Some wedding night this turned out to be. These are the strangest people I’ve ever met in my life. Admittedly I’m not that old and I’ve met very few people outside my father’s palace, but I stand by my statement… (MORE)
Well, here I am, back in my room. In bed. Alone. I have an Equi priestess standing guard over me, and she looks none too cordial. Anyway, this is what happened on what was supposed to be my wedding… (MORE)
There was a heated discussion between Naram and Samarra this morning…or evening, or whenever it actually is here, and in the ensuing distraction I managed to get outside into the hallway and up a flight of stairs into a huge garden of some kind. It was cold out there, and I was glad for such cloak as I’d brought, though it wasn’t enough, I can tell you. They didn’t bring nearly enough clothing for me, for any of us for that matter, and as far as I can tell no one here has offered us any. They seem to be pretty much… (MORE)
We flew for what seemed like an eternity. My quarters on the ship were no bigger than the cell of the Telenir warlord, and, from the looks of his cell, no more comfortable. At least I was free from hour after hour of practicing, mainly because there was no place to do so. The ship was sparse, the food was sparse, and the “important people” spent all their time in conference while I languished in my shabby little box. Jasreth was there a lot of the time, and that did make it better, but I was so… (MORE)
Anchoress Samarra told me I could bring nothing. Absolutely nothing. No clothes but what I will wear on the journey, and then they will be burned. No pictures of my family, no books, no jewelry, no journal. Nothing. And yet I am writing in my journal, which I found after many… (MORE)
It keeps running through my head that the Equi eat only vegetation. I keep seeing all those trees, all that grass, and I wonder if that is what I will be forced to eat. Will I die of starvation? I hear through the cracks that the Telenir Warlord whom my father holds prisoner, is slowly dying of starvation. It seems he cannot keep our good food on his stomach. He vomits it up. They say he paces, paces, paces. Sometimes he sings. Will I pace in my cage, slowly dying of starvation? Will I be brutalized? Will I be tortured for information? I certainly hope not, because I don’t have any information. If I can’t get by on my looks and my sexual prowess, I’m going to be absolutely worthless. Maybe the Equi will give me to… (MORE)
Showandah Terrill is a scifi/fantasy author from Forks, WA.Learn more than you ever wanted to know about her here.