Traitor's Heart

Jaysyn NyCole

Description

"...does he know who I am?" "He knows nothing of you, my lord. He believes my cousin, Master Chuonn, is the head of the snake about to strike." The assassin laughed without mirth. "But in truth, we are just its eyes." "And its fangs," the cloaked figure added. "Yes, and its fangs," he agreed before bowing. Without another word, the shadowed assassin disappeared back into the blackness from whence he came. The cloaked figure remained for another ten minutes, then he too turned and vanished from the Emerileen Forest. A Traitor's Heart Although peace has remained within the Kingdom of Baevar during the Dragos' reign, there are some that want a change. As the Shadows--an elite guild of deadly assassins--rise from the darkness, the opportunity for chaos and strife begins. Led by a mysterious cloaked figure, trouble spreads throughout the kingdom. Doubts and distrust surface. Friendships are strained. Loyalties are tested. In the end, the most dangerous of enemies are those closest to the heart.

Sujets

• Sagas

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 avril 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781645364177
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

A Traitor’s Heart
Jaysyn NyCole
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-04-30
A Traitor’s Heart About the Author About the Book Dedication Copyright © Prologue The 28th Day of February in the Year A³AM54 The 26th Day of September in the Year A³AM72 Chapter 1 Journey to Baevar Chapter 2 The Town of Baevar Chapter 3 Seek and Find Chapter 4 The King’s Council Chapter 5 Salutations Chapter 6 Baevar’s Need Chapter 7 Reflections Chapter 8 Anger Management Chapter 9 Alara’s Fang Chapter 10 Training Day Chapter 11 The Right Choice Chapter 12 The History of Gormaer Chapter 13 The Ruins of Gormaer Chapter 14 The Encampment Tourney Chapter 15 Departures Chapter 16 The Hunt Chapter 17 The Hunters Chapter 18 Rumors and Tales Chapter 19 Ala’Mar’s Elite Chapter 20 The Search…to be Found Chapter 21 Homecoming Chapter 22 Nightmares Chapter 23 West Gate Fort Chapter 24 Over the Pass Chapter 25 Out of the Shadows Chapter 26 A Secret Meet Chapter 27 The Recovery Chapter 28 New Arrivals Chapter 29 The Clearing Chapter 30 On Cambría Island Chapter 31 Progress Chapter 32 Hidden Secrets Chapter 33 A Scared Witness Chapter 34 It’s Time to Begin Chapter 35 A Gift of Vengeance Chapter 36 Troubles Around the Lands Chapter 37 The Messenger Chapter 38 Betrayal Chapter 39 The Assassins Chapter 40 Death of a Traitor Chapter 41 The Calm… Chapter 42 A Coming-of-Age Chapter 43 A Traitor’s Heart Revealed Chapter 44 …the Storm Epilogue
About the Author
Born and raised in Southern California, Jaysyn NyCole began dreaming of being a writer shortly after high school. Working in the construction field as a Land Surveyor for over 20 years, he was able to view the world from different angles. Having a great imagination from early on in life, he began to envision new people, ideas, and destinations. The journey to his debut novel has been more than just the five years of writing, editing, and imagining; it has spanned the last several decades of his sleeping and waking thoughts. His love of reading later in life has inspired him to finally take the leap to live out those dreams. He presently resides in a small town in the middle of Missouri with his family.
About the Book
“…does he knows who I am?”
“He knows nothing of you, my lord. He believes my cousin, Master Chuonn, is the head of the snake about to strike.” The assassin laughed without mirth. “But in truth, we are just its eyes.”
“And its fangs,” the cloaked figure added.
“Yes, and its fangs,” he agreed before bowing. Without another word, the shadowed assassin disappeared back into the blackness from whence he came.
The cloaked figure remained for another ten minutes, then he too turned and vanished from the Emerileen Forest.
A Traitor’s Heart
Although peace has remained within the Kingdom of Baevar during the Dragos’ reign, there are some that want a change.
As the Shadows—an elite guild of deadly assassins—rise from the darkness, the opportunity for chaos and strife begins. Led by a mysterious, cloaked figure, trouble spreads throughout the kingdom. Doubts and distrust surface. Friendships are strained. Loyalties are tested.
In the end, the most dangerous of enemies are those closest to the heart.
Dedication
To Jayson and KayNykki, you are my inspiration.
Copyright ©
Jaysyn NyCole (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Any resemblance to actual persons, dead or alive, or actual events is purely coincidental. Names of characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Cover design by Courtney Boatwright
Interior map design by Jaysyn NyCole
Interior map stylized by Courtney Boatwright
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Catalog-in-Publication data
NyCole, Jaysyn
A Traitor’s Heart
The Lands of Ala’Mar Saga
ISBN 9781641821964 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781641821957 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781641821940 (Kindle e-book)
ISBN 9781645364177 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019935769
The main category of the book — FICTION / Sagas
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
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New York, NY 10005
USA
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Prologue

The 28th Day of February in the Year A³AM54
On a day when he should be celebrating his coming-of-age, the young thirteen-year-old was instead sitting in a dark room…waiting. His father had demanded to see him. Time was urgent. The elder man lay—coughing and hacking and racked with pain—on his deathbed, unable to shake the onset of the illness. Potions and tinctures from the local healers no longer held any effect. His wife lovingly wiped his chin and mouth of the yellowish-red fluids.
“Leave us!” he commanded, as the latest bout subsided.
“Jeron, please,” she pleaded.
“Go, woman! This is between a father and his—” He began but was again struck silent by a sharp searing pain in his lungs. The woman, sobbing, pulled him tight. When the pain passed, he pushed his wife away. “I said go! You have no more business here. Leave me to my son.”
Devastated by the harsh words from her husband, she fled the room in tears. Her son sat mute, watching as she disappeared from their view, then turned to face the pale, gaunt figure that used to be his father.
“Wipe your eyes! I’ll not have you crying for me!” his father commanded between his many fits of coughing. “There are more important things to be done.”
Doing as was asked, the young boy wiped his wet, bloodshot eyes, before he gently tipped a silver mug of water for the sickly man. “Father—”
“Don’t— cough —speak! Just listen —” hack-hack-cough . He took another drink. “Today you become a man. I need you to act like one!” Cough…cough . “I’m dying,” he said flatly, as the young teen began to tear-up anew. The elder man made a feeble attempt to backhand the boy. “Stop that inane— hack —sniveling!” he yelled. Then fell back, the pain once again racking his body.
As he settled, he lay still a moment before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. “Please,” his voice was softer, more subdued, as if almost giving up. “I can’t do this much longer. Just listen.”
Hearing the change in his father’s tone scared the newly turned teen more than seeing the excruciating racks of pain. He receded into his chair and held back the sting in his violet eyes.
“You are now a man…and I’m proud you are my son,” his father said in a somber tone. “It’s up to you…to care for our household. You are of high, noble birth. If not for the Dragos, it could be our sigil that flies over Baevar’s castle.” He stopped to gather his wind. “But it does not—yet! I believe in you, son. You are a match to that bastard heir.”
“But father, surely you don’t mean Sabatín? He’s my friend,” the boy whined.
“Nonsense!” he dismissed the lad’s protests. “Just listen,” his voice was weak and hard to hear. “The queen should have married and secured our lands. A woman is too weak to rule alone. She needs a man’s strength.” He began another bout, racked with immense pain. His body shook as he coughed. Blood trickled out the side of his mouth. Afterwards, he lay panting, trying to regain his breath before he resumed. “Instead, she took a secret consort—whose bloodline we know not—and delivered to us a bastard. An heir of un-pure blood.”
Knowingly, he was barely able to raise his withered hand to forestall the boy’s protest. “No son,” he said calmly, “Sabatín no longer has the right to one day take the throne. The time of the Dragos is over.”
“You must become the man I know you to be. Watch. Learn. And you will understand. You are of pure nobility. It is our time. Your time.” Drained, he lay back—eyes closed—and rested.
The conflicted teen remained quiet while he watched his sire sleep. His thoughts jumbled by his father’s stern words. As he lost the battle to hold back the tears, he knew—his father would never wake again.

The 26th Day of September in the Year A³AM72
“Push, my lady,” Father Driskal urged. “Push!”
“I can’t!” the weary woman cried.
“You must, Your Majesty. The baby is nearly come.”
“I’m too tired,” she breathed, “I must sleep.” Her eyes sagged closed.
“I know, Isales.” The cleric’s voice was calm and comforting. “Soon, very soon, you can rest. For now, you must push…or we’ll lose the baby.”
* * *
“It be time, milord,” the matron announced. “The baby comes.”
“Very well,” replied the King.
He followed the middle-aged woman down into the lower castle, into the family catacombs. Within, was a large chamber divided into two sections, separated by a thin wall, on the left, above the entrance was engraved the alpha symbol, to the right, the omega. For the Dragos, within this room was the beginning and the end.
For generations, the first chamber served to welcome in new life, while the latter, was used to say goodbye. Only on such occasions were others allowed to venture below the castle’s floors. Visitors would wait in an adjoining anteroom until called forth, to either, see the newly born heir, or pay their respects to the recently departed.
This occasion was a joyous one. A new child was being brought into the royal family.
As the two made their way to the alpha chamber, another heading in for the event met them.
“Janus!” Sabatín hailed. “S