“So do I.”
He kept her hand in his until she tugged it away and reached into her pocket for the slip of paper where she’d written the words. She knew writing the letters wasn’t dangerous for her, only speaking them. Still, she felt like she’d done something forbidden when she handed them over.
He took them with a frown. “What’s this?”
“I just…” She cleared her throat. “I need to know what this means.”
He looked at them, then he cocked his head. “Why?”
“I hear it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. She was out of tears. “This phrase. All the time, I hear it now. I’ve heard it for years. When I pass a funeral. When I hear someone who’s grieving.” She lowered her voice as she nodded toward the old scribe who still sat in front of the mural. “I think it’s the only thing I’ve ever heard from his mind. I just… I need to know what these words mean.”
“Ava, I’m not your teacher.”
“But you are my friend.” She forced out a smile. “Please? Please, just tell me. It’s not that long, right? And it’s driving me crazy.”
Rhys shook his head. “You’re right, of course. There’s no reason you can’t know what it means. It’s not even complicated. It’s just…” He cleared his throat. “Vashama canem. In the Old Language it means ‘Come back to me.’”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.” He squeezed her hand and tossed the paper in the wastebasket under the desk. “I guess that makes sense for someone who’s lost someone.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Still leaving tomorrow?”
“Like you said, you’re not my teacher.” She smiled. “But I know I need one.”
Rhys knit their fingers together, palm pressed to palm. “I’ll see you again someday, Ava.”
It wasn’t a question.
Damien and Ava drove to Nevşehir the next day, leaving the last pieces of the familiar back in Göreme with Evren and the remnants of the Istanbul scribes. She stared at the twisting rock formations as they drove, then closed her eyes as the plane took off, trying to imagine Malachi’s arms wrapped around her as she slept.
That night, Ava stared out the window of her hotel room near Atatürk Airport, watching the moon shine over the city. She draped herself in the blanket that barely held his scent and remembered the night they’d watched the moon rise behind the Galata Tower, huddled under the blanket on the roof of the old wooden house.
“There’s no going back. I know that. I…I don’t even want to. You were right about what you said before, even if the truth hurt. I was alone.”
She wasn’t alone anymore. No matter what. She knew that.
“Plus, I’m stupidly in love with you… so I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.”
“I love you, Ava.”
Then the whisper from his mind. From his heart.
Reshon.
Ava buckled over, and sobs wrenched from her gut as the pain hit her again. She was walking through darkness, having lost the one love she’d ever dared to trust. Rage battled with grief as she knelt on the floor of the sterile hotel room, clutching the last piece of him she had.
“I hate you tonight, reshon!” She sobbed and curled against the bed. “How could you leave me like this? How?”
Ava beat her fists against the floor, pressing her tears into the rough blanket that had wrapped around them in the garden that night. The scent of her mate filled her nose, but he wasn’t there. No arms held her. No touch soothed her. No familiar voice filled her mind.
“I love you,” she choked. “I hate you. I love you. Come back to me, Malachi. What’s the use of all this if you’re not with me?”
His spells glowed in the darkness, and Ava stared at them, the old words whispering in her heart. Her soul wept, reaching for its other half.
In the darkness, Ava cried out. The words slipped from her lips, reaching up to the heavens.
“Vashama canem, reshon. Vashama canem.”
Come back to me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hundreds of miles away, he woke with a gasp, his lungs filling with the night air as he lay cold and naked on the Phrygian plain. Grey eyes gazed into the heavens, staring at the full moon, and grass pressed to his back on the deserted riverbank. Night cloaked him, bare and unmarked as the first night he’d been born into the world.
He knew nothing and no one.
But a million stars danced over him, and a familiar voice whispered in his mind.
“Come back to me.”
End of Book One.
A first look at
THE SINGER: Irin Chronicles Book Two
Coming SPRING 2014
Prologue
The Fallen appeared on the summit of Mt. Ararat. Golden eyes reached west, settling on some point unseen by the hawks circling overhead. The wind whipped past him, brushing the black hair that fell to his shoulders. Jaron wore his human form, content to cloak his true nature and enjoy the sharp pleasure of the sun on his skin. Ancient talesm covered his shoulders and chest, gold against bronze. He was a vision of glory, resting on the mountain peak.
His brothers appeared beside him, Barak with his wolf-grey hair, gold eyes watching the birds overhead. Vasu, already pacing, his lean human form dark against the snow.
“You gave up your city, brother.” Vasu stared down as he spoke, seemingly mesmerized by the tracks his bare feet made in the frost. The angel chose to reside in warm climates, though none of their kind were truly bothered by either heat or cold. They commanded their senses at will.
“You imply defeat. I simply chose not to fight for it. It no longer interested me.”
Barak murmured, “And the rest of your territories? Are they secure?”
“Volund knows better than to become too brazen. I allowed his child to overrun Istanbul because it served my purpose. No doubt, he was confused to find my people withdrawn.”
“Where are they?” Barak asked. “And do not underestimate Volund. I thought the same about him until he attacked. Now my children think me dead. They hide, afraid of their own shadow.” Barak’s lip curled. “I would cleanse this realm of their presence if doing so wouldn’t give away my continued existence.”
“I am watching,” Jaron said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the city. Something was churning there. The sun fell in the west, slipping below the clouds to shine pink over the plains and mountains of Asia Minor. “I am always watching.”
“But for what?” Vasu asked. “I hope your visions sing true.”
“Have they ever not? I warned you of Galal’s attack, didn’t I?”
Gold eyes flashed from behind Vasu’s curtain of black hair. His talesm sparked gold. Black and gold, the Fallen glared at his brother. “And I allowed you to persuade me. Now my children think their father murdered by a foreign god. They fight to remain true to me, even as Galal’s soldiers slaughter them.”
“Tell them to be more careful, then.” Jaron shrugged. “When the time comes, you will breed more.”
Vasu curled his lip. “I have not consorted with human women for a millennium. You know I tire of their attention.”
“I hear sorrow,” Barak growled, rising to his feet and looking west to the ancient city. “What is this? I thought the female was unharmed.”
“She formed a bond with one of the Irin scribes. He sacrificed himself for her.” Jaron’s voice held a faint note of admiration. “She mourns.”
“Does this change anything?” Vasu asked.
“No.”
Barak cocked his head. “Why did you allow the sacrifice? Did you foresee it?”
“I did. I was… curious.”
“And she mourns him?” Barak’s voice held no pity. His eyes were impassive as he stared into the distance, the evening sun flushing his pale skin a gold-tinted rose.
“She does.”
“You were curious?” Vasu asked, his voice holding more judgment than Jaron expected. Vasu w
as younger than his brothers, a mere boy when the Fallen had left their home. He had lived longer in the human realm than the heavenly. “Toying with humans is beneath you.”
“His sacrifice was incidental. Still, it is curious how she mourns.”
The three angels rested at the peak of the mountain, the hawks circling above them, screaming at their intrusion. Jaron relaxed, bronze and gold in the light, eyes watching the distance, seeing beyond time and space. His children, when it served him, bore traces of his foresight. Vasu stood slightly behind him, dark and brooding. His physical presence dwarfed his brothers. Not in size, for the tall, lean human form he donned was not imposing, but his energy, the tightly chained physicality of his presence, marked him as different, more terrestrial, than his brothers.
Barak sat silently next to Jaron, his brother’s mirror in eternity. While Jaron saw, Barak heard, his solemn presence the eternal and constant punctuation of Jaron’s curiosity. The two friends had existed in tandem for millennia. And now they struggled to attain what others thought was lost.
“Do you truly think it possible?” Barak asked, rising to his feet. “After all this time?”
Jaron narrowed his vision. Something was stirring in the distance. “Seven years or seven million, brother. He does not see time as we do. It must be possible.”
A flicker. A wavering in the heavens as the stars danced above. Jaron stood and walked to the edge of the cliff.
Barak asked, “What is this I hear?” His eyes sought Jaron’s, which were wide and filled with a long-lost emotion.
Wonder.
“A complication.”
Vasu darted to his side. “What do you see?”
“Look, my brothers.”
Then Jaron opened his vision, sending it to the two angels at his side. All three watched as the woman crouched in a hotel room. All three heard the words she uttered, then the tearing of the heavenly realm.
Vasu blinked. “Unexpected.”
“Indeed.”
“Does this change anything?” Barak asked.
“No. He was necessary to keep her alive. Other than that, he is incidental.”
“The female did this,” Vasu said.
“So it would seem.”
Barak said, “We always knew her powers would be unstable.”
“They all are.”
Vasu lifted an eyebrow, a decidedly human gesture that Jaron wondered if he was aware of. “Is it any wonder our sons fear them?” he murmured.
“She is a means to an end,” Jaron said. “That is all.”
Barak and Vasu exchanged a look but did not argue with their brother.
Vasu and Barak asked in unison, “Does this change our course?”
“No,” Jaron said, his eyes focused on a dark riverbank. “We do what we always do. We watch.”
Please visit ElizabethHunterWrites.com for more information about the Irin Chronicles and other work from the author.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
After a while, it seems repetitive to thank the same people over and over, but truly, my work would not be what it is without the support of my incredible family.
Thanks to my pre-readers, Kristy, Sarah, Kelli, Gen, and Natalie. You are my first line of defense.
Thanks again to all the reviewers and bloggers who promote my work and spread the word online and in person. Getting to know so many of you has been a blessing I never could have anticipated.
Thanks to my editing team, Anne and Sara. True professionals who make my work shine. And thanks to the incredible artists at Damonza for their vision and talent. You took a simple idea and brought it to life.
Many thanks to my agent, Jane Dystel, and all the team at Dystel and Goderich Literary Management.
Thanks to my girls. (You know who you are.)
And thanks, always, to my readers. Thank you for being enthusiastic about this new world. Thanks for your encouragement and kind words. I hope I will always do justice to the confidence you place in me as a storyteller.
A Note from the Author…
Countless individuals helped me with the research for this series, and the month I spent in Israel and Turkey was one of the most rewarding times of my life.
I’d like to thank the Telerant-Faith family, who made my time in Israel so wonderful. Experiencing a country as a tourist or student is nothing like experiencing it with a family. So many thanks to you.
Also, I’d like to express sincere gratitude to the staff of the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem and the staff and volunteers at the Israel Museum. To all the knowledgable guides who I had the pleasure of meeting, thank you.
To my best friend, Kelli, who took the time to travel with me, enabling me to visit many places I wouldn’t have been able to on my own. A great friend and a fantastic research assistant. Many, many thanks.
To the entire country of Turkey!
There are few places I have visited where I have felt more welcome. Your tradition of hospitality shines through your people, your businesses, and your whole culture. Thank you for making my visit such a wonderful experience. I can’t wait to return.
To the staff of the Ibrahim Pasha hotel in Istanbul, thank you so much. Your guidance and suggestions never steered me wrong. You were my home away from home for the time I was in your beautiful city, and I can’t wait to visit you again.
To my amazing guide in Cappadocia, Rüya Kivrim. I was so fortunate to have your knowledgable and fun guidance through the rich history of the region. You truly were a dream(!) to work with.
And to all the people I was fortunate to meet—shop owners, drivers, guides, fellow travelers, and so many more—thank you, thank you, thank you.
Finally, most of you know how important music is to me as an individual and a writer. It was especially inspirational for this book and this series. Thanks in particular to the amazing Loreena McKennit, the brilliance of Sigur Rós, and the inspiring Dead Can Dance for providing the writing soundtrack for this book and ongoing series. Your music touches my soul.
Thank you.
ELIZABETH HUNTER is a contemporary fantasy, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance author. She is a graduate of the University of Houston Honors College and a former English teacher. She once substitute taught a kindergarten class but decided that middle school was far less frightening. Thankfully, people now pay her to write books and eighth graders everywhere rejoice.
She currently lives in Central California with an eight-year-old ninja who claims to be her child. She enjoys music, writing, travel, and bowling (despite the fact that she’s not very good at it). Someday, she plans to learn how to scuba dive. And maybe hang glide… but that looks like a lot of running.
She is the author of the Elemental Mysteries and Elemental World series, the Cambio Springs series, the Irin Chronicles, and other works of fiction.
Website: ElizabethHunterWrites.com
Elemental Mysteries fan site: ElementalMysteries.com.
E-mail: [email protected].
Twitter: @E__Hunter
Find me on Facebook!
ALSO BY ELIZABETH HUNTER
The Elemental Mysteries Series
A Hidden Fire
This Same Earth
The Force of Wind
A Fall of Water
The Elemental World Series
Building From Ashes
Waterlocked (novella)
Blood and Sand
The Cambio Springs Series
Long Ride Home (short story)
Shifting Dreams
The Irin Chronicles
The Scribe
The Singer
(coming SPRING 2014)
Contemporary Romance
The Genius and the Muse
Praise for Elizabeth Hunter:
"A HIDDEN FIRE is saturated with mystery, intrigue, and romance...this book will make my paranormal romance top ten list of 2011."
—Kristin, BETTER READ THAN DEAD
"An enticing and addictive epic."
—Douglas C. Meeks, WICKED SCRIBES
"Elemental Mysteries turned into one of the best paranormal series I've read this year. It's sharp, elegant, clever, evenly paced without dragging its feet and at the same time emotionally intense."
—Karina, NOCTURNAL BOOK REVIEWS
"...filled with saucy dialogue, plot twists and turns, a cast of familiar characters, and one very argumentative yet passionate couple... Ms. Hunter is getting better by the book."
—Victoria, ZEMFIRKA BLOGS
"Hunter is an absolute pro at giving us steamy, heart melting romance."
—Mandy, I READ INDIE
[Hunter's] writing is literate, evocative, and heartfelt; with depth to the stories and dimension to the characters.
--BamaGal, GOODREADS
"The bottom line: if you're not reading Elizabeth Hunter's novels, you should be!"
—Leisha, A TALE OF MANY BOOK REVIEWS
THE SCRIBE
Copyright © 2013
Elizabeth Hunter
ISBN: 9780988520592
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The Scribe Page 27
