Read an excerpt for Adversarius, Shadow of the Rose: Book One
Nightshadow sat up in her room inside the massive mansion Nikkolani had taken over when he first came to Moordigan. This home had been abandoned, overrun with vines and weeds, matching the state of the rest of the city when Nikkolani first arrived. He fixed it up to suit his tastes and used more of the king's coin rather than his own. When he built up his D'raetus Pastiniir, he rewarded his finest assassins handsomely and in different ways based on performance. Being the best at her profession gave her some perks, but it also gave her some heartaches. She worked up the courage to speak to Nikkolani at some length during the night about Farrehn, who now lay in the Healer's Guild because of her. The discussion had been very heated, so much so that she decided to wait to tell him about Sorcha and the agreement she had made.
Dressed in loose leggings and a tunic belted at the waist, Nightshadow now sat before the window, absentmindedly braiding her hair. When she reached the end, she tied it off and stood just as a soft knock landed on her door. She slowly crossed the room, not expecting anyone, and opened the door.
“Nikkolani would like to speak with you,” a young girl told her.
“I'll be down in a moment.”
“I'll let him know.” Nightshadow shut the door and went over to her bed to pull on her boots. As she left her room, she locked the door. Living with thieves, it would be a matter of moments before they picked the lock but she certainly was not going to make it easy for them.
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Kayta sat up, sweat drenched her skin and she clutched at the sheet that covered her. She couldn't breathe, her throat constricted. After a moment, she gasped, filling her lungs with air, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked around frantically, trying to get her bearings.
“Easy now,” someone moved to sit beside her and held her gently by the shoulders.
“Wh-where am I?” she whispered.
“Shh, do nae speak. Try tae be quiet,” the voice was low, the accent odd to her ears. Kayta pulled up the sheet to her chin and looked around. Beds lined the walls on either side, and lanterns were lit and turned low. In the dim light, she could see the face of the person who sat beside her, trying to soothe her.
“Who are you?” she whispered again. The man chuckled, his long black hair hung loose around his shoulders. There were bruises on his face, a greenish tinge indicating that they were healing as well as a few cuts.
“I'm Farrehn,” he told her. He turned his head to make sure they were not disturbing anyone, and his eyes caught the lamplight. The red of his eyes indicated his race.