Posted by: jeannebarrack1 | July 22, 2008

An Encore for A Song of the Sidhe

A Song of the Sidhe receives an Encore today!
Available now at

And to celebrate, here’s a PG excerpt:
SET UP: The singing contest where Ceoleen meets her fate. Competitions like these have always been popular in Ireland, even to this day.
Ceoleen paused near the empty expanse in the middle of the Hall. Arranged in a circle, the twelve tables of the ard-Sidhe, the high Sidhe, formed the inner perimeter. Another row of tables, the mean-Sidhe, the middle Sidhe, made the second ring, and the iochtarach-Sidhe, the lowest Sidhe, the outer ring. Her place was in the second ring. One could only gain the inner circle through proving a talent. Or being a great beauty. Graced with beauty, Ceoleen had honed her talent as a singer and composer. Now she felt ready to display both.

Ailill, Ard Rí, High King of the Gaillimh Sidhe stood and a hush filled the hall.

“This day marks the test for those who wish to ascend in rank. Let all contenders enter the circle and prepare for the challenge.”

Moving with eager step, Ceoleen slipped into the circle.

An audible gasp greeted her arrival. Scarce had there been seen a female of her beauty. The cocks of the fir-Sidhe hardened, and the eyes of the mna-Sidhe — of every female — narrowed with envy.

Ceoleen strode with confident steps into the very center, head held high. All eyes assessed her beauty and none found her lacking.

Her gown did nothing to hide the flaming curls between her thighs, the sweet indentation of her navel, the swell of her hips, the pointy nipples and plump breasts. Her fiery hair tumbled wantonly down her back to her slim ankles. Her eyes flashed green sparks.

Every male present wished to take her and fuck her. Every female wished her dead or cursed.

A moment after she entered the circle, another slipped silently into the ring.

Scarce out of girlhood, straight, dun-brown hair curved to her shoulders. Soft blue eyes like the sky at mid-day gazed with awe at the High Sidhe. A slim figure, clad in a bleached gown of linen, a braided rope of vines around her waist, took her place next to Ceoleen. Her newly budded breasts barely lifted the fabric of her bodice. Her feet were bare. A Sidhe of the iochtarach rank, she was not known to anyone.

Her fresh innocence called to the hearts of the fir-Sidhe there. Her shyness prompted the protectiveness of the mna-Sidhe.

Whose call was stronger? Ceoleen’s or the unknown contender?

Ailill spoke once more.

“We know Ceoleen, but who might you be, mo calin?”

Dipping a deep curtsy of respect, the unknown one replied. “I am Drimin. I seek to raise my rank.”

Ailill nodded and gestured to the Amhranai Mor, the Great Singer, who rose from his seat next to the High King.

“Here be notes three. You’ve time until the grains fill this space to compose your song.” He took a crystal goblet with a hollow stem and filled the cup with fine granules of sand. Slowly, a thin stream filtered down the stem and into the base. “Begin.”

Ceoleen needed no preparation for these three notes had been given to her by Lorcan during pillow talk. But she waited, not wishing to appear too eager or too easy.

She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Drimin’s hesitant voice.

“I’m ready.”

The Amhranai Mor gestured for her to start.

Drimin cleared her throat and out poured a tune of delicate grace. All were captivated by the melody. The Amhranai Mor smiled as the final notes died away.

Applause filled the hall while Drimin bowed her head in humble acceptance.

The Amhranai Mor turned to Ceoleen. “Are you ready?”

Ceoleen nodded and took a calm, steadying breath. As lovely as Drimin’s tune was, she knew hers was better.

Ceoleen’s voice soared with passion. Visions of lovers, sweaty and straining in the throes of desire, appeared before all within the hall. The fir-Sidhe sought out the lips of their mates and kissed them. A handful, carried away with the lustful melody, lifted their lovers onto their laps and flashed out of the hall back to their bedchambers.

As the last notes burned into ashes, Ceoleen cast a satisfied glance at her competitor. Frenzied clapping filled the hall.

The Amhranai Mor raised his right hand above his head for silence. “The test has been won by Ceoleen.” He turned his gaze around the Hall at those who remained. “But since there are two seekers, and only one place open, we must have another test. Here are three more notes. You have the same amount of time to compose this song.”

With a clear ringing voice, he offered another group of tones and turned over the timer.

This time neither competitor spoke until the last grain filled the bottom of the goblet.

“Since Drimin went first, Ceoleen may begin this time.”

Ceoleen nodded. Unlike the first song that was fast and furious, this melody was slow and seductive. She glided around the circle, pausing at those fir-Sidhe seated alone and gazing into their eyes, silently offering not only her music, but her body should they applaud her melody.

Approaching Ailill, she boldly swayed before him, cupping her breasts. Her eyes closed in rapture, she flung her head back as she let the song take hold.

The music ended abruptly and Ceoleen opened her eyes. Ailill’s gaze locked with hers, but his mate’s hand clawed at his arm, and he turned away.

The fir-Sidhe stamped their feet and pounded their goblets on the tables.

The mna-Sidhe remained silent.

The Amhranai Mor once more raised a hand for quiet. “Now, Drimin. Your turn.”

This tune was lively, filled with the joy of spring and the delights of nature. Drimin, too, moved around the circle, but she paused at the female Sidhe. Her tune spoke of babies and newborn creatures of the forest and fields. The women melted as they thought of innocent infants. Drimin skipped from place to place and stopped before Ailill’s mate. The Ard Bánríon, the High Queen, longed for a babe of her own and caressed Ailill’s arm. She darted a look to the Amhranai Mor and he nodded.

“Drimin wins this round. We have a tie.”

Pandemonium ensued until Ailill raised his hand.

“One final test must decide the winner.” He gazed around the hall. “Who shall grace our inner circle? Ceoleen, Drimin, wait outside.”




  1. PG, eh? I guess it could be tame in comparison! A far cry from the wail of a banshee. LOL

    All this talk of bosoms has me feeling a trifle out of place. LOL Still, I like it…

    …the story, that is. Not the bosoms! 😉

  2. For an excerpt from what I am guessing might be the middle of the story, this was a great introduction to these two female characters. I especially liked the description of Drimin “her newly budding breasts barely lifted the fabric of her bodice.” Nice visual.

    I’m not usually a fan of fantasy novels, but I might have to consider this one. 🙂

  3. It definitely sounds interesting and makes me wonder about the rest of the story.

  4. Drimin wins right? Right? You get the women behind you and you’ve got it made. Make them jealous? You don’t stand a chance!

    Man, I’ve just added this one to my list!

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