MUSE MONDAY
Muse Monday welcomes Darcy Carson with a taste of her novel, She Wakes the Night.
Blurb:
Trell Langois escapes a thousand-year-old curse. Being trapped as a tree wasn’t on her bucket list, but now she can continue as a healer. Traveling with her dragon, Torkel, she seeks out new cures to help others and meets Gren, an unfortunate soul who suffers from a dreadful disease.
Gren Oyg Har is a prince on a mission. In order to rule his father’s kingdom, he must find a healer. Not just any healer, mind you, but one with a dragon. Yet, it is Trell who finds and rescues Gren, but wants nothing to do with him. If not for Torkel, she would leave him behind.
Separate goals soon become entangled, and both Trell and Gren are on their way to falling in love until secrets better kept hidden become known—and threaten to destroy all they hold dear.
Excerpt:
The music wove a powerful spell around
her, and she wasn’t alone.
Rapt Fezners sat on the steps of their
wagons or stood beneath trees with their heads cocked, listing to the music.
And
Torkel flew overhead.
She could almost hear a purr of delight
emanating from the dragon through mindspeech.
Farther away, where the Fezner horses were
tethered, the animals stomped the ground or whinnied in protest. She held her
breath. The horses sensed a predator—Torkel.
“Do not stop him,” the dragon
mindspoke as if he fathomed her concerns. “He does not play often enough.”
“How close did you fly?” She held her
stomach in dread. “No, don’t answer. I have no wish to know. Fly back to the
dragon circle.”
“I cannot. A force calls to me. I can’t decide
if it is the music or something else.”
In spite of her misgivings, Torkel’s
repentant tone elicited a grin from her. “I can’t stress the danger. Gren
already suspects that a dragon is nearby,” she reminded her friend. “This
is dangerous for you. You’re being selfish. If you won’t worry about yourself,
think about the dragonets. They are too young to protect themselves.”
“See what you have done,” he
mindspoke back, dodging her protest.
“What?”
“The music. The human stopped
playing. ‘Tis all your fault.”
Trell shook her head. Sometimes… “Return to the dragon circle, if you dislike my methods.”
“I
follow where you go.”
She gave up and paused to listen. Sure
enough, the sounds returned to normal where people conversed with one another.
The stomp of iron-hooves striking the ground added a low tremor as they
continued to nicker.
Squaring her shoulders, Trell replaced
the lantern to where she found it. She put water on the fire and wiggled under
the wagon. Gren sat with his legs crossed, the flute in his lap.
“You must be weary,” she said. “I
didn’t expect you to play while I was away.”
“I missed you, and playing allowed the
time pass quicker.”
Her heart fluttered at his flowery
words. “How do you feel? I’ve put a kettle on for Grandmother Lurri’s tea. I could
make you some chamomile as well.”
“That’s unnecessary,” he answered. “My
neck is just stiff, is all.”
“Allow me to make you feel better while
the water heats.” She reached for him.
He jerked back. “Touching me is
unwise.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, continuing
to scramble over to him. Her fingers brushed over his neck and shoulders. Much
to her surprise, his muscles felt like the cords of a warrior, not those of a
sick man.
He scrambled away and stretched his arm
to prohibit her from getting closer. “Stay back.”
That fleeting touch caused a tingle to
run up her fingers like warm water. The sensation flowed up her arms, seeping
into all her pores until her head spun.
How sick was he? The disease caused a
person to lose extremities due to repeated injuries and infection. They had to
be amputated. Some people died within five years, others lasted for several
decades. No one knew why.
She liked Gren and wanted to help him. Yet
she was sure he hid something from her. How sick was he? Or was he sick at all?
She hated having doubts. His feelings mattered to her. It wasn’t fair such a
kind, decent man suffered. She watched him tuck away the flute with care. A
task hampered by rags covering his large hands. Yet those same hands created
beautiful music.
She eyed him and smiled. “I would say you
have magic in your hands.”
“What do you mean?” He repeated her
earlier words.
“You create powerful music. It brings joy
to all who hear.”
She examined the back of his head from
under her lashes as if her gaze could pierce his ragged cowl. His music tugged
at her heart with its appeal, but something deeply earthy pulled her to the man
himself.
That was just wrong.
Author bio:
Award-winning
author Darcy Carson grew up reading everything her mother brought home from the
library. Reading romances became her favorite genre. Eventually, her love for
those novels led her to start writing them. She resides in in a Seattle suburb
with her husband and a prince of a toy poodle.
