Fyrian's Fire

Emily H. Jeffries

Description

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"Fyrian’s Fire is a thrilling debut. The characters are not only interesting but unique, and the story line is woven with delightful elements of the fantastical. Excited to see more from Emily!”—Lauren H. Brandenburg, Carol Award–winning author of The Death of Mungo Blackwell and The Books of the Gardener series

When Tess commits a grievous error, siege befalls her land—a siege only Tess’s magic can end.

The week of her wedding, Lady Tessamine Canyon is jilted by her betrothed, Prince Linden. Left utterly humiliated, Tess betrays a tightly guarded secret to an enemy spy—a decision that throws the Dione of Glademont into chaos. Hunted by bloodthirsty mercenaries, Tess flees into the Hinge Forest. There, with the help of a wild owl and a two-hundred-year-old bear, Tess begins to unlock the forgotten mysteries of her people.

Deep in the woods, the spirit of a long-dead dryad awaits the next Thane of a fierce weapon. To Tess’s amazement, it is she who is called to master the weapon’s power and save Glademont from an impending war.

When a surprising turn of events reunites Tess with Linden—the prince who called off their engagement—Tess must swallow her pride and join forces with him. But even if Tess can rescue her people, will that be enough to forgive her treason? Armed with a fiery magic, Tess is forced to make an impossible choice, one that might seal her fate as the next Thane—but forever extinguish any chance at following her heart.

Sujets

• Wholesome
• Religious
• Relationships
• Young Adult Fiction
• Teen
• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Christian novel
• General officer
• Relationship
• General
• Clean
• Christian
• Tess
• Romance
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Girl Friday Books
• Date de parution: 07 juin 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781954854444
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2019 Emily H. Jeffries
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Girl Friday Books™, Seattle www.girlfridaybooks.com
Editorial: Tegan Tigani, Kelley Frodel, Amy Snyder Interior Design: Rachel Marek Cover Design: Paul Barrett Cover and interior illustrations: Rachel Grantham Map illustration: Shams Nelson
ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-954854-43-7 e-ISBN: 978-1-954854-44-4 Library of Congress Control Number: 2021919241

To Husband Hill—fairytale princes have nothing on you. And to Editor Adair, who loved Tess first.



Prologue
O n the first night of the wedding festival, a foreigner ambled from the untamed lands west of Glademont Castle. His stubble grew thick for a man no older than twenty. Cool wind blew leaves against his long legs, which parted the swaying grasses of a yellowing meadow. Thirty paces away lay Glademont’s main highway, where villagers sang patriotic songs on their way to the royal wedding.
A crow with clouded eyes hunched on his shoulder. It unfolded a wing and shifted on its talons. “When you find her, don’t touch it.” The bird’s throat caught on a perpetual scratch. “Cut off her hair and put it in your pouch. Escape unseen and bring it to me.”
The young foreigner hoisted his faded checkered trousers and scowled at the Glademontians with their colorful trappings and prim feathered hats. “I confess, I never thought I’d be wearing my seaman’s rags again,” he said.
The crow’s rasp intensified. “There will be citizens from all four corners of the dione, not only the wealthy. You’re to blend with the peasants, boy. Look no one in the eye, and keep moving.”
The man clicked his tongue and lengthened his stride.
Merchants and commoners from the valley called to one another from the backs of braided ponies. Powdered aristocrats emerged from their carriages, opting to parade through the boxwoods on foot. Had any of the guests glanced beyond the hedges toward the forest, they might have caught the foreigner’s sunned stubble creasing into a smirk. An old saying from his home continent sprang to mind:
How brightly burn the blind.
Just another ignorant people, adoring a predictably corrupted royal class.
The setting sun warmed the foreigner’s shoulders. He dug a pipe and a pouch from his trouser pocket and stuffed savory leaves into the bowl—a habit he’d picked up at sea from men twice his age. Nearing the castle gardens where guests poured in by the dozens, he spotted elaborate bronze torches lining the drive. He smirked again, flashing a dimple on his left lower cheek. Would Glademontian sensibilities allow for lighting one’s pipe on a royal torch? But a rustling on his shoulder forced him to consider his delicate mission this evening.
“What if she uses the thing against me?” He strained his neck to avoid the musty bird smell so near his nostrils.
It cawed. “She’ll be too weak, if she isn’t dead already.”
The foreigner held his pipe to his nose and shook his head. Even nature’s handsomest fragrance couldn’t mask the old crow’s sour feathers. “And the castle plans?”
“Yes, yes. If you come back with nothing to show the king, he will be suspicious. Map as much of the castle as you can.”
The foreigner’s tanned face hardened. “I hope I need not remind you that I have your word that when Nabal claims Glademont, he shan’t interfere with me. I’m through roaming between continents like a hunted seal.”
The crow clacked his beak the way he always did when a plan neared execution. “I have promised. He will not send you back to the sea. Do as I say, and this will be your home.”
They joined the Glademontians among clipped shrubs in various sweeping shapes. Early evening wind seeped between the thin fibers of the foreigner’s tunic. A fine carriage passed on creaking wheels. To the right, a balding horse breeder with a jug in his hand howled at his own anecdote. Ahead, an elderly woman wearing a burgundy gown glared at the crow. The foreigner flashed a smile in return, and the woman started at his rustic dress. But his smile persisted, and the next instant she melted, fluttering a pair of gray eyes at him. He moved toward a torch, lit his pipe, and winked.
The crow took to the air without another word, leaving his companion to thank the skies and shake the tension from his arms. Then, scratching at his chest, the foreigner indulged in a draft of autumn air.
Locate the queen and secure the object—he had navigated greater challenges than this.
He scanned the top of the castle’s outer wall. Six sentries with spyglasses, each more ridiculous than the last. The old crow was right: Glademont wouldn’t stand a chance in battle. They’d be ash in Nabal’s fist before first snow.
The young foreigner saluted to a swarm of royal servants and passed through the outer wall, taking a long drag on his pipe.


Part I


Chapter 1
S undown meant only an hour remained until the start of Lady Tessamine Canyon’s wedding festival. She waited on the bridge leading to her home, her fingers clenching the warped oak railing in front of her.
Of course something like this would happen.
“Lady Tessamine,” barked Colonel Regency Thorn—Reggie, as Tess and her siblings liked to call him. The stout salt-and-pepper terrier was the Canyons’ governor, and as canine monitor of the family, the Colonel stood on ceremony at all times. “You have caused a scandal, standing outside in the damp. What will your mother say?” A moth fluttered in front of the Colonel’s nose, and he repelled it with a snort.
“I’m staying out here. The man should know how much distress he has caused us.” She twisted her engagement pearls around her finger.
Autumn wind bit at Tess’s ears while scathing thoughts churned in her head. Her younger brother, Ryon, pulled himself up to sit on the bridge railing beside her, letting his polished boots dangle over the brook. At twelve, he was still small enough for the railing to support his weight.
“At least you’ll get to dance tonight,” he said. “Show off all your fancy training.”
“There will be no ‘showing off,’ Master Ryon,” the Colonel said, his beard quivering importantly. “If her ladyship must dance, it will be with the prince, and it will be in the old way. Without the theatrics of a city ballet. Now, I will wait for His Highness inside so at least some of the family will be seen as respectable.” His cropped tail swayed as he trotted toward the mansion.
Tess’s freckled face darkened. Her plans to become Redfoot’s most acclaimed dancer had been stalled by the marriage proposal. This new future hovered before her like a mist, obscuring her once-clear view. Yet, how could she have refused such a gift from the skies? Surely the prince would never have asked her if he were indifferent toward her.
Ryon tossed a pebble in the brook, sending droplets onto Tess’s marigold slippers. The stains pulled Tess from her musings. “Stop swinging your legs like that,” Tess snapped. “You’ll get mud on my gown.” She glowered at the road through the bare trees. Still no prince.
“Let’s go inside,” Ryon said. “Reggie will come huffing back out here any minute.”
Behind them, three stories of fat black stones and tall rounded windows stretched southward into a stately horseshoe-shaped home called Canyon Manor. For sixteen years, Tess dreamed of leaving to begin her own life. Yet, here she was on their old wooden bridge, the same brook babbling under her feet, and away to the right, the same two rows of apple trees marking the entrance to the grounds. Tess pursed her lips at those unfeeling trees.
Would she really ever leave?
Seeming to sense her restlessness, Ryon gently elbowed her ribs. “Hey, look. I’ve got something that might cheer you up.” After reaching into his trouser pocket, he held out two braided grass strings coiled around a thin leather pouch. The leather bore the branded seal of the Dione of Glademont.
“Vermin and vinegar,” Tess exclaimed. “A weapon.”
“It’s a sling,” Ryon corrected. “Isn’t it something?”
“Papa will never let you keep it. Get rid of it.”
Ryon’s face fell. “The prince gave it to me. I’m already learning how to use it.” He hid his eyes under his mop of heavy cinnamon waves. “I’m pretty good.”
Tess twisted her ring again—seven Miri River pearls for the seven days of the marriage festival. “Why on the continent would he give you a weapon?”
Ryon shrugged. “At that court supper, he was talking to Father and said he thought it was wrong to assume all sport made men violent. When I agreed, he seemed pleased. Then this parcel arrived. . . .”
“You know how dangerous it is to fool with weapons. Why do you think no one in the dione makes them?”
“The prince doesn’t think they’re dangerous.”
“The prince doesn’t think at all.”
The quiet jingling of horse tack interrupted their debate, and a large covered carriage inched into view between the trees. The low, keen sun flashed on its wheels. The carriage, drawn by four black horses and painted in blue and silver florals, slowed to turn into the Canyons’ apple orchard.
Tess retreated to the steps of her home, so as not to appear overly anxious. She did her best to flatten her thick black curls and pulled a plush hood over her moderately tamed hair, silently begging the crisp sky the prince would say something complimentary about her gown, for once.
The carriage rattled through the trees and over the brook. The horses snorted gusts of