I love palmistry! And I’m even more excited to welcome fellow Sexy to Go author, Daisy Banks to the blog today to talk about her new release – with a totally yummy cover! – and give you a little taste of how the fortune tellers work their magic. Here’s Daisy —
Thank you so much, Eva, for helping me celebrate the release of my latest book,
Marked for Magic, published by Lyrical Press, a Kensington Imprint, on the 28th of April 2015.
I decided that as palmistry was the initial inspiration for this fantasy romance I’d offer you and the readers a little something on palmistry marks.
This image is of the main lines most people have on their palm:
1: Life line – 2: Head line – 3: Heart line – 4: Girdle of Venus – 5: Sun line – 6: Mercury line – 7: Fate line
These main lines above and their meanings are fairly well known, but the lesser lines are not quite so well understood and it was these I was studying when I got the idea for Marked for Magic.
For this post I have chosen the travel lines. You will find these on the lower half of the percussion side of your palm. Each line means a journey taken. These are major travels not just a trip to the store. They can mean a visit to another country. The deeper these lines the more importance the journey will have for the person.
These are a good example of lines that may appear on a hand later in life.
Thanks so much for reading. I’d love to know if any of you discover travel lines your hand. Let me know.
The witch mark on Nin’s hand is a curse. She has no magic powers, whatever the lore says. But the village believes. The old crone’s wisdom is to see her banished. Ragged and hungry, she must serve the Mage. Alone in his tower, she is his chattel. But Mage Thabit is not what Nin expected—the bright green eyes and supple form under his cloak are not the stuff of nightmares, and kindness hides in his brusque heart. Thabit senses that Nin is more than she seems, too. When true nightmares haunt the land, it is precisely her elusive powers that might deliver them…
He sat back and rested his chin on his fisted hand as he inspected her. A blue snake tattoo wound its way in spirals around his wrist before the head disappeared beneath his sleeve. “What can you do?”
She swallowed hard, unable to say a word. Instead, she stared down to his boots, following the pattern made by the flicker of flames from the hearth on one shiny patch of leather by his ankle. Eventually she managed to whisper, “Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing? If you have the mark, you must have a talent. Fire lighting? That’s easy. Can you call clouds on a hot day?”
Gnawing her lip, she shook her head.
“Do you understand the thoughts of others? See the future in the flames?”
She shook her head again. The silence lengthened to become a physical weight. When she glanced up, his hair glittered in the torch light, his sour expression crushing her fragile hope.
“So, you can do nothing, you know even less, yet I’m stuck with you. Oh, just bloody splendid. You’re as rare as a cockerel’s egg!” He drummed his fingers on the table as he studied her.
The lump returned to her throat. She blinked hard and struggled not to sniff until she could hold the tears back no more. Defeated by them, she gulped froglike. Stinging hot, they trickled down to her chin. She had no voice.
He shoved up from the chair and paced around the room, his hands clenched. “I swear since I arrived here, I am interrupted daily by the most inconsequential matters.” The green robe wafted around his legs, flesh showing above his scuffed brown boots. He strode away toward the door. “Don’t snivel. Allow me to think.”
She wiped her nose on her sleeve and fisted the tears away as she focused on the feather in his hair. While the dangling feather twirled, she dragged up the last tiny drop of her courage. “I’m sorry. I’ll think of something I can do.”
He spun back to face her, eyes narrowed. “Oh, do not bother. I can’t spare the time for your intellectual struggles. If I must have you here, I will make sure you earn your keep. You can cook, yes?”
“Of course I can.”
“Do that for a start. You can clean, wash, and sweep, I hope, but most of all”—he glared, his eyes leaf dark—“you keep out of my way when I’m working.”
Every muscle screamed no, but she forced a nod. She’d not expected a warm welcome, but this greeting hurt worse than any nightmare.
He didn’t want her! Why should she stay in his tower? No one wanted her. She’d be better off with the wolves.
Before she left the village, Alicia had managed to whisper to her, “Don’t fear the Mage. He’ll give you more than you’ll find here.” Through the frightening journey, as the morning wore on, she’d tried to turn her fears to hope she would discover what Alicia meant. The misery of being his kitchen drudge hadn’t occurred to her.
The Mage still paced, giving her an occasional glare.
Rebellion broke through the fear. “I’ll try to think of a way to move on, shall I? Find a place to go. Until I can, I’ll do what you ask.”
“No need to sound so resentful. The facts are exact.”
The sneer rubbed at her wounds.
“You cannot go back to the village. The castle would not touch such a one. You have no gift, and even if you did possess an elemental skill, the lady may well say you are too old to be trained.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Though I am sure the garrison would not be too squeamish to accept your services. Hold your tongue, or I’ll send you to them.”
A shiver of horror ran over her, for she had no doubt what he meant. Agnes’s breathy, lewd descriptions still echoed in her mind. She shut the vile thoughts out when he spoke again.
“You do not have the talent to work with me. You are not one thing or the other.” Slowly, he appraised her. “No, maybe not even the garrison would make allowances for such a grubby wench.”
A blaze of anger surged to help her rise from her trembling knees. He was a brute. True, maybe right now she was dirty, but he didn’t have to say so. How would he have fared in the cage?
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “No, I won’t stay here, not with you. I’ll leave. I’ll do as well if I take my chances in the forest.” She turned to make her way out of the smoky, torch-lit room.
“No, girl, there is no need. I will not have your wolf-mauled corpse on my conscience.”
His tone of pained resignation stoked her determination. She reached for the door.
“I said stay!”
The forceful shout stunned her for an instant, but she spun back to face him.
Let him do his very worst.
People had yelled at her all her life. A woman now, even if she was cursed, she’d put up with it no more. “My name is Nin, not ‘girl.’ If I stay here, you won’t shout at me.”
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About the author.
Daisy Banks writes sensual and spicy romance in the Historical, Paranormal and Fantasy genres. She is an obsessive writer and her focus is to offer the best tale she can to readers. Daisy is married with two grown up sons. She lives in a converted chapel in Shropshire, England. Antiques and collecting entertain Daisy when she isn’t writing and she occasionally makes a meal that doesn’t stick to the pan.
Daisy Banks Links