Welcome to the Blog Tour for Nemesis by Kat Ross thanks to Xpresso Book Tours! Nemesis is the fourth novel in the Fourth Talisman series and is another brilliant installment. Yesterday I posted my 4 star review and today I'm excited to be showcasing the novel.
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With Meb safely among her own people, Nazafareen has finally embraced her dangerous fire magic. She is the Fourth Talisman, destined to free the heirs from the wards binding their own extraordinary power. With Nocturne and Solis poised on the brink of war, the choices she makes will decide the fate of mortals and daevas alike.
Determined to confront Culach and make amends, Nazafareen goes to Val Moraine, setting off a chain of events that ultimately leads her deep into the perilous wasteland called the Kiln and the faceless enemy waiting there. But the ancient hatred that shattered the world a millennium before is stronger and far more devious than she and her companions imagine.
Is the Viper truly dead? And can Nazafareen triumph without facing the darkness that lurks within her own heart?
Check out the rest of the series here!
From Nemesis.....
The harsh light of a hundred pitch-soaked torches banished any scrap of shadow from the chamber at the heart of the Rock. Perched like a faithful hound at the foot of the throne, Javid wished for the gentler candlelight that had illuminated the bier of old King Cambyses. True, it smelled better since his body had been whisked away to its tomb. But Javid had come to dread the daily ritual that was about to unfold, and there would be no looking away.
A discreet snuffling behind him indicated the presence of King Shahak. He slouched in the throne, red eyes fixed on the terrified courtiers assembled before him. The sound had become so familiar, Javid barely registered it. The King was either snorting spell dust or stanching a nosebleed with his handkerchief. He’d grown alarmingly emaciated and the purple robes hung on his bones like a deflated air sack.
Or like the horrors decorating the far wall.
“Where are our pets?” he asked.
Shahak’s voice was the only thing that hadn’t changed. It was pleasant, mellifluous. If you didn’t look at him, you might think he was still sane.
A whey-faced chamberlain bowed low and scampered to the door, gesticulating frantically at the guards there. The King did not like to be kept waiting. It was a fine line between disobedience and disloyalty, and finer still between disloyalty and treason.
Shortly after his ascension, there had been the usual slew of assassination attempts orchestrated by factions loyal to the Queen. The skins of these traitors had been nailed up for display, which, while perhaps stretching the bounds of good taste, wouldn’t be unheard of except for the fact that they were whole, without a single mark.
Corporeal division was the technical term for it, Shahak had confided to him later.
All Javid remembered were the screams as the unfortunate assassin found himself standing there with his skin in a pile next to the platter of poisoned dates.
After the last one, three days prior, things grew quiet. Subdued, one might say.
The chamberlain hurried back inside the throne room and made the prostration.
“They are here, your Royal Highness,” he informed the floor. “A small matter with the leashes caused the delay.”
Snuffling. “We understand. But see it doesn’t happen again.”
The courtiers shrank against the walls as three handlers entered, each wearing leather gloves and holding a thin gold chain. Creeping along next to them were creatures unique in the annals of natural science. Feathers mingled with scales and fur. Two had beaks, one a hairy snout. The smallest licked its chops and Javid felt a stab of pity.
It was feeding time at Shahak’s private zoo.
Two cooks trailed the handlers, bearing platters of raw meat, minced and bloody.
Javid rose to his feet as the King descended the throne and selected a morsel.
“Come.” He patted his leg and the little one waddled over, sniffing at the treat. “Yes, this is for you, Dadash.” Shahak fed the creature, patting its head fondly. Dadash, which meant little brother, was his favorite, being the most compliant.
But the handlers had to yank on the leashes to get the others to come. The biggest emitted a low growl, its gaze fixed on the king. Shahak gave a rattling laugh that sounded like pebbles tossed into a well.
“Now, now. You will eat from my hand or not at all.”
With a temperamental lash of its tail, the thing opened its beak and snapped the scrap of meat from Shahak’s palm, swallowing it whole. She—Javid still thought of it as she—had fierce yellow eyes and he feared she might peck the king, but she thought better of it and gobbled the rest.
The middle one still hung back, as far away as its lead would permit. Shahak strode over and seized the leash, dragging the thing to heel. Javid could never tell if it was fear or defiance that made the middle son recalcitrant, but Shahak was having none of it. He whispered a few words, too low to hear, and gave it back to the handler.
“Return them to their cages.”
The nobles watched silently as the royal family trotted to the door, the smallest one waddling a bit from its repast.
Shahak stood frozen for a moment as if he’d forgotten where he was. Then he made a brusque gesture and the audience withdrew, velvet slippers whispering against stone. Javid sensed their relief at being dismissed and tried not to feel envious.
The harsh light of a hundred pitch-soaked torches banished any scrap of shadow from the chamber at the heart of the Rock. Perched like a faithful hound at the foot of the throne, Javid wished for the gentler candlelight that had illuminated the bier of old King Cambyses. True, it smelled better since his body had been whisked away to its tomb. But Javid had come to dread the daily ritual that was about to unfold, and there would be no looking away.
A discreet snuffling behind him indicated the presence of King Shahak. He slouched in the throne, red eyes fixed on the terrified courtiers assembled before him. The sound had become so familiar, Javid barely registered it. The King was either snorting spell dust or stanching a nosebleed with his handkerchief. He’d grown alarmingly emaciated and the purple robes hung on his bones like a deflated air sack.
Or like the horrors decorating the far wall.
“Where are our pets?” he asked.
Shahak’s voice was the only thing that hadn’t changed. It was pleasant, mellifluous. If you didn’t look at him, you might think he was still sane.
A whey-faced chamberlain bowed low and scampered to the door, gesticulating frantically at the guards there. The King did not like to be kept waiting. It was a fine line between disobedience and disloyalty, and finer still between disloyalty and treason.
Shortly after his ascension, there had been the usual slew of assassination attempts orchestrated by factions loyal to the Queen. The skins of these traitors had been nailed up for display, which, while perhaps stretching the bounds of good taste, wouldn’t be unheard of except for the fact that they were whole, without a single mark.
Corporeal division was the technical term for it, Shahak had confided to him later.
All Javid remembered were the screams as the unfortunate assassin found himself standing there with his skin in a pile next to the platter of poisoned dates.
After the last one, three days prior, things grew quiet. Subdued, one might say.
The chamberlain hurried back inside the throne room and made the prostration.
“They are here, your Royal Highness,” he informed the floor. “A small matter with the leashes caused the delay.”
Snuffling. “We understand. But see it doesn’t happen again.”
The courtiers shrank against the walls as three handlers entered, each wearing leather gloves and holding a thin gold chain. Creeping along next to them were creatures unique in the annals of natural science. Feathers mingled with scales and fur. Two had beaks, one a hairy snout. The smallest licked its chops and Javid felt a stab of pity.
It was feeding time at Shahak’s private zoo.
Two cooks trailed the handlers, bearing platters of raw meat, minced and bloody.
Javid rose to his feet as the King descended the throne and selected a morsel.
“Come.” He patted his leg and the little one waddled over, sniffing at the treat. “Yes, this is for you, Dadash.” Shahak fed the creature, patting its head fondly. Dadash, which meant little brother, was his favorite, being the most compliant.
But the handlers had to yank on the leashes to get the others to come. The biggest emitted a low growl, its gaze fixed on the king. Shahak gave a rattling laugh that sounded like pebbles tossed into a well.
“Now, now. You will eat from my hand or not at all.”
With a temperamental lash of its tail, the thing opened its beak and snapped the scrap of meat from Shahak’s palm, swallowing it whole. She—Javid still thought of it as she—had fierce yellow eyes and he feared she might peck the king, but she thought better of it and gobbled the rest.
The middle one still hung back, as far away as its lead would permit. Shahak strode over and seized the leash, dragging the thing to heel. Javid could never tell if it was fear or defiance that made the middle son recalcitrant, but Shahak was having none of it. He whispered a few words, too low to hear, and gave it back to the handler.
“Return them to their cages.”
The nobles watched silently as the royal family trotted to the door, the smallest one waddling a bit from its repast.
Shahak stood frozen for a moment as if he’d forgotten where he was. Then he made a brusque gesture and the audience withdrew, velvet slippers whispering against stone. Javid sensed their relief at being dismissed and tried not to feel envious.
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