Rings of Honor

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The trouble with prophecy was that it was not an imperfect art. When Mariseth woke screaming, her blood on fire, her grey eyes almost as red as the bloody moon, crawling from her tent, fighting to be free of the restriction of bonds that hadn't touched her, nerves that wailed in agony that was not h...

Turenn was not a merciful God, but he was a fair God, and his influence spread to the far corners of the Castillian Empire. In the far North, where sharp mountain crags sheltered icy fjords, they called him Tyr. Along the Western reaches where the sea was always restless, as grey as Mariseth's grim ...

There were nights that Mariseth would have traded her soul for a single hour without dreams. Every morning she woke, the taste of smoke and ash kissed her mouth and breathed into her exhalations. The smell of death ran icy fingers through her hair and stroked her brow, like a lover would. The scream...