The Circle: Taken

by Sage Sask

Genre: YA Contemporary Fiction

Release Date: February 2019

Summary:

Abandoned at eleven with no memory of her family, Alexia yearns to learn her true identity. She embarks on a dangerous quest for the truth of her past. In the resulting battle between life and death, Alexia learns that sacrifice and revealing the gift she fought to keep hidden may be her only chance for survival.

A secret unearthed, a shocking betrayal, and a moment when lives hang in the balance leaves Alexia with only one choice. Will the decision determine her destiny or end her life?

ONE

I pound the pavement, feet in perfect rhythm. With every step, I yearn to outrun the hazy memories, but they hug my heels. Sweat glues my half-ripped shirt to my body. After searching for a belt, I have settled for a string to wrap around my waist in the hope of keeping the oversized shorts from falling. I remember one of the boys wearing the shorts years ago. He must have left them behind when he departed the orphanage at eighteen. With a quick flick of my fingers, I push chocolate-brown wisps of hair off my face and back over my ponytail.

As I run, my eyes automatically examine the face of every woman I pass. Searching and hoping are my ritual. At night, after everyone in the orphanage is asleep, I lie atop the mattress on the floor and daydream of finding my mother. Discovering her will mean that I will finally learn who I am.

A woman catches my stare. Her hair is the same color as mine, and her height matches mine. Excitement starts in my belly as my eyes widen and my pace automatically slows. The silver ring on my second toe suddenly feels heavier. I moved it there years ago after my fingers outgrew its size.

“Do you know me?” I whisper, glancing cautiously at the safety patrol officer nearby.

She continues to stare at me, her face shifting into awareness. I reach out to touch her bare hand with mine. With one touch, I am sure I will have my answer. She glances at my approaching hand then steps back.

“You need to leave this area,” she murmurs. “Now.”

“What?” I stop moving toward her, sure I have misheard.

“Get out of here,” she orders me quietly. “It’s not safe for you.” She glances furtively at an approaching safety patrol officer. “Excuse me.” She hurries away before I can make contact. I stare after her, anxious and wondering.

“What happened?” The safety patrol officer silently slides his hand over his gun as he watches the woman scurry away.

“Nothing,” I murmur quickly, trying and failing to make sense of our interaction. My mother would know me, not run away. “I thought I recognized her.”

His gaze searches mine. I stand completely still, ordering myself to breathe. Seeming to come to a conclusion, he jerks his head. “Keep moving. Curfew in an hour.”

I run past him. Unsure of the woman’s order, I nonetheless turn into the old downtown of the city. I quicken my pace past an abandoned building. Deserted, it stands next to a heap of burnt rubble. Where a rooftop once was is now a gaping hole. The door, hanging off its hinges, creaks with the gust of wind. A half-starved rat scurries across the empty shelves.

Pushing my legs to move faster, I take the first turn and enter what looks like a completely different city. The buildings, built after the war, glisten with bombproof material. I maneuver through small parked cars laden with dust. With limited fuel available, it is rare to see cars on the road.

I pass a balding man walking his dog. Like everyone else’s, his glance strays to my green patch. His expression hardens but I refuse to react.

My green patch arrived the day after my sixteenth birthday. It was hand delivered by a messenger who waited for me to open the package and then finger swipe a tablet that assured the powers that be that I had received mine. Along with the patch was the date of my test.

Four times a year, the government sets up centers in each town to test newly minted sixteen year olds for their disposition to harm others. With the results, the government decides whether you live or die. Tomorrow I learn my fate. Until then, I am guilty until proven innocent.

I pass a bakery where the smell of fresh bread wafts through the door. On cue, my mouth waters and my stomach growls from incessant hunger. I slow down, unable to stop staring at the baskets of fresh bread on the white linen tablecloths.

Only when I spot another safety patrol officer do I move faster. They patrol twenty-four hours a day. I have seen even small infractions lead to an arrest or public berating. I drop my head as I move past him. I take the first turn into an alley. Only when I am sure he is no longer in my vicinity do I release my held breath.

Bright lights greet me. Sitting atop the metal posts, they glare at me in the darkened alley. Nestled inside the bulbs are hidden cameras that watch my movements like a wandering eye.

I flinch against the glare as I maneuver between stacks of water-stained crates littering the narrow passage. A stray Siamese cat halts its search of torn garbage bags to eye me warily. Barely sparing the animal a glance, I head toward the broken chain-link fence swaying in the wind.

“You want some?”

Surprised, I nearly trip over myself. Halting, I stare at a young man crouched beneath the awning. His dirty-blond hair spills over his chiseled face. His shoes are more expensive than any pair I have ever seen. A green patch flutters against his expensive clothes.

“What?” I ask.

He lifts a rolled leaf to his pressed lips and inhales. “Help ease the pain of tomorrow.”

“No, thanks.” Afraid of being caught, I take two steps back. I steal a quick glance around to make sure there are no witnesses.

He inhales again before running his eyes over me. His gaze lingers over the tear in my clothes, but he barely blinks at the green patch.

“You live in the orphanage?” he asks.

Unsure who he is, I stay quiet.

He shrugs, seemingly unbothered by my silence. He drops the leaf and stomps it out. From his backpack he pulls out a bag of dark chocolates and tears it open to pop one in his mouth. “You ready for tomorrow?”

Famished, I stare at the bag. Though it has been years since I have had a piece, I can still taste the chocolate as it melted on my tongue. With barely enough money to afford food, luxuries like chocolate are unheard of in the orphanage.

“Here.” Noticing my stare, he pulls out another full bag and tosses it to me. I catch it with one hand.

“Why?” I grip the bag, fighting the urge to rip into it. Wary of the unexpected gift, I stare at him.

He smiles as if I have told the best joke. “Have a drawer full at home.” He glances at the smashed leaf. “Chances are I may not be around anyway.”

“You sure you’re going to fail?” I ask, wondering how he knows.

“Are you sure you’re not?”

The question settles over me like a blanket of death. Tomorrow the government may learn my secret. If they do, they will kill me. My chest suddenly heavy, I fight for the breath I was holding only moments before. If I die, it will be without ever having found my mother. I will never have learned her true identity, or mine. From the day they found me on the beach years ago, I have been searching. But with no memory of who I am or where I came from, I have remained lost.

“Right.” My mouth dry, I hold up the chocolate bag. “Thank you for this.”

I slip the bag into my pocket for safekeeping. Without a goodbye I resume my run. Curious, I glance back once. He’s staring at me. Unsure what to say, I turn away and start to disappear into the night when a loud blast shakes the ground.

The boy jumps up and we both run to the edge of the alley. The bakery I just ran by is on fire, obliterated by an explosion. Everyone runs screaming from the blast. I scan the area, searching, but the woman who warned me to leave is nowhere in sight.

“The Resistance,” the boy says, disgusted. “It has to be them.”

“How do you know?” They are the government’s worst enemy – a large network of people who evade capture at every turn.

He shakes his head in disgust. “Because they want to kill everyone.”

Then why did a woman I have never met before just save my life?

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(Wingmen #6)

Publication date: March 7th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

The Last Wingman is a standalone enemies to lovers romance.

Jonah Kingston is the last wingman standing.

June Moxee doesn’t care if he’s the last man on earth.

I haven’t exactly avoided relationships, but love has never been a priority. Solitude doesn’t bother me and being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. Until she moved to the island and I had to reconsider everything.

June seems content running her yarn shop, knitting with the local church ladies, and avoiding me. She’s a temptress in a hand-knit sweater. And for some reason, she’s not a fan of mine. It might be the tattoos. Or the beard. Or the fact that we’re polar opposites.

A woman has finally caught my attention. Too bad she thinks she hates me. Good thing I’m stubborn enough to try to change her mind.

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—

EXCERPT:

An old-fashioned brass bell jingles when I open the door to June’s store. The narrow space is made even tighter by the floor-to-ceiling cubbies that line the two long walls. In the back of the store, a picture window frames a view of Saratoga Passage like a painting.

Tucked in the corner near the window is a comfy-looking wingback chair, and next to it, an oversized basket filled with balls of yarn. The shop is cozy and feminine, comfortable like a sweet grandmother’s house.

A grandmother who listens to “Sex and Candy” on low volume.

Not what I was expecting.

“Hello?” I call from my spot near the door. There’s no sign of June or anyone else inside. Double-checking the door for a Be back soon note and not seeing one, I step farther into the space. “Hello?”

A soft thump followed by more thumps comes from the desk area. Metallic pings and something heavy hitting the floor precedes a feminine voice yelping “Ouch” and “Fuck!”

June doesn’t seem like the type to drop f-bombs. Maybe she’s hired a ’90s-music-loving teenager with a foul mouth.

“Everything okay?” I follow the noise to the partially open door near the register.

“Fine. Fine! Nothing to see here! I’ll be with you in a second. Thanks for your patience.” What sounds like rapid-fire beanbags hitting a cornhole board contradicts her words.

As I see it, I have two options. I can ignore whatever is going on inside the closet and wait, or I can ignore her lie and step in to help.

I go with the second choice.

Swinging the door open, I’m greeted with a scene of colorful chaos. A box balances on its side on the edge of a high shelf, most of its contents now on the floor around June’s feet. She’s keeping the box aloft with both hands, but doesn’t have the height to shove it back into position.

“Here, let me help you.” I step into the small space behind her and reach above her head to stabilize the cardboard container before she ends up concussed.

“I don’t need your help.” Reluctantly, she releases her grip.

“Okay.” Disappointed and a little hurt by her obvious annoyance at my presence, I give the corner a final shove to guarantee we’re out of danger. “You’re welcome.”

“I said I was fine.” Continuing to face the shelves, she doesn’t turn her head to speak to me. In fact, she sounds downright angry.

“Got it. Well, I’ll get out of your way.” Resigned, I decide to abandon my mission and retreat to the safety of my own business, both literally and figuratively.

What happens next is more her fault than mine. Had she used a step stool and not tipped the box over, there wouldn’t be balls of yarn strewn across the floor, creating a minefield. Easily-tripped-over round objects that cause me to lose my balance and reach for the closest available thing to stop myself from landing on my ass.

Unfortunately, I grab June by the waist, surprising her. She’s not prepared to act as my anchor. Unstable, we both stumble backward.

Lucky for June, I break her fall. Unlucky for me, she lands on top of me.

We’ve never even hugged before this moment. I think we might have shaken hands once when Dan introduced us, but the memory isn’t clear. There wasn’t an electric shock when we first touched or met eyes, no love-at-first-sight zings upon initial contact—unlike now when my body is on high alert that we’re not only touching but lying flush against each other.

“I’m so sorry!” June wiggles, her movement drawing my attention to her clothes. How did I not notice she’s wearing a full skirt made of thin material? My imagination easily erases its existence altogether.

“Don’t apologize. This was completely my fault.” My words come out a grunt as I try to catch my breath.

My hands still grip her waist, making this position more awkward by the second. Unbidden, my fingers flex against her softness. Bad idea. Feeling my dick thicken, I tell myself not to move, not to even breathe. Oxygen is overrated.

Shifting on top of me, she bends her knees and gets her feet under her enough to stand up in a single, ninja-quick movement. Instead of waiting for me to stand or extending a hand to help me, she exits through the door and closes it behind her.

I’m left sprawled out on the floor, balls of yarn and possibly a needle poking me in the back. “No good deed goes unpunished,” I mutter to myself as I scramble to my feet. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Author Bio:

USA Today Bestselling Author Daisy Prescott writes romantic comedies about real love.

Love with Altitude, Daisy’s new series of standalone Rom Coms, is set in the mountains of Colorado. The Wingmen books star regular guys who often have beards, drive trucks, and love deeply once they fall. Modern Love Stories feature characters in their thirties and forties finding and rediscovering love in unexpected and humorous ways.

Born and raised in San Diego, Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their rescue dog, Mulder, and an imaginary house goat. When not writing about herself in the third person, Daisy can be found traveling, gardening, baking, or lost in a good book.

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Mimic
C.L. Denault
(The Prodigy Chronicles #2)
Publication date: March 22nd 2019
Genres: Dystopian, Romance, Science Fiction, Young Adult

In 2012, one cycle of an ancient calendar system came to a close. Humanity predicted its downfall, but it wasn’t the end of their evolutionary climb. It was the beginning.

Willow Kent is discovering that life as a second-phase prodigy comes at a price. Trapped in the London Core, her choices are limited, made difficult by her forbidden romance with Reece and the presence of a new commanding officer who establishes harsh rules. With unpredictable skills and a growing distrust in her birth parents, she is struggling to play the Core’s game. But when opportunity arises in the form of a mysterious shapeshifter, Willow realizes there’s more to her own evolution than meets the eye. She soon learns that keeping secrets is a key move, and the more dangerous they are, the greater her need to evolve into the powerful prodigy nature intended her to become.

But those closest to her have their own secrets, and her status has made her an easy target for betrayal. Who will she turn to, when nothing is as it seems?

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Sequel to:

—

EXCERPT:

The blow shouldn’t have stunned me. I’d grown up in a tavern, defending myself, and had spent plenty of time training with Kane and Tem. I knew how to take a hit.

This was more than a hit. Kristoffe’s swing was fast and brutal, with a force behind it that rivaled my own—enough to knock me off my feet and send me flying down the hall.

Sensations took over. There was the feel of backward motion. Loss of control as my body hit the floor. More motion from sliding, and the hot sting of my flesh scraping tile. Ceiling lights blurred into white lines. Pain throbbed in my cheek.

But it was the tightness in my throat that hurt most. The tiger clawed like mad as we slid. Her screams pierced the fog in my brain, parting it, carving out a path. If I didn’t stop her, she would use it to climb up and take control.

Let me in!

I managed to shake my head.

You need me!

“No,” I whimpered, bumping into the limp body of an elevator guard. One of his arms stopped me, and I sat up quickly, recoiling. He was spread-eagled, face down among his comrades, his fingers wrapped around a retinal scanner. I cringed. Was he dead? Had the tiger killed them all? Then my eyes fell on the laser resting at his hip.

Take it.

I couldn’t. I’d never fired one before.

He’ll kill us!

Not sure who she meant, I jerked my head around. The man with the sabre was still gone. But Kristoffe and his patrol were marching in my direction, dragging Toby with them. He struggled violently until one of them drove a fist into his stomach. A savage tug tore through my belly. Gasping, I leaned over, fumbling for the guard’s laser.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Kristoffe signaled for his men to stop, but continued walking toward me. He didn’t waver, not even when I grasped the laser in both hands and aimed it at him.

“That’s far enough,” I said.

He kept coming.

“I’ll shoot.” My finger instinctively hugged the trigger. “I mean it.”

Spreading his arms, Kristoffe made a target out of his broad chest. His smile was icy. “Go ahead, then. Shoot.”

Was he bluffing? I couldn’t tell. He might have a defensive shield. On the other hand, he might go down with one shot. There was no way to know. But somehow, he’d survived the tiger. This laser was my only hope.

Do it, the tiger spat.

My pulse spiked. “I will shoot.”

He kept coming.

Shoot him!

“Stop,” I cried, my hands shaking.

But he didn’t stop, and the closer he came, the harder I choked on the tiger’s fury. Her strength was more than I could handle. He was only a few feet away when her hissing cry forced me to pull the trigger. A matching cry left my lips. The laser clicked, shuddered—

—and died.

—

Author Bio:

C.L. Denault is a speculative fiction writer who loves dreaming up tales of adventure and intrigue. A former systems analyst, she gave up her nerdy code-writing skills to care for her family (including a son with special needs), and currently lives among the vast stretches of cornfields in Illinois.

Writing and working out are her biggest passions, along with drinking coffee and watching sci-fi. When she’s not hanging out with her husband and kids, she can usually be found at a library or tucked away in the shadowy corner of a hip coffeehouse. She’s also been glimpsed sneaking into her garage, late at night, to work on her time machine.

She enjoys connecting with people—especially those from other planets, nearby dimensions, and the future. To find her, just visit her website or social media pages. Or use a Stargate. Whichever is easiest.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

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From Sam Jacobey, this light fantasy is the incredible tale of a dragon princess imprisoned in human form. Will she discover her inner self in time to save the magical kingdom of Eriden?

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Amicia Spicer led a simple life, until she discovered it had all been a lie…

On her deathbed, Arely Spicer confessed to her only daughter that she had been found by, not born to her mother and father. Sad news to be certain, the idea of having a family of flesh and blood waiting to be reunited sent the young, independent woman on the adventure of a lifetime. Little did she know, a dragon’s heart beat within her chest and her journey would be more perilous than she could have imagined…

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About the Book

For centuries, the Oshan Empire has ruled the New World with terror and blood. The Watchers have been eradicated, and their sorcery is but a whispered myth. But the heart of magic beats on, and as it surges back to life, three young people will determine the fate of the world…

Tori Burodai, a strong-willed slave girl. Her magic could ignite a revolution, but only if she resists the ruler who wants to use her powers to restore the empire to its former glory.

Darien Redvar, the idealistic soldier she loves. His rage leads him down a dark path to power that could turn him against the one person he cares for.

Kale Andovier, a lordling rebel with a torturous past. His quest for a weapon of dark sorcery will thrust him into a twisted game of power that could change the world forever.

Will the return of magic transform the New World, or bring it to ruin?

The thrilling second installment in the Shadow Watch series! 

The Shadow Watch has been undone. Their captain lies in the dungeons of the White Citadel, and the Gallows Girl has disappeared. Most of the surviving Watchers have joined the chancellor’s new magical army, the Sky Guard, led by Darien Redvar, but the Gallows Boy is shaken from the return of the monsters of the Old World, and he must soon choose, once and for all, where his loyalties lie.

Tori and Mischa trek to the Great White North with an Alyut shaman, who believes Tori is the one who will bring Restoration to his people. A resistance is growing in the North, but Tori may not be the god the people are looking for, and the price of revolution may cost Tori her heart as well as her life.

Meanwhile, another threat grows in strength. Old World monsters are rising up across the New World, and no one knows how they’ve returned. As nations ready themselves for a magical war, their return threatens to change everything.

New alliances are set in place, new friendships are forged, new loves kindled. But no one is safe, for there can be no war without betrayal.

Excerpt from THE RAGE OF SAINTS (Prologue)

Cyrus Maro—the sixteenth Chancellor of Osha—should have been pleased. Exuberant, even. The leaders of the Shadow Watch lay in the dungeons beneath the White Citadel, their magic-rich blood filling him with power each day. Many of the Watchers had chosen to serve him rather than suffer this horrid fate, which made Cyrus Maro even more powerful. Monsters ravaged the New World for the first time in centuries, and the people of Osha looked to their chancellor as though he were their god.

And he was their god. When the chancellor revealed his magic to the people of Osha, the day he paraded the Watchers through the streets of Maro’El, their mouths had gaped with awe; they’d knelt in reverence as he’d ridden past. Magic had returned to the world at his hand.

Nothing had gone according to plan, but everything had turned out better than he ever could have dreamed.

The monsters that had come through the portal between the worlds had been unanticipated, but they had turned into a precious opportunity. Rulaqs and Nosferati had returned from the realm of nightmares and myths to ravage the world. The people of Osha were afraid, and fear made them loyal. Their chancellor wielded power unknown in all the New World, and his new magical army, the Sky Guard, would keep the empire safe from hellish beasts.

While other nations plunged into chaos, Osha would remain strong, and the people of the North would be grateful, worshipful.

Cyrus Maro was more powerful than his father, and his father before him. He was far more powerful than Loras, his precious, perfect brother, had ever been.

But it was not enough.

It was as though Loras had returned from the dead to taunt him with this fact, as he had taunted Cyrus with his magical prowess when they were children. Of course, like their parents, Loras had not practiced his magic… much. It was this self-denial that held the empire together, their father had liked to say. Cyrus had showed no prowess to deny himself of, but he had always thought it a ludicrous notion. Self-denial had made his father—and all his forefathers, and especially Loras—weak, far weaker than Cyrus had ever been.

Cyrus had fashioned his own power. No longer would an Oshan chancellor be mocked by foreign dignitaries as a vestige of another time. No longer would the nobles rule the empire like puppeteers.

Now, more than ever, the chancellor was revered and feared. But for one thing:

The Gallows Girl.

Cyrus Maro had hoped that in the turmoil of Old World monsters ravaging the New World, the Gallows Girl might be forgotten. It had been weeks since she’d been lost in the catacombs beneath the Crooked Teeth. And many months since any common person had seen her. Yet here he was, on the balcony where he first drank the Gallows Girl’s blood, and it was time to inflict pain on her account once more.

There came a knock on the balcony doors. A Morph announced the arrival of his visitor, and Cyrus motioned for them to enter.

“The noble traitor, Ren, of House Andovier,” the attendant announced.

“That’s Captain Andovier,” murmured Ren weakly but defiantly as he entered.

The Watcher was escorted to the balcony by a traitor to his own cause. Dajha Bhati was one of the first Watchers to join the chancellor’s Sky Guard, and he was all too eager to demonstrate his new loyalties. He led Ren with a shove that sent him to his knees.

“Careful,” said the chancellor. “Your captain might break.”

Despite his quick tongue, the captain of the Watchers looked like he’d been inflicted with a plague—his skin hung loose and was tinted a greyish hue, as though he were beginning to rot. Even his eyes had lost their lustre. Brilliant blue now appeared dull and faded.

“Yeh’re my captain now, milord,” said Dajha, bowing his head. “Reckon the best thing for Ren might be breaking.”

The chancellor chuckled, pleased with the young Parjhan’s unabashed loyalty. Nevertheless, he motioned for Dajha to help Ren up. Ren moaned.

“Had enough of my dungeons?” said the chancellor. “Dajha’s doing quite well.”

Dajha stood behind his former captain with arms crossed, his expression hard. The chancellor loved the anger that flared up at the mention of Ren’s own soldier’s betrayal. Suddenly, the Watcher captain didn’t look so pitiful. There’s fire in him, yet. Good.

“Am I ready to betray my own kind?” said Ren bitterly. “Like my… brother?” He spat the words, and the chancellor grinned. “Like you?”

Cyrus Maro’s lips curled. “Betray? Your Gallows Girl sets monsters upon the entire world, and you accuse me of betrayal? You sought to return the glory of the Watchers to the New World, and I have done that. I am sorry to have stolen your glory, but it is time you accepted the world as it is and moved forward. The Sky Guard awaits you, my friend. It will welcome you with open arms, as it did Dajha.”

At this, Dajha nodded coolly.

A table had been set out on the balcony, and the chancellor gestured to Ren. “Sit. Eat. You must be tired of the stale rations of the dungeons. Replenish yourself. I insist.”

Ren sat and replenished, tearing into a leg of roasted venison. The juices splattered from his lips, staining the white tunic he’d been given for this meeting.

As he ate, the color returned to Ren’s cheeks, only a little, but nothing was missed by Cyrus Maro. “See, I’m not all blood and horror,” the chancellor said.

Ren did not answer, but he did not stop eating.

“You know, you might have been a part of all this,” said the chancellor. “The return of our kind.”

Ren choked back a sip of wine. “Our kind? You’re no Watcher.”

The chancellor tensed, though he tried not to let it show. Instead, he smiled, reached out with his sense, and summoned a second goblet. It floated through the air to his hand, and he drank a glorious red liquid. It was not wine.

As its coppery taste left his tongue, he could already feel his power increasing like a stoked fire.

“Yes,” said Cyrus Maro. “Our kind. Or are you naïve enough to think that magic is restricted to your Old World orders? It was that sort of thinking that led to the fall of the Watchers, my friend. I thought you more sophisticated.”

“I know what happened in the Old World. My family was there,” said Ren.

“Yes, they were. As you were there when I discovered what can be done with Watcher blood. So was Scelero. And yet both of you have the audacity to paint yourselves righteous.”

Ren’s expression grew hard, and the chancellor was pleased. He knew Ren regretted serving him those many years ago—those events had led to the death of the royal family, all but Cyrus. Much as Ren might hate to believe it, he had helped make the chancellor what he was.

“We are more alike than you think, Ren. We both created a problem.”

“Astoria may be the one who let those beasts through your portal, but you made it possible. Don’t you paint yourself righteous.”

The chancellor laughed. “Still bantering, even after weeks of bloodletting. Your strength is returning. Good.”

“Why are you treating me well?” said Ren bitterly.

“I’m reminding you of the finer things. The things you have longed for ever since you fled the city. You may have spent the last few years out in that gods-forsaken tower in the woods, but you are still a true noble of Osha. I’m trying to seduce you, of course.”

For a moment, Ren looked taken aback. The chancellor enjoyed surprising people with the naked truth. Ren recovered and took a loaf of bread. It steamed as he broke it open. “And why else are you treating me well?” Ren said.

The chancellor was pleased. Nothing got past Ren Andovier. “There’s something I need you to do for me. And for that, you will need to be strong.”

The chancellor procured a parchment from his robes. It was such a little thing, found in the pockets of a mere servant boy. But if Tori had taught him anything, it was that servants could pose a considerable threat, even to him. Especially to him.

Ren unrolled the parchment. Inscribed on the crumpled paper were no letters or words. Servants were rarely literate. No, there was only one symbol. Small, in the bottom corner of the page, so small it might have easily gone unnoticed—mistaken for a scribble by one of the scribes.

The symbol was that of a gallows, the overhanging beam cleft in two.

Though it was not his writing, Ren’s face betrayed horror at the sight of it. “What do you want me to do?”

“Commander Redvar! You may enter.”

The servant boy, who had been brought up from the dungeons, did not tremble when the commander of the chancellor’s Sky Guard forced him into the chancellor’s presence. The boy was expressionless, and this infuriated the chancellor, though again, he tried not to let it show.

“Here is your insurrectionist, milord,” Darien said, shoving the servant boy to his knees.

Sparing the Gallows Boy had turned out to be one of Cyrus Maro’s greatest decisions. When the chancellor appointed Darien Redvar as commander of his magical army, the people of Osha had been in awe. The chancellor had proven cunning even in his own apparent grace. The Gallows Boy—who once had defied him before all of Osha, who had triggered the Gallows Girl’s very demonstration of forbidden magic last year—had turned into his most feared servant.

Darien’s expression was cold as he stood over the defiant little rebel.

This will be interesting. The chancellor smiled at the boy, offering his hand, and the boy looked dumbly at it. “I am helping you stand,” Cyrus Maro said.

Like Ren, the boy was dressed in a fine-spun tunic, better than anything the boy had likely worn before. He took the chancellor’s hand and stood.

“What’s your name?” the chancellor said.

“Me name’s Liam,” the boy said, his lowborn accent thick.

“A Morgathian,” said the chancellor, noting the boy’s speckled skin. “But it would seem, one not so blessed by your god.” Red hair was seen as a blessing from Nafta. Hollsted had been thus blessed, and yet Nafta had not spared the Rebel King at the hands of the Gallows Boy.

Cyrus Maro mussed the boy’s plain, tawny hair. He gestured to Ren. “Show Liam what we’ve found.”

Ren’s expression was visibly pained as he regarded the boy, but still, he obeyed and handed over the treacherous parchment. Liam clenched his fist around it, crumpling the poorly drawn gallows into a ball.

“You do not deny it is yours?” said the chancellor, amused.

Liam’s knees weakened a little, but he stood tall for one no older than thirteen summers. He shook his head without hesitation. “I don’t deny it. Don’t regret it, neither.”

The chancellor chuckled darkly. “You realize that the Gallows Girl is a traitor, a dark sorceress who brought back the terrors of the Old World?”

“She’s a saint,” Liam said obstinately. “And she’s coming to save us.”

“Save you? A horde of Rulaqs march toward the city as we speak. At her behest.” The chancellor grew cold, gripping the boy by the collar of his tunic. Despite his bravery, little Liam was shaking, and this pleased the chancellor. “I saved you. My armies keep the beasts at bay.”

“No,” said Liam. “Y-you en’t no savior. Y-you’re a tyrant.”

His grip tightened on the boy. A part of him admired his brashness. It was such a spark that had prompted him to spare the Gallows Boy not so long ago. But this boy would receive no such grace.

“Yes, well, we become what we must, my boy. And you are about to become exactly what you must. That symbol is a sign of treason. Do you know what happens to traitors, boy?”

The boy swallowed, but nodded. “Y-you’re going to k-kill me.”

The chancellor released his grip on the boy. “Actually, Ren, here, is going to kill you. He’s a traitor too. And it’s time you both understood what that entails.”

Ren backed away from the boy. “I won’t,” he said.

“Ah, now that is just charming,” said the chancellor. “After all that’s happened, Ren, you still believe you have a choice.”

Medea appeared behind Ren, stepping from a sudden rise of mist—the path of the godstones. Before Ren could react, her pale, tendril-like fingers extended from billowy silks and latched onto his skull.

“You don’t want to serve me again?” said the chancellor. “Ren, I am afraid, you have no choice.” The chancellor took hold of Liam by both arms and held him still. “This is the fate of those who hope in the Gallows Girl.”

At Medea’s command, Ren began channeling his Conjuri power in a way he had never done before. First, the boy’s tunic was wrenched from his chest, exposing his torso. And then, the incision began, starting at the center of his scrawny chest. The cut ran slow and deep, compelled not by a blade, but by pure, unadulterated magic. It was the cleanest cut the chancellor had ever seen. The skin split open so smoothly, it was as though the image were being painted on a canvas rather than carved from flesh. It was beautiful.

Throughout the process, the servant boy screamed in agony, crimson life gushing from the growing wound.

By the time Ren had finished, the boy was dead, his life poured onto the balcony floor.

The chancellor turned the boy over so he could examine the finished product. The image carved from the little rebel’s chest had come out perfect. An exact likeness. A piece of art. Etched into the dead boy’s chest was a broken gallows.

The symbol of the Gallows Saint.

Week One:

3/18/2019- Lone Tree Reviews– Excerpt

3/18/2019- Literary Gold– Spotlight

3/19/2019- Kelly P’s Blog– Excerpt

3/19/2019- TMBA Corbett Tries to Write– Interview

3/20/2019- Life With No Plot– Review

3/20/2019- The Hermit Librarian– Guest Post

3/21/2019- Adventures Thru Wonderland– Review

3/21/2019- Graced with Books– Interview

3/22/2019- Lauren is Reading– Review

3/22/2019- ❧Defining Ways❧– Guest Post

Week Two:

3/25/2019- Sincerely Karen Jo– Excerpt

3/25/2019- BookHounds YA– Guest Post

3/26/2019- Colorimetry – Guest Post

3/26/2019- Two Chicks on Books– Interview

3/27/2019- Owl Always Be Reading– Excerpt

3/27/2019- Jaime’s World– Excerpt

3/28/2019- D. Books and Reviews– Review

3/28/2019- 4covert2overt ☼ A Place In The Spotlight ☼– Excerpt

3/29/2019- Abooktropolis– Review

3/29/2019- Lisa Loves Literature– Excerpt

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