Darkness, Kindled (Fire Spirits 4)

“We better get back to work.” She strolled past him as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and Jai could only gaze after her.

God, she was something.

And that something wasn’t his.

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Samantha Young, is a 27 year old writer from Stirlingshire, Scotland. After graduating from the university of Edinburgh, Samantha returned to Stirlingshire where she happily spends her days writing about people she’s keen for others to meet, and worlds she’s dying for them to visit. Having written over ten young adult urban fantasy novels, Samantha took the big plunge into adult contemporary romance with her novel ‘On Dublin Street’. ‘On Dublin Street’ is a #1 National Bestseller and has been re-published by NAL ( Penguin Group).

For more info on Samantha’s adult fiction visit http://www.ondublinstreet.com

For info on her young adult fiction visit www.samanthayoungbooks.com

An Excerpt from Chapter Three of Silent Orchids

(The Age of Alandria~Book One)

A Young Adult Urban

Fantasy/Fantasy Novel from Morgan Wylie

A dying realm.

The ancient evil of the Droch-Shúil has been unleashed.

The Orchids have been silenced… but for how long?

Daegan, elite of the Ferrishyn warrior tribe of Faeries, is charged with a mission to find the Sol-lumieth, a mysterious new power that could change the fate of all in the realm of Alandria. But he is conflicted by his purpose, and he cannot trust the motives of those he serves. He has too many questions and they must be answered.

Kaeleigh, a girl abandoned as a small child just outside Missoula, Montana, is now 18. She is trying to discover who she is and where she belongs. In her heart, she feels she has family out there… somewhere. Desperate to unravel the mysteries of her past, she embarks on a journey that will forever change her along with her two best friends, Finn and Chel—who have secrets of their own.

~Chapter

Three~

The slam of his fist against the marble wall echoed as he marched down the hall leading to where High Court was being held. Daegan didn’t even register the pain in his hand until seconds later.

Summoned!?

I am family!

Can they not simply request my presence?

Clenching his fist then shaking it out to relieve the pain that was now throbbing, he grumbled under his breath, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I guess it doesn’t really matter, though, does it?” He would comply no matter the request. He always did, even when it went against his better judgment.

Daegan, nephew to the Paladin and third in line to the throne, resigned himself to his current fate as he strode angrily toward the chamber. He had been trained by the Ferrishyn elite guard—the Ferrishyn being the warrior race of the Faeries.

As the most skilled warrior with the addition of his “gifts,” he was invaluable as both protector of the family and executioner of their dark justice.

The only slight differences between him and the Faeries of the earth were his larger build that was able to hold the form of a warrior, his more dominant nature (earth Faeries were more of a peaceful race), and his slightly darker skin. The Ferrishyn were bred to fight and to protect, whereas the Faeries were made to grow and cultivate the earth. Daegan, with his raven black-blue hair that fell to his ears, sharp facial features, and chiseled jaw, exuded dominance and an energy that when unrestrained often made bystanders cower where they stood. Thick, dark eyebrows punctuated the dark-chocolate color of his eyes. Eyes that were deep set and held an intensity that could see into the depths of the most guarded. Eyes that had seen too much despair and not enough hope. His strength and confidence came not only from years of training as a warrior but also from the center of who he was as a Ferrishyn.

Daegan was very young when his parents had fled with him from Feraánmar to the outlying lands. It wasn’t long after that they had died. In fact, he hardly remembered them at all. Wren and Maleina, the current guardians of Feraánmar—called the Paladin, had found him. He was their great-nephew or great-great nephew; he couldn’t remember. When they had found him, he had been in fairly bad shape, having had survived for over a year by himself roaming like a nomad and hiding in caves or whatever shelter he could find—or create—at the ripe age of seven or eight. He couldn’t remember many of the details now, and in any case, they were unimportant to him. A long many years had passed since then.

He had been orphaned by the devastation and tragedies of the Uprising that began many years ago. The Paladin were now his only family. His anger and bitterness at having lost his parents when he was young had colored how he viewed everything growing up. He chose the path that brought him to his current station with not many other choices that he could foresee. He had dedicated himself to become the best warrior possible and he had succeeded. He was a warrior… the finest. And everybody knew it.

The Paladin were the guardian rulers of Feraánmar, the dominion of the Faeries. It consisted of only two—Wren and Maleina. They had stepped in after the last great battle when the king and queen, along with the princess of Feraánmar, were killed, leaving no heir to the throne. The Paladin had grown in power in the years since. This power gave them life, and they always craved more of it.

However, as leaders they were weak. Wren had lost much of his younger ambition.

Many would say Wren and Maleina should be dethroned, but no one had yet tried—maybe because of Daegan himself, because he stood in the way whether he wanted to or not. Change was coming, however. It was a time for planning and seeking opportunity… for what, he could not yet say. It was just a feeling, but he would be waiting.

???

High Court was held in the throne room of the kingdom in Elnye, the capital city of Feraánmar. The surrounding walls were a beautiful ivory marble with veins of red threaded throughout from floor to ceiling. Eight giant marble pillars, four on either side of the room, escorted Daegan to the opposite end of the room. He had barged in, not waiting for the servant to “announce” him. He felt a bit bad thinking of the poor Faerie trying to keep up with him enough to make an official announcement.

Two oversized high-back ornate thrones set up on a stage covered in the most lavishly expensive burgundy fabric stood ominously before him, mocking him or anyone that would wish for anything different than what the Paladin would so “generously” offer. Two plush, brilliant-blue velvet pillows lay on the floor at the base of the stage for those entreating with the court to kneel. It gave a false sense of casual openness, as if one’s petition might actually be heard, which, unless it benefitted Wren and Maleina—well, mostly Maleina—it wouldn’t be.