RACING THE SUN is finally a reality. My debut self-published novel I’ve worked so long on is now spreading its wings and heading out in the world to be held in your hands, and I can’t explain the elation I feel. To celebrate, you can read the prologue to RTS here, below!
The Neverworlds swirl in her sight. After the feasts, she will depart for Ajrapur, following her family who left days ago. She had lied to stay behind; told them that she needed to lead the prayers and give thanks to her patron, the goddess Kaiduko. Really, she can’t stand to see the love of her life marry her brother for the sake of peace.
Pain sparks through her ribcage as she returns to the mortal plane. Kneeling before the low altars of the dream goddess’ temple, Iliyah Tyrikaara whips back the golden veil from her ebony hair. The marble floor beneath them thrums with power, with wrongness.
But this cannot be. Her vision must not become truth.
‘Send for a messenger,’ barks the Praitosí princess, rising to her feet. The candles at the altar sputter out, the oxygen snuffed from the room. Iliyah turns on her fellow dream weavers gathered on the wide steps behind her. As the future High Priestess, they look to her with wide, expectant eyes. So, they have not seen what the Neverworlds showed her.
‘Someone find my brother,’ she demands, gathering her skirts in her hands as she descends the dais. Saadi will need to know of this news. For if their aunt Nisha is coming for them, then they must fortify the wards of the palace. Even Ajrapur across the border will not be safe.
One of the younger priestesses rises from her knees. She’s so young she has barely a freckle of the gift. But she is skilled with the tapestries of time. ‘My lady,’ she breathes, her urgent voice echoing off the domed ceiling of the ancient temple.
But Iliyah’s eyes find the threat before it can be spoken.
The woman in black stands at the open doors of the inner-temple. A dark aura ripples off of her, clouding the room. The priestesses unfortunate enough to be nearest her are frozen in time, their forms unflinching as the banished sorceress strolls further into the temple.
If the wards were new, she would not be able to enter.
‘I assume you have seen what is to come,’ purrs the sorceress, her pointed teeth glinting in the candlelight. There’s the silver glow of madness in her eyes.
Iliyah flicks her hand at an armoured guard by the side entrance. ‘Fetch the Crown Prince,’ she orders again, knowing that it is already too late. ‘Tell him I am dead.’
The shocked silence of her followers echoes in the silent dome.
‘A shame,’ drawls Nisha, running her hands over the shoulders of kneeling priestesses who tense beneath her touch. Iliyah lifts her chin in defiance as her aunt approaches, the darkness rippling behind her. ‘Rahat will be so broken.’
Iliyah releases the folds of her gown; the muslin whispers as it falls against her dark skin. ‘Leave her out of this,’ she growls, hands balling at her sides. Her fingertips grow warm, but her magic does not come. Could her aunt be blocking her gift?
Nisha eyes her niece’s throat and the gems that rest there. ‘I don’t think that’s possible.’
Taking a step back up the stairs to the altar, Iliyah throws up a hand for the others. ‘Close the doors; mark the gates! No matter what you must do, keep her contained!’
But Nisha moves so quickly, Iliyah does not catch her movements until she feels the hand in her chest. With her claws wrapped around her heart, the sorceress grins. The world about them stills, the warmth banished from this cold temple. Iliyah feels the arctic arching through her torso.
‘At last,’ the sorceress sighs, bringing Iliyah to her knees, soul in hand.
YOU CAN FIND RACING THE SUN THROUGH ALL E-BOOK DISTRIBUTORS AND AS A PAPERBACK ON SEVERAL ONLINE RETAILERS.