The
Curse Giver
Dora
Machado
Genre: Fantasy, Epic Fantasy,
Romantic Fantasy, Fantasy Romance, Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Twilight Times Books
Number of pages: 510
Cover Artist: Brad Fraunfelter
Short
Description:
Betrayed and condemned to die for
a crime she didn't commit, an innocent healer must ally with the embittered
lord pledged to kill her in order to defeat not only the vile curse
obliterating their lives, but also the curse giver who has already conjured
their ends.
Long
Description:
Lusielle's bleak but orderly life
as a remedy mixer is shattered when her husband betrays her and she is
sentenced to die for a crime she didn't commit. She's on the pyre, about to be
burned, when a stranger breaks through the crowd and rescues her from the
flames.
Brennus, Lord of Laonia is the
last of his line. He is caught in the grip of a mysterious curse that has
murdered his kin, doomed his people and embittered his life. To defeat the
curse, he must hunt a birthmark and kill the woman who bears it in the foulest
of ways. Lusielle bears such a mark.
Stalked by intrigue and
confounded by the forbidden passion flaring between them, predator and prey
must come together to defeat not only the vile curse, but also the curse giver
who has already conjured their ends.
About The Author
Dora Machado is the award winning author of the Stonewiser series. She is one of the few Hispanic women exploring her heritage and her world through the epic fantasy genre today.She holds a master's degree in business administration and graduated Phi Beta Kappa with a degree in history from Georgetown University. She was born in Michigan but grew up in the Dominican Republic, where she developed a bilingual fascination for writing, a preference for history, and a taste for Merengue. After a lifetime of straddling such compelling but different worlds, fantasy is a natural fit to her stories. She enjoys long and winding walks, traveling, and connecting with the amazingly clever readers who share in her mind's adventures. She is currently working on several projects, including her next novel, The Curse Giver, which is set to be published August 15, 2013. She lives in Florida with her indulging husband and three very opinionated cats.
To learn more about Dora Machado and her award winning novels, visit her website athttp://www.doramachado.com/. You can also email her at Dora@doramachado.com, find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/DoraMachado101 or follow her on Twitter @DoraMachado.
To learn more about Dora Machado and her award winning novels, visit her website athttp://www.doramachado.com/. You can also email her at Dora@doramachado.com, find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/DoraMachado101 or follow her on Twitter @DoraMachado.
Chapter One
Dread
stared at Lusielle from the depths of the rowdy crowd. Concealed under a heavy
hood, only the stranger’s black eyes dared to meet her gaze among the growing
throng. The man’s eyes refused to flinch or shift from her face. His stare was
free of the hatred she had gotten from the others, but also devoid of mercy. He
held on to her gaze like an anchor to her soul, testing her fortitude, knowing
full well her fears’ vast range.
She had always been meant for the fire. Even as she
had escaped the blaze that killed her parents and burned the inn to the ground,
Lusielle had known that the flame’s greedy god would return to claim her life.
But she hadn’t expected it to hap¬pen after days of torture, surrounded by the
raging mob, found guilty of a crime she didn’t commit, betrayed and condemned.
The town’s cobbler, one of her husband’s best
customers, tight¬ened the noose around her neck until it cut off her breath.
She had waited on him countless times at the shop, and had always padded his
order with a free measure of coriander to help with his wife’s cough.
But none of the town’s inhabitants seemed to
remember any of her kindnesses as of late. On the contrary, the crowd was
booing and jeering when they weren’t pelting her with rotten fruit. They
treated her as if she were a common thief.
The brute who had conducted her torture shoved the
cobbler aside, tying her elbows and wrists around the wooden stake. Orell. She
remembered his name. His bearded face might have been handsome if not for the
permanent leer. Like the magis¬trate, he wore the king’s burgundy colors, but
his role had been more vicious. Had he been granted more time, he might have
succeeded at extracting the false confession he wanted, but the magistrate was
in a hurry, afraid of any possible unrest.
Orell yanked on the ropes, tightening her bonds. The
wound on her back broke open all over again. She swallowed a strangled hiss. It
was as if the thug wanted her to suffer, as if he had a pri¬vate reason to
profit from her pain.
But she had never seen him until three days ago,
when he and the magistrate had shown up unannounced, making random accusations.
Lusielle couldn’t understand any of this.
She knew that the king’s justice was notoriously
arbitrary. It was one of the main reasons why she loathed living under King
Riva’s rule. But she also knew better than to express her opinion. Ruin and
tragedy trailed those who dared to criticize the king. That’s why she had never
mentioned her misgivings to anyone.
What had she done to deserve this fate? And why did
they con¬tinue to be so cruel? After all, she wasn’t fighting them anymore.
True, she had resisted at first. Out of fear and
pride, she had tried to defend herself. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. Her
accusers had relied on the testimony of the devious liar who had turned her
in—Aponte Rummins—her own husband.
The mock hearing had been too painful to bear, too
absurd to believe. Aponte swore before the magistrate that Lusielle was a
secret practitioner of the forbidden odd arts. It was ridiculous. How could
anyone believe that she, who had always relied on logic, measure and
observation to mix her remedies, could possi¬bly serve the Odd God’s dark
purposes? And how could anyone believe Aponte’s lies?
But they did, they believed him as he called on his
paid wit¬nesses and presented fabricated evidence, swearing that he him¬self
had caught her at the shop, worshipping the Odd God. In the end, it had been
her husband’s false testimony that provided the ultimate proof of the heinous
charge for which Lusielle was about to die.
Burning torch in hand, the magistrate stepped
forward. Still in shock, Lusielle swallowed a gulp of bitter horror and steeled
for the flames’ excruciating pain. She didn’t want to die like a shrieking
coward. But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
The magistrate offered the torch to Aponte.
“The king upholds a husband’s authority over his
wife in the kingdom,” the magistrate shouted for the crowd to hear. “There can be
no protests, no doubt of the wisdom of royal justice if a husband does as he’s
entitled to do by his marital rights.”
Aponte could have forgone her execution. Considering
the magistrate’s proclamation, he could have chosen a different pun¬ishment for
her. Instead, he accepted the torch and, without hesi¬tation, put the flame to
the tinder and blew over the kindling to start the fire.
“Go now,” he said, grinning like a hog about to
gorge. “Go find your dark lord.”
Lusielle glared at the poor excuse for a man who had
ruined her life many times over. She had known from the beginning that he was
fatally flawed, just as he had known on the day he claimed her that she
couldn’t pledge him any affection.
But Aponte had never wanted her affection. He had wanted
her servitude, and in that sense she proved to be the reluctant but dutiful
servant he craved.
Over the years he had taught her hatred.
His gratification came from beating and humiliating
her. His crass and vulgar tastes turned his bed into a nightmare. She felt so
ashamed of the things he made her do. Still, even if she loathed him—and not
just him, but the slave she had become under his rule—she had tried to make the
best of it.
She had served him diligently, tending to his
businesses, reor¬ganizing his stores, rearranging his trading routes and
increas¬ing his profits. His table had always been ready. His meals had been
hot and flavorsome. His sheets had been crisp and his bed had been coal-warmed
every night. Perhaps due to all of this, he had seemed genuinely pleased with
their marital arrangement.
Why, then, had he surrendered her so easily to the
magistrate’s brute?
Aponte had to have some purpose for this betrayal.
He was, above all, a practical man. He would not surrender all the advan¬tages
that Lusielle brought to him—money, standing, common sense, business
acumen—without the benefit of an even greater windfall.
Lusielle couldn’t understand how, but she was sure
that the bastard was going to profit handsomely from her death.
The scent of pine turned acrid and hot. Cones
crackled and popped. The fire hissed a sinister murmur, a sure promise of pain.
She didn’t watch the little sparks grow into flames at her feet. Instead, her
eyes returned to the back of the crowd, seeking the stranger’s stare. She found
him even as a puff of white smoke clouded her sight and the fire’s rising heat
distorted his scarred face’s fixed expression.
The nearing flames thawed the pervasive cold
chilling her bones. Flying sparks pecked at her skin. Her toes curled. Her feet
flinched. Pain teased her ankles in alarming, nipping jolts. Dear gods. They
were really going to burn her alive!
Lusielle shut her eyes. When she looked again, the
stranger was gone from the crowd. She couldn’t blame him. She would have never
chosen to watch the flame’s devouring dance.
A commotion ensued somewhere beyond the pyre. People
were screaming, but she couldn’t see through the flames and smoke. She flinched
when a lick of fire ignited her shift’s hem. A vile stink filled her lungs. Her
body shivered in shock. She coughed, then hacked. Fear’s fiery fingers began to
torment her legs.
“Come and find me,” she called to the God of fire.
And he
did.
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