Violet Moon Series
Book 3
Alisa Hope Wagner
Sword Heiress
Violet Moon Series Book 3
Marked Writers Publishing
Copyright 2024 by Alisa Hope Wagner
www.alisahopewagner.com
Written by Alisa Hope Wagner
Illustrated by Albert Morales
Author Photo by Lori Stead of www.wetsilver.com
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-963190-01-4
Violet Moon Series
Book 3
Alisa Hope Wagner
Acknowledgments
I published the first book of the Violet Moon Series in 2018 and the second book in 2019. Now at the end of 2023, I am finally publishing the third book. Though I will be aggressive about publishing the next book in the series much sooner, it was a wonderful experience getting to rediscover the planet of Rodesh, and I am honored to expand this beautiful world with its intriguing people groups and exciting happenings.
I want to give my heartfelt gratitude to my husband, Daniel Wagner, who supports my work financially and with his words of inspiration. Thank you for always believing in me. To my children, thank you for cheering me on and keeping me motivated.
I want to acknowledge my amazing editing team. Writing a book is only half the battle. The other half takes a team. Thank you to my copy editors Patricia Coughlin, Faith Newton, Jennifer Smith, Daniel Wagner and Bernadine Zimmerman and to my content/copy editor Emerald Barnes. I needed every single comment, suggestion, correction and encouragement you all gave me.
And as always, I’m grateful to the talent and friendship of my illustrator, Albert Morales. Your creative and excellent illustrations always bring the characters of Rodesh to life.
Finally, without the Holy Spirit guiding my writing, I would not be the author I am today. He is my Writing Partner, and I listen to His insight and wisdom. I want my work to have eternal value, and I only gain that through obedience to His voice.
Dedication
To my high school sweetheart and husband, Daniel, my stories live because you cherish me.
To my three loves, Isaac, Levi and Karis Ruth, I write with excellence to make you proud.
To anyone who has suffered trauma and had to go through the process of healing, may the blood of Jesus heal you, the guidance of the Holy Spirit lead you and the love of your Heavenly Father comfort you.
Thank You, Father, for giving me purpose.
Thank You, Son, for redeeming my world.
Thank You, Spirit, for guiding my journey.
“He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147.3 (NKJV)
Table of Contents
A Lowland Cliffs Offering. vii
Sword Practice. 1
Eavesdropping. 11
A Divine Reading. 18
Official Adoption. 25
Sharing Symbols. 39
The Sapphire Bridge. 48
Establishing a Village. 56
Saving Croga. 63
Secret Pain Revealed. 69
Merging Two Worlds. 77
The Protégé. 87
Shot Through the Heart. 96
Messages in the Sand. 105
The Informant. 116
The Stowaway. 125
Scar of Sacrifice. 135
Overheard Letter. 145
Hunting Traps. 155
Meeting of Friends. 163
The Way of Peace. 172
Awaited Reunion. 181
Golden Piles. 188
The Brandy Idea. 197
Basin Rumor. 206
Sea-Breathers. 214
Kairo Tunas. 223
Hooting Danger. 233
Sailing Gold. 243
The First Book. 252
Coins Uncovered. 260
Writer a
Artist c
Prologue
A Lowland Cliffs Offering
Corven’s lame foot made it difficult to step out of the boat. He hated getting help from his mute servant, Reece, but his pride was wounded long ago when his father disowned him at the age of twelve. He turned his body and tried to put his good foot onto the rocky shore, but his lame right foot buckled under the pressure, causing him to fall back against the wooden seat of the boat.
“Ouch!” A piercing pain shot through Corven’s back. Finally, he held out his arms to Reece who patiently waited for his command. Reece, with his healthy, strong physique easily reached down and scooped up Corven and placed him onto the shore. Corven found his balance and straightened his back. “That’s going to hurt for at least a week.” He reached and felt the bump on the center of his spine. “Small price to pay for finally arriving. I’m glad I thought to bring extra food. Took you long enough to row us here. Didn’t realize how vast the waters would be. Though, it was better than walking through sand. I’d have to be carried the entire way.”
Reece shrugged. The muscles on his tanned shoulders and arms contradicted the innocent compliance of his green eyes. His blonde, shaggy hair made his appearance even more youthful. Though Corven’s servant couldn’t talk, at least he could hear. It made it easier for Corven because he enjoyed speaking his thoughts out loud and having a listening ear helped construct his ideas, especially since Reece couldn’t speak back. Corven knew he himself was the smartest of all Sand-shapers—though, he had kept that information a secret—and he didn’t need servants offering inferior ideas. His father may have disowned him, but at least he had given him a quiet servant and a ledger of money that had gotten him this far.
He decided to take his destiny into his own hands once his father forced him to be the steward of Lord Rencon’s archives of cylinders. Lord Rencon and his father had more cylinders than all the Sand-shapers of the Northwestern Coastal Cities combined. Little did they know that the reason he was good at categorizing them was because he had read every symbol on every parchment before his childhood memories closed at age fourteen. He knew the history of Rodesh all the way back to the Great Engulfing. He had even found old cylinders with memories written of the time before the Great Engulfing, which was why he was here now. He pieced together a new life for himself that included power, prestige and abundance. He would no longer be a mere steward.
“Bring the boat on shore and leave our bags here but grab the basket of auraium and my bag of cylinders. We needed to have a gift for the current bar Hathway Chieftain.” While Reece did what he was told, Corven took a moment to inspect his surroundings. “So this is Lake-keeper territory. Funny. I don’t see a lake. The earth shakes must have also changed their topography like it has ours. All I see is that the ocean has finally ended against this land. There are no longer underground tunnels and rivers hidden by a massive desert.”
Corven looked south. A sandy shore spread a great distance to the east and west in a half-moon shape, but the sand on the east and the west transformed into rocky shores. Directly south, piers and decks lined a wooden boardwalk with fishing boats tied to their wood planks. Behind the shores he could see small wooden homes, and beyond that the making of a great forest. However, the trees in this forest were no match for the Achion trees that the River-dwellers still used as homes.
To the left of him were towering cliffs and a magnificent stone castle with winding, stone stairs on the perimeter. The grand castle cast a shadow over the waters. It was still early, and the sun would be above them in a few hours. Then he looked right. The cliffs were lower but broader. And instead of the castle towering with hundreds of steps winding to the pinnacle, this castle laid low, wide and long with all entrances level to the ground. This meant the steps were few, and he smiled. He was glad his lineage led to the Lowland Cliffs Clan rather than the Highland Cliffs Clan.
Reece walked up to him with the basket and bag in each hand. He gave his normal compliant smile. Corven knew that both the auraium and the cylinders were heavy loads, but Reece held them like they were filled with feathers and leaves.
“Be careful with the bag of cylinders. They are old. I wrapped each one with cloth, but they are still extremely fragile and could break and tear apart the parchments along with my evidence.”
Reece nodded. As Corven turned back toward the low castle, a dozen swordsmen exited various doors of the castle and began to march his way. He knew they were swordsmen because they wore similar leather uniforms and carried great swords by their sides.
“So that is steel,” Corven whispered under his breath. When the men arrived at his position, he gave the customary greeting he learned from one of the parchments which he had practiced. It was difficult with his lame foot, but he believed he had mastered the subtle bow and leaning back of his leg.
The swordsmen started to laugh.
One of the men walked up to him. His skin was several shades darker than his own light ebony coloring, but the swordsman had the same emerald eyes as his. His hair was light brown, though. Even lighter than his own. It was also much longer and held back together in a long braid. “My name is Durstin le Guyel. I am the Master Swordsman of the Lowland Cliffs. And you just gave the bow of a woman.” Durstin snickered and stared at Corven’s lame foot. “Maybe it is fitting for you.”
“My apologies,” Corven said as his cheeks flushed. “I have come a great distance and with boundless peril to my life to talk with Chieftain bar Hathway.”
“You look like us, but I don’t recognize you. And where, by the Befores, are your horns? And where are his?” Durstin asked, pointing to Reece.
“I am from the land beyond the waters,” he said, motioning to the sea they had crossed. “My name is Corven, and this is my servant Reece. I am a Sand-shaper. We work with sand and make glass for our homes, cities, decoration and even to wear. We started extracting our horns after the Great Engulfing, finding them cumbersome. We write the symbols you have no doubt been finding on your shores in the floating glass cylinders. I purchased this boat, and my servant rowed us here. It took almost two weeks, but I have information that your chieftain will want.”
Durstin said nothing for several moments. He stared at Corven’s hornless head and then toward the boat. “You know about the Chieftain Lothar bar Haven’s inherited daughter, Amorfia?” he finally asked.
“Yes, her real name is F’lorna, and she is his biological niece.”
“Impossible!” Durstin yelled. “Lothar has no heir.”
“No, it’s true. His mother died in the tunnels where the land bridge is now. A healer of the River-dwellers found her and got the baby out before the mother died. His name is Jaquarn, and he is F’lorna’s father. They were both raised as River-dwellers, and they do not extract their horns.”
Durstin looked skeptical. “As they shouldn’t. You look like a baby with no horns.”
Corven overlooked the insult. He was used to it, and he didn’t want to offend anyone who could deter his plan. “F’lorna is only a tiny taste of what I know. I have information which will change the lives of every man and woman living in the Lowland Cliffs. I’ve come to make the bar Hathway Clan the most powerful clan of all the Lake-keepers and then all of Rodesh.”
“The word clan is of the old dialect. We don’t use it anymore. Now what do you have in the basket and bag?” Durstin asked, nodding at Reece who quietly continued to hold the heavy loads.
“The bag is full of auraium—or what I think you call gold—a gift to your chieftain. It is a rare metal that is used to make jewelry and other works of priceless art but not strong like your swords.”
“We know what gold is,” Durstin scoffed.
“Yes, of course. My apologies. And the bag is filled with cylinders that have the history of the bar Hathway family written in symbols.”
“You know how to decipher the symbols?” Durstin asked.
“Not only that, but I also have thousands of them memorized in my childhood memories. I even have information that comes from before the Great Engulfing, which I believe you call the Great Shaking or the Great Shake. I may be lame in foot, but what I can offer your chieftain will give him an edge over every other chieftain. Plus…” Corven hesitated.
Durstin crossed his arms. “What? Say it now or I will not bring you to see Chieftain Rugar bar Hathway.”
“I have a cylinder from my family’s vault that tells of my grandmother from long ago born before the Great Engulfing who found herself cut off from her family and in new territory.”
“So,” the Swordsman said.
“She was a Lake-keeper and her last name was Hathway.”
“That is a bold claim to say you have lineage with the bar Hathways.”
“I know,” Corven said. “But I can prove it.”
“Let us hope so because if you prove to be false, you will be banished or killed.”
Corven swallowed. “I understand the risks, but I’ve done extensive research and double checked all my findings.”
“Well then,” Durstin said, “you will present your gift and your proof and let the Befores decide your fate. Follow me and keep up.”
Corven nodded but Durstin had already starting walking back toward the Lowland Cliff castle with the other swordsmen. Corven waved for Reece to come to his side, but he was already there still holding the heavy basket and bag. He grabbed hold of Reece’s stable body in case he tripped. Corven trekked behind the swordsmen staring at the ground just before each step he made. He had fallen many times before jeering faces, and he wouldn’t allow that to happen today. This day was his point of no return. A way to start the honored life that was stolen from him the day the head of the massive solid glass statue of his father fell on his foot, snapping his ankle in half and shattering every bone. The healers could not fix it, and it became twisted and weak.
Corven thought of Lord Rencon’s traveling case and his servants who carried him south away from the Northwester Coastal cities. He had sent it to him knowing it would take months for him to travel to the farmlands on foot. He probably knew that Corven did not show up in the traveling case with the cylinders by now. Lord Rencon needed a way to make a material stronger than obsidian, and he hoped that information could be found in his large collection of cylinders. Corven had discovered the steel material of the Lake-keepers years ago, but he would not share such information. Lord Rencon already had too much wealth and power. The steel material would just elevate him further while he was stuck in the dingy cylinder vaults. He discovered that the Lake-keepers used the steel to forge weapons, and Lord Rencon desperately wanted it to create a tool that would cut the coveted auraium out from the face of the land bridge.
The travel south was extremely enlightening. The news about F’lorna, the River-dweller girl who had returned from the distant lands of the Lake-keepers, traveled fast. As he rode in the traveling case to Lord Tarmian’s farmlands, whispers of startling events surrounded him at every stop. Corven’s keen mind made quick connections, using all that he read in the cylinders as his reference point. When Corven received information about Lord Dexarian’s illegitimate daughter and granddaughter, and that the grand-daughter, F’lorna, was related to Chieftain Lothar bar Haven on her father’s side, he formulated his own plan. If she could be accepted into the bar Havens, there was a chance for him—though his relationship with the bar Hathways was more distant. Still, he had something more enticing to offer if he were accepted as a bar Hathway.
Suddenly, an odious odor filled Corven’s nostrils. “What is that awful smell?”
“We are passing the Swarve stables. What? Do you not have Swarves in the lands beyond the waters?” Durstin asked.
“No, only the one F’lorna brought back. It supposedly ran and flapped its wings up the massive rocky incline to get F’lorna and her father to safety before the waters swallowed up the sands.”
Durstin stopped. “Swarves do not fly. Their wings are as useless as that foot of yours.”
“I was told this one had long golden feathers that gave him enough flight to make it up the land bridge, and I’ve seen that mass of rock. It is extremely high, even with the waters now gathered below.”
“How is that possible?”
Corven smiled. “Again, I have information about that, as well. It will change everything you know about Swarves.”
Durstin stood silently for several seconds. He looked toward two of his men. “Carry the basket and bag for Corven’s servant, so he can assist Corven up the stairs to the throne room. When I present Corven, I want everything to go perfectly.” He looked back at Corven. “If you do get accepted as a bar Hathway, you’ll have to get your horns back. I have plenty of bulbs, it may take some time, but we’ll find the right pair. We will have you looking like a proper Lake-keeper from the Lowland Cliffs.”
Corven nodded. He hadn’t read about the bulbs in the archives of cylinders, but he heard rumors that F’lorna had grown back her missing horn and even her mother was growing them. The two swordsmen took the heavy loads from Reece, and he offered his arm to Corven. Corven grabbed hold of it and began his walk looking straight and not at the ground. He was finished looking down. It was time for him to use the knowledge he had gained from years of quiet study to become a man of renown and prestige, not a man of shame hidden in dark vaults alone. He would never look down again.
