Showing posts with label The King's Spell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The King's Spell. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Story Snippet: The King's Spell (Lizzie)

Mischief, magic, and manners are all qualities of Lady Meredith Lofton, heroine of my new release, The King's Spell. In this snippet, she is sneaking about the woods with her lady's maid, Sophia, trying to find a little girl they were asked to rescue from a group of unsavory travelers. Instead of finding the travelers or the girl, they find our hero in the river, in need of a bit of help himself. Meredith is more clever than skilled in water rescues, however.




Between the third and fourth wagons, Sophia nodded toward the river bank. We walked to the few slender trees brave enough to dare the bank and then disengaged our umbrellas. She leaned against a shedding birch and crossed her arms. “How are we to know this girl? Even if we spot her asleep in one of the wagons, we can’t get her out without notice.”

The same concern had been weighing in my thoughts. “What if we wait until morning? We’re bound to see her out and about then. She’s sure to step away from the camp to relieve herself. We can talk to her and offer to take her away.”

“And what if they don’t let her go alone?”

“We’ll improvise.”

Sophia scoffed but held out her hand for me to pull her upright. “Let’s find Brady. It occurred to me those shots may have been from the soldiers hunting for the dead messenger.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me that’s what he was doing?” Somehow the idea of a body lying around with nothing to do but decompose didn’t make traipsing through the woods appealing. Nor did meeting the animals it would attract.

“Over here!”

Sophia grabbed my arm at the masculine yell, and we spun around. Had they found the body? So near? Was it too late to disappear before they got us involved?

“Throw us a rope.” There was a harsh clap, like someone slapping water.

We dashed to the river bank. Grabbing a sapling, I leaned out over the water. An extremely portly man swam with one arm toward the bank. No. Two men. One held the other’s head to his chest. They were still a ways up from us. How on earth could we help them? I was a terrible swimmer.

“We’re in the river,” he yelled.

Up a creek without a paddle, more like it. “There’s a fallen tree in the water just ahead on your right. Can you grab it?” I yelled. 

Just how much could someone without the night-vision potion Sophia and I had see on a moonlit night?

I seized a handful of my skirt and ran along the bank, jumping water-formed dips and small holes, which possibly held creatures I didn’t want to think about right then. 

“Got it, but it’s not stable,” he yelled over the rushing water.

“Just hold on. We’re coming,” I assured him. “But what are we going to do?” I mumbled. Where was Brady? We could really use those muscles of his.

“You’re an enchantress, Meredith. You’ll think of something.” Sophia ran behind me.

That’s right. I could do something. I could.

Besides ill-fated matchmaking attempts?

“The limb is breaking.” The swimmer’s pronouncement was followed by a creak that made me grimace. “I might make it to the bank a little ways down if you could meet us with something for me to grab.” He didn’t sound confident, and there was a definite slur to his speech. There wasn’t anything but steep bank further down.

“Don’t worry. That limb won’t break.” I infused my voice with more confidence than I felt. I slipped the wand from my sleeve, wrapped my arm around a slim tree trunk at the edge of the water, and leaned out. I hoped the glue spell worked on wet trees as well as it had on Serena’s saddle. “Inhaeresco!”

He uttered something indistinguishable, but didn’t move. Neither did the branch. My eyebrows raised in surprise, and I cocked a smile. Two for one.

I took off toward the fallen tree again, replacing my wand.

“Did you just do what I think you did?” Sophia did not sound as pleased as she should have been. “Johnny was right about your part in Serena’s accident at the park, wasn’t he? Really, Meredith, if you don’t stop, you’ll be as bad as the ladies at the palace King Reginald and your father try to shield you from.”

“This is no time to lecture, Sophia. And if I hadn’t been practicing that spell for Serena’s saddle—Eek!”

My foot touched only air, and I tumbled into a muddy tributary dipping down to join the river. I smacked into the opposite bank, fell back, slipped on a slime-covered rock, and skidded down the root-studded trough.

Pain shot through my hip as it collided with a fallen tree. I threw one arm over the tree trunk, its bark scraping my skin as I hugged it, and skidded to a halt. A squeak escaped me as the fingers of my other hand splayed into wet sand at the edge of murky black water. Too close. Far too close.

“Are you all right?” the man cried. “This is our tree, by the way, so don’t bump it too hard.”

I pinched my lips against the pain throbbing through my hip. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I gingerly lifted my shaking hand from the tree and pushed up against the hard-packed sand until I’d pulled my knees underneath me. The umbrella pressed against my skin in a cool line as I ascertained that it and my wand were still in place.

I quickly inspected “our tree.” It hadn’t slipped from the bank into the river; it’d been washed downstream and gotten caught in a tangle of debris and vines from the bank. The silt buildup from the tributary I’d traveled may have been acting as a dam. The fallen tree was precariously perched indeed.

Sophia stepped up behind me, grabbed me around the waist, and heaved me to my feet. “You didn’t answer the man’s question.” She grunted as I lost my footing and nearly toppled us. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” I let out my breath with a whoosh as my feet planted firmly on the slanting ground.

“Good.” She held out a stick about my length and gnawed clean of bark. “This might be useful. You rolled over it on your way down.”

I took it with one hand while rubbing a long, narrow sore spot on my thigh. 

A stick. Why couldn’t I have earned a bruise shaped like a coil of rope with a life preserver attached to it?

The rut I had traveled down with the small sand bar at its mouth was the only way up the steep bank. Unfortunately, the current was strong here and was already tearing at the poorly lodged tree. It’d be hard for him to work his way up the tree hauling the other man with him. Especially since my glue spell anchored them to it.

I shivered as the wind blew against my damp clothes. Those men must be near hypothermia. Brady, where are you? We need you. Come, please.

Sophia put her hand on my arm. “You keep an eye on them. I’ll go find some vines; we can make a rope.”

But an idea had struck me, one that made my toes curl, my stomach churn. But attempts to dismiss it led to visions of stiff, blue men tangled in vine ropes.

I sucked in a deep breath for courage and raised the beaver stick. “There’s no time. I’ll go get them.”

“Now, Meredith—”

I stiffened my back as if doing so could firm my resolve. “Thank you for your concern, Sophia, but I’ve considered the risks and made up my mind.”

She paused, then snapped her mouth shut, her eyes wide. It wasn’t until I handed her my cloak that she recovered enough for a retort. “Any last words to your father?”

“Do you have any last words for your dear husband in case a wild animal gets you while I’m gone?” I summoned enough courage to smirk at her and then flung a glue spell at the tree’s root ball, the clump of debris, and the bank. Lifting the stick, I stepped onto the fallen tree and carefully tested its roll. It was pretty steady. I took a couple of steps, then dared a glance at the floating pair.

The conscious man watched me, his eyes straining against the dark. A sense of familiarity struck me, but he turned away and beat his hand against the other’s back.

Blocking out some distracting yelling from upstream, I looked down at the rough bark beneath my feet. The trunk ran out from the bank about twenty feet, angling downstream, then tapered as it gave its wood to the dozens of flimsy side limbs with their own smaller and flimsier branches. On one said flimsy branch clung our soggy companions.

My heart picked up speed as I looked at the thin limbs.

It’s only water, and you know how to swim.

Only water.

And Brady is sure to be here any minute to save us all.

I took a slow breath and inched forward. Another breath. Another step.

The conscious man’s slaps finally ended with a surge of coughs from the other one.

Thank you, Lord. My shoulders sank in a relieved sigh but quickly stiffened again as the tree rolled slightly underneath me.

“Hanging in there?” I queried after my heart had slowed sufficiently for speech.

“Do I have a ch-choice?” A touch of amusement tinged his voice, but it quickly sobered as he shivered. “I hate to seem d-doubtful, but what is your p-plan?” The words came out thick and slow, barely audible over his companion’s gasping breaths and the river’s subdued roar. “I’m . . . going numb. I’m not p-p-positive I can make it b-b-back with him the way you’re c-c-coming.”

His begrudging admission made me smile, though my stomach knotted at his obvious fight against the cold. “My plan is to bring you both to shore. Can you float on your back?”

“Why?” he asked sharply. His tongue obviously wasn’t that numb. “Please tell me you know more spells than that staying spell.”

His words brought me to a halt. How did he know about that? “Of course I do.” Of all the impertinence! After all, I was risking my neck for him.

I huffed and inched forward another foot. Actually, I didn’t know many from memory. Shamefully few in fact. But it wasn’t any of his business.

Having walked out as far as I dared, I braced my feet on the limb and crouched down. “Since creating something out of nothing is a power reserved to the Almighty, we’ll have to improvise. We have no rope, but we do have a nice, long beaver stick.”

“Not another stick,” he muttered.


If you enjoyed this snippet and want to find out how our hero came to be in this predicament, you can purchase the book here.




Thursday, June 17, 2021

New Release: The King's Spell (Lizzie)

It's here! I am so excited to share the release of The King's Spell with you today! This book has been begging to meet the world for a long time. In 2013 I published my first novel (The Beast's Enchantress, later re-released as The Rose and the Wand in 2017). In that book, there is a handsome gentleman and his brother who turn out to be among the bad guys. I liked them, one in particular, too much to leave them among the villains, however, so I began a story for them, and hinted at it at the end of The Rose and the Wand. Magic Collector Lord Devryn Collins in The Rose and the Wand now gets his chance to be a hero under his true name of Devryn Ashby, in The King's Spell



THE KING’S SPELL, Realm and Wand, book 1


Only a king can banish sorcerers and strip enchanters of their power. Only a king is immune to spells and potions. Only a king knows the truth behind the legends. Until now.


Magic Collector Devryn Ashby may have deserved the curse that saps his magic-manipulating abilities, but it certainly won’t help him with the task King Reginald has assigned him. Instead of allowing him to continue hunting for those who stole the powerful Enchanter’s List, the king makes Devryn trainer-in-magic to the mischievous enchantress Lady Meredith Lofton.


Except for an occasional matchmaking exploit, Lady Meredith has little use for her power of enchantment—until the king asks her to train in magical warfare techniques. This both excites and terrifies her. And irks her, for she refuses to be bossed around by the critical Devryn Ashby, a man she’s not even sure she should trust. 


But as dangers increase and the sorcerers’ schemes unfold, Devryn and Meredith must choose whom to follow—their own desires and prejudices or their king. Only a king knows how much the kingdom depends on their choice.



With danger, wit, mystery, a hero learning to be heroic, and a mischievous enchantress, The King's Spell (book 1 of Realm and Wand) is a clean fantasy with a "Jane Austen romance meets fantasy adventure" feel. You can purchase it here. It is set in my larger Magic Collectors story world, but you don't have to have read any of the other books to enjoy this one. 


What others are saying about The King's Spell


I thoroughly enjoyed The King’s Spell. Set in a Jane Austen-esqe world with fascinating magic, mystery, and intriguing and enjoyable characters, this book is a must for readers looking for something more than the usual medieval fantasy fare. I need the next book (and a cup of tea) now!

~Morgan L. Busse, author of the award-winning Ravenwood Saga

A compelling mystery wrapped in a complex and richly detailed world.

~H.L. Burke, fantasy author and Realm Award winner

I thoroughly enjoyed this story. The unique, fully realized magic system captured my interest and the realistically developed characters held it, binding me to the unpredictable, compelling plot that kept me guessing. I didn’t want the story to end, and I may have wailed in despair when it did. 

~Lauricia Matuska, author of The Healer’s Rune

The King’s Spell draws readers more deeply into Kitchens’ unforgettable world of manners, magic, adventure, and romance. Half-magic Devryn Ashby is just as delightful a hero as anticipated, especially when paired off against the mischievous enchantress Lady Meredith Lofton. With just the right balance of wit and danger and an entertaining cast of multi-faceted characters, I can’t wait for the next installment!


~Laurie Lucking, award-winning author of The Tales of the Mystics


Tuesday, February 16, 2021

Story Snippets: The King's Spell (Realm and Wand, book 1) (Lizzie)

 At the end of my first novel, The Rose and the Wand, I hinted at a story about a certain character, a handsome young lord whose heart needed refining lest he end up a full-fledged villain. That story turned out to be much harder to write than I anticipated, largely because I had (and still have) a lot of learning left to do about writing. However, I am excited to announce that Devryn's story, or at least book 1 of 3, will be releasing in April! The following two will release, likely one a year, beginning the next year. I plan on sharing the cover next month, but for now, here's the blurb and part of the prologue, set some years before the main story. The King's Spell is a "Jane Austen romance meets fantasy adventure" tale about a half-magic in search of a redemption, a mischievous enchantress searching for purpose and matchmaking opportunities, and a kingdom in danger.


THE KING’S SPELL, Realm and Wand, book 1


Only a king can banish sorcerers and strip enchanters of their power. Only a king is immune to spells and potions. Only a king knows the truth behind the legends. Until now.


Magic Collector Devryn Ashby may have deserved the curse that saps his magic-manipulating abilities, but it certainly won’t help him with the task King Reginald has assigned him. Instead of allowing him to continue hunting for those who stole the powerful Enchanter’s List, the king makes Devryn trainer-in-magic to the mischievous enchantress Lady Meredith Lofton.


Except for an occasional matchmaking exploit, Lady Meredith has little use for her power of enchantment—until the king asks her to train in magical warfare techniques. This both excites and terrifies her. And irks her, for she refuses to be bossed around by the critical Devryn Ashby, a man she’s not even sure she should trust. 


But as dangers increase and the sorcerers’ schemes unfold, Devryn and Meredith must choose whom to follow—their own desires and prejudices or their king. Only a king knows how much the kingdom depends on their choice.


Look for the cover next month!


Prologue


Most say there are but two sorts of people in this world—those possessing magical powers and those not. Of those possessing magical powers, there are enchanters, who use only the magic within themselves, and sorcerers, who call on the dark powers to increase their magic. But what most don’t know, or won’t admit, is that there is a third kind. Lost in legends of a dark time, they’re cursed to live half in the world of enchanters and sorcerers and half in the world of non-magics, trusting and being trusted by none.


A History of Magic in Sonser by Alec Hanshaw, seventh king of Sonser


Devryn Ashby, Marquis of Arden, son of the Duke of Maram

Gersemere, in the Kingdom of Sonser, 1764


If not a body, then what? That was the usual fare for a graveyard. I pressed deeper into the prickly cedar separating me from the enchanter with the spade, and knelt to peer under dark green limbs. The man was attacking the earth with the garden implement but not at one of the innumerable graves in Gersemere’s oldest and largest graveyard. Did the cluster of cedars mark some ancient burial mound filled with treasures? No, the trees weren’t that old.

Straining to see with only a sliver of moon and the man’s lantern, I watched in silence as the enchanter dug a roughly circular hole about a foot deep. From his gunny sack, he pulled a carved wooden bowl filled with wooden fruit and lowered it into the hole.

Fruit, I mouthed, disgusted. All this trouble to bury fruit? It could’ve at least been a worthless treasure map! What would my brother and friends say?

I started to rise, but the enchanter suddenly looked about him. I stilled and listened with thumping heart for him to approach. The silence brought no footsteps but something else: a second sense of magic. Closing my eyes, I focused my senses on the magic, just as my father had taught me. There was the enchanter beyond the cedar, loud as a foghorn, and a different sense, one of magic itself, the kind bestowed on an object or made into a spell. It was lower down, in the ground, I fancied, and was growing dimmer. 

I opened my eyes as the enchanter patted the dirt and grass back into place. He peered around the graveyard—always above my level—then hurried away. I dashed around the tree, came toe-to-dirt with the macerated earth sloppily put back together, but couldn’t bring myself to dig up the bowl. I had to get to the trial, after all. I quickly carved a primitive image of a pear into the base of the forked cedar that had overseen the unorthodox burial, then quietly sprinted after the enchanter. 

He lengthened his stride, the sense of his presence lessening with each of his long steps toward the graveyard’s exit. I ducked behind an obelisk-like marker as he once more twisted his lean frame to look about him. It wasn’t the possibility of a fifteen-year-old boy following him on a dare that kept the enchanter on the alert. Not that he’d shown signs of suspecting my presence. Stealth was practically a game in my family, one in which we all excelled. What did this enchanter fear then? There was no evidence of his mission on him any longer. What else? 

Or who else?

I fisted my hands as a shiver tried to run down my spine. Sorcerers sometimes desecrated graveyards, the fearmongers claimed. An enchanter might fear sorcerers, but an Ashby didn’t. Not that I felt any around.

The enchanter ceased his nervous glancing and sped forward. I crept to the next covering of shadows, the grass silent under my feet. 

“Grave robber! Thief! Murderer!”

The enchanter dashed away as the cry broke the silence of the night and heavy blows rained on my back. I spun around, raising my arms to block the blows and confront my attacker. But the graveyard was empty save for its monuments and the thick cedars and dogwoods dispersed among them. 

“Grave robber! Thief! Murderer!” A girl—a girl—cried. 

A strike to my exposed side sent me reeling onto the gravel path. Son of a rogue spell. Where was she? It wasn’t that dark. A sense, more like a dull headache than the clear sense of an enchanter, edged into my mind, and was then nearly knocked out along with everything else. “Oomph. That was my ear! Why you little—”

“Grave robber! Thief! Murd—”

“Enough! I’m not a murderer.” I lunged forward and grabbed at the air, somehow knowing where to find her weapon. My hand closed around wooden strips bound with fabric. It tingled in my hand. 

Magic. 

No wonder I couldn’t see it, or her. The angry sprite had to be an enchantress. Why wasn’t the sense as clear as the enchanter’s I’d followed?

Adensum. Come to me,” I whispered, commanding the magic to leave its object and reveal my attacker. I’d never taken magic like this by myself before—in the wild, so to speak. 

But no warmth of enchantment flowed to my palm. Horror blasted my pride. Had I lost my skill? Or was it dependent on my father’s presence? You know you can take magic on your own, Devryn. Relax and think. Locking the panicked thoughts away, I took a deep breath and tried again. Still no magic came from the fabric to me, but I felt a tug, as if some wanted to come but was held back. Once again my pulse quickened, but with wonder this time. Magic was woven into this thing’s very being; it was no ordinary item covered by a cast spell I could take. Yet, there was a faint sense of a spell, of magic that could be taken. I grabbed at that thread of magic and called it.

My palm warmed as the enchantment passed to me. I tightened my grip on whatever it was and tugged. Out of the shadows stumbled a girl. She gasped, sucking in air like a backwards scream. She gaped at me across the now-visible club, a narrow tube capped with a closed canopy of dusty grey fabric stretched across thin ribs.

“An umbrella?” Disdain dripped from my voice like the rain and sunlight that were supposed to drip from these odd contraptions—in the eastern countries. They were scarce in Sonser. Sensible people preferred a cloak or hat so they’d have both hands free. 

For defending themselves.

She nodded, her mouth agape. “How did—”

“Never mind,” I snapped, remembering Father’s admonition of Never reveal what you are. Our people have suffered too much to trust any save the king with our talents.

“What are you doing out here?” I continued. “Wandering around a graveyard at night by yourself and ambushing folks with umbrellas?” I jerked the thing forward, trying to wrest it from her grasp. “You’re just a girl.” Eleven at most. Surely she wasn’t the reason for the enchanter’s wary behavior, though I could understand why he wouldn’t want to meet with that umbrella of hers.

She stumbled forward a step but didn’t lose her grip. “I … I…” she straightened, drawing her shoulders up, “I am here on a personal and confidential matter that is none of your concern, young man. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” She jerked right back on the umbrella with surprising strength.

But it was a useless effort. “You’re not running away from home, are you?”

“Certainly not.” Her nose went higher in the air, but she ceased her tugging.

Tree frogs erupted in song, and she glanced around the lonely place, her shoulders sinking until she gazed at the ground. “If you must know, I was…” she threw a sideways glance at an elegantly carved monument a few feet away with young grass growing in front of it, “…visiting my mother.”

She sniffled.

“Oh.” Devryn Ashby, you fool. Did you want to make the girl cry? “Well, look. Don’t cry. I wasn’t going to steal anything from your mother’s grave, or from anyone else’s. I’m not a grave robber. No shovel or weapon. See?” I raised one hand, palm open.

Whatever that enchanter had buried, he’d buried under a tree, not in a grave, so even if I did come back for it—it’d be an amazing start to my very own magic collection—I wouldn’t technically be robbing a grave.

“What about the man you were following—the one who passed by a moment ago?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She’d realized I was following him? The thought put an unmanly break in my voice. I cleared my throat and held up my palm again. “No weapon. No tools. Remember? I just like walking at night.” That was true, but certainly not the whole truth.

She sniffled again and slowly looked up, her face a dim outline in the bleak light from the one lamppost keeping watch over this section of the graveyard. She had a curious little face, not particularly pretty, more the kind “that grew on one,” as my mother would say.

“I like walking at night too.” She sniffled again, and I used my free hand to give her my handkerchief, which she gladly accepted. “I’m sorry I hit you. You scared me, that’s all.”

I scared her? Yet she pounced on me to protect the enchanter instead of staying hidden. Why? There was a tremble to her voice suggesting a bravado that could be hiding real fear. Why had she hurled those particular accusations against me? Had she reason to fear for the enchanter and herself? Or was I imagining things? Letting the darkness and the peculiar location unnerve me?

“Grave robbers, thieves, murderers, indeed.” I accented each word with a poke of the umbrella still connecting us. She huffed and tensed against the pokes.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t one,” I continued, pleased she’d conquered her sniffles. “Now, which path will lead me to the palace, umbrella-toter? I have an appointment there.” I was late already, having detoured to follow the enchanter.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before pursing her lips and pointing in the direction from which I’d come. I shook my head. She looked around again, changed hands on the umbrella, and pointed to my left.

“I’m going to the palace too,” she said, “to … to the trial.”

“No, you’re not. Farris was a professor at the boys’ school. We all agreed no girls allowed.”

“Johnny said sisters could tag along if we promised not to start crying.”

“He did, did he? Who is this Johnny?” Uncle Angus, an advisor to the king, was the one to set up the secret room for the boys to watch the trial of one of the most popular professors at our school. We’d had to swear not to tell a soul what we heard. 

“My brother, Jonathan Lofton.”

“Oh.” I knew him from school. Enchanter, proud and quiet.

“I’m Meredith Lofton.”

“Devryn Ashby.” We shook hands over the umbrella. 

“Johnny said he and my cousins Charlie and Tristan would pass this way, and I could follow them. I haven’t seen them. I should have told him I was coming early and would meet him here.”

“Maybe he meant to lose you.”

She stiffened. “He’d do no such thing.”

I shrugged. “Anyway, my group’s gone ahead too. You should go home.” Or follow me. I’d never live it down if I invited the kid. Especially if she hit someone.

Mouth set in a firm line, she eyed me over the umbrella in a calculating way. I stared back, but my attention wandered to the umbrella. Its sturdy fabric, reminiscent of an old travel cloak, felt sadly cool against my palm, as if mourning its magic. I must have taken some sort of magical switch that allowed the enchantress to decide whether the object was invisible or not. She might have need of its power of invisibility, especially if she didn’t follow me to the palace and went home on her own.

With a sigh, I banished dreams of proudly depositing the magic in my family’s magic collection and focused on the odd version of the legendary invisibility cloak. “Recursus. Return from whence you came.” The umbrella slowly disappeared, its texture and a sense of magic all that remained.

“Good night.” I released the umbrella as I turned away. Such a pity to lose it. Collecting was the only way for us to gain magic. Once we had it though, we could manipulate it better even than the enchanters could.

Something clicked. I spun around, bracing for another blow, but none came. She was invisible again.

If I remembered rightly, umbrella roughly meant “little shadow.” How very apt. She had vanished like a shadow when a lantern bursts to life.

For the first time on that muggy, cloudy night, I smiled. I could sense enchantments and collect and return them at will—I’d have a place among my people. A place of honor. And the boys at school couldn’t say I’d gotten it because of my birth order. I’d earn respect as a half-magic, a future duke, and in any position I chose.

With light steps on the grass beside the path, I started toward the secret—well, little known—entrance of the palace. Footsteps followed, crunching on the gravel walkway.

The Little Shadow. That umbrella might hide her from sight, but it did nothing in the sound area. She was making enough noise to raise the … dead. A sudden breeze chilled my skin, and I glanced around at the towering monuments and the burial plots over which they cast their shadows. I picked up my pace, as did the enchantress behind me in her noisy fashion. My chest swelled. I was a knight escorting a damsel—on the sly.