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White Wanderer Necklace

To celebrate the forthcoming release of

The Teller of Destiny™ Series, Book Two: Princes and Fools,

EVERYONE gets a special ToD image

AND one lucky person will receive the Teller of Destiny™ White Wanderer Necklace and a signed limited edition print!

It’s easy! Here are your instructions for this giveaway:

For the limited edition image:

1. Sign up for the Teller of Destiny™ newsletter (from the site tellerofdestiny.com menu).
2. That’s it. The image will be emailed to you.

To be included in the drawing for the necklace and print:

1. Sign up for the Teller of Destiny™ newsletter (from the site tellerofdestiny.com menu).
2. Like A. H. De Carrasco’s fan page on Facebook:
   https://www.facebook.com/AHDeCarrasco
   
3. That’s it. You’ll be entered into the drawing (plus you will get the email image, of course). Note: Your names should match for the newsletter and the fan page so we can make sure you get proper credit for your efforts!

Giveaway ends 06/19/13.  Newsletters go out occasionally to let you know about updates to trivia, new giveaways, and releases. We won’t clog up your email. Promise.

And now for a peek at the first book in the series…

Teller of Destiny Series, Book One:

From Continue

Blurb:

Ever since spilling her blood before the Teller of Destiny, Raphere has spent her life trying to prove she is not like her mother, a dark sorceress. And though she yearns to be, she is not a white wanderer either. She is the Jivasivar, the first grey soul born into the land since sin and the Changing. Some call her savior; others, assassin. One thing is clear: everyone has a plan for Raphere. Few seem to care about what is best for her–only what she might gain or cost them.

To the visitors in the Pikestan, she is a target for their cruelty. To the voices of the weald, she is a precious angel and a last chance at life. To the Dark Lord Verisa, she is a spoiled girl and an unwanted burden. To the mercenary Rant Pae, she is a comely maiden and a promised bounty. To the Highland witch Rumara, she is a puzzle to decipher from afar. To the Teller of Destiny, which revealed the grey of Raphere’s soul, she is the Great All’s long awaited Sword and Shield. Amidst such judgment, can a young woman with young girl’s dreams choose her own path correctly?

Searching for her purpose Raphere embarks upon a journey to find the white wanderer Tranquia and the Jivan Tome–the Divine Poem which promised Raphere’s emergence, centuries ago. She must discern friend from foe as all strive to manipulate her for their own designs. Does she have the conviction to be the Jivasivar or is she merely a pawn in a fight for the survival of both ancients and kings? With the Jivan Tome out of reach, and her destiny as clouded as her grey blood, will she bend to the manipulations of others and take a path that leads to the destruction of all?

Excerpt:

Dark tents, pitched earlier by her mother’s visitors, were scattered about the cottage grounds. More would appear tomorrow and the next day. Raphere would never sleep out on the grass with the visitors so close, and it was a long hike back to her friends. The closer to the house she came, the smaller her steps became; a mere snail’s crawl by the time she approached the wooden porch.

She tensed as the first step gave way to a creaking snap under her foot. Holding her breath, she jumped the remaining two. Like a bold but stealthy thief, she placed her hand carefully on the latch and pushed the door. It opened.

Stepping gingerly into the room then closing the door behind her, she was suddenly happy to have waited so long before returning. The moon poked its head into the window, shining ghost light upon the cluttered table. Catching the light, pewter glistened and tin reflected white. Pints of ale and overturned mugs littered the oak table—evidence of a lusty drunken visit by friends she would rather avoid.

She discarded her previous caution and fetched some water. She decided to start with the table and rolled up her sleeves as she approached the mess. With a quiet grace that came naturally to her when alone in the cottage, she began clearing away the filthy stains and crumbs. The acrid stench of spilt ale weaved a way to her nose, wrinkling it. Picking up the remaining mugs and placing them in the tub, she pivoted around to view her accomplishment and absently dried her hands on her apron.

Spotless as their hovel could be, she admitted wryly. A half smile flitted across her oval face.

The moon ducked behind a cloud and darkness filled the room once again. Out of the shadows a figure moved, detaching itself from the inky blackness. She swallowed hard. The memory of swirling grey clouds crushing Tedric’s massive body flashed before her. Instinctively, she touched her wristband.

Like a cat in grace but a nighthawk in menacing calculation, the dark figure fairly swooped toward the table where the clutter had been. The moon was rescued from its cloudy prison and shone suddenly into the room, casting blue dusk upon the visitor.

Expecting a monstrosity, Raphere caught her breath. Instead lazy, sardonic eyes entrapped her. Gray irises suited this man. Though mesmerizing, they veiled an impersonal hardness she sensed. She broke the enchantment, moving to the visitor’s distinct cheekbones that framed his face and downward still, to a prominent, firm jaw. Under her regard his jaw tensed; he frowned.

Like a statue she stood, gawking at him. Her heart pounded but the beat was oddly different this time. She was not afraid.

This was something else entirely. But maybe this feeling was equally dangerous. Her breath caught in her throat. What if he were an assassin?

He didn’t appear evil, she dismissed. Murderers were wicked and ugly, their features distorted by the darkness that crept about their souls. Her hand fluttered to a lock of hair and tugged upon it. He owned no characteristics of a cutthroat. Maybe a thief?

The stranger crossed his arms over his broad chest and didn’t seem inclined to chat. And, by Fate, she held no ability to speak at the moment, even if she wanted to. But look she could.

He must be very comely, she guessed, having never seen one like him before this night. The others caused her flesh to creep. But then she remembered her beautiful mother.

At that moment, she wished for Verisa’s grace and ease—no mortal-minded ever flustered her mother. Raphere desperately wished to speak and searched for something to say. Her face grew warm. She didn’t want this one to think her an idiot. Her eyes nearly crossed with effort as she tried to think of some clever phrase. The silence became unbearable. Indecision pestered her then dread as his eyebrow lifted higher and higher.

“Are you handsome?” she finally blurted out; a horrible whimper followed. Almost imperceptibly, his eyes widened but resumed their lazy regard just as subtly.

“Are you Raphere?” he lightly countered, making fun of her. He said her name so smoothly; his voice like butter. She’d expected it to be that way…

“Your wrist, is it hurt?”

Raphere’s mouth gaped open. This one was shrewd. He’d caught her slight gesture. Not a thieving thug. A mercenary? A spy?

With measured steps, the man advanced around the table while he studied her. Calmly, he waited for her answer, the acknowledgement that refused to leave her lips. His hand rested naturally on the hilt of his sword. Fingers of an old habit idly tapped upon leather.

“Your mother thought it might be you,” he said.

Verisa was awake.

“She was worried.”

The ridiculousness of his statement jolted Raphere into finding her tongue. “No, she’s not,” she snapped.

The swordsman’s hip came to rest on the table, his body closing her in as the moonlight played upon his strong features. “Shall I call her—?”

But his words fell on deaf ears. With the grace of a doe, she sprinted. Swiftly, he grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt.

She gasped as he turned her wrist upward and her woven bracelet slipped. She winced. Her blood pounded under the old wound. Her knees began to shake, just as they did when she was young.

“This scar…” His words drifted into silence while he examined her exposed wrist in the moonlight. He pulled her closer to him and breathed in deeply, sniffing her hair. “You smell of the deep woods.”

Desperate to get away, she hissed, “Let go my arm, mutant.”

His lower eyelid twitched. Steel entered his gray eyes, though his hand went limp, releasing her. Raphere bolted past him and up the stairs; skirt gathered in her hands.

readers age 15+

The Teller of Destiny Series:

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At tellerofdestiny.com

A.H. De Carrasco