White Star

Praise for

DaggerStar “Wow! I can’t believe I somehow missed Vaughan’s previous books, the Chronicles of the Warlands trilogy. That’s something I intend to remedy as soon as possible.
DaggerStar
is the perfect blend of fantasy and romance . . . A really enjoyable read.”

—
Fresh Fiction

“An excellent romantic fantasy . . . Readers will enjoy Elizabeth Vaughan’s superb, clever return to the desolate Warlands.”

—
Midwest Book Review

“A worthy follow-up to the Warprize trilogy and I look forward to reading her next novel.”

“A very good, very sexy book.”

—
Romance Junkies

—
Affaire de Coeur

“Elizabeth Vaughan pens a story of love and adventure . . . You feel yourself being sucked into the adventure and don’t want to put the book down . . .
Dagger-Star
earns Vaughan worthy praise!”

—
Manic Readers

“In a return to the world of the Warlands trilogy, Elizabeth Vaughan successfully creates a new set of characters and a new story . . . Though Red and Josiah find their happy ending, there are other fascinating characters who must have their stories told, and I hope we see them soon.
DaggerStar
is a very satisfying read.”

—
Romance Reviews Today

“Elizabeth Vaughan makes a successful return to fantasy romance with a book that’s hard to put down.
Dagger-Star
will find a permanent home on many a bookshelf.”

—
The Romance Reader

“Gifted storyteller Vaughan delivers a tale of prophecy and rebellion . . . It’s as inventive and riveting as the rest of Vaughan’s novels!”

—
Romantic Times

continued . . .
Praise for Elizabeth Vaughan’s Chronicles of the Warlands

Warlord “A superb climax to an excellent saga . . . Romance and fantasy readers will appreciate this terrific trio as Elizabeth Vaughan provides a fabulous finish to a superior story.”

—
Midwest Book Review

“An outstanding conclusion to an inventive and riveting trilogy with a passionate, powerful love story at its core.”

—
The Romance Reader

“A top-notch series, well written and enjoyable.”

—
Curled Up With a Good Book

Warsworn “A moving continuation of the wonderful
Warprize
. Bravo.”

— Jo Beverley “I loved [this] sequel . . . I can’t wait for number three!”

— Anne McCaffrey “The dramatic tension is riveting and the emotional stakes are high in this excellent novel. Vaughan is an exceptional new talent, and the next chapter in this series will be highly anticipated!”

—
Romantic Times

“Readers will be delighted . . . Unusual and thoroughly enjoyable.”

—
Booklist

Warprize “Possibly the best romantic fantasy I have ever read!”

— Anne McCaffrey “I loved
Warprize
! Keir is a hero to savor, and Elizabeth Vaughan is an author to watch.”

— Claire Delacroix “Vaughan’s brawny barbarian romance recreates the delicious feeling of adventure and the thrill of exploring mysterious cultures created by Robert E. Howard in his Conan books and makes for a satisfying escapist read with its enjoyable romance between a plucky . . . heroine and a truly heroic hero.”

—
Booklist

“The most entertaining book I’ve read all year.”

— All About Romance

“Simply mesmerizing. The story is told flawlessly.”

— ParaNormal Romance Reviews

“Wonderful . . . Run to the bookstore and pick up this debut.”

—
A Romance Review

This book is dedicated to
Kandace Klumper, friend and muse.
If only Ohio and Nebraska shared a border . . .

^
»

He
was weary.

Orrin Blackhart strode through the great kitchen, past the cold hearths and scullery boys, past the cooks with their stained aprons, cold kettles, and wide eyes. Silence followed him as he emerged to march across the small courtyard, scattering the geese and chickens before him. His stride was long, his steps strong and steady, an old habit not to show exhaustion or pain. He was soul-weary, truth to tell, although his lips curled in derision at the thought.

As if he had a soul.

Men watched as he crossed the yard and angled toward the door to the dungeons beneath. He could have avoided their gaze, for there were other ways into the depths of the Keep of the Black Hills, but those were dark, filthy, and guarded by the odium. They were the undead guardians of this place, and though he appreciated them as a weapon, he could do without the stench. He’d wanted a bit of air before plunging into the depths of the prison, where light and breath were precious and rare.

A puddle of something foul lay in his way, but he stepped square into it with his black boots, determined to take the straightest route. After all, the Scourge of Palins never wavered in his duty: to protect his Baroness and his people. He took whatever means was necessary, used whatever weapon was at hand, to accomplish that goal.

Hadn’t he?

Pah. He was weary of the filth. Weary of stupidity, weary of trying to preserve the lives of his men. Bone-deep weary, that was the worst of it. No amount of sleep brought him rest or ease.

Orrin set his jaw and kept walking.

They knew where he went, his men. They knew full well what lay in the depths beneath the courtyard. Word would have flashed through the Keep, from the lowest scullery to the highest tower. He could almost feel their questions on his skin. Why had High Baroness Elanore left with a small force when the men were needed on their borders? What use would this prisoner be for their cause?

They looked to him, Orrin Blackhart, Lord Marshal of the Black Hills.

Pity he had no answers.

He strode to the door, bearing the burden of their regard. He’d served Lady Elanore, Baroness of the Black Hills, for years now, but the weight was heavier with each passing day. Each passing hour. It didn’t help that since her injury, Elanore had grown obsessed with her power and the undead odium that she could create with it.

Orrin scowled. Of late she’d grown even more focused and secretive. The Baroness had come up with this scheme to take one of the leaders of the rebellion prisoner. Once that had been set into motion, she’d used her magic to make even more of the odium than he’d thought possible. Then she’d left, with men and odium he needed for defense. Left, damn her, against his advice, and no reasoning would convince her otherwise.

His fist was clenched hard before he even raised it to pound on the door. Three blows, then a swift turn to sweep the yard with a stern glance.

Men turned quickly back to their tasks, and the normal business of the Keep resumed. Weary he might be, but he was Lord Marshal. None would challenge or question.

For now.

Reader
looked up from his book. “That’s him coming.”

As Archer lifted his head from his work, he saw Sidian raise one of his bushy white eyebrows, a move Archer always watched with quiet amusement. Sidian was blackskinned, his face, chest, and arms covered with ritual scars, and so dark that his bald head and thick white eyebrows were startling. When one brow moved like that, it was as if a fuzzy bug had crawled over his eye.

“How so?” Sidian asked in his clipped accent. “You’ve no way of—”

The pounding at the door cut him off.

“Why do you doubt, friend?” Archer asked quietly. “He’s always right.”

Sidian snorted as Reader jumped up, thrusting his book into his pack. The small man wiped his palms on his pants as he darted to the door and jerked it open.

Blackhart stood framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the day. As he stepped in, his hazel eyes pierced the room.

Archer was unmoved by Blackhart’s glare. True enough, the darkness of this place was no match for Orrin Blackhart, Lord Marshall to Lady High Baroness Elanore and death incarnate to her enemies. But Archer had known the man and been part of his hearth-band for years, and the impact of that glare had worn a bit around the edges. It had been aimed in his direction a fair number of times over the years. Not that he was used to it. Not that at all.

“Well?” Blackhart growled.

“Very well,” Archer replied calmly. “She walked right into our trap. Your information was good.”

Blackhart grunted. “Should be, considering the source. Anyone hurt?” He looked at the other men.

“No.” Archer gave the man the reassurance he needed. “Timothy and Thomas are taking care of the horses. There wasn’t even a fight, it was that easy. There was another priest with her, but she pushed him back through the portal before we could grab him, too. It closed before we could blink.”

Blackhart’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “We’ve got her. That’s all that matters.”

“Sidian probably scared her,” Reader piped up, “what with them scars and all.”

Sidian raised that eyebrow again, but didn’t rise to the bait.

“Where is she?” Blackhart moved farther into the room.

“Below. Mage is keeping an eye on her.” Archer nodded toward the door that led below.

Blackhart frowned again. “The spell chains are—”

“Working fine,” Archer assured him. “But she’s prayin’, and that’s got Mage nervous.”