THE PRINCE OF VAL-FEYRIDGE, April 30, 2010, The Wild Rose Press

A warrior with a destiny, a woman with a gift. Can loving the enemy restore a broken kingdom? Or will forbidden love destroy it—and them—first?

by Debut Author Helen C. Johannes

PART I: D’NALEE

CHAPTER ONE

“Panting, Aerid yanked her cloak from yet another blackberry briar. Her fingertips still glowed green, and she paused for a precious moment to rub at the evenroot stain. If only she had worn gloves while pulling the tubers, she could have stripped off the gloves and hidden their glow in her pouch when she heard those men. But the evening seemed so mild, and it had been so long since she had encountered anyone in the forest after sunset, much less the rampaging Tolemak horde the local aledrinkers daily predicted would descend upon the land of D’nalee from the west.

Aerid spat on her nails and scrubbed again. Whatever those in their cups thought, she should have been better prepared to conceal herself. Outside the walls of Druemarwin fortress, not every D’nalian looked kindly on those of Adanak blood, not even those Adanaks who had lived among them for years. Touching the birthstone fastened at her throat, she thanked the Three Sisters again for showing her the sow-bear’s den under the oak.

Her fingertips still showed faintly green. Gulping a breath, Aerid hid her hands under her cloak and listened for sounds of pursuit. Nothing came to her but the chirp of crickets and the blood thrumming in her ears.

She set off again, telling herself if those men were not close upon her heels now, they would be hard put to find her. Only old Gam knew Myrinnen Marsh better than she. Years of gathering evenroot in the hour of deepest twilight, when Gam said it was most potent, of filling her healer’s pouch with foxtail and moonlily, alderrose and sweetwort, had made the pathways of the forest as familiar to Aerid as the halls of Druemarwin.

Perhaps the two men in the clearing had not seen her after all. Had they not withdrawn without a word into the far trees? Yet before going, the rider had circled the oak twice, slowly, as though suspecting she huddled under the tangle of roots. She had glimpsed his cloaked silhouette against the cloud-patched sky, and the vision imprinted itself on her mind. Like Death itself, he seemed—faceless, silent, and dark as moon shadow—the sweep of his unseen, probing gaze making her skin crawl. And tall too, impossibly tall, taller than any man who dwelt within the walls and lands of the fortress Druemarwin. As prentice to old Gam—indeed, as healer in the old woman’s stead these last two winters—Aerid had encountered them all.”

Note: This is a secular fantasy and contains sensual scenes. But Helen is a good friend and I think her writing is beautiful.–Lyn