THE STORY BEHIND:
A long, long time ago
when I was in high school I wrote a YA dystopian novel called Beyond the Barrier. The plot was so bad it
never made it past the first draft, but I always had a soft spot for the hero, Lance. Years later I resurrected the two main
characters and stuck them in a fantasy novel. Sara evolved so much the only
real remaining similarity is her name, however I kept the basic idea behind
Lance’s character: someone who is always ill, but has a very stoic (and heroic) attitude.
The magical reason behind his illness is the core idea for the novel.
Everything else followed out of that.
Gate
to Kandrith
was published in 2012 by Carina Press. My working title was Sacrifice, but there
are a lot of novels out there with that title so the publisher changed it to
something more unique. Similarly, the title of the sequel changed from Soulless
to Soul of Kandrith.
Sarathena Remillus, daughter of the newly elected Primus of the Republic of Temboria, has been given a mission: discover the secret of slave magic. Anxious to escape the corruption and treachery of the capital, Sara welcomes the chance to finally prove herself far away in Kandrith, the tiny nation of former slaves.
Accompanying her on the journey is Lance, a Kandrithan to whom Sara owes her life. Lance despises the nobility, and is determined to resist his desire for Sara, despite her attempts to entice him into divulging the secret of his magic.
Soon their travels become fraught with peril, and Sara discovers she's fallen victim to the ultimate betrayal. To end a war between two nations, she will have to make the ultimate sacrifice...
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Almost
time.
Sara’s stomach compressed into a
hard knot as the tall, cadaverous high priest of Nir, the God of War, strode in
to the banquet hall.
Seeking reassurance, Sara touched
the crossbow she’d secretly had mounted to the underside of the head table. Hidden
by the blue tablecloth, her fingers found the crossbow bolt she’d loaded, the
cord she’d cranked back still taut, ready to fire as soon as she gave a hard
pull on the lever.
Her mouth felt as dry as the desert. The circular hall’s white dome seemed to press down on her
as if she were an insect trapped under a bowl. Eight long tables radiated out
from the head table’s dais in the middle, each seating two hundred men and
women. The rise and fall of so many people talking battered her ears like a sea
of sound, most of them ignorant of the drama playing out.
They would assume Nir
had come, like the other priests, to confer a blessing on her father, the new
Primus of the Republic of Temboria. Was she the only one who noticed the way
Nir ignored
protocol and headed straight toward her father? All high priests were called by
the same name as their god, but Nir seemed to believe he was the God of War incarnate.
Her hands felt icy. Now that the
time was at hand, her contingency plan seemed inadequate.
When Primus Vidor died
unexpectedly two weeks ago without heirs, the Senate had been divided between
two candidates: the wealthy Lord Favonius and General Pallax, whose military
victories had won Nir’s favor. No one had been more shocked than Sara when
Aleron Remillus had emerged as the compromise choice after four days of
deadlock.
In one stroke, her father had
elevated their minor House to a major power, secured the future of Sara’s
beloved younger brother and rid their family of crippling debt, but he’d also
made enemies, most notably the priest from the powerful Temple of Nir.
Her father believed he’d placated the temple
with a large “thanks offering” immediately after his selection, but, unlike her
father, Nir was not a consummate politician. His response to the Senate’s
failure to vote as he wished was apt to be a lot more…direct. And violent.
Sara’s
nerves tightened at Nir’s approach. He scowled as he was forced to wait for the
diminutive priest of Cepi, the God of Small Favors, to grant his benediction.
Archers stood watch on the
second-floor inner balconies to guard against assassination, but most
legionnaires worshipped the God of War. She did not trust them.
Again, her hand went to the
crossbow lever. If Nir drew his sword, she would—
A man’s hand slid up
her thigh. Sara flinched, barely sucking back a shriek.
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