Eolyn’s words drifted into silence. She bit her lip and looked away.

“The Queen is with child.” Renate stepped forward, her sharp tone a fine match for that hawkish face. “She is about two months along, my Lord King. This is the primary reason for her indisposition.”

Felton clapped his hands in joy. “Praise the Gods!”

Akmael watched Eolyn. She did not return his gaze but instead studied her hands, working restlessly against each other. The memory of their recent nights stirred inside him, like wind through the high branches of an ancient fir, beautiful and poignant. Ephemeral in time, enduring in the imagination.

“We would recommend the Queen return to the King’s City as soon as possible,” continued Renate, shoulders stiff and back as straight as an arrow. “Preferably by litter. She should not mount a horse again, not until the baby comes to term. Do you not agree, Maga Eolyn?”

Eolyn blinked at the sound of her name and nodded. “Yes, of course. She requires a warmer climate and the comfort of her home, if the baby is to come to term successfully.”

Akmael turned to Felton. “Have a litter readied by morning, and send a messenger at once to the City to advise High Mage Rezlyn. He is to meet us in Rhiemsaven. We will send her by royal barge from there to Moisehén.”

“As you wish, my Lord King.” Felton bowed and started down the hall, muttering his list of tasks and marking them on chubby fingers.

Akmael turned his attention back to Eolyn and Renate. The High Maga had retreated to her own thoughts, while the older woman watched him with arched brows and an unabashed stare.

“It would seem the Queen disposed of the herbs we sent the other day,” Renate said, “an unfortunate decision as they would have been of great help to her now.”

“We will gather additional medicines this afternoon and have a fresh bundle sent by evening.” Eolyn spoke as if measuring her words to soften Renate’s accusatory tone. “The Queen must make use of them, otherwise it will be a hard journey from here to Rhiemsaven.”

“I will see it done,” Akmael replied.

Eolyn nodded. Her hand drifted to her throat and found the silver web at its base, a jewel of magic that he had given to her long ago. “I suppose we are finished here, then. If it pleases you, my Lord King, Renate and I will take our leave.”

“Maga Renate is dismissed. I would have a word with you alone, Maga Eolyn, before you depart.”

Renate set her lips in a firm line, and directed a questioning gaze at her companion.

Eolyn’s shoulders deflated, but she laid a hand on the old maga’s arm and said, “Find Sir Borten and have him prepare the horses, would you, Renate? You can wait for me in the courtyard. I won’t be a moment.”

Renate gave a stiff bow and departed.

Akmael drew close to Eolyn and invoked a sound ward about them. She did not retreat, nor did she move to touch him. In her fingers she cradled the jewel woven by his mother, the silver web that had brought them together as children in the South Woods. It seemed a lifetime ago, a world forever lost.

A quiet sob broke on her lips. “I have been such a fool.”

“I was the one who overstepped my bounds. Forgive me, Eolyn. It was not my intention—”

“I am not speaking of these nights, recently passed.” Her hand found his, their fingers intertwined.  “I walked away from you, my love. I turned my back on this gift the Gods had given us, because I was frightened—so very terrified—and of what? Of you? All you ever did was love me. ”

“I was not so perfect in my affection.”

“You were my only Caradoc. I see that now, and it is too late.”

Her words felt small inside the growing void of his soul, though they would have filled him with pleasure just a few years before. He touched her cheek and then drew her into his embrace, inhaling the honey-and-wood scent of her hair. A verse came to mind from his childhood days, a song his mother had sung, and he recited it now as he held Eolyn close. “Caradoc waited for his one true love, withstanding the tides of tempest and sun. Caradoc defied the cruel threats of time, and received his Aithne when her journey was done.”

Eolyn laughed into his chest, a bright sound that invoked images of the sun-flecked woods. She withdrew and looked at him, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. “That mage had no crown upon his fair head. A King needs an heir before he is dead.”

The improvised verse amused him, but even as he allowed himself a smile the merriment drained from her features.

Her eyes drifted toward Taesara’s room, and she murmured, “I would have born your children with love. Just as she will do, I could have done—that, and so much more.”

Akmael felt something rupture inside, an old wound he now knew would never heal.

“I should leave,” she said, but her lips met his instead.

Lands Ravaged. Dreams destroyed. Demons set loose upon the earth.

War strikes at the heart of women’s magic in Moisehén. Eolyn’s fledgling community of magas is destroyed; its members killed, captured or scattered.

Devastated yet undaunted, Eolyn seeks to escape the occupied province and deliver to King Akmael a weapon that might secure their victory. But even a High Maga cannot survive this enemy alone. Aided by the enigmatic Mage Corey, Eolyn battles the darkest forces of the Underworld, only to discover she is a mere path to the magic that most ignites their hunger.

What can stop this tide of terror and vengeance? The answer lies in Eolyn’s forgotten love, and in its power to engender seeds of renewed hope.

HIGH MAGA is the companion novel to EOLYN, also available from Hadley Rille Books.

Buy Now @ Amazon & Kobo

Genre – Epic Fantasy

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Karin Rita Gastreich on Facebook & Twitter

Blog http://eolynchronicles.blogspot.com

Amroth began again, but now a twinkle sparkled in his eye. “On my last mission, though, I finally figured out the way to atone for my mistakes toward you.”

Iren’s brow furrowed skeptically.

“I want to defeat the Quodivar, as you know. The mission I proposed at the feast can do that. However, I have two ulterior motives. First, by bringing you on this mission, I give you the chance to prove yourself to Lodia. If the Quodivar fall because of your aid, you may earn some respect among the people. Second, and far more important, it will give you a chance to avenge your parents.”

“Avenge them? How?”

Looking Iren dead in the eye, Amroth replied, “The night your parents died, the darkness prevented me from determining their killer’s identity. However, the sparks from the clashing weapons and my own battle experience taught me much of his fighting style. I have never forgotten it, for the image of your parents’ murders remains burned into my heart. How surprised I was, then, on my latest mission, when I fought no less than the leader of the Quodivar himself! When I clashed swords with him, I knew. His technique perfectly matches what I saw seventeen years ago. I can’t say for certain, but I suspect that the Quodivar leader killed your parents.”

Iren felt like Amroth had struck him with a hammer. The man who murdered his parents still lived! “Did you kill him?” Iren asked, torn between hope and fear at how Amroth might respond.

“Unfortunately, no. His strength overwhelmed me, and I barely escaped. But I believe you can defeat him. In fact, I believe you are the only person who can succeed where both your father and I failed.”

Iren hugged himself, slowly absorbing Amroth’s words and what the captain hoped Iren would accomplish. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fight. He had never even held a weapon. After hearing Amroth’s tale, though, he already knew his answer. Firmly, he replied, “I’ll see you at the stables an hour before dawn.”

Amroth gave the slightest incline of his head, then rose and opened the door a crack, listening for any sign of movement. Satisfied no one was in the tower, the captain vanished down the steps.

As Iren sat on his bed, taking in the poor trappings of his life, a sense of direction he’d never experienced came to him. For seventeen years, no one had wanted him. He’d been unnecessary. Thanks to Amroth, all those feelings of doubt and insecurity fled before a new resolve. What did he want from life? For years he’d asked himself that question, never having an answer. Now, for the first time, he did.

Revenge.

From fantasy author Josh VanBrakle comes an epic new trilogy of friendship, betrayal, and explosive magic. Lefthanded teenager Iren Saitosan must uncover a forgotten history, confront monsters inspired by Japanese mythology, and master a serpentine dragon imprisoned inside a katana to stop a revenge one thousand years in the making.

Lodian culture declares lefthanded people dangerous and devil-spawned, and for Iren, the kingdom’s only known Left, that’s meant a life of social isolation. To pass the time and get a little attention, he plays pranks on the residents of Haldessa Castle. It’s harmless fun, until one of his stunts nearly kills Lodia’s charismatic heir to the throne. Now to avoid execution for his crime, Iren must join a covert team and assassinate a bandit lord. It’s a suicide mission, and Iren’s chances aren’t helped when he learns that his new katana contains a dragon’s spirit, one with a magic so powerful it can sink continents and transform Iren into a raging beast.

Adding to his problems, someone on Iren’s team is plotting treason. When a former ally launches a brutal plan to avenge the Lefts, Iren finds himself trapped between competing loyalties. He needs to figure out who – and how – to trust, and the fates of two nations depend on his choice.

“A fast-paced adventure…led by a compelling cast of characters. Josh VanBrakle keeps the mysteries going.” - ForeWord Reviews

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Genre – YA epic fantasy

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Josh VanBrakle on Twitter

Website www.joshvanbrakle.com

What is your favorite quote?  Why?

It's funny you asked. My newsletter always has a quote at the top, something meaningful to me. For example, the spring edition's quote was from Lloyd Alexander. It said: "Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it." It perfectly described my own views on fantasy.

The quote for the summer newsletter came from The Curse Giver. "The difference between fear and courage is not the absence of danger, but the will to tackle the risk."  I'm not in the habit of quoting myself. I promise! But I shared this quote because I realized that all of us—readers, writers, friends—we all need a little bit of courage each day to fully tackle our lives.

If you could be any famous person for one day, who would you be and why?

I don't know that I would ever want to be someone famous. In fact, the mere notion freaks me out a little. But I would want to be someone with access to knowledge and insight, someone able to look at the world in new and wondrous ways. I think it would've been great to be that first human who realized that if you add yeast to the mix, bread rises; or the person who first understood that when you put a seed into the ground a new plant grows. I think it would've been really cool to journey with those first explorers who broke out of Africa or came across the Bering Sea, or with the Hopi's ancestors, or the Vikings, or maybe even with the universe's future explorers.

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

I love to travel and I do so whenever I can. I also love walking and hiking. I'm slow on the uphill, but I enjoy it. I like stories and therefore I love movies, books and any other medium that tells stories. I really like theater and in particular, I love Broadway productions, the more lyrical and epic, the better.

What are some of the best tools available today for writers?

In terms of research, instruction and support, the Internet is the mother of all tools. You can research a new story, authenticate the details, learn about the craft and connect with readers, writers and additional resources with the click of a mouse. The challenge is to learn to differentiate credible sources from the rest.

In terms of promotion, I think social media offers some of the most innovative ways to connect with readers and writers everywhere.  In addition to Facebook and Twitter, I also like to keep in touch directly through my blog and newsletter.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is your favorite/worst book-to-movie transfer?

I think that books and movies are two different and distinct media. I usually approach them with different expectations. What makes a book great is not the same thing that will work for a movie. The translation is particularly challenging for science fiction and fantasy. There are an awful lot of great SF/F books that have been made into terrible movies. I used to say that I never wanted to see my books made into movies. That is, until I watched George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones on HBO. It might be time to rethink the old prejudices. . . .

What do you love most about the writer’s life?

Oh, gosh, there are so many things I love about my writer's life. After so many years working nine to five, I love the freedom of setting my own schedule, the fact that I can work in my pajamas, and the absolute satisfaction that comes from spending hours at the keyboard. I love the process of writing, the intellectual challenge and the luxury of creating without boundaries. I love my writer friends, the feel of a new book in my hands, the excitement of a new idea blooming into a story and the birth of a powerful character. I love typing "The End" at the bottom of the manuscript, even though I know it's never truly the end. But above all, I love my readers—meeting them, talking to them, reading their emails and their comments—because they are the ones riding shotgun in all my adventures.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever received that you’d like to pass to other authors?

Write like the wind, write often, diligently and continuously, write for yourself and my favorite, write all the way to The End.

What is your opinion about critique groups? What words of advice would you offer a novice writer who is joining one?

I think critique groups can be very helpful, as long as they are a good fit for the writer.  In my experience, critique groups come in all different types. Some are exclusively social groups, some offer support, encouragement and commiseration, some are very much into the mechanics of writing, others are very production oriented. There are groups that are very strict about membership and participation requirements and others that are very relaxed. I think the best thing to do is ask yourself: What is it that you are looking for in a critique group? If you have a clear goal in mind, the search will be easier.

Lurking about is a good practice to learn more about a group and get acclimated when you first join. Reading old posts and getting familiar with the members and their work will also help to establish the nature of the group that you are considering joining. Visiting is always a good idea and reciprocating is vital. Notice how members treat each other and how they approach their critiques. Make sure you are comfortable with the level of openness and respect that the group demonstrates. And if you don't like what you see, you can always try another group.

Can you share with us your current work in progress?

I'm currently working on several different projects, including a contemporary dark fantasy with a Latin twist and another standalone fantasy romance that takes place in the world of The Curse Giver. It's not a sequel, not exactly, but rather a related novel. It's currently called The Soul Chaser.  Also, the Stonewiser series is coming out in audiobook. The first book of the trilogy, Stonewiser: The Heart of the Stone, is already available at http://www.audible.com/pd/Sci-Fi-Fantasy/Stonewiser-Audiobook/B00F52CJIY/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1379186069&sr=1-1. Take a listen. It's good, old-fashioned storytelling at its very best.

Thank you for this interview, Dora.  Can you tell us where we can find you on the web?

To learn more about me and my novels, you can visit my website at www.doramachado.com or contact me at Dora@doramachado.com. You can also read my blog at http://www.doramachado.com/blog/, sign up for my newsletter at http://doramachado.com/newsletter.php, and follow me on Facebook and Twitter. For a free excerpt of The Curse Giver, go to  http://twilighttimesbooks.com/TheCurseGiver_ch1.html or you can catch the book trailer at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nv8WFYpdqQo&feature=youtu.be

Thanks again for introducing me to your wonderful readers.

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.

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

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Fantasy/Dark Fantasy

Rating – PG-18

More details about the author

Connect with Dora Machado on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.doramachado.com/

* * *

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

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Fantasy/Dark Fantasy

Rating – PG-18

More details about the author and the book

Connect with Dora Machado on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.doramachado.com/