A Court of Muses
A Court of Muses
SON OF A FAE SERIES
BOOK 1
SARINA DORIE
Copyright © 2020 Sarina Dorie
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 979-8642981016
WORKS BY SARINA DORIE
COLLECTIONS OF FUNNY SHORT STORIES
Fairies, Robots and Unicorns—Oh My!
Ghosts, Werewolves and Zombies—Oh My!
stand-alone Novels
Dawn of the Morning Star
Urban Changeling
The Chronicles of Dartania
Silent Moon
Fairy Godmother Mysteries
Wrath of the Tooth Fairy
The Memory Thief Series
Steamy Steampunk mysteries
The Memory Thief
The Geari Wife
Clockwork Memories
The Lost Memories of Meriwether Klark
Silkpunk and Steam
The Memory Keeper
NOT-SO-COZY MYSTERIES
IN THE womby’s school for wayward witches SERIES listed in order
Tardy Bells and Witches’ Spells
Hex-Ed
Witches Gone Wicked
A Handful of Hexes
Hexes and Exes
Reading, Writing and Necromancy
Budget Cuts for the Dark Arts and Crafts
My Crazy Hex-Boyfriend
Spell It Out for Me
Hex Crimes
Of Curse You Will
Cackles and Cauldrons
Hex and the City
Wedding Bells and Midnight Spells
Hex Appeal
Safe Hex
The Joy of Hex
Hedgewitchin’ in the Kitchen
The Trouble with Hedge witches SERIES
The Witch of Nightmares
A Cauldron Full of Curses
A Pocket Full of Poison
The Witch’s Familiar
SON OF A SUCCUBUS SERIES
A Familiar Magic
Curse of the Witching Hour
Magical Maladies for Beginners
The Physics of Souls
Incubus Charms
A Vial Full of Magic
A Devil of a Time
SON OF A FAE SERIES
A Court of Muses
A Court of Faerie
A Court of Nightmares
A Court of Ravens
A Court of Witchkin
A Court of Magic
A Court of Shadows and Lies
The vega bloodmire
cozy witch mystery series
Ghoulish Charms
The Hex Files With Felix Thatch
Paranormal Mystery series
Talented and Goblin
No Way in Spell
Other Titles to Be Announced
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Son of a Fae Series is a spin-off of the Womby’s School for Wayward Witches Series. The first two novels take place before Clarissa Lawrence was born and details Captain Errol’s life and his mysterious past before Womby’s School for Wayward Witches Series. The third book onward take place after the battle with the Raven Queen.
* * *
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Table of Contents
WORKS BY SARINA DORIE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the Year 1570 in the Faerie Realm
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PREVIEW
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In the Year 1570 in the Faerie Realm
PROLOGUE
The King’s Gift
Errol, son of Gwendolyn and Wilberth, was born in the fortressed city of Ffynnoncaernpenrhynpentre. The city’s name was a mouthful, the name meaning “a spring by the heap of stones that makes up the promontory village,” all the words strung together to form the name, as was the Fae custom, which the Welsh humans across the border in the Morty Realm had also adopted.
As was the custom in the Faerie Realm, only Witchkin half-breeds who were part mortal and Fae had surnames. Fae adopted their village as part of their name, which was quite inconvenient to be called Errol of Ffynnoncaernpenrhynpentre.
The local Fae affectionately called the capital city by the nickname of Caern, meaning “a heap of stones.”
After Errol’s ma died in childbirth and his da grew ill from inadvertently handling cold iron, his da petitioned the king of the Silver Court to find Errol an apprenticeship.
It may have been because so few children were being born at all that the king took an interest when Errol’s father requested an audience with his sovereign. His father dressed in his finest clothes, and Errol in his. Alma was swaddled up in a blanket their mother had sewn for her when she’d been expecting. Errol felt self-conscious leaving their house dressed so nicely. The castle had always been a sparkling landmark on the horizon of Caern, glittering in the sunlight like polished crystal.
As they made the long walk through the city, Errol realized how large the palace was as it loomed over them. It shimmered like a mirage that might disappear at any moment.
Errol became more self-conscious as he realized that what he’d always thought were their best clothes looked like rags compared to the opulent wealth of the castle. Even the guards and servants wore newer attire than they did. Everything glittered in the palace, the very walls looking as though they contained magic.
When they were admitted to see the king, the sovereign sat on an immense throne on a dais, looking down at them. He was terrifying to behold, bees swarming around him. Errol wasn’t sure whether he was a man or he was made from insects and they simply came together to form the shape of a man.
Errol’s da bowed and laid down the gift he’d brought for the king, a leather scabbard with intricate knotwork patterns burned into the leather. His father and mother had once held the reputation of being Caern’s leading leatherwork artisans, their crafted products made from pegasus and chimera hides, as well as basilisk and dragon skins. The Silver Court was known for their muse abilities and boasted that the goods from their kingdom were of the finest craftsmanship.
It had taken his father weeks to make the leather sheath with every spare moment he had. Royalty were more likely to grant favors to those who brought them worthy gifts, though his da told him they wouldn’t be seen at all by the king if they didn’t bring something. Errol had thought the scabbard was the most beautiful piece of leatherwork his father had ever made. He coveted it, though he knew i
t wasn’t to be his. Now that they were before the king, and he saw that the sovereign sat on a glittering throne made of crystals and his crown of spikes could have been lethal diamond stalagmites, he questioned whether the king would find the scabbard as beautiful as he did. The king already had a scabbard at his belt, and though bees covered it, the precious stones that encrusted the case twinkled from between the crawling insects.
Errol’s da introduced himself and spoke of his trade before introducing Errol. “My son has the silver hair of the Silver Court, just as my late wife did.” His da held Errol’s little hand in his own and baby Alma in his other arm. “That proves his lineage from your family’s bloodline.”
King Viridios leaned forward. “Let me see the girl.”
Alma’s hair wasn’t silver at all, more of the dark blond of their father’s.
The bees parted enough to show the king’s beard and mustache. His frown was more discernable in his eyes than his mouth.
“What did you say your wife’s name was again?” The king’s eyes shifted like a kaleidoscope, first orange and then fading to violet.
“Gwendolyn,” his da said. He sounded tired. The walk to the castle had exhausted him, and he would be worse off returning home. His sickness to cold iron left him with little energy these days.
“Ah, Gwendolyn. I see.” The king’s formidable expression softened as he took in Errol. “And you, lad, I suppose you want me to find you an apprenticeship as a leatherworker like your father?”
Errol couldn’t understand why his father didn’t just go to the guild himself and find him an apprenticeship. He was almost old enough for that. In any case, sewing leather and embossing intricate designs was boring. He’d been taught enough of it to know it was the last thing he desired.
“I don’t want to be a tailor or a leatherworker.” Errol said, getting over his fear of the king now that some of the bees had dispersed from the older man’s face. He squirmed out of his da’s grip. “I want to fight.”
He snatched up the leather scabbard his father had brought as a gift to the king and brandished it as though it were a sword. He stabbed at imaginary foes and slashed it through the air before his father snatched it up, laid it on the dais at the king’s feet where Errol couldn’t reach it, and cuffed Errol on the back of the head.
“I told you the importance of behaving today,” his father wheezed. “We will speak more on this impudence later, after we see what it costs us.”
Errol’s shoulders slumped. He’d just wanted to show the king he was worthy of being a warrior.
“It’s all right. He’s but a child, and I did ask him a question.” The king smiled, one of the few times Errol would see genuine joy on his face, even in the years to come. “It has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of observing the antics of a child in my court.”
Errol tried to tug away from his father’s hand, but his grip was firm.
“You are a little fighter, are you not?” King Viridios asked.
Errol lifted his chin, his quiver betraying his fear as he gazed at the bees buzzing closer to him. “Aye. I’m mighty strong too.”
“Then you shall become a cabin boy in the Royal Navy of the Silver Court. If you do well and work hard, you will be rewarded with a position and pay.”
The king gestured to a servant attired in silver robes off to the side. “See to it that this young man is appointed an appropriate position in the navy.” The king turned back to Errol, his gaze piercing, as if he could see inside his soul. “What did you say your name was again, boy?”
“Errol, Your Majesty,” his father supplied.
The king repeated the name as if committing it to memory.
Errol was shipped off the next day. He was six.
His father’s parting words to Errol were “Serve your kingdom with honor. The king granted you a boon. It is no matter to take lightly.”
CHAPTER ONE
Nothing Lasts Forever, Including Immortality
Errol and Alma had been some of the last supposedly full-blooded Fae born in the kingdom, though the royal family had stopped producing heirs fifty years before. Errol’s da had blamed it on inbreeding. Of course, many commoners had thought the same, back before they’d realized the full extent of the damage being caused by trading with Morties, across the border in the Morty Realm. It was quite possible that the decadent lifestyle of royalty had exposed them to an excess of Morty-crafted foods, attire, and artistry, which had weakened them sooner than the rest of the population.
Errol’s and Alma’s births were blessings indeed.
It wasn’t just cold iron that was the problem, but any product that came in contact with the metal. Though humans believed in superstitious nonsense to keep Fae folk away, like putting a four-leaf clover in a pocket, the truth was that the chemicals their alchemists produced as they attempted to turn lead into gold or find the fountain of youth were far greater deterrents.
Many portals to the Morty Realm had been closed during the Iron Age, but now more and more were being closed as a result of the sickness Morties brought to the Faerie Realm. Strict rules had been set in place regarding the conduct Fae and Witchkin were permitted while in that other realm so as not to draw attention to their magic—or their weaknesses.
Errol had come into the world in an era when few children were being born to pure-blooded Fae families.
When his mother used to tuck him in at night, he would gaze at her youthful face and silvery-blonde hair, never suspecting her days were numbered.
“Tell me a story,” he used to ask, mostly in an attempt to stay up past his bedtime.
His mother would smile, her face lighting up with a beauty that rivaled the moonlight. “Do you know where I get my silver hair?”
He did, but he pretended he’d forgotten so she would tell him again.
“Your great-great-grandmother was so beautiful that she caught the fancy of one of the nobles of the Silver Court—and she’d been a Witchkin at that—but I advise you not to repeat that detail. Folk don’t always treat those with a Morty ancestry the same as they do pure-blooded Fae.”
That meant Errol wasn’t completely Fae, but he was close enough to pass for one, like his ma. It may have been that drop of Morty blood in her ancestry that enabled his mother to conceive when true purebloods couldn’t.
* * *
In Errol’s apprenticeship as cabin boy, he heeded his mother’s advice not to speak of that drop of Morty blood in his ancestry and minded his father’s instruction to serve his kingdom with honor. He wasn’t certain how honor related to scrubbing the decks or running errands for the captain, but he performed his tasks without complaint and always tried his best, even when he wanted to shirk his duties like some of the other lads.
It was two years before he was given a wage, small as it was. He sent every penny home for his ailing father and his wee sister. With his father’s deteriorating health, he wasn’t able to work, which meant he wasn’t able to support himself, let alone a child.
The captain Errol worked under was stern but fair. Sometimes Errol found the captain staring at him, his expression grumpy as he surveyed the deck Errol had swabbed.
“Recommended by the king,” the captain harrumphed. His gaze raked over Errol’s shorn silver hair, his haircut identical to the other cabin boys’. The only difference was the silver of his hair. No one else had such a distinct color on board, not even the old men. Their hair was either white or gray.
Errol was aware his hair marked him as different.
The captain permitted Errol to visit his family when they returned to port. In the time he’d been gone, Errol had missed his family greatly. Upon his homecoming, he found his resentment toward his baby sister had melted away. There wasn’t anything Errol loved more than playing with Alma. He carried her around the cottage on his shoulders, tolerating her abuse when she yanked on the points of his ears or pulled on his hair.
With his every visi
t home, Errol noticed his father was more emaciated and weaker. His voice was a scratching rasp as he asked, “Do you obey your captain’s command and perform your duties without complaint? Are you honorable and kind in your manner toward others?”
“Not everyone else is kind. Why should I have to be?” Errol asked.
“Because you are better than that. Rise above those who are immoral and base. Be a good example to others. You owe your king that much at least.”
Errol took those words to heart and did his best to make his father and his king proud.
When Errol was ten, his father died. He was fortunate the captain permitted him to go home for his funeral. Guilt riddled Errol that he hadn’t been there when his da had died. Nor had he been home to care for his sister. He’d had to work to support them.
Errol found his baby sister unfed and filthy. No one but the neighbor had been around to care for Alma, and she was a busy woman with her own business to run. Errol couldn’t allow Alma to be neglected.
He determined he had to help her.
He was caught trying to bring her along as a stowaway on the ship. The wiggling in his bag had given her away.
“You cannot bring a child onto this ship,” the captain said sternly.
“Sir, please.” Errol dropped to his knees, pleading. “She has nowhere else to go. She can work as a cabin boy just like I did when I came on board. She isn’t that much younger than I was.”
Alma made a face at Errol and blew a raspberry at the captain, not helping Errol plead his case.
“She is four,” Captain Arnfinnr said. “And a girl. You were six. A ship is no place to raise a girl.”
“But where will she go?” Errol asked. “She needs someone to raise her. She needs a family.”
He feared the captain might suggest the orphanage. That was a filthy place of squalor. Most of the children there were Witchkin half-breeds. Errol was starting to learn in his employment in the navy how Witchkin recruits were treated differently from pure-blooded Fae.