Fantasy novel | gay romance sub-plot| poc main character.
An heir to a monarchy threatened by a popular revolution forges an alliance with an amnesiac man who could have forgotten links to the rebellion.
- - -
Her...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Amyra Ore Alerin | 20th day of Sprout season
Amyra peered between robust trunks of trees, drowsy eyes trying to focus on a mixture of earthen colors of the forest. To force herself to wake up, she stood and tightened the wraps of crumpled dark fabric around her shoulders. Never in my life, I had needed to focus on a task more, and I'm was failing miserably.
It was the third morning she had returned near the rubbles of the old palace of river trades. On a mound that allowed her a safe sight of the entry of the palace, she kept an eye on the uniformless guards watching the area.
She hadn't come when the Mistress had summoned her there, making herself an enemy. She risked her life. But this was the only option she had left. After her encounter with the healer, she had an idea of what Mistress Anya was doing: using Una, and countless others with supernatural talents as meaningless and disposable tools for the revolution. While giving hope to Amyra about finding Una, the Mistress assured Amyra carried out her dirty deeds within the royal domain.
I cannot be the only one, she repeated to herself. There must be others bribed into helping the revolution with false promises of getting family members back. Her best chance was to join forces with an active revolutionary with a common goal. She had been there three days, no one had shown. I don't have any other options anyway. She waited. She knew sooner or later one must show up.
Her heart raced at the slightest sound around her. Insect hiss, wadogs howling from far away. A leave lending at her head could startle her straight into madness. She was glad for the start of the solar arc. A whiff of wind blew beat against the edge of the mound where Amyra hid, sending rattling dry leaves rolling on the ground. Amyra grabbed the trunk of the tree beside her. In case I need to climb it if an animal approached. But there could be snakes above. She sighed.
Where the rubbles of the old palace of river trades thickened, everything was still. Her stomach grumbled. She reached inside her pocket and retrieved the last piece of pearbread she had left and ate it with both satisfaction and apprehension. The nearest villages where she could trade small work for food were three thousand gallops away. She was tired, almost drifting to sleep. And restless because of the prospect of some wild thing biting her.
She rubbed the bread crumbs away on her cloak and leaned against the trunk, tempted to doze off. The tiredness of spending three nights in a row in cold, hard places was muscle-stiffening. Still, she hadn't once managed to sleep uninterrupted from deepnight to dawn. She would rather believe it was Una's absence making her restless. But in her short dreams, she saw Heron instead, welcoming her into his chambers, feeding her with swine roasted with lemon vinegar, marinated with flower liquors. Then, walking behind her and slitting her throat with a Baalkan sword.
The Sacred Blade of Justice was no coincidence. She had sinned against the Ancients, tainted her soul terribly. How could have she been so blind not to recognize The Mistress' cruelty sooner?
