About The Eighth Key:
The magic is gone…or is it?
Lucian is a jaded flirt and professional bard who knows all the old songs about sorcery. When he meets Corwin, a shy mage who can still use magic despite the Drought, Lucian finds his desire growing with each passing day—not just for answers, but for Corwin himself.
Sparks fly as they find themselves passionately entangled in adventure and each other. But learning the true origin of the Drought and the Key to ending it comes at a price that their bond may not survive…
Excerpt:
“...the shadows shifted and flowed, revealing Corwin’s face in the low light. The darkness coalesced into an oval bubble around the flute. Lucian fought to keep his eyes mostly closed and his body relaxed. He’d never seen magic done on such a scale. He knew all the stories, but no one had power enough for things like this anymore.
The flute, fashioned from light-colored wood, seemed to fade from sight as the shadows surrounding it thickened, flowing into and through it as well as around it. All at once, it was visible again. Lucian’s eyes flew open despite himself.
The flute, his flute, was glowing.
It was faint at first, brightening as he watched. It was like gazing at the sky as the sun came up, the glow increasing gradually but inexorably. Lucian squinted against it, but kept still.
It grew brighter and brighter, and then, without warning, the light was gone.
Lucian couldn’t see anything but the after-images burned into his eyes, the shape of a white flute made dark against his eyelids.
Slowly, his vision cleared.
Corwin was still there.
He was staring down at the flute. As Lucian watched, his hands closed and tightened around the instrument. His shoulders rose then fell again in a barely-audible sigh. Lifting his head, he gazed out at the forest. The shadows that had surrounded him before were gone, and Lucian could see the deep frown carved into his brow in the remnants of the fire’s dim glow.
Without warning, Corwin moved. He didn’t leave, as Lucian had half expected him to. Moving slowly, he put the flute back. Lucian couldn’t be sure, but he thought the mage’s hands were shaking. Slowly, he replaced the other items, the tinderbox and clothing. When everything was stowed away, Corwin returned to his spot on the other side of the fire. Lucian heard him shifting and settling as he lay down again.
It was hard to sleep after that. Lucian lay awake for a long time, his mind running in circles, skipping from one idea to the next in the disconnected way of late-night thoughts.
Mages didn’t create. Everyone knew that a Water mage was useless in a true desert, and people used to say, if you wanted to be cold, you should marry a Heat mage - they would use all the heat in the room to boil a cup of tea. Perhaps a Light mage could have drawn the light from the fire and the crescent moon and faint stars to make the flute glow.
A Shadow mage could not.
But surely Corwin couldn’t have controlled the shadows so precisely if he were a Light mage. Lucian had seen the way he’d covered first himself and then the flute with darkness. Yet he’d also, somehow, made the flute glow.
What Lucian had just seen went against everything he’d ever heard about mages. He would hardly have been more surprised if he’d seen a frog flying through the air or a cat swimming underwater. He wondered that it didn’t frighten him. He felt only a mounting fascination.”
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