Sari - Rise of Trouble Vol. 1: Rise of Trouble, #1

By A. Jane

Princess Sari (pronounced Sharree) wants to be known for one thing: causing trouble wherever she goes. Whether she is frolicking in the sea, dancing in a pub with a tankard of ale held high, or bedding a deliciously sexy pirate. She will allow no one to stand in the way of her adventures. Not the possibility of inheriting her father's crown. Not even that deliciously sexy pirate.

Jayd Lightning happily goes to his doom when he makes the acquaintance of a trouble making seamaid. If only he knew who she really was. Well, mayhap not. Especially if she is a princess. He refuses to fall for a princess. Even if she is his trouble-making seamaid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. Jane
• Release date: Dec 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310139574

A. Jane

The Romance Genre, I love reading it and writing it. Even before I bought my very first romance novel, I would read books that had romantic elements and relationships. There's just something about Happily Ever After that warms my little soul. And of course the stories that rattle around in my head have always been Romance. Even if I think the story might be something else, oh look, is that chemistry between these two characters, well wouldn't they make an interesting couple. It can be a challenge to give voice to the characters I create and bring life to the worlds they live in. But it's a need. Each day is a new adventure and I'm always curious to see how the characters will react to the situations they're placed in, to the other characters as they are introduced. I love writing fantasy romance best. It gives me the freedom to create amazing worlds for my characters to reside in, to allow the imagination complete control -- anything and everything is possible.

Book preview

Sari

Rise of Trouble Volume 1

A. Jane

Smashwords Edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by A. Jane

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

http://ajanefantasy.com/

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Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Ferdinand — Thank you as always for dealing with my middle of the story crazies

Mr. Grumpy Pants — Sorry, I love you, but still no taod spell for you.

Also by A. Jane

Dahré Novels

Golden Boots • Rayn Storm

Rum • Gin • Brothers

Nova Blast

Table of Contents

Penance:

Chapter 1

Seamaid:

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Unwanted:

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Magic:

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

The Borough (Bonus Story):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Penance

1

Royal Palace, Artezan

Gillam nyn Dor stood within The Inbetween staring at the king with death in his eyes as he had been for the past six years. Or was it seven? Time seemed different as a spirit. He had no real way to mark the time, as time existed not within The Inbetween. He knew that his son, Usan, had married Princess Rhedyn of Tartyn, the niece of Tartyn’s queen and the widow of his finest friend, and that Usan had taken on the responsibility of raising her young son as his own. He knew Rhedyn to be a wonderful woman, an adventuresome woman, and despite a rocky beginning, attempting she and Usan were to start a family.

He wished he could feel more joy at the possibility of grandchildren. Instead it filled him with a measurable amount of dread for Ahar had gleefully cursed him to be unseen by both Usan and any son Usan sired.

His hand fisted at his side, self-loathing burning his soul. How many times had this bastard cheated him so? Spell upon spell, curse upon curse, keeping Gillam from being the father, the husband, the man he should have been, that he had wanted to be, keeping him from ending the torment by word or deed.

At least with his death he had been freed of such things.

Gillam tried to soothe himself with the knowledge, regarding that last curse Ahar spun, the one keeping him from Usan, from apologizing to his son in death as he could not do in life, that had he not just taken his spirit form for the first time moments before, he might have been able to block it.

It did little good. ‘Twas just another excuse.

Ever the fool.

Ever the loser.

What magik he held as a spirit, what remained with him in death, flared out with his rage. Several medicinal bottles rattled on the bedside table and crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling their contents. It did naught to appease him. He wanted to strike out, to attack the king. He wanted to tear him apart piece by piece until all that was left was a bloody mess.

Know I do you are there. Ahar cackled, then started coughing, his body heaving. That fucking woman. Think she could wound him? Once he was healed, he would teach her a lesson. Come to torment me again? Do your worst, but never will it be enough.

Gillam calmed himself and pulled on that same flare of nyn Dor magik to step forward from The Inbetween. You speak true: never will it be enough. Deserve you do much worse than ever I could give you, but it ceases not my attempts. The day The Firedaimon takes you, I will dance upon your corpse.

Know you the joy it has been thwarting Barret’s will? The pleasure I took ruining your life?

My son will take the throne and eventually his heir.

Ahar cackled again, a terrible, rusted sawing. "Morhg will take the throne and we both know who his father is."

Gillam smiled, his eyes filled with malicious glee. Not you.

Of course he is!

Oh no, indeed not. He is no more yours than I was. He knew not if that was so, if he were Ahar’s son; Barret always refused to confirm such a thing, even to him, her own child. But who was he to countermand her? And why would he want to claim Ahar as father? Besides, it was always a pleasure to rub that in.

Bastard! Ahar struggled to sit up, his face throbbing with his fury. He hated being reminded of such trickery. Barret’s father had misled him until ‘twas too late. She had not needed his seed or essence. It mattered not who fathered her child, her child would be the one to take the throne.

Mayhap, but better is that than carrying your blood. My mother thought so. Of course, knowing how oft you spread your seed about and no children to show for it, wager I would that ‘tis useless. You are naught but a... He scratched his chin in thought. "I believe the word I desire is Delicate. You are naught but a Delicate with your incomplete essence. But then a true nyn Dor you are not."

He is my son. Morhg is mine!

Gloriously not. Nor is the vile beast Usan’s get. I know not who his father is, though he held his suspicions, but I do know this: never will Morhg take the throne. I will make certain of it, even if I must go to the Keepers.

"You? HA!"

Gillam walked over and pressed a finger against the wound that had brought the king low. A wound inflicted by a woman. Gillam knew, that for Ahar, it was a vicious insult added to the injury. Ahar hid it from those who mattered, but the wound had become infected. Putrefied. The healers he brought in, for he refused to have a Keeper aid him—though Gillam doubted a Keeper would give Ahar aid—were stumped. The wound would not heal.

Of course the healers knew not that they were up against more than just a wound. They were dealing with an enraged spirit who would not allow the wound to heal.

He pressed his finger harder. ‘Twas the finest of music hearing Ahar’s choked off gurgles of pain.

The Keepers, they hold the ability to commune with spirits. Even without them, if need be, I could make myself present and offer a whisper into the right ears. ‘Twould not be hard to have that beast put down. Never will I allow him to be king.

Without me, you have no way of coming forward.

Gillam pressed down harder, twisting his finger this way and that, digging it in deep. I need you not for such a thing. Again, a true nyn Dor you are not, and so not the one bringing me forward.

"Liar!"

"I bring myself forward, not you. Only do you know I am there by a vague shadow drifting about the room. A true nyn Dor would hold the ability to actually see me standing before them in The Inbetween. They would hear me, speak to me. Had you not cursed it to be so, contact I would have made with my son, explained all you did to me. He would now know that Morhg is not his, that he is only enchanted to believe so. He would know of the lies you told, of the curses and spells you placed upon me, keeping me from being his father, from protecting him. He would know you killed my mother, the true Queen of Artezan, that you caused my death. He would know that you are not his grandfather, that only are you a false king placed upon the throne because of a foolish agreement enacted by my grandfather. So much would he know and doubt I do that I would be the one killing you this night."

I forb…

Gillam stopped Ahar’s words, stopped any further possibility with a hand over the king’s mouth. Seeing Ahar’s eyes mock him, Gillam broke. He was going to kill him. As he should have done so long ago. Already was he dead and destined for The Firebreath, what was one more foul deed?

The spells you placed upon me while I lived have broken, no longer do you control me.

It must have shown on his face what he planned for him because Ahar no longer mocked, but grew panicked. Grinning, Gillam used his other hand to pinch closed Ahar’s nose. When Ahar tried to scream, Gillam laughed, and pressed down harder.

Ahar slapped at him, but he held on.

In need you are of understanding a few things, vile beast. Since the day you killed me, my magik I have stored, grown it in strength year after year. You may have kept me from appearing before my son, but never did you forbid me from using my connection to him to draw strength from.

As Ahar thrashed against the bed, Gillam climbed on top of him, using more power to keep the king from drawing breath. A wildness surged through him, an uncivilized predator let loose. Mad chortles slipped free as he watched Ahar struggle.

He leaned down so the king could hear him, his smile reaching from ear to ear. "You may have placed a curse to keep me from Usan, from any son Usan may have, but you forgot one small, though very important, detail. The nyn Dor magik, it travels the female line. Always has it. From the very first nyn Dor woman, the magik has been hers. ‘Tis strongest in the women, free for their taking. Does Usan or any of his sons have a daughter, I will be there. I will be there, and the truth will be told. All that you wrought will be undone. The nyn Dors will once more embrace their natures and flourish."

Ahar’s struggles waned, the sounds he made faded to naught but muffled whimpers, but Gillam continued to hold on, watching, waiting for the very moment when the life was extinguished from the other man’s eyes.

"Other than the day I married Vylla and the birth of my children, this right here, this will be my fondest memory. Killing you will be what sustains me, even when I finally find myself within The Firebreath. This memory will make the torment I receive but a frolic through a meadow. And you should know, never will you be missed. The citizens will rejoice with your death, hold celebration. As will they rejoice and celebrate Morhg’s death."

Feeling Ahar’s life end, seeing the emptiness in his eyes, Gillam climbed off the king, straightened his coat, brushed nonexistent lint off his shoulders, and returned to The Inbetween to wait for what was surely to come. He sat in a chair upon the other side of the room, preparing himself to see The Firedaimon. It was a rare time when the Master did not appear to escort the very vilest of souls to The Firebreath. He wondered if he should run, to keep from The Firedaimon’s sight so all that he told Ahar would come to pass, but to see the look upon Ahar’s face when he realized where he was going? The lure was too strong.

"You murdered me!" Ahar’s spirit screamed as it arose from the body.

"The irony of such a statement. One would think that never did you murder me. Or Her Majesty. Or all the other countless fools who saw not your vile black heart until their spirits arose. Met them I have. All those you stole the life from. If The Firedaimon is slow to arrive, you may wish to start running, for the moment these spirits hear of your passing they will converge upon this room and seek their vengeance. Over and over will they seek their vengeance. Considering that already are you dead, they need not ever stop."

’Tis you who will die over and over.

Ahar rushed towards Gillam, who remained seated and calm. Gillam held no fear of the other spirit. Holding up a hand, Ahar slammed into a wall of magik.

You have no power here, cur.

"You bastard! You filthy, worthless bastard. Never should I have allowed your mother to have you. Every instinct told me I should have kicked her in the stomach! Ahar fought against what kept him from the other spirit. I will make you pay."

There is naught more you can do to me, you seem not to understand this.

Always do I find it fascinating when spirits fight. The Firedaimon walked into the room. His head tilted to the side as he stared, black eyes dancing with pinpoints of flame.

If Gillam still breathed, he knew his breath would have shuddered, his heart would have trebled in time. He stood and waited. This was it. The Firedaimon had come. All he had hoped to do, to offer the needed apologies would never come. He supposed it best. He doubted very much his wife or children would ever care to hear just how sorry he was.

His eyes froze on the Master of The Firebreath. He was huge. The man towered over him in height, and beat him in breadth of shoulder. Fuck, his limbs were that of a child compared to The Firedaimon’s.

With his concentration broken, Ahar was able to rush at him. The pain he felt when Ahar struck him was naught more than previous strikes he suffered from him, but it startled him and his head snapped back. He