Author Amy Harmon
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The Queen and The Cure - Excerpt

5/11/2017

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She turned and walked into her room, and he followed, shutting the chamber door behind them. She perched on the edge of her bed, her hair pooling around her, reminding him of the day she stood in the rain, battered and bedraggled, clinging to her clothes while he clung to his resistance.
He sank to his knees before her, abandoning his resistance completely, and she drew him to her, cradling his head in her lap, and stroking his hair.
Still kneeling in front of her, he wrapped his arms around her hips and drew her from the bed and into him, connecting them from their knees to their noses, his arms supporting her weight. For a moment she hovered slightly above him, her hands braced on his shoulders, eyes searching, wanting but waiting, until the exquisite became the excruciating, and he wound one hand in her hair, lifted his chin, and pulled her to him, mouth to mouth.
He kissed her, taking her to the floor because he was too overcome to stand, clinging to her body because he was too undone to go slow. The storm pounding in his limbs and in his belly began to build in his heart, seeping through his skin and gathering in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to weep. It was the strangest sensation, the most puzzling reaction he’d ever experienced. He wanted to lay his head on Sasha’s chest and weep.
Instead he breathed against her lips, withdrawing enough to move his mouth along the delicate bones of her collar, over the swell of her breasts, before he paused, his eyes closed, his forehead pressed to her abdomen.
He was happy. The feeling surged through him, an echo of the swelling he’d felt when Sasha had told him his kisses made her joyful. He was . . . happy. And he wasn’t killing anything. There wasn’t a sword in sight or a birdman in the sky. He was lying on a stone floor with Sasha in his arms, her hair twined around them, her hands on his face, her heart pounding beneath his cheek, and he was perfectly and completely happy.
“There once was a man named Kjell of Jeru who could pull trees from the ground with his bare hands,” he began, not even knowing exactly what he was going to say.
“So he was a very strong man?” Sasha asked, not missing a beat.
“Yes. The strongest.”
She laughed softly, the tremor making her body move against his.
“He could wrestle lions and toss bears and once killed ten birdmen with his bare hands. But the man was lonely. And his heart was dark.”
“Not so dark,” she murmured.
“Shh. It is my story.”
She pinched him and he rose up to kiss her again, punishing her mouth with his lips and his tongue, unable to help himself.
After a breathless moment he withdrew, panting, his eyes still on her mouth, even as he tried to refocus his thoughts. Sasha’s eyes pleaded and her lips begged, and he knew if he didn’t continue with his story now, there would be no more conversation.

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From Sand and Ash - Prologue

11/18/2016

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From Sand and Ash by Amy Harmon

​Prologue


​​​24 March, 1944


Angelo must have slept in the damp grass beside the road for a while, but the evening was cold and his cassock was thin, and he awoke, shivering. Even that small movement made him moan, but at least the sharp pain along his right side revived him. It was dark, and his mouth was so dry he licked the dew from the grass near his face. He had to move in order to get warm, and he had to move to find water. He had to move to find Eva.


He struggled to his feet and took a step, then another, telling himself that walking wouldn’t hurt as badly as lying down. Each breath felt like fire, and he was pretty sure a few of his ribs were broken. The darkness and his bad leg made each step precarious, but he found the posture that hurt the least and settled into a sort of rhythm, limping along the Via Ardeatina toward Rome. At least he hoped he was going toward Rome. God help him if he was turned around. He could barely see out of his right eye, his left eye was swollen shut, and his nose was broken. No loss there. It had never been his best feature. He was missing three fingernails on his right hand, and the smallest finger on his left was broken. At one point he stumbled and fell, only to catch himself on his oddly bent pinky. The pain had him retching and seeing stars, fighting to remain conscious. He gingerly pushed himself onto his knees so he could moan a prayer to the Madonna, begging her to help him just a little longer. She did, and he kept moving.


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The Bird and The Sword - Excerpt

5/16/2016

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​He waited for me to continue, but I was holding myself tightly, refusing to think at all, so I wouldn’t share more than I wanted to.
“They would have killed us. All of us. You saved so many.”
“I killed so many.” My voice snapped back at him, lashing out like a snake. He left his bed and came toward me. I turned and braced myself for his touch, but he stopped before he reached me.
“Yes. You did. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” His tone was frank. Admiring. I wanted to scream. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
“I am not a sword.”
“What?” he asked, surprise coloring the word.
“I am not a sword!”
I squeezed my eyes shut against the hot tears that rose immediately. I didn’t want to share any of this with him. But my thoughts were unruly, and he was listening intently.
“I am not a weapon. I don’t want to be a weapon!”
“You are what you are. I am what I am. It matters little what we want.”
“I am not a weapon.” The words were a cry, mournful and resistant. I felt him draw closer, but still he didn’t touch me, and for that I was grateful. If he touched me I would break down.
“I never wanted to be king. But it is what I am. It matters little what we want,” he repeated. I turned and stared up into his face, filled with an anguish that wouldn’t abate.
“You’re wrong. It is the thing that matters most.”
“Why?” he murmured, his eyes intense.
“Because without desire, there is only duty.” My lips trembled, and I bit down on them, bidding them to be still.
He pressed a thumb against my mouth, freeing my lower lip from the grip of my teeth. “Do you desire me?”
I jerked, resisting the coiled need that suddenly sprang from my belly and filled my chest. His eyes flared and his breath caught, and I wondered what I’d given away. I could only guess. I stepped around him, but he caught me up, lifting me off the ground, one arm beneath my hips, one braced around my back. He walked back to the thick furs where he slept and laid me down on them.
“This is not my duty. Or my desire.”
“It is both,” he responded, his arrogance setting my teeth on edge.


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<<Previous

    excerpts

    All
    A Different Blue
    From Sand And Ash
    Infinity + One
    Making Faces
    Prom Night In Purgatory
    Running Barefoot
    Slow Dance In Purgatory
    The Bird And The Sword
    The Law Of Moses
    The Queen And The Cure
    The Song Of David

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