Caravanserai (The Chronicles of Alcinia) Historical Fantasy Romance by Miriam Newman ➱ Book Sale Tour with Giveaway
Caravanserai
The Chronicles of Alcinia Book 7
by Miriam Newman
Genre: Historical Fantasy Romance
Her grandmother’s dying words launch Serafina on a quest to find her unknown father. Unable to accept the love of a childhood friend, she nevertheless accepts his company on her journey, but what they discover may lead to a quick trip to an enemy prison.
Excerpt I:
Already tall and broad-shouldered, with a face more striking than pretty, she was becoming a woman. She had to cover herself carefully now, because men were becoming interested. Wildly waving hair from her unknown father, black as midnight, attracted them. The curious, almost greenish color of her eyes so different from dark Domidian eyes drew attention, as did her skin that was lighter than most because of her Havacian blood. It was unseemly for a girl to receive so much notice, and soon Cousin Imrun would select a husband for her. Since her grandfather’s death, he had assumed his place as head of the family, other men having perished in the Great War, and she knew whom Imrun had in mind for her.
Jalal, the young clerk he had taken in from one of the last internment camps to work for him, was nice enough. Secretly, though, she had always suspected Imrun took Jalal not out of charity, but because he envisioned a marriage between them. It was her mother’s money he was after, though not directly, because he feared the Omanis would arrest him if he took it. Instead, he would get it through Jalal’s involvement in her business, which Jalal would take one day on Serafina’s behalf. She would never see a single coin. They would take everything when her mother died and she would be like every other woman she knew except her mother—dependent on a husband, fortunate if he was kind, miserable if he was not, but in any case never free.
If she succeeded in refusing Jalal, which was unlikely, then the alternative would no doubt be a rich old man smelling of garlic and the hookah, who nonetheless would father many children on her, then die when she had passed her years of attractiveness. The law prescribed only that she be left enough money to support her and keep her in her home for a year. One year. Then, if she had not remarried, she would be at the mercy of his sons while they took everything he had owned, which would include everything she brought to the marriage.
They thought she didn’t know. They took her for a stupid girl.
Excerpt II:
No one troubled her as she entered timidly, borne along by a press of women and girls. Men apparently used one on the other side of the long building that housed public baths and toilets. They were utilitarian, but relatively clean, with numerous attendants to take and hold the women’s clothing for a small coin, and Serafina used them, blanching at the necessity but going down into the water with the small vial of oil from the oasis.
Two naked, unconcerned girls smiled at her, speaking to her in a language she didn’t understand, so that all she could do was smile back and shrug.
“You speak Omani?” One of them switched.
She was relieved. “Yes.”
“You are new?”
“Yes.”
Both girls were heavily made up, their eyes outlined with kohl, their hair shiny with oil they were careful not to wash out. The one speaking to her bore tattoos in blue ink that Serafina viewed, fascinated. Roses bloomed and serpents twined up her arms. Domidian women did not wear them. It was forbidden.
“I am Rutka,” she said. “This is my friend Laisa. You wish to make money?”
“I have a job,” Serafina replied.
“Ooh, la,” Rutka said, smiling to take the sting from her expression. “Well, if you want more, the mistress of our house pays well.”
“What kind of house?” she asked suspiciously.
Rutka winked at her. “You know what kind. You have pretty eyes. Men will pay for those.”
“I am married,” Serafina lied.
The other girl was sublimely unconcerned. “Your husband likes money, yes? You will make more in a night than you make in a month anywhere else.”
“He will not let me.” Serafina oiled herself vigorously, feeling it wise to cut this conversation short.
“Well, if you change his mind tonight, come to our house beside the Temple of Memory.”
There was a brothel beside a temple? Well, this was Omana.
“Tell them I sent you,” Rutka went on. “I will get a cut.”
Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals. You can see my books at www.miriamnewman.com.
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