The Closed Room & Narrow Stairs of an Author's Mind by @MHartnerAuthor #AmWriting #Historical

Inside the Mind of An Author

In the Darkness brought on by a closed room and narrow stairs, I slowly ascend to the top and push the attic floorboard to the side. This stairwell, conveniently hidden in a second floor wall, has been very dusty and full of cobwebs. I’m really not sure what to expect when I go into the attic. I have, however, heard strange noises.

Climbing up into the attic, into the mind of this author, I look around. The walls are cluttered with post it notes, and most of them had small symbols and some writing. There were papers that had fallen to the floor, and the whole area looked like an old bomb shelter.

I’m immediately dodging the many different children who are running around. The voices that each one uses to taunt the others are all different.

I stop one of them. His name is James.

“Are there any others around?”

“Oh, there are plenty.”

“Where are they?”

“Sitting in a corner of the filing room in the back. They’re waiting for their opportunity to come join the fun.”

“What are they waiting for?”

“Why, everyone knows that they’re waiting to be heard. Not all of us characters can be heard at the same time. Sometimes, he listens to three or four of us for a short time, and sometimes he listens to one of us for a long time. But, we’re all here. Waiting for our chance to be heard.”

“So why are you three out here running around?”

“We’ve already been heard. He’s concentrating on us right now, and it’s our chance to play and rest while he figures out what he wants us to do next.”

“How many are in the back room?”

“The last I checked, the room was crammed, and the waiting list was endless. Lots of voices like us want to be heard. We want to tell our stories.”

James escaped from my vision and went back to running around.

When I saw them return, I also saw them carrying long sticks, using them as play swords. I beat a hasty retreat from the mind of this author.

James Crofter was ripped from his family at age 11. 
Within a year the prince was a pauper in a foreign land. 
Is nature stronger than nurture? And even if it is, can James find the happiness he so richly desires? 

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Genre - Historical Fiction, Romance

Rating – PG

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Sebastiana Randone's Cast of Distinctive Characters @sebasti29567440 #Fantasy #Romance

When first conceiving my characters for The House, I took myself back to the many fairy tales I had read as a child, and channelled some of the creatures and folk prevalent in those classic stories. By thinking of them as archetypes, I created a beastly and dipsomaniacal Lord, an analogy to the predatory wolf, a sensitive Lady powerless to find her true calling, an essence of the damsel in distress, and a troupe of personages that one never reads about in novels written during the (regency) era my book presides in. Such as is the diverse cast that inhabit my book; transvestites, homosexuals, rent boys, courtesans, poets, and of course a time traveller, to name some of this disparate ensemble.

Menacing gargoyles, half man/beast manifestations, another borrowing from the classics, clasp the walls of the house, while in  contrast, and most unexpectedly, the interior is adorned by cherubim, goddesses and friendly hard to define souls, whose animated amiable eyes follow in sympathy. Upon the face of it, the beasts ‘guarding’ the ramshackle house symbolise unknown and potentially perilous encounters within. The accidental visitor is left with very little choice for shelter however, for the forest whilst enchanting, has an impending darkness that only wolves and predators revel in.

With a narrative that takes the reader into the Georgian and Regency periods, I purposely created players that I had never met in the books of Jane Austen, nor of those of her contemporaries.  While the dramatis personae in ‘The House’ have walked the well trodden path of humanity, social mores of periods past would most certainly not have approved.  This was the distinction I enjoyed exploring. Despite the fact that I worked diligently to give them a voice that belonged to that particular era, the aspiration was to write a story that portrayed a familiar humanity. I have been a passionate reader of classic novels for a long while, and the stories that engage me most profoundly are those that present a psychologically complex society. Regardless of the departure from reality that this fantasy novel affords, my aim was to fashion recognisable characters that have travelled throughout time.

The House is an adult fairy tale rich in mystery and intrigue.

Here is a tale of a woman so absorbed with historical novels that her own reality ceases to offer any hope of romance and beauty.

Until one day this dreamy idealist finds herself in a mysterious forest. How she arrived there is unknown. Soon she encounters a dilapidated house, within whose ancient walls magical rooms that transport to parallel worlds lie in wait.  There she is transmigrated to 18th century England, where our heroine interacts with an odd mix of characters whose dysfunctional lives become immediately apparent.

Her first tribulation involves a nefarious lord, an archetype of the monstrous characters one encounters in fairy tales. The ramification from this confrontation sets the tone for the narrative.

A magic portal finally enables escape from the austere Georgian dwelling. She is then spirited back to the enigmatic house, and a journey to Regency London follows, where a large cast of eccentric identities present themselves.

Late one night, following a long stay in Florence, a young, heart-broken poet arrives. His introduction to the beautiful time traveller offers promise of restoration and love. But there are several more obstacles ahead before her destiny in this curious adventure is made apparent.

In the end an unexpected twist is revealed. But like all good fairy tales, this surprising conclusion is pleasing, even though the means of getting there are dark, and at times sinister.

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Genre - Historical, Fantasy, Romance

Rating - PG-16

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Belinda Vasquez & Her Horrific Booksigning Experience @MagicProse #Suspense #GoodReads

I was going to Phoenix one time with my husband for a reunion. Why not kill two birds with one stone, to use an old cliché, and set up a book signing? I had just published my first book, a kid’s chapter book.

I called up a Barnes and Noble store in Scottsdale. The store manager was too nice. “Why don’t you come up the month after instead? The store always declares that day as Teachers’ Saturday. It is a month before school starts, and the store gets very crowded that day. Teachers’ Saturday is always the very best time for a kid’s book signing, and we would love to have you. Your book looks so cute and educational.”

“But I’m in the area the month before. I’ll have to make a special round trip of 840 miles a month later.”

“We give the teachers a discount that day. I’m sure they will all want to buy your book to read to their classes. In the flyers to the schools, I will mention your signing.”

I cupped the receiver and told my husband excitedly. “We should go twice to Phoenix. She has assured me that I will sell a zillion books. Blah! Blah! Blah! Kiss. Kiss.”

There were hotel costs, restaurant bills, and gas, so I also booked a Borders book store in Tempe, and a Barnes and Noble in Tucson for a two-day whirlwind book tour. The store managers were all very nice, and said they would order my books for the signings.

We survived my husband’s reunion and a month later we were back in the Phoenix area.

On Saturday at the book store in Scottsdale, I sat there for two hours and about five people came into the store.

“I just don’t understand it,” the manager said. “I sent out all the flyers. I am so sorry no one has bought your book.”

I leaned over the banister, scanning the lone person in the store browsing the aisles. None of the five customers had even come upstairs to the children’s books.

“Here, let me buy a copy,” the manager said and yanked out a ten dollar bill.

I signed the book; my time was up; and we drove to Tucson.

The signing went better there.

The next morning on our way out of town, we stopped in Tempe for a few hours for my book signing. I had called up a cousin to let him know I would be at Borders and given him the address and time.

I waltz into the store, singing. “I’m here for the book signing.”

“What book signing?” the manager said.

“I set one up several months ago. Remember? I spoke with you.”

“Uh. Duh. Flubber. Drip drop. Sorry.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I told my husband.

On the way out of the Phoenix area I said, “Did you notice no one was at Borders? That store is really screwed up; I’m surprised it stays in business.”

The last thing Miranda ever expected was to see her brother’s ghost at the fallen Twin Towers.

It’s bad enough survivor Christopher Michaels scares her with claims that if one dies violently, his ghost will haunt the place that holds his name. And to top it all, one of those thousands of ghosts follows Miranda to her hotel. The only certainty is the ghost grabbing her under the covers is not Jake.

Their parents’ deaths separated Miranda from Jake when they were kids. Michaels insists Jake brought them together and it’s no coincidence that of thousands mourning at Ground Zero, it’s his best friend she bumps into. Some best friend. Michaels is more like a moocher. The cheapskate never has money, just a blood-stained wallet he broods over. Miranda has no choice but to hang out with the weird Michaels in order to unravel her brother’s past.

As Miranda spends time with Michaels, she begins to wonder who he really is. Against her better judgment, Miranda becomes emotionally entangled with Michaels, a bitter alcoholic with a secret linked to her brother and that blood-stained wallet.

I Will Always Love You is part mystery, suspense and romance, a novel that will keep the reader turning the pages!

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Genre – Suspense, Mystery, Romance

Rating – PG

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Website http://belindavasquezgarcia.com/

#Author Greg Sandora on His Favourite Place to Write @GregSandora #amwriting #thriller

Do you have a favorite place to write?

I most always write in a comfortable chair in the living room. Usually before anyone wakes, it’s really quiet.

Who is your publisher? 

Itoh Press is my publisher

Why did you decide to write Jack Canon’s American Destiny?

This is a story that I’ve never seen at the movies and always wanted to see.  I wanted to write an edge of your seat thriller about wealth, murder, conspiracy, power, revenge and a Presidential Campaign . There’s romance, sex, and corruption at the highest levels. Jack Canon wants to make a better world for all people. The Book Gazette Review recently did a review that sums it all up -”I loved this book. Seriously, Jack Canon’s American Destiny is probably one of the best books of the year. It comes in the package of a political thriller, but it’s actually so much more. It’s romance, friendship, idealism, suspense, mystery, all thrown in one.
From the moment we meet Jack, he comes across as a relatable, driven, determined character. His immediate crew all offer something valuable on the table, and their determination and drive is something the current government can take a hint from.
Whether or not they’ll make it into the oval office, I won’t reveal, but it’s certainly one bumpy ride. They’ll have to face a murder conspiracy, their own doubts and fears, the opposition, and sometimes even themselves if they want to make it.”

Are you reading any interesting books at the moment? 

The untethered soul.

Who is your favorite character in your book and why?

My favorite character is Sandy Collins, Jack’s gorgeous assistant. I can’t wait until she enters a seen, and miss her when she leaves the room. Sandy is so pretty, her existence makes all women more beautiful.

What is your least favorite quality about yourself? 

I tend towards impatience.

How about your least favorite character?  What makes them less appealing to you?

Gene Hobbs is a billionaire campaign financier who first befriends and then turns on Jack. His daughter and heir, Timlin falls in love with Jack in the sequel. Hobb’s is evil on a level many have not witnessed, he collects artifacts of torture to give a hint.

Do you proofread/edit your own books or do you get someone to do that for you?

My wife did the first read and helped to shape the story, it was a lot of work. After that my publisher hired a professional editor who did the final edit.

When is your favorite time of day to write? 

I love to write early in the morning. Usually after I have dreamt something or had a thought that must be added.

Tell us what you’re working on at the moment.

I am so excited about two projects, the first Jack Canon’s Women of the House is the sequel to American Destiny, due out this month.  In it I basically pulled out all the stops, it’s for readers who want over the top wealth, power and corruption served against a backdrop of thrills, wrapped in the most fantastic romance I could dream up.  It’s a wild ride and I’ll either make a lot of friends or be thrown out of Dodge.

My second project is Gabby, Angel of God, a Supernatural Romantic Thriller about an angel that comes to Earth for a two week adventure.  It’s a fun story of mystery, unrequited love, romance and of course thrills. Gabby is pretty amazing! Here’s an excerpt -

“I’ve got to go to Brunswick, Bo, would you take me? We could borrow the motorcycle; Wesley won’t need it anymore.”

I didn’t want to admit that I’ve never driven a Harley before. I’d driven a few motorbikes when I was a kid, but I didn’t think I could handle a full-size Harley the first time out.

“Who said anything about you driving?” Gabby teased me. She was reading my thoughts again. “You’ll do fine,” she added.

“I’ll give it a try.” She had wounded my masculine pride so I was determined to rise to the challenge. I jumped onto the bike, propped it upright, and steadied it off the kickstand. Instinctively, I reached for the handgrip, rolled it to quarter throttle and pushed my thumb on the starter button. The bike roared to a deep-throated rumble. I pulled back racing the engine, “Hop on!”

Gabby climbed on the back and sat really close to me on the small seat. She reached her arms around my waist and hugged, laying her head sideways, her cheek to my back. I kicked the gear lever down and heard the tranny knock into place. I operated on instinct and figured it was one down and five up on the gears. Things were coming easier to me. I became convinced that I could drive this hog.

“Hold on,” I hollered back, even though she was already holding tight. I gave it some gas, released the clutch, and gave her a half throttle twist as we roared into the street. Barely four seconds into the ride and I had already been through three of the gears. “This is a blast!” I shouted.

“You don’t need to yell, Bo.” Gabby switched to talking in my head because of the noise from the motorcycle.

“Oh, sorry.” I felt a little bad about yelling. Presumably angels have really great hearing.

“You’ll get used to me. Do you really think I’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, Bo?” I could feel her cheek move against my back as she smiled.

“You’re so beautiful my heart is shivering. Even in my dreams I’ve never seen anything so amazing. In all my life I never imagined anyone or anything could be as beautiful as you.”

“You’re very certain Bo. Tell me, how many angels have you seen?’

“Just you, but I know beautiful when I see it.” My absolute conviction about that came through in my voice.

“Is that so?” Gabby sounded amused.

I was feeling curious. “Gabby, I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said, it’s hard to believe there are angels guarding the outer edges of the earth.”

“Didn’t you pay attention in science class – you remember the earth is spinning at a thousand miles an hour and traveling through space at eighteen miles per second, but angels protecting it is the part you find too amazing to believe?”

‘‘Well, when you put it like that.”

“Every morning you wake to a glowing red fireball in the sky and it doesn’t make you think, who put it there?” Gabby seemed to be in full instructional-angel mode.

“It seems ridiculous when you put it like that. The idea that there could be such powerful and awe-inspiring phenomenon in the universe with no Creator behind them seems absurd. Here I am riding down route one, on a Harley I didn’t even know how to drive – having the deepest metaphysical conversation of my life – with the most gorgeous woman ever – and it’s a telepathic conversation at that! I better not wake up and realize this is a dream!”

A few silky strands of Gabby’s hair were blown by the wind to caress my cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re not dreaming – in fact this is probably the most real experience you’ve ever had.”

I realized she was right. “That’s true! I feel more awake and alive than I’ve ever been. I feel stronger than I’ve ever felt. I love being with you.”

“Don’t get too attached.” Gabby warned me. “I’m only here for two weeks in Earth time, Bo. That’s all the time I have and then I have to leave.”

“You’re my dream come true Gabby. Isn’t there any way that you can stay longer?”

“That’s not up to me Bo. That decision was made long before you were born. Let’s just enjoy each other while I’m here, okay?” Gabby sounded a little sad.

“Okay, I want to spend every moment I can with you.”

“There is one thing that you could do for me if we are going to spend this time together.” Gabby sounded cautious.

“Anything.”

“I want to be a girl, you know, in between our assignments. I want to have some fun.”

I was a little confused. “You said you were a girl. What do you mean, Gabby?”

“I said I’m a female angel. There is a difference. I want to live as a girl, a human girl, try it out – to see what it’s like, okay? Will you treat me like a girl, Bo?” Now she sounded a bit wistful.

I was excited by the chance to do this for her. “You got it! It will be my pleasure.”

We stopped at a red light. Neither of us was wearing a helmet. A motorist next to us took exception and yelled over, “Hey fuck head, it’s one thing for you not to wear a helmet but your girl should be protected.”

Gaby’s long hair was flying all over the place and obviously had been trailing behind the bike. We weren’t driving too fast, Route One is known for winding one-lane roads. It passes through all the quaint, little seaside towns of Maine. It’s the most picturesque route with one porch lined Main Street after the other.

Gabby looked over at the driver, a middle-aged tough guy in a truck, exhibiting signs of road rage, and gave him a beatific smile. I was getting pissed. I fixed a hostile gaze on him. That upset him even more.

He fumed, “What are you looking at asshole?”

Gabby murmured to me, “Wait for it.”

Four loud explosive pops sounded like gunshots as all four tires blew out in unison. The truck was sitting on flat tires and rims. The light changed, I hit the throttle, and we were off, laughing as the guy jumped out of the truck screaming, kicking the ground. Our muffler made it impossible to hear Gabby aloud. We had to go back to communicating telepathically.

“You have to be more careful, Bo, you did that.” Gabby was chiding me but she did sound faintly amused as well.

“No way! The tires? I did that? I thought it was you, Gabby. How could I do that?”

“Your faith can move mountains. Don’t try it though, please! You’re going to have to learn to control yourself around me so things aren’t just chaotic around you.”

“That might be true but, Gabby, you could’ve made a helmet if you wanted.”

“I don’t need one, and I like the wind running through my hair, it feels wonderful!” Gabby took one arm from around my waist and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Speaking of making things, how did you manage to make so many outfits, it was like ten in a row in less than two minutes?” I was trying to think practically about how all these amazing things were happening.

“I was in each outfit only long enough to see your reaction. Your pupils don’t lie, Bo. They dilate when you like something.” She sounded amused by my human reactions to her.

“You’re right, I love what you’re wearing and you look really pretty, but how did you do it? And, how did I pop those tires?”

“Energy and vibration controlled by the power of your mind. You only use ten percent of your brain. If you tap into the part that humans don’t usually use you can use it to control part of the common energy that binds creation. You’re able to access it when you’re with me, most likely because, as an angel, I am so attuned to that energy.”

I considered that. “Haven’t you ever been with a human before? Did it happen with them?”

“Only once, and just for a few minutes. Not long enough for anything to happen.”

“So, I’m the second human you’ve spent time with?”

“Well if it’s any consolation, I’m scheduled for earth again in a thousand years.” Gabby said that gently, clearly trying to placate me.

“Who was the first?”

What books have influenced you in the past? 

The Course in Miracles, Seat of the Soul. I love books on spirituality.

Two months have passed since the long awaited inauguration of the New President of the United States - Jack Canon. Now he must live up to his promises. The World is wounded, people are hurting, the new President must keep the country afloat. Jack leads a very full life - The first couple's relationship is hot with passion, but he can never admit that to Sandy, his best friend who is also head over heels in love with him. The Women of the House provide a welcome distraction while helping with the arduous task of running the country.

As President Jack must make tough decisions: Global Terrorism, Human Trafficking, Korea on the brink of war, all while thwarting International Greed. Women of the House is a story of noble sacrifice at extremely high cost. Who's going to be the first to be strong enough and willing to pay? It's not all work in Women of the House - Think the Wedding of the Decade meets the Crime of the Century.

Jack Canon's Women of the House, is a story filled with Love, Lust, and Loyalty where passions can run wild! In Sandora's monumental sequel, patriotism and valor mingle with an undying love that refuses to quit. Ride along as Jack Canon fights back against the most evil people on the planet. Readers are sure to embrace this unforgettable tale which will appeal to fans of political adventure, suspense and romance alike. Jack Canon's Women of the House is a story of kindness, passion and courage that can't be separated.

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Genre - Romantic Thriller

Rating – PG-13

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Ever Hopeful by Lori Ryan - #AmReading #Romance #Excerpt

Laura watched the clock on the microwave and willed the phone to ring. Patrick would be home within the hour. If “John Smith” didn’t call soon, she’d… Well, she didn’t know what she’d do. If he called after six o’clock, she’d have to try to convince Patrick it was a wrong number.

He wouldn’t fall for that. Even genuine wrong numbers had gotten her into trouble before.

“Please,” she whispered aloud to the phone. “Just ring, please.”

The numbers on the microwave stared back at her, blank and unfeeling. Twelve minutes past five. The clock apparently didn’t care that time was running out, that she was cutting this much too close.

Forty-eight minutes left. Laura’s heart felt like it would jump out of her chest as she cradled her head in her hands. The phone rang causing Laura to jump a foot in the air at the sound. How was it that a sound she was waiting for—hoping for—sent her into a panic?

“Hello,” she said breathlessly into the phone.

“Mrs. Kensington?” came Smith’s voice on the other end. She had talked to him before, but hadn’t met with him in person. He sounded kind, even though she knew he was a man who spent a lot of time with unsavory people. But, that was to be expected given his profession. Despite that, she’d been told he often worked with women who needed to leave a spouse and who wished not to be found again. Maybe there was an empathetic side to him.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Can you talk now?” he asked and she knew right away what he meant. He had never asked why she was leaving and she certainly hadn’t volunteered the information, but it seemed as if he knew without having to ask. Just the thought that he knew her secret made her uncomfortable.

“Yes, my husband is still at work, but I don’t have long.”

“Did you get the first package?” he asked. He had mailed it to a post office box she’d set up two towns over from her and Patrick’s home in Windsor, Connecticut.

“Yes, the temporary license and birth certificate.”

“Good. You’ll be able to use that for a little while, but I need to get you a real birth certificate and social security card if you want to be able to find a job that doesn’t pay under the table. That’s going to take time.”

“How much time?” Laura asked, wanting the answer to be days, not weeks or months, but she knew that was unlikely.

“Not for another few weeks. It takes time to get a real birth certificate and once that’s in place, it takes a little longer for your social security number to come through,” he said with the tone of a man who had explained this to her all before. He had. She was partly just nervous and partly hoping for a different answer this time. This just had to work. There wasn’t any other option.

Before Laura could answer, he continued with instructions. “Save this phone number. I’ll need you to call me in three weeks and let me know where you are. I’ll need a mailing address.” There was no talk of payment. She’d already paid in full just to get him started on the new identity for her. He also didn’t ask her when she was leaving and she didn’t tell him. He seemed to assume she wouldn’t be in town in three weeks’ time and he was right. Laura would be running next week, as soon as Patrick left on his business trip.

The sound of car tires crunching up the drive sent panic churning through Laura’s stomach. So much so that she thought she’d be sick, but that wasn’t unusual nowadays. She was nauseated for several hours every day and often had to run to the bathroom to be sick.

“I have to go,” Laura whispered and didn’t wait for a response. She tucked the phone in her pocket and turned to the stove, focusing on making her breathing normal, making sure nothing seemed out of place.

Buy Now @ Amazon US | Amazon UK | Print | Barnes&Noble | Goodreads

Genre - Romance

Rating –  R

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Website www.loriryanromance.com

#Fantasy #Excerpt The Curse Giver by Dora Machado @DoraMachado

Excerpt 2.  End of First Chapter 
 
The scent of pine turned acrid and hot. Cones crackled and popped. The fire hissed a sinister murmur, a sure promise of pain. She didn’t watch the little sparks grow into flames at her feet. Instead, her eyes returned to the back of the crowd, seeking the stranger’s stare. She found him even as a puff of white smoke clouded her sight and the fire’s rising heat distorted his scarred face’s fixed expression.
The nearing flames thawed the pervasive cold chilling her bones. Flying sparks pecked at her skin. Her toes curled. Her feet flinched. Pain teased her ankles in alarming, nipping jolts. Dear gods. They were really going to burn her alive.

Lusielle shut her eyes. When she looked again, the stranger was gone from the crowd. She couldn’t blame him. She would have never chosen to watch the flame’s devouring dance.

A commotion ensued somewhere beyond the pyre. People were screaming, but she couldn’t see through the flames and smoke. She flinched when a lick of fire ignited her shift’s hem. A vile stink filled her lungs. Her body shivered in shock. She coughed, then hacked. Fear’s fiery fingers began to torment her legs.

“Come and find me,” she called to the God of fire.

And he did.

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Genre – Fantasy/Dark Fantasy

Rating – PG-18

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Website http://www.doramachado.com/

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#Excerpt - The Curse Giver by Dora Machado @DoraMachado

* * *

Lusielle waited until the lady and her bodyguard left the room before she stole out of the bed. She stood up slowly, testing both her feet and her balance. The soles of her feet protested slightly as she pressed them to the floor, but then went numb. She tried taking a step.

The jars and bottles crowding the nightstand wobbled when she steadied herself on the table. She spotted an open jar. A quick whiff revealed the presence of cat’s claw, mixed with high quality fats and scented with lavender’s extract and a touch of calendula to ward off the festering. Upon further inspection, she recognized several kinds of aromatic oils to promote quick healing and the laudanum tincture that was most likely responsible for her drowsiness.

The lady’s healers had used nothing but the best ingredients. No wonder her burns were almost healed.

Dragging the linen sheet around her body, she shuffled towards the ornately framed mirror leaning against the far wall. It was a shock to see her reflection in that long, gilded mirror, disheveled, gaunt and half-naked, like a frail, helpless fool.

Lusielle found the sight alarming, because with the exception of the small hand-held mirror her husband used to supervise her when she shaved him, Aponte Rummins refused to allow mirrors in his house. He thought mirrors spoiled women, aiding in the corruption of the feminine virtues he appreciated best—modesty, obedience and humility. Vanity, he’d often said, was a woman’s blight, and he intended to protect Lusielle from the sins it engendered, including pride, arrogance and wantonness.

Ten years she had lived under Aponte’s rule. Ten lost years she would never get back.

Until today, Lusielle had never had the time or the means to examine her body in front of a full-length mirror. Releasing the crumpled sheet, she found her legs too long, her frame too thin and her feet bound in clean bandages. She also spotted a dressing covering her back.

After undoing the knots, the bandages dropped to the floor. Then for the first time she looked—really looked—at her back.

A few crooked welts snaked between her shoulder blades, marking the trail of the lash. Her skin was still red, but it was healing in the spots where the braided whip had broken through. A messy bruise surrounded the mending wound midway down her back. Craning her neck, she spotted the darker pigmentation beneath the bruise, the faint but even outline of what looked like a small pair of butterfly wings imprinted at either side of her spine.

The gods protect her. Her body indeed wielded a mark, just like the lady said!

She suppressed a rush of fear and forced herself to think. Just because she bore a mark didn’t mean that everything the lady and her bodyguard had said was true. Lusielle might come from a modest family, but she was no ignorant wench. She understood that every cauldron cooked a different mix, more so if it entailed the mighty highborn. For reasons she couldn’t yet comprehend, the Lady of Tolone wanted Lusielle gone. Thus the boots and the gold coins.

On the other hand, why stay and run the risk that the lady was right on any count? The most compelling fact supporting the women’s warning was obvious. Her rescuer was a highborn lord. He had no reason to offer Lusielle his protection and no motive to save her life. She could be of no value to him, as she wasn’t highborn and she didn’t command a ransom.

Her husband had repudiated her. Her town had turned her out. Orell had tortured her. The magistrate had condemned her to death. Under the circumstances, it didn’t seem so far-fetched that when it came to her, the grim-gazed lord had no other purpose but sport.

Nothing good could come from staying with these people.

She sensed the danger all around her. Sure, she couldn’t exactly go back home, but staying put offered more risks than advantages. She didn’t understand the Lord Brennus’s actions and she couldn’t even begin to fathom the lady’s motives, but she knew one thing—she had to trust her instincts. She had to leave.

But where could she go?

Lusielle knew she had to have a sound plan if she was going to survive. The last few weeks—no, the last ten years of her life—had taught her a brutal lesson. At sixteen, she had become an orphan and a bride. At twenty-seven, she was equally helpless and sentenced to die.

Despite her best efforts and sacrifices, she was still alone—as helpless, weak and vulnerable as she had been the day her parents died.

She wiped a stray tear from her eye. No more of that. She was done grieving, and she was tired of submitting and conforming.

She was determined to turn disaster into opportunity. To do so, she was going to have to carve out a spot in a world that had thus far refused to make space for the likes of her. She must go to the only place where she might have a chance to survive and maybe even thrive. It entailed a long and dangerous journey with no assurances, and yet it was her best—nay, her only—chance. She just had to figure out how to get there.

Her eyes fell on the money Tatyene had given her, the three gold coins glinting atop the pile of clothing on the bed. They offered a good beginning.

She donned the soft linen shift and put on the ruffled blouse and the brown skirt. She rolled the woolen hose over her bandaged feet and up her legs, then put on her boots, lacing them loosely. Because of her rescuer’s care, she’d had precious time to heal, and thanks to the healers’ efforts, her feet were mostly mended.

No excuses. This had to be done.

A quick look out the window confirmed that the rain continued to fall. She had no choice but to steal one of the oiled leather mantles she found conveniently hanging on a peg. Her eyes fell on the tray of food standing in the corner. Her stomach grumbled. After downing a bowl of broth in one long gulp, she crammed a buttered roll in her mouth and stuffed her pockets with a bunch of grapes and a few slices of ham. She would have to eat the rest on the run.

She went to the door, but hesitated at the threshold. She had a plan and she intended to follow it. But what if this Lord Brennus was simply a nice man, the last one remaining in this cruel, crazy world?
She recalled how well he had cared for her throughout their journey. Had it not been for him, she would surely be dead. Even her lips remembered his kiss’s generosity. After enduring Aponte’s harsh mouth, she fancied she could easily distinguish cruelty from kindness and voracity from honest passion. No, despite the lady’s warning, she couldn’t think of the lord who had rescued her as mean, vicious or brutal.

What if he had seen through the injustice that had befallen her? What if he had been the only person—highborn or not—willing to help her in the face of that injustice?

The risks were too many to ignore and the danger was too real to forget, but the Lord of Laonia had saved her life and even as she fled him, she didn’t have to join the ranks of the ungrateful.
Lusielle retraced her steps and rummaged through the desk. Although there was no parchment in the drawer, she found a quill and a little pot of ink. She jotted down a few words on her unlikely page and then made for the door.

She slipped out of the chamber into the corridor. She had no idea which way to go, but she had to find a way out of the seed house. Voices and lively music echoed from below. A carved stone banister overlooked the main hall. She peeked between the railings.

The Lord Brennus sat on a high-backed chair next to the Lady of Tolone across from a fire roaring in the massive hearth. He sipped from a gilded horn, listening to the lady’s chatter but staring at the fire with a sullen expression.

Lusielle could tell that he had recently arrived from whatever foray he had undertaken as his boots were wet and muddy. He was still wearing his greaves and his muscled breastplates, impressive leather-and-bronze chest armor strapped at the shoulders and embossed with swirling vines.
The music began. The tall, gaunt man who had accompanied the lord during their trip came into the chamber and joined some of the warriors who had ridden with them on the way to Tolone. She recognized their faces from her journey’s hazy memories.

Other people loitered in the great hall, the lady’s servants and retainers, talking, gaming and eating from the trays on the tables. The lady’s fierce-looking bodyguard stood behind her chair. Even the guards wearing Tolone’s colors seemed to linger in the hall, until a couple of them got up and headed for the stairs, reminding each other loudly that it was time to make their rounds.

Lusielle froze as the guards mounted the first few steps. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that the lady had spotted her, hiding behind the railings.

Without delay, the lady rose to her feet and announced that she was going to dance in ringing tones. Every eye in the room fell on the stunning woman, including those of the guards, who paused on the stairs to watch their mistress.

Lusielle crept down the hallway. She didn’t really trust the Lady of Tolone or anyone else for that matter, but she was determined not to waste her best chance to escape.

Award-Winning Finalist in the fantasy category of The 2013 USA Best Book Awards, sponsored by USA Book News

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Genre – Fantasy/Dark Fantasy

Rating – PG-18

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