Lusielle's bleak but orderly life as a remedy mixer is shattered when
she is sentenced to die for a crime she didn't commit. She's on the
pyre, about to be burned, when a stranger breaks through the crowd and
rescues her from the flames.
Brennus, Lord of Laonia is the last of his line. He is caught in the grip of a mysterious curse that has murdered his kin, doomed his people and embittered his life. To defeat the curse, he must hunt a birthmark and kill the woman who bears it in the foulest of ways. Lusielle bears such a mark.
Stalked by intrigue and confounded by the forbidden passion flaring between them, predator and prey must come together to defeat not only the vile curse, but also the curse giver who has already conjured their demise.
Brennus, Lord of Laonia is the last of his line. He is caught in the grip of a mysterious curse that has murdered his kin, doomed his people and embittered his life. To defeat the curse, he must hunt a birthmark and kill the woman who bears it in the foulest of ways. Lusielle bears such a mark.
Stalked by intrigue and confounded by the forbidden passion flaring between them, predator and prey must come together to defeat not only the vile curse, but also the curse giver who has already conjured their demise.
The Curse Giver
Chapter One
Dread stared at Lusielle from the depths of the rowdy
crowd. Concealed under a heavy hood, only the stranger’s black eyes dared to
meet her gaze among the growing throng. The man’s eyes refused to flinch or
shift from her face. His stare was free of the hatred she had gotten from the
others, but also devoid of mercy. He held on to her gaze like an anchor to her
soul, testing her fortitude, knowing full well her fears’ vast range.
She had always been meant for the fire. Even as she had
escaped the blaze that killed her parents and burned the inn to the ground,
Lusielle had known that the flame’s greedy god would return to claim her life.
But she hadn’t expected it to happen after days of torture, surrounded by the
raging mob, found guilty of a crime she didn’t commit, betrayed and condemned.
The town’s cobbler, one of her husband’s best customers,
tightened the noose around her neck until it cut off her breath. She had waited
on him countless times at the shop, and had always padded his order with a free
measure of coriander to help with his wife’s cough.
But none of the town’s inhabitants seemed to remember
any of her kindnesses as of late. On the contrary, the crowd was booing and
jeering when they weren’t pelting her with rotten fruit. They treated her as if
she were a common thief.
The brute who had conducted her torture shoved the
cobbler aside, tying her elbows and wrists around the wooden stake. Orell.
She remembered his name. His bearded face might have been handsome if not for
the permanent leer. Like the magistrate, he wore the king’s burgundy colors,
but his role had been more vicious. Had he been granted more time, he might
have succeeded at extracting the false confession he wanted, but the magistrate
was in a hurry, afraid of any possible unrest.
Orell yanked on the ropes, tightening her bonds. The
wound on her back broke open all over again. She swallowed a strangled hiss. It
was as if the thug wanted her to suffer, as if he had a private reason to
profit from her pain.
But she had never seen him until three days ago, when he
and the magistrate had shown up unannounced, making random accusations.
Lusielle couldn’t understand any of this.
She knew that the king’s justice was notoriously
arbitrary. It was one of the main reasons why she loathed living under King
Riva’s rule. But she also knew better than to express her opinion. Ruin and
tragedy trailed those who dared to criticize the king. That’s why she had never
mentioned her misgivings to anyone.
What had she done to deserve this fate? And why did they
continue to be so cruel? After all, she wasn’t fighting them anymore.
True, she had resisted at first. Out of fear and pride,
she had tried to defend herself. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. Her
accusers had relied on the testimony of the devious liar who had turned her
in—Aponte Rummins—her own husband.
The mock hearing had been too painful to bear, too
absurd to believe. Aponte swore before the magistrate that Lusielle was a
secret practitioner of the forbidden odd arts. It was ridiculous. How could
anyone believe that she, who had always relied on logic, measure and
observation to mix her remedies, could possibly serve the Odd God’s dark
purposes? And how could anyone believe Aponte’s lies?
But they did, they believed him as he called on his paid
witnesses and presented fabricated evidence, swearing that he himself had
caught her at the shop, worshipping the Odd God. In the end, it had been her
husband’s false testimony that provided the ultimate proof of the heinous
charge for which Lusielle was about to die.
Burning torch in hand, the magistrate stepped forward.
Still in shock, Lusielle swallowed a gulp of bitter horror and steeled for the
flames’ excruciating pain. She didn’t want to die like a shrieking coward. But
nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
The magistrate offered the torch to Aponte.
"The king upholds a husband’s authority over his
wife in the kingdom," the magistrate shouted for the crowd to hear.
"There can be no protests, no doubt of the wisdom of royal justice if a
husband does as he’s entitled to do by his marital rights."
Aponte could have forgone her execution. Considering the
magistrate’s proclamation, he could have chosen a different punishment for her.
Instead, he accepted the torch and, without hesitation, put the flame to the
tinder and blew over the kindling to start the fire.
"Go now," he said, grinning like a hog about
to gorge. "Go find your dark lord."
Lusielle glared at the poor excuse for a man who had
ruined her life many times over. She had known from the beginning that he was
fatally flawed, just as he had known on the day he claimed her that she
couldn’t pledge him any affection.
But Aponte had never wanted her affection. He had wanted
her servitude, and in that sense she proved to be the reluctant but dutiful
servant he craved.
Over the years he had taught her hatred.
His gratification came from beating and humiliating her.
His crass and vulgar tastes turned his bed into a nightmare. She felt so
ashamed of the things he made her do. Still, even if she loathed him—and not
just him, but the slave she had become under his rule—she had tried to make the
best of it.
She had served him diligently, tending to his
businesses, reorganizing his stores, rearranging his trading routes and
increasing his profits. His table had always been ready. His meals had been hot
and flavorsome. His sheets had been crisp and his bed had been coal-warmed
every night. Perhaps due to all of this, he had seemed genuinely pleased with
their marital arrangement.
Why, then, had he surrendered her so easily to the
magistrate’s brute?
Aponte had to have some purpose for this betrayal. He
was, above all, a practical man. He would not surrender all the advantages that
Lusielle brought to him—money, standing, common sense, business acumen—without
the benefit of an even greater windfall.
Lusielle couldn’t understand how, but she was sure that
the bastard was going to profit handsomely from her death.
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.
Four Reasons Why Reading Is My Best Summer Escape
By
Dora Machado
1) Reading is stress free:
There are no traffic hassles, rigid schedules, cars packed to the brim,
siblings breathing each other’s air in the back seat, kids asking "Are
we there yet?", long lines, crowded attractions, heat waves, summer
storms, lost tourists, packed hotels, stagnant pools and stale
all-you-can eat buffets. You also get to avoid the long check-in lines
at the congested airports, the intrusive security screens, the late
planes, the sullen flight attendants and the psycho pilots. It’s just
you and your book.
2) Reading is safe:
You don’t need helmets, kneepads, safety glasses, spare paddles,
lifejackets, lifelines, first-aid kits, mole skin, tetanus shots, oxygen
tanks, water purification tablets, safety harnesses, emergency beacons,
medivac insurance, shark repellent or bear spray. Seriously, I’ve
owned, worn or used all of these at some point in my vacations. In
hindsight, I don't know what the heck I was thinking. Your risks of
contracting the Norovirus, the Hantavirus or the SARS Coronavirus are
dramatically reduced when you stay home. Same goes for Malaria, Yellow
Fever and Dengue. The way I see it, I don't need a GPS to locate my
favorite reading corner. My cats double as wildlife without the need for
a high-end Swarovski scope. And I’m a lot less likely to activate my
SPOT (personal satellite emergency tracker) while parked on the couch.
3) Reading is exciting:
Experience adrenaline’s thrill without suffering the consequences for
your actions. It’s like distance trekking in Spain without the blisters
or Colorado mountain biking minus the Rockies’ steep hills. Expeditions,
explorations, adventure, intrigue, mystery, hardship, elation, failure,
redemption, lust, love, high-stake gambles: You get to live through it
all without losing your camera, sunglasses, wallet or ATM card. Yep,
I’ve lost of all those. To top it all, you get to dangle at the
cliffhanger without breaking any bones or dramatically increasing your
chances for developing some serious osteoarthritis down the line.
4) Best of all, reading is the greatest bargain around:
A bunch of great books are free on Kindle and Nook. Libraries also
offer great variety at no cost. You can get a great read for $0.99. The Curse Giver,
my latest novel, is out on e-book, and all of the Stonewiser novels are
on sale this summer. Digital or print, a book is the season’s most
fashionable accessory. Compared with overpriced airline fares, luggage
fees, unpredictable gas prices, seedy hotel rooms and unexpected
hospitality taxes, reading is the best deal out there and by far my
favorite summer escape.
Dora Machado is the award winning author of the
Stonewiser series and her newest novel, The Curse Giver, coming this summer
from Twilight Times Books. She is one of the few Latinas exploring her heritage
and her world through the epic fantasy genre today. She holds a master’s degree
in business administration and graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Georgetown
University. She was born in Michigan and grew up in the Dominican Republic,
where she developed a bilingual fascination for writing, a love for history,
and a taste for Merengue. After a lifetime of straddling such compelling but
different worlds, fantasy is a natural fit to her stories. She enjoys long
walks, traveling, and connecting with the amazing readers who share in her
mind’s adventures. She lives in Florida with her indulging husband and three
very opinionated cats.
0 comments:
Post a Comment