The Witch-Queen, Legends of Winatuke, book1
(formerly, The Dark Isle)Pre-Order Link:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07Z44XYD1
A little burst of happiness
spread through her as she contemplated her mission. Of course, Mother would be displeased to find me disobeying her by
searching for the Nimway prince she holds prisoner. That he was her
mother's enemy only served to make the adventure more enticing. Her eagerness
to see what he looked like aroused her imagination. Lucerne, Isadore’s aging
nanny, told her the captive prince had golden hair, beautiful yellow wings and
a heart of pure light. Lucerne had told her something important about his
voice, but she couldn't quite remember just what she had said.
Isadore reached the bottom
of the stair and made her way with tentative care down the narrow passage to
the prisoner's cell. She had never ventured this far before. The dungeon was an
awful place. It smelled of damp stone, urine, and fear.
In the shadows of the
cell, she made out the Nimway's form as he stood facing the wall beyond the
iron bars with his back to her. He stood tall with a broad back that tapered to
a narrow waist and hips. From his back sprang two large, yellow wings etched in
black. They reminded her of the stained glass windows now falling from their
frames in the abandoned chapel of the north wing. The glow from a burning torch
shone through his hair and, in spite of its unkempt length and its need of
washing, it gleamed like a golden halo in the flickering torchlight. There he
stood, magnificent and beautiful, the Heir Apparent to the throne of Valmora,
Prince Gabriel of Fionn.
He must have sensed her
presence because he started to turn toward her. Her heart pounded against her
ribs. She could not catch her breath. Inside her mind her thoughts ran in
excited disarray. But a smart rap on her shoulder gained her immediate
attention. A gasp escaped her when she turned to find her mother standing close
behind her. Mahara had found her out. "What do you think you are doing, Isadore?"
Her black eyes darkened and narrowed with suspicion. Without waiting for an
answer she grabbed Isadore’s hand in a painful grasp and jerked her around.
"Come with me NOW," Mahara commanded.
Raphael struggled to fly
against the northwest wind. A downdraft in this kind of weather could slam
Raphael to the ground without warning. Another difficulty facing him was snow
that fell so thick and fast it blinded his vision and the mélange of white sky
with white, snow–covered ground disoriented him. The persistent headwind sapped
Raphael’s energy. I only have a little
further to go. As he recalled Isadore's determination to make the journey
to Valmora for Gabriel’s sake, he became inspired. Without knowing how she
would be received she made the journey tenaciously focused on her one
objective...to save Gabriel's life. Raphael found himself amazed by the
magnitude of Isadore's love for his brother. I only wish my own life could be that blessed.
As twilight arrived,
Raphael settled to earth at the far side of the Lake of Sorrows. Across the
frozen expanse, loomed the Dark Isle. The isle rose up from the murky depths of
the lake into a black, ragged mountain that stood in stark contrast to the
white, iced–over lake. Cradled in the jagged granite claw, sat the decaying
remains of Mahara's castle, its inhabitants of the Black Blood Clan, and the
imprisoned humans and Nimway. The black stone had weathered over the years and
parts of it had crumbled away. The north tower was all but gone, its base stuck
up from the bare ground like jagged teeth. A portion of the wall had collapsed
from neglect and age. Great chunks of cut stones lay scattered around what was
once a courtyard.
Raphael made out a faint
light here and there from a narrow window and an occasional light moving about,
which he assumed were guards with lanterns going about their rounds. At the
mouth of the castle an iron gate with sharpened bars warded off the most
intrepid trespassers from entering its gaping orifice. Raphael was not sure if
he shivered from the cold or from the presence of such unbridled evil. He drew
his cloak around him and blended into the oak tree behind him. He couldn't
light a fire for fear of discovery, so he warmed himself with thoughts of Rose.
He imagined her working in her garden with the sun lighting the gold in her
copper hair. He envisioned her smiling up at him from his arms and remembered
the warmth of her lips on his.
His yearning for her tormented
him like a deep wound that would not heal. What a trick fate had played on him.
His one true love preferred a man like Bill Harris simply because he was human.
Diverse
stories filled with heart
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