By Elita Faith Daniels, Blair Kenny

Wrath, vengeance, hatred, can't breathe an analogous surroundings as love. And so it used to be that love started to wither and withdraw... one of the ageless quietude of the elves, Deacon, a mortal, suffers the inescapable know-how of mortality. He lived in what many deemed perfection, yet a depressing uncertainty plagued him that there lay treachery in all of it. while secrets and techniques of his mysterious background are printed, the younger mage is thrown right into a rebellion of bewilderment, and in an unwholesome vent of distress, travels a direction of unforgivable deeds. one of many few left of his type - a race whose magical energies are vigorously interwoven with their lifeforce - Deacon is drawn right into a international that becomes an involution of evil and dying. The destiny that awaits him can have immeasurable effects a ways past his regulate.

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Extra info for Tree of Life (Part I)

Sample text

He had been instructed to dispense with both mother and child. The arch mage was determined to wipe out every last Riven that walked the earth. The sky was bright and clear. The spring weather had began to grow pleasantly warm. The land was open around them with green rolling meadows, and the sun shone bright upon them, but the sun could not warm Daenara’s face. Leading their horses by foot, the travellers slackened their pace a moment for brief repose. Éomus led his beautiful white horse by Daenara’s sturdy brown mount.

Her arms ached to hold Deacon, to feel his warm little body against her own. She feared that he was afraid and alone. Not far from Daenara, another’s heart was aching for hers and had a great desire to soothe her. He stood with his shoulder against a tall tree, never far from her. He settled kind, pale eyes on her with grave interest. He could see that she grew paler and fainter with each passing day, but the absence of bloom on her cheek did not diminish her beauty in Éomus’s eyes. Her loveliness was of the earth, warm and natural.

She placed the money on the inn-keeper’s thick, fleshy palm, taking a large iron key in return. Without glancing back, she headed toward the small, shadowy staircase that disappeared round the corner. The men called to her, asking her to let the boy sit and drink with them a while. She ignored their entreaties and disappeared up the stairs as quickly and soundlessly as she could. Not till she had reached her room and fastened the door did she relax and set Deacon down. The room was sparse and uninviting with a small bed, a small table, and a wash basin, but it was warm.

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