Caedwulf takes his first steps
Harald Leki was—quite ostentatiously—trying not to laugh.
Caedwulf watched him with ostentatious gravity. He did not see what part of “His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Caedwulf of Lothere” was so amusing.
Latest Chapters
Paul speaks a secret
Paul found his father where Alred had said he would be, and doing precisely what Paul had known he would be doing: in the gloomy old barn that had never belonged to a farm, staring at a blank wall—the blanker the better.
Cian cries up from the depths
Dantalion bent his head and scuffed his feet through the weeds. With the toes of his boots he snapped through stems and ripped up roots, and he kicked up entire mats of dead leaves that were heavy and wet underneath like scabs. What he sought was below all that rot, below the spores of mold, below the creeping tendrils of fungus. He was scraping down to the cold clay, such as men were made of.
Cian loses count
Dantalion had given his word, but he thought one hundred strokes far too few. It was the first time Eithne had permitted him to brush her hair—and it was she who had offered, she who had asked. Fortunately her hair was long, and he could make his one hundred strokes last.
Cedric joins a lesson
Cedric knew his friends were up to trouble as soon as he opened the door. Olaf squealed, Conrad hunched his shoulders over something he held in his lap, and Finn turned his head and grinned as wickedly as Finn could grin.
Cynewulf learns how it feels
No one had been speaking when the Abbot came in, but it seemed to Cynewulf that somehow the room had gone more silent still.
“Good morning,” the Abbot said quite softly. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Truth will still be told
“I hope you did not promise them a miracle,” Aelfden said.
“Most certainly not!” Father Matthew gasped in open-mouthed indignation. “On the contrary, I told them that expecting a miracle was perhaps the surest way to avoid one—but it is always so!”
Eirik asks anything
“I thought you just ate?” Cearball smirked.
Eirik did not put down his spoon, but he held it immobile halfway between his mouth and the bowl, which gesture seemed more menacing still.
Murchad fears the curse of cats
“Who could that be?” Synne asked upon hearing a commotion in the front hall.
“Or what manner of beast?” Cearball added.
Chapter Archives
Subscribe
Chapters
“You have nothing to be worthy of such poems, Hetty.”
Latest Comment