Excerpt of Soul Magic by Karen Whiddon

Rune 1149

Formless shadows, stealing through the dark. A scream, a
shout, a child’s shrill wail. Alanna of Rune bolted up in
her bed, turning instinctively to look for the slumbering
form of her russet-haired son.

Like the night before, he was not there.

The small sleeping pallet was heartbreakingly tidy,
undisturbed by a small boy’s restless slumber. Caradoc
had not slept in his bed, not since he’d been taken two
nights ago. Again she saw the dark shapes, felt the
impossible power of the magic that had kept her frozen,
horrifyingly unable to move while Gorsedd stole her son.

She uttered a low, keening, cry. Her child was gone. And
if Gorsedd truly believed Caradoc to be the changeling
child of prophecy, he would never be returned.

As a Fae princess and Caradoc’s mother, Alanna knew
better. One night of violence had given her Caradoc. She
wanted only to find her son and bring him home. That she
had not enough magic to do so tore at her.

Once, like all of her kind, she had glowed bright with
power. But the magic had been waning for a long time.
Now, with the remnants of her power clinging to her like a
tattered cloak, she could not even determine where Gorsedd
had taken her boy.

Her beloved son. Caradoc.

Unable to sleep, Alanna began to pace.

“They will not harm him.”

Alanna spun. “Wynne.” Alone of all the Fae in Rune, the
Oracle’s remaining magic still leant her that soft glow.
Her silver hair, so gray it appeared the startling white
of moonlit snow, matched the shimmer of her flowing gown.

“Aye.” The older woman’s lined face looked serene, the
opposite of Alanna’s churning emotions. “I have spent the
night trying to find out where Caradoc has been taken.”

“What did you-- Were you able--?”

“No.” The single word hovered in the air. “Neither
mirror nor water would ripple for me. Like everyone else,
my own magic has finally begun to fade.”

“I must find out where they took him.” Jaw aching, Alanna
forced herself to unclench her teeth. She lifted her head
and met the wise one’s gaze.

“They will not harm him,” Wynne repeated. “They believe
him to be the child of prophecy, of power. They believe
him to be son of the mortal Darrick of Thorncliff.”

“But he is not.” The words burst from her, pent up
frustration and worry and rage making her voice as sharp
as the ceremonial blade that had long hung above the
throne.

“Are you certain?”

“You have seen him.” Bitterness made her throat
ache. “Caradoc is not Darrick’s son.”

The old woman’s gaze was sharp. “Is it possible you are
wrong?”

“I have wished to be wrong more than you know. We shared
one night of love, Darrick and I, a fortnight before I was
attacked. I prayed that it might be so. I didn’t know
for certain until Caradoc was born. His coppery hair
bespoke his parentage without a doubt.”

“And our magic has continued to wane.” Though no hint of
accusation sounded in the Oracle’s calm tone, Alanna felt
the jagged edge of it prick her skin.

“I’ve failed our people.” Anger made a sour knot in her
belly. “Worse, I have failed my son.”

“They do not know… Then tell them. Tell the world.
Name the one who sired Caradoc.”

Name him. Alanna opened her mouth, then closed it. She
swayed as memories of that awful night flooded her. She’d
been caught unprepared, for even then her magic had been
weak.

She’d strolled in the forest dreaming of her upcoming
nuptials. He’d been waiting for her, grabbing her when
she’d walked past his hiding place. He’d tied her hands
so tightly her wrists had bled. He’d muffled her screams
with a wet cloth stuffed in her mouth. Then he’d taken
her from behind, savagely, laughing as he brutally raped
her.

She never wanted to speak his name out loud. To do so
reminded her of what had been, until now, the worst night
of her life.

But losing her son was far worse. She’d thought she knew
then what it was to feel utterly powerless, at the dark
mercy of another. But she’d been wrong. The horror of
that night was nothing compared to this, the awful terror
of not being able to find Caradoc.

“Morfran Mortimer,” she said, her voice brittle enough to
cut through stone. “His hair is the color of flame. He
is Caradoc’s sire. The one who raped me has long been
enemy to Darrick and his family.”

“As he is still,” intoned the wise woman of Rune, anger
coloring her unwavering tone. “When last I was able to
see, I learned that much has changed in the human world
since you left it. Gone to war and returned, Darrick is
now fatherless, thanks to that one’s hand.”

Alanna thought her heart would stop. She hadn’t asked,
hadn’t wanted to know. “Morfran has slain Oren Tadhg?”

“Aye. And even now, your betrothed attempts to defend
Thorncliff against Morfran’s army.”

“He is not--” Alanna froze as Wynne’s words
registered. “Why would Darrick need to defend that which
is his by right of birth?”

Wynne shook her head, her closed expression one of
dismissal. “You must go to him. Darrick of Thorncliff is
the only one who can help you regain your son.”

“Help me? Why would he help me? Darrick knows naught of
the boy’s existence, nor the reason why I broke our
betrothal. He will hate me now.”

“`Tis of no consequence. You can help each other.
Darrick is the one you must seek. Tell him the truth.
This much I have seen.” Wynne pointed at Alanna’s
heart. “If you wish Caradoc returned, you must go now to
Thorncliff and ask Darrick’s help.”