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Rise of the Kelpies (River Kelpie Series, Book 1) | E-book

Rise of the Kelpies (River Kelpie Series, Book 1) | E-book

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A girl meant to be a pawn starts playing her own game.

*includes bonus concept art only available when you buy direct from Shonna!

Farrah’s world is upended when a river kelpie invades her remote village and kills the hidden prince she was supposed to be protecting. As a member of the secret society created during the Kelpie Wars, Farrah knows she’ll be asked to pose as the prince’s twin sister and carry out the Society’s plans to safeguard the kingdom.

So, when the palace’s attention turns to finding the missing princess, Farrah travels to the capital with hundreds of other orphans also claiming the crown. She is more interested in finding justice for the prince than she is in becoming the princess. And when tragedy strikes along the way, Farrah will have no choice but to fight for those she loves.

Rise of the Kelpies is a cozy fantasy fairy tale in which a girl trying to save her kingdom has to learn to trust. Read Rise of the Kelpies and travel to Glenmoor Kingdom, a magical place with rebellious palace fairies and dangerous river kelpies.

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Chapter 1

Small dots of torchlight inched along the riverbanks like tired fireflies at the end of their season. Periodic shouts rose from desperate villagers echoing the name Tavish! Tavish! along with the steady thrum of their sticks parting the tall grasses. Whomp, whomp, whomp.

They searched the salt marsh in earnest for any sign of the missing lad, even though he was unknown to most of them. They’d been out since nightfall, scouring the land where the river used to run free.

Farrah tried to silence her panic, picturing Tavish flashing his shy grin at her while sliding his pebble to win their game of wits. She would find him tonight and never again complain that he must be cheating to win so often.

By design, Tavish didn’t interact much with anyone, but that didn’t matter to the folks of Brae. The villagers were told he was one of the quiet rivermen working near the island. A loner. But as soon as the call sounded that a youth had gone missing near the water, age-old fears kicked in. Only a handful of them knew Tavish’s real identity and importance to the kingdom, yet the entire village had responded. The people of Brae took care of their own.

Farrah’s heart swelled for her village. They had welcomed her in when she was a child, like so many others who were orphaned during the Kelpie Wars. The villagers had loved them all, as they loved Tavish now and searched relentlessly for him.

Farrah pulled her wool cloak tighter and took another careful step along the marshy bank. The cold mud oozed around her sandaled feet and threatened to pull her into the mire. The missing lad was their future king. If they failed to protect him now, there would be no stopping those bent on destroying their kingdom.

“Anything?” a deep voice said to her right.

Farrah startled. Osario. She was surprised someone so large could sneak up on her. He was tall and muscular, a former palace guard. She lifted her torch to read his face. He looked grim, the laugh lines around his eyes smooth and his brown eyes piercing. The streaks of white in his curly hair shone in the light, revealing his age where his body didn’t. “I thought you were searching at the far end of the peat bog.”

The co-leader of their secret society grunted. He and Senna worked as a team, and the others, like Farrah and the two rivermen who were supposed to be watching the island, took orders from them. “He’s not there. Nor the island. Hasn’t been seen since last night. They should have sounded the alarm the minute they realized he was missing. This is the last place to look.”

Missing since last night? Farrah’s heart skipped a beat. She fingered the note in her pocket:

Meet me at the Juniper tree. Don’t tell O or S.

Since Osario and Senna controlled so much of his life, there was little wonder Tavish liked to sneak around them on occasion. Early in the morning, one of the school children had passed Farrah the note, but she’d been too busy classifying plants with her students, and then later it was harder to slip away from Osario unnoticed. By the time she got to their favorite tree, there was no sign of Tavish and no further communication.

A note from Tavish wasn’t out of the ordinary, though he usually left it in the tree, not in the hands of a small child. He was, after all, supposed to keep a low profile.

The last time she saw him was two nights before, when they’d played the game of wits designed by Osario to guess the intentions of one’s opponent. A seemingly simple game using pebbles and an imaginary river. Head-to-head, Tavish always won. It infuriated her.

He would distract her by telling a funny story and then, like a magician, he’d rearrange his pebbles and win the game. Every time. Even when she knew what he was doing. Osario said Tavish’s strategy was the art of diversion. But when Osario and Senna sat in on the game, Farrah’s odds of winning increased. And it wasn’t because Osario helped her.

“You’re better in group situations,” he said. “Tavish is better one-to-one.” Osario advised Tavish to block out the other opponents to discern an individual’s strategy. He told Farrah to be less compassionate. “When faced with one opponent, you empathize with them too much and let your guard down.” Especially with Tavish.

After the game, Farrah had walked with Tavish to the edge of the marsh, where the skiff was waiting for him to pole back to the island. He’d been reluctant to leave, saying the island was a lonely place. Senna insisted he stay there since the island was supposed to be the safest place in Brae, surrounded by the water pixies who were enemies of the kelpies.

“Ye ken why the guards didnae sound the alarm,” she said now to Osario. There was no love lost between her and the guards Senna had acquired. According to Osario, the guards made it clear they didn’t like how quiet and remote Brae was, implying that their skills would be wasted in a backwater village that already had enough protections. They didn’t appreciate the skills of the rivermen, not even after they’d painstakingly cultivated the rivers themselves.

Osario spit. “Oh, aye, and we’ll pay for their arrogance if we’ve lost him.”

Farrah knew Osario meant if Tavish had been killed. “He’s careful. And I’d—we’d know, wouldn’t we? We were watching, and there was nothing out of place. Nothing disturbed. We’d have noticed if he was in danger.” She said the words but didn’t believe them. Not after she had ignored Tavish’s note.

She twirled the short reed in her pocket, the one used to shoot poisoned darts. She’d been ready to protect Tavish. They all had. But what if he’d seen something and tried to warn her? And why just her and not Senna and Osario?

Osario was silent for too long. Whomp, whomp, whomp went the beaters and Farrah’s heart. She’d given everything in service of keeping Tavish alive and hidden. Finally, he had reached the last of his training before they would take him back to the palace to claim his throne. If they found him…

“We’ll not know anything until…” Despite his bravado, Osario’s voice was thick with emotion. “Meanwhile, we stay the course.”

“We’ll find him.” Farrah’s voice came out strong. “He’s likely twisted an ankle and is waiting for us to rescue him.” She spoke with more conviction than she felt. He’d been gone too long.

After all these years of protecting him, they couldn’t allow him to die now, not when he was old enough to do something about his royal birth. If the Society no longer had Tavish, there would be nothing stopping the council from ending the monarchy when the king died. Sure, the council would try to find Tavish’s twin sister, but she was also well hidden, and quite reluctant to declare herself. They could pronounce the last royal descendant dead, put in their own ruler, and no one would be able to stop them.

A water pixie circled Farrah’s head, and she waved it away. She wasn’t in the mood. The pixie giggled and surged back. “Stop,” Farrah said. “I’m not playing. Help us find Tavish.”

The pixie, a small, phosphorescent creature with translucent wings, tilted its head like it was trying to understand.

“Don’t know why you try to talk to them,” Osario said. “They speak their own language.”

“Sometimes they seem to understand. I suspect this pixie probably wonders why the entire village is out tramping along the marsh in the middle of the night.”

The pixie’s smile dimmed, and it took up residence near Farrah’s shoulder as she walked with Osario.

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. Farrah’s arms ached as she swung her walking stick, but she wouldn’t stop until they found Tavish.

“If a kelpie got him, there will be little left to find.” Osario spit into the pool of water at his feet.

Anger swelled within Farrah’s chest. She’d never questioned Osario before. He was always the calculated, impassive leader, but to hear him speak so callously about Tavish cut her.

“Maybe you’ll find him if you focus and keep silent.” Farrah surged ahead, studying the banks with renewed vigor.

Villagers still feared the kelpies, though they had been driven away the year Farrah was born. Those old enough to remember the malevolent water spirits refused to go to the river alone. Or if they did, they made sure they had a claymore with them—a two-handed sword—in case a kelpie appeared in the form of a domestic horse, complete with bridle, tempting for children and farmer alike.

While a farmer had an eye on capturing the kelpie to work the fields, a child would want to ride on the horse’s back. But once a victim touched the horse’s hide, there was no escaping apart from cutting off the stuck appendage, whether it be finger or hand, and leaving it behind.

One tale spoken around the peat fires told of a group of children who found a kelpie grazing near the road. Gentle as an old mare, it let them climb up on its back, which grew to allow nine children at once. The tenth child reached out to touch the muzzle, where his finger immediately stuck. He realized the horse was a kelpie and saved himself by cutting off his own finger while the kelpie carried the other children away and drowned them in the loch.

Tavish, though not afraid of kelpie rumors, was never to be alone near the water. He was never to be anywhere alone, even though the brackish water near Brae was supposed to keep the villagers safe from kelpies. The salt was said to burn a kelpie’s hide. So maybe it wasn’t a kelpie that made Tavish deviate from the plan.

Osario cleared his throat. “I only want you to be prepared. I won’t give you false hope. If something has happened to Tavish, we need to be ready. Senna has already started preparing—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Farrah was glad of the darkness so Osario couldn’t read her face. She didn’t want to consider the possibility of life without Tavish, but admittedly, she already had. “If Tavish is gone, I am of no use here. You should send me to the capital. I’ll find employment as a maid in the palace or with a council member. Learn what I can there.” She knew it wasn’t the commitment Senna would want, but if Farrah spoke her request first, maybe Osario would throw his weight behind her.

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.

Ahead, a torchlight stopped its slow and methodical up-down rhythm and jerked wildly. A male voice cut through the night. “I’ve found something!”

Osario darted forward, crashing noisily through the reeds.

Farrah froze. No. Please no.

Several torchlights hovered low to the ground as the elders pushed their way to the front to examine the something on the bank. The other lights along the riverbank stilled as everyone strained to hear the verdict. The pixie zipped away from Farrah to skim and dance over its merry reflection in the water.

Please, not Tavish.

Osario’s large form stood up, shoulders above the others. The torchlight flickered light and dark on his face as his gaze sought out Farrah’s.

Nae. She held her hand up to her mouth. Her legs gave way, and she fell to the cold, mucky ground. Tavish, forgive me.

Meet the author:

SHONNA SLAYTON grew up in the mountains of beautiful British Columbia before moving to the Arizona desert. Though her house doesn't yet have a turret, there is a kitchen garden with potential....anyone have rapunzel seeds to share?

She writes stories inspired by fairy tales and history for readers who love to escape into other worlds that are grounded in truth, dusted with magic, and created for whimsical wanderings. In essence, a perfect weekend or beach read.

Her signature series features magical heirlooms passed down through generations, just like the necklace in this picture. This was her grandmother's favorite necklace, probably because it goes with everything and brings up warm memories.

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