Fifteen hundred years of Arthurian legend come to a head in the final installment of The Wraithwood Trilogy.
The sword of legend, ancient magic, and a dead man’s secrets-together they could save Brinnie’s world or end it forever.
Brinnie barely escaped Mordizan with her life. Battered and broken in body and soul, she knows she’s running out of time. And though she has discovered the identity of Mordred’s bane, no one knows where to find the legendary weapon.
To discover the truth, she and Marcus must journey to Castelon and seek the aid of the Council. However, their actions at Mordizan brand them as enemies and war criminals. Between Mordred’s armies engaged in full-scale war and the political machinations of the Council, Brinnie struggles to balance the battlefield and the courtroom while estates fall before Mordred’s wrath.
As magic ravages her own body, threatening her survival, the allure of ancient, forbidden power grows brighter. And only one man holds the knowledge of the weapon that could destroy Mordred once and for all-a man they buried in the gardens of Wraithwood.
EXCERPT
Nathan blazed a trail to a pair of carved wood doors and turned the brass handle on the left, pushing the door inward. “After you.”
She stepped inside, the smell of leather and old books wrapping around her. In the center of the room, an ostentatious solid wood desk shone in front of a massive hearth, over which hung a painted portrait of what appeared to be Scott Castelius and family, his children with their spouses and children. Shelves lined the walls, with free-standing bookcases making up a couple of rows on either side, most of the books beautifully bound, many accented with what appeared to be gold leaf.
She spun slowly. “These are beautiful, but they don’t strike me as books about dark magic.”
“Oh, these aren’t.” He strode past her, heading for the wide stone hearth behind the desk. He walked right in, ducking only slightly, turned to the right, and was gone.
Brinnie’s eyebrows shot up. She followed, peeking around the corner of the fireplace. Beyond the initial line of stones, a tunnel led back several feet.
They emerged from the tunnel into what felt more like an archive than the display library in front. Old books and scrolls were carefully labeled on well-organized shelves.
Nathan headed straight to the back of the room and gestured to one of the bookshelves that housed both scrolls and tomes. “These might help.”
She gathered her skirts to better navigate the narrow rows. She leaned toward the shelf he had suggested, squinting at the labels, all in the ancient language.
She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. If magic allowed her to speak and understand the language, it should help her read it as well.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the lettering. Mental translation felt unwieldy, like reading her high school Spanish books, but she could understand enough.
One word stood out—dywledrith. Dark magic.
“Thank you, Nathan. These should be quite helpful.”
The one type of magic even Mordred wouldn’t touch. Which meant he would be powerless against it.
In the end, you were right, Keilrie.
She could almost hear the old woman’s cackle.
Alyssa Roat has worked in a wide variety of roles within the publishing industry as an agent, editor, writer, and publicist. She is the managing editor at Mountain Brook Fire. She has held positions as the publicity manager for publisher Mountain Brook Ink, an associate literary agent at Cyle Young Literary Elite, an editor with Sherpa Editing Services, and a freelance writer with hundreds of bylines in local, national, and international publications. She holds a B.S. in Professional Writing from Taylor University. She would love to connect on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram as well @alyssawrote.
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