First Of Her Kind (Book 1) Read Free Page A

as much of the Goddess’s gift as her aunt. No, something far stronger and much more dangerous caused the damage to that tree -- uncontrolled and fueled by a fit of temper.
    "She’s a good lass, Bolin," Findley said.
    Bolin cocked his head. "I’ve not said otherwise."
    "No." The horse master averted his eyes and shifted from one foot to the other. "But you’re hard on her more often than not. Now’s a time she needs a softer hand, maybe, given the circumstances."
    "Given the circumstances and her inability to manage her temper, perhaps now's a time she needs a stronger hand."
    "This isn't an easy thing for her." Findley’s voice took on a sharpness not usually present. His eyes flashed as he locked gazes with Bolin, but he quickly looked away again. "You know she lost her mum when she was a child, and now her aunt. She’s no family left after that. Not blood, leastwise."
    "Codling's not the answer." And Findley wouldn’t understand the answer, or the reason for it, if Bolin gave them to him.
    How could you explain something as rare as someone possessing two forms of magic, each as powerful as the other, and one more deadly than anyone knew? No one alive could claim as much.
    No one except Ciara.
     
    * * *
     
    Bolin found Meriol in the garden behind the house. He watched as she moved among the plants, snipping off herbs and dropping them into the basket slung over her arm. Strands of long, silver hair, pulled loose by the breeze, danced around her face as though in rhythm with the light tune she hummed. Bolin had no fear of death, but he’d never seen anyone accept it with the kind of nonchalance Meriol did. No wonder Ciara found it hard to understand. For Bolin's sake, the Goddess’s plans would forever remain a mystery but perhaps Meriol had a better grasp of them.
    She glanced up as though she felt him watching, a sparkle in her grey eyes when they landed on him. "Bolin!" She crossed the small garden, and embraced him warmly. "I’m glad my message reached you."
    "You’ve not told Ciara," he said, bluntly.
    Meriol’s smile faded. "No."
    "Meriol-"
    "It would be easier for me if you were there," she said. "She’s not going to like it."
    "I’ll not question your reasons."
    "But?"
    "It would help if I understood them."
    Meriol sighed. She hooked her arm through Bolin’s, and turned him toward a low bench beneath a flowering apple tree. "Come, sit with me."
    She put her basket on the ground beside the bench as she sat. Bolin settled next to her, and waited while she worked through what she wanted to say, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap.
    "I’m an old woman, Bolin," she said at last.
    "Not so old as some."
    "You’re being kind." She smiled, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. "I was old seven years ago when Ciara came to me. The Goddess saw fit to give me those years, but now my body is failing, and there is nothing can be done. I’ve prayed to the Goddess, and she has accepted my offering."
    Bolin’s gaze followed hers to the basket and her collection of herbs.
    "I go willingly into her embrace."
    He laid his hand over hers, and squeezed her fingers gently. "Then what is it that troubles you?"
    "I’ve taught Ciara all I can. This other magic she possesses -- this wilding -- I touched upon it once, thinking I could learn its essence and help her control it." Meriol shuddered, and her eyes clouded at the memory. "It terrifies me. I’ve never felt such anger and darkness, and the older Ciara gets, the stronger the wilding seems to become. I’ve warded it the best I can, and forbade her to call on it, but that will only suffice for so long. Ciara can't control this magic."
    "Do you know its origins?" Bolin asked.
    "I can only guess," Meriol replied. "It didn’t come through our lines, I’m sure of that. Our magic is of the Goddess, passed down from mother to daughter through all the generations back. I’m not as versed in other magic as I should be, perhaps. I don’t know if such a thing