Betrayed by ally and by love, stranded by uncontrollable magic, Yiloch struggles to make his way back before Caithin can declare war...
Publication Date: December 11, 2015
Series: Forbidden Things, Book Two
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Trying to protect the Lyran prince from the swift descent of Caithin justice, Indigo exposes the workings of an enemy who is willing to kill to protect his secrets. In desperation, she unleashes magic that sends Yiloch deep into the desert of Kudan before fleeing for her life. She must find him again to save his life as well as her own.
Betrayed by ally and by love, stranded by uncontrollable magic, Yiloch struggles to make his way back to the Lyran capital before Caithin can declare war, but standing between him and his empire is a lethal new enemy, wielding magic unlike anything his people have faced before.
Forbidden Things, Book One
Excerpt:
The sound of footsteps on the stairs
tickled at the edge of Indigo’s consciousness. It was important that she acknowledge the sound, but
she still hadn’t solved her dilemma and the distraction was unwelcome. When the
sound finally drove into her awareness like an arrowhead piercing the skin, she
glanced at the door in alarm. She didn’t recall bolting it and that quick
glance confirmed that she hadn’t done so. Jumping up from the chair, she
reached out with a tendril of ascard, jerking it back when the door flew open
before she could correct her mistake.
Jayce stormed in, slamming the door behind
him, his face flushed with wrath or drink, or both.
“How could you disgrace me like this?” he
snarled, the slight slur in his speech confirming the excess of drink involved.
Her heart pounded and she stepped back,
realizing too late that it would be her second mistake of the evening.
Encouraged by her show of fear, Jayce
sneered and came forward.
“Jayce,” she managed a soothing tone
despite the tremor of remembered fear that vibrated through her. “Let this go.
It’s over and done with.” She opened to more ascard, feeling that power fill
her. As she did so, she also checked her masking to be sure she wouldn’t draw
attention if she had to use it against him.
Please,
just let it go.
She wasn’t supposed to know how to do most
of the things she could do with ascard and it would bode ill to let him in on
those things. If only she could talk him down this time, get him to give up.
Jayce’s lip lifted in a silent snarl. “You
aren’t going to get the last word, Indigo.” He hissed her name like it was some
foul thing that people only whispered of in dark corners. “That isn’t the way
this works.”
He moved forward again and she backed a
few more steps, trying to maintain distance between them. This time she came up
against a table and had to move to one side to clear her way. “Why don’t we sit
down and talk about it? Maybe we can find a way to settle things that works for
both of us.”
He shook his head. “No one else gets to
have you.”
She narrowed her eyes, the ring becoming
heavy on her finger, reminding her that someone else had already had her,
someone handsome and powerful who needed her. Stopping her retreat, she stood
tall and stared hard at him. “It’s too late for that.”
Lightening flashed in his eyes and she
cursed herself for letting her emotions get the upper hand. One moment of
reciprocated anger, a mere flash of defiance, was all he needed to keep his
rage burning hot.
“Whore,” he yelled, his voice cracking. A
tear ran down his cheek and her stomach twisted into knots. Did he actually
believe he ever loved her or that she somehow belonged to him? “I’ll drag you
down to the docks and sell you to the slave traders. Maybe they can find a use
for you.”
Anger and frustration pounded their way to
the surface. She was wasting precious time arguing with him. People she cared
for were in danger. “Get out.”
Jayce lunged at her then, the movement so
sudden that she didn’t manage to dodge him. He grabbed a fistful of hair, using
it to pull her head back and down. She staggered, a second of panic overriding rational
thought. One knee struck the floor, sending a bolt of pain up through her hip.
His eyes were wide and a lunatic grin warped his handsome features. He drew
back his free hand to strike her. The gesture took her back to the last time he
had attacked her, before she had gone to Lyra. Everything stopped, a razor edge
of hatred erasing all of her fear. She wasn’t about to let him strike her
again. Not ever.
***
The sun crept over the horizon, spreading
its scalding light over the canyon-scarred lands of the Rhuakine. The extreme
depths of the canyons stayed buried in shadow, defying the early light.
Undaunted, it continued to reach westward, toward the eastern edge of Kudan. In
some regions, this crisp morning light was the harbinger of day. For the Kudaness,
day started long before the light came. When the first light kissed the
northernmost village of the Denilik, it found the dark skinned inhabitants
already busy with daily chores—tending scant crops, mending clothes, preparing
meals, gathering water from a river that reduced to little more than a trickle in the heart
of the dry season—anything to make life in the desert possible. They worked
with single-minded intensity to finish their tasks before the full heat of the
day settled in.
The day that dawned was clear and bright,
but thunder rolled in the early hours, bearing down on the village. The rumble
gave some warning. It wasn’t enough. Denilik warriors sprinted through the
village, retrieving weapons and heading on toward the eastern border. The rumble
preceded its source by several minutes, growing in volume and shaking the
ground. It also shook the confidence of those waiting.
Then the horizon darkened with the mass of
surging horseflesh. The horses were dark, compact, and strong like the men who
rode them. The eyes of the men were dark and determined as they leaned low over
their horses’ necks, short bladed spears held ready at their sides.
The Denilik faced that charging horde.
There was no choice but to defend that which they had spent their whole lives
building. Women and children retreated to their huts. There was nowhere else to go on
such short notice. With the widely separated villages of the Kudaness tribes,
there was no running to find help or sanctuary. The dark skinned Kudaness set
themselves into fighting stances, ready to cripple the mounts or take down
their riders, whatever opportunity provided. Most carried the wide curved
blades favored by the Kudaness warriors while the front line carried longer,
ornate spears that could more effectively bring down a horse. Weapons they
hadn’t needed to use against outsiders in generations.
The horsemen showed no sign of slowing as
they rushed the waiting line. Other than the pounding of hooves, they came on
in silence. The Denilik warriors let out a battle cry to bolster their courage.
The dark riders leaned forward, rising up in their stirrups to prepare for the
attack. As the front line of riders reached the village, the Kudaness attacked
with spear and sword, only to have their weapons knocked aside by some unseen
force. The mounted warriors swung their bladed spears and cries of pain rose
into the air as the weapons bit deep into flesh.
The riders continued forward, charging
anyone, man, woman, or child, who got in their path. When all defenders lay
dead in the sun and the village was overrun with the compact horses, the riders
dismounted and entered the huts. They cut down the elderly, women, and children
with a callous efficiency, adding to the blood that already ran thick on their
blades. Within moments, the screaming stopped and silence fell. The riders
searched every hut, gathering food and supplies, and regrouped in the center of
the village. Here they took time to clean the swept blades of their spears and
wipe blood from their faces.
When the last of the army gathered around
the village, there were no Denilik left alive to slick their blades with blood.
In the center of the village, one of the horse warriors watched while several
others divided and packed pillaged supplies. His small eyes, almost black,
observed the activity with satisfaction, not from greed so much as vindicated
ambition. Like the men around him, he was stocky and strong with olive skin and
near black hair. The armor he wore was a lightweight hide with thin plates of a
red hardwood woven in layers over the chest, back, and thighs.
This man, like the others in all but the
air of authority that surrounded him, leapt up on his mount with the ease of a
cat. His dark eyes swept the area once more, seeing that the army was already
set to move on. The day was young and the sun’s heat not yet prohibitive. They
would continue, leaving silence in their wake. With a single command, he turned
the storm and continued north.
***
The sound of growling woke Yiloch. The evening was still warm, though
nowhere near as stifling as the heat of day. His hand went to the sword, the
strange hilt one of many things that brought the misery of his situation into
stark relief. An echoing growl rose in his own throat as he looked around. There
were several wild dogs nearby, tearing at something that looked disturbingly
familiar. It only took a second to recognize that the something was his pack of
supplies. The exhaustion of many days spent walking through the desert without
Ferin’s skills to ease the burden were telling on him. He had slept hard enough
for the dogs to drag his pack away without waking him. They could have easily
gone after him instead. All the food and water he had were in that pack.
Drawing the sword, he rose and went after the dogs. They darted away,
keeping a wary distance, but still lingering much closer than he would like.
They were cautious of him, not afraid. He used a touch of ascard to speed an
attack, bringing the curved blade around to cut deep into one dog’s mottled flank.
The animal let out a piercing yelp and darted away. The wound gaped open, blood
flowing free. That one would die a slow and painful death unless another
predator put it out of its misery. The other dogs backed away, giving him more
space.
A burning hunger to make something suffer pulled at him,
compelling him to go after more of the dogs. The exhaustion he felt from the
small exertion, however, was enough to counter that desire. He simply didn’t
have strength to waste right now. Reining in the bloodlust, he turned to the
remains of his pack. The dogs had decimated it with remarkable efficiency. Both
of the water skins were torn, bleeding life out into the dry soil. He picked up
each one in turn, hoping to preserve some of the water. It was too late. All of
his food was gone as well.
He hurled one of the useless water skins at the nearest dog. The animal
darted out of the way and came back almost instantly to investigate the item,
watching him as it licked at the moisture. The wounded dog was laying a short
distance away, panting hard. It had given off licking the still-bleeding wound.
Some of the other dogs were milling around it now, sniffing at the injury.
Glancing up at the sky, he determined which direction he needed to
continue. He didn’t have the ascard skill necessary to search out Kudaness
villages. Without Ferin, he would have to walk north and hope he got lucky
enough to come across a village or, at the very least, a water source. He
glared at the dogs. It was more than possible that they had killed him by
destroying his supplies.
It was hard to move on.
His arms and legs felt tied down by the same weight that dragged at his chest
and made his head feel heavy. It was a feeling he knew, one he had hoped never
to feel again after escaping his father’s prison. Despair.
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