The Queen's Librarian by Carole Cummings

Title: The Queen’s Librarian
Author: Carole Cummings
Buy at Dreamspinner
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Cover Artist:Paul Richmond
Genre: fantasy
Length: 224 pages
Formats: epub, mobi, pdf, print


All Lucas Tripp wants is prosperity for the tenants of his family’s estate; good weather for the harvest; suitable matches for his sisters; a little money left over at the end of the month; and more quality time with his boyfriend, Alex Booker. That’s not so much to ask for, right?

Wrong. When his sister’s new suitor suddenly disappears, Lucas is drawn into an adventure of a lifetime—kicking and screaming all the way. Magical beings who were allegedly banished hundreds of years ago are coming through portals that were supposed to be shut against them—and that’s only part of Lucas’s problem. The rest consists of missing princes, breaking and entering, suspicious magicians, well-meaning women who are far too interested in Lucas’s sex life… the list goes on. Lucas is decidedly Not Amused, but he’ll get over it someday. Probably. After all, there’s always Alex.

Review:

Regular readers here know that I adore Carole Cummings’ work, and to find a full length novel where she’d taken a light tone is a new treat! She describes this book as her antidote to living in a much darker character’s head for three books, and she’s brought us along for the diversion.

Comedy is much harder than it looks, and sustaining it for this long a work is a skill. The author isn’t going for a laugh a minute, but she takes a gentle tone that pokes fun at everything from the Jane-Austen-ish issues the main character, Lucas, faces, to his travails with another character who becomes Quite Vexed with him. I did chuckle aloud often, and yet the underlying seriousness of their quest didn’t get lost.


Lucas and Alex are an established couple, so readers looking for a classic romance of boy eventually gets boy won’t find that here. This a solid story of lovers working together to a common goal and becoming even more solid with each other. They become gently exasperated with one another, they bolster each other, and they clearly adore one another. The quest is the primary focus, a matter of great seriousness, and couldn’t be solved without both of them. Beautifully done.

The secondary characters provide their own set of chuckles, and also add to the sense of the world. Usually I get a very clear sense of how a world is organized from this author, and I hope the take-away message I got of an informal sort of court much like when King George and his family lived at Kew was the right one. The crown prince gets up to the sort of adventures courtiers and chamberlains normally prevent. Lucas’ job at the library seemed like a cross between a real working job and the sort of royal sinecure one gives the shirtsleeve relatives to prevent embarrassment. He seems both quite close to the Queen and yet at a very different social stratum from the court at the same time. Perhaps the uncertainty was intentional—it does give Lucas enough time to pursue his quest. The quest itself evolves from something rather mundane but foot-stompingly important to a matter that affects the entire society, and the complications are layered on with each scene.

I enjoyed this read greatly, and wish that a few little niggles could have been smoothed out to make it a solid 5 star read. Names for me were an issue—the character named Booker isn’t the librarian as one would expect , and I had to sort out who was who a few times too often before it all solidified. A running gag could have smoothed with repetition, instead of remaining the same road bump until nearly the end. Aside from these small jolts out of the story, which other readers may not find as prominent, I just settled in for the ride. This was a charming and humorous adventure from start to finish. 4.5 marbles

Aisling Book 3: Beloved Son by Carole Cummings

Aisling Book Three: Beloved Son by Carole Cummings
Publisher: Torquere Press
Genre: GLBT, Fantasy
Length: 119,000 words or 388 pages

Newfound love might not be enough. Trust holds the possibility of both salvation and damnation.

Circumstances having forced them to seek asylum in Lind, Wil and Dallin are momentarily safe, but find themselves at the center of a convergence they’re not sure they’re strong enough to face. The power of the land and the Mother awaits Wil in the bowels of Lind, but it comes with strings attached. With Dallin's help, Wil must find a way to defeat the soul-eater, save the Father, Her Beloved, and manage to keep his soul in the process.

Through deduction and magic and mutual strength, Dallin and Wil must accept their roles as the Guardian and the Aisling and stand together against a ruthless god in a climactic battle of dreams and wills. The fates of their souls and those of all mortals hang in the balance. But what good is the power of love if the one who needs it doesn't know how to trust?

Aisling: Book Three, Beloved Son, is the third book in the Aisling series. Other titles in the Aisling series include Book One: Guardian, and Book Two: Dream.

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Carole Cummings has presented a sweeping dénouement to her stunning trilogy. Aisling Part Three, Beloved Son, completes all the story arcs that have been building to give as a monumental tale of men, gods, love, and oh yeah, saving the world, too.

Apologies for spoilers for books 1 and 2, but it’s nearly unavoidable. Aisling must be read in order to make proper sense, but it’s well worth it. Start with Guardian, then read Dream, and then Beloved Son will cap this epic.

The one thing Wil Calder fears most is being subsumed and kept in a cage, forced to do the will of others stronger than he. Yet with his Guardian, Dallin Braden, he comes to know that his is the strength, his are the decisions, and that all he is will become enough to save the Father, the Mother, and the people he may one day call his own. He’s being herded to this fate by those who would take his strength for their own, and he’s fought against it, but cones to see that he cannot even mount the fight without doing exactly what he’s worked all his life to avoid.

Dallin, who has sworn to prevent Wil from falling victim to what he fears most, is deeply torn. The tightrope he walks is to give the Mother and the Father the help they need in defeating their worst foe, which Wil can do, against giving Wil the freedom he needs to survive. Dallin’s honesty and his perception of need, mixed with his very real and great love for Wil, threatens to tear him apart.

This is a very character driven story; plenty happens but much of it is in a realm inaccessible to people. Wil and Dallin shift back and forth between states once they have reached the people and the power of Lind and a sacred place that Wil has feared for his entire life. The lies and half truths fed him by his keeper and betrayer Siofra still work at the back of Wil’s mind; his growth is phenomenal, and greatly due to freedom and Dallin’s belief. Success isn’t a given—they must fight for everything, over and over. Beset by men who think they know best, each step is a battle of its own, with betrayal lurking around every corner.

There are battles on the physical plane, which are important but not truly the focus of the story; what Wil must do is in the realm of the gods, the Mother, the Father, and the usurper Aeledfyres. Little is what Wil believes it to be, even his true name, which he finds at last in a rush of love.

The language is beautiful: what Carole Cummings does with words is artistry, I stayed up late every night to finish this, pulled by the power and the beauty, as well as the excitement. She makes us bleed with Dallin and fear with Wil, and believe that the fate of all lies within their hands.

Everything comes together in a crashing climax: all of Wil’s fears and potentials, all of Dallin’s skills and beliefs. I cried at the end, and then again at the epilogue, for the simple relief. All three volumes of Aisling live in paperback on my Keep Forever shelf. And I’m sniffling a little now.
5 Marbles

Find here in paper or ebook at Amazon.

Thousand Word Thursday Excerpt from Carole Cummings

From Aisling Book Three: Beloved Son

*


“You should’ve had a happy boyhood,” Wil whispered. “You should’ve had so much more than what you had, you should have so much more now.”

“So shouldn’t we all,” Dallin answered, just as quietly, dropped a kiss to the top of Wil’s head. “You should laugh all the time, like you did today.” He took hold of Wil’s arms and pushed him gently away. Wil could almost see him, once again, put away the small bit of his past he’d allowed himself to remember, bury it and then move on. He turned, gestured for Wil to follow. “C’mon, I want to show you—”

“Dallin.”

He kept walking. “—how clear the water is. It’s all rock here, so you can see right down to—”

“Dallin.”


Dallin paused, but didn’t turn. Wil took the few paces over to him slowly, laid a hand to his arm.

“Do you put everything away like that? Do you bury everything that hurts?”

You keep saying you see me, and I believe you do, because you bother to look. Well, what if I want to see you, too?

For a moment, Wil thought Dallin wasn’t going to answer; he bent his neck, mouth twisted tight, like he was angry, but it didn’t feel like anger. “We all do what we must, Wil.” His voice was heavy, tired. “We take what the Mother gives us and do our best with it. This is my best.”

Wil tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Pretending nothing hurts you is best?”

“Not pretending.” Dallin was staring at the ground, lines of tension knotting his shoulders, vibrating beneath Wil’s hand. “Accepting it and then moving on.”

“Burying it.”

Dallin slumped a little, closed his eyes on a weary sigh. “Wil, can’t we just—?”

“And if I die?” Wil paused when he saw Dallin’s jaw lock, twitch. “Will you bury me twice?” he pressed. “Once in the ground and once in your heart?”

Dallin lifted his head, locked his gaze to Wil’s, steady and hard. “We’ll never know, will we?” he answered stonily. “Because I don’t intend to let it happen.”

He stared at Wil, sudden anger, daring Wil to negate the statement he no doubt saw as mere simple fact. Wil bowed his head, wishing he had the courage to tell him that it wasn’t really his choice.

“You’re borrowing trouble,” Dallin told him, “you always do. You’re so much stronger than you think you are, and you keep forgetting that I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let—”

“I don’t think I can beat him,” Wil said, a little more wobbly than he would’ve preferred. “I’d like to think I won’t be another of your ghosts you pretend you don’t see.”

Wasn’t that strange? He’d spent so much of the past few years willing people not to even notice him, to forget him as soon as they’d served whatever use he’d had for them the moment before. Now, all he wanted was to know he’d be remembered, remembered by someone who’d looked at him, someone who’d seen and not looked away. Not invisible. Not merely the sum of his sins. A real person, no one’s dream, whole and the man he was reflected back in his Guardian’s eyes, enhanced and cleaned of tarnish and imperfections of the soul.

… a Guardian who loves him above all.

How very terrifying.

How very… consoling.

Dallin was silent for some time, quietly seething and trying very hard not to. He took Wil once again by the arms, turned him so he faced the falls. Roughly, he wrapped his arms about Wil’s shoulders, dipped his face to the crook of his neck, held on tight. “Then don’t die,” he finally answered.

Wil shut his eyes, shook his head. “I can’t—”

“I don’t want to do this now,” Dallin whispered, a heavy note of pleading in his voice, and he squeezed Wil a little tighter, just enough to constrict breath the tiniest bit. “Look up at that water, at the rock it carved its way through—scoring its way through everything to find its true path.” A tightening of his grip and a small shake to Wil’s shoulders. “That’s you. You are the river, Wil. Stronger than earth and rock—stronger than fire. And now you’ve got the strength of Lind behind you, or you will.”

His voice… it blended with the song of the water, just as strong, just as sure and clear. He made Wil almost believe every word. All of those things inside him and his Guardian at his back, pointing the way.

“And you,” Wil said. “You’re behind me.”

“And me,” Dallin promised. “Perhaps you can’t beat him, but we can. I know how this has to go, and if you want prophecies, if that’ll make you feel better, I’ll give you one, all right?—I’ll get Thorne to put it in the Songs. A prophecy from the Guardian to the Aisling, are you ready?” He didn’t wait for Wil to answer. “It’ll be dark, it’ll be terrifying, it’ll probably hurt, and you might even want to die. It’ll be the worst thing either one of us has ever seen or lived through, but you will come out the other side, understand?”

Wil reached up, gripped Dallin’s arms in both hands. “How—?”

“Understand?”

Understanding didn’t really seem to be the point. Not even a little bit. Trust. That blind faith that Dallin so despised, and here he was, asking for it, demanding it, and he didn’t even seem to know it. And here Wil was, wanting to hand it over.

I will do whatever it takes. I want you to survive, Wil.

Do I look like I don’t know what I’m doing?

Just trust me, I won’t let anything happen.

Wil shifted a little, sank himself deeper into the embrace.

Oh, I trust you. I can’t seem to help myself.

Trust and faith and give and take, and closing his eyes, following blind and believing without even thinking about it that his Guardian wouldn’t let him fall. That it was all right to be weak sometimes, because there was another there to be strong, to balance you, propping you up in your moment of frailty, not waiting to tear out your throat the minute you bared it. There was a strange sort of strength in that, one you could give back, because it didn’t have to define you, and ‘weak’ didn’t have to mean ‘not strong’.

Wil twisted his neck, laid a soft kiss to Dallin’s throat. “I understand.”

He let Dallin support him as he leaned back, watched the falls. Watched the brown, sunlit ghost of a gangly, tow-headed little boy plunge from the top of the Stair, laughing and shouting, long arms and legs flailing, as he splashed down into indigo-froth.

Smiling a little, Wil closed his eyes, breathed in the day, and wished with all his heart it never had to end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh wow do I love this book, the whole trilogy. Review for Part Three to come shortly, 5 divas and marbles and stars,  and you lucky people get to read this small but important chunk. Read the whole thing, I promise you solemnly that this is a wonderful wonderful story.

 Newfound love might not be enough. Trust holds the possibility of both salvation and damnation.

Circumstances having forced them to seek asylum in Lind, Wil and Dallin find themselves at the center of an approaching convergence they’re not sure they’re strong enough to face. The power of the land and the Mother wait for Wil in the bowels of Lind, but it comes with strings attached. With Dallin's help, he must find a way to defeat the soul-eater and save the Father, Her Beloved, and manage to keep his soul in the process.

Friends are not necessarily friends. Trusted mentors are not necessarily to be trusted. And good intentions are sometimes the most dangerous sort.

Through deduction and magic and mutual strength, Dallin and Wil must accept their roles as the Guardian and the Aisling, and stand together against a ruthless god in a climactic battle of dreams and wills, the fates of both of their souls and those of all mortals hanging in the balance. Except, what good is the strength of love, if the one who needs it doesn't know how to trust?

Buy here.

Impromptu by Carole Cummings

Impromptu by Carole Cummings
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Genre: Historical Romance, GLBT
Length: 32 pages

Ailin knew there was something wrong with Garreth the moment he arrived with a storm trailing behind him. The man who’d just walked through the front door wasn’t Ailin's normally bright and brash Garreth, as if he’d been ensorcelled into someone darker and maybe even a little dangerous. But while Ailin finds the difference concerning, he’s also finding it surprisingly, shockingly erotic.
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Carole Cummings drops us straight into the middle of Garreth's temper—the man is in a mood. He's been tried beyond patience; his only route to his usual good humor is through his lover, Ailin. "Impromptu" gives us a look at the inevitable, though it could hardly have been planned.



I love an established couple story where each lover discovers something about his lover and possibly about himself. Ailin knows Garreth well – he can predict what set Garreth off and learns what will soothe him. Garreth knows Ailin will go along with it – and wow, it is hot.

This isn't PWP, though much of the word count goes to the very steamy sex. Tiny details paint a full picture of a world where indoor plumbing and central heating have no part, where agriculture is a common livelihood and mass-manufactured goods are unusual. A sentence here and a sentence there show us a dutiful son struggling to keep his feckless father in check. And we see a gorgeously-written slice of a mature relationship where one lover can bring his troubles to the other and gain comfort.

This could easily become a part of a larger work, but I'd just have to bookmark that chapter for standalone peeks.  5 Marbles

Aisling Book Two: Dream by Carole Cummings

Aisling Book Two: Dream by Carole Cummings
Publisher: Torquere Press
Genre: Fantasy, GLBT
Length: 408 pages


Summary: What begins as Constable Dallin Brayden escorting the prisoner Wilfred Calder back to Putnam quickly turns into a flight for both their lives. Political betrayal and malicious magic lurk behind every bush and boulder in their flight across the countryside, resulting in Dallin becoming more protector than gaoler, and fostering a growing connection between him and his charge. Haunted by dreams not his own and pursued by just about everyone, Dallin begins to understand that he’s not just protecting Wil out of duty anymore.

As the shadow of Wil’s previous life as a captive and tool continues to loom, the shadow of the man who kept him prisoner looms larger. Forced into a terrifying battle of both will and magic for not only his life, but his soul, Wil discovers that the Aisling is sought by more powerful enemies than the Guild and the Brethren: ancient gods and soul-eating spirits seek what lives inside him as well. And it seems his only salvation may well be Dallin and his goddess, the Mother, against whom Wil has been warned all his life.

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It's been worth the wait – the second installment of Carole Cummings' Aisling trilogy is out, at last. I've been going nuts waiting to find out what's happened to Wil and Dallin since I finished Part 1: Guardian. That was a 5 marble read here. Part Two: Dream is every bit as good.



This is definitely a continuation of the story – the narrative picks up where it left off, and you'll be confused for a while without the advantage (pleasure) of reading Guardian. Wil and Dallin have reached a place of tenuous safety and have a breath or two to assess what they have been through, but hardly more than that, and then dangers start again. Since Wil and Dallin are coming only slowly to an understanding of one another, small things could escalate to grave danger with no trouble at all. A few secondary characters come to add to this, and the sick edge of distrust taints every small advance to truth.

Dream is a book of reversals – what was a flight and pursuit becomes a pilgrimage of sorts, what were enemies become something both more and less than friends and lovers, fear becomes trust, and yes, trust does become doubt. By the end of the book, very little is as it started, and the changes are perfectly plotted and in character.

Dallin and Wil themselves come to a better accord and a somewhat better understanding – this is an evolving relationship. They do come together sexually in a scene that is a brilliant "fuzz to dark gray" that manages to be one of the all time sexiest scenes I've ever read. Of course, after that, Wil needs a good sharp slap, but rethinks things before I can give it to him. Love Wil, poor scarred man/boy who holds keys he doesn't understand. Love Dallin, too, and want Wil to find the wholeness to love him as much as I do, and yet... this adventure is not over.

The language is at turns poignant and pointed – we yearn for Wil to see a river as much as Dallin yearns to show it to him, and somehow a river becomes a wider world much safer than any they've lived in so far. Simple actions and wishes become astonishing in her descriptions – the words are the words of English but the stringing together is – magic.

This segment climaxes in a moment that brought me to tears; Wil extracts a promise so heartbreaking in its trust, love, and horror that I'm fogging up again just typing. I want Part Three so bad I can taste it, and the publisher is making me wait for months yet. December, I am told; that's so far away. 5 Marbles

A Thousand Word Thursday Story from Carole Cummings

Gefuhl Der Abhangigkeit

Crepuscule Monstrum

© Carole Cummings

~~~~

Cold. He hadn’t expected it to be so cold.

The wind was still but the air rimy, heavy in his chest, on his shoulders. The sun hid behind a stratum of silver-gray, its light like old metal and just as cold against his skin. He could almost taste it on his tongue—bitter and sour, with a hard tang that settled behind his teeth and slithered down his backbone.

Or maybe that was just fear.

Merrick wanted to shiver, but didn’t want to have to hear the discordant chitter of black iron that would remind him he was no initiate here, no volunteer walking willingly into the jaws of Fate. He’d fought the chains like a feral beast.

Prisoner.

Sacrifice.

Even his kin had cast their tiles against him when his name had been called from the deeping stygian hollows of the mountain. Better to lose a useless third son, his father had told him coldly, than to suffer the wrath of Crepuscule.

That last had been hushed. Even Merrick’s bold, swart father was afraid to say the name too loudly.

A subtle rumble settled beneath Merrick’s bare feet, wending up to his gut before he realized it came from around him. No, beneath him. Not inside him. Not of him, not panicked imagination, and not too-real nightmare.

Writhing, almost. A worming crawl. Small rocks and debris slid loose and grazed the tor with tiny little clacks and rattles. The sound of approaching terror, slouch-slithering towards him on its belly, bringing with it every fear and dread-filled conjecture that had flittered through Merrick’s mind since they’d clapped the irons around his wrists and dragged him up the mountain’s flank.

Torment.

Violation.

And then, when he was all used up, broken or perhaps even dead—Please, let me die first—then, perhaps…

Merrick couldn’t even think the words, let alone force them from his spitless mouth:

Please, don’t let it eat me.

Snacking on his limbs, crunching on his bones… Could there be a worse fate? Yes, his mind supplied, tooth-jarring panic in his own tremulous voice, you could still be alive when it takes the first bite.

And that only after thousands of other horrors for which Merrick had no name, no capacity to fathom.

He couldn’t help the shudder this time, and the disharmony of the chains was like biting metal. His skin prickled cold, a knot of profound fear settling too tight in his belly.

His back was straight and his shoulders jutted at a proud angle as he watched the long, talon-like fingers crest the crag at his feet, but he could not straighten his neck from its shameful bend. He watched out the corner of his eye; to look away was both desperate want and anathema.

Black and dark—ill-matched words for the complete void of light that drooped its way towards him. Pitch, perhaps. Sunless. Lightless. Merrick had not the words to put a name to it. Only ‘Crepuscule’, and now he supposed he knew why the monstrosity had been named so.

The lamps of its eye blinked bilious-yellow, dragging over Merrick’s skin like a crawling march of vile insects, lingering for so long that Merrick could swear the stare had a physical weight.

Oh God.

Lust.

Merrick’s mind caromed out into shocked imaginings, already feeling the touch, his body reacting in ways that made him judder, fingers flexing and wrists twisting inside their bits of iron. Traitorous, incongruous… oh God—was this arousal?

Was he a monster, too?

Its maw was nearly shapeless, smaller than Merrick had thought, but he didn’t doubt it could stretch, widen, gape to accommodate its chosen meals, and the flashing hint of wicked teeth only ramped up his dread. It smacked its awful lips, pulled them into a horrible twist of a smile, and then…

Wait.

Did it just… chuckle?

Merrick blinked, cut his glance more firmly sideways, but its smile curled into a stomach-turning grin, so he shut his eyes tight.

“Um,” it said, voice jagged against Merrick’s skin, shattering over him like broken glass. “Mikey? I’m sorry, I forgot my line.”

Merrick’s eyes clamped tighter, hands fisting. Goddamnit.

Deep breath.

“My name isn’t Mikey.”

“Right, Merrick, sorry.” A pause, a shift, then: “And what’s mine again?”

Bloody goddamn rotten stupid—

Unbelievable. A hundred bucks on eBay right down the drain.

Merr—  Oh, what was the point?

Michael’s shoulders slumped, and he opened his eyes. No great, dark beast, but a wide, muscular frame that pulled a slant of shadows from the dim light and bent it to every curve and contour; no awful yellow eyes that pored over him with lust and intent, but hazel-blue, blinking at him with sincere chagrin. At least it looked sincere.

Michael sighed. “Crepuscule.”

“Crepuscule, yeah.” A nod. “Did you tell me what that means?”

“It means ‘twilight’, Jake.” Michael wormed his hands out of the cuffs with something he suspected was a pout. It should be a pout. He deserved to pout, damn it. He’d worked so hard to set the mood. “Crepuscule Monstrum. As in ‘twilight monster’.”

Jake blinked up at him from his crouch on the floor. “Isn’t that Latin?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well…” Jake shrugged. “The painting’s German.”

Michael could’ve clocked him. “The painting’s freaky,” he snapped, really irritated now, and so not in the mood anymore. He threw the cuffs at Jake, hard enough to hurt, but Jake just ducked out of their trajectory. Fucker. “You’re the one who wanted to role-play,” Michael barked as he snapped up a robe and stomped to the bedroom door, “If you’re not going to take it seriously, I’m not buying you another print—of anything, ever again.”

“Mikey—”

“Save it,” Michael growled as he headed down the hall and to the livingroom and the TV, now that his planned entertainment had fallen through. Thank God for John Stewart. “A hundred bucks on eBay,” he muttered and clicked the remote. “Happy fucking birthday, Jake.  Dumbass.”

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Wow, was THAT a roller coaster ride! Thank you, Carole!

Carole Cummings is the author of the wonderful Aisling trilogy -- Part One, Guardian, got a 5 Marble review here and 5 Stars from the Jessewave reviewers and thoughtful readers.

Part 2: Dream will be along from Prizm Press in the next few weeks, and I can hardly wait!


Buy here, in print or ebook, or at Amazon.

A Thousand Word Thursday Story from Carole Cummings

Knightly Pleasure
© Carole Cummings
~~~~
“Piper… oh, God.” Cynric set his teeth and thought quite forcefully of Gran’dam in her knickers. Because if he let himself concentrate on what Piper’s hands were doing, this would all be over before he had a chance to do much more than shove Piper into the wall and rut against him like a feral tom. He snatched Piper’s hand away from its torturous wandering, Cynric’s fingers digging in to the tendon and bone of Piper’s wrist a little harder than they should be doing; but Piper only smirked, set the tip of his tongue to his upper-lip and gave it a long, slow lick, white teeth flashing. Cynric couldn’t help the groan, nor the way heat fizzed from his thighs to his groin and all up his backbone. “You,” he growled, low and as fierce as he could make it, “have the devil in you.”


Piper merely crooked that scimitar grin, all sly and wicked. “Yes, and that’s all I’ve in me.” One dark eyebrow rose up into the heavy mass of straight chestnut fringe that hung askew over his brow. “Plan on fixing that any time soon?”

~

It was the look in those brown eyes that did it—that chill intent, that ‘Yes, I’ve beaten you and we both know it,’ that… that subtle power that could afford to be subtle, defied you to doubt it, because Piper had the skill to back it, and he didn’t care if you knew it. Didn’t care, because if you dared test it… well. Piper had always enjoyed a test.
 
~

Gran’dam in her knickers, and with Gran’da’s bony arse between her wrinkled thighs.

Cynric winced a little, but it did the job—he managed to keep himself from messing his drawers long enough to get them off and fling Piper to the bed. Piper landed with that evil little chuckle he trotted out when he was trying to prove he had the edge, and though Cynric would certainly concede the point when they had weapons in their hands, in here the edge was never a given.

~

Thrust through the forward attack then parry the sideswipe. Try not to get dragged in by that look, that face, the way the setting sun wove russet and smears of gold through rich chestnut. Deflect the advance and feint in with a compound attack then spin through the dodge and cross. Try not to note the way shadows spilt themselves over the angular face, anointed it sharp and transcendent, almost sanctified, like even they couldn’t resist the touch.
 
~

Gran’dam without her knickers, and Gran’da—

No, not helping.

“Cyn,” Piper panted. “Cyn… God, yes, that’s…”

Long, strong legs wrapped about Cynric’s ribs, squeezed. Deceptively slender arms slid about his neck, pulled him in. Cynric dipped down obediently, sank his teeth into the thick muscle that ran from Piper’s neck to his shoulder, and groaned as Piper’s hips snapped up and back, Cynric’s own following helplessly. He’d wanted to keep the rhythm slow, wanted to draw it out, make it last, torture Piper just as ruthlessly as Piper had tortured Cynric in the tournament, but he couldn’t keep from sinking deep, over and over again, long, slow strokes turned to faltering drives from one moan to the next.

“Yes, yes, Cyn, bloody fuck, so good, it’s… you’re… God so—”

“Piper,” Cynric groaned, breathless and desperate, “shut up, I can’t—”

Cynric gave up on making sense of the demand—plea—and just shut them both up with a kiss, because it was fast reaching a point where ‘control’ was just another nonsensical word inside the tempest of heat and sweat-slick skin and brutal sensation that was Cynric’s world right now.

Can’t hold out when you beg like that, can’t keep from fucking you so hard neither one of us will be able to sit a horse for a week.
 
The muted squeak of the bed’s rope supports, the thin whine of the mattress’s ticking—a weird, cacophonous discord that wound through Cynric’s head and melded with Piper’s gasping groans, his whispered supplication. Met and twined through the sensation of Piper’s body, against and around, rocking up and back, swamping Cynric’s senses and pummeling them into nothing but animalistic need.

~

The glint of the sword, the honed tip leveled right at Cynric’s throat, the failing burnt-ruby of the sun slanting off its silver-blue edge like a stain of blood. Cynric stubbornly set his gaze to the leather bindings of the vambraces, the stitching of the gauntlets, the dip and curve of chest-plate and hauberk—anything but those eyes and what he knew to be waiting behind their cool invitation, that mouth and its flat challenge:
 
“Do you yield, Sir Lindley?”
 
~

A sharp cry slid up Piper’s throat, and he arched, head thrown back, eyes locked to Cynric’s and anything but cool—a welter of warmth and passion—before they closed and Piper came. “Cynric… Cyn… ah!”

Cynric watched for as long as he could, rapt with the sheer beauty of abandon, the heady possession, the surrender, before he had no choice but to follow. Bright-white fire closed him in a tight fist as his body pulsed and thrashed, throat grinding out graveled curses, and Piper wrapped about him, holding on, tricking a few more shudders and jolts loose with a wicked twist of his hips.

Piper’s hands on his back, stroking, and Piper’s voice in his ear, whispering— “So good, Cyn, love you so much,” —and Piper’s body beneath his, a firm line of sinewy muscle strapped directly to the bone.

Do you yield, Sir Lindley?
 
Oh, God, yes.

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Faints from the amazingness of this story! Thank you Carole! 

Carole’s book Aisling Book One: Guardian, was a 5 marble review here, and after reading this story, you know exactly why!  Part Two: Dream, is due out this June, and I can hardly wait.  To get yours in print or ebook, click here for Prizm or here to shop at Amazon.  

For more news on Carole’s work, check her website/blog.

Aisling: Guardian by Carole Cummings

Constable Dallin Brayden knows who he is, what he's about, and he doesn't believe in Fate. 'Wilfred Calder' has no idea who he is, what he's about, and has been running from Fate for as long as he can remember. When Wil is brought in for questioning as a witness to a brutal murder, and subsequently flees, Dallin is dragged by duty into the chaos of ancient myth, fanatical religion, and the delicate politics of a shaky truce between two perpetually warring countries, all of which seem to hinge on the slender shoulders of the man he knows is not Wilfred Calder.

The eventual capture of Dallin’s quarry only makes matters worse. Wil is prickly and full of rage, rebellious and lethal, and tells an unbelievable tale of magic and betrayal that threatens to rock the carefully cultivated foundations of Dallin's world. Leery and only half-believing, Dallin finds himself questioning not only his own conscience and his half-forgotten past, but the morality and motives of everyone around him, including those who hold the power of his own country’s fate in their hands.

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This story pulled me in from the very first scenes – while it’s a long story for an ebook, I didn’t feel overwhelmed. This is book one of a trilogy, and that’s good news for me, because I am now a big fan!

Nothing quite goes as you think it will – who is the bad one here, what secrets are being hidden, what variety of awful thing will happen next (there are a lot of them) all veer just a little from expected, and I can really sympathize with Dallin, who has to sort it all out, and with Wil, who has to figure out who to trust. The biggest answer to that will be in future books, but there are a ton of immediate problems to fix, too. Not least of which is – how can you be a successful fugitive when your opponent can track you with supernatural means if you slip up, and when he’s willing to be completely ruthless?

I loved the world – it feels like England from before the industrial revolution – it’s what’s in people’s heads where the biggest differences are. And yet – not so different – honor and evil and how to figure out which is which before it kills you, that’s recognizable, and told very well.

In one way I was a little disappointed that the sexual interest between the two is so very downplayed (read, a couple sideways glances and NO Touching!), but Wil is so very broken in some ways that to approach him would be a terrible betrayal of trust, so I’m just going to have to adjust my expectations. I just read a really good fantasy novel where the main characters happen to be gay.


Buy here, in print or ebook, or at Amazon.