Sample Post from the Other Genre this Month:

Caroline de Rochefort posts in Writer's Muses

"Have you ever made harp pins like that before?" Jocelyn asked.

I nodded. I had made harp pins of bone before, and an entire harp from the carcass of game I had taken on my own. On the Fortunate Island I had learned from my Eldermentor, Myrddin. This would be no different. What concerned me, most however, was the construction of the neck and column. Every part of the harp, including the strings would utilize the carcass and would house the spirit of the poor creature that had given up their life for it. I confess, I should have felt more remorse than I did, but to be honest, I didn't.

"She was going to kill you, you know," I said matter-of-factly.

"I know,"Jocelyn nodded but didn't look at me. She was still shaken by the incident."I have never seen anyone move so fast as you did, Caroline. I thought I was done for."

"You very nearly were," I said placing each of the bone harp pins into the carefully drilled breastbone. This was carefully carved, mortised and tenoned to a femur that made up the body of the harp. It wouldn't be ready to string quite yet. The gut had not cured quite enough so that it would hold its tone properly. On the neck of the harp were carved two Celtic swans that faced each other. One was white, the other black. It was, to my mind quite fitting and I saw them as representing Jocelyn and I.

"I still don't understand something, " Jocelyn said.

"What's that?"

"Why would she say that you'd have to give up Stelios?"

"Maeve was jealous, I suppose," I said.

I was only speculating. Probably closer to the truth is that Maeve never understood what it was to love. Surely, she had let her hatred of our mother fester in her breast. I wondered if that factor alone would cause the instrument to burst into flame the moment that I played it, or would it be worse than all the other harps in my possession to keep it tuned.

There were those among the Sidhe who felt that if my husband-to-be knew that I had blood on my hands - especially that of my own sister - that he would no longer wish for the union. That realization caused my heart to buckle and twist. But surely he would realise that wen the moment arrived, there had been no time to consider something like that. The only thing visible was Maeve's intention to kill Jocelyn, and not for anything my younger sister had done, but because Jocelyn was heir to the Throne. If Jocelyn were killed, never having made it to her Rite of Becoming, the sacrifice would insure that Maeve would be first in the line of succession.

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