New Releases For 2021!

Happy 2021!

While all hell broke loose last year—with the pandemic, people working from home or being laid off, lockdowns, etc—we've still been releasing great books for your reading pleasure. We're off to a slow start this year, but quickly catching up. Check out our current new titles here, and titles coming soon.

And if you missed any releases last year, you can find them below.

And thank you for supporting our authors during this troubling time. Many are still laid off or working much shorter hours, so your purchases help. ♥

FEBRUARY

BLOOD MUG

Red Farlow Mysteries, #2

W.F. Ranew

PI Red Farlow has a meeting with the chairman of the Wickham Art Center in Atlanta. When he arrives, he finds the man slumped over his potter's wheel with a dagger in his back. Is the dagger a dramatic flourish of a twisted mind or a more profound message? Clues soon reveal a shady real estate scheme to raze the art center for condos. Red gets his hands muddy as he throws himself into the case.

MARCH

BLOOD MOON

The Wolves of Faol Hall, #2

C.V. Leigh

When Zane goes missing, the Kincaid brother are joined by Tess and Lauren and the demon Kelsea to help in the search. Soon, Zane’s disappearance is linked to Gaea, the vampire Jacob and Lauren met in Salem. As they search for their brother, secrets surface, threatening to tear the family even further apart. Will the pack survive when the ultimate sacrifice has to be made?

DATING A DRAGON

Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals series, #3

Abbey MacMunn

Cursed by a jealous sorceress, fire dragon Phoenix has spent centuries searching for his soulmate. Amnesiac Kat Foster longs to learn her true identity but afraid of what she'll find. While looking for her runaway dog, Kat sees a naked man hiding in a bush. Inexplicable flashbacks of her previous lives begin to make her think they may have met before. The sorceress hellbent on keeping them apart.

COMING SOON

6 April

A Fairy's Quest

The Magicals, #3

Maya Tyler

20 April

I Am Mayhem

Mayehm series, #4

Sue Coletta

Look for these titles over the summer...

The Viking's Warrior Bride

The Brothers of Thunder series, #2

Mairibeth MacMillan

Dating an Angel

Love Bites series, #4

Abbey MacMunn

Forgotten Creek

Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #7

Susan Clayton-Goldner

Mockingbird's Cry

Hara Force series, #1

Winter Austin

A Fairy Godmother's Redemption

The Magicals, #4

Maya Tyler

Dating a Mermaid

Love Bites series, #5

Abbey MacMunn

Slaughterhouse

Jack Slaughter Thrillers, #3

K.A. Lugo

And many more!!

2020 RELEASES

JANAURY

EARTHBOUND

Melora Johnson

Ally Reynolds is a raptor veterinarian who has a “spark” for healing with her hands, a gift she's kept secret. But she's lonely and longs for someone to share her life with. Ornithologist Matthew Blake suspects Ally’s healing powers could benefit him and thinks they’d make a great team. Matthew has some secrets of his own; he is a demon hunter. Can Ally trust him or is he just using her?

LACEY GOES TO TOKYO

Miss Belle's Travel Guides, #1

C.H. Lyn

International travel means international danger — Lacey Devaine is a four-year veteran of a spy ring which fronts as an exclusive escort service, Miss Belle's Travel Guides. While on assignment in Tokyo, a newspaper reporter threatens to blow the lid off a scandal that will put many innocent lives at risk. To protect her cover, Miss Belle is called in to act on intelligence Lacey has uncovered.

ONE NIGHT IN TAMPA

City Nights series, #38

Angelique Migliore

Mari Fuentes is running her first 5K race when she notices a sexy runner is keeping up with her. Convivio "Viv" Ricco is new to the Tampa area, and convinces her to spend the day with him to show him around. She soon finds desire bubbling to the surface, but when he can't convince her to stay with him, he sets out to steal her away for the night. Or will he end up stealing her heart instead?

FEBRUARY

VIOLET SPIRIT
The Evoxian Legacy, #1

Abbey MacMunn

Ever since Lexie Mills learned she was half human, half alien, her life has been far from ordinary. Evoxian shapeshifter, Drew Morgan, longs to tell Lexie he’s her destined soulmate, but she must first embrace her heritage. As their friendship blossoms into something magical, Lexie uncovers a heart-breaking truth about Drew and must make a choice—Accept her destiny with him or decide her own Fate.

MEMORY MAGIC

The Wolves of Faol Hall, #2

C.V. Leigh

Jacob Kincaid meets Lauren Summers on his flight to America and soon learns she's a witch and may be able to undo his sister-in-law's curse. Lauren has her own reasons for helping Jacob. Not all secrets have been revealed, and when someone from his past makes an appearance, he has difficult decisions to make. Can Jacob control his growing feelings for Lauren while trying to save his family?

MARCH

AGE OF SECRETS

Druid's Brooch series, #8

Christy Nicholas

A powerful woman sends Fingin on a quest to find his grandmother. He falls in with a band of Fianna, nearly drowns, and climbs the sea island of Skellig Michael. Ready to give up, he's finally sent in the right direction. When he finds her, he discovers his grandmother is entangled in a power struggle, and Fingin ends up getting caught in the middle. His decisions have long-term consequences.

RED HATCHET FALLS

Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #7
Susan Clayton-Goldner

When a diamond ring attached to a severed hand is discovered near Ashland Creek in Southern Oregon, Detective Winston Radhauser is bought in to discover who the victim is and what happened. Set just eight months post 9-11, a young Islamic family is terrorized, and the severed hand is only the beginning. This time, Radhauser is tested to his limits, but will the truth devastate him?

APRIL

WOLF

Black Dove Security series, #2

Ainsley Cole

Wolf returns home to Montana to find oil tycoon, Gerald Moore, threatening his hereditary land. When Moore's offer to sink derricks on the land is rejected, he sends in his lawyer. Wolf isn't expecting Moore's daughter, Yasmine, and finds himself battling with his emotions. He's never been so attracted to anyone in his life. Wolf must decide between his ancestor’s land and his heart's desire?

THE COLD HEARTH

The Aetheling Chronicles, #3

Garth Pettersen

"The sons of Cnute are dead men.": The dying words of his brother's assailant. Harald receives this warning while rebuilding a hall where he hopes to farm and lead a peaceful life with Selia. But as the hall nears completion, they learn the family who lived there before all perished in a single night of bloodshed. And now the threat of unknown enemies casts a long shadow. Who can they trust?

MAY

BLUE MAGNOLIA

Red Farlow Mysteries, #2

W.F. Ranew

While playing in a Georgia bar, Hank "Cowboy" Tillman stumbles into trouble when his song, Redneck Devil, attracts the attention of a violent group called the Blue Magnolia who want him to perform at their next rally. An elderly patient in a Florida insane asylum reveals a decades-long secret. Can Farlow root out the truth? The PI has his own problems as he confronts a hired killer face-to-face.

JUNE

DARK ENERGY
Becker Circle series, #2

Addison Brae

Gillian had just started over with a new career, boyfriend, and confidence after escaping a vicious murder investigation. When Pinkie’s arrest leaves her struggling to run his two bars, she vows not let her mentor and friend go down for something he didn’t do. Gillian forces herself to trust the cops, people who hurt her, and known criminals, but will it be enough to free Pinkie and save her life?

FALL

The Ragnarök Prophesies, #2

A.K. Morgen

Those called to stand guard against the end are broken, and Sköll and Hati run free. Now Arionna and Dace face a new threat. Ragnarök is coming and they aren't strong enough to stop it. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, and Dace is hurtling toward self-destruction. Can she convince him to let the past go, or must she sacrifice her heart in exchange for the lives of those she loves?

JULY

LAKE OF BAD DREAMS

Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #8
Susan Clayton-Goldner

'Shots fired at Mountain View High School’ – Not waiting for SWAT to clear the building, Radhauser enters, fearing more injuries and loss of life. In one of the classrooms, he kneels beside a girl’s body. In her childlike right hand, she holds a Glock 9mm semi-automatic handgun, her fingers still curl around it. It’s easy to believe fifteen-year-old Kristina Sterling is the shooter. Everyone does.

AUGUST

FATED ALWAYS

The Fated Series, #4

Becky Flade

A wild child who grew into a woman dedicated to protecting the wild, Tala Gael must choose between a man she doesn’t love and a man whose love she’s afraid to lose. Sawyer Gavin knows he’s fated to love Tala forever and is done waiting for their always to begin. Neither would know, until it’s too late, the evil their love would nurture.

ONE NIGHT IN SEOUL

City Nights series, #39

Angelique Migliore

US close-protection agent Stormy Smith is assigned to protect US government hacker, Jordan Black, who happens to be her former lover. His arrival into Seoul, South Korea rather than Tokyo, Japan angered him, but when he finds someone has taken out a hit on him and Stormy is tasked with his protection, a power struggle ensues. Will they learn to work together? One more time. For old time’s sake.

SEPTEMBER

DATING A VAMPIRE

Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals series, #1

Abbey MacMunn

When witch Harper Clarke, owner of Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals, can’t find a match for her latest vampire client, Damon Vertefeuille, she agrees to date him herself. But one look at his witchy date and he has a sudden desire to sink his fangs into her. Thing is, she wants it. When Damon’s brother threatens to tear them apart, the lines blur between loyalty, love, and dark desires.

EAST BEACH

Red Farlow Mysteries, #3

W.F. Ranew

PI Red Farlow finds FBI Agent Joseph Trammell shot four times and dying in a pool of his own blood. Five casings are on the floor. Did the local drug and arms smuggler hire a hit? And who caught the fifth bullet? Farlow wades into the murky water of intrigue, conflicting love affairs, and danger as he tracks down the killer. It’s not exactly a relaxing day at the beach.

OCTOBER

AGE OF DRUIDS

Druid's Brooch series, #9

Christy Nicholas

Clíodhna has three children and a missing husband, and now she finds herself in the middle of growing quarrels between her teacher and a friend in the new church. A few rash decisions mean she must now change her own fate. That means choosing between her happiness—perhaps even her life—and her family. Can she flee a bad situation, or does she have the power and ability to face the danger herself?

FLAME

The Ragnarök Prophesies, #2

A.K. Morgen

When Arionna Jacobs fled town in a desperate bid to save Dace Matthews, she never expected the chaos she would leave in her wake. Even as her bond with Dace grows stronger, Arionna finds herself weakening when Freki's cage shatters. Fighting the wolf for control is tearing her apart piece by piece. Arionna must face her greatest fear: losing herself to the fierce wolf within.

DATING A WEREWOLF

Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals series, #2

Abbey MacMunn

Alpha werewolf, Grayson Beckett, thinks money can buy anything—including a wife. But when he joins Love Bites, finding a mate proves harder than he thought. Dating agency coach, Jamie Osborne, reluctantly agrees to go on the date. Tensions run high, but things go better than expected when Grayson turns out to be a doting dad with a tragic past. But can the alpha win her trust and melt her heart?

NOVEMBER

RIVER RUNNING BACKWARDS

Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #9
Susan Clayton-Goldner

During a deathbed confession, Winston Radhauser learns his parents are still alive and his mother is in a psychiatric facility having confessed to the murder of his three-month-old sister. Torn between grief for his uncle and anger at the lies he’s been told, Radhauser sets out to discover the truth about his family. Can he vindicate his mother?

DECEMBER

WITNESS TO SLAUGHTER

Jack Slaughter Thrillers, #2

K.A. Lugo

How can Jack refuse a case when he's offered double his fee to follow a cheating husband? Jack is led across the city to the Majestic Lounge, the city's hottest gay nightclub. Owner Chad Lucas hires Jack for added security for the club's drag queen event. Police say deaths of Lucas' friends are suicides, but he convinces Jack something else is going on. Does the city have another serial killer on its hands?

Thank you for supporting our authors during this troubling time. Many are still laid off or working much shorter hours, so your purchases help. ♥

Available now: Age of Secrets by Christy Nicholas

AGE OF SECRETS
Druid's Brooch series, #8
Christy Nicholas

$4.99

BUY HERE

just 99c/p through Sunday 15 March

Fingin had no drive in his life until he finds a half-drowned dog who becomes his best friend. That friend leads him to a cottage where a powerful woman sends him on a quest to find his grandmother. With his dog, Bran, and a donkey, Sean, they embark upon their journey. The problem is, his grandmother no longer seems to exist in this world.

Between falling in with a band of Fianna, nearly drowning in a river, and climbing to the rocky top of Skellig Michael, Fingin had just about had enough of this quest when some magical creatures sent him in the correct direction.

Once he finds his grandmother, he realizes nothing works out as it should have. She is far from what he remembers and even further from what he’d expected. And she entangled in a power struggle of her own and has little time to attend her wayward grandson.

Soon, a battle ensues, and Fingin is caught in the middle. He decisions will have long-term consequences for himself and those he loves.

• • •

Fingin flung the fishing net with all his might. The circular sieve spun wide and nestled onto the surface of the gently flowing An Ruirthech River. Slowly, the weights on the edge sank to the rocky floor. With gentle tugs, Fingin pulled the handline and tightened his snare. A few times the net caught on stones, but a slight twitch freed the twine. He frowned when he hauled the whole thing to shore; only three small salmon and a young pike.

Typically, he did much better at this time of the evening, as the sun kissed the edge of the dusky horizon. Still, he had plenty to eat and more for the market in the morning. Since he left home seven winters before, he’d learned to balance his work and his needs pretty well.

Perhaps just one more cast would be wise. He cleaned his catch, sniffed the fresh wind for a hint of rain, and finding none, waded back into the river.

The river narrowed here at the sharp bend, making the current run swift and strong. It also corralled the fish into a smaller area. Fingin whispered, urging the fish to come closer. His voice flowed out through the air and into the water.

Sometimes they listened. More often, they fled. Fish grew naturally wary of any fisherman, despite his unique ability to talk to them. Just because they understood him didn’t mean he had command over their actions.

He avoided speaking with fish, especially since his voice, even with magic, got distorted through the water. He preferred talking with larger animals, as they had more grasp of conversation. But sometimes he persuaded the fish to swim closer toward his net.

A ripple upriver caught his eye, glinting in the setting sun. Fingin squinted as the disturbance grew closer. Something large swam beneath the surface, something he wouldn’t want in his net. Hastily, he tried to pull the net in, but it caught on a rock and refused to budge. With frantic hands, he attempted to untie the handline from his wrist, but the water-soaked knot stuck fast.

“No, no, no! Go away! Go around!”

The salmon ignored his imprecations and hummed a sprightly tune as he leapt, cutting the river’s surface with a glint of silver and pink, before barreling into Fingin’s net. He held on for dear life as the fish plowed through, snapping the bits of braided horsehair and vine like a rotten bit of thatch, but the main part of the net held. The force pulled Fingin well into the center of the river, spluttering and gasping for breath like the fish he often tossed on shore.

The water roared above him and into his lungs, forcing the breath from him. His panic rose as the current slammed him into a jagged rock. Pain shot through his midriff. He gasped when his face found air for a moment. The water snatched him away from blessed air. He gasped again, but water flooded his mouth. His lungs burned from lack of breath.

The handline cut deep into his wrist, digging through his soaked skin. He clawed at it as the water swept him downriver, but it remained tight. The raging current and the power of the large fish pulled him with surprising ease. The salmon wriggled through two more bends in the bank as Fingin’s sight dimmed. Gray surrounded him, and he faded.

A wrench to his arms signaled the huge salmon tearing through the net. Fingin scrabbled back to the surface. He rasped a huge breath, drawing sweet, fresh air into his lungs. He continued to drift down the river, the destroyed net trailing behind him.

With a set jaw and an angry step, Fingin retrieved the shredded remains of his net and slogged back to the shore.

He pulled the now useless net to the banks, squelching through the river mud and reeds to dry land. He wrapped it into a ball and considered throwing it back into the river—a just reward for the betrayal it caused.

With a deep sigh, Fingin tucked the awkward, sopping bundle under his arm and walked upriver. The net hadn’t been at fault. A salmon that size had no business being this far up An Ruirthech. He lived leagues away from the sea, and only the smaller salmon made it this far past the weirs and the rapids.

The hike to his small hut didn’t take too long, despite his adventure in the river. The river wound through the countryside, but walking overland got him there much more directly.

He didn’t live in high style. The rough hut wouldn’t last more than a winter or two. He never bothered with the hard work anything more permanent would require. Not anymore.

Not after the last time.

His current home stood next to a large open area in the woods, nestled within a tight bend of the river. A small beach allowed easy access to the water, and a large, flat rock lay next to the hut. This rock allowed Fingin to spread out his net when it needed repairs, like today. It also made a great place to clean his catch.

Fingin lived a simple life, but he liked it simple. He craved human companionship, but daren’t seek it out. He spoke to birds and squirrels, but they only spoke of sweet, simple things. They had no deep philosophies.

From his net-repairing rock, he glanced up to watch the river as it meandered, wiggling his hands to keep them from aching. He bent back to his task with industry, determined to fix at least half the damage while the light of the day remained strong. Occasionally, he’d glance up at a sound or to stretch his back.
It must have been a cursed fish, or maybe some faerie conjuration. Regardless, his net had no chance against such a thing. Still, he jerked the strands with frustration as he repaired the net out on the big stone.

He rose to go into his hut and retrieved his supply of thin rope. He’d need to make more. Although the ball of rope seemed hefty, repairs on this scale would use most of it up.

When Fingin sat again, he let out a deep sigh. He’d forgotten to stoke the fire. It remained banked from the morning, and if he didn’t start it now, the night would fall before he had time to cook his meal.

He stood again, peering at the river. A large log swung lazily along with the current, with something round and furry in the middle. Fingin squinted to make out the object between the glints of the setting sun.

The object lifted its head, and Fingin recognized it to be a scraggly wolfhound, soaked and scrambling to stay on the branch.

Without a thought, Fingin rushed to the far end of the river bend, to cut off the path of the log. He scurried down to the small beach and dove into the water, swimming with powerful strokes to reach the log before it floated away. He almost got a handhold before it spun away.

• • •

Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

• • •

Find Christy Online:

Website - http://www.greendragonartist.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor
Blog - http://www.greendragonartist.net
Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Christy-Nicholas/e/B00E3ENH7C
LinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9
Tirgearr Publishing  - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy

Available Now: Age of Saints by Christy Nicholas

AGE OF SAINTS
Druid's Brooch series, #7
Christy Nicholas

$5.99

BUY HERE

99c/p through 10 March
FREE on Kindle Unlimited

On his deathbed, Conall’s father makes him promise to always take care of his little sister, Lainn. With her laughter, she can sing the bees from their hives and make the morning sun sparkle in the winter. He loves Lainn with all his heart, and will do anything to protect her, even without a promise to his father.

He failed.

Between an abusive step-father, a powerful Faerie Queen, and a maddened Fae Lord, every decision Conall makes seems to be the wrong one. Starvation, imprisonment, madness, and disfigurement plagues them. Even when he tries following his heart, it turns to disaster.

Can Conall correct his mistakes and save Lainn’s life and soul?

Will it cost him his own?

• • •

The freshly-sharpened chisel and small hammer offered no tricks or shortcuts, so he spent the next hour carving the stone and refining the edge to fit into the wall. His sweat had become coated with stone dust, making his skin gritty and itchy.

Once he’d dressed the stone, he brushed the stone dust away and surveyed his success. Then, after a quick glance around, he lightly lifted it into place with his magic, taking a moment to wipe down his face and hands. With a long-suffering sigh, he sat at the fourth stone.

Before he finished the last stone, the sun had dipped considerably lower in the sky, behind the dappled canopy of autumn trees. He ran his fingers along the fine cracks as Sétna had, marveling at the fine work he’d finally achieved. For two years, he’d practiced under his stepfather’s exacting tutelage. While Sétna remained a tough taskmaster, he taught well. Conall brushed away another coating of dust and smiled, proud of his work.

With a quick glance at the lowering sun, he gathered his mason tools and wrapped them in the leather-strapped bag. He’d better hurry if he wanted to meet Lainn at the crossroads.

The half-hour walk along the edge of the bog offered him little challenge, as he’d been exploring this area for many years. They hadn’t been born here but had moved when his father found the great fishing in An Bhóinn, the river which ran past the ancient bogland. Conall didn’t remember why they’d left his previous home, as he’d been too young to know much beyond their move. His sister, Lainn, had only been a baby.

While she’d been a merry, laughing child, his little sister grew more annoying with each year. He had been heartily grateful when the druids had accorded her the signal honor of studying with them. Every day, she spent time in their oak grove, learning histories, songs, and chants. She’d used this new knowledge to torment him often, though he wouldn’t let on how interesting he found the tales. If she realized he actually enjoyed them, she’d instantly stop.

He spied her dark auburn curls bouncing as she jumped, trying to reach a yellow apple which hung from a low branch. He chuckled at her predicament and reached above her, calmly plucking the prize and taking a big bite. The last two years of growth meant he towered a full foot over his younger sister. He’d seen seventeen winters, but she’d only had sixteen.

“That’s my apple, Conall! You’ve no right!”

He shrugged. “T-t-taller people get the better apples, Mouse. Height is right!”

“You know I hate that name! Give it!”

When she kicked at his shin, he skipped back, holding the apple above his head and out of her reach. “You can’t catch me!”

She growled and charged him as he laughed and ran. He spied another apple and picked it as he skipped by so she’d have a treat when she tired of chasing him.

Lainn came close to grabbing his Maelblatha, so he put on a burst of speed. It would do no good to let her win. He wove through the trees, zig-zagging until even he panted for breath. When he finally stopped near a small stream, she limped up, her freckled face red and sweating.

Conall offered the second apple as a peace offering with a wide grin. His sister growled at him before snatching it from his hand. They crunched the sweet fruit in silence as the trickling brook sang in the evening air. Bees buzzed around them, making Conall swat one away from his face.

“Don’t hurt him!”

He blinked at his sister. “Him? Blood and bones, Lainn. It’s a bee, not a p-p-person.”

“You should be kind to bees. Adhna says so.”

“Adhna’s madder than a drunken hare, Lainn.”

She shrugged and took a final bite of her apple. “That doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Are you done yet?”

He tossed his core into the stream. “Sure. Ready to go home?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Not yet. I made a promise. Follow me!”

As she ran off to the north—the opposite direction from their home—he rolled his eyes and ran after her. He’d worked hard all day and had little energy or patience for his sister’s antics. He realized her education with the druids must be less physically demanding than his own training as a mason, and she still had the endless energy of youth. With a groan and a protest from his aching leg muscles, he felt every one of his seventeen winters as she led him on a merry chase through the glades.

• • •

Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

Find Christy Online:

Website - http://www.greendragonartist.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9
Facebook-GreenDragonAuthor - https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor
LinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy

Available Now: Misfortune of Time by Christy Nicholas

MISFORTUNE OF TIME
Druid's Brooch, #6
Christy Nicholas

$5.99

BUY HERE

(99c through Sunday the 15th)

In 11th century Ireland, Étaín must hide her pagan magic from her pious Christian priest husband, Airtre. She wants to escape his physical abuse, but she must stay to protect their grandson, Maelan. Over many lifetimes, she has learned how to endure her own pain, but Maelan is young and vulnerable.

When Airtre's paranoia and jealousy spiral out of control, Étaín has no choice but to escape in the night with little more than the clothing on her back, leaving a trusted friend to protect Maelan.

This is not the first lifetime Étaín has fled, and she knows how to survive. But when her past comes back to haunt her, she must make decisions that may result in disaster for her, her grandson, and everyone she loves.

• • •

Cluain Mhic Nóis, early spring, 1055AD

Étaín peered into the cauldron, sniffed the savory aroma of lamb stew, thyme and dill, and added a pinch of pepper. Just a few more minutes and the pot would be ready to swivel off the hearth fire. She tucked an escaped strand of gray hair behind her ear and stirred the stew with the long wooden spoon. With a practiced hand, she filled a small bowl with cream to set outside for the Faeries, careful to hide it where no one would notice. Then she turned her attention to the oat flatbread. She grew anxious in case her husband, Airtre, returned home before she completed her tasks.

A drip, drip, drip made her turn just as she placed the bread on the cooking hearth. She scanned the thatch of the large roundhouse, searching for the telltale dark spot which might betray the leak. She finally spied the culprit, directly above the eating area. With a muttered curse, she shoved and wrestled the heavy wooden table under the leak.

After wiping the damp from her brow, she climbed and stretched, standing on tiptoes to reach the soaked thatch. Étaín pushed daub into the thatch, but the patch would never hold. Still, the patch should serve until morning. She’d do a proper repair when the rain slowed.

Slowed, not stopped. The rain never seemed to stop in the spring.

The faint odor of char sent panic through her blood and made Étaín scramble down from the table to rescue the bread. She pulled back the cloth and grimaced. Airtre would not be pleased. Still, he hadn’t yet come home from the abbey. The other night he hadn’t even come home until much later, but he’d offered no explanation. Perhaps she had time to make another loaf. She usually kept more dough resting in the cool room. The new loaf would be tarragon rather than chervil, but Airtre liked both.

Étaín dusted her hands on her apron, pulled an oiled hood over her head, and hurried past the herb garden. Several round storage structures ringed the south corner of their courtyard, filled with tools and supplies. She rummaged through her herb supplies and found three turnips to mash as well as her precious salt box. A little sweet cream, butter and sorrel, and those would make a nice dish for the side if the new flatbread didn’t bake in time.

She had just returned to the hearth when she heard the horse outside.

Stones and crows, he’s home early. She scrambled to scrape the burnt bread out of her iron pan, burning her hand on the still-sizzling metal.

Étaín had long since learned not to curse out loud, but a grunt of frustration still escaped her lips, knowing her husband hadn’t come in yet. After closing her eyes tight against the painful burn, she plunged her hand into the cold water bucket by the door.

She concentrated on her heirloom brooch and pulled time back a few moments. While she couldn’t use the magic longer without serious illness, a few moments should be enough. Still, a wave of nausea swept over her as she grabbed a scrap of rag to pull the pan out of the oven and saved her hands this time. A sound at the door made her whirl back to her chores.

When Airtre entered the roundhouse, he shook the rain off his oiled cloak and cursed. “Étaín! Pissmires and spiders, what have you done all day? This place is a mess. Is something burning?”

She turned to him after swallowing her distress, her head bowed. “I apologize, husband. I found a leak…”

He stood with his arms crossed on his stocky chest. “A leak? A leak? I don’t care about a leak! What did you ruin, woman? I swear, for someone reputed to be an excellent cook, you are damned clumsy with food, and wasteful at that.”

She busied herself with cleaning the hearth and putting things right. First, she wrapped the new dough in a burdock leaf and placed the package in the warm coals. Then she shoved the table back into its proper place. She rubbed at the scrapes the legs made on the flagstones, but Airtre was busy changing into a dry léine. Hopefully, he would not notice the damage until they wore away.

• • •

Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

Find Christy Online:

Website - http://www.greendragonartist.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9
Facebook-GreenDragonAuthor - https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor
LinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy

Available Now: Misfortune of Song by Christy Nicholas

MISFORTUNE OF SONG
Druid's Brooch, #5
Christy Nicholas

$5.99

BUY HERE

(99c through 8 April)

Even a soldier cannot fight love

In 12th century Ireland, all Maelan wants is to do his duty to his Chief and maintain his family’s good name. However, his granddaughter Orlagh, is hell bent on wreaking havoc, with no care for the consequences.

When Orlagh falls in love with an itinerant bard, Maelan must rule with an iron fist to keep her from running away. However, her rebellion against his strictures results in disaster and he almost loses her in the same way he lost his beloved wife.

Maelan must make some difficult decisions and bargains with the Fae to save his granddaughter’s life and future. Can he save her happiness as well?

• • •

1114 AD Ceann-Coradh, near Cill Dalua, Hibernia

“I cannot do what you ask, my chief.” Maelan kept his back stiff and his gaze forward. He couldn't bring himself to look Diarmait Ua Briain in the eye, not after the command he'd just been given. Not only did it leave a bitter taste in Maelan’s mouth, but such an act would break his code of honor as a Christian.

The chieftain stopped mid-stride. “What did you say, Maelan?”

Concentrating on the wall tapestry in the large royal chamber, Maelan remained still. “I said I cannot kill Murtough Ua Briain.”

Diarmait growled and spun, his thin frame hidden by the enormous multi-colored cloak he loved wearing. His face darkened, and he picked up a metal platter. The remains of his meal dropped to the floor as he flung the platter against the wooden walls. The harsh clang made Maelan flinch, and he did not flinch easily.

He stepped so close to Maelan their noses almost touched. Maelan could smell mead and onions on his breath. “How many winters have you been a warrior, Maelan?”

“Almost fifty winters, my chief.”

Diarmait cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “In fifty winters’ time, you never killed anyone?”

“Of course. A warrior kills many enemies, my chief.”

“Yet you refuse to kill my enemy now.”

“You haven’t asked me to kill an enemy. You’ve asked me to kill your own brother. You do not ask for an honorable killing. You ask for a kin assassination, my chief.”

Diarmait threw his hands in the air. “Stop saying ‘my chief’ every other word, Maelan! By the power of the sun and the moon, we’ve known each other too long for such formalities. I don’t understand your reluctance. The man is a warrior just as you are. Why would you scruple to kill another warrior?”

“A warrior in battle is honorable. A helpless kinsman on his sickbed is murder.”

He spun, pacing several times as he spoke. “You and your stupid Christian morals. Why are you so blind to necessity, Maelan? When he recovers, he’ll take the túath from me again. You’ll be just as dispossessed as I if that happens.”

Maelan could think of nothing to say. Either he argued with Diarmait or betrayed his beliefs. He chose neither option.

Chief Diarmait closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh. “Time was you would do as your chief commanded, Maelan. When did you change?”

Maelan clenched his teeth against the memory of that battle —a day which still haunted him.

Diarmait crossed his arms and frowned. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you, Maelan. You are my warchief, my best warrior and one of my oldest friends. You’ve stood by me through war, raids, and celebrations. Your wife, may she rest in the Summer Lands, was my own dear cousin.”

“That is all true, my chief. Nothing changed.”

“Yet you won’t kill for me.”

Maelan swallowed. “I cannot justify such an act to my God. Such an act is dishonorable.”

“Dishonorable? How in the name of all things holy is killing dishonorable? Battle is an ancient tradition for all Gaels.”

“Not for Christians, my chief. I mean, Diarmait.”

Diarmait growled. “Codswallop! A bunch of stammering weaklings. You and my brother both love them for some unknown reason. Go, Maelan. Leave me now. Do send me someone with the skills I need. You must have one warrior in your command unweakened by your Christian morals.”

“Yes, my… yes, Diarmait.”

Maelan almost smiled, but restrained himself.

Once he safely escaped the royal rooms, he breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t really matter who he sent in his stead. No one else would have his own advantage. Murtough Ua Briain, his own chief’s brother and rival for the Chiefdom of an Mhumhain, would live another day—unless his illness took him.

Maelan had a good group of warriors under him, with various skills and specialties. Maelan could be an excellent assassin, thanks to his magical talent, but he’d never use his magic for such a task.

As Diarmait had pointed out, not every Gaelic warrior believed secret killing was dishonest. In Gaelic culture, killing became a logical part of the constant warfare between tribes and clans. Maelan was raised, however, in a strict Christian household. His grandfather had been a priest, and such sins are unforgivable.

His chief still cleaved onto most of his pagan Gaelic beliefs, though Diarmait certainly gave lip service to the Christian God and their priests. He could hardly do less these days, with the amount of sheer power the Church now held. Many winters ago, perhaps in his great-grandfather’s time, more pagans lived, but they’d been hunted and destroyed with alarming violence. Violence wasn’t common on their own island, but crucifixions, even burnings, were not unheard of in other lands.

The violence. Despite being a warrior all his life, Maelan detested and regretted unnecessary violence. Some of his memories…

Maelan found his own room and closed the door, thankful to be out of sight. He removed his simple brat from around his shoulders and sat at the simple wooden desk.

He had work to do. The supply lists were still unfinished, and he needed to assign mentors to the new trainees. Some of those boys were barely grown. One only counted seven winters. Certainly, training a warrior young helped get them used to the feel of a spear in their hands, but seven?

Maelan’s own training had officially started at age twelve. He’d had fighter practice since he aged ten winters. He fostered to his mother’s brother, a warrior in Corcaigh, after age ten. He’d been so proud of his wooden practice sword and leather helm. He smiled at the memory, but frowned as he remembered his grandmother. She’d left the winter before his fostering, disappearing in the night. He’d only found her once, many winters later.

When he turned thirty, she’d sought him out, though he’d believed her long dead. She’d gifted him with a family heirloom, passed down for generations untold. He still held his brooch, a magical artifact which granted him the ability to stay hidden in plain sight.

He wished she’d had a similar talent. Instead, her talent almost got her killed. Did she still live somewhere? Had she managed to reinvent herself? He hoped so. He suspected, however, after she relinquished the brooch, her talent of eternal youth had faded.

After swallowing hard and chiding himself for useless nostalgia, Maelan bent to the task of finishing his work for the day.

• • •

Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

Find Christy Online:

Website - http://www.greendragonartist.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9
Facebook-GreenDragonAuthor - https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor
LinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy

Available now: Misfortune of Vision by Christy Nicholas

MISFORTUNE OF VISION
Druid's Brooch series, #4
Christy Nicholas

$5.99

BUY HERE

(99c through 14 January)

Prophecy can be dangerous

In 12th century Ireland, Orlagh has been Seer to her king for forty years. He doesn’t want to hear her prophecies of war and destruction, and dismisses her efforts to warn him. Therefore, she is determined to fulfill her own quest: to find a worthy heir for her magical brooch.

In the course of events, she must pass judgment on a thief, escape a Norman war camp, and battle wits with a Fae lord. She receives some prophecy of her own and enlists the help of a grizzled old warrior, who happens to be a long–time friend.

• • •

January 5th, 1177AD
Dún Dá Leathghlas (Downpatrick), Ulster, Hibernia

Orlagh breathed deep of the fragrant smoke, concentrated on her magical brooch, and willed her Vision to begin.

Her chief’s voice broke in. “What do you See?”

“Patience, my chief. It has barely begun. Let me See something first.”

The incense wasn’t necessary for the Vision. They were part of the trappings, along with the wooden cross. It was all an attempt to defend against hostile cries of her magic as something demonic. Still, it helped her concentrate, at least when her chief didn’t interrupt.

The mists parted, and her chief stood on a barren desert, surrounded by nothing. He stood tall and proud, dark blond hair and multi–colored cloak whipping in the wind. She spoke as a new detail appeared. She was always careful to tell exactly what she saw, lest any detail be lost.

“You are standing in an empty field. A crimson river flows past your feet, roiling with bloody chunks.”

He grunted. “Bloody chunks of what? Pig? Cow? Those Ui Neill bastards?”

“How could I possibly tell? Do be silent for once. I see something on the horizon. A great host arrives. Hundreds, no thousands of men. They are well–equipped and carry a banner.”

“What’s on the banner? Describe it for me!”

“It is white, with three scarlet eagles, the same color as the river.”

She relished his silence as he digested that information. Willing herself to See more, she cast out beyond the plane. The soldiers didn’t end, but trailed off into the mists. Ravens swooped but didn’t harry the soldiers. Instead, they attacked her Thigerna, Chief Ruaidrí mac Con Ulad Mac Dunn Sléibhe, known as An Dunn Sléibhe, Chief of the túath, and her distant cousin.

A loud bang shattered her Vision and brought her back to the chief’s rooms in Dún Dá Leathghlas. Someone had slammed open the door and yelled. She shook her head to clear the incense fumes and looked through the smoke to see the intruder.

“My chief! I’d heard, but I didn’t wish to believe! Thank our dear Lord that I arrived in time to save you from this wicked hedge–witch!”

The man was of medium height with a tonsure, neatly dressed in clerical robes. This must be the new Bishop. She’d heard he was on the excitable side.

With a deep sigh, An Dunn Sléibhe said, “Bishop Malachi, your concern is touching. May I introduce Orlagh íngen Gobhann?”

The bishop’s eyes barely flicked in her direction, but he shuffled a few steps away. Confronting this ignorant arse was the last thing she should do at the moment, as much as she’d love to give him a piece of her mind. Who did he think he was, the pope in Rome?

She tried hard not to laugh. Fighting off the incipient headache that always came after a Vision, Orlagh trusted her chief to handle this. Anything she said was likely to add fuel to the zealot’s fire.

An Dunn Sléibhe stared at his bishop. “You’re a stranger here, so I’ll ignore your accusation. She’s kin and my trusted advisor, Bishop Malachi. I trust her with my life.”

“You know the scriptures almost as well as I do. ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’.”

Lovely. That’s just what she needed. A self–righteous churchman was always trouble.

An Dunn Sléibhe stood. He was shorter than the bishop, but much broader across the shoulders. “Cack. She’s a Seer and an honored advisor. We share a grandsire, so she’s within my dearbhfhine. For heaven’s sake, if she were male, she could be elected tánaiste and succeed me as An Dunn Sléibhe.”

“That’s as may be, my chief. It’s all very good and honorable to stand by your kin, but the fact remains—the woman is still a pagan hedge–witch.” The bishop paced.

Hedge–witch, indeed. God’s Bones, but her head pounded.

“Scorching and burning upon you! Orlagh is a good church woman, Bishop Malachi. She attends every evening for Mass. She uses a cross in her rituals, for heaven’s sake!”

The bishop looked down at her. “She may act like whatever saint she likes, she’s still a false prophet. God does not sanction prophecy.”

Orlagh had had enough. It was time to speak. “And what of your own predecessor, then?”

The pacing stopped, and he glared at her with burning eyes. “My predecessor?”

“Máel Máedóc predicted all the popes for almost a thousand years to come.”

The bishop gasped. “That’s not prophecy!”

Orlagh stood, crossing her arms. “Then what is it? Poetry? A love song? A bawdy ballad?”

“That’s not… the archbishop refuses to acknowledge such writing exists.”

As if simply wishing something away worked in this world.

An Dunn Sléibhe’s chair scraped against the flagstones as he rose. “Well, regardless of your internal politics, my seer has done well by me these last forty–five years. Her gift is a true blessing from God, according to several other bishops. I shall not dismiss her, nor burn her, nor even chide her for her help over the years. In fact, I believe she’s due a gift for her continued help and support. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve work to do before the noon meal.”

The new bishop spluttered for several hilarious moments before he stomped out of the room. An Dunn Sléibhe rolled his eyes, and Orlagh chuckled as she gathered her implements. She heard another door slam and glanced out the window to see the bishop leaving the royal hillfort.

The last bishop assigned to Dún Dá Leathghlas had accepted her as a spiritual colleague, and the one before that had studiously ignored her influence with the chief. Orlagh must convince this one she represented no threat to his own power. That’s all most of them cared about. The prior Bishop had been a cut above the rest. He had a talent for prophecy himself, and it nearly got him excommunicated from his church. However, the old man wisely died before the decree could be made, and this new feisty pup now threw his weight around. Well, she refused to be bullied, and he’d best learn that and right quick.

With a nod to An Dunn Sléibhe, she left his rooms and walked down the curved hallway.

• • •

Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

Find Christy Online:

Website - http://www.greendragonartist.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9
Facebook-GreenDragonAuthor - https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor
LinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9
Tirgearr Publishing - http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy