Choices Meant For Kings Epic Fantasy by Sandy Lender: When their god needed a protector, she chose yes. ➱ Book Tour with Rafflecopter
When their god needed a protector, she chose yes.
Choices Meant For Kings
The Choices Trilogy Book 2
by Sandy Lender
Genre: Epic Fantasy
There’s no doubt: Amanda Chariss is in danger. Her geasa is hampered by the effects of a doomed wedding. The dashing Nigel Taiman hides something from her, yet demands she stay at his family’s estate where he and her wizard guardian intend to keep her safe. But the sorcerer Lord Drake and Julette The Betrayer know she’s there, and their monstrous army marches that way.
When prophecies stack up to threaten an arrogant deity, Chariss must choose between the dragon that courts her and the ostracized kings of the Southlands for help. Evil stalks her at every turn and madness creeps over the goddess who guides her. Can an orphan-turned-Protector resist the dark side of her heritage? Or will she sacrifice all to keep her god-charge safe?
Choices Meant For Kings is Book Two in the Choices Trilogy!
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Choices Meant For Gods
The Choices Trilogy Book 1
Not even the gods noticed when Amanda Chariss was born with the mark of The Protector. Now she and her wizard guardian hide from a mad sorcerer in a household full of false hope and whispered secrets. The same god who watches over the family school sheltering Chariss will soon reveal her role in an impending war.
When a wizard’s ward sets aside a lifetime of running and fear to accept the responsibilities of guarding an arrogant deity, can she face the trials in the prophecies they uncover? Will Nigel Taiman of her latest refuge dare to use his dragon heritage to bind her to his estate or to help her in her duty?
Choices Meant for Gods is Book One in the Choices Trilogy!
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Excerpt
Action
scene from chapter 34 of Choices Meant for Kings
In the chamber far above, Nigel stopped his pacing and glared down at this scene. He didn’t need a full grasp of what the geasa could or couldn’t do; he didn’t need a full understanding of his or his mother’s power. He felt immense energy radiating off the man standing before his bride. With a growl, he stepped back into the room and ripped his shirt from his body. Enough with waiting on the blasted dragon.
He
would force the change.
On
the field of battle below, the man of power droned, “Amanda Chariss Derdriu.
Jamieson Drake requests an audience with you.”
Chariss
frowned. The battle still raged outside this circle of uneasy calm, yet she
could hear his words clearly. Did he speak in her mind?
Great, she thought. How many voices am I going to carry around in here?
“Julette?”
she asked aloud, as if truly questioning the man.
It
wasn’t the response he expected. “I beg your pardon?”
His
voice was laced with the same arrogance and pride Julette’s had been, but it
resonated with a firmer grasp on lucidity. This man wasn’t just powerful and
aggressive; he was sane.
Not
a good combination.
She
wondered where Julette had picked him up. He didn’t look like someone from
Arcana or its nearby villages. His eyes were too pale, his skin too light; his
scent was too sickeningly sweet like burnt honey and ginger. She wondered if
his long pale hair, now mashed in wet chunks against his scalp, ever got in his
eyes and distracted him from his spell-weaving.
“You
sound like Julette,” she said. “When she made her pathetic attempt to grab me
in Arcana City earlier this summer, she greeted me the same way you just did.”
He
watched her a moment, his pale eyes taking her in, letting her catch her breath
because he had no fear of her at full strength. Then he let his lips play into
a vicious smile. “How quaint. And to answer the question you were so impolite
to think, Julette ‘picked me up’ in Lorendell. You’ve heard that there are many
sorcerers there, have you not?”
“I’ve
heard. But I’ve never been there myself.”
“Pity.
You’ll never get to go. I don’t think she plans to take you anywhere but the
dark spirit world where she plans to let you writhe in a slow, painful,
agonizing death in the flames of—”
It
surprised him that she rolled her eyes as if bored with his threat. It
surprised him more when she reached up to take a barrette out of her soaked
hair as if completely disinterested with the list of adjectives he used to
describe her demise. And then he found a shiny blade darting toward him.
He’d
not even seen her hand move. He had no idea she possessed the thing. The sword
was what he’d been watching. The sword was what he expected her to swing at
him. By the gods, the wench had just flung a tiny dagger into his eye. With
amazing accuracy. Its blade sliced through the meat of his eyeball, digging
quickly and cleanly through the iris, embedding itself in a bolt of pain and
cold, then hot liquid running out his eye socket.
He
roared, but she was already upon him, the scent of wet lavender engulfing him.
There was the move he had expected. The sword coming across at the downward
angle, sloping where he could counter it. He reached out to grab her by the
hair, but the long auburn tresses were so drenched with rain that they clung to
her body, and he couldn’t get hold of them. His vision seemed to stutter. He
could only see out of one eye now, and that made defending oneself more
difficult.
Well,
it would only be difficult if one didn’t have the gift of sorcery to be one’s
eyes.
He
blocked his mind to the pain and focused on blocking the blows with which she
assaulted him. Yes, Julette had prepared him well for this part of the
confrontation. The girl was skilled with the blade. The heavy skirts clinging
to her legs like drowning sacks of boulders did nothing to slow her.
With
a grimace of disgust, he realized she couldn’t be bested without putting some
sort of spell on either her mind or her arm. So, he selected one. One that
would burn, just to retaliate for the eye he’d have to mend.
Winters
of training with the world’s greatest wizard leave a geasa’n with the ability
to sense spells before they hit. Chariss ducked.
She
understood sorcerers’ power more than this man knew. He bellowed with anger
when his spell shot past her as if it were a beam of light, traveling in a
straight line, unable to bend, but radiating out the further it moved from its
source. Thus, when it hit the Dreorfahn soldiers behind her, it hit three of
them.
The
three felt their limbs become heavy and sluggish, felt their bodies become like
the anchors used on the ships in Arcana’s harbor. Then their bodies started to
burn…from the inside out.
Their
screaming and dropping to writhe alarmed Chariss, but she was focused on the
sword fight before her. “Oh, that wasn’t very nice,” she cooed as she brought
Lyric up to deflect the next spell he flung at her.
The
nature of her response, the taunting tone in her sing-song voice belied a
confidence she didn’t feel. All this being had to do was slip one spell past
her defense moves and she’d be caught. Oh,
why can’t Mahsilette be in this fight? And where is Malachi?
“Afraid,
little one?” the man asked, mock sincerity dripping from his voice. “No one’s
coming to your rescue. Surrender now and I’ll let you stay conscious while we
take you to Drake.”
Chariss
certainly didn’t like the sneer he sported. It gave the distinct impression
that she’d be better off unconscious on such a journey, without a sorcerer’s
spells torturing her flesh every step of the way.
I’ve got to kill this man.
He
heard her thought, threw back his head and roared with laughter.
Good distraction.
To
the horror of every Arcanan soldier who watched, Chariss threw her arms around
the neck of the enemy and plunged them both over the cliff at their side.
Excerpt
Romantasy
scene from chapter 5
When Chariss sat down on the floor of Hleo-Arcana’s parlor and scooted up close to a low table, Nigel sat on the couch and watched her speak to one of the Ungol in the being’s native tongue. A guard came in with blank parchment, feather, and ink that she’d requested, and she thanked the man.
“You’re
very efficient so late at night,” she said to him, and he beamed under the
compliment. “Please get some rest, Soldier.”
He
saluted and marched out of the parlor as if going to bed was an important
order. Nigel marveled at how she could have that effect on them. Rohne, as the
highest active god in Mahriket, had been an authority when He put her in charge
after the wedding, but these warriors seemed to have been already in her
command. He watched her sketch out a diagram of what looked like the ground
floor of Hleo-Arcana and remembered Kaylin once saying to Hrazon something
along the lines of, “I don’t think
Chariss can draw very well, can she?”
He
chuckled to himself, and received a wan glance from her. He thought her eyes
lingered across his frame a bit longer than necessary before she looked back to
her task, and wondered how he could suggest that she stop for the night and get
some sleep. She was obviously exhausted.
But
she got her point across to the Ungol, who seemed content to take the makeshift
map of Nigel’s house to whomever she’d created it for.
“You
know, you got the rooms all reversed on that map you just drew,” he said.
“I
know,” she yawned.
Now
Chariss looked over at him and wondered if it was the candlelight or the
moonlight filtering in the windows that made his eyes look marvelously dark in
this room of pleasant, cool colors. The blues and grays of the carpet and
upholstery reflected silvery light onto his body of dark fabrics as he smiled
at her, teasing her, she knew.
He
wore his customary black trousers but traded his white gauze shirt for a
dark-hued one—something deep blue and dark enough that it brought out the dark
brown strands of his hair that curved easily about his ears and neck. The
lighter strands kissed by the suns of summer work wove delicately amid the
curls and curves, almost hiding softly like a youth’s tresses would. But Nigel
was a twenty-eight-winters man who carried the weight of his family’s estate on
his well-formed shoulders.
“And
the kitchen doesn’t have a door where you drew it.” His deep voice shook her
from her reverie.
“I
know.”
He
leaned forward on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees. “And you
completely left off Loetha and Lahs’s room.”
She
merely grinned, laying her head down on her hands on the table. When he leaned
forward as he did now, his dark hair fell to frame his face and made a lovely
painting to stare at. She liked the way his high cheekbones sloped down gently
toward a clean-shaven, squared chin. He looked the part of a strong gentleman,
yet one who’d already seen enough trouble to recognize it when it came knocking
again.
“So,
what good exactly is a map that’s drawn so poorly?” he asked.
“Well,”
she said, trying to clear her mind to respond. “That map is going to be left
strategically close to the barn, and Denan Dreor is going to escape tonight.”
He
blinked. “You’re letting him escape?”
“That’s
what I told the Ungol guard to let happen.”
He
stared at her incredulously. “But isn’t that what Julette wants?”
Her
grin turned mischievous then, and she shifted herself so she could move the
short space to him. Smiling up into his eyes, she leaned up to take him
completely by surprise with a simple kiss on his mouth. It caused her stomach
to tighten in a way that surprised and pleased her. “Sometimes, you have to
give people what they want,” she said.
He
laughed lightly. “Nice. You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well,
it’s working beautifully, but I still want to know why you’d send a spy off to
Julette when that spy can tell her everything she wants to know.”
Chariss
thought about his question for a moment, but found herself thinking more about
his lips, which seemed an odd circumstance to her. She furrowed her brow. “I’m
sorry, could you ask that again?”
He
chuckled and reached down to lift her onto the couch.
Excerpt from CMFG
The
dragon on the balcony scene, from Chapter 16
Now she sensed someone approach. All
her muscles tensed as she watched through the strip of space between the
curtain and doorframe. And when a small dragon landed with a click-click of its
claws on the stone balcony rail, she put her hand to her mouth to keep from
gasping aloud.
It’s
a baby dragon!
The thing couldn’t have been four
feet tall, sitting there fussing with its oversized wings. It seemed to have
difficulty getting the webbing to fold nicely against its sides. In fact, it
seemed to have so much difficulty that it lost its balance and nearly fell
backward. She could imagine it cursing if it had a voice, by its agitated
hop-and-bounce to the balcony floor, which proved more stable.
She watched all of this with
fascination, not afraid, but surprised. Dragons are extinct, how is this
real? The last sighting was, by the gods, five hundred winters ago.
Its feet reminded her of any
reptile, only this creature’s small claws would some day be brutal scythes. The
dark scales on the feet blended into rich blue and purple hues with black
overtones as she followed their pattern up the muscled legs to the creature’s
belly.
This was obviously the part of the
body slayers had targeted for centuries. Her own fingernails could pierce this
supple-looking skin. Hopefully the skin would toughen with age and darken to
match the rest of its body. For now, the tan underbelly would certainly stand
out against a night sky, even if the glistening young scales didn’t.
As the creature continued to fuss
with its wings, Chariss watched it tuck its elongated face around to scratch
its back. It was hard to believe the scales would have nerve endings to feel an
itch, much less the scratching meant to relieve the annoyance. It leaned on its
right front leg for support as it rubbed its chin against the left wing. And
when all the motion, combined with not-properly-folded wings, knocked it off
balance, she giggled.
The creature would definitely curse
if it had a voice. It was scrambling to regain its footing and lift off from
the narrow balcony. Unfortunately, it would have to coordinate itself to hop to
the railing before its wingspan would allow it to take flight. Chariss took
advantage of its frantic attempts at escape to capture it from behind.
“Hrazon will have my head for this,”
she muttered, but stepped onto the stone balcony and scooped up the mass of
flailing reptile. It flailed all the more, its weak tail wrapping and slapping
the backs of her legs, and emitted a strangled barking sound.
“Hey, be quiet!” she admonished,
rearranging her arms to hold its forelegs down against its body. “You’re going
to tear a wing if you don’t settle down. And stop making that noise!”
Modern
Music in an Epic Fantasy
From
Fantasy Author Sandy Lender
Thank you for letting me “talk” about music on the blog
today! This topic came to me because an editor asked me what writer or character[s], from either books or movies,
has had a major impact on my writing. While I mentioned some of the
authors—like Charlotte Bronte—who have influenced my writing, I’d be remiss if
I didn’t dive into what a huge impact music and music theory has on my writing.
A couple reviewers have pointed out I sometimes have a lyrical or
sing-song style to my writing in the Choices series and I consider that
high praise. I love to use parallel structures, repetitive words, and even
flat-out rhymes in a paragraph to give the narrative a lilt or a cadence as you
read it. Make it flow.
I’ve played around with poetry over
the years and managed to win a “best collection” trophy I can display for
motivation with my first poetry chapbook released in 2020. That sense of iambic
pentameter and sensing where stresses should hit pleases me—sometimes. Other
times, I throw all the rules out the window.
Music inspires me while I’m writing,
as well. Even when I’m writing scenes in the epic fantasy world of Onweald, I
have modern-day music playing. I have a playlist for the world of Onweald, a
playlist for the upcoming Choices sequels, a playlist for Nigel &
Chariss, and so on.
Many of my characters have theme songs. If I need to type out a scene
with Henry Bakerson in a hurry, you can bet I’ll play Sting’s Saint
Augustine in Hell and the instrumental I Miss You Kate as I get
started. I used to play the violin and the flute, so music is another language
I’ve forgotten how to read correctly on the page, but still appreciate and
incorporate in my writing.
Sandy Lender is a construction magazine editor by day and author of #GirlPower fantasy novels by night, living in Florida to help with sea turtle conservation and parrot rescue. You can follow her author page on Amazon, check her website at SandyLenderInk.com, or subscribe to her newsletter at https://bit.ly/SSReNews.
With a four-year degree in English and thirty-year career in publishing, Sandy’s successes include traditionally and self-published novels, hundreds of magazine articles, multiple short stories in competitive anthologies, a handful of technical writing awards, and a handful of creative writing awards and nominations. Sandy’s been writing stories since she was knee-high to a grasshopper when her great-grandmother shared her odd little tales of squeaky ghost-spiders around an apartment complex in Southern Illinois. The stories have developed to include strong young ladies working with dragons to save worlds from terrible fates, but those pesky spiders still show up from time to time.
There’s always something brewing at Sandy Lender Ink headquarters where some days, you just want the dragon to win.
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I like the excerpt. It sounds really good.
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