Uplifting Irie: A Castre World Novel, #4

By E.A. Shanniak

Books were the only adventures Irie could take to escape the madness of her family, until a real quest called her name. Seizing her moment, Irie fought for her freedom in a home seeking to destroy her.

 

The title of Queen falls to her. Upon listening to the concerns of her people, Irie acknowledges commerce for Evermoor is a necessity for their survival. Clan Dristaen of Rathos answers her desperate plea.

 

With the men who come, happens an opportunity for adventure. But the people who call her family, want her to remain. Like the adventures she loves in her books, will Irie have her own happily forever after or will she succumb to the ties of her family?

 

Come back to the magic of Castre in this enchanting tale of finding oneself and true, supportive love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.A. Shanniak
• Release date: Jun 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223341079

Book preview

Uplifting Irie

A Castre World Novel

E.A. Shanniak

Uplifting Irie: A Castre World Novel by E.A. Shanniak

Copyright © 2018, 2021 by E.A. Shanniak

All rights reserved.

Cover Design: Vikki -- vikncharlie at fivrr

Developmental Editing: Lauren M.

Proofreading: Michelle F.

Formatting: Grace P.

Published by Eagle Creek Books LLC of Molalla, Oregon

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical by photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized printed or electronic editions and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the authors rights is appreciated.

www.eashanniak.com

Author's Note

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Even though Uplifting Irie has a happily ever after, it contains emotional/verbal abuse and strong language.

Fair warning to those who may read.

This story has details of me and my life growing up in a verbal and emotionally abusive household. My mother is a conniving, manipulative woman who thrived on my misery, comparing me to every kid in my school and every other woman on the street; wishing constantly I was more like them or had them for daughters - going so far as calling me horrible, foul names no other woman would call their child. My father was withdrawn, often telling me and my brother we were disappointments and he should have had dogs instead of kids. Although this book doesn’t contain everything, it has a majority. This is a second publication of this book where I have scaled back a lot of how abusive it was. As my husband tells me – I don’t know how you did it, babe. My mom and I haven’t spoken in years. I prefer it this way. As my father used to tell me - just because they are family doesn’t mean you have to like them. And it's true. The toxicness of my mother is sickening. I don’t want to be around her. And now that I’m older, my dad and I are very close.

Uplifting Irie was the hardest book to date for me to write because it is so personal. The family of Irie is mine with names altered. I have one brother who I split into 3 different characters – Wallace (my brother in real life who has serious substance abuse issues (still living though)), Brock (who I wished my brother turned out to be) and Keefe (my brother after his tbi – traumatic brain injury).

Within the pages you will read Irie say – I am more – it is because it was my mantra growing up to make it through. I am more – more than this book, more than this setback, more than a failure, and more than a success. I am more.

Dedication

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To anyone who ever had to fight for themselves, to battle against enemies closest to you; who had to wage a war against those determined to belittle and hurt you. You’re a true warrior - fierce, mighty, and beloved. Don’t ever stop battling for yourself.

More By: E.A. Shanniak

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Fantasy Romance – A Castre World Novel Standalones

Piercing Jordie

Mitering Avalee

Forging Calida

Uplifting Irie

Braving Eavan

Warring Devan

Hunting Megan

Shifting Aramoren – A Castre World Short Story

Anchoring Nola – A Castre World Short Story

A Bayonet Books Anthology

Storming Area51: Stalking Death

Slay Bells Ring: Stocking Gryla

Clean & Sweet Western Romance – Whitman Series Romances

To Find A Whitman

To Love A Thief

To Save A Life

To Lift A Darkness

To Veil A Fondness

To Bind A Heart

To Hide A Treasure

To Want A Change

To Form A Romance

Slow Burn Paranormal Romance – Dangerous Ties Series

Opening Danger

Hunting Danger

Burning Danger

Contents

1.One

2.Two

3.Three

4.Four

5.Five

6.Six

7.Seven

8.Eight

9.Nine

10.Ten

11.Eleven

12.Twelve

13.Thirteen

14.Fourteen

15.Fifteen

16.Sixteen

17.Seventeen

18.Eighteen

19.Nineteen

20.Twenty

21.Twenty-One

22.Twenty-Two

23.Twenty-Three

24.Twenty-Four

25.Twenty-Five

26.Twenty-Six

27.Twenty-Seven

28.Twenty-Eight

29.Twenty-Nine

30.Thirty

Epilogue

About The Author

One

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Year of Corwaithe 1231

Evermoor was known in Meerdora to be a mountain castle. However, it was neither. The fortress was a giant rock; a long, wide, flat, hollowed-out rock with weird white-wood paned windows. Not tall, but exceptionally wide and it certainly didn’t have a snowy peak like a mountain.

Where a castle had spacious rooms with beautiful windows, fireplaces or even a large dining hall for people to gather, her home didn’t have any of it. Evermoor reminded Irie more of a troll cave – a dark, hollow, brooding cave with an ominous desolate feel. And somehow, a person thought it brilliant to hollow out a rock and call it a castle.

Apparently, no one gave the man the proper definition of castle or mountain, Irie mused. Evermoor might be remote, but it’s accessible and is certainly not juttin’ out of the ground. A castle it most definitely is not.

She basked in the morning sun, on the large landing of smooth stone outside the castle entrance. Twenty feet from her was the enormous oaken door leading inside the ‘mountain’. She stayed to the left of the door, in the sunlight and away from the monsters inside. A large window was set above the door leading inside. More windows were around the sides of the door, helping to let in light. But the best light for reading was outside.

Irie laid on her blanket on top of the rocky ground, her nose stuck in a book. She had successfully avoided her three older brothers this morning, along with her mother, Diedra. Those lovely four people seemed to always be mad at her over something. Irie avoided her family like one would avoid the bite of a rabid animal, or even a more terrifying plague.

Her father, Horace, ignored everything going on around him and whatever it pertained to. As he so often said—I dinna care. It showed in his appearance with his sloppy, unkempt beard and tattered clothes; the way he conducted business in and around the keep, how he ran the castle with lack of care to the people in it and who resided in its domain. Horace wanted no part in it. He left it all alone to anyone who cared to pick up the slack, which was her.

Her mother, Deidra, would habitually start her day by picking on Irie for who she happened to be. Deidra wanted her to be like other girls – loved gowns, boys, flirted or was beautiful. Irie wasn’t like other girls and Deidra made sure to remind her of it constantly by comparing her to anyone in the castle or surrounding areas who was more gorgeous or proper than she.

Irie shrugged, wriggling on the blanket and rereading the paragraph she just read. She didn’t think highly of herself. In fact, if she was honest, she didn’t find herself beautiful or intelligent. Irie thought of herself as this mediocre woman, wandering around, trying to find the person she thought herself to be. But she didn’t know what she wanted to be other than a better person than her family.

Irie closed her eyes, hanging her head. She snapped her book shut, unable to focus. No one was ever going to love her for who she was. Except her dog Godfrey and he was only going to be around for so long until the Goddess called him home.

Godfrey wandered around Irie, sniffing and watching the castle. He saddled up beside her, laying on the blanket by her feet. Irie opened her book back up, sinking into the story that kept her from reality.

She sighed, patting her dog on the head. Good boy, she praised her faithful companion.

Godfrey, books and hope were what kept her going most days. On this particular day, it was a book. Hope was lost when she exited her chamber earlier this morning and her mother was right there to complain about what she supposedly ruined in the garden.

Readin’ again? Wallace came up to her. Like it makes ye smart!

Irie didn’t look up at him. If she ignored him, he would eventually go away. If she replied, he would tell their mother and she would receive a lashing, verbal or otherwise. Irie focused her eyes harder on the page until the words bled together.

Yer very rude, Eyesore! Wallace got down and screamed in her ear.

Irie flinched but tried not to move.

Wallace grabbed the book out of her hands. Mum dinna like ye. Da only tolerates ye. I dinna like ye either. He closed the book and tossed it away, striding away in a different direction.

She sighed gratefully, more than pleased Wallace left her alone. Irie got up to retrieve her book. She looked at the sun hanging in the sky announcing noon. She decided to read for a little longer. If she read past the noon meal, she could avoid her mother in her solar room and her father in his study.

As the sun waned past, Irie picked up her history book and her blanket, making her way through the castle to her room at the far end of her home, way in the back corner. She opened the brightly polished door, allowing Godfrey to go first. Irie walked through rows of tables and benches quietly like a mouse.

It was typically how she got around the castle – quiet and stealthily. Most would call it sneaky, however to Irie, it was a strategy to avoid certain people. She held her breath, hoping it would make her footsteps lighter.

She paused as she heard her father yelling at her brothers. Whatever her brothers did, had their father in a raging uproar. Horace screamed at them, calling her brothers deviants, perverts, rude, abhorrent young men. Her jaw popped open; a wide grin split her face as Horace doled out their punishments.

It was a once in a lifetime moment Irie stopped to savor. Irie glanced down the hallway to where they were. Horace loomed over her brothers, smacking them for what they had done and giving them a thorough verbal lashing.

Irie smirked, about time they got caught peeping on lassies.

Her mother saw her smirking. Face impassive, Irie picked up her pace, heading to her room faster. Irie went to the hallway at the very back of Evermoor on the right-hand side. It was a narrow hallway, where two people could fit through side by side although cramped. Her room was at the end of the hallway on the right.

Irie opened her chamber door, setting her book down at her desk. She neatly folded her blanket, putting it over the back of her chair. Godfrey stood behind her, but that was how he always was. Godfrey always had her back.

The afternoon sun glowed brightly through her bedroom window. She looked outside and smiled.

Irie! her mother announced in her high-pitched shrieking voice.

Irie turned around, facing her mother with a passive face. Aye, Mum?

Where were ye today, around noonin’?

Readin’.

Readin’ where?

Irie knew where this was heading. Her mother was getting ready to blame her for her brother’s getting caught, more than likely snooping on women at the pond again or for catching snakes and sticking them in old Wilma’s hut.

Out front where I always read, Irie replied.

Deidra nodded slowly, looking at her like a snake, ready to squeeze the life from her. Really?

Irie didn’t say a word. Whatever she would reply would have repercussions. Godfrey growled.

Yer lyin’, Deidra seethed. I know yer lyin’. Yer a liar and a sneaky wee bitch. I will find out the truth. When I do, it wilna go well for ye.

Irie didn’t say a word. Deidra stormed out of her room, slamming the door shut. She waited for her mother to disappear down the hallway before she exited her room. Her mother would most likely head to her solar where she spent hours doing whatever Goddess knows what, but she left her alone at least.

Irie walked out of her room, heading to the dining hall to help set up for the evening meal. Servants were already out, handling the other tables. Irie picked up a rag, wiping down the tops and the bench seat. She scurried around the tables, wiping them off and setting them with fresh dining ware. Going into the kitchen, she washed the remaining dishes and helped to bring out baskets of rolls for the freshly set tables. Tabitha brought in flowers from the garden to set on the high table.

Irie spied her mother out of the corner of her eye, heading her way. Irie moved on the other side of the table to where her brother Keefe was eating a roll, hoping his size would shield her. Irie’s heart thundered in her ears as her mother’s footfalls tapped on the stone floor, passing her by. Letting out a breath, Irie hurriedly made her way to her room with her task now completed, shutting her chamber door as soon as she came inside.

A note was sitting on her desk. Irie smiled and rolled her eyes. Only her father loved to leave notes. He even had notes for his notes as he often forgot what he was doing in the moment or supposed to complete later. Irie walked over to her desk, sitting down on the smooth wooden seat. Gingerly, she opened the parchment and began reading.

Irie sighed irritably. The Dristaen’s from Rathos were coming for a visit. Irie tilted her head. But why Rathos? she mused, her lips pursing at the thought. It’s a long way to travel and there are other castles which are closer.

The people of Rathos were not their neighbors at all. In fact, their closest neighbors were either Brocleigh, Flowermoss, or Veiled Hills. Even Drensent in Euainley was closer than Rathos.

Och, by Corwaithe, it’s goin’ to be an interestin’ night.

Irie glanced out her window scowling. The double iron gates opened slowly inward, allowing admittance to the Rathos king and his sons. The three men in front sat tall in their saddles, all wearing the same bright blue tunics. A contingent of at least twenty men were behind them all riding the same dun-colored horses.

Her portly father was out greeting them with a smile. Her mother was also there, waving wildly. Deidra went toward the laird and his two sons, swaying her hips as she walked.

Irie rolled her eyes, sighing crossly. Her mother was already making a fool of herself to the Rathos Laird, Cecil Dristaen. Deidra twirled the ends of her hair, smiling as she offered her arm to the just dismounted guest. The other two men followed their father and her spectacle of a mother.

Knocking sounded on her door. Irie felt her skin prickle.

Irie, Keefe called through the cracks in her door. Get ready quick.

Irie grumbled under her breath, And here we go.

Two

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She heard her mother’s high-pitched voice before she ever saw her. The woman got louder and louder with each syllable she spoke; her laugh more nasally and voice, shriller. Deidra couldn’t stand to not be the center of attention.

Two servants stood at either side of the large oaken door, pulling it open as soon as they saw Deidra through the glass. The open doors allowed in the last remnants of light from the spring day. Deidra had her head thrown back in laughter as Cecil Dristaen forced a somewhat awkward smile to his aged face.

Another man came in behind Cecil. His lip slightly curled upward as he took in the rock home. He brushed down the sleeves of his tunic, watching the floor as he walked. The other man behind the arrogant one, came in, with a passive face. He neither smiled nor frowned. He had short spikey red hair sticking out at odd, busy, and unkempt angles. The color of his bright blue eyes was enhanced by the color of his tunic.

Irie, her mother bellowed. Mind yer manners! Dip a curtsey. Irie did as she was told as her mother mumbled to Cecil, Sometimes I wonder about her.

Is she daft? Cecil asked with a pitying glance in her direction.

Nay, she’s exceedingly smart, just socially inept.

Horace sat at the end of the table, pouring himself a large cup of whiskey. Irie was starting to wish she could have some too. Brock, Wallace, and Keefe came out from the wash rooms cleaned up and fresh. The brothers came to the table, merrily speaking