KINGDOMS WILL RISE AND FALL FOR HER… BUT NOT IF SHE CAN HELP IT
Catalia
"Cat" Fisa lives disguised as a soothsayer in a traveling circus. She
is perfectly content avoiding the danger and destiny the Gods—and her
homicidal mother—have saddled her with. That is,
until Griffin, an ambitious warlord from the magic-deprived south,
fixes her with his steely gaze and upsets her illusion of safety
forever.
Griffin
knows Cat is the Kingmaker, the woman who divines the truth through
lies. He wants her as a powerful weapon for his newly conquered
realm—until he realizes he wants her for much more than
her magic. Cat fights him at every turn, but Griffin's fairness,
loyalty, and smoldering advances make him increasingly hard to resist
and leave her wondering if life really does have to be short, and lived
alone.
******
Debut author, Amanda Bouchet's A
Promise of Fire is
an enchanting tale set in a
fascinating new world filled with emotionally and physically complex
characters. As I opened the book and began reading, I quickly
became absorbed into the story. Only emerging when I was forced to
put the book down (adulting can
be so inconvenient at times!).
I have always been fascinated by Greek
mythology and I enjoyed how Ms. Bouchet entwined the myths and
fantasy with a bold and daring plot. Loaded with brazen escapades,
sizzling hot passion and romance, A
Promise of Fire
is a fast-paced book that you need to put on your TO READ list.
I loved following Cat and Griffin
through their travels as they grew not only to know and trust one
another, but also as they experienced the adventures and trials that life
threw at them. A
Promise of Fire: Kingmaker's
Chronicles #1 has most definitely earned a spot on my keeper shelf, I
can't wait to add a print copy.
Award-winning author Amanda Bouchet
grew up in New England and studied French at the undergraduate and
graduate levels. She moved to Paris, France, in 2001. Her first novel,
A Promise of Fire, won several Romance Writers of America chapter
contests, including the Orange Rose Contest and the paranormal category
of the prestigious Golden Pen.
Buy Links:
Sourcebooks
Casablanca is thrilled to announce that we are releasing our very first
fantasy romance! Coming August 2016 from debut author
Amanda Bouchet is the un-put-downable A Promise of Fire,
the first in the Kingmaker Chronicles series.
To celebrate, we’re giving you the first
FIVE chapters to read FOR FREE!
Download the first five chapters
here.
To get you started, we’ve included the first few pages below.
Chapter 1
I pluck at my crimson tunic, tenting the lightweight linen away from
my sticky skin. The southern Sintan climate isn’t my worst nightmare,
but it sometimes ranks pretty high, right along with the stifling layers
of cosmetics masking my
face, my leather pants, and my knee-high boots.
Heat and leather and heels don’t mix, but at least looking like a
brigand means blending into the circus. Here, discreet only gets you
noticed.
Craning my neck for a breath of fresh air, I navigate my way through
the beehive of tables already set up for the circus fair. The performers
on the center stage are the main attraction. The rest of us surround
them, carving out places
for ourselves amid the crowd. Tonight, hemmed in on all sides in an
amphitheater lit by hundreds of torches and filled to capacity, I feel
like a Cyclops is sitting on my chest—suffocated.
Damp curls cling to my neck. I peel them off and tuck them back into
my braid, scanning the crowd as I walk. I recognize some of the
regulars. Others I don’t know. My eyes trip over a man and get stuck.
He’s looking at me, and it’s hard
not to look back. He’s striking in a dark, magnetic way, his size,
weapons, and bearing all telling me he’s a tribal warlord. His build is
strong and masculine, his gait perfectly balanced and fluid. He walks
with predatory confidence, unhurried, and yet there’s
no mistaking his potential for swift, explosive violence. It’s not
latent or hidden, just leashed.
Watchful, alert, he’s aware of everything in his vicinity. Especially me.
Our gazes collide, and something in me freezes. His eyes remind me of Poseidon’s wrath—stormy, gray,
intense—the kind of eyes that draw you in, hold you there, and might not let you go.
Adrenaline surges through me, ratcheting up my pulse. My heart
thumping, I blink and take in the rest of him. Intelligent brow. Strong
jaw. Wide mouth. Hawkish nose. Black hair brushes a corded neck atop
broad shoulders that have no doubt
been swinging a sword since before he could walk. Body toned to
perfection, skin darkened by a lifetime in the sun, he’s battle-chiseled
and hard, the type of man who can cleave an enemy in two with little
effort and even less consequence to his conscience.
He keeps staring at me, and a shiver prickles my spine.
Is this man
my
enemy?
There’s no reason to think so, but I didn’t stay alive this long without the help of a healthy dose of paranoia.
Wary, I sit at my table, keeping an eye on him as he weaves a bold
path through an array of potions, trinkets, and charms. He’s flanked by
four similar men. Their coloring varies, but they all have the same sure
look about them, although
they pale in comparison to the warlord in both authority and allure.
The man with the gray eyes is a born leader, and only an idiot would
mistake him for anything else.
He stares for so long that I start to wonder if he can somehow bore
through my layers of face paint and unmask me, but I’ve never seen him
before, and he can’t possibly know the person underneath. I’m from the
north of Fisa, where magic
is might. He’s from the south of Sinta, where muscle and cunning decide
who lives or dies. Our paths would never have crossed in the past, and
warlords don’t usually frequent the circus.
I look away, hoping he’ll do the same. There are plenty of reasons a
man stares at a woman. An exotic face and generous figure attract as
much attention as a good mystery, if not more, and the warlord’s intense
scrutiny feels more appreciative
than alarming.
Ignoring the flush now creeping into my cheeks, I smooth the wrinkles
from the coarse wool blanket covering my table and arrange my
paraphernalia like usual. My glittering, gold-lettered sign advertises
Cat the Magnificent—Soothsayer Extraordinaire,
even though flashes of the future only come here and there, usually in
dreams. Luckily, it only takes a
few questions for truths to reveal themselves like flowers opening for
the sun. I read people’s body language and glean who they are, what they
want, and maybe even what they’re capable of. It’s about knowledge and
illusion. I get a copper for it, which is
more than a fair deal for me. I won’t peddle futures. I have an idea of
my own, and that’s more than enough.
My leg starts a nervous bounce. Prophecies can be interpreted loosely, right?
The audience gasps, and I turn to see what’s happening on the stage.
Vasili is throwing knives at his wife. She’s strapped to the flat side
of a vertical, rotating wheel, and he’s blindfolded. He’s never hit her,
but my heart still comes
to a complete standstill every time they perform. Tonight is no
exception, and I hold my breath, both riveted and terrified, until he
runs out of knives.
The crowd is too caught up in the circus to take advantage of the
fair, so I get up again and head to the performers’ gate to watch the
end of the show and put some distance between the warlord and me. He’s
still looking when he shouldn’t
be.
The air coming through the gate is fresher, bringing with it the
sound of Cerberus’s chuffing breaths and the scent of sweaty dog. He’s
Hades’s pet, so I doubt the heat bothers him. I toss him a wave, and two
of his three upper lips curl
in a snarl of acknowledgment. One of these days, I’ll get all three,
although
in eight years I never have. I think his middle head just doesn’t like me.
Finished with his performance, Vasili unstraps his wife while Aetos
launches himself onto the stage with a triple flip and lands in a
fighter’s crouch that shakes the platform. The solid wood creaks under
his colossal weight, and the
rapt crowd murmurs in awe. Aetos straightens, pounds his chest, tears
the horse pelt off his giant back, and catches fire. His roar shakes the
amphitheater. No one can roar like Aetos. I’ve seen him perform
hundreds of times, and I still get chills.
Seven and a half feet tall, muscle-bound, and tattooed blue from head
to toe with Tarvan tribal swirls, he moves his hands in an impossibly
fast dance, weaving fire until he’s encased in a sphere of living flame.
He bursts through the
crackling barrier with another roar. The explosion blasts the hair away
from my face and dries out the inside of my nose. I’m forty feet away
but feel like I’m in the furnaces of the Underworld. Fanning myself is
useless. I’ll never get used to the southern
heat, and with Aetos performing, it’s even worse.
The Sintan Hoi Polloi can barely contain themselves. It’s like doing
tricks for children—everything enchants. For them, the circus is a
whirlwind of power and impossible magical delights. Everywhere from the
hard-packed dirt floor surrounding
the fair tables and stage to the high, far reaches of the circular
stone seating, people jump up and down, hooting and stomping their feet.
My feet tap along with the crowd’s, my eyes following Aetos around
the stage. What a relief to be back in Sinta, even with all the dust and
heat. I do whatever I can to stay on the west side of Thalyria. Our
recent sojourn in the middle
realm of Tarva made my lungs tight and my fingers itch for a knife. I’d
probably start jumping at shadows if the circus ever went all the way
east to Fisa. Just the thought of my home realm makes my sweat turn
cold.
Sinta. Tarva. Fisa. West to east. Here to… Nothing I’m going to think about.
The audience whoops in approval of Aetos’s fiery moves. Hoi Polloi in
the amphitheater are ecstatic—and not only with the show. They’ve been
celebrating ever since a warlord from the tribal south hacked his way
north to Castle Sinta to
put his own sister on the throne. You’d think Dionysus had dumped a
three-month supply of wine over the entire realm. Temples are
overflowing with Sintans offering prayers of gratitude, their holy men
overcome with gifts to help clothe and feed the poor. Statues
of Athena, who is apparently well loved by the conquering warlord, have
been spontaneously erected in towns and villages from here to the Ice
Plains in Sinta’s north. Happiness and generosity abound, and I don’t
even want to think about how many sheep have
been slaughtered for celebratory feasts.
For the first time
ever,
the magicless majority is in charge, and Hoi Polloi are literally
dancing in the streets—but only when
they’re not throwing themselves in abject loyalty at the feet of the
new royal family. Or so I’ve heard. I haven’t actually seen the new
royals, but news spreads fast when there’s something to say. After the
warlord and his southern army secured the Sintan
throne last spring, his family took weeks just to move north. Not
because they’re slow, but because of the sheer number of adoring people
in their way.
It’s no secret the northern-born Magoi royals here in Sinta were
despots, just like everywhere else in Thalyria. Hoi Polloi know they’re
better off with one of their own in charge.
But royals without magic? My cynical snort is lost in the boisterousness of the crowd.
It’ll never last.
Want more? Download the first FIVE chapters
here.
Click here to learn more about
A Promise of Fire by Amanda Bouchet.
