Soul Weave
A. Nybo
Gay Fantasy Romance
Release Date: 03.10.20
Cover Artist: A. Nybo
Blurb
TREACHERY IS afoot among the wizards of Tangia. The wizard king bids his northern champion, Aquilon Tenista, to seek and destroy those responsible for the theft of the wizards’ mindseers. To shield his own mindseer from the thief, Aquilon needs a bag woven of thread spun from his soul in which his can hide. He solicits the aid of Lucien, a clan witch, to weave the bag.
A low-caste widower, Lucien is betrothed to his clan’s war leader. The only way he can delay the arranged marriage long enough to affect his escape is to accept Aquilon’s commission and join his quest.
Watching the enchanting spell weaver interact with the fiber of his soul is pure torment for Aquilon. As the attraction between the two men grow, a sinister presence within the magic cloth begins to emerge. Threads of the enemy’s deception must be severed if they are to have any hope of preventing war and saving their people.
Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/SoulWeave
Excerpt
In searching for
firewood, his icy feet made walking through the undergrowth painful, but Lucien
wasn’t prepared to return to camp for his hide shoes. Stepping gingerly around
a prickle bush, he spotted an old gray branch that would burn nicely. As he
picked it up, he heard rustling in the undergrowth to his right and quietly
straightened to see what caused the noise.
The spark of
fear of being confronted by a stranger lessened when he peered into crystalline
blue eyes. They sparkled with wisdom and youthful vitality. A charming smile
stole across the man’s face.
Lucien finally
blinked.
“You’ve taken me
by surprise, gentle man.” The stranger spoke softly, his low voice sounding
like amiable music.
Lucien covered
the feather tattoo on his neck with his hand when he noticed the stranger’s
eyes dart to it.
The man appeared
to be in his late twenties. His features brimmed with spirit. Tousled black
hair hung to broad shoulders, and when he tilted his head slightly, Lucien
caught a glimpse of a silver earring.
Entranced,
Lucien couldn’t avert his gaze.
“I see I have
taken you by surprise also.” Straightening, the man peered over the undergrowth
and laughed. “It appears we have the same desperate purpose. Is your fire lit
yet, sir?”
Lucien managed
little more than to snap his mouth closed.
“Would you care
to share mine?”
It was dangerous
to share a fire with an unknown man. But those eyes…. “Yes.”
“Bring your
branch and together we will warm the entire Tabbrela clan territory,” he said
humorously.
As the man
helped Lucien pick a path through the undergrowth, Lucien snatched glimpses of
him. His hide trousers were like any clansman’s, but the floppy-necked
green-and-gray-flecked woolen tunic was unlike any other he’d seen.
“Where are you
from?” Lucien asked when his branch was taken from him to add to the
collection. “You’re not from around here.”
The man tilted
his head as he laughed, and his hair fell back to expose the black symbols
etched into the thick silver earring. “Am I not dressed appropriately?”
Apparently his
assessment hadn’t been quite as covert as he’d intended. Lucien smiled. “That
rather depends. For what occasion are you dressing?”
The man’s
eyebrows lifted and then lowered in amusement. “I was dressing for the festival
to be held between the Jarani and Tabbrela.” Holding his armload of wood away
from his body, he looked down at his clothes before turning merry eyes back to
Lucien’s. “Do you think I’ve miscalculated?”
“No one will
take offense at your attire.” Lucien tried to rid himself of the smile that
possessed his lips. “But I think they might wonder who, other than Jarani and
Tabbrela, dare come to their festival.”
“Years of
experience tell me no bard is turned from a celebration,” he said.
“A bard?”
Delight sparked Lucien’s curiosity. “What is your specialty?”
“I play music
far better than I tell stories.”
Already Lucien
was looking forward to hearing him play. “What instrument?”
“Several.”
Approaching the
fire, Lucien tried not to drool at the sight of three rabbits cooking or the
warmth the glowing coals promised. The sight of the flames alone was enough to
remind him how cold his feet were.
As the bard
stoked the fire, Lucien crowded the other side, sitting with his feet almost
among the embers.
“Why are you not
at the Tabbrela camp?” the bard asked.
Lucien warmed
his hands. “Ah, well, that is a story only a bard could do justice to, and I am
no bard.”
A wry smile
crept to the bard’s lips. “Sir, you have gracious manners, but ‘mind your own
business’ would have sufficed.” He feigned a sigh of dejection. “Perhaps I’m
not worthy to confide in, but am I worthy enough to share a meal with?”
“Definitely. My
name is Lucien.”
“You may call me
Aquilon. But should you choose to confide in me, then you may call me Ilon.” He
waggled his eyebrows.
His beguiling
grin almost persuaded Lucien to relate the woeful tale of his impending life
sentence—what others preferred to call “marriage.”
He leveled a
cautious gaze at the bard. “Was there something in particular you wanted to
know?”
“I do think it a
little odd that such a gentle soul is in the sylvans alone when there is
warmth, food, and protection at the Tabbrela camp.”
“Being forced to
partner their war leader doesn’t sound like protection to me.”
Aquilon’s
eyebrows lifted, and he chuckled. “You must be a man of high regard if you find
it beneath you to partner a war leader.”
Lucien’s
irritation flared.
“Tell me,”
Aquilon said. “Do I have a prince in my midst?”
“No, you have
the company of a black-feather epicene who would prefer to partner the clan
fool should he be the person he loved.”
A. Nybo lives in Western Australia. She believes the perfect recipe for reality includes imagining, creating, chocolate and coffee. Amounts and tools for each vary for any given day, but the magic is in the making. Her perfect creative storm is fired by music, travel, nature, and the ever-expanding dimensions of the mind.
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