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See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here: http://www.caspeace.com/cas- peace/the-wheel-will-turn
Pure evil rises once again in Albia…
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Sullyan is tasked with investigating Reen’s suicide.
The missing body and a series of disasters in Port Loxton—a vicious murder, a
brutal ambush, and a devastating fire—raise suspicions in her mind. She probes
deeper, determined to uncover the truth, unsuspecting of the evil that’s about to
be unleashed…
Reviews for this series:
“Cas Peace's Artesans of Albia series immediately sweeps you away to a
world so deftly written. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly
real. Smart. Powerful. Compelling.”
Janet E Morris: Bestselling sci-fi and fantasy author of: Thieves World,
The Sacred Band of Stepsons series; the Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun;
Outpassage; The Silistra Quartet; and editor of the Bangsian In Hell
series.
"A thoroughly believable and hauntingly evocative tale portraying one of
the best magical systems ever devised. What are you waiting for? Step
through the veil and immerse yourselves in the worlds of the Artesan
series."
Andrew P. Weston – Author of the internationally bestselling "IX Series"
“Cas Peace's Artesans of Albia series immediately sweeps you away to a
world so deftly written. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly
real. Smart. Powerful. Compelling.”
Janet E Morris: Bestselling sci-fi and fantasy author of: Thieves World,
The Sacred Band of Stepsons series; the Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun;
Outpassage; The Silistra Quartet; and editor of the Bangsian In Hell
series.
"A thoroughly believable and hauntingly evocative tale portraying one of
the best magical systems ever devised. What are you waiting for? Step
through the veil and immerse yourselves in the worlds of the Artesan
series."
Andrew P. Weston – Author of the internationally bestselling "IX Series"
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The Scarecrow
Lerric, aging client-king of Bordenn, stood in the dark doorway. A damp, noisome smell assailed his nose, the drip of water reached his ears. Lerric shivered, his reaction not wholly due to the chill in the air.
Deep within the lightless room he detected a hint of movement. Creaking leather, a hiss of pain. Lerric stepped one pace farther from the door’s protection and raised his lamp. As soon as the faint yellow light touched—and flinched from—the dark form huddled on the truckle bed along the far wall, a vicious curse sounded. A crooked hand flew up to shield eyes that could no longer bear good, honest light.
“Put that out, you bloody fool! Would you blind me entirely?”
“Ah . . . your pardon.”
Lerric shuttered the lamp and gloom reclaimed the cell. When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, the king assessed the cell’s lone occupant.
Habitually dapper and well-fed, his body had assumed scarecrow proportions. A parody of his former self. The fastidiously clean and expensive raiment was replaced by a thin, shabby robe of dusty black. A darker blot amid the shadows, it barely disguised the gaunt frame it covered.
Gone were the arrogant swagger and confident poise, replaced by a savage desire for revenge, a thirst for retribution. Three years of incarceration and hopelessness, of nursing raging grievances, hadn’t lessened the pious fervor and deeply-held beliefs. Thirty-six interminable months of imprisonment and deprivation had served only to deepen his determination to rid the land of those to whom he owed his life. Those without whose mercy he would have suffered a horrific and agonizing death.
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