There’s one of two reasons you’re here. You heard about the Kickstarter for Bonded Crowns, or you were wandering around my website looking at Sovereigns and stumbled here. Either way, you’re interested in what the book is actually like!

Sneak Peak–Shawnahur and the Clan Leader

Shawn has arrived in the city and has been informed the chieftain needs his flute, but he doesn’t know why. Clodagh is leading him through the halls.

---

“I don’t care what you think, Ronan! Who is chief here? Is it you? Did someone usurp me while I wasn’t looking?

“Duene, I’m only advising that we don’t reconvene the army. The rain may have made things difficult… We’ll call them again, but ‘twill take time. Allow the rains to—”

The deeper voice grew louder, more agitated, hammering against the door that separated Shawnahur and Clodgah from the speaker. “What do you know about the Hameen? You’re a servant!”

Clodagh shook her head. “See what I mean?”

Shawnahur didn’t, but he didn’t see a point in saying so.

“This way.”

She led him down a side hall, that took them away from the argument, granting some relief from the ear-shattering shouts until she opened another door.

“I told you, enough!” There was a splintering crash.

“Duene—“

“Nay, get out. Get out! Now!” A tall, broad-shouldered man raked his fingers through shoulder-length red hair. “I’m surrounded by idiots. Idiots!” He kicked a chair sending it tumbling across the floor.

“Play!” Clodagh hissed. When Shawnahur only stared, she rolled her eyes. “The jiddee’adar said you could calm Rian. Play your flute.”

Calm him? Rian—the high chieftain of Muintir? The man who’d united the tribes under one banner and led them against their enemies? This was the man his brothers served in battle, the one they had painted as a fierce warrior? If Shawnahur hadn’t been introduced, he’d have thought the man was a raving lunatic.

Peace, heart of my hearts. For this step, Jeeah has ordained this as your place.

Taking a breath to calm his nerves, Shawnahur pulled out his flute and played a gentle trill.

“What’s that?” Rian turned on him. “Who are you?”

“Peace, duene, ‘tis but a boiwith who comes to play the flute for you. ‘Tis your favorite instrument, is it not?”

“Aye.” The leader glared at Shawnahur for a heart-pounding moment before seeming to utterly forget him. He turned his wrathful expression on a side table, speaking in an angry mutter. “The army disbanded? Who would have done that?”

Shawnahur blocked the raving man from his mind and took himself back to more serene surroundings—at the pond, Cormac at his side, Graen casting shadows into the crevice of the crags. With the thought, a tune came to mind—a simple one he’d composed as a young drover. His fingers danced along the holes, and soon his foot tapped to the rhythm.

He flowed from the Puckling Dance to Midstep Repast, and on to Calling the Dog. They were all lighthearted songs he’d played countless times in the fields. His thoughts turned to home—and how far away it was. Jeeah I need you more than ever.

With that prayer, he shifted to one of his favorite songs, Jeeah’s Blessing. Another hymn came close behind it, and yet another poured forth when ‘twas done. His prayers set to music spilled from his heart and through his flute until he had no more music to give.

Realizing the room was quiet, he glanced about, looking for anyone to tell him what to do next. A quick survey revealed Rian sitting in a cushioned chair gazing at him. The man’s eyes were clear, and a frown creased his brow.

“Do I know you, boiwith?”

“Ah,” Shawnahur swallowed, “I’m Shawnahur, son of Tearan Macoll. You may know my brothers. They fight in your army.”

“Aye, the one that’s been disbanded due to weather. Whoever heard of such an order before? And they say I made it. Does that make sense to you?” Rian’s face clouded over, and he stared into space as his frown deepened into a scowl. He muttered, but Shawnahur could neither hear nor comprehend what the duene was saying.

He wished there was water to sooth his throat, but no one else was in the room. Should he go searching for some? It hadn’t gone well the last time he’d ventured out on his own.

Rian’s muttering was intensifying, and as it grew more vehement ‘twas also getting louder. He pounded his fist against the wooden arm of the chair and jolted to his feet, pacing. What was wrong with him?

A crash startled Shawnahur; even as he was whirling toward the sound, Clodagh rushed into the room and crossed to Rian who was standing over an overturned table with a broken leg. Without looking away from the duene, she motioned to Shawnahur to resume his music.

He didn’t know what else to play, but he could let his fingers move—‘twas a trick he’d learned for creating new songs. When Rian kicked at a chair, Shawnahur wove a mournful line, as if the flute sympathized with the furniture. Rian shook his head, red hair flying; the flute let out a trill of high notes. As he collapsed into his chair, the flute echoed his motion with a low purr.

Words sprang to Shawnahur’s mind, and he played the tune that accompanied them.

‘Twas a mighty warrior,

how has he fallen?

‘Twas a brave duene,

but now he fights himself.

Take care, great soldier,

for you can once again

rise to fame.

Trust Jeeah,

he’ll lead you on.

The melody was composed of minor notes, lending an air of tragedy until the very end, where it switched to more of mystery. He repeated the song so he could cement it in his memory and be able to record it back in his room. On the third repetition, a snore interrupted the final line, and he softly played the last few notes before looking around for Clodagh.

She was still nearby, and she nodded for him appreciatively and motioned for him to follow her. Once out of the room, she whispered, “Thank you. You may eat and then relax for a while. If another bout hits him, we’ll call you back.”

Shawnahur glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping duene. “How long has this been happening?”

“You will speak of this to no one.” Although low so as not to disturb Rian, Clodagh’s voice was fierce. “Not a soul must know what has befallen Duene Rian. ‘Twould throw Muintir into chaos.”

Shawn and Ashley

This comes several weeks after the earlier snippet. Keenah is the silver dragon, or arc lukesure, that bonded with Shawnahur.

---

Are we leaving? Keenah watched attentively.

Aye, Rian has been stable long enough for Clodagh to feel I’m no longer needed.

Good. ‘Tis getting harder to maneuver through the bars of the window. Much longer and I’d be stuck on one side or the other—or end up reinjuring my leg.

Shawnahur paused and really looked at the arc lukesure, noting how well the leg had healed—and how he’d grown.

I’m glad I don’t have to carry you out in the sling! I don’t think ‘twould even work.

As am I! Much as I’ve enjoyed being close to you, ‘twas getting rather cramped.

Smiling, Shawnahur slung his cloak over his shoulder and watched the arc lukesure scramble out the window, trying not to laugh at how awkward he’d come to look doing it. ‘Twas rather like watching a cat trying to wriggle through a mousehole.

How many steaks did you eat a step while we were here?

Hm, I never counted.

The long silver tail disappeared through the bars, and Shawnahur set off down the hallway, a gentle spring in his step.

“Ashley, where are you going?” The oldest of Carda’s sisters stood in a doorway with her hands on her hips.

The other glanced over her shoulder and collided with Shawnahur who steadied her.

“Oh!” She peered up at Shawnahur, their gazes meeting. “Forgive me.”

He was acutely aware of her small frame in his arms, along with the scent of lavender and some exotic flower he couldn’t place.

“No apology needed, bantiernan.” He smiled and hoped it didn’t look as idiotic as it felt.

“Ashley.” Quinn repeated.

Shawnahur realized he was still holding onto her arms, and Carda’s admonition came back as a menacing echo in his brain. His cheeks flushing with heat, he let go of her and backed away.

“Have a good step, Bantiernan Ashley.”

Her lips parted and red rushed to her cheeks. “And you…”

He swallowed. “My name’s Shawnahur. I… I played the flute for your father.”

“Let the minstrel go.” Quinn’s tone was softer as she joined her sister. She glanced him up and down, bringing a renewed rush of heat at her scrutiny. “Thank you for what you did for Father. We all appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a lesson to attend to.” She took her sister’s hand and pulled her along.

Ashley smiled over her shoulder as she allowed Quinn to lead her away.

Shawnahur Is Threatened

This snippet is about midway through the book. We begin to see how Rian, former chieftain and now king of Muintir, has allowed jealousy to take over. Carda was mentioned above and is mentioned here; he’s Shawn’s best friend and Rian’s son.

---

Somewhere in the midst of his playing, Carda had departed. Shawnahur didn’t pause, but now he focused on the room’s lone remaining occupant. Rian drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his body tense and his knuckles white against the shaft of the smayden, watching Shawnahur like a hawk eyeing a puckling. The hair on the back of Shawnahur’s neck stood on end. Rian smiled.

“You’re perfect. Can’t do anything wrong. Even my jiddee’adar left me, but you…” Rian leaned forward. “You kill Hameen and take their holdings; you have the praise of all the people; even the men can’t say enough about you. But I wonder: What would happen if you were killed? What would come of Dree’s plans then, hm?”

Shawnahur’s notes wavered with the dread that skittered down his spine.

Rian cackled, tossing his head back. He cut it off with a suddenness that left the room deathly silent. Shawnahur hurried to fill it, but the song wouldn’t come. The flute was aimless, the music darting here and there, stuttering like it didn’t know which way to run.

“Even my own children have turned against me for you.” The king’s red-rimmed eyes flashed, and he bared his teeth. “I’ve had enough!”

If it had happened earlier, ‘twould have been the death of him, but he saw the king’s hand rise, watched the smayden fly from his grip. He launched himself to the floor, rolling into a crouch. The smayden swayed, embedded in the wall behind where Shawnahur had been sitting.

“Run all you want, dragon king! You won’t have my throne!”