The collection is only 99 cents at all the ebook outlets I sell through. If the cheap price and pretty new cover aren’t enough to entice you to give it a try, here are some sneak peeks from each of the three stories in the collection.
“The Peach Tree”
The Wise Woman was silent. Her eyes were hidden by her hair, but Sula could feel her critical gaze as she judged Sula’s pain and longing. “What would you do to gain what you want?” the Wise Woman asked.
“I’d do anything! Anything at all, just to have one chance.”
“Then go home. I expect rain tomorrow. Come back when rivulets start running in the street.”
“I’ll be here.” Sula hesitated. “What is the price?”
The Wise Woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Whatever you think the result will be worth, dear.”
“Quiet, everyone!” Girda yelled. “You’re all being stupid. It wouldn’t bring very much money if we sold it, even on the black market.” She pinned Giorgi with a hard stare. “And none of us knows how to use it except Aric. If he can do with it what Uncle Morgi did, he’ll make us all as rich—as rich as we’ve ever dreamed of being!”
Aunt, uncle, and cousins looked at Aric again, their expressions more kindly now. He fidgeted and ran a hand through his orange hair, making it stand straight up. “Uncle Morgi did tell me I could have it when he was finished with it. But I don’t—”
“Oh, show us what you can do with it!” squealed Yirna, Giorgi’s wife. The others added their encouragement. Aric didn’t want to, but Uncle Morgi had promised it to him. If he showed himself to be skillful enough with it, he might be allowed to keep it. He went over to the small cabinet where Morgi had always kept his treasure, opened the door, and stared in disbelief. Then he turned around, trying to think of how to break the news. “It doesn’t matter who gets it if it’s missing.”
Leya left the window and sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe the wizards know a cure.”
Sulila shrugged. “Who am I to say what the wizards know? Maybe they do have a cure for this. But I’ve never heard of a wizard leaving his tower and coming out to the middle of nowhere to help the daughter of a village weaver.”
“I know one who will.”
Elena looked up at her. “Leya, surely you aren’t thinking—”
“Arn abandoned you with a baby four years ago, and you haven’t had a word from him since. What makes you think he’ll help you now?”
“He has to, Mother. He owes Nel and me at least that much.”
“Leya, listen,” the witch said. “It’s pointless. You’re only making this harder for yourself. Nel will die by morning. It would take you a week to reach Ferin, who knows how long to convince Arn to help you, if he has any help to give, if he’s even at the School there which you don’t even know for sure, and then another week to return. A dead child can’t be helped, not even by a wizard.”
“I have to try. I can’t just sit here and wait for her to die. If you can find some way to keep Nel alive, I’ll do my best to find help for her.”
The witch fidgeted, and suddenly wouldn’t meet Leya’s eyes.
Leya’s voice dropped. “I’ve heard rumors there’s a way.”