I’m so excited to be doing the Cover Reveal for “Fay Storms” by A.A. Frascati!!! So behold this beautiful and mysterious cover!!!
Let the countdown begin
Title: Fay Storms
Author : A.A. Frascati
Release date: December 19th 2016
Summary from Goodreads
Thief by trade. Half-breed by blood. Fifer is part-Fay and all pluck.
When her partner goes missing and she is abducted by demanding clients, Fifer finds herself trapped in a plot she wants no part of. By fulfilling her contract with the Aestus, the brotherhood of powerful and secretive warriors, she will discover that she’s not what she thinks.
The Aestus need her—even though Arkadius, Master in training, can’t see it. In order to stop the Aestus clans from warring among themselves, Arkadius must rely on Fifer to steal a powerful magical artifact. But how can a woman save the mighty Aestus? When he discovers the answer, the fate of the Empire will rest on the edge of his sword.
Check out an excerpt from the book!!
THE ORACLE SHUFFLES the 73 heavily gold-leafed cards. She sets them aside and lights the short, black-waxed candle using the flame from the lone oil lamp. An aid takes the lamp away and does not return. The woman offers the candle to the man sitting cross-legged in front of her. The man’s knife is already sheathed at his side; he had dragged its honed edge across his thumb while the oracle had set fire to the wick. He watches the thick, dark bead of blood swell, before tipping it into the candle’s steady flame. The fire sputters and hisses, but does not go out.
The oracle places the candle between them and passes the cards through the flame’s pungent smoke. She shuffles again then offers them to the stranger, who taps the deck with his unbloodied hand.
“You may ask,” speaks the oracle.
“Will our plan succeed?” The oracle draws a single card: a sand deer standing over the dead body of a jackal.
“How can that be? What is missing?” The man’s shock and anger are palpable. The oracle draws two cards.
“The catalyst. The pawn.”
The man is silent a moment, unable to formulate the next question. The flame of the candle wavers, reminding him that he has little time to make his inquiries.
“How can we find this—catalyst?”
Three more cards are drawn.
“The catalyst will find you on the way. The pawn will be played by the adversary. You must choose one or the other.”
“How can I choose if the pawn will be played by the enemy?” The man’s lips are a tight line on an already drawn face.
“That is not a question for the cards.” The oracle’s voice is mild, but there is no arguing with her verdict.
“Is the catalyst an Aestus?”
Another card is revealed.
“No.” The man’s brow creases.
A second card is taken from the deck.
“No.” The man’s eyes widen in horror.
A third card falls to the floor.
“Then what—” the wick twists and sinks, dousing the flame in the molten wax and submerging the room in complete darkness before the man can voice his final question, before he can see the leering harpy smiling at him from the face of the fourth card the oracle had drawn.
THE WIND WAS gaining strength, pulling on Fifer’s clothes and scarf relentlessly and filling her ears with a steady whistle. Sand was beginning to rise into the air, and she could already taste the salt in her mouth and feel the grit grinding between her teeth. Her lashes were so full of dust that they felt enormously heavy, or was that the remnants of the heavy sleep that she was beginning to rouse from?
The dull throbbing in her head urged her to wake up like a slave drum, but it seemed impossibly difficult to focus when blood pounded in her ears and her vision blurred and moved constantly. No, her head wasn’t swimming, Fifer realized, her entire body was in motion, rocking rhythmically from side to side. She regained full consciousness with a jolt, her brain scrambling to piece together her jumbled recollections. Weren’t they still crossing the canyon that ran along the Northern Plateaus of the Red Sea, the central-most desert of the Empire?
Holy desert gods! They had only been a day from reaching Arias when they had been ambushed!
Suddenly it was all clear: Lyon had grabbed his bow and stood with such speed that his weight had caused their wagon to sway and tip. In her surprise, Fifer had been thrown off balance—then what? She remembered sitting on the edge of the cart, looking far below into the deep ravine that followed the road north. Oh! That would certainly explain why Fifer could not shift her head without causing a sharp stab of pain to pierce her skull. Could’ve just broken my neck to save time, Lyon, was the first cynical thought to cross her mind, and she knew that at the very least, she had not suffered any irreparable damage.
Even as she cursed Lyon for his clumsiness, Fifer’s stomach felt like a stone, she had a foreboding feeling that something was askew. It’s only the sandstorm setting me on edge, she told herself firmly, we are well armed. Still, it was with hesitation that she opened her eyes just wide enough to take in her surroundings through the thick crust of sand caked in her lashes. She had been placed in a cramped cart, which was harnessed to the back end of a mule with a sickeningly jerking gate. Fifer flexed her fingers and hands slowly to discover that they were tied at the writs, as were her ankles. Bloody Parhael, she whispered under her breath and closed her eyes against the howling wind.
A. A. Frascati is a voracious reader and a passionate writer. She lives close to nature and finds inspiration in everyday sights, sounds and tastes.
She dabbles in a variety of genres, including fantasy, humor, and YA. In December 2016 she will release Book one of the Storms Trilogy, a high paced, dramatic fantasy.