Lance and Quill: Chronicle Entry 9

In the sands of Araby, a slave must grasp her destiny.

Alaina flees her master's rose perfume and court gardens in disguise. In the tents of a Twilket prince she finds refuge from the deadly notice of the wazir. The wazir sends an army against Prince Faisal, where a hidden traitor lurks in the Oasis of Oaths. For the wazir's reach is long: a slave who runs must be caught.

While her sister sails for Britannia to free her from one death sentence, Alaina must find the strength to put down her quill and her healer's bag and take up the staff of war to save those she loves from another.

She holds disastrous keys of choice in her forbidden love, in her growing martial skill, and in the wisdom of one greater than her heart. If she can wield the skill to outwit a traitor, to keep her prince alive, and save the people she has brought in reach of the wazir's vengeance . . . then she will be a true daughter of the sands.

So begins a war for freedom, justice, and love . . . But between the prince, his rival, and his love, Alaina's heart may be a pawn of intrigue, the greatest traitor, or a key to happiness.

One will die, one will turn, and one will hold true.

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Excerpt:

Alaina shivered. Her battle to accept her weaknesses, her struggle to find her place in the world - he saw that? Burn him - no, no. But he did see too much.

That place she sought was not completely shaped, nor completely known. She wet her lips. "You could live with one who - who is a pawn of peace, not born of your sands, whom no other would have? You would have the - the heart of one who is spoiled?

"Do not call yourself so! I have Tae's word you are not touched. Even if you had been, it would not be to your blame. That rests on Ali Ben Aidon's head."

Alaina's face burned. She was a healer; she should not blush at such things. She smoothed the paper in her hand.

His voice lowered. "I would live with one who speaks truth, though it does not favor her. With one who picks battles that need fought, no matter how many lances oppose her. . . ."

"Battles ill fought, this morn," she said. "Right words at an ill moment and ill words at the right moment."

"You do not start a battle with me that you cannot win." He was laughing at her again.

"Unless I must." A smile tugged at her mouth.

"Yes." He stepped closer and whispered, "May no battle ever separate us long." His mouth came down on hers.

Thought fled in a warding fire of strength and understanding. The promise in his touch warmed her differently than any fire ever had. Could it be true . . .? She reached for him.

His hand folded around hers and he pulled back, leaving something hard and angular within her fingers. She held a brooch of black amber: a falcon, eyes, beak and wings detailed in silver.

Widespread wings.

Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure