioned on any matter by someone other than himself.
    “Even so…”
    “Do not worry,” his uncle interrupted, “Ceridwen is most knowledgeable in the medicinal ways of Arlais. She is my nephew’s best hope. He is in safe hands while she resides in my halls.”
    “Your highness, I must leave Cærwyn, in accordance with the Lady Rhiannon’s orders. I cannot disobey her.”
    “When must you leave?”
    “A party rides now to escort me. It is likely they will arrive before nightfall this day. I will leave on the morrow.”
    “So soon?”
    “It is far likely Lady Rhiannon could sense his condition before I could.”
    Alric’s face reddened. “And what of Connor? With you gone, who can care for him?”
    “Rest assured that enough time has passed, and the healing process has already begun. Connor is strong. It says much that he has lived throughout the ordeal.”
    “I shall pray to the Maker for him.” Bronwen began to bow her head.
    “I am afraid your prayers would be for naught.” Ceridwen looked to the floor, and Connor immediately realized she should have held her tongue.
    “I think I shall take my leave. There are parts of the castle with which I am yet unacquainted, and I would like to wander throughout the halls. You should spend time with your nephew.” Bronwen bowed her head to him, but made no acknowledgment of Ceridwen’s presence as she left the room.

Rodric Gweliwch paced within the bed chambers afforded to him by High King Alric II. Though the moon was high in the sky and the hours of morning approached, he was unable to sleep. What ruler could sleep at times such as this? Alric was probably sound asleep like a babe in his bed. What a pitiful man he was, and yet he was granted rule of the entirety of the kingdom and its provinces. Alric sat on his throne by bloodline, never having proven himself in battle, while Rodric and his valiant men were sequestered to the northern mountains.
    The nobles would turn on Alric now. They must. He was lax in his