Elphame's Choice. P.C. Cast

but simply that she had never seen anything as exquisitely beautiful. She was perfect. Even though birth fluids still covered her, the infant’s head was feathered with dark wisps of amber-colored hair. Her skin was a lovely creamy brown, a shade somewhere between bronze and gold. She looked exactly as if someone had poured her skin and Midhir’s skin together, was the abstract thought that drifted through Etain’s mind, which was hazy with wonder. Her gilded skin shaded down to her waist, where her body suddenly became covered with a fine coat of hair, the same color as the hair on her head, but in which speckles were already appearing in drying patches, as if it was the coat of a newborn fawn. She squirmed and kicked her two legs that tapered gracefully down to form two tiny hooves, which still glistened damply. Then she opened her perfect little mouth and let out an indignant cry.

      “Sssh, my precious one,” Etain cooed, kissing her face and marveling at the amazing softness of her skin. Love for her daughter poured into her, filling Etain more completely than she had ever believed possible. “I am here and all is well.” At the sound of her mother’s voice, the infant’s incredibly dark eyes seemed to widen and her cries instantly quieted.

      “Elphame.” Midhir’s deep voice was choked with emotion. He knelt beside them. One of his arms went around his wife so that she could rest securely against him, and his other hand reached down to touch his daughter’s body. “Elphame,” he repeated. His deep, wonderful voice added magic to the word, like he had just ushered the Queen of the Fairies into their midst. The name seemed to hang suspended in the air around them.

      Etain gazed at him through her tears. The name was vaguely familiar, like she had heard it spoken in a dream. “Elphame…What does it mean?”

      His warm lips first brushed his wife’s forehead and then his daughter’s forehead before he answered. “It is the shamans’ ancient name for the Goddess as a maiden. It is She who is most exquisite, filled with the magic of youth and the wonder of life beginning anew.”

      “Elphame,” she murmured as she guided her daughter’s hungry mouth to her aching breast. “My precious one.”

      Yes, Beloved. The Goddess’s voice drifted through her Chosen’s mind. The Shaman has named her truly. She shall be called Elphame—announce to Partholon the name of your newborn, who is also Beloved of Epona.

      Etain smiled brilliantly and raised her head. In a voice magnified by the power of Epona her words joyously split the air.

      “Rejoice, Partholon! We have been given a gift worthy of a goddess in the birth of my child.” Her gaze shifted from the staring women who still silently surrounded them to her husband, whose face was wet with tears. “Her name is Elphame. She is truly a wee goddess, most beautiful and exquisite!”

      At the Goddess Incarnate’s announcement there was a stirring in the air, like a crackle of lightning. Then the breeze that had been pulling the billowing drapes out of the open doorway shifted direction, and the golden gauze blew into the chamber in a rush of fragrant, warm air—and suddenly they were enveloped in a gossamer cloud of delicate wings. Hundreds of shimmering butterflies fluttered around and above the gathering, fanning them with their magic.

      “Thank you, Epona!” Etain laughed, delighted with the demonstration of her Goddess’s pleasure.

      Then the women began to hum and twirl. Slowly at first, then more quickly and joyously they took up the ancient ceremony that was the traditional greeting for the birth of a child of Partholon.

      Etain rested within her husband’s arms as he cradled his family against his strong chest.

      “The magic of youth and the wonder of life beginning anew,” she whispered to her daughter. Etain touched the infant reverently, unable to look away from her, not wanting to miss one breath or one movement. Her fingers ran down Elphame’s body wonderingly, as she caressed her unique legs and learned the contours of each delicate hoof. Satyr. The name fluttered through her mind. But, no. She wasn’t at all goatlike; she was too delicate and finely formed to resemble Pan. She was simply a perfect blending of human, centaur and goddess.

      A sense of awe rushed through Etain, and laughter bubbled from her chest.

      Midhir squeezed his wife’s shoulders in response. “I, too, am filled to overflowing with the wonder of her.”

      She nodded her head, agreeing with him. Then, through more laughter she added, “Yes, but that’s not why I’m laughing.”

      He arched an eyebrow questioningly.

      She grinned and stroked one of Elphame’s little hooves. “I used to think that she must be clothed and wearing boots, as hard as her kicks sometimes felt. Now I see exactly what it was I was feeling.”

      Midhir’s laughter joined his wife’s as they reveled in the magic of their newborn daughter.

      Chapter 1

      Power. Nothing was that good. Not Partholon’s finest chocolate. Not the beauty of a perfect sunrise. Not even…no, she wouldn’t know about that. She shook her head, purposefully changing the pattern of her thoughts. The wind whistled sharply through her hair, and some of the long strands blew into her face making her wish she had tied it back out of the way. She usually did, but today she had wanted to feel its heavy weight, and she admitted to herself that she liked the way it flowed behind her when she ran, like the flame-colored tail of a shooting star.

      Her stride faltered as her concentration wavered and Elphame quickly regained control of her stray thoughts. Maintaining speed took focus. The field she ran in was relatively flat and free of most rocks and obstructions, but it wouldn’t be wise to let her thoughts wander. One misstep could snap a leg all too easily; it would be foolish to believe otherwise. For all her life, Elphame had made it a point to shun foolish beliefs and behavior. Foolishness and folly were for people who could afford everyday, normal mistakes. Not for her, for someone whose very design said that she had been touched by the Goddess, and was, therefore, held apart from what was accepted as normal and everyday.

      Elphame deepened her breathing and forced herself to relax her upper body. Keep the tension in your lower body, she reminded herself. Keep everything else loose and relaxed. Let the most powerful part of your body do the work. Her teeth glinted in an almost feral grin as she felt her body regather and shoot forward. Elphame loved the way the corded muscles in her legs responded. Her arms pumped effortlessly as her hooves bit into the soft green carpet of the young field.

      She was faster than any human. Much faster.

      Elphame demanded more of herself, and her body responded with inhuman strength. She may not have been as fast as a centaur over long distances, but few could outdistance her in a sprint, as her brothers liked to frequently boast. With a little more hard work, perhaps none would be able to best her. The thought was almost as satisfying as the wind on her face.

      When the burning started she ignored it, knowing that she had to push herself beyond the point of simple muscle fatigue, but she did begin to angle her strides so that her run would take her in a huge spherical path. She would end up back where she had begun.

      But not forever, she promised herself. Not forever. And she pushed herself harder.

      “Oh, Goddess.” Watching her daughter, Etain whispered reverently, “Will I ever get used to her beauty?”

      She is special, Beloved. Epona’s voice shimmered familiarly through her Chosen One’s mind.

      She pulled the horse to a halt well within the stand of trees that flanked one end of the field. The silver mare stopped and twisted her head around, cocking her ears at her rider in the horse’s version of a question. And Etain knew that her mare, the equine incarnation of the Goddess Epona, really was asking a question.

      “I just want to sit here and watch her.”

      The Goddess blew imperiously through her nose.

      “I am not spying!” Etain said indignantly. “I am her mother. It is well within my right to watch her run.”

      The