Rachel Rossano - The Theodoric Saga (15 page)

About the Author

As a mother of three small children, Rachel Rossano dreams of new stories among the chaos of diapers and sippy cups. Then she writes as fast as she can during naptimes and after the little ones are tucked in for the night. She draws from a long history as an avid reader and lover of books. Usually she writes fantasy novels that masquerade as historical, but she recently spent time in the science and speculative fiction genres.

Connect with Rachel Rossano online:

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/@RachelRossano

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rachel-Rossanos-Rambles/240421865704

Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Rachel-Rossano/e/B004MV17GE

Blog:
http://rachel-rossano.blogspot.com

Discover other titles by Rachel Rossano on Kindle

The Mercenary’s Marriage

http://www.amazon.com/The-Mercenarys-Marriage-ebook/dp/B005IHAU32

Exchange

http://www.amazon.com/Exchange-ebook/dp/B005PTXWDI

Continue on for previews of

Book Two – The Theodoric Saga

The King of Anavrea

And

EXCHANGE

Book Two – The Theodoric Saga

The King of Anavrea

by Rachel Rossano

Ireic Theodoric, King of Anavrea, needed a wife. His kingdom required heirs. Unwilling to entertain the possibility of love, Ireic sought a quick decision, a political alliance.

For five years, Lady Lirth Parnan prayed her father would send a champion. Ireic offered the hope of freedom, a life beyond her tower prison. Could she hope for his love as well?

The King of Anavrea

The stone walls of the tower cooled her hands in spite of the unseasonable warmth of the past week. Gratefully, Lirth leaned her forehead against the rough stone. The cold surface chilled her fevered skin.

The distant clash of metal against metal echoed in the corridor and stairwell outside the thick oak door of her room. The din grew closer and she grasped at the calm she had felt only moments before.

I realized this day would come, yet...
She caught herself mid thought. She should be thankful that she could prepare. Frustration flared and she asked,
Why must patience be so difficult?

The unseen Kurios did not respond. He was there and she knew He was the source of her intuition.

It is not that I am not thankful.
She pointed out.
Your intervention is the sole reason I have not been more battered. Instead of abusing me or using me, they isolate me.

After her abduction five summers before, Baron Tor locked Lirth away in the cold tower room and forbade his men from speaking to her. By the grace of the Kurios, he chose not to execute her or hand her over to one of his minions. She had opportunity to cherish the hope of freedom.

The clanging below ceased. A death cry echoed within the stone tower below her prison.

Realizing the sound indicated someone would be seeking her soon, she paced the distance from the wall to her cot on the opposite side of the room. Her heavy cloak caught on the corner of the single chair as she passed. She wrenched it free.

Outside the door the wooden stairs creaked and groaned. The victor climbed to claim his prize.

Lirth's hands shook. She missed when she reached for her satchel. The second swipe caught the band for strapping it to her waist. She moved back toward the chair in the center of the room, tying the leather as she walked.

The wooden bolt struck the floor outside with a clatter.

Her fingers traced the worn lip along the back of the chair, seeking the familiar scratches. She measured her breaths by a two count to keep from panic.

The door uttered a grating squeal. The dull thud of wood striking the wall and rebounding reverberated in the bare room.

I hope it hit him.

She drew back the thought. The Kurios would not send someone to harm her.

What about those that sent him?

Nothing.

“Please tell Lady Lirth I have come for her.” A warm male voice spoke above her head and about four feet in front of her.

“I am the one you seek.”

Raising her chin so she addressed his face, Lirth drew herself up.

“Am I allowed to know the name of the one who seeks me?”

The slight change in the man's breathing warned Lirth of the man's astonishment before he spoke.

“They did not tell you?” Surprise lingered in his question, along with a hint of uncertainty.

“I was told nothing.”

She heard his movement only a moment before he touched her.

“What is your full name?” Warm fingers caught her chin and gently forced her to turn. Flinching at the rough material of his gloves, Lirth closed her eyes and obeyed the man's verbal and physical commands.

“Lirth Yra Parnan, only daughter of Tridan, King of Sardmara.”

Silence descended between them. The strange man studied her. His grip on her chin was gentle, but firm when she pushed against his fingers. After she tried to move away a second time, she gave up. Waiting, she reached out with her senses to examine him in return.

He smelled of battle: blood, sweat, and dirt. Beneath these, though, she detected a waft of the soap he bathed with recently. His hands were long and lean. Although he held her face firmly, she doubted she would be tender or bruised later.

Concentrating on their brief exchange, she guessed him to be about six feet tall, maybe slightly over. He must be fit, because his breathing though accelerated was not rushed. Four flights of stairs stretched from the tower’s base to the room.

Unfortunately she could not guess at his age or features. She needed her own fingers and his permission for that.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded calmer and quieter, tone controlled.

“Ireic Iathan Theodoric, King of Anavrea.” He paused. “Open your eyes, Lirth, and look at me.”

“I cannot obey you.”

Steeling herself for a blow, Lirth was stunned when he spoke instead.

“Why not?”

She opened her eyes to the darkness she had known most of her life.

“I am blind.”

Coming Soon

Book Two – The Theodoric Saga

The King of Anavrea

by Rachel Rossano

EXCHANGE

a short story

by Rachel Rossano

He offers her escape...

Isolated on a distant planet, she is incarcerated for a crime she doesn’t recall. She has no name, no idea where she came from, or why she is injected with drugs to hold these vital facts from her grasp. Despite small rebellions, she wastes away, worn and losing hope of ever being whole again. Then he arrives. Claiming to hold the answers burned daily from her brain, he offers her a way out.

...but at what cost?

EXCHANGE -

Darkness enveloped me completely. I breathed stuffy blackness in labored pants, struggling to tolerate the closeness. Cottony, the warmth threatened to suffocate me in a billowing blanket of malevolence.

I hated when I woke early.

The sensors glued to my forehead and scalp screamed to be scratched, but the arm bands made that impossible. I mentally clawed for something to fixate on, anything other than the inching six walls trapping me.

Why they called the box a dream suite I don’t know. I never dreamed and it only barely contained me. Six by three by two feet, it was built to contain one average sized human. One of thirty stacked like drawers in one wall of the ward. I supposed I should have been thankful that I was a below-average-sized humanoid. Sometimes I managed to ignore the walls because I wasn’t constantly in contact with them, only the padded pseudo-bed beneath my back. However, no matter how I strained, I couldn’t truly believe they didn’t exist.

With a soft hiss, jets of cold air bombarded my naked feet signaling the waking time. The weight on my chest dissipated slightly in the cooler air, but in its place nagged the raw instinct to tuck my freezing feet closer to my body. I couldn’t bend my legs far enough. The knowledge degenerated into panic. Hysteria edged in just as a hum and jolt warned me to check that my eyes stayed closed.

Another whirling hum, jolt, and sucking whoosh later, piercing blue light assaulted my face as my chamber drew out of the wall into the ward. Arm restraints retracted into the sides.

“Down, female, 7682R.”

The droid’s grating mechanical voice invaded the borders of my mind, setting my teeth hard against each other. A final blast of icy air from the suite’s jets meant to encourage me to move faster did the exact opposite.

The rebel in me itched to defy the automaton until a humanoid showed her face. However, the penalty wasn’t worth the temporary high of asserting my own will. My skin crawled at the memory of the waspmice. Dark pock-like scars still marred my legs from last time. I clamored out of the DS and padded barefoot across the slick floor to the cleansing stations on the far side of the room.

The android, a bulky P-73, stalked behind, whining through its exhaust hose. It probably worried I would throw another fit or fall into hysterics.  I was allowed to remember a few bits from day to day, like incidents of rebellion and punishments. With drugs and therapy, they attempted to erase the rest.

My skin crawled. I concentrated on unlatching the sealed door on the cleanser and climbing inside the chamber. A deep breath to brace myself and I pulled the panel closed. Alternating jets of tepid and steaming water blasted me from all angles. I ripped the rubber suction cells off my skin and threw them in the refuse slot. My temples throbbed where the probes had recently entered my skull. A light touch of my fingertips brought away blood. I wondered how many times had I stood here. I didn’t know. It was disconcerting to never remember one day to the next.

A pathetic sputter of water-flecked air constituted the cleanser’s attempt at drying my abused skin before a panel popped open with a belch of perfumed air. I coughed as I reached for the two-piece jumpsuit contained within. My arms executed the complicated movements of dressing myself without much direction from my thoughts. I knew I had been here long enough for this routine to become rote, unless, of course, I had worn clothing just like this before I came here. Or maybe I had always been here?

EXCHANGE

a short story

by Rachel Rossano

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http://www.amazon.com/Exchange-ebook/dp/B005PTXWDI

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