A Girl of White Winter by Barb Hendee Book Tour and Giveaway :)
A GIRL OF WHITE WINTER
A Dark Glass Novel
Book #3
by
Barb Hendee
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Pub
Date: 8/7/2018
Kara, as a ward with
no parentage and no future, has been raised knowing nothing outside
her lady’s chambers. Until Royce Capello, a visiting nobleman, is
struck by her ice-pale looks, and demands her as payment for the land
the family needs.
With barely time to
protest, Kara is sold and packed off for a life as a concubine—until
a raiding party descends on Royce’s company and she’s kidnapped
for the second time in as many days.
Whatever happens,
Kara will be alone in the world, inexperienced and fearing even the
vast unfamiliar sky. But one raider gives her a choice—and a magic
mirror appears to show her where each path will lead…
She can leave with
her protector Raven and journey with his performing troupe, competing
for his mercurial affections.
She can flee the
raiders’ settlement, and return to Royce’s manor, chattel among
devious nobility.
Or she can stay in
the settlement, bound to firm, silent Caine, who is as gentle as he
is staid and inscrutable.
Her fates twist and
turn to affect far more than she could have guessed, tangling the
bitter with the sweet—and Kara must choose which consequences she
can live with…
Crouched in a corner, in the
darkness, I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees, longing for
someone to come and fearing someone would come. The night was cold,
and even in my cloak, I’d begun to shiver when a familiar voice
sounded out back.
“Put down the tray and unbolt the
door. I’ll take it in myself.”
Raven. Relief flooded through me. I didn’t
know him any more than I knew Caine, but he had talked to me more,
and last night, he’d made me a private bed up on the wagon.
The door opened, and moonlight
filtered in. Raven stood there with an armload of firewood. I never
saw who was with him because he turned his head and said, “Go home.
I can manage from here.” Striding in, he glanced at me once
before walking to the hearth and arranging the logs. A flint appeared
in his hand, and he used it to build a fire. I was even more grateful
for the light than the heat. Once the flames had taken, he went
back to the door and returned with a wooden tray. A savory scent
wafted upward as he knelt in front of me. The tray contained a bowl, a spoon,
and a tin cup. “Vegetable stew with gravy,” he
said. “Go ahead and eat. I know you’re hungry.” I was famished, but Lady Giselle had
always impressed the importance not showing any rush when eating. It
was the height of poor manners. “Thank you,” I whispered,
reaching slowly and picking up the bowl, taking a small bite of
potato. Then I took a sip of water from the cup.
He watched me. “I’m sorry,” he said. His unexpected apology made me brave.
“What does Caine want with me?” “I don’t know. I’ve asked him,
but he won’t tell me. He’s speaking to our grandfather now.” I’d heard the word “grandfather”
from one or both of them before. “Is Caine your brother?” Raven nodded. “So is Logan. He’s
the eldest. I’m the youngest.” Absorbing this news, I took another
small bite and swallowed it. “Caine called me his property.” “I know he did. I heard him.” He
studied my face. “But you don’t need to worry. He won’t sell
you, and he won’t hurt you. I promise.” “Why did he bring me here?” Raven hesitated. “I told you I
don’t know…but Caine is a man who believes in fate and in
prophecies.” “And you don’t?” “I believe in choices.” He stood
up. “And I don’t like this. I don’t like you being locked in
here, and I don’t like you losing control over your own decisions.” His words washed over me. I’d never
heard anyone talk like this before. I’d never thought about having
choices. He crouched again. “My people all
used to be travelers. We traveled the kingdoms as we pleased, never
settling anywhere, but that life grew hard for some of us, and my
grandfather founded this place. The location makes it safe, and some
of us, like Logan and Caine, prefer to grow food and live here
year-round.” Tilting his head, he added, “But some of us don’t.” “What do you mean?”
“I have a troupe who travels with
me from village to town, putting on shows to earn money, living as we
please. We come back here in autumn so I can help with some of the
raiding parties. Then we leave for a few months and come here again
for the hard part of winter.” I wanted to ask more about the term
“raiding parties” but had a feeling he was trying to convey
something more important. “My troupe leaves in the morning,”
he said.
For some reason, this news brought a
fresh wave of fear. He was the only one who really talked to me. And
he was leaving in the morning? Standing up again, he walked to the
door. “But for now, I’m going to head
back to the common house and see how Grandfather is faring with
Caine.” He paused. “I’m not going to lock the door.” Setting down the bowl, I stood as
well. Firelight reflected off the side of his face. “The way I see it,” he went on,
“you have three options. While everyone is distracted, you could
slip out of here tonight. No one guards the mouth of the chute. On
foot, in the dark, you could press close to the near wall of the
chute and make your way down with no one up above on watch seeing
you.” My breaths quickened in fear at the
thought of trying to flee this place and make it back to de Marco
lands, to my lady, on my own. “Or,” he said. “You can stay
here and take your chances and find out what Caine wants.” “Or?” I whispered. “Or…you could come on the road
with me.” He amended quickly. “I mean with us, with my troupe.
You’d belong to yourself, but you could travel with us.” A wild rush of hope rose up. “Could
you take me home, to the de Marco manor?” “No. Only small raiding groups of
men ever go north into those estate lands. I won’t risk any of my
people. We’re heading east. If you want to go back, you’re on
your own.” Despair replaced hope. His refusal
had been swift and final. But another thought occurred. “I
couldn’t go with you if I wished to. Caine would never allow it.” “He would if I asked him. He owes
me…or thinks he does. I’ve never asked him for anything, but I’d
ask him for this, and he wouldn’t refuse.” I was moved that Raven would use up a
favor to help me, but I also feared the prospect of joining a troupe
of strangers traveling east, farther from my home. He watched me a few moments longer. “Choices are
all that matter in this life,” he said. “And we have to be free
to make our own. You think on this, and I’ll be back before dawn.
If you’re gone, I’ll know you chose to run. If you’re here, you
can tell me what you’ve decided.” He walked out. “I won’t
lock the door.” But he closed it. I was alone again.
A CHOICE OF CROWNS
A Dark Glass Novel Book #2
Olivia Geroux knew
her king was reluctant to marry her, whatever the negotiations had
arranged. But she never expected to find handsome, arrogant King
Rowan obsessed with his stepsister instead. And before she can
determine what course to take, she overhears her greatest ally
plotting to murder the princess.
Olivia must act
quickly—and live with whatever chaos results. As the assassin hunts
his prey, a magic mirror appears to show Olivia the three paths that
open before her . . .
If she hesitates
only a moment, the princess will die—and she will become queen.
If she calls for
help, she will gain great power—but she must also thrust away her
own happiness.
If she runs to stop
the murder herself, she will know love and contentment—but her
whole country will suffer.
As she lives out
each path, her wits and courage will be tested as she fights to
protect her people, her friends, and her heart. And deciding which to
follow will be far from easy . . .
I’ve heard it said the most
important moments in one’s life pass more swiftly than others.
Perhaps it’s true. I only know that all my senses were
on alert as soon as my father sent for me, asking me to come to his
private rooms. Eighteen years old, I’d never once been invited to
his rooms. In the past several weeks, he’d been closeted away much
of the time, sending and receiving messages, but I had no idea what
this was about—as he didn’t see fit to share such intelligence
with me. Now…he wanted to see me, in his
rooms?
I could hardly refuse, nor in fact
did I want to. I was curious. Gathering my long green skirt, I
nodded curtly to the servant who’d delivered the message and made
my way to the base of the east tower of our family keep. I knew
exactly where his rooms were located, even if I’d never been
inside. Upon arriving, I stood with my back
straight and knocked on the door. “Father? You sent for me.” “Come,” he said from the other
side.
With my hand shaking only slightly, I
opened the door. Inside, I found a somewhat austere main room that
appeared to be a study, with a large desk and chair. There were
tapestries of forest scenes on the walls, and an interior door led to
a bedroom. My father, Hugh Géroux, sat behind
his desk working on what appeared to be a letter, but he stood as I
entered. In his early fifties, he still cut a striking figure, with a
smooth-shaven face, dark hair with a sprinkling of gray, and dark
eyes. “Olivia,” he said, as if meeting
me for the first time. We didn’t know each other well, as
I was the fifth and youngest of his children. I had two older
brothers and two older sisters, and my father had used all four of
them carefully to enhance his own wealth and prestige. My mother died
of a fever when I was only seven, so my father raised us alone in a
manner that was both distant and overbearing at the same time. My family, the line of Géroux, was
among the old nobility of the kingdom. While past famines and civil
wars had destroyed several of the ancient families, ours survived. We
were survivors. My father respected strength and nothing else.
His eyes moved dispassionately from
my feet to my face, as if assessing me. I knew only too well what he
saw. I was tall for a woman. He was tall, and I could almost look him
directly in the eyes. Unfortunately, the current fashion for women
was petite and fragile. My hair was long and thick, but it was a
shade of burnished red, and again, red hair was not currently in
fashion. Still, I’d been raised to remain
sharply aware of everything going on around me, and it was no secret
that most men found me desirable. My face had often been called
pretty, with clear skin and slanted eyes of green. I looked best in
green velvet. Though I was not vain, I had also
been raised to understand that survival was based on value, and at
some point, I’d be given a chance to prove myself valuable. Had
that chance finally come? “You’ll need to pack tonight,”
he said. “You leave for Partheney in the morning.” In spite of my careful awareness of
self-control, I nearly gasped. “Partheney?” This was the king’s city. My
family’s lands were in the southeast corner of the kingdom.
Partheney was in the northwest, near the coast of the sea. I had
never been there. “You’re to marry King Rowan,”
my father said flatly. “His mother, the dowager queen, and I have
arranged it.” I stood still as his words began to
sink in, but I still couldn’t quite follow what he was trying to
convey. “King Rowan…the dowager queen…is this why you’ve been
receiving so many messages?” His eyes flashed, and I dropped my
gaze, cursing myself. Father did not brook questions from his
children. He expected only two things from us: strength and
obedience. But the slight shaking in my hands grew to a tremble. Had
I heard him correctly? I was to marry the king? Stepping around the desk, he
approached me. “Do you know anything of the rumors surrounding King
Rowan?”
Unfortunately, I did, hence the
reason my hands trembled. Even here, in the isolated southeast,
rumors still reached us. In his late twenties, Rowan de Blaise was a
young king and had held the throne for only two years. But over those
two years, four betrothals with foreign princesses had been arranged
via proxy. Envoys had been sent to Partheney to finalize
negotiations. In all four cases, when the envoys arrived, Rowan
refused to even see them. He’d sent them away. “I know some of the stories,” I
answered my father. “I know betrothals have been arranged, and he’s
sent the envoys packing.” “Yes.” My father nodded. “His
mother, the dowager, was the one who arranged the betrothals. She is
anxious to see him married and founding a line of heirs.” “Why will he not marry?”
My father waved one hand in the air.
“That is of no matter. What matters is, the dowager has decided to
stop seeking a foreign princess and marry him into one of our own
noble families. She’s wise and has chosen the line of Géroux.
We’ll be linked to royalty, and I’ll be the grandfather of
kings.” The truth of all this hit me, and my
hands ceased trembling. I would be queen. Clearly there were obstacles, but I
allowed my initial worries to vanish and let my mind flow. Father
expected complete success from himself and would expect nothing less
of me. This thought made me brave. “If Rowan has refused to even
see the envoys,” I began, “what makes you and the dowager think
he will agree to entertain negotiations this time?” My question was bold, but instead of
growing angry, Father only looked at me as if I were simple—which I
was not. “Because as I said, you will leave
in the morning,” he answered. “I’m not sending envoys. I have
no faith in envoys. I’m sending you. You’ll go to the castle,
meet the king, and handle negotiations yourself. You are a daughter
of the Géroux. He cannot turn you away.” “You’ll not come with me?” “No. That was
my first instinct, but the dowager believes it best if the king is
given no choice in facing you directly. It will force him to
be…polite.” His expression darkened. “And you will not fail to
secure him. Do you understand? You will not fail.” I met his eyes without flinching. “I understand.”
THROUGH A DARK GLASS
A
Dark Glass Novel Book 1
On her seventeenth
birthday, Megan of Chaumont discovers she’ll be sold as a bride to
the brutish Volodane family—within hours. Her father grants only
that she may choose which one of the ruthless, grasping lord's three
sons she weds:
Rolf, the eldest:
stern, ambitious, and loyal?
Sebastian, the
second son: sympathetic, sly, and rebellious?
Or Kai, the
youngest: bitter, brooding, and proud?
As shy, horrified
Megan flees the welcome dinner for her in-laws-to-be, she finds an
enchanted mirror that will display how her life unrolls with each
man, as if she were living it out in a breath. But there is no smooth
“happily ever after” in her choices.
Deaths and honors,
joys and agonies, intrigues and escapes await her in a remote,
ramshackle keep, where these rough but complex men reveal one side
and then another of their jagged characters—and bring forth new
aspects of Megan, too. But the decisions of one teenaged
marriage-pawn reverberate much farther than any of them have guessed
. . .
I looked nothing like myself. Miriam
had arranged my hair even more elaborately and used a small round
iron on the curls around my face. Then she’d put touches of black
kohl at the corners of my eyes. I wore an amber silk gown with a low,
square-cut neckline that showed the tops of my breasts. I don’t
know where she’d found the gown. It wasn’t mine, and it was much
too small to have fit Helena. I supposed my mother must have had it
made at some point while anticipating its need. However, at the
sight of me, my father beamed. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Seating at
dinner was equally awkward with my father at the head of the table,
my mother and I seated on one side, and all four of the Volodanes
seated on the other—so I had no choice but to look at one of them
when I raised my eyes from my plate of roasted pheasant. None of them
had changed for dinner, and with the exception of Sebastian, they all
wore armor and swords. Jarrod hadn’t bothered to shave his face and
sported a dark stubble. I could almost feel my mother’s discomfort,
but she smiled and made attempts at polite conversation. Only Sebastian responded to her
questions about weather and wild flowers in the northern provinces.
Rolf spoke only to his father or mine. Occasionally, he glanced at me
as if I already belonged to him. I wasn’t listening to any of them.
My heart pounded too loudly in my ears. But then I did hear Rolf say
something about heading back north as soon as he and I were married. A long pause followed, and for the
first time, I paid attention. “It is not settled yet that she
will marry you,” my father finally responded. “Per our agreement,
Megan will choose for herself.” Rolf’s face clouded. “I never
agreed to that. I am the eldest. She will join with me.” Jarrod turned in his chair. “You’ll
do as I tell you! Nothing less and nothing more!” Mother, Father, and I all flinched at
his tone and his unthinkable manner at the table. Rolf’s face went
red, and Sebastian leaned back his chair, smiling. Something about
him was beginning to strike me as sly. He clearly enjoyed his older
brother’s chastisement and discomfort. “Now, now,” he said, dryly. “We
mustn’t seem uncouth.” Kai ignored all this. He ignored
everything but his surroundings. His eyes were light brown like mine,
and they moved from the opulent tapestries on our walls to the peach
roses in silver vases on the table to the porcelain plates and pewter
goblets. Then for the first time, he looked
directly at me. “I fear you’ll
find the furnishings at Volodane Hall somewhat lacking,” he said. His voice dripped with resentment,
and I knew I’d not been wrong in my first assessment. He was angry. His tone was not lost on my mother,
who answered him with a strained smile. “Of course, we’ll be
sending some household things with her, and Megan will give your hall
a woman’s touch.” These words made me wonder what had
happened to Kai’s mother. I’d never asked and no one had
mentioned this, but it seemed I would be the lady of their house. The
very thought ensured I would not manage to eat another bite of
dinner. Kai studied my mother evenly and
breathed out through his teeth. “Our hall won’t be good enough
for her. Nothing of us or ours will be good enough.” Then I realized the source of his
anger. He resented the need for this bargain as much as we did. He
knew that we—and most of the noble houses—looked down upon the
Volodanes, and the last thing he probably wanted was a permanent
reminder in his home of their lowly state in comparison to ours. “Quit!” Jarrod ordered him,
pounding one hand on the table. In obedience, Kai stopped talking and
withdrew back inside himself, ignoring everyone again. Sebastian looked at me and raised one
eyebrow in amusement. I glanced away.
Somehow—and I never quite knew
how—we made it through the rest of dinner.
By the time my mother rose,
signifying the meal was over, my heart pounded in my ears again. I
felt the edge of my self-control slipping away and knew that I had to
gain a few moments to myself or I might possibly do or say something
I’d later regret.
“Please make my excuses,” I said
quietly to Mother. “I will return quickly.” She frowned briefly,
but then her face smoothed in annoyed understanding, and I realized
she most likely thought I needed to relieve myself. I didn’t care
what she thought.
Turning, I fled the dining hall as
fast as I could without running. Upon reaching the passage that led
toward the kitchens, I couldn’t stop myself and broke into a run,
racing in my heavy silk skirts until I reached an open archway in one
side of the passage, just a few doors from the entrance to our
kitchens. There, I took refuge in an old,
familiar hiding place. As a child, I’d come to this
storage room whenever I didn’t wish to be found. It was filled with
crates, casks, and places to hide. No one ever entered except
servants from the kitchens, and none of them ever noticed me secreted
away behind a stack of crates. I hadn’t come here in years, but
now, I breathed in relief at the respite of solitude and the illusion
of safety. Slowly, I sank to my knees. As we were expecting a delivery of
goods any day now, the storage room was nearly half-empty. I didn’t
even attempt to hide behind crates or casks, as I knew I’d have to
return to the hall long before anyone came looking me. A dismal
prospect. What was I going to do? I couldn’t
face the thought of my life married to any of those men. Until this
afternoon, I’d never faced the prospect of marriage at all . . .
but to one of them? I was not a weeper. My parents had never allowed
such an indulgence, and I honestly wasn’t aware I knew how to cry,
but tears came to my eyes and one dripped down my cheek. The water in
my eyes made the following moment even more uncertain than it might
have been. The air in the storage room appeared
to waver. Alarmed, I wiped away my tears, but the motion of the
wavering air grew more rapid, and then...something solid began taking
shape. Jumping up to my feet, I gasped.
There, near the far
wall across the storage room, a great three-paneled mirror now stood
where there had been only empty air an instant before. The thick
frames around each panel were of solid pewter, engraved in the image
of climbing ivy vines. The glass of the panels was smooth and
perfect, and yet I didn’t see myself looking back. Instead, I found myself staring into
the eyes of a lovely dark-haired woman in a black dress. Her face was
pale and narrow, and she bore no expression at all. But there she
was, inside the right panel gazing out me. Was I going mad? Had my
parents driven me mad? “There is nothing to fear,” the
woman said in a hollow voice. I doubted that statement. I feared
for my sanity, but as yet, I’d not found my voice to answer her. “You are at a crossroad,” she
continued, “with three paths.” As she raised her arms, material
from her long black sleeves hung down. “I am bidden to give you a
gift.” Here, sadness leaked into her voice,
especially at the word “bidden,” and my mind began to race. Was
this truly happening?
“You will live out three outcomes .
. . to three different choices,” she said. “Lives with men . . .
connected by blood. Then you will have the knowledge to know . . . to
choose.”
I shook my head. “Wait! What are
you saying?” Lowering both hands to her sides, she
said, “The first choice.”Before I could speak again, the
storage room vanished. Wild fear coursed through me as the world went
black for the span of a breath, and then suddenly I found myself back
in my family’s dining hall, only everything was different. Chairs had been set up in rows, and
guests were seated in them. I wore a gown of pale ivory and held my
father’s arm as he walked me past the guests toward the far end of
the hall. Flowers in tall vases graced that same end, and a local
magistrate stood there with a book in his hands. Beside the magistrate stood Rolf,
wearing his armor and his sword. Turning, he looked at me in grim
determination. He was waiting.
Barb Hendee is the New York Times bestselling author of The Mist-Torn Witches series. She is the co-author (with husband J.C.) of the Noble Dead Saga. She holds a master’s degree in composition/rhetoric from the University of Idaho and currently teaches writing for Umpqua Community College. She and J.C. live in a quirky two-level townhouse just south of Portland, Oregon.
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