Damosel: In Which the Lady of the Lake Renders a Frank and by Stephanie Spinner

By Stephanie Spinner

WATER SPIRIT DAMOSEL, the girl of the Lake, glides via Arthurian legend like a glamorous wraith, shimmering and transferring among the worlds of fairies and people. Her wisdom is substantial (magic, steel, men’s hearts) and results in her maximum honor—and worst mistake. Damosel makes a promise to the wizard Merlin to guard younger King Arthur, after which dares to damage it—with devastating effects. all of the whereas, 17-year-old Twixt—a dwarf in a global the place distinction will be deadly—finds himself free of his merciless masters and relocating towards the single position he by no means anticipated to work out: King Arthur’s courtroom at Camelot.Stephanie Spinner intertwines the 2 narratives of Damosel and Twixt to attract us directly into the wealthy Arthurian land of enchantment.From the Hardcover version.

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Extra info for Damosel: In Which the Lady of the Lake Renders a Frank and Often Startling Account of her Wondrous Life and Times

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Borvo would catch me or send his hounds to do it, which was worse, because their teeth were sharper. Then it was just misery—either singing and dancing and doing cartwheels on the table while they got shouting drunk or being forced to drink with them until I passed out. I never let on that I knew how to juggle, they would have forced me to do it with Borvo’s knives. As it was, they often got me tipsy because it was so easy, less than a pint and I was teetering. Once, in January, Esus forced me to stand against the big beech with a turnip on my head so Borvo could practice his knife-throwing.

The stag leaped over one table after another, knocking over the wine pitchers and trampling the food in the trenchers. The head of a roast boar took flight, apples and onions rolled, and more than one fine lady had her face spattered with currant sauce! As for the stag, just as it was preparing to leap again, the bratchet jumped up, bit into its flank, and would not let go. She was fierce for such a little dog. “By this time the boar’s head was on the floor and all the dogs in the hall were fighting for it.

Your name is whatever we call you,” said the baby-faced man. ” I climbed out of the bushes, quaking. I’m in for it now, I thought, and I was. r The big hairy one was Borvo and his baby-faced brother was Esus. I hated them both, but it was Esus I feared. Some people are good at music, or juggling, or picking pockets; Esus was good at spite. I was his favorite victim, for unlike his woman, Ofie, I was small and clawless and never with child. Esus was cunning, too. I tried my best to stay out of his way, I hid in the storeroom, the horse shed, the chicken house, but he always found me.

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