Framed…
When eighteen-year-old Methusal Maahr is framed for the murder of her oldest friend, she will do anything to expose the true killer and clear her name, including team up with her arch rival in the Kaavl Games, Behran. But all clues point to her guilt…and appear to tie into a conspiracy regarding the new peace talks with their oldest enemies from Dehre.
While peace looms on the horizon, Methusal doesn’t trust it. Mentall Solboshn, Chief of Dehre, is not what he appears to be. Her determination to discover the truth soon pits her against the formidable Chief. Not only is he the best kaavl player in the land, but he is determined that the peace plan will pass. Can Methusal’s rare kaavl skills possibly outmatch him, and stop him from succeeding with his devious plans?
Methusal is ready and willing to do anything to protect her community of Rolban–even put her own life on the line to expose and defeat a dangerous political foe. But little does she realize the true danger may lie within her own community…”
EXCERPT ONE
At the gravesite this morning, Renn’s only living parent, Liem, had stood as still as a stone, his features blank.
Grief still felt like claws shredding Methusal’s soul.
Stop it. Concentrate. He’d want it that way.
Renn had been pragmatic. A careful thinker, with unexpected flashes of wit. They’d been good friends for their entire lives.
She let the hot tears fall. Surely he was in a better place now. He wouldn’t want her to cry over him, either. If he was here, he’d probably say, “Life goes on, Thusa.” Then he’d smile. “Remember that baby whip I hid in your jacket? Almost bit your finger off. Count your blessings I’m gone.”
Methusal swallowed against the ache in her throat. Kaavl. Kaavl would deliver her from the grief. For a while. Maybe running would help, too.
She climbed down the rocky hillside, fiercely trying to concentrate into a kaavl state of mind. Soon she’d be ready for the Kaavl Games, which would take place in a few days.
As she focused, Methusal became kaavl; intensely aware of the late afternoon sun toasting her skin, and the sharp stones biting into her thin, multi-patched moccasins. Tall, thick tagma bushes dotted the plain, networked by thick gnarled roots that rippled across the surface of the flat, dry brown earth. A whisper of movement tickled her ears, and dry leaves rustled.
A whip beast was stalking a round, furry apte. Muted gasping noises interrupted the peaceful quiet.
The sounds of struggle, and of death.
Death. Again, thinking about Renn stole the breath from her lungs.
Concentrate.
An innocent animal fought to live. She could save it.
