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Warriors of the Mists, Tome 3: Honor's Price



Description ajoutée par feedesneige 2017-10-14T21:35:27+02:00

Résumé

Cursed by the gods. Bound by brotherhood. Freed by love.

The Warriors of the Mist have fought side by side for centuries, but Kane alone has felt something darker calling to him. With the Kingdom of Agathia on the brink of rebellion, Kane knows that relying on dark magic to infiltrate the enemy’s court is dangerous but necessary despite the cost to his soul.

Lady Theda hopes to end the tyrannical reign of Duke Keirthan, the man who killed his own brother—Theda’s husband. But she has little hope of succeeding, until a mage-marked warrior appears.

For the first time in centuries, Kane is tempted not by dark magic, but by a woman who wants more than his protection. But with both of their hearts—and her people’s lives—in jeopardy, giving in to their passion may be a risk too great to take…

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Chapter 1

It had been three days since Kane first rode through the arched gates of Agathia, capital of the kingdom with the same name. He already hated everything about the place: the throngs of people, the constant noise, and especially the spicy miasma of dark magic that permeated every corner of the city.

During the daylight hours, he slept. Afternoons he prowled the streets, memorizing the layout of the city. Knowing which walls could be scaled and where the guards dozed while on duty could make the difference between life and death if his mission were to go badly.

His nights were spent visiting taverns to gauge the mood of the patrons. They definitely weren’t happy, not with the heavy dose of sour fear mixed with the usual smells of greasy food and cheap wine.

He’d hoped to cross paths with Duke Keirthan’s personal guard while they were off duty. Yet he hadn’t seen any in the places he’d been so far, and it wouldn’t be prudent to ask strangers to direct his footsteps. In this city, anyone who showed too much interest in the duke’s men was likely to end up dead.

The Broken Sword was the fourth such place he’d been in tonight, but this time he planned to stay awhile. Long enough to finish a second tankard of ale, maybe even a third.

He looked around the crowded room. Had all of these fine citizens of Agathia taken to drinking in reaction to the growing evil trapped within the city walls? Kane felt sure it wasn’t the quality of the food that drew them to this piss pot. He choked down another bite of the greasy stew and shoved the bowl aside.

At least he had a table to himself. Several people had started to sit down with him but had quickly changed their minds. Evidently, Agathians were reluctant to share space with a man who bore a mage mark on his cheek and had eyes the color of death.

Fine with him. The company of strangers always made his skin crawl.

The evening’s entertainment was about to start, the real reason Kane was there. Averel, the newly hired troubadour, sat in the far corner, tuning his lute and warming up his voice for his debut performance in the city. Two oversized dogs lay sprawled at his feet, their relaxed air deceptive. One hostile move toward their master and these people would learn all too quickly how much damage a pair of war dogs could do.

Kane leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the crowd while keeping a wary eye on the young musician. There was a definite air of innocence about the youth. Most of these fools probably thought the calluses on Averel’s hands came from hours of plucking the strings on his lute. In truth, they’d come from years of gripping the pommel of a sword.

If Kane hadn’t spent centuries of fighting side by side with the young knight, he might well have bought the innocent act himself. However, despite their long friendship, tonight they were strangers to each other. He’d keep his distance to minimize the chance of someone noticing the two of them shared the same unusual eye color. Those who clung to the old superstitions would say they’d been marked by the gods.

They would be right.

Both Kane and Averel served the Lord and Lady of the River. Along with their captain and two other warriors, they were the Warriors of the Mist or, as Kane actually preferred, they were simply called the Damned. The gods had sent them to make this land safe for Lady Merewen, the woman who’d risked everything to call the warriors from their sleep beneath the river back on the spring equinox.

Averel headed toward the small platform in the front of the room. Silence followed in his footsteps as he made his way through the jumble of tables and benches. By the time he took a seat on a tall stool, every eye in the room was on him. Kane would have hated that, but Averel took all the attention in stride.

It seemed as if everyone was leaning forward a bit, anxious for the performance to begin. No doubt in these dark days, the promise of any entertainment was a welcome diversion. Even a poor musician would serve the purpose; tonight they were in for a surprise.

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