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In the aftermath of destruction of an islandâ€™s entire population, Haven and Zale are entwined in the machinations of a triad of ancient gods--forced to challenge the world, their own disparate beliefs in the Crystal Tarotâ€™s prediction--and the gods themselves.
They learn to survive, but will love endure...
The old priest hated spying. But, the call of his god drew him from his room and the promise of a warm bed and directed him to the tiny crevice between the cracked mortar of the oldest part of the sacrarium. His aged, wavering footsteps carried him to a passage known only to the highest of the priest caste, to a hallway that passed outside her room.
The child, who was a child no longer. A foundling, brought to the sacrarium from the high forests when little more than a babe. The god continued to whisper of the changes the child would bring, but even with his priestly meditations, the old man did not understand. At the Great Masterâ€™s demand, the child was hidden away from all but those of the sacrarium until the meaning of her presence could be discovered.
And now the Great Master, in his infinite wisdom, wished him to spy upon her. The old priest sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool stones of the wall and blinked to focus through the irregularly shaped hole, confident the Great Master would show him the reasons. All he need do was watch, wait, and listen to the low, insistent voice whispering in his head.
She lay upon her bed, her chest gently rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep. The priest rolled his eyes. No meaning here.
Her breathing changed, the rapid, raspy pants interspersed with kitten-soft moans. She tossed her covers to one side with a low groan. With only the transparent silk of her night shift covering her, she twisted on the bed, tangling the length of her hair as her head thrashed from side to side.
Tearing at the neckline of her night shift, she ripped away the tiny ribbons holding the bodice closed and exposed the pale skin of her breasts to the cool night air.
The heat of embarrassment filled the priestâ€™s face and he strained to turn away but he could not avert his eyes. It was as if the Great Master held his head between gentle palms. He tried to close his eyes against the sight of her wild, passion-filled throes but the light touch of invisible fingers held his lids open.
Her sighs turned to sharp cries of need, the moans escalating toward the sounds of completion heard rising from the pleasure houses. Her body tensed. With a keen of bliss, she arched off the bed. A faint sheen of moisture shimmered over her skin in the flickering light of the nearly burned out candle on the low table near the bed. Collapsing back to the mattress, she gave a single pleased sigh and her breathing returned to the gentle pattern of sleep.
Released from the Great Masterâ€™s hold, the old priest sank to his aching knees on the damp, stone floor. Why? Why had he been forced to witness her in such an intimate, disturbing way? To what purpose did the Great Master direct him?
The deep voice rumbled in his head telling him the woman only dreamed a dream she would not understand; one for which she would not know the meaning. A dream sent by the Great Master to show her the way to an undisclosed destiny.
*lizzie made up games and stories to keep her company as a child. So, a witch lived in Grampaâ€™s weather research station and was only held at bay by a certain weed. An ancient road grader became a boat carrying wild adventurers to islands filled with sheep that turned into lions and cannibals.
Now, the stories of her imagination are beginning to find their way to paper and pixels. Filled with fantasy and love, these tales take her far from the mundane world.
When *lizzie has to return to that mundane life, sheâ€™s a lead cook at a university dining service. Happily, the folks she works with have become accustomed to her writerâ€™s ways and just shake their heads when she goes off on some fantastical tangent, asks strange what if questions, or just has to find a piece of paper and a pen that actually writes. One of her greatest delights is to watch the joy of writing fill a friend, and sheâ€™ll do anything to help them achieve their dream.
And someday, when she grows up, *lizzie wants to be eccentric.
*lizzie adores hearing what you think about her tales.
"It sparklesâ€¦â€ -- Margaret B Lawrence, author of Caresse: A Loving Touch
Lizzie Starr pens an original romantic fantasy with Keltic Flight. I enjoyed learning that faeries can be sexy. The winged hero Korin faced difficult, even lethal obstacles sure to destroy his chance to win Nanceen. His determination and devotion made this inter-species romance a very pleasurable read.
Book Publisher: Wings e Press
No. of Pages: 306