Born into poverty and orphaned young, Daveth Blyd had one chance for success when his fighting prowess earned him a place in the Tangye city guard—a place he lost to false accusations of theft. Now he scrapes out a living searching for wayward spouses and missing children. When a nobleman offers him a small fortune to find an entertainer who’s stolen a ring, Daveth takes the case.While Jory Pearce may or may not be a thief, he certainly can’t be trusted. But, enchanted by Jory’s beauty and haunting voice, Daveth soon finds himself caught in the middle of a conspiracy. As he searches desperately for answers, he realizes that he’s also falling for Jory. The two men face river wraiths, assassins, a necromancer, and a talking head that could be Daveth’s salvation on their quest for the truth. But with everyone’s integrity in question and Death eager to dance, Daveth will need more than sorcery to survive.
Buy links: Dreamspinner | Amazon
Cat gives this one 5 Meows with a 2 Purr heat index..
High Fantasy isn’t my favorite genre but occasionally I like to venture out of my comfort zone. Kim fielding is one of my auto buy authors so I figured I couldn’t go wrong. I was right. I absolutely loved this story. The characters are unique and intriguing and the story is riveting and full of twists. It kept me on my toes to the very end.
If you like high fantasy and/ or mystery/ suspense, singers, ex- guards, ghosts, wraiths, necromancers, twists, and a beautiful romance you will love this!
Excerpt...
THE OLD lady clutched her shawl and gazed at me with watery eyes. “But I don’t have twenty briquets,” she said, voice quavering.
I spread my arms. “Then I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
“But my granddaughter… she says the man was rich. He had fine clothing.”
Rich is a relative thing in the Low, and the locals are poor judges of wealth. They assume anyone who wears better than rags has untold treasures. But I didn’t say that, and the old woman wouldn’t have listened if I had.
“Look,” I said instead, “he may be rich, but I’m not. I have to pay rent for this place.” I waved my hands to indicate the entirety of my front room. “I have to pay for food.”
“When you find him, we’ll pay you. When he gives us money for the baby.”
“Yes, you’ll pay me another twenty then. But first you have to give me twenty now, or I’m not looking.” I’d likely find the fellow who’d impregnated the woman’s granddaughter, but even if he had some money, there was no guarantee he’d pay up. He might simply deny the child was his, and proof of paternity is damn hard to find. Or maybe he would pay and this poor old lady and her family would take the money and run, leaving me as hungry as before. That happened to me once or twice before I wised up.
“But it’s a baby, and they need so many things.”
“Bring me the twenty briquets and I’ll find your rich man—then the babe can have whatever it needs.”
I stood and gently urged her to her feet, then guided her by the elbow to the door. She gave me a final reproachful look before exiting into the afternoon crowds. In all likelihood she’d be back in a few days with ten or fifteen briquets, and I’d agree to take the job for that. I’d probably accept even less if no clients showed up in the interim. My cupboards had grown even barer in the month since I’d fucked Myghal, and my prospects had become no brighter.
Once she was gone, I carried her teacup to the dry sink that stood against one wall and gave the cup a quick scrub in the basin of water. Then I returned the cup to the shelf. I don’t own much, but I think more clearly with clean and tidy possessions.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten, so I donned my cloak and headed to a food cart a few streets away. That was something I liked about being in my neighborhood—I knew where to get cheap food that wouldn’t poison me. I was wise enough not to ask what kind of meat roasted over the vendor’s small fire. Today I bought two skewers and ate them on the spot, following them with a tiny loaf of bread that tasted of sawdust.
My hunger staved, I considered going to the Weeping Wyvern for a pint of watery ale, but instead I returned home in case the old lady showed up with payment. Or maybe another client would appear. That, or the goddess Lyadra might materialize and shower me with gold coins from her basket.
As I stood at my door, fighting the recalcitrant lockspell, someone approached from behind. I whirled, hand on the hilt of one of the knives at my waist.
“Daveth Blyd?” The man did not hold a weapon. He was a decade older than me, medium height, and slightly built, his hair reduced to hardly more than a few wisps. He wore coarse workman’s attire, but it wasn’t his. His teeth were too good and his skin too fair, his carefully trimmed fingernails far too clean. He’d probably borrowed the clothes from a servant.
“Yes,” I said carefully.
“I’d like to employ you.”
Huh. Maybe Lyadra really would show up.
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I spread my arms. “Then I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
“But my granddaughter… she says the man was rich. He had fine clothing.”
Rich is a relative thing in the Low, and the locals are poor judges of wealth. They assume anyone who wears better than rags has untold treasures. But I didn’t say that, and the old woman wouldn’t have listened if I had.
“Look,” I said instead, “he may be rich, but I’m not. I have to pay rent for this place.” I waved my hands to indicate the entirety of my front room. “I have to pay for food.”
“When you find him, we’ll pay you. When he gives us money for the baby.”
“Yes, you’ll pay me another twenty then. But first you have to give me twenty now, or I’m not looking.” I’d likely find the fellow who’d impregnated the woman’s granddaughter, but even if he had some money, there was no guarantee he’d pay up. He might simply deny the child was his, and proof of paternity is damn hard to find. Or maybe he would pay and this poor old lady and her family would take the money and run, leaving me as hungry as before. That happened to me once or twice before I wised up.
“But it’s a baby, and they need so many things.”
“Bring me the twenty briquets and I’ll find your rich man—then the babe can have whatever it needs.”
I stood and gently urged her to her feet, then guided her by the elbow to the door. She gave me a final reproachful look before exiting into the afternoon crowds. In all likelihood she’d be back in a few days with ten or fifteen briquets, and I’d agree to take the job for that. I’d probably accept even less if no clients showed up in the interim. My cupboards had grown even barer in the month since I’d fucked Myghal, and my prospects had become no brighter.
Once she was gone, I carried her teacup to the dry sink that stood against one wall and gave the cup a quick scrub in the basin of water. Then I returned the cup to the shelf. I don’t own much, but I think more clearly with clean and tidy possessions.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten, so I donned my cloak and headed to a food cart a few streets away. That was something I liked about being in my neighborhood—I knew where to get cheap food that wouldn’t poison me. I was wise enough not to ask what kind of meat roasted over the vendor’s small fire. Today I bought two skewers and ate them on the spot, following them with a tiny loaf of bread that tasted of sawdust.
My hunger staved, I considered going to the Weeping Wyvern for a pint of watery ale, but instead I returned home in case the old lady showed up with payment. Or maybe another client would appear. That, or the goddess Lyadra might materialize and shower me with gold coins from her basket.
As I stood at my door, fighting the recalcitrant lockspell, someone approached from behind. I whirled, hand on the hilt of one of the knives at my waist.
“Daveth Blyd?” The man did not hold a weapon. He was a decade older than me, medium height, and slightly built, his hair reduced to hardly more than a few wisps. He wore coarse workman’s attire, but it wasn’t his. His teeth were too good and his skin too fair, his carefully trimmed fingernails far too clean. He’d probably borrowed the clothes from a servant.
“Yes,” I said carefully.
“I’d like to employ you.”
Huh. Maybe Lyadra really would show up.
Kim Fielding: Authentic voices and unconventional heroes.
I have lived in Illinois, Oregon, Nebraska, and Croatia, but for a long time now I've called the boring part of California home. I have a husband, two daughters, a day job as a university professor, and a passion for travel. I write in many genres--contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, historical--but no matter when and where my stories are set, I love complex worlds and complicated characters. I think that often it's a person's flaws that make him stronger and more beautiful.
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