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  PRAISE FOR RISING FIRE

  “A richly imagined, spellbinding romantic fantasy . . . atmospheric, absorbing, infused with dark magic, gripping intrigue, and mesmerizing sensuality. I’m totally hooked and I can’t wait for more!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lara Adrian

  “Excitement, adventure, royal intrigue, and a what-if scenario that could change the world. Terri Brisbin weaves them together with the masterful touch that has become her trademark.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne

  “An intriguing story filled with romantic tension.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “An amazing premise for a paranormal series . . . you gotta read it.”

  —Debbie’s Book Bag

  “Brisbin begins her romantic fantasy series in style . . . plenty of danger and romance.”

  —RT Reviews

  FURTHER PRAISE FOR TERRI BRISBIN AND HER NOVELS

  “A carefully crafted plot spiced with a realistic measure of deadly intrigue and a richly detailed, fascinating medieval setting.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “[A] captivating medieval romance. Expertly laced with danger and sweetened with sensuality . . . an absolute delight.”

  —Booklist

  “As always, Terri writes compelling characters and a riveting story . . . the kind of story that will stay with you long after you finish the last page.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “A seductive, vivid love story . . . rich in historical detail, laced with the perfect amount of passion, and enhanced with intrigue.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “A masterpiece.”

  —Historical Romance Writers

  Also by Terri Brisbin

  RISING FIRE

  RAGING SEA

  SIGNET ECLIPSE

  Published by New American Library,

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  This book is an original publication of New American Library.

  Copyright © Theresa S. Brisbin, 2016

  Excerpt from Rising Fire © Theresa S. Brisbin, 2015

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Signet Eclipse and the Signet Eclipse colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about Penguin Random House, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN 9780698153288

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  There’s a very special group of women who are important to me in so many ways. We began as part of an RWA chapter retreat and now continue the Hermit tradition each fall in Charleston, South Carolina. We spend a week together, writing and talking and brainstorming and, sometimes, just being there for one another. These women have been a godsend to me in so many ways over the last couple of years and while I wrote this series. So Janice, Madeline, Gabrielle, Kim, Blythe, Robin, Bev, Ann, Amanda, Keena, Bernie, Deb, Sabrina, Ellen, and Neroli—this one is for you . . . all!

  And to Jen Schmidt and Lyn Wagner, without whom I could never have written this series—thanks!

  Contents

  Praise

  Also by Terri Brisbin

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Legend

  Prologue

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  The Aftermath

  Excerpt from Rising Fire

  About the Author

  THE LEGEND

  Centuries ago

  Cernunnos, god of the earth and growing things, gathered with the others within the stone circle, waiting for Chaela’s answer to their demands. Her destruction must stop. Her hunger for power and control must cease. Though he suspected she would refuse, he hoped that she would surprise him . . . and their brothers and sisters. The fate of humanity and this world awaited her next actions. But then her words, screamed into the air around them and into their minds, decided her wretched fate.

  For a moment, he regretted what they must do to rein in her foolhardy aims. Only for a moment, for she rose into the sky, transforming into her favored shape and unleashing her destructions on the humans there, around them. As fire flooded the land, the henge, and the people, Taranis, the god of the sky and storm, nodded to him and Cernunnos knew their path.

  The six of them—Cernunnos, Belenus, Nantosuelta, Taranis, Sucellus, and Epona—began weaving the spell that would imprison their sister forever. The sounds began as but a whisper, gaining volume and strength as each one added his or her voice to it. This ritual would surround her and nullify her powers. The song they created would bind her in silence and imprison her in the empty abyss, away from humanity and away from this world. When the human priest added his voice, chanting human words to the ethereal melody, Chaela screamed out.

  Her evil intent clear, she inhaled deeply, ready to finish the destruction she’d begun. They could wait no longer to take this painful action and sent their own breaths across the landscape there, surrounding the stone circle and drawing Chaela into its center. High above them, she struggled against their growing, combined power over her. Though they could each feel her struggle, her power and her words were swaddled within the cocoon they created around her.

  “Chaela,” Belenus, the god of healing and order, called out to her. “Cease this and you will be allowed to live.” A truce. He, they, offered a way out of this confrontation.

  “Fools!” she roared back, struggling to make her voice serve her will. “I cannot be destroyed!”

  She was correct—they were elemental powers, flung into existence at the beginning of time, and could not be destroyed. But that did not mean they could not control her. . . .

  “You can be defeated, Chaela,” Sucellus, the god of war, warned her. “You will be imprisoned in the endless pit and never return. Your name will be forbidden and forgotten.”

  When she did not capitulate, Cernunnos gathered his power over the earth and plants and began to craft the prison that would hold her. At a thought, the earth in the center of the circle buckled and roared. He forced a deep crater into the earth’s surface, an abyss that went on and on beneath it, toward its core.

/>   Then he imbued the walls of it with power, whispering the words in his mind and guiding the soil to do his bidding. Soon, the endless pit was prepared and awaited its prisoner. Taranis’s winds then brought her over it and pushed her into the earth, holding her while the final step was taken.

  This step, a necessary but terrible one, for it called for a supreme sacrifice, would seal her out of this human world. A human male who carried Chaela’s blood and power over fire stepped into the circle and joined them in the ritual, adding his voice to theirs. Her screams pierced the spell and made this human world shake on its foundation.

  She knew now.

  And she feared.

  Taranis forced her farther down into the blackness, thrusting her deep into the chamber that existed within and outside this world. Their words sung and whispered would now seal it, and spilling the blood of Chaela’s human son on the barrier would keep her there forever.

  The man walked to the edge then and, with a nod, threw himself off the edge, soaring out over the abyss. Sucellus created a spear of iron and threw it at the man, impaling him, piercing his heart and spilling his blood into the pit.

  Cernunnos and the other gods honored the sacrifice, freely made, with their words, and completed the ritual that sealed Chaela away. With but a thought, the earth flowed over the pit, hiding its location. Belenus, the god of order and healing, caused a blessed silence over the area as the chamber closed and disappeared. The stones in the circle shrank and returned to their usual size and positions and everything was right with the world.

  Glancing at the others, Cernunnos could see the cost that they had paid for their actions. They would never be the same again, for they had raised their powers against one of their own. The worst part was knowing that they’d barely succeeded in this. It had taken all of their powers combined against Chaela’s to conquer her, and then only a blood sacrifice brought victory to them. Now, at least, the human world and its inhabitants were safe and would remain so.

  Forever.

  Knowing that humans could continue without their help, they planned to leave this world. In spite of their triumph this day, they decided to instill their powers in their own human bloodlines to keep watch . . . always.

  Warriors of destiny, not war. A race of men and women who could rise, if ever needed, and keep this evil at bay.

  But, with the gods’ course of actions this day, these warriors would never need to do more than keep watch. They would never need to rise up against evil.

  Never.

  PROLOGUE

  She, the unspeakable beast, rose on black-and-red wings and filled his vision of the sky. She tilted her head back and roared her joy. The sound of it turned his blood cold, but what Corann saw next caused his legs to give out and his heart to pound against the walls of his chest.

  A dragon!

  The goddess was a dragon.

  She roared once more and spewed columns of fire into the air. Then she lowered her head and aimed her weapon on those who yet fought her human soldiers around the circle. With great bursts of flame and heat, she decimated them, leaving ashes in her wake.

  And then only he stood between her and the rest of the Warriors of Destiny. He must stop her. Somehow he must stop her or their gods-given mission to protect all of humanity would end here and now.

  Corann closed his eyes and began to chant. He knew not the words, only the melody, so he began with that. Words, he trusted, would follow. The screams around him faded as he focused his mind, heart, and soul on the protective spell he wove.

  It was the hot air blowing in his face that distracted him from his task. Opening his eyes, he stared into the unholy gaze of the goddess Chaela. All his beliefs, all his faith, failed him in that moment and the only thing he could do was stand, shocked and terrified, as he watched the dragon inhale a deep breath.

  And exhale. . . .

  Corann jumped from his pallet, the scream still escaping from deep within him. Sweat poured down his head and body and he could not stop shaking. The other men sharing his tent all peered, wide-eyed and shocked, at him as he tried to regain control of himself and his terror.

  Touching his chest, he knew he was not burned. He was alive.

  It was a dream. Or was it a vision of some future or some past? Corann left the tent and walked into the woods. Disturbed by what he had seen, he wandered deeper into the trees seeking peace and guidance. If he was to lead these people, if they depended on him, he must understand what he had seen.

  Hours passed and he did not find what he was searching for. When the sun rose, Corann did not understand what he’d seen or what it all meant. And that was when the real fear struck him.

  For if he could not cast a spell or face the evil one when the time came, everyone would die. As the leader of the priests, he was responsible for protecting the others. It mattered not that he had just taken on this position. It mattered not that his abilities were nothing like what his mentor Marcus’s had been.

  None of that mattered when they all came face-to-face with evil.

  Gods help them all.

  The Faithful are Lost and the Lost have Faith.

  The Bringer of Life cares for the Caretaker

  and the One who Loses all will gain the most.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Lands of Lord Geoffrey of Amesbury

  Plain of Sarum, southwest England

  Tolan thrust his hands into the earth and crumbled the dry chunks of dirt between his palms. Closing his eyes, he used his other senses to determine the problem here. The pungent smell of decay wafted through the air as he continued to disturb the layers of dirt before him. But worse, a sign of dead earth, there were no creatures in it.

  No worms. No insects. None of the usual inhabitants of healthy, growing soil. No life at all. Crops would never grow in this. He opened his eyes, tilted his head, and met the gaze of Lord Geoffrey’s steward.

  “’Tis dead,” he said, withdrawing his hands from the soil and brushing them off. Standing, he waved his arm across the area, pointing to the rest of the large field. “Nothing will grow here.”

  “What can be done, Tolan?” Bordan asked as he twisted his hands together and frowned. “Lord Geoffrey wants to expand the production of crops in this area of his lands. He does not wish to hear that it is not possible.”

  Tolan shook his head and shrugged. Though he knew the problem, it was not something he could explain or describe to the steward. Bordan, indeed the lord himself, would not understand Tolan’s link to these lands. To the land.

  “Can you not mix one of your concoctions and add it to the soil? It has worked in the past.” The man grew anxious and sweaty in spite of the cool air around them. “Lord Geoffrey . . .”

  Lord Geoffrey brooked no failure among those who served him. Nor among those he dealt with or owned. Neither nobleman nor serf would naysay the lord and come away unscathed. Bordan, gods help him, would be the one to deliver this bad news, so Tolan understood his growing fear. Lord Geoffrey often punished the bearer of the news as well as those who were a cause for it.

  “I will speak to him, Bordan. Let me check other places on the field and see what can be done.”

  “He arrives at Amesbury Castle on the morrow, Tolan. Come then.”

  The words sounded like an order given, so Tolan nodded and did not try to argue. He watched as the steward waved for his horse and rode off at a fast pace. The man had many tasks to see to if his lord was coming home on the morrow. Tolan glanced up at the sun high in the sky and knew his hours were limited as well.

  Winter tried to keep its hold over the land and air even as the soil yet held to the sluggish sleep of the cold season. The wakening of spring was close, so close that Tolan could feel the tingling sensation of its approach in his own skin.

  As he did every year. His body felt the impending changes that would awaken to life or put the gr
owing things to sleep before they happened. Once he reached manhood, this mindfulness of the earth had begun and it had grown stronger with each passing year. From awareness to something . . . more over the last several years, something that seemed to guide or encourage the plants to grow.

  It had not been just him—his father and grandfathers before him all seemed to have this connection to the earth. Decades and generations of men committed to stewardship of the land, and their commitment had been successful through years of lean or plenty. Their results had been noticed, and the lords who held these lands over time always called on his family to oversee their estates.

  His father and grandfather before him had served Lord Geoffrey’s family since this lord’s ancestors had been given the lands in reward for service to their king generations ago. And, as Tolan glanced across the distance at his own son working there, he knew the practice would continue for many more. ’Twas simply the way of things.

  Walking to the shed where he kept supplies and seed, Tolan retrieved a small sack of useless powder he’d made for just this purpose and took it back to the field. Calling for a small cart, he and two of the workers filled the back of it with soil from the dead field. Making certain he was witnessed, Tolan poured the powder over the soil and mixed it with his hands.

  “Spread this evenly over the field,” he directed.

  With his arms crossed over his chest, he watched as the men did as he’d ordered. It took some time and the sun was sliding down toward the west by the time they finished. He dismissed them and all the workers to seek their evening meal and rest and waited for the moon to rise.

  In the silence of the gloaming, Tolan walked the perimeter of the field and when night fell, he was ready. Kneeling in the center, heedless to the growing cold, he removed his garments and plunged his hands and arms once more into the soil, spreading his fingers as widely as he could. He raised his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and whispered the prayers handed down to him by his father and grandfather before him.