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Cursed Talent (The Caeteran Tales, #3)


Hauntingly familiar, her Flare scares them all…

‘Now, he’s definitely reading my mind.’

Everyone tiptoes around Elle’s forming talent…an innate ability that she’s oblivious to. Duty to his chosen entrant forces Gregor to grapple with the darkest days of his past. An oath sworn compels Niccolai to serve and protect members of House Phillary, but Elle meets his every move with fiery hostility.

Trapped between worlds, truly belonging to neither, and given very little in the way of answers, Elle grows more confident that she should have chosen differently at Induction.

What Elle needs now is to figure out what Terrináe has to offer and the real reason they brought her to Caetera. There are two problems with her plan. First, her benefactor, Gregor Phillary apparently has high expectations which are made clear early the morning after Induction. Second, and maybe more problematic is her acerbic roommate, Niccolai. There’s something, quite literally, buzzing between them, and it’s driving Elle insane.

Return to Terrináe, travel deeper into Caetera, and learn why Elle’s talent scares them all…

I had to be careful with the excerpt chosen for Book 3 as I didn’t want to give away the happenings in Sixth Induction. Thus, this is not the first chapter, but please enjoy this excerpt from the third of The Caeteran Tales!


Dion’Mor

Dion’Mor Ailig

Tienne h’Ìosal, Caetera

16 de Lares, c.3683

Outside Ailig’s tent, the Suebhi stahm broke camp. The second night of the journey from the far reaches of Tienne h’Ìosal, the Flaming Plains, had passed without event. The convoy transported small herd of caval and would arrive at Gregor Phillary’s vineyard with enough light to rebuild the tents. The cavali were for trade with the Terrinian, but Ailig had also received a message from Gregor that he needed to meet on the behalf of Terrináe’s royalty. Ailig had worried over that for days as the small people from the city in the Idris Mountains didn’t normally take interest in the stahmen of the plains.

“Aithar?” his daughter’s voice drew him from his worry.

“Màiri. Mo khinde. Come,” Ailig held out his arms for his daughter, and she fell inside as if they were the safest place on Caetera.

Màiri was the spitting image of her father, but with a woman’s curves. She was near his height, though slighter, and bore the same golden coloring in hair and skin. Excluding the amber eyes, she was unlike her deeply bronzed older sister whose mother had been J’thungi.

They took a seat on Ailig’s blankets, the ones the stahm had yet to roll and store for the last leg of the trip. Màiri fidgeted her hands in her lap.

“Mo khinde, speak of any subject. You are future Dia’Mor, and we must speak our concerns openly,” Ailig encouraged.

“It is so. I ask you once more to reconsider giving Haize to the gneàrps—”

“Do not use that word, mo khinde.” His words were strong, but patient. “We must lead by example. If we wish our people to work with the small ones, we must do the same.”

“Yes, Aithair.” Màiri hung her head, warmth crawling into her cheeks. She was learning the ways of her father’s nobility, but she slipped into calling them by the old term for rodents far too often.

Ailig placed a long finger on her chin and lifted her amber eyes to his own. “We have discussed this. You know the sacrifice I make to build trust with Gregor.”

“But she is different, Aithair,” Màiri pleaded on behalf of the caval. “Cengal is stronger in her.”

“It is true that I work to find the weakest spirits to offer in trade, but it is not always possible. Gregor is able to form cengal with the beasts.”

She snapped her head up at that. “They are not beasts!”

Ailig gave her a look that said all of a father’s words of warning without a sound. When she bowed her head, he continued, “He has sworn to care for their spirits as well as their physical needs. Trust must be established. Gregor is worthy of trust.”

His eyes lit in anticipation as he asked, “Shall we ride, mo khinde?”

* * *

Màiri relented to Ailig’s admonishment but didn’t agree. As far as she was concerned, there was little anyone could say or do to convince her that Haize should be traded to anyone outside of the Suebhi stahm. It mattered little, as her aithar was Dion’Mor. Ailig had given her everything she’d ever needed, had coached her in the ways the Mors so she could assume his mantle one day, and his regard for the small man was sound. Gregor had proven himself over time, so she would defer despite how much it pained her. She respected authority and wisdom, but she secretly suspected that her cengal abilities with the cavali were stronger than her father’s. She swallowed and nodded, then asked with a smile, “Have I ever rejected riding, Aithar?”


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