Cas lives in the lovely county of Hampshire, southern UK, where she was born. On leaving school she trained for two years before qualifying as horse-riding instructor. During this time she also learned to carriage-drive. She spent thirteen years in the British Civil Service before moving to Rome, Italy, where she and her husband, Dave, lived for three years. They enjoy returning whenever they can. Cas supports many animal charities and owns two rescue dogs. She has a large collection of cacti and loves gardening. She is also a folk singer/songwriter and is currently writing and recording nine folk-style songs to accompany each of her fantasy books. You can listen to and download all the songs from her website: www.caspeace.com
See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here: http://www.caspeace.com/cas-
Pure evil rises once again in Albia…
Three years have passed since Baron Reen’s trial. A
terrible accident on the island of his exile has transformed him into a
nightmarish scarecrow creature with dark, mysterious powers. Staging his own
suicide, Reen breaks free of his prison and, with the help of the former queen
Sofira, embarks on a ruthless quest for vengeance against his worst enemy, the
woman responsible for the overthrow of his schemes and his own ruination:
Brynne Sullyan.
Sullyan is tasked with investigating Reen’s suicide.
The missing body and a series of disasters in Port Loxton—a vicious murder, a
brutal ambush, and a devastating fire—raise suspicions in her mind. She probes
deeper, determined to uncover the truth, unsuspecting of the evil that’s about to
be unleashed…
Reviews for this series:
“Cas Peace's Artesans of Albia series immediately sweeps you away to a
world so deftly written. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly
real. Smart. Powerful. Compelling.”
Janet E Morris: Bestselling sci-fi and fantasy author of: Thieves World,
The Sacred Band of Stepsons series; the Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun;
Outpassage; The Silistra Quartet; and editor of the Bangsian In Hell
series.
"A thoroughly believable and hauntingly evocative tale portraying one of
the best magical systems ever devised. What are you waiting for? Step
through the veil and immerse yourselves in the worlds of the Artesan
series."
Andrew P. Weston – Author of the internationally bestselling "IX Series"
world so deftly written. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly
real. Smart. Powerful. Compelling.”
Janet E Morris: Bestselling sci-fi and fantasy author of: Thieves World,
The Sacred Band of Stepsons series; the Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun;
Outpassage; The Silistra Quartet; and editor of the Bangsian In Hell
series.
"A thoroughly believable and hauntingly evocative tale portraying one of
the best magical systems ever devised. What are you waiting for? Step
through the veil and immerse yourselves in the worlds of the Artesan
series."
Andrew P. Weston – Author of the internationally bestselling "IX Series"
Excerpt #2
The Scarecrow
“Daughter, forgive me, but I must ask you again; are you sure, are you completely sure this is what you want? You haven’t seen him yet, you haven’t spoken with him. I have to tell you, he is not the man you remember, no matter what his letters suggested.”
Lerric was sitting with Sofira on the bed in her luxuriously appointed chamber, autumn sunlight streaming through the window. Its warmth helped alleviate the horror he still felt after his earlier meeting with the creature Sofira had begged him to save. The king held fast to his daughter’s hands, mainly to disguise the tremble of his own, but also to convey his intense unease. He looked earnestly into her hard gray eyes and willed her to hear his concern. Despite his fear, he was loath to reveal precisely what had taken roost in that fetid cell far beneath the palace floors.
Sofira stared back at him, hearing his care for her, seeing his distress. But it seemed she could not understand his concern, for her brittle eyes glazed with tears. “Don’t you want me to have back what was taken from me, Father?” Her colorless face was animated with hurt. “You know how unhappy I’ve been since I was forced to return here. You know how I ache for my children.”
Lerric nodded. “I know it’s been hard for you. At least at the castle Elias allowed you access to them—”
“Access?” Sofira snarled. “What use is access to me? Never allowed to be alone with them, never to take them out of my prison, never to walk in the park with them? He doled out time with them as if giving tidbits to a dog, and kept me kenneled like one, too. And I a Queen! How could you condone that?”
Lerric thought better of reminding his daughter she had ceased to be a queen when Elias dissolved their marriage. And in light of what she had done—misled by Reen or not, she couldn’t pretend ignorance of the risks she had run—Lerric considered her fortunate not to have suffered the death penalty. Not that he could tell her that, either.
He spoke soothingly. “I didn’t say I condoned it, daughter, and you know I never wanted to see you separated from Eadan and Seline. It’s just that . . . Sofira, are you absolutely convinced Hezra is sane?”
Sofira froze. She stared at her father, a biting retort on her lips. But then she realized he was only trying to protect her, clumsy though he was. She relaxed her spine and smiled.
“Oh, Father, of course I’m sure. Do you think I wouldn’t know if something had affected his mind? It’s a clever ruse, a ploy he’s devised to make them relax their vigilance. Didn’t you read his letters? Didn’t you feel the sincerity in his words, his deep desire to restore all I’ve lost? And don’t forget, my restoration will also benefit you. You’ll be more than recompensed for your trouble and the support you continue to give us. We’ll not forget you or Bordenn when I am once again Albia’s High Queen.”
Lerric doubted that. He had seen the light of fanaticism in the scarecrow’s eyes, the driving desire to control, the fervid lust for revenge at any cost. Reen might be willing to accept the title of consort for now, but Lerric would not bet much on him being happy with a supporting role for long, not once the reins of power were in his hands. Sofira was clearly already under his spell. He had cunningly charmed her from within his prison, writing her words of contrition, loyalty, and love. In her beleaguered state of angry, lonely sorrow, brought on by the conditions Elias had imposed on her, she had been easy prey.
Lerric shivered. Why should that word—prey—cause his heart to constrict? Why did it conjure images of ragged carrion birds feasting on a corpse?
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