Free Spirit of the Mist by Janeen O'Kerry Page A

become a part of your life, for I make certain to have them waiting for you each morning, there for you to find as soon as you step outside…and it gives me pleasure to place them in your hands whenever I can get them for you.  
    “Listen to me, Lady Muriel. Whether I am a servant or a king, I promise you this: I will find a way to be a part of your life, now and always, just as these flowers have become a part of your life.”  
    She could not bring herself to take the blackberry canes. “Yet once you walk through the doors of that hall—no matter which way it goes—there will be no more flowers for me.”  
    “Ah, but you are wrong about that,” he argued, pressing the white blossoms into her hand. “There will always be flowers, my lady. In one way or another, there will always be flowers.”  
     
    There was nothing for them to do now but sit and wait outside the hall. Muriel knew that, as always, the two visiting men would be seated on cushions in the clean rushes of the King’s Hall, offered fresh water and plates of hot food, then left in peace to eat and rest until they felt refreshed and ready for conversation with their hosts.  
    The sun had begun to sink below the sea when the doors of the hall finally opened and one of the druids beckoned to them. Brendan leaped to his feet and hurried inside, almost pushing past the startled druid, leaving Muriel to follow.  
    She forced herself to step inside, blinking in the dim light. At the far end, King Murrough sat on his bench, surrounded as always by his warriors and his druids; but in front of him were two strange men dressed in bright wool cloaks and tunics and trousers, with wide, gold bracelets around their wrists and slender torques of twisted gold around their necks. Each of them carried a fine sword and dagger at his thick leather belt.  
    But it was difficult to see the strangers now, for Brendan had all but leaped into their arms, shouting at them and clapping them on the back. “Darragh! Killian!” he cried, as though he were their long-lost brother. “You’re here! It’s so good to see you!”  
    “We knew that if anyone could survive exile, it was you,” said Darragh, grinning as he reached down to clasp Brendan’s wrist.  
    “Though we feared we might not see you again,” said Killian, reaching out to do the same.  
    “I will admit, that thought did cross my mind while I was out on the sea with nothing but wind and rain and darkness for company,” Brendan agreed, releasing them at last. “But thanks to this lady, I am still here in this world to greet you.”  
    All three turned and looked toward Muriel. She could only watch as Brendan stood with the two warrior men who were so clearly his friends and equals. It was clear to her that he had told the truth and was exactly who he said he was—a prince and a warrior, the second son of King Galvin, and the tanist of Dun Bochna.  
    A man who was next to be king… and who would have to rejoin his people very soon.  
    Never had Muriel felt so torn. Part of her fairly sang with the knowledge that Brendan had told the truth, that he had been chosen to be the next king of Dun Bochna, that he was, apparently, a man whom she might marry without fear of losing her magic.  
    And another part of her knew that his being a prince did not necessarily mean that he would love her, or even want to have her as his wife.  
    Since the night of his rescue he had been as charming and kind to her as any man could be, but she had been his only companion in this strange place where everyone doubted who he was. It was not surprising that he might wish to stay close to her for as long as he was here. It could well be a different story when he returned to his own home and no longer needed her.  
    And even if he did become a king, and did love her and did want to make her his wife, there was still the supremely troubling vision that the water mirror had shown her—the image of Brendan as the child of