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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 Suebhistahm. 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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Copyright 2024 Susan Stradiotto
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