The Scars of Her Past: Legends of Cirena, #5

By Stephanie Flint

The gods won't let her forget the past...

 

Alia is a merchant with a dark secret—

 

A scar she's desperate to put behind her.

 

With her business partner's stall positioned in one of the most celebrated festivals in the city of the gods, she has a chance of finally earning enough money to start her own caravan and forget her time as an undercover agent.

 

But not everyone likes the gods, and mage-hating extremists plot to destroy the city—

 

And its innocent inhabitants.

 

When a goddess requests Alia's help in rooting out the threat, Alia plans to pass the job to the city guard.

 

She's no longer a soldier.

 

Still, when she runs into the man responsible for her past scars—and possibly for the current threat—can she afford to stand aside?

 

Investigate the menace to the city of the gods... read The Scars of Her Past today!

 

 

~ Each of these Legends of Cirena stories can be read stand-alone: ~

 

* The Wind Mage of Maijev (Livena)
* The Gryphon and the Mountain Bear (Nuaka)
* The Restless Sands of Neel (Ro'nor)
* The Cursed Halls of Kalecen (Hahven)
* The Scars of Her Past (Alia)
* The Dragons of the Mist (Zynia)

 

~ Crossovers (It will help to have read the previous stories involving the featured characters): ~

 

* The Wind Mage and the Wolf - Features Livena (The Wind Mage of Maijev) and Nuaka (The Gryphon and the Mountain Bear)
* The Trial of Bells and Blood - Features Hahven (The Cursed Halls of Kalecen) and Alia (The Scars of Her Past)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinitas Publishing
• Release date: May 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393699002

Stephanie Flint

Stephanie Flint (formerly Stephanie Bibb) graduated from the University of Central Missouri with a Bachelor of Science in photography and a minor in creative writing. She merged the two interests into book cover design and photographic illustration, but she particularly enjoys writing speculative fiction. Stephanie lives with her husband, Isaac. Together they plot stories in the form of tabletop role-play games, and they enjoy the occasional cosplay. Online, Stephanie often goes by the nickname of SBibb.

Book preview

The Scars of Her Past

A Novella from the Legends of Cirena

by Stephanie Flint

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

Copyright 2020 by Stephanie Flint

Formatting and cover design by Stephanie Flint

Daz assets used in the cover design

All rights reserved. Published by Infinitas Publishing.

infinitaspublishing.com

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Acknowledgements

Newsletter

About the Author

Glossary

Also by the Author

ONE

Alia swept her foot low to the ground, her boot connecting with the shin of a bandit. He yelped and crashed in a bank of snow. Before the blasted thief had a chance to get up, she slammed her weight into his back and pinned him to the ground.

Hatar... rope please? She stuck her hand out, waiting.

Her business partner coughed into the crook of his arm before tossing her a bolt of rope. "I knew it would be handy having your skills on the road, but I hadn’t expected the delight that is this." He turned in a slow circle, gesturing to the three other bandits hogtied around a merchant wagon.

A minute later, trussing complete, Alia hauled herself to her feet. Four bandits now lay in the snow a few feet from the wheels of the wagon. It wasn’t her wagon they had attacked, but upon seeing a lone merchant traveling the road to Sastae in need of help... well... she supposed Hatar was right. She hadn’t forgotten her roots, never mind that she was now a merchant.

A full-fledged merchant, not an ex-soldier.

She scowled at the bandits. Hopefully they were feeling a bit cold in their hind quarters for their troubles.

One of them stared at her with wide eyes. Where in the Trickster’s name did you come from, lady?

Alia merely squared her jaw and tramped between the bandits, ignoring their questions and curses before hopping onto the wagon’s backboard. Inside, pale winter light filtered through the oiled canvas overhead, casting a soft haze on numerous crates. Packed straw surrounded everything. She started inside—

Wait! The crates are volatile! I’ll cooperate but please don’t hurt me—

Alia frowned, swiveling toward a scrawny young woman who huddled under heavy furs.

The crates were volatile?

Explained the straw, then. With that accent, the lady was probably Maijevan. They tended toward alchemy to avoid magic. She must have been an alchemist, or a merchant selling alchemical goods. Perhaps she might even be stationed next to Alia in Sastae...

Hopefully not. Alia didn’t want to deal with an explosive tent. Thank Edéa that Hatar never wanted to transport the more reckless reagents.

The bandits have been taken care of, ma’am, Alia said firmly. You are free to go on your way.

The lady blinked at her with large, green eyes. You’re... not a bandit?

No. My partner and I were coming up on the crossroad when we saw your wagon under attack. We stopped to help.

The lady pulled herself up between the crates, her hand quickly moving from inside her cloak. Alia tensed, but when the lady removed her hand, it was empty. Perhaps she had thought to draw a knife when the bandits came. Not particularly helpful if she wasn’t trained, but not unexpected.

She slipped through the crates to the back of the wagon, and then whistled softly. By Veryona... you really did take care of them! She burst out laughing, a hand to her chest in relief.

A cold wave washed through Alia.

Veryona...

She forced a smile, trying to stave off the nervous jitters in her fingers. Not all Maijevans were glorified cultists who wanted to kill mages. Not all of them would fight her because she managed to make them mad, never mind that she had no magic for herself. The scar on her arm itched, and she refused the urge to scratch it. Veryona was a common point of worship for the Maijevans—or non-worship, as it was.

Mentioning her didn’t mean this lady worked for the Children of Veryona.

Alia took a deep breath, shifting her thoughts away from the past. Unless there is anything else you need, ma’am, my partner and I should be on our way. We still have a ways to travel to reach Sastae, and we need to set up for the festival.

The lady looked over her shoulder, surprise on her face as if she still had not quite processed that the bandits were no longer a threat. She nodded. Of course, of course. Here... She dug through the crates before coming to a slender wooden box with intricate, stylized designs. "I have no tovanor to offer as thanks, but since you are a merchant, you can sell this. It should be worth at least a couple hundred noree." She propped open the silver latch to a gleaming set of fine silverware, all tucked in rich green velvet.

Alia held up her hand. There’s no need to—

I insist. The woman smiled weakly. Without your help, I wouldn’t be able to make my delivery on schedule. I’m being paid extra if it arrives in a timely fashion. She snapped the lid shut and pushed the box into Alia’s arms. I will not accept ‘no.’ If you will not take it, then I shall simply leave it in the snow, and that would be a shame, would it not?

Alia sighed. She was no longer a soldier. She didn’t have to worry about bribes. And, technically, this was a reasonable trade. Thank you. Though... perhaps a bodyguard would be less expensive in the future?

The woman merely quirked her head and shrugged. Normally I don’t run into many problems. My cargo isn’t usually valuable. But I am glad you were here. Saved me the trouble of having to deal with the bandits myself. She bowed her head politely and returned to the front of the wagon, settling to the reins.

Alia shifted uneasily. Either the woman was too cocky for her own good, or she had something up her cloak more useful than a first glance suggested. All these crates...

Were they really just volatile chemical reagents? She paused as she worked her way out the back, glimpsing the writing on one of the