Release Day Celebration: Blood Oath by Amanda McCrina - Excerpt- Giveaway!

 

Welcome to the Release Day Celebration for

Blood Oath by Amanda McCrina

presented by Month9Books!

Be sure to enter the giveaway found at the end of the post!

 

CONGRATULATIONS AMANDA!

 

The aftermath of what happened in the capital has shaken Torien to the core. Battling self-doubt and bitterness, he must find his resolve as he is sent back to Tasso to quell a violent uprising on the Road.

But Torien will need more than resolve to navigate the deadly path before him. His troops are inexperienced and his new adjutant untrustworthy. A series of murder attempts leaves the whole camp on edge. As the threat of mutiny builds, the mission seems doomed before they even reach Tasso—and Torien is beginning to suspect it was meant that way. He and his men are being set up to fail.

With his best friend in the hands of the rebels, his commanding officer refusing to negotiate a peace treaty, and his own men ready to turn on him at any moment, Torien must decide once and for all how much he’s willing to sacrifice for an empire he no longer believes in.

Blood Oath (Blood Oath #2) by Amanda McCrina Release Date: June 19, 2018 Publisher: Month9Books

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Excerpts (4-5 please)

I.

He spent the heat of the day there on the tent floor, waiting to die.

He lay very still in the half-light, blinking sweat from his eyes and licking it from his lips, pacing his breaths as the signo had taught him, looking up at the scraped-leather tent hide and trying to find Cesin in the cracks and little ridges, remembering that he couldn’t die, not yet, because the Dobryno had promised him that he would die a blood traitor before the doors of the house at Vessy—remembering suddenly in the silence that it was the Decimes, five days until his birthday, five years to the month since he’d been home for the barley harvest.

He’d been fourteen, very nearly to his manhood, and that year at harvest the bodies of the executed Dobryni still hung in the oaks below the city walls on the north bank of the river, facing the causeway. He hadn’t been down to the river all that harvest season. Afraid of ghosts, Taure said—Taure, who’d been nineteen years old and afraid of nothing, who went out with the huntsmen in the river wood after deer and boar. He’d meant no harm by his words, but he didn’t understand and couldn’t understand, because he had never looked into a dying man’s eyes.

Torien didn’t fear the dead. The dead had followed him five years now, familiar as kin. But he’d let Taure think it was fear, because he didn’t know how to explain that it was shame.

II.

“We’ll set a perimeter above that spur,” Torien said. He didn’t want to argue about it, not now. “Two perimeters—I want your auxiliaries on an outer line. They’ve seen combat.”

Chion didn’t seem to have heard. His eyes were somewhere away over the rim, westward.

Torien leaned over and caught Chion’s horse by the cheekstrap of its bridle. As if by reflex, Chion tried to pull the horse’s head away. Then he seemed to realize what he’d done. He let the reins go slack.

“I picked you myself in Vione,” Torien said. “I asked Fiere for you. I wanted you with me, Chion.”

“You say it like you did me a favor.” Chion flung up his chin suddenly. “You say it like you expect me to be grateful that you’ve dug my grave with yours.”

“I’ve dug nobody’s grave.”

It came out more forcefully than he’d meant—almost a snarl. Chion flinched.

Torien let go the horse’s bridle.

“Call the column to halt,” he said. “Get the wagons up the hill.”

And then, when Chion had ridden away down the slope and he was alone on the rim, hidden from the column below by an outcropping of bald rock, he slid from Fihar’s saddle, unbuckled his helmet, went face-down on the dirt, and prayed forgiveness for Ædyn’s blood until the words no longer came.

III.

Chion unsheathed his knife and slid the blade under the edge of Torien’s cuirass, above the hip.

“I’m going to signal the ships tonight,” he said.

Torien stood very still against the blade. “Chion—”

“I won’t kill you—though I think Serik would, if I asked him. I’ll let them give you your trial in Choiro.”

“Listen to me, Chion.”

“You’ll be under guard. The Tegeni can do it. Easier that way. You’ll be in your quarters as if nothing has happened.”

“I sent to negotiate. I sent to offer peace.”

“General Sarno said you would.” Chion unbuckled Torien’s sword belt with his free hand. “He said you’d try. Said it was in your barbarian blood—to betray us. I said I’d stop you, if it came to that.” He tugged the belt off and bundled it under his elbow. He shrugged Torien’s hand from his shoulder. He eased the blade a little, pushing Torien around toward the hilltop. He jabbed the point into the small of Torien’s back. “Walk.”

“Is that what you think? That it’s my barbarian blood?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that what you think, Chion?”

Chion was silent, for a moment.

“I don’t think you’re a traitor,” he said finally. “Not the way Sarno thinks, anyway. I think you really believed they’d give us peace.”

“At least give them the chance. Wait until the signo comes back.”

“If he comes back.”

“You’ll know by nightfall. At least wait until then.”

“I can’t,” Chion said. “I can’t, even if I wanted. I gave Sarno my word.”

“You gave me your word. Any oath I asked—you weren’t the traitor. Your word doesn’t mean much, at this point.”

“I can swear truthfully that I serve the Empire. My word to you came subject to that. You should understand. You swore it the same.”

“I serve the Empire,” Torien said.

“They can decide it at your court martial,” Chion said.

IV.

Torien glanced up. “Send up the signo when you go, or see what’s keeping him. It’s been an hour since—”

Something moved stiffly against his fingers. A small, smooth-skinned, pink snake uncoiled from the silk and sank its teeth into the fleshy part of his hand, between thumb and forefinger.

He flung the box away by reflex. The snake clung to him. He stood with the thing dangling limp from his hand. Chion had dropped his cup and staggered up like a drunk. Torien drew his belt knife and cut through the body at the base of the head. The body fell with a soft thump on the sand. The head hung on stubbornly.

He looked up at Chion.

“Get it off,” he said. “I can’t.” His hands shook. He held out the knife. “Get it off.”

Chion took the knife. His face was pale green, the color of unripe olives. His teeth were bared in a grimace. He held Torien’s hand by the wrist and pried the head loose with the flat of the blade. The jaws sprang open. The head dropped on the sand, and Chion kicked it away.

Torien sank to his knees, leaning forward to steady himself on his hands. Chion crouched beside him.

“I’ll go for the surgeon,” Chion said.

Torien sucked a breath. His heart was racing.

“Advise the officers,” he said.

“What?”

“Advise the officers to prepare defenses down the hill.”

For a moment, Chion was very still beside him. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s my fault, Chion.”

“I’ll bring the surgeon,” Chion said.

“Leave that knife,” Torien said.

   

Amanda McCrina has studied in Italy, taught English in Japan, and currently tutors Latin in Atlanta, Georgia. She received her BA in History from the University of West Georgia, and is now pursuing her MA. She writes stories that incorporate her love of history, languages, and world travel. She drinks far too much coffee and dreams of one day having a winning fantasy-hockey season.

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