From the author of the Gael Song trilogy, an epic new historical fantasy set in the tumultuous, magical world of medieval Ireland during the time of the Norman invasion.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Shauna Lawless’s Daughter of the Otherworld, which is out now.
Over a hundred years after she went missing, Isolde, born to the family of a famous Irish king and a powerful immortal, inexplicably reappears.
Her mother’s kin, the Descendants, are one of the two magical races of Ireland. But no Descendant can understand the reasons for Isolde’s disappearance, and worse yet, she is giftless – born with no magical ability, a dangerous thing when the magic-rich Fomorians, ancient enemies of the Descendants, are growing in strength.
The Fomorians no longer control any Irish kingdoms, but they still desire control over the mortal world. They seek to spread their dangerous webs wider by manipulating England’s Norman lords to invade Ireland.
Not yet eighteen, Isolde’s world is about to change for ever. But when death and destruction seem inevitable, her true worth will show itself, for Isolde is far more than she seems.
PROLOGUE
Donnchad
Dublin, 1064
Fifty years after the Battle of Clontarf
Only three days ago, I had answered to many names.
Donnchad, son of Brian Boru. King of the Dál gCais. King of Munster.
The latter two were gone now. Stripped from me by my nephew, Toir, whose army snapped at my heels.
Riding hard, day and night, it was the sight of Dublin’s walls that became my first comfort – the only time my sense of dread had eased at all since Toir had taken the dun at Killaloe from me. For fifty years, I’d held my father’s kingdom, but it seemed that the days of Donnchad Uí Brian ruling Munster were over. With the loss of my kingship, my safety had eroded. It wasn’t just Toir who followed me, but also Broccan, a warrior Descendant of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
It was Broccan who scared me the most. With no mortals to shield me and get in his way, he would come for me and rip my body apart. That was the truth. That was what awaited me. If Toir’s army didn’t find me first, Broccan would be sure to finish me off. I could only imagine that the devil would take my soul.
I brought fire to my left hand for a moment. The flames danced there. Fomorian was another name I owned, a name no one could take. With my fire-magic, I could burn it all. Not just the forest I rode through, but everything. Dublin. Munster. Tara. I could burn all those who had failed me. I could wait here for Toir to reach me and destroy him before he even set foot on the grass. With my other hand, I reached for the water of the River Liffey. This was my other gift. My strength. With fire and water to dance at my command, few could challenge me. Broccan, yes. A Descendant with the warrior gift could destroy me. But not Toir. Not his mortal army.
Perhaps, if I had been alone, I might have stood my ground. I might have thought death at the hands of Broccan worth it, if I could raze this land first.
But I was not alone. My son, Angus, rode in front of me. No. I could not let Broccan kill him. And so, I let the flame in my hand recede, rode on to the gates of Dublin and waited for Sitric’s men to allow me inside.
*
My brother did not greet me at the doors of his fortress as he usually did, cup of wine in hand, ready with a slap on the back, or else some insult to explain why he could not favour my kingdom over another. This time a warrior took me to my brother’s bedroom. A bedroom that smelled of death and rot.
“Is that you, Donnchad?” The body lying under thick furs moved a little as I entered.
“Brother.” I moved to his bedside. Angus stood by the door, then moved to his knees and crawled into the corner of the room.
“He’s yours?” Sitric asked from his bed, though it wasn’t a true question. Anyone with eyes in their head could see he was mine.
“He looks like our mother.”
“He does.”
Sitric sighed, his eyelids closing a moment longer than was usual. “You are here because Toir has finally ousted you from your kingdom. Is that right?”
I nodded.
“I cannot help you, Donnchad. I am dying.”
He did not say this looking for sympathy, so I gave him none. Only the truth. “Yes, brother. I see that you are.”
“I’ve decided I wish to go to Sláine when I die.”
“Not Valhalla?”
Sitric shook his head. “When my brother Gluniairn died, there was a big meeting in this very hall. He was murdered, still in his prime, and no one knew how he wanted to be buried. He was pagan his whole life, but he had converted. Not a true conversion. He merely wanted to trade with the Christian princes and kings across the water.” Sitric closed his eyes again, a small smile growing on his lips. “You don’t remember him, you are too young, but oh, Gluniairn was tough. Iron knee, they called him. A frightening man in many ways, but what a man. What a king. I was in shock when he died. My mother manipulated the funeral, of course. Had him buried as a Christian just so it would appease King Sechnall of Meath.”
“You think now it was not the burial Gluniairn wanted?”
“Not think. I know it wasn’t… but wise men learn from the mistakes of others, and so everyone here knows what I want. I’ve decided, though I miss my brothers, it is my wife and my children that I wish to see in my afterlife. Edysis, my daughter… you remember her, don’t you? She will be there. Sláine had her baptised, even though I did not care for the Christ faith at the time.”
My brother, his skin sunken and almost grey, smiled as he pictured those dead and gone before him. His daughter, Edysis. I remembered her. A wild girl with an infectious laugh. I remembered Sláine, my half-sister, too. Cold and clever, she had been, much like our father.
“This is a wise choice, brother.”
“Perhaps. If heaven awaits, yes. God knows I have paid enough gold and silver to these priests for indulgences that my salvation must be assured, though there are many who will say I do not deserve it.”
I nodded, for I could not think of anything to say. Besides, judgements on salvation and who deserved it were not mine to give. Whatever awaited my brother, it would come for him soon. Death hovered in this room. It was a smell that permeated everything. I could taste it in my mouth. Sitric had days left. If that.
“I am glad you have come here, Donnchad. I knew you would. I just hoped I would still be alive when Toir made his move.”
“Toir has been very persistent… And in the end… In the end, the people loved him more than me.”
“To be king is one thing. To stay king is another.” Sitric glanced at the door where light and the sound of distant voices drifted through. “My sons and grandsons will find Dublin hard to hold. The Irish kings see the prize that Dublin is and will try to take it once I go. I pray that they are strong enough to resist. War flows through their veins. Not fire.”
He spoke the last two words quietly. His eyes, heavy and red, were still sharp enough to take me in. We had not spoken of my fire-magic. Ever. Mother had told me she concealed it from him as she had from all mortals, and yet, I could see in those heavy-lidded eyes that he knew the truth of what she was. Of what I was.
“Even fire doesn’t save you in the end, brother.”
He grunted, shivering a little as he pulled his blanket closer. “Where will you go?”
“Away from this land. That is why I came here. Someone is following me. Someone who wants to kill me. Which ship in the longphort could bear me and my son away today?”
“There’s a ship of monks. They leave for Rome. At midday. To pray for my soul.”
“They will take me?”
Sitric nodded. “The ship is owned by a man called Cnut. Tell him you are my brother.”
I took his hand in mine and kissed it. “Thank you, Sitric. We argued often, but thank you for this.”
Unexpectedly, Sitric gripped my hand tight, crushing my fingers together. “I don’t do it just for you. I do it for my children and the children that will come after them.”
“What?”
“When you see my mother, tell her I have told my children about her. Tell her they have told their own children to never let her into this city. Tell her that kin-slayers and those who murder the children of Sitric are not welcome within these walls. The priests have cursed her name, so have the Valkyries. If she comes back here, she will die. Tell her that.”
Sitric coughed and let go of my hand. Blood and bile poured onto the pillow as he lurched forward. Quickly, two of the female slaves who’d been working in the feasting hall came running in to turn Sitric over. I thought of telling him that our mother would be dead by now, for she had left Ireland fifty years ago and had been old by mortal years even then. But the time for lies was over. Just as he seemed to know about our fire, he also knew we did not age in the same way as he did. Lying on the bed, white-haired and withered, he looked every bit a man in his tenth decade. I was in my sixties, but still looked in my prime. The evidence of my Fomorian nature was written upon my face, and I would not ruin my last words with Sitric by lying to him.
Instead, I stood. Inched backward. “Goodbye, Sitric.”
“Goodbye, Donnchad,” he wheezed as the women gently set his head back onto his pillow. “And do not come back here either. Go. Take your poison to a land that can suffer it. We can bear it no longer here.”
He coughed, his lungs rattling, and the slave girls, once again, tried to comfort him.
“Come, Angus.” I walked out of Sitric’s room and into the feasting hall. Sitric’s grandsons sat there drinking. All of them save for one was dark-haired like Sitric, me, and my mother. The other’s hair was flaxen, eyes of the palest blue. They all watched me as I walked past them, smirking and laughing. I said nothing. It was all well and good for them to laugh now at the king who was, but my brother was right. When Sitric died, the Irish kings would gather like wolves around a fresh carcass. Soon, it would be them without a kingdom.
