Walls and Ashes - Heir of Scars, Part Two
From Amazon Reviews...
“On the edge of my seat with every page.”
“Jacob Falling has clearly developed a three-dimensional world in his imagination and is able to masterfully convert it to paper for a reader.”
“Again the Author has surpassed my expectations in this book . . . saw a world come to life right before our eyes. The depth of the characters we meet and the stories they themselves tell make this a well rounded and full adventure . . . in such detail you feel as if you are watching a movie within your mind. [It is] amazing how immersed you become in this story.”
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The Story of Walls and Ashes
Three years of her life have passed among the Aesidhe of the southern wilds of Heiland, but now Adria Idonea begins her journey home, memories of joy and fear returning as she makes her way among the people who have been her enemy.
But now?
Not all those who might have been may now prove enemies. And still, Adria feels haunted somehow, distracted by what was, what is, what will be.
Adria, Princess of Idonea, must return to fulfill an oath, but will she return as Royal... or as traitor?
From Walls and Ashes...
She no longer knew how she found her way. Her legs sought the swiftest paths, skirting the foothills that ran the breadth of Heiland, avoiding both the brambles of undergrowth and the shiftiness of loose footing.
Her hands turned limbs subtly aside, and restored her balance with slightness and careful motions. Her mind remained still, her senses sifted the world around her for any sign of danger. And the whole of her body maintained its pace, sure to sustain with little need of rest, and ever still ready for the possibility of violence.
* * *
Adria only once saw her father's sword drawn, and like so many dreams, it would remain only half-remembered. Awakened by a servant she did not know, she looked for Kaye, but saw only men at arms, and turned her head at every motion of torchlight and hurried voices.
And from among them and through her doorway he emerged, blade in hand. He wore his nightclothes, and his long hair was askew and darkened with sweat. He looked her over without expression, with heavy breaths, and might have nodded.
“See to the prince,” her father ordered as he turned a little, motioning men to the doorway.
* * *
Sir Marbury frowned, tapping the fingers of one hand on the tabletop. “They call it the Massacre of Palmill, where the Aesidhe finally revealed their true savagery.”
Adria could not help but swallow, choking on a sudden swelling of anger, though she nodded simply to conceal her indignation.
“Of course, it is the Knights, and the Sisterhood itself, who have spread the story,” Marbury continued. “Their garrisons, schools, and churches grow, and more and more young men and women seem likely to apply for recruitment, as you said.”