Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

Excerpt from “Nova” by J.C. Wilder

Their guide led them around the back of the wagon to a narrow door. Her eyes widened at the sight of the numerous locks and chains that held it shut. The door and the molding around it was a lighter color than the rest of the wagon, indicating it had been recently replaced.

“Mistress Nova,” Evi spoke. “Since we’ll be playing again tomorrow evening maybe it’s better if I keep him with me until—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Nova nodded toward the locks. “If you’ll open the door, please.”

His thin lips tightened and he withdrew a ring of keys from his pocket. As he did so, two men exited the stables and headed in their direction. Nova could feel Bran tensing with each step they took.

“Boss?” The tall blond one gave a wide yawn.

“Open the door, Ber.” Evi threw the keys at his chest, forcing the man to step back in order to catch them. “Dreg,” he spoke to the second man, “get ready.”

Nova glanced at Bran’s expressionless face. Only his eyes were alive and alert as they moved from man to man, assessing them, as the blond unlocked the door. After the blond removed the last chain, he let it slide to the ground in a rattle of iron against iron. The door swung open and Bran hoisted the torch higher to illuminate the interior.

The floor of the wagon was littered with dirty straw, and the stench of human waste and rotted food was overpowering. Against the back wall stood a man clad in filthy rags and dirt. He was quite tall, his head stooped to avoid hitting the roof. His dirty, tangled hair obscured most of his face with the exception of his eyes. Hatred burned hot in their glittering depths. If looks could wound, Nova knew she’d be dead where she stood. His lip curled when his gaze settled on Evi and he emitted a low growl.

The one called Ber climbed into the wagon and the so-called servant moved forward in an aggressive lunge, stopped short by the thick chains that tethered his wrists to the wagon wall. His ankles were cuffed as well, the chain so short he’d be unable to walk far even if he were to get free.

“This is what you call a servant?” Nova spat.

“Yes, Kelwyn has served us well.” Evi smirked; his gaze was fixed on the chained man.

Evi enjoyed this man’s humiliation. Nova’s stomach churned. There was nothing she despised more than slavery. She’d spent almost six years as a slave before she’d managed to buy her freedom just over a year ago. Still, she had nightmares of the degradation she’d been forced to endure during her time of captivity.

“Do you treat all of your servants as such?” Her tone was flat.

“Kelwyn must be beaten to obey my commands,” Evi shot back.

“Release him.”

“No.”

Dreg tossed Ber a short wooden club that had been hanging on a hook near the door. Ber advanced toward the chained man, the club held in a striking posture. Kelwyn’s stance didn’t alter; he continued to lean against the chains, pulling at them with all his might. Beneath the dirt and rags, muscles bulged with the strain.

“You’ll need to keep him chained—” Evi was saying.

Ber moved closer, the club held higher. If he swung at Kelwyn…

“I said release him.” Nova’s voice was hard, unflinching. “You put him on the table and you lost. He’s no longer your responsibility, Master Evi, he’s mine.”

“Mistress—”

The sound of wood striking flesh caused her to look in time to see Ber raise the club for another strike. Putting aside any thoughts of self-preservation, she leapt into the wagon and darted between the two combatants. The club whooshed through the air and narrowly missed hitting her shoulder. Whipping out her blade, she pointed it at Ber’s nose.

“Back off or you’ll be breathing through a hole in the center of your face,” she snarled.

Excerpt from “Adriana” by Rosemary Laurey

Mark knelt on the rocks by the stream bank, filled his water leathers, drank deep and refilled them. He cupped his hands, and scooping up the clear water, washed his face and neck, drying them on the lining of his cloak. Refreshed, he stood up and looked around. There had to be another river, a waterfall even. This stream burbled over the rocks and gravel, but from nearby, came a roar of a torrent. He felt no desire to explore, this little sun-drenched corner was haven enough. He’d wait for the fog to clear completely and proceed on his way. Rian seemed content chomping the wide verge of new grass that bordered the stream.

Cloaking herself with invisibility, Adriana watched her prey.

He was travel-stained, and his rough-coated horse in no better condition. The animal hesitated. Perhaps sensing the magic around, but her rider had no such qualms. After drinking, he stood up, brushing his hood off his face, the sunlight caught golden lights in his long hair. A yellow-haired invader! The worst kind! The dark-haired mercenaries came, killed and returned to their own country. But the yellow-haired invaders stayed, taking lands and farms from the vanquished, and inhabiting the houses of those they murdered. Whole families of invaders, now lived in Endholm, the village she’d fled those years ago. The fields her slain uncles planted with roots and grain, were farmed by the invaders’ slaves.

After drinking his fill of the sacred waters, washing his face and neck, and drying himself with his cloak, her prey led his horse over to the swathe of new grass, patting its neck and talking to it, showing more concern for a horse than Astrians showed villagers and children. No matter, the invader drank from Rache’s cool water, soon he would pay the debt she yearned.