So I Married A Sorcerer is a delicious blend of action and adventure with a bit of romance thrown in. The world of the Embraced drew me in from page one and left me wanting more, I can't wait to read what else in story for all my favorite characters.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
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“I cannot play,” Brigitta told her sisters as she cast a wary
look at the linen bag filled with Telling Stones. Quickly she shifted on the window seat to gaze at the Great West- ern Ocean. The rolling waves went on for as far as she
could see, but her mind was elsewhere. Calm yerself. The prediction will
ne’er
happen.
At
dawn they had boarded this ship, accompanied by
Mother Ginessa and Sister Fallyn, who were now resting in the cabin next door. This was the smallest vessel in the
Eberoni Royal Navy, the captain had explained, sturdy
enough to cross the ocean, but small enough to travel up
the Ebe River to the palace at Ebton. There, they would see their oldest sister, who was now the queen of Eberon.
According to the captain, Queen Luciana had intended to send more than one ship to safeguard their journey, but at the last minute the other naval ships had been diverted south to fight the Tourinian pirates who were raiding vil- lages
along
the
Eberoni
shore. But not to
worry, the cap- tain had assured Brigitta and her companions. Since the royal navy was keeping the pirates occupied to the south, their crossing would be
perfectly
safe.
Indeed,
after a few hours, it
seemed perfectly boring.
“If we don’t play, how will we pass the time?” Gwen-
nore asked from her seat at the round table. “ ’Twill be
close to sunset
afore we
reach Ebton.”
“I wish we could wander about on deck,” Maeve grumbled
from
her chair next
to Gwennore.
“ ’Tis
a lovely
spring
day, and we’re
stuck
down here.”
Sorcha huffed in annoyance as she paced about the cabin. “Mother Ginessa insisted we remain here. I swear
she
acts
as if
she’s
afraid to
let
anyone see us.”
“Perhaps she fears for our safety because we are Em- braced,” Gwennore said.
Sorcha shook her
head.
“We’re
safe now in
Eberon.”
But only in Eberon, Brigitta thought as she studied the
deep-blue waves. Being Embraced was a death sentence
anywhere else on the mainland. The other kings abhorred the fact that each of the Embraced possessed some sort of magical power that the kings, themselves, could never have.
When Brigitta and her adopted sisters were born, the only safe haven had been the Isle of Moon. They’d grown up there in the Convent of the Two Moons, believing they
were orphans. But almost a year ago, they’d discovered a shocking truth. Luciana had never been an orphan.
Since then, Brigitta had wondered if she had family somewhere, too. Had they hidden her away or, worse, abandoned her? She feared it was the latter. For in all her
nineteen years of life, no one from the mainland had ever bothered to
contact
her.
You are loved, she reminded herself. She’d grown up
in a loving home at the convent. Her sisters loved her, and she loved
them. That was enough.
It had
to be
enough. Didn’t it?
Sorcha lowered her voice. “I still believe Mother Ginessa
knows things
about
us that she won’t
tell.”
Brigitta silently agreed. She knew from her special
gift that
almost
everyone was hiding
something.
“Let’s play the game and let the stones tell us,” Maeve
said. “I need to do something. This cabin is feeling smaller by
the
minute.”
Brigitta sighed. Sadly enough, this was the largest cabin
on
board. Captain Shaw had lent them his quarters, which had a large window overlooking the back of the vessel.
The ship creaked as it rolled to the side, and Sorcha grabbed the sideboard to
steady
herself.
“Have a seat afore
ye fall,”
Gwennore
warned
her.
“Fine.” Sorcha emptied the oranges from a brass bowl
on
the sideboard, then plunked the bowl onto the table as she took
a seat. “Let’s
play.”
Brigitta’s sisters gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head and turned to gaze out the window once again. It had been twelve years ago, when she was seven, that Luciana had invented the game where they could each pretend
to be
the
Seer from the Isle of
Mist. They’d
gathered up forty pebbles from the nearby beach, then painted them with colors and numbers. After the stones
were deposited
in a bowl
and covered
with a cloth,
each
sister would grab a small handful of pebbles and what- ever colors or numbers she’d chosen would indicate her future.
“We’ll just have to play without her,” Sorcha grum- bled. A clattering noise filled the cabin as the bag of Telling Stones was emptied into the brass bowl, a noise not quite loud enough to cover Sorcha’s hushed voice. “Ye
know why she won’t play. She’s spooked.”
Brigitta winced. That was too close
to the truth.
She could no longer see the Isle of Moon on the hori- zon. As the island had faded from sight, a wave of appre- hension had washed over her, slowly growing until it had
sucked her down into an undertow of fear and dread. For deep in her heart, she believed that leaving the safety of
the convent would trigger the set of events that Luciana
had predicted.
But how could she have refused this voyage? Luciana would be giving birth soon, and she wanted her sisters
with her. She also needed Mother Ginessa, who was an
excellent
midwife.
“I’m going first,” Sorcha declared, and the stones rat- tled
about
the
bowl
as she mixed them
up.
“O Great Seer,” Maeve said, repeating the line they spoke before each prediction. “Reveal to us the secrets of the Telling Stones.”
“What the hell?” Sorcha muttered, and Maeve gasped. “Ye mustn’t let Mother Ginessa hear ye curse like
that,” Gwennore warned her.
“These stones are ridiculous!” Sorcha slammed them on the table, and out of curiosity Brigitta turned to see what her sister
had selected.
Nine, pink,
and
lavender.
Gwennore tilted her head as she studied the stones. “In nine
years ye
will meet
a tall
and
handsome—”
“Nine years?”
Sorcha grimaced.
“I would be
so old!” “Twenty-seven.” Gwennore’s mouth twitched. “Practi-
cally ancient.”
“Exactly!” Sorcha huffed. “I’ll wait nine months for my tall and handsome stranger, and not a minute more.”
She glared at the colored stones. “I hate pink. It looks ter-
rible with my
freckles and red
hair.”
Maeve’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Who said ye
would be wearing it? I think yer true love will look very pretty in
pink.”
“He’s not
wearing
pink,” Sorcha
growled.
“Aye, a lovely pink gown with a lavender sash,” Gwen- nore added
with
a grin.
“Nay, Gwennie.” Maeve shook her head. “The lavender
means
he’ll
have
lavender-blue
eyes
like
you.”
“Ah.” Gwennore tucked a tendril of her white-blond hair behind a pointed ear. “Could be.”
“Are ye kidding me?” Sorcha gave them an incredu- lous look. “How
on Aerthlan would I ever
meet an
elf?” “Ye met me,” Gwennore said. “And apparently, in nine
months, ye’ll meet a tall and handsome elf in a pink
gown.” She and Maeve laughed, and Sorcha reluctantly
grinned.
Brigitta turned to peer out the window once again.
Over the years, the Telling Stones had proven to be an entertaining game. But then, a year ago, something strange
had happened. Luciana’s prediction for her own future had actually come to pass. She’d met and fallen in
love
with the tall and handsome stranger she’d foretold in specific detail, using the Telling Stones. And if that
hadn’t been amazing enough, she’d become the queen
of
Eberon.
Eager to experience something equally romantic, Bri- gitta had begged her oldest sister to predict a similar future
for
her.
A mistake. Brigitta frowned
at the churning ocean.
Blue, gold, seven, and eight. Those had been the stones
Luciana had selected. Blue and gold, she’d explained, sig- nified the royal colors of the kingdom of Tourin. Seven
meant there would be seven suitors to compete for her
hand. And eight . . . in eight months, Brigitta would meet
a tall
and
handsome stranger.
The eight months
had now passed.
She
pressed a hand against
her roiling stomach.
When they’d boarded this morning, she’d quickly as-
sessed the captain and his crew. None of them had struck her as particularly tall or handsome. Captain Shaw was portly, bald, and old enough to
be her father.
As
for the seven suitors vying for her hand, she had initially been thrilled, considering the idea wildly exciting.
But when her sisters had likened it to her being a prize in a tourney, she’d had
second thoughts.
Why would seven men compete for her? She had noth- ing special to offer. Even the gift she possessed for being Embraced was hardly special. And did this contest mean
she would have no choice but to marry whichever man won her? The more she’d thought about this competition, the more it
had made
her cringe.
So, five months ago, she’d played the game again, hop-
ing to achieve different results. But to her shock, there had been
four stones in
her hand.
Blue, gold, seven, and five.
Had some
sort
of mysterious
countdown gone
into ef- fect? Reluctant to believe that, she’d attempted the game
again a month later. Blue, gold, seven, and four. Alarmed,
she’d
sworn
never
to play
again.
But one month ago, Sorcha had dared her to play, taunt- ing her for being overly dramatic. Those words never failed to irk Brigitta, so she’d accepted the dare. With a silent prayer to the moon goddesses, she’d reached into
the bowl, swished the pebbles around, and grabbed a hand- ful. And there, in her palm, four stones had stared up at her.
Blue, gold, seven, and one. A fate was shoving itself
down her
throat
whether she liked
it or
not.
And
she
did
not.
Brigitta had been raised on the Isle of Moon, where
women were free to determine their own futures and
everyone worshipped the moon goddesses, Luna and Lessa.
It
was different on the mainland. Men were in charge
there, and everyone worshipped a male god, the Light.
Luciana had been fortunate to find a good man who respected her independent nature. As king and queen,
they had declared it safe to worship the moon goddesses in Eberon.
But it was not that way elsewhere. In the other main- land kingdoms, Brigitta would be executed for making the sign of the moons as she prayed. Executed for being
Embraced. So why did she keep picking the blue and gold colors of
Tourin?
And why would seven suitors compete for her? She glanced at her sisters. Sorcha had always seemed the stron-
gest, with a fiery temperament that matched her fiery red
hair. Gwennore had always been the smartest. Maeve, the
youngest, had always been the sweetest. And Luciana—
now married—had been their brave leader. Brigitta had
never been quite sure where she fit in.
Gwennore, with her superior intellect, had always been
the best at translating books into different languages. Maeve had excelled in penmanship, and Sorcha in artwork.
Luciana had
been good at
everything.
But Brigitta . . . the nuns had despaired with her. When transcribing a book, she could never stay true to the text. A little embellishment here, a tweak there, and eventu-
ally she would take a story so off course, it was no longer
recognizable. This, of course, upset the nuns, for their
male customers on the mainland were paying for an ex- act copy of an old tale, not the romantic fantasies of an
overly dramatic
young woman.
Whenever the nuns had fussed at her, her sisters had come to her defense, insisting that her story was much better than the original. And each time the nuns tried to use Brigitta’s overly dramatic mistakes for kindling, her sisters always managed to rescue the pages and give
them to her. They’d even begged her to finish her stories
about dashing young heroes, so that they could read them.
Brigitta adored them for that. She’d do anything for her
sisters, including this voyage to Eberon that she was so afraid would activate the events she’d been dread- ing.
She shifted her gaze back to the rolling motion of the ocean, and her stomach churned. Did a person’s destiny
have to be set in stone, in this case the Telling Stones? This was her story, so why couldn’t it be one of her mak-
ing? Surely she didn’t have to stick to a text that had
already been written without her consent. Couldn’t she be
the
author of
her own destiny?
“Ye should watch the horizon, not the waves,” Maeve
said as
she
sat next to
Brigitta
on the window
seat.
“ ’Tis
a sure
way
to make
yerself
ill.”
“Oh.” Brigitta turned to her youngest sister. “I didn’t realize
. . .” Her stomach twisted with a sharp pain, and
she
winced.
Gwennore gave her a worried look. “Ye look pale. Would ye like some bread or wine?” She motioned toward the sideboard and the food that had
been left
for
them.
Brigitta shook her head. Perhaps if she sat perfectly still for a few moments, the nausea would pass. “Did ye finish playing the Game of Stones?”
“Aye,” Maeve answered. “Didn’t ye hear us giggling?” Brigitta groaned inwardly, not wanting to admit she’d
been too engrossed in her own worries to pay her sisters
any
mind.
“My prediction was the best,” Maeve continued. “In four years, I’ll meet a tall and handsome stranger with
green teeth, purple
hair, and three
feet.”
Brigitta wrinkled her nose. “Ye call that handsome?
How
can
he have three feet? Does
he have a third
leg?”
Maeve waved a dismissive hand. “We didn’t bother to figure that part out. But he is taller than most.”
“Aye.”
Sorcha snorted.
“By
a foot.”
Maeve grinned. “As ye can see, the game is nonsense.
Besides, I have no desire to meet any man, no matter how tall or handsome. I plan to live the rest of my life with all of
you
at the convent.”
“Aye,” Sorcha agreed. “I’m not leaving my sisters for
an elf in
a pink gown. ’Tis
naught
but
a silly game.”
“Exactly.” Gwennore gave Brigitta a pointed look. “So ye shouldn’t believe anything the stones say.”
They were doing their best to relieve her fear, Brigitta
realized, and as her heart warmed, the ache in her
stomach eased. “Thank you. What would I do without ye all?”
The ship lurched suddenly to the right, causing Bri-
gitta and Maeve to fall against the padded wall of the
window seat. The oranges rolled off the sideboard and plummeted to the wooden floor. Empty goblets fell onto
the floor with a series of loud clunks.
Sorcha grabbed on
to the table.
“What was that?”
Loud shouts and the pounding of feet sounded on the deck overhead.
“Something is amiss,” Gwennore said as she gazed up
at the ceiling. “They’re running about.”
Maeve peered out the window. “I believe we made a
sudden turn to
the
south.”
“That would put us off course,” Gwennore murmured.
The door slammed open, and they jumped in their seats.
Mother Ginessa gave them a stern look, while behind her Sister Fallyn pressed the tips of her fingers against
her thumbs, forming two small circles to represent the
twin moons.
